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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Mansion
+
+Author: Henry Van Dyke
+
+Illustrator: Elizabeth Shippen Green
+
+Release Date: December 15, 2011 [EBook #38312]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANSION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jen Haines, Suzanne Shell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ The Mansion
+
+ [Illustration: [See page 57 "BUT HOW HAVE I FAILED SO WRETCHEDLY?"]
+
+
+
+
+ THE MANSION
+
+ BY
+ HENRY VAN DYKE
+
+ WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+ ELIZABETH SHIPPEN GREEN
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
+ NEW YORK AND LONDON . M . C . M . X . I
+
+
+ COPYRIGHT 1910, 1911, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
+
+
+ PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+ PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1911
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The Mansion
+
+
+There was an air of calm and reserved opulence about the Weightman
+mansion that spoke not of money squandered, but of wealth prudently
+applied. Standing on a corner of the Avenue no longer fashionable for
+residence, it looked upon the swelling tide of business with an
+expression of complacency and half-disdain.
+
+The house was not beautiful. There was nothing in its straight front
+of chocolate-colored stone, its heavy cornices, its broad, staring
+windows of plate glass, its carved and bronze-bedecked mahogany doors
+at the top of the wide stoop, to charm the eye or fascinate the
+imagination. But it was eminently respectable, and in its way
+imposing. It seemed to say that the glittering shops of the jewelers,
+the milliners, the confectioners, the florists, the picture-dealers,
+the furriers, the makers of rare and costly antiquities, retail
+traders in luxuries of life, were beneath the notice of a house that
+had its foundations in the high finance, and was built literally and
+figuratively in the shadow of St. Petronius' Church.
+
+At the same time there was something self-pleased and congratulatory
+in the way in which the mansion held its own amid the changing
+neighborhood. It almost seemed to be lifted up a little, among the
+tall buildings near at hand, as if it felt the rising value of the
+land on which it stood.
+
+John Weightman was like the house into which he had built himself
+thirty years ago, and in which his ideals and ambitions were
+incrusted. He was a self-made man. But in making himself he had chosen
+a highly esteemed pattern and worked according to the approved rules.
+There was nothing irregular, questionable, flamboyant about him. He
+was solid, correct, and justly successful.
+
+His minor tastes, of course, had been carefully kept up to date. At
+the proper time, pictures by the Barbizon masters, old English plate
+and portraits, bronzes by Barye and marbles by Rodin, Persian carpets
+and Chinese porcelains, had been introduced to the mansion. It
+contained a Louis Quinze reception-room, an Empire drawing-room, a
+Jacobean dining-room, and various apartments dimly reminiscent of the
+styles of furniture affected by deceased monarchs. That the hallways
+were too short for the historic perspective did not make much
+difference. American decorative art is _capable de tout_, it absorbs
+all periods. Of each period Mr. Weightman wished to have something of
+the best. He understood its value, present as a certificate, and
+prospective as an investment.
+
+It was only in the architecture of his town house that he remained
+conservative, immovable, one might almost say Early-Victorian-Christian.
+His country house at Dulwich-on-the-Sound was a palace of the Italian
+Renaissance. But in town he adhered to an architecture which had moral
+associations, the Nineteenth-Century-Brownstone epoch. It was a symbol
+of his social position, his religious doctrine, and even, in a way,
+of his business creed.
+
+"A man of fixed principles," he would say, "should express them in the
+looks of his house. New York changes its domestic architecture too
+rapidly. It is like divorce. It is not dignified. I don't like it.
+Extravagance and fickleness are advertised in most of these new
+houses. I wish to be known for different qualities. Dignity and
+prudence are the things that people trust. Every one knows that I can
+afford to live in the house that suits me. It is a guarantee to the
+public. It inspires confidence. It helps my influence. There is a text
+in the Bible about 'a house that hath foundations.' That is the proper
+kind of a mansion for a solid man."
+
+Harold Weightman had often listened to his father discoursing in this
+fashion on the fundamental principles of life, and always with a
+divided mind. He admired immensely his father's talents and the
+single-minded energy with which he improved them. But in the paternal
+philosophy there was something that disquieted and oppressed the young
+man, and made him gasp inwardly for fresh air and free action.
+
+At times, during his college course and his years at the law school,
+he had yielded to this impulse and broken away--now toward
+extravagance and dissipation, and then, when the reaction came, toward
+a romantic devotion to work among the poor. He had felt his father's
+disapproval for both of these forms of imprudence; but it was never
+expressed in a harsh or violent way, always with a certain tolerant
+patience, such as one might show for the mistakes and vagaries of the
+very young. John Weightman was not hasty, impulsive, inconsiderate,
+even toward his own children. With them, as with the rest of the
+world, he felt that he had a reputation to maintain, a theory to
+vindicate. He could afford to give them time to see that he was
+absolutely right.
+
+One of his favorite Scripture quotations was, "Wait on the Lord." He
+had applied it to real estate and to people, with profitable results.
+
+But to human persons the sensation of being waited for is not always
+agreeable. Sometimes, especially with the young, it produces a vague
+restlessness, a dumb resentment, which is increased by the fact that
+one can hardly explain or justify it. Of this John Weightman was not
+conscious. It lay beyond his horizon. He did not take it into account
+in the plan of life which he made for himself and for his family as
+the sharers and inheritors of his success.
+
+"Father plays us," said Harold, in a moment of irritation, to his
+mother, "like pieces in a game of chess."
+
+"My dear," said that lady, whose faith in her husband was religious,
+"you ought not to speak so impatiently. At least he wins the game. He
+is one of the most respected men in New York. And he is very generous,
+too."
+
+"I wish he would be more generous in letting us be ourselves," said
+the young man. "He always has something in view for us and expects to
+move us up to it."
+
+"But isn't it always for our benefit?" replied his mother. "Look what
+a position we have. No one can say there is any taint on our money.
+There are no rumors about your father. He has kept the laws of God and
+of man. He has never made any mistakes."
+
+Harold got up from his chair and poked the fire. Then he came back to
+the ample, well-gowned, firm-looking lady, and sat beside her on the
+sofa. He took her hand gently and looked at the two rings--a thin
+band of yellow gold, and a small solitaire diamond--which kept their
+place on her third finger in modest dignity, as if not shamed, but
+rather justified, by the splendor of the emerald which glittered
+beside them.
+
+"Mother," he said, "you have a wonderful hand. And father made no
+mistake when he won you. But are you sure he has always been so
+inerrant?"
+
+"Harold," she exclaimed, a little stiffly, "what do you mean? His life
+is an open book."
+
+"Oh," he answered, "I don't mean anything bad, mother dear. I know the
+governor's life is an open book--a ledger, if you like, kept in the
+best bookkeeping hand, and always ready for inspection--every page
+correct, and showing a handsome balance. But isn't it a mistake not to
+allow us to make our own mistakes, to learn for ourselves, to live
+our own lives? Must we be always working for 'the balance,' in one
+thing or another? I want to be myself--to get outside of this
+everlasting, profitable 'plan'--to let myself go, and lose myself for
+a while at least--to do the things that I want to do, just because I
+want to do them."
+
+"My boy," said his mother, anxiously, "you are not going to do
+anything wrong or foolish? You know the falsehood of that old proverb
+about wild oats."
+
+He threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, mother," he answered, "I
+know it well enough. But in California, you know, the wild oats are
+one of the most valuable crops. They grow all over the hillsides and
+keep the cattle and the horses alive. But that wasn't what I meant--to
+sow wild oats. Say to pick wild flowers, if you like, or even to chase
+wild geese--to do something that seems good to me just for its own
+sake, not for the sake of wages of one kind or another. I feel like a
+hired man, in the service of this magnificent mansion--say in training
+for father's place as majordomo. I'd like to get out some way, to feel
+free--perhaps to do something for others."
+
+The young man's voice hesitated a little. "Yes, it sounds like cant, I
+know, but sometimes I feel as if I'd like to do some good in the
+world, if father only wouldn't insist upon God's putting it into the
+ledger."
+
+His mother moved uneasily, and a slight look of bewilderment came into
+her face.
+
+"Isn't that almost irreverent?" she asked. "Surely the righteous must
+have their reward. And your father is good. See how much he gives to
+all the established charities, how many things he has founded. He's
+always thinking of others, and planning for them. And surely, for
+us, he does everything. How well he has planned this trip to Europe
+for me and the girls--the court-presentation at Berlin, the season
+on the Riviera, the visits in England with the Plumptons and the
+Halverstones. He says Lord Halverstone has the finest old house
+in Sussex, pure Elizabethan, and all the old customs are kept up,
+too--family prayers every morning for all the domestics. By-the-way,
+you know his son Bertie, I believe."
+
+Harold smiled a little to himself as he answered: "Yes, I fished at
+Catalina Island last June with the Honorable Ethelbert; he's rather a
+decent chap, in spite of his ingrowing mind. But you?--mother, you are
+simply magnificent! You are father's masterpiece." The young man
+leaned over to kiss her, and went up to the Riding Club for his
+afternoon canter in the Park.
+
+So it came to pass, early in December, that Mrs. Weightman and her two
+daughters sailed for Europe, on their serious pleasure trip, even as
+it had been written in the book of Providence; and John Weightman, who
+had made the entry, was left to pass the rest of the winter with his
+son and heir in the brownstone mansion.
+
+They were comfortable enough. The machinery of the massive establishment
+ran as smoothly as a great electric dynamo. They were busy enough, too.
+John Weightman's plans and enterprises were complicated, though his
+principle of action was always simple--to get good value for every
+expenditure and effort. The banking-house of which he was the chief,
+the brain, the will, the absolutely controlling hand, was so admirably
+organized that the details of its direction took but little time. But
+the scores of other interests that radiated from it and were dependent
+upon it--or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, that contributed
+to its solidity and success--the many investments, industrial,
+political, benevolent, reformatory, ecclesiastical, that had made
+the name of Weightman well known and potent in city, church, and
+state, demanded much attention and careful steering, in order that
+each might produce the desired result. There were board meetings of
+corporations and hospitals, conferences in Wall Street and at Albany,
+consultations and committee meetings in the brownstone mansion.
+
+For a share in all this business and its adjuncts John Weightman had
+his son in training in one of the famous law firms of the city; for he
+held that banking itself is a simple affair, the only real difficulties
+of finance are on its legal side. Meantime he wished the young man to
+meet and know the men with whom he would have to deal when he became a
+partner in the house. So a couple of dinners were given in the mansion
+during December, after which the father called the son's attention to
+the fact that over a hundred million dollars had sat around the board.
+
+But on Christmas Eve father and son were dining together without
+guests, and their talk across the broad table, glittering with silver
+and cut glass, and softly lit by shaded candles, was intimate, though
+a little slow at times. The elder man was in rather a rare mood, more
+expansive and confidential than usual; and, when the coffee was brought
+in and they were left alone, he talked more freely of his personal
+plans and hopes than he had ever done before.
+
+"I feel very grateful to-night," said he, at last; "it must be
+something in the air of Christmas that gives me this feeling of
+thankfulness for the many divine mercies that have been bestowed upon
+me. All the principles by which I have tried to guide my life have
+been justified. I have never made the value of this salted almond by
+anything that the courts would not uphold, at least in the long run,
+and yet--or wouldn't it be truer to say and therefore?--my affairs
+have been wonderfully prospered. There's a great deal in that text
+'Honesty is the best'--but no, that's not from the Bible, after all,
+is it? Wait a moment; there is something of that kind, I know."
+
+"May I light a cigar, father," said Harold, turning away to hide a
+smile, "while you are remembering the text?"
+
+"Yes, certainly," answered the elder man, rather shortly; "you know I
+don't dislike the smell. But it is a wasteful, useless habit, and
+therefore I have never practised it. Nothing useless is worth while,
+that's my motto--nothing that does not bring the reward. Oh, now I
+recall the text, 'Verily I say unto you they have their reward.' I
+shall ask Doctor Snodgrass to preach a sermon on that verse some day."
+
+"Using you as an illustration?"
+
+"Well, not exactly that; but I could give him some good material from
+my own experience to prove the truth of Scripture. I can honestly say
+that there is not one of my charities that has not brought me in a
+good return, either in the increase of influence, the building up of
+credit, or the association with substantial people. Of course you have
+to be careful how you give, in order to secure the best results--no
+indiscriminate giving--no pennies in beggars' hats! It has been one of
+my principles always to use the same kind of judgment in charities
+that I use in my other affairs, and they have not disappointed me."
+
+"Even the check that you put in the plate when you take the offertory
+up the aisle on Sunday morning?"
+
+"Certainly; though there the influence is less direct; and I must
+confess that I have my doubts in regard to the collection for Foreign
+Missions. That always seems to me romantic and wasteful. You never
+hear from it in any definite way. They say the missionaries have done
+a good deal to open the way for trade; perhaps--but they have also
+gotten us into commercial and political difficulties. Yet I give to
+them--a little--it is a matter of conscience with me to identify
+myself with all the enterprises of the Church; it is the mainstay of
+social order and a prosperous civilization. But the best forms of
+benevolence are the well-established, organized ones here at home,
+where people can see them and know what they are doing."
+
+"You mean the ones that have a local habitation and a name."
+
+"Yes; they offer by far the safest return, though of course there is
+something gained by contributing to general funds. A public man can't
+afford to be without public spirit. But on the whole I prefer a
+building, or an endowment. There is a mutual advantage to a good name
+and a good institution in their connection in the public mind. It
+helps them both. Remember that, my boy. Of course at the beginning you
+will have to practise it in a small way; later, you will have larger
+opportunities. But try to put your gifts where they can be identified
+and do good all around. You'll see the wisdom of it in the long run."
+
+"I can see it already, sir, and the way you describe it looks
+amazingly wise and prudent. In other words, we must cast our bread on
+the waters in large loaves, carried by sound ships marked with the
+owner's name, so that the return freight will be sure to come back to
+us."
+
+The father laughed, but his eyes were frowning a little as if he
+suspected something irreverent under the respectful reply.
+
+"You put it humorously, but there's sense in what you say. Why not?
+God rules the sea; but He expects us to follow the laws of navigation
+and commerce. Why not take good care of your bread, even when you give
+it away?"
+
+"It's not for me to say why not--and yet I can think of cases--" The
+young man hesitated for a moment. His half-finished cigar had gone
+out. He rose and tossed it into the fire, in front of which he
+remained standing--a slender, eager, restless young figure, with a
+touch of hunger in the fine face, strangely like and unlike the
+father, at whom he looked with half-wistful curiosity.
+
+"The fact is, sir," he continued, "there is such a case in my mind
+now, and it is a good deal on my heart, too. So I thought of speaking
+to you about it to-night. You remember Tom Rollins, the Junior who was
+so good to me when I entered college?"
+
+The father nodded. He remembered very well indeed the annoying
+incidents of his son's first escapade, and how Rollins had stood by
+him and helped to avoid a public disgrace, and how a close friendship
+had grown between the two boys, so different in their fortunes.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I remember him. He was a promising young man. Has he
+succeeded?"
+
+"Not exactly--that is, not yet. His business has been going rather
+badly. He has a wife and little baby, you know. And now he has broken
+down,--something wrong with his lungs. The doctor says his only chance
+is a year or eighteen months in Colorado. I wish we could help him."
+
+"How much would it cost?"
+
+"Three or four thousand, perhaps, as a loan."
+
+"Does the doctor say he will get well?"
+
+"A fighting chance--the doctor says."
+
+The face of the older man changed subtly. Not a line was altered, but
+it seemed to have a different substance, as if it were carved out of
+some firm, imperishable stuff.
+
+"A fighting chance," he said, "may do for a speculation, but it is not
+a good investment. You owe something to young Rollins. Your grateful
+feeling does you credit. But don't overwork it. Send him three or four
+hundred, if you like. You'll never hear from it again, except in the
+letter of thanks. But for Heaven's sake don't be sentimental.
+Religion is not a matter of sentiment; it's a matter of principle."
+
+[Illustration: "It is not a good investment"]
+
+The face of the younger man changed now. But instead of becoming fixed
+and graven, it seemed to melt into life by the heat of an inward fire.
+His nostrils quivered with quick breath, his lips were curled.
+
+"Principle!" he said. "You mean principal--and interest too. Well,
+sir, you know best whether that is religion or not. But if it is,
+count me out, please. Tom saved me from going to the devil, six years
+ago; and I'll be damned if I don't help him to the best of my ability
+now."
+
+John Weightman looked at his son steadily. "Harold," he said at last,
+"you know I dislike violent language, and it never has any influence
+with me. If I could honestly approve of this proposition of yours, I'd
+let you have the money; but I can't; it's extravagant and useless. But
+you have your Christmas check for a thousand dollars coming to you
+to-morrow. You can use it as you please. I never interfere with your
+private affairs."
+
+"Thank you," said Harold. "Thank you very much! But there's another
+private affair. I want to get away from this life, this town, this
+house. It stifles me. You refused last summer when I asked you to let
+me go up to Grenfell's Mission on the Labrador. I could go now, at
+least as far as the Newfoundland Station. Have you changed your mind?"
+
+"Not at all. I think it is an exceedingly foolish enterprise. It would
+interrupt the career that I have marked out for you."
+
+"Well, then, here's a cheaper proposition. Algy Vanderhoof wants me to
+join him on his yacht with--well, with a little party--to cruise in
+the West Indies. Would you prefer that?"
+
+"Certainly not! The Vanderhoof set is wild and godless--I do not wish
+to see you keeping company with fools who walk in the broad and easy
+way that leads to perdition."
+
+"It is rather a hard choice," said the young man, with a short laugh,
+turning toward the door. "According to you there's very little
+difference--a fool's paradise or a fool's hell! Well, it's one or the
+other for me, and I'll toss up for it to-night: heads, I lose; tails,
+the devil wins. Anyway, I'm sick of this, and I'm out of it."
+
+"Harold," said the older man (and there was a slight tremor in his
+voice), "don't let us quarrel on Christmas Eve. All I want is to
+persuade you to think seriously of the duties and responsibilities
+to which God has called you--don't speak lightly of heaven and
+hell--remember, there is another life."
+
+The young man came back and laid his hand upon his father's shoulder.
+
+"Father," he said, "I want to remember it. I try to believe in it. But
+somehow or other, in this house, it all seems unreal to me. No doubt
+all you say is perfectly right and wise. I don't venture to argue
+against it, but I can't feel it--that's all. If I'm to have a soul,
+either to lose or to save, I must really live. Just now neither the
+present nor the future means anything to me. But surely we won't
+quarrel. I'm very grateful to you, and we'll part friends. Good-night,
+sir."
+
+The father held out his hand in silence. The heavy portière dropped
+noiselessly behind the son, and he went up the wide, curving stairway
+to his own room.
+
+Meantime John Weightman sat in his carved chair in the Jacobean
+dining-room. He felt strangely old and dull. The portraits of
+beautiful women by Lawrence and Reynolds and Raeburn, which had often
+seemed like real company to him, looked remote and uninteresting. He
+fancied something cold and almost unfriendly in their expression, as
+if they were staring through him or beyond him. They cared nothing for
+his principles, his hopes, his disappointments, his successes; they
+belonged to another world, in which he had no place. At this he felt
+a vague resentment, a sense of discomfort that he could not have
+defined or explained. He was used to being considered, respected,
+appreciated at his full value in every region, even in that of his own
+dreams.
+
+Presently he rang for the butler, telling him to close the house and
+not to sit up, and walked with lagging steps into the long library,
+where the shaded lamps were burning. His eye fell upon the low shelves
+full of costly books, but he had no desire to open them. Even the
+carefully chosen pictures that hung above them seemed to have lost
+their attraction. He paused for a moment before an idyll of Corot--a
+dance of nymphs around some forgotten altar in a vaporous glade--and
+looked at it curiously. There was something rapturous and serene about
+the picture, a breath of spring-time in the misty trees, a harmony
+of joy in the dancing figures, that wakened in him a feeling of
+half-pleasure and half-envy. It represented something that he had
+never known in his calculated, orderly life. He was dimly mistrustful
+of it.
+
+"It is certainly very beautiful," he thought, "but it is distinctly
+pagan; that altar is built to some heathen god. It does not fit into
+the scheme of a Christian life. I doubt whether it is consistent with
+the tone of my house. I will sell it this winter. It will bring three
+or four times what I paid for it. That was a good purchase, a very
+good bargain."
+
+He dropped into the revolving chair before his big library table.
+It was covered with pamphlets and reports of the various enterprises
+in which he was interested. There was a pile of newspaper clippings
+in which his name was mentioned with praise for his sustaining power
+as a pillar of finance, for his judicious benevolence, for his
+support of wise and prudent reform movements, for his discretion
+in making permanent public gifts--"the Weightman Charities," one very
+complaisant editor called them, as if they deserved classification as
+a distinct species.
+
+He turned the papers over listlessly. There was a description and a
+picture of the "Weightman Wing of the Hospital for Cripples," of
+which he was president; and an article on the new professor in the
+"Weightman Chair of Political Jurisprudence" in Jackson University,
+of which he was a trustee; and an illustrated account of the opening
+of the "Weightman Grammar-School" at Dulwich-on-the-Sound, where he
+had his legal residence for purposes of taxation.
+
+This last was perhaps the most carefully planned of all the Weightman
+Charities. He desired to win the confidence and support of his rural
+neighbors. It had pleased him much when the local newspaper had spoken
+of him as an ideal citizen and the logical candidate for the
+Governorship of the State; but upon the whole it seemed to him wiser
+to keep out of active politics. It would be easier and better to put
+Harold into the running, to have him sent to the Legislature from the
+Dulwich district, then to the national House, then to the Senate. Why
+not? The Weightman interests were large enough to need a direct
+representative and guardian at Washington.
+
+But to-night all these plans came back to him with dust upon them.
+They were dry and crumbling like forsaken habitations. The son upon
+whom his complacent ambition had rested had turned his back upon the
+mansion of his father's hopes. The break might not be final; and in
+any event there would be much to live for; the fortunes of the family
+would be secure. But the zest of it all would be gone if John
+Weightman had to give up the assurance of perpetuating his name and
+his principles in his son. It was a bitter disappointment, and he felt
+that he had not deserved it.
+
+He rose from the chair and paced the room with leaden feet. For the
+first time in his life his age was visibly upon him. His head was
+heavy and hot, and the thoughts that rolled in it were confused and
+depressing. Could it be that he had made a mistake in the principles
+of his existence? There was no argument in what Harold had said--it
+was almost childish--and yet it had shaken the elder man more deeply
+than he cared to show. It held a silent attack which touched him more
+than open criticism.
+
+Suppose the end of his life were nearer than he thought--the end
+must come some time--what if it were now? Had he not founded his
+house upon a rock? Had he not kept the Commandments? Was he not,
+"touching the law, blameless"? And beyond this, even if there were
+some faults in his character--and all men are sinners--yet he surely
+believed in the saving doctrines of religion--the forgiveness of
+sins, the resurrection of the body, the life everlasting. Yes, that
+was the true source of comfort, after all. He would read a bit in the
+Bible, as he did every night, and go to bed and to sleep.
+
+He went back to his chair at the library table. A strange weight of
+weariness rested upon him, but he opened the book at a familiar place,
+and his eyes fell upon the verse at the bottom of the page.
+
+"_Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth._"
+
+That had been the text of the sermon a few weeks before. Sleepily,
+heavily, he tried to fix his mind upon it and recall it. What was it
+that Doctor Snodgrass had said? Ah, yes--that it was a mistake to
+pause here in reading the verse. We must read on without a pause--_Lay
+not up treasures upon earth where moth and rust do corrupt and where
+thieves break through and steal_--that was the true doctrine. We may
+have treasures upon earth, but they must not be put into unsafe
+places, but into safe places. A most comforting doctrine! He had
+always followed it. Moths and rust and thieves had done no harm to his
+investments.
+
+John Weightman's drooping eyes turned to the next verse, at the top of
+the second column.
+
+"_But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven._"
+
+Now what had the Doctor said about that? How was it to be
+understood--in what sense--treasures--in heaven?
+
+The book seemed to float away from him. The light vanished. He
+wondered dimly if this could be Death, coming so suddenly, so quietly,
+so irresistibly. He struggled for a moment to hold himself up, and
+then sank slowly forward upon the table. His head rested upon his
+folded hands. He slipped into the unknown.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+How long afterward conscious life returned to him he did not know. The
+blank might have been an hour or a century. He knew only that
+something had happened in the interval. What it was he could not tell.
+He found great difficulty in catching the thread of his identity
+again. He felt that he was himself; but the trouble was to make his
+connections, to verify and place himself, to know who and where he
+was.
+
+At last it grew clear. John Weightman was sitting on a stone, not far
+from a road in a strange land.
+
+The road was not a formal highway, fenced and graded. It was more like
+a great travel-trace, worn by thousands of feet passing across the
+open country in the same direction. Down in the valley, into which he
+could look, the road seemed to form itself gradually out of many minor
+paths; little footways coming across the meadows, winding tracks
+following along beside the streams, faintly marked trails emerging
+from the woodlands. But on the hillside the threads were more firmly
+woven into one clear band of travel, though there were still a few dim
+paths joining it here and there, as if persons had been climbing up
+the hill by other ways and had turned at last to seek the road.
+
+From the edge of the hill, where John Weightman sat, he could see the
+travelers, in little groups or larger companies, gathering from time
+to time by the different paths, and making the ascent. They were all
+clothed in white, and the form of their garments was strange to him;
+it was like some old picture. They passed him, group after group,
+talking quietly together or singing; not moving in haste, but with a
+certain air of eagerness and joy as if they were glad to be on their
+way to an appointed place. They did not stay to speak to him, but they
+looked at him often and spoke to one another as they looked; and now
+and then one of them would smile and beckon him a friendly greeting,
+so that he felt they would like him to be with them.
+
+There was quite an interval between the groups; and he followed each
+of them with his eyes after it had passed, blanching the long ribbon
+of the road for a little transient space, rising and receding across
+the wide, billowy upland, among the rounded hillocks of aerial green
+and gold and lilac, until it came to the high horizon, and stood
+outlined for a moment, a tiny cloud of whiteness against the tender
+blue, before it vanished over the hill.
+
+For a long time he sat there watching and wondering. It was a very
+different world from that in which his mansion on the Avenue was
+built; and it looked strange to him, but most real--as real as
+anything he had ever seen. Presently he felt a strong desire to know
+what country it was and where the people were going. He had a faint
+premonition of what it must be, but he wished to be sure. So he rose
+from the stone where he was sitting, and came down through the short
+grass and the lavender flowers, toward a passing group of people. One
+of them turned to meet him, and held out his hand. It was an old man,
+under whose white beard and brows John Weightman thought he saw a
+suggestion of the face of the village doctor who had cared for him
+years ago, when he was a boy in the country.
+
+[Illustration: "Welcome! Will you come with us?"]
+
+"Welcome," said the old man. "Will you come with us?"
+
+"Where are you going?"
+
+"To the heavenly city, to see our mansions there."
+
+"And who are these with you?"
+
+"Strangers to me, until a little while ago; I know them better now.
+But you I have known for a long time, John Weightman. Don't you
+remember your old doctor?"
+
+"Yes," he cried--"yes; your voice has not changed at all. I'm glad
+indeed to see you, Doctor McLean, especially now. All this seems very
+strange to me, almost oppressive. I wonder if--but may I go with you,
+do you suppose?"
+
+"Surely," answered the doctor, with his familiar smile; "it will do
+you good. And you also must have a mansion in the city waiting for
+you--a fine one, too--are you not looking forward to it?"
+
+"Yes," replied the other, hesitating a moment; "yes--I believe it must
+be so, although I had not expected to see it so soon. But I will go
+with you, and we can talk by the way."
+
+The two men quickly caught up with the other people, and all went
+forward together along the road. The doctor had little to tell of his
+experience, for it had been a plain, hard life, uneventfully spent for
+others, and the story of the village was very simple. John Weightman's
+adventures and triumphs would have made a far richer, more imposing
+history, full of contacts with the great events and personages of the
+time. But somehow or other he did not care to speak much about it,
+walking on that wide heavenly moorland, under that tranquil, sunless
+arch of blue, in that free air of perfect peace, where the light was
+diffused without a shadow, as if the spirit of life in all things were
+luminous.
+
+There was only one person besides the doctor in that little company
+whom John Weightman had known before--an old bookkeeper who had spent
+his life over a desk, carefully keeping accounts--a rusty, dull little
+man, patient and narrow, whose wife had been in the insane asylum for
+twenty years and whose only child was a crippled daughter, for whose
+comfort and happiness he had toiled and sacrificed himself without
+stint. It was a surprise to find him here, as care-free and joyful as
+the rest.
+
+[Illustration: That free air of Perfect Peace]
+
+The lives of others in the company were revealed in brief glimpses as
+they talked together--a mother, early widowed, who had kept her little
+flock of children together and labored through hard and heavy years to
+bring them up in purity and knowledge--a Sister of Charity who had
+devoted herself to the nursing of poor folk who were being eaten to
+death by cancer--a schoolmaster whose heart and life had been poured
+into his quiet work of training boys for a clean and thoughtful
+manhood--a medical missionary who had given up a brilliant career in
+science to take the charge of a hospital in darkest Africa--a
+beautiful woman with silver hair who had resigned her dreams of love
+and marriage to care for an invalid father, and after his death had
+made her life a long, steady search for ways of doing kindnesses to
+others--a poet who had walked among the crowded tenements of the great
+city, bringing cheer and comfort not only by his songs, but by his
+wise and patient works of practical aid--a paralyzed woman who had
+lain for thirty years upon her bed, helpless but not hopeless,
+succeeding by a miracle of courage in her single aim, never to
+complain, but always to impart a bit of her joy and peace to every one
+who came near her. All these, and other persons like them, people of
+little consideration in the world, but now seemingly all full of great
+contentment and an inward gladness that made their steps light, were
+in the company that passed along the road, talking together of things
+past and things to come, and singing now and then with clear voices
+from which the veil of age and sorrow was lifted.
+
+John Weightman joined in some of the songs--which were familiar to him
+from their use in the church--at first with a touch of hesitation, and
+then more confidently. For as they went on his sense of strangeness
+and fear at his new experience diminished, and his thoughts began to
+take on their habitual assurance and complacency. Were not these
+people going to the Celestial City? And was not he in his right place
+among them? He had always looked forward to this journey. If they were
+sure, each one, of finding a mansion there, could not he be far more
+sure? His life had been more fruitful than theirs. He had been a
+leader, a founder of new enterprises, a pillar of Church and State, a
+prince of the House of Israel. Ten talents had been given him, and he
+had made them twenty. His reward would be proportionate. He was glad
+that his companions were going to find fit dwellings prepared for
+them; but he thought also with a certain pleasure of the surprise that
+some of them would feel when they saw his appointed mansion.
+
+So they came to the summit of the moorland and looked over into the
+world beyond. It was a vast, green plain, softly rounded like a
+shallow vase, and circled with hills of amethyst. A broad, shining
+river flowed through it, and many silver threads of water were woven
+across the green; and there were borders of tall trees on the banks of
+the river, and orchards full of roses abloom along the little streams,
+and in the midst of all stood the city, white and wonderful and
+radiant.
+
+When the travelers saw it they were filled with awe and joy. They
+passed over the little streams and among the orchards quickly and
+silently, as if they feared to speak lest the city should vanish.
+
+The wall of the city was very low, a child could see over it, for it
+was made only of precious stones, which are never large. The gate of
+the city was not like a gate at all, for it was not barred with iron
+or wood, but only a single pearl, softly gleaming, marked the place
+where the wall ended and the entrance lay open.
+
+A person stood there whose face was bright and grave, and whose robe
+was like the flower of the lily, not a woven fabric, but a living
+texture. "Come in," he said to the company of travelers; "you are at
+your journey's end, and your mansions are ready for you."
+
+John Weightman hesitated, for he was troubled by a doubt. Suppose that
+he was not really, like his companions, at his journey's end, but only
+transported for a little while out of the regular course of his life
+into this mysterious experience? Suppose that, after all, he had not
+really passed through the door of death, like these others, but only
+through the door of dreams, and was walking in a vision, a living man
+among the blessed dead. Would it be right for him to go with them
+into the heavenly city? Would it not be a deception, a desecration, a
+deep and unforgivable offense? The strange, confusing question had no
+reason in it, as he very well knew; for if he was dreaming, then it
+was all a dream; but if his companions were real, then he also was
+with them in reality, and if they had died then he must have died too.
+Yet he could not rid his mind of the sense that there was a difference
+between them and him, and it made him afraid to go on. But, as he
+paused and turned, the Keeper of the Gate looked straight and deep
+into his eyes, and beckoned to him. Then he knew that it was not only
+right but necessary that he should enter.
+
+They passed from street to street among fair and spacious dwellings,
+set in amaranthine gardens, and adorned with an infinitely varied
+beauty of divine simplicity. The mansions differed in size, in shape,
+in charm: each one seemed to have its own personal look of loveliness;
+yet all were alike in fitness to their place, in harmony with one
+another, in the addition which each made to the singular and tranquil
+splendor of the city.
+
+As the little company came, one by one, to the mansions which were
+prepared for them, and their Guide beckoned to the happy inhabitant to
+enter in and take possession, there was a soft murmur of joy, half
+wonder and half recognition; as if the new and immortal dwelling were
+crowned with the beauty of surprise, lovelier and nobler than all the
+dreams of it had been; and yet also as if it were touched with the
+beauty of the familiar, the remembered, the long-loved. One after
+another the travelers were led to their own mansions, and went in
+gladly; and from within, through the open doorways, came sweet voices
+of welcome, and low laughter, and song.
+
+At last there was no one left with the Guide but the two old friends,
+Doctor McLean and John Weightman. They were standing in front of one
+of the largest and fairest of the houses, whose garden glowed softly
+with radiant flowers. The Guide laid his hand upon the doctor's
+shoulder.
+
+"This is for you," he said. "Go in; there is no more pain here, no
+more death, nor sorrow, nor tears; for your old enemies are all
+conquered. But all the good that you have done for others, all the
+help that you have given, all the comfort that you have brought, all
+the strength and love that you have bestowed upon the suffering, are
+here; for we have built them all into this mansion for you."
+
+The good man's face was lighted with a still joy. He clasped his old
+friend's hand closely, and whispered: "How wonderful it is! Go on,
+you will come to your mansion next, it is not far away, and we shall
+see each other again soon, very soon."
+
+So he went through the garden, and into the music within. The Keeper
+of the Gate turned to John Weightman with level, quiet, searching
+eyes. Then he asked, gravely:
+
+"Where do you wish me to lead you now?"
+
+"To see my own mansion," answered the man, with half-concealed
+excitement. "Is there not one here for me? You may not let me enter it
+yet, perhaps, for I must confess to you that I am only--"
+
+"I know," said the Keeper of the Gate--"I know it all. You are John
+Weightman."
+
+"Yes," said the man, more firmly than he had spoken at first, for it
+gratified him that his name was known. "Yes, I am John Weightman,
+Senior Warden of St. Petronius' Church. I wish very much to see my
+mansion here, if only for a moment. I believe that you have one for
+me. Will you take me to it?"
+
+The Keeper of the Gate drew a little book from the breast of his robe
+and turned over the pages.
+
+"Certainly," he said, with a curious look at the man, "your name is
+here; and you shall see your mansion if you will follow me."
+
+It seemed as if they must have walked miles and miles, through the
+vast city, passing street after street of houses larger and smaller,
+of gardens richer and poorer, but all full of beauty and delight. They
+came into a kind of suburb, where there were many small cottages, with
+plots of flowers, very lowly, but bright and fragrant. Finally they
+reached an open field, bare and lonely-looking. There were two or
+three little bushes in it, without flowers, and the grass was sparse
+and thin. In the center of the field was a tiny hut, hardly big enough
+for a shepherd's shelter. It looked as if it had been built of
+discarded things, scraps and fragments of other buildings, put
+together with care and pains, by some one who had tried to make the
+most of cast-off material. There was something pitiful and shamefaced
+about the hut. It shrank and drooped and faded in its barren field,
+and seemed to cling only by sufferance to the edge of the splendid
+city.
+
+"This," said the Keeper of the Gate, standing still and speaking with
+a low, distinct voice--"this is your mansion, John Weightman."
+
+An almost intolerable shock of grieved wonder and indignation choked
+the man for a moment so that he could not say a word. Then he turned
+his face away from the poor little hut and began to remonstrate
+eagerly with his companion.
+
+"Surely, sir," he stammered, "you must be in error about this. There
+is something wrong--some other John Weightman--a confusion of
+names--the book must be mistaken."
+
+"There is no mistake," said the Keeper of the Gate, very calmly; "here
+is your name, the record of your title and your possessions in this
+place."
+
+"But how could such a house be prepared for me," cried the man, with a
+resentful tremor in his voice--"for me, after my long and faithful
+service? Is this a suitable mansion for one so well known and devoted?
+Why is it so pitifully small and mean? Why have you not built it large
+and fair, like the others?"
+
+"That is all the material you sent us."
+
+"What!"
+
+"We have used all the material that you sent us," repeated the Keeper
+of the Gate.
+
+"Now I know that you are mistaken," cried the man, with growing
+earnestness, "for all my life long I have been doing things that must
+have supplied you with material. Have you not heard that I have built
+a school-house; the wing of a hospital; two--yes, three--small
+churches, and the greater part of a large one, the spire of St.
+Petro--"
+
+The Keeper of the Gate lifted his hand.
+
+"Wait," he said; "we know all these things. They were not ill done.
+But they were all marked and used as foundation for the name and
+mansion of John Weightman in the world. Did you not plan them for
+that?"
+
+"Yes," answered the man, confused and taken aback, "I confess that
+I thought often of them in that way. Perhaps my heart was set upon
+that too much. But there are other things--my endowment for the
+college--my steady and liberal contributions to all the established
+charities--my support of every respectable--"
+
+"Wait," said the Keeper of the Gate again. "Were not all these
+carefully recorded on earth where they would add to your credit? They
+were not foolishly done. Verily, you have had your reward for them.
+Would you be paid twice?"
+
+"No," cried the man, with deepening dismay, "I dare not claim that. I
+acknowledge that I considered my own interest too much. But surely not
+altogether. You have said that these things were not foolishly done.
+They accomplished some good in the world. Does not that count for
+something?"
+
+"Yes," answered the Keeper of the Gate, "it counts in the world--where
+you counted it. But it does not belong to you here. We have saved and
+used everything that you sent us. This is the mansion prepared for
+you."
+
+As he spoke, his look grew deeper and more searching, like a flame of
+fire. John Weightman could not endure it. It seemed to strip him naked
+and wither him. He sank to the ground under a crushing weight of
+shame, covering his eyes with his hands and cowering face downward
+upon the stones. Dimly through the trouble of his mind he felt their
+hardness and coldness.
+
+"Tell me, then," he cried, brokenly, "since my life has been so little
+worth, how came I here at all?"
+
+"Through the mercy of the King"--the answer was like the soft tolling
+of a bell.
+
+"And how have I earned it?" he murmured.
+
+"It is never earned; it is only given," came the clear, low reply.
+
+"But how have I failed so wretchedly," he asked, "in all the purpose
+of my life? What could I have done better? What is it that counts
+here?"
+
+"Only that which is truly given," answered the bell-like voice. "Only
+that good which is done for the love of doing it. Only those plans in
+which the welfare of others is the master thought. Only those labors
+in which the sacrifice is greater than the reward. Only those gifts in
+which the giver forgets himself."
+
+The man lay silent. A great weakness, an unspeakable despondency and
+humiliation were upon him. But the face of the Keeper of the Gate was
+infinitely tender as he bent over him.
+
+"Think again, John Weightman. Has there been nothing like that in your
+life?"
+
+"Nothing," he sighed. "If there ever were such things, it must have
+been long ago--they were all crowded out--I have forgotten them."
+
+There was an ineffable smile on the face of the Keeper of the Gate,
+and his hand made the sign of the cross over the bowed head as he
+spoke gently:
+
+"These are the things that the King never forgets; and because there
+were a few of them in your life, you have a little place here."
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The sense of coldness and hardness under John Weightman's hands grew
+sharper and more distinct. The feeling of bodily weariness and
+lassitude weighed upon him, but there was a calm, almost a lightness,
+in his heart as he listened to the fading vibrations of the silvery
+bell-tones. The chimney clock on the mantel had just ended the last
+stroke of seven as he lifted his head from the table. Thin, pale
+strips of the city morning were falling into the room through the
+narrow partings of the heavy curtains.
+
+What was it that had happened to him? Had he been ill? Had he died
+and come to life again? Or had he only slept, and had his soul gone
+visiting in dreams? He sat for some time, motionless, not lost, but
+finding himself in thought. Then he took a narrow book from the table
+drawer, wrote a check, and tore it out.
+
+He went slowly up the stairs, knocked very softly at his son's door,
+and, hearing no answer, entered without noise. Harold was asleep, his
+bare arm thrown above his head, and his eager face relaxed in peace.
+His father looked at him a moment with strangely shining eyes, and
+then tiptoed quietly to the writing-desk, found a pencil and a sheet
+of paper, and wrote rapidly:
+
+"My dear boy, here is what you asked me for; do what you like with it,
+and ask for more if you need it. If you are still thinking of that
+work with Grenfell, we'll talk it over to-day after church. I want to
+know your heart better; and if I have made mistakes--"
+
+[Illustration: "God give us a good Christmas together"]
+
+A slight noise made him turn his head. Harold was sitting up in bed
+with wide-open eyes.
+
+"Father!" he cried, "is that you?"
+
+"Yes, my son," answered John Weightman; "I've come back--I mean I've
+come up--no, I mean come in--well, here I am, and God give us a good
+Christmas together."
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Mansion
+
+Author: Henry Van Dyke
+
+Illustrator: Elizabeth Shippen Green
+
+Release Date: December 15, 2011 [EBook #38312]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANSION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jen Haines, Suzanne Shell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="450" height="704" alt="Book Cover" title="Book Cover" />
+</div>
+
+<h1>The Mansion</h1>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="450" height="722" alt="[See page 57
+&quot;BUT HOW HAVE I FAILED SO WRETCHEDLY?&quot;" title="" />
+<h5>[See page 57</h5>
+<h4>&quot;BUT HOW HAVE I FAILED SO WRETCHEDLY?&quot;</h4>
+<h4>&nbsp;</h4>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/tp.jpg" width="400" height="629" alt="Title Page" title="Title Page" />
+</div>
+<h1>THE MANSION</h1>
+
+<h2>BY</h2>
+<h2><span class="smcap">Henry van Dyke</span></h2>
+
+<h3>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY</h3>
+<h2>ELIZABETH SHIPPEN GREEN</h2>
+
+<h4>Illustration: Publisher Logo</h4>
+
+<h2>HARPER &amp; BROTHERS PUBLISHERS</h2>
+<h2>NEW YORK AND LONDON . M . C . M . X . I</h2>
+
+<h4>COPYRIGHT, 1910, 1911, BY HARPER &amp; BROTHERS</h4>
+<hr class="narrow" />
+
+<h4>PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</h4>
+<h4>PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1911</h4>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/gs01.jpg" width="450" height="229" alt="Man with hands raised as if in prayer" title="Man with hands raised as if in prayer" />
+</div>
+
+<h1>The Mansion</h1>
+
+<div class="wrap_area">
+<img src="images/drop_t.jpg" width="100" height="178" alt="T" title="T" />
+ <div class="shape_wrap">
+ <div style="width: 102px;" ></div>
+ <div style="width: 102px;" ></div>
+ <div style="width: 25px;" ></div>
+ <div style="width: 25px;" ></div>
+
+</div>
+
+
+<p class="noindent"><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class = "smcap">here</span> was an air of calm
+and reserved opulence about
+the Weightman mansion that
+spoke not of money squandered,
+but of wealth prudently applied.
+Standing on a corner of the Avenue no
+longer fashionable for residence, it looked
+upon the swelling tide of business with
+an expression of complacency and half-disdain.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum2"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg&nbsp;2]</a></span></p>
+<p class="noindent">The house was not beautiful. There was
+nothing in its straight front of chocolate-colored
+stone, its heavy cornices, its broad,
+staring windows of plate glass, its carved
+and bronze-bedecked mahogany doors at
+the top of the wide stoop, to charm the eye
+or fascinate the imagination. But it was
+eminently respectable, and in its way imposing.
+It seemed to say that the glittering
+shops of the jewelers, the milliners, the confectioners,
+the florists, the picture-dealers,
+the furriers, the makers of rare and costly
+antiquities, retail traders in luxuries of life,
+were beneath the notice of a house that had
+its foundations in the high finance, and was
+built literally and figuratively in the shadow
+of St. Petronius' Church.</p>
+<span class="pagenum2"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg&nbsp;3]</a></span>
+<p class="noindent">At the same time there was something
+self-pleased and congratulatory in the way
+in which the mansion held its own amid the
+changing neighborhood. It almost seemed
+to be lifted up a little, among the tall buildings
+near at hand, as if it felt the rising
+value of the land on which it stood.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>John Weightman was like the house into
+which he had built himself thirty years ago,
+and in which his ideals and ambitions were
+incrusted. He was a self-made man. But
+in making himself he had chosen a highly
+esteemed pattern and worked according to
+the approved rules. There was nothing irregular,
+questionable, flamboyant about
+him. He was solid, correct, and justly
+successful.</p>
+
+<p>His minor tastes, of course, had been
+carefully kept up to date. At the proper
+time, pictures by the Barbizon masters,
+old English plate and portraits, bronzes by
+Barye and marbles by Rodin, Persian carpets
+and Chinese porcelains, had been introduced
+to the mansion. It contained a
+Louis Quinze reception-room, an Empire
+<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>drawing-room, a Jacobean dining-room,
+and various apartments dimly reminiscent
+of the styles of furniture affected by deceased
+monarchs. That the hallways were
+too short for the historic perspective did
+not make much difference. American decorative
+art is <i>capable de tout</i>, it absorbs all
+periods. Of each period Mr. Weightman
+wished to have something of the best. He
+understood its value, present as a certificate,
+and prospective as an investment.</p>
+
+<p>It was only in the architecture of his
+town house that he remained conservative,
+immovable, one might almost say Early-Victorian-Christian.
+His country house at
+Dulwich-on-the-Sound was a palace of the
+Italian Renaissance. But in town he adhered
+to an architecture which had moral
+associations, the Nineteenth-Century-Brownstone
+epoch. It was a symbol of his
+social position, his religious doctrine, and
+even, in a way, of his business creed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"A man of fixed principles," he would
+say, "should express them in the looks of
+his house. New York changes its domestic
+architecture too rapidly. It is like divorce.
+It is not dignified. I don't like it. Extravagance
+and fickleness are advertised in
+most of these new houses. I wish to be
+known for different qualities. Dignity and
+prudence are the things that people trust.
+Every one knows that I can afford to live
+in the house that suits me. It is a guarantee
+to the public. It inspires confidence. It
+helps my influence. There is a text in the
+Bible about 'a house that hath foundations.'
+That is the proper kind of a mansion for a
+solid man."</p>
+
+<p>Harold Weightman had often listened to
+his father discoursing in this fashion on the
+fundamental principles of life, and always
+with a divided mind. He admired immensely
+his father's talents and the single-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>minded
+energy with which he improved
+them. But in the paternal philosophy there
+was something that disquieted and oppressed
+the young man, and made him gasp
+inwardly for fresh air and free action.</p>
+
+<p>At times, during his college course and
+his years at the law school, he had yielded
+to this impulse and broken away&mdash;now
+toward extravagance and dissipation, and
+then, when the reaction came, toward a
+romantic devotion to work among the poor.
+He had felt his father's disapproval for both
+of these forms of imprudence; but it was
+never expressed in a harsh or violent way,
+always with a certain tolerant patience,
+such as one might show for the mistakes
+and vagaries of the very young. John
+Weightman was not hasty, impulsive, inconsiderate,
+even toward his own children.
+With them, as with the rest of the world,
+he felt that he had a reputation to main<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>tain,
+a theory to vindicate. He could afford
+to give them time to see that he was
+absolutely right.</p>
+
+<p>One of his favorite Scripture quotations
+was, "Wait on the Lord." He had applied
+it to real estate and to people, with profitable
+results.</p>
+
+<p>But to human persons the sensation of
+being waited for is not always agreeable.
+Sometimes, especially with the young, it
+produces a vague restlessness, a dumb resentment,
+which is increased by the fact
+that one can hardly explain or justify it.
+Of this John Weightman was not conscious.
+It lay beyond his horizon. He did not take
+it into account in the plan of life which he
+made for himself and for his family as the
+sharers and inheritors of his success.</p>
+
+<p>"Father plays us," said Harold, in a
+moment of irritation, to his mother, "like
+pieces in a game of chess."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"My dear," said that lady, whose faith
+in her husband was religious, "you ought
+not to speak so impatiently. At least he
+wins the game. He is one of the most
+respected men in New York. And he is
+very generous, too."</p>
+
+<p>"I wish he would be more generous in
+letting us be ourselves," said the young
+man. "He always has something in view
+for us and expects to move us up to it."</p>
+
+<p>"But isn't it always for our benefit?"
+replied his mother. "Look what a position
+we have. No one can say there is any taint
+on our money. There are no rumors about
+your father. He has kept the laws of God
+and of man. He has never made any mistakes."</p>
+
+<p>Harold got up from his chair and poked
+the fire. Then he came back to the ample,
+well-gowned, firm-looking lady, and sat
+beside her on the sofa. He took her hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>
+gently and looked at the two rings&mdash;a thin
+band of yellow gold, and a small solitaire
+diamond&mdash;which kept their place on her
+third finger in modest dignity, as if not
+shamed, but rather justified, by the splendor
+of the emerald which glittered beside them.</p>
+
+<p>"Mother," he said, "you have a wonderful
+hand. And father made no mistake
+when he won you. But are you sure
+he has always been so inerrant?"</p>
+
+<p>"Harold," she exclaimed, a little stiffly,
+"what do you mean? His life is an open
+book."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh," he answered, "I don't mean
+anything bad, mother dear. I know the
+governor's life is an open book&mdash;a ledger,
+if you like, kept in the best bookkeeping
+hand, and always ready for inspection&mdash;every
+page correct, and showing a handsome
+balance. But isn't it a mistake not
+to allow us to make our own mistakes, to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>
+learn for ourselves, to live our own lives?
+Must we be always working for 'the balance,'
+in one thing or another? I want to
+be myself&mdash;to get outside of this everlasting,
+profitable 'plan'&mdash;to let myself go,
+and lose myself for a while at least&mdash;to do
+the things that I want to do, just because
+I want to do them."</p>
+
+<p>"My boy," said his mother, anxiously,
+"you are not going to do anything wrong
+or foolish? You know the falsehood of
+that old proverb about wild oats."</p>
+
+<p>He threw back his head and laughed.
+"Yes, mother," he answered, "I know it
+well enough. But in California, you
+know, the wild oats are one of the most
+valuable crops. They grow all over the
+hillsides and keep the cattle and the horses
+alive. But that wasn't what I meant&mdash;to
+sow wild oats. Say to pick wild flowers,
+if you like, or even to chase wild geese&mdash;to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>
+do something that seems good to me just
+for its own sake, not for the sake of wages
+of one kind or another. I feel like a hired
+man, in the service of this magnificent
+mansion&mdash;say in training for father's place
+as majordomo. I'd like to get out some
+way, to feel free&mdash;perhaps to do something
+for others."</p>
+
+<p>The young man's voice hesitated a little.
+"Yes, it sounds like cant, I know, but
+sometimes I feel as if I'd like to do some
+good in the world, if father only wouldn't
+insist upon God's putting it into the ledger."</p>
+
+<p>His mother moved uneasily, and a slight
+look of bewilderment came into her face.</p>
+
+<p>"Isn't that almost irreverent?" she
+asked. "Surely the righteous must have
+their reward. And your father is good.
+See how much he gives to all the established
+charities, how many things he has
+founded. He's always thinking of others,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>
+and planning for them. And surely, for
+us, he does everything. How well he has
+planned this trip to Europe for me and
+the girls&mdash;the court-presentation at Berlin,
+the season on the Riviera, the visits in
+England with the Plumptons and the Halverstones.
+He says Lord Halverstone has
+the finest old house in Sussex, pure Elizabethan,
+and all the old customs are kept up,
+too&mdash;family prayers every morning for all
+the domestics. By-the-way, you know his
+son Bertie, I believe."</p>
+
+<p>Harold smiled a little to himself as he
+answered: "Yes, I fished at Catalina Island
+last June with the Honorable Ethelbert;
+he's rather a decent chap, in spite of his ingrowing
+mind. But you?&mdash;mother, you
+are simply magnificent! You are father's
+masterpiece." The young man leaned over
+to kiss her, and went up to the Riding Club
+for his afternoon canter in the Park.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>So it came to pass, early in December,
+that Mrs. Weightman and her two daughters
+sailed for Europe, on their serious
+pleasure trip, even as it had been written
+in the book of Providence; and John Weightman,
+who had made the entry, was left to
+pass the rest of the winter with his son and
+heir in the brownstone mansion.</p>
+
+<p>They were comfortable enough. The
+machinery of the massive establishment
+ran as smoothly as a great electric dynamo.
+They were busy enough, too. John Weightman's
+plans and enterprises were complicated,
+though his principle of action was
+always simple&mdash;to get good value for every
+expenditure and effort. The banking-house
+of which he was the chief, the brain, the will,
+the absolutely controlling hand, was so admirably
+organized that the details of its
+direction took but little time. But the
+scores of other interests that radiated from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>
+it and were dependent upon it&mdash;or perhaps
+it would be more accurate to say, that contributed
+to its solidity and success&mdash;the
+many investments, industrial, political, benevolent,
+reformatory, ecclesiastical, that
+had made the name of Weightman well
+known and potent in city, church, and
+state, demanded much attention and careful
+steering, in order that each might produce
+the desired result. There were board meetings
+of corporations and hospitals, conferences
+in Wall Street and at Albany,
+consultations and committee meetings in
+the brownstone mansion.</p>
+
+<p>For a share in all this business and its
+adjuncts John Weightman had his son in
+training in one of the famous law firms
+of the city; for he held that banking itself
+is a simple affair, the only real difficulties
+of finance are on its legal side. Meantime
+he wished the young man to meet and know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>
+the men with whom he would have to deal
+when he became a partner in the house.
+So a couple of dinners were given in the
+mansion during December, after which the
+father called the son's attention to the fact
+that over a hundred million dollars had sat
+around the board.</p>
+
+<p>But on Christmas Eve father and son
+were dining together without guests, and
+their talk across the broad table, glittering
+with silver and cut glass, and softly lit by
+shaded candles, was intimate, though a
+little slow at times. The elder man was
+in rather a rare mood, more expansive and
+confidential than usual; and, when the
+coffee was brought in and they were left
+alone, he talked more freely of his personal
+plans and hopes than he had ever done
+before.</p>
+
+<p>"I feel very grateful to-night," said
+he, at last; "it must be something in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>
+air of Christmas that gives me this feeling
+of thankfulness for the many divine mercies
+that have been bestowed upon me. All the
+principles by which I have tried to guide
+my life have been justified. I have never
+made the value of this salted almond by
+anything that the courts would not uphold,
+at least in the long run, and yet&mdash;or wouldn't
+it be truer to say and therefore?&mdash;my affairs
+have been wonderfully prospered. There's
+a great deal in that text 'Honesty is the
+best'&mdash;but no, that's not from the Bible,
+after all, is it? Wait a moment; there is
+something of that kind, I know."</p>
+
+<p>"May I light a cigar, father," said Harold,
+turning away to hide a smile, "while
+you are remembering the text?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, certainly," answered the elder
+man, rather shortly; "you know I don't
+dislike the smell. But it is a wasteful,
+useless habit, and therefore I have never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>
+practised it. Nothing useless is worth
+while, that's my motto&mdash;nothing that does
+not bring the reward. Oh, now I recall
+the text, 'Verily I say unto you they have
+their reward.' I shall ask Doctor Snodgrass
+to preach a sermon on that verse
+some day."</p>
+
+<p>"Using you as an illustration?"</p>
+
+<p>"Well, not exactly that; but I could
+give him some good material from my own
+experience to prove the truth of Scripture.
+I can honestly say that there is not one of
+my charities that has not brought me in a
+good return, either in the increase of influence,
+the building up of credit, or the
+association with substantial people. Of
+course you have to be careful how you give,
+in order to secure the best results&mdash;no indiscriminate
+giving&mdash;no pennies in beggars'
+hats! It has been one of my principles
+always to use the same kind of judgment in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
+charities that I use in my other affairs, and
+they have not disappointed me."</p>
+
+<p>"Even the check that you put in the
+plate when you take the offertory up the
+aisle on Sunday morning?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly; though there the influence
+is less direct; and I must confess that I
+have my doubts in regard to the collection
+for Foreign Missions. That always seems
+to me romantic and wasteful. You never
+hear from it in any definite way. They
+say the missionaries have done a good deal
+to open the way for trade; perhaps&mdash;but
+they have also gotten us into commercial
+and political difficulties. Yet I give to
+them&mdash;a little&mdash;it is a matter of conscience
+with me to identify myself with all the enterprises
+of the Church; it is the mainstay of
+social order and a prosperous civilization.
+But the best forms of benevolence are the
+well-established, organized ones here at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>
+home, where people can see them and know
+what they are doing."</p>
+
+<p>"You mean the ones that have a local
+habitation and a name."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes; they offer by far the safest return,
+though of course there is something gained
+by contributing to general funds. A public
+man can't afford to be without public spirit.
+But on the whole I prefer a building, or an
+endowment. There is a mutual advantage
+to a good name and a good institution in
+their connection in the public mind. It
+helps them both. Remember that, my
+boy. Of course at the beginning you will
+have to practise it in a small way; later,
+you will have larger opportunities. But
+try to put your gifts where they can be
+identified and do good all around. You'll
+see the wisdom of it in the long run."</p>
+
+<p>"I can see it already, sir, and the way
+you describe it looks amazingly wise and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
+prudent. In other words, we must cast
+our bread on the waters in large loaves,
+carried by sound ships marked with the
+owner's name, so that the return freight will
+be sure to come back to us."</p>
+
+<p>The father laughed, but his eyes were
+frowning a little as if he suspected something
+irreverent under the respectful reply.</p>
+
+<p>"You put it humorously, but there's
+sense in what you say. Why not? God
+rules the sea; but He expects us to follow
+the laws of navigation and commerce. Why
+not take good care of your bread, even when
+you give it away?"</p>
+
+<p>"It's not for me to say why not&mdash;and yet
+I can think of cases&mdash;" The young man
+hesitated for a moment. His half-finished
+cigar had gone out. He rose and tossed it
+into the fire, in front of which he remained
+standing&mdash;a slender, eager, restless young
+figure, with a touch of hunger in the fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>
+face, strangely like and unlike the father, at
+whom he looked with half-wistful curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>"The fact is, sir," he continued, "there
+is such a case in my mind now, and it
+is a good deal on my heart, too. So I
+thought of speaking to you about it to-night.
+You remember Tom Rollins, the Junior who
+was so good to me when I entered college?"</p>
+
+<p>The father nodded. He remembered very
+well indeed the annoying incidents of his
+son's first escapade, and how Rollins had
+stood by him and helped to avoid a public
+disgrace, and how a close friendship had
+grown between the two boys, so different
+in their fortunes.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he said, "I remember him. He
+was a promising young man. Has he succeeded?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not exactly&mdash;that is, not yet. His
+business has been going rather badly. He
+has a wife and little baby, you know. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
+now he has broken down,&mdash;something wrong
+with his lungs. The doctor says his only
+chance is a year or eighteen months in Colorado.
+I wish we could help him."</p>
+
+<p>"How much would it cost?"</p>
+
+<p>"Three or four thousand, perhaps, as
+a loan."</p>
+
+<p>"Does the doctor say he will get well?"</p>
+
+<p>"A fighting chance&mdash;the doctor says."</p>
+
+<p>The face of the older man changed subtly.
+Not a line was altered, but it seemed to have
+a different substance, as if it were carved out
+of some firm, imperishable stuff.</p>
+
+<p>"A fighting chance," he said, "may do
+for a speculation, but it is not a good investment.
+You owe something to young Rollins.
+Your grateful feeling does you credit. But
+don't overwork it. Send him three or four
+hundred, if you like. You'll never hear from
+it again, except in the letter of thanks. But
+for Heaven's sake don't be sentimental.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>
+Religion is not a matter of sentiment; it's a
+matter of principle."</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/gs02.jpg" width="400" height="378" alt="&quot;It is not a good investment&quot;" title="&quot;It is not a good investment&quot;" />
+</div>
+
+<p>The face of the younger man changed
+now. But instead of becoming fixed and
+graven, it seemed to melt into life by the
+heat of an inward fire. His nostrils quivered
+with quick breath, his lips were curled.</p>
+
+<p>"Principle!" he said. "You mean principal&mdash;and
+interest too. Well, sir, you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>
+know best whether that is religion or not.
+But if it is, count me out, please. Tom
+saved me from going to the devil, six years
+ago; and I'll be damned if I don't help him
+to the best of my ability now."</p>
+
+<p>John Weightman looked at his son steadily.
+"Harold," he said at last, "you
+know I dislike violent language, and it
+never has any influence with me. If I
+could honestly approve of this proposition
+of yours, I'd let you have the money; but I
+can't; it's extravagant and useless. But
+you have your Christmas check for a thousand
+dollars coming to you to-morrow. You
+can use it as you please. I never interfere
+with your private affairs."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," said Harold. "Thank
+you very much! But there's another private
+affair. I want to get away from this
+life, this town, this house. It stifles me.
+You refused last summer when I asked you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
+to let me go up to Grenfell's Mission on the
+Labrador. I could go now, at least as far
+as the Newfoundland Station. Have you
+changed your mind?"</p>
+
+<p>"Not at all. I think it is an exceedingly
+foolish enterprise. It would interrupt the
+career that I have marked out for you."</p>
+
+<p>"Well, then, here's a cheaper proposition.
+Algy Vanderhoof wants me to join him on
+his yacht with&mdash;well, with a little party&mdash;to
+cruise in the West Indies. Would you
+prefer that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly not! The Vanderhoof set
+is wild and godless&mdash;I do not wish to see
+you keeping company with fools who walk
+in the broad and easy way that leads to
+perdition."</p>
+
+<p>"It is rather a hard choice," said the
+young man, with a short laugh, turning
+toward the door. "According to you
+there's very little difference&mdash;a fool's para<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>dise
+or a fool's hell! Well, it's one or the
+other for me, and I'll toss up for it to-night:
+heads, I lose; tails, the devil wins. Anyway,
+I'm sick of this, and I'm out of
+it."</p>
+
+<p>"Harold," said the older man (and there
+was a slight tremor in his voice), "don't let
+us quarrel on Christmas Eve. All I want
+is to persuade you to think seriously of the
+duties and responsibilities to which God has
+called you&mdash;don't speak lightly of heaven
+and hell&mdash;remember, there is another life."</p>
+
+<p>The young man came back and laid his
+hand upon his father's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"Father," he said, "I want to remember
+it. I try to believe in it. But somehow
+or other, in this house, it all seems unreal
+to me. No doubt all you say is perfectly
+right and wise. I don't venture to argue
+against it, but I can't feel it&mdash;that's all.
+If I'm to have a soul, either to lose or to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>
+save, I must really live. Just now neither
+the present nor the future means anything
+to me. But surely we won't quarrel. I'm
+very grateful to you, and we'll part friends.
+Good-night, sir."</p>
+
+<p>The father held out his hand in silence.
+The heavy portière dropped noiselessly behind
+the son, and he went up the wide,
+curving stairway to his own room.</p>
+
+<p>Meantime John Weightman sat in his
+carved chair in the Jacobean dining-room.
+He felt strangely old and dull. The portraits
+of beautiful women by Lawrence and
+Reynolds and Raeburn, which had often
+seemed like real company to him, looked
+remote and uninteresting. He fancied something
+cold and almost unfriendly in their
+expression, as if they were staring through
+him or beyond him. They cared nothing
+for his principles, his hopes, his disappointments,
+his successes; they belonged to an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>other
+world, in which he had no place. At
+this he felt a vague resentment, a sense of
+discomfort that he could not have defined
+or explained. He was used to being considered,
+respected, appreciated at his full
+value in every region, even in that of his
+own dreams.</p>
+
+<p>Presently he rang for the butler, telling
+him to close the house and not to sit up, and
+walked with lagging steps into the long
+library, where the shaded lamps were burning.
+His eye fell upon the low shelves full
+of costly books, but he had no desire to
+open them. Even the carefully chosen
+pictures that hung above them seemed to
+have lost their attraction. He paused for a
+moment before an idyll of Corot&mdash;a dance
+of nymphs around some forgotten altar in a
+vaporous glade&mdash;and looked at it curiously.
+There was something rapturous and serene
+about the picture, a breath of spring-time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
+in the misty trees, a harmony of joy in the
+dancing figures, that wakened in him a
+feeling of half-pleasure and half-envy. It
+represented something that he had never
+known in his calculated, orderly life. He
+was dimly mistrustful of it.</p>
+
+<p>"It is certainly very beautiful," he
+thought, "but it is distinctly pagan; that
+altar is built to some heathen god. It does
+not fit into the scheme of a Christian life. I
+doubt whether it is consistent with the tone
+of my house. I will sell it this winter. It
+will bring three or four times what I paid for
+it. That was a good purchase, a very good
+bargain."</p>
+
+<p>He dropped into the revolving chair before
+his big library table. It was covered
+with pamphlets and reports of the various
+enterprises in which he was interested.
+There was a pile of newspaper clippings in
+which his name was mentioned with praise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
+for his sustaining power as a pillar of finance,
+for his judicious benevolence, for his support
+of wise and prudent reform movements, for
+his discretion in making permanent public
+gifts&mdash;"the Weightman Charities," one
+very complaisant editor called them, as if
+they deserved classification as a distinct
+species.</p>
+
+<p>He turned the papers over listlessly.
+There was a description and a picture of
+the "Weightman Wing of the Hospital for
+Cripples," of which he was president; and
+an article on the new professor in the
+"Weightman Chair of Political Jurisprudence"
+in Jackson University, of which he
+was a trustee; and an illustrated account
+of the opening of the "Weightman Grammar-School"
+at Dulwich-on-the-Sound,
+where he had his legal residence for purposes
+of taxation.</p>
+
+<p>This last was perhaps the most carefully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
+planned of all the Weightman Charities.
+He desired to win the confidence and support
+of his rural neighbors. It had pleased him
+much when the local newspaper had spoken
+of him as an ideal citizen and the logical
+candidate for the Governorship of the State;
+but upon the whole it seemed to him wiser
+to keep out of active politics. It would be
+easier and better to put Harold into the
+running, to have him sent to the Legislature
+from the Dulwich district, then to the
+national House, then to the Senate. Why
+not? The Weightman interests were large
+enough to need a direct representative and
+guardian at Washington.</p>
+
+<p>But to-night all these plans came back
+to him with dust upon them. They were
+dry and crumbling like forsaken habitations.
+The son upon whom his complacent ambition
+had rested had turned his back upon
+the mansion of his father's hopes. The break<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>
+might not be final; and in any event there
+would be much to live for; the fortunes of
+the family would be secure. But the zest
+of it all would be gone if John Weightman
+had to give up the assurance of perpetuating
+his name and his principles in his son. It
+was a bitter disappointment, and he felt that
+he had not deserved it.</p>
+
+<p>He rose from the chair and paced the
+room with leaden feet. For the first time
+in his life his age was visibly upon him. His
+head was heavy and hot, and the thoughts
+that rolled in it were confused and depressing.
+Could it be that he had made a mistake
+in the principles of his existence?
+There was no argument in what Harold had
+said&mdash;it was almost childish&mdash;and yet it had
+shaken the elder man more deeply than he
+cared to show. It held a silent attack which
+touched him more than open criticism.</p>
+
+<p>Suppose the end of his life were nearer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>
+than he thought&mdash;the end must come some
+time&mdash;what if it were now? Had he not
+founded his house upon a rock? Had he
+not kept the Commandments? Was he not,
+"touching the law, blameless"? And beyond
+this, even if there were some faults in
+his character&mdash;and all men are sinners&mdash;yet
+he surely believed in the saving doctrines
+of religion&mdash;the forgiveness of sins, the
+resurrection of the body, the life everlasting.
+Yes, that was the true source of comfort,
+after all. He would read a bit in the Bible,
+as he did every night, and go to bed and to
+sleep.</p>
+
+<p>He went back to his chair at the library
+table. A strange weight of weariness rested
+upon him, but he opened the book at a
+familiar place, and his eyes fell upon the
+verse at the bottom of the page.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon
+earth.</i>"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>That had been the text of the sermon a
+few weeks before. Sleepily, heavily, he
+tried to fix his mind upon it and recall it.
+What was it that Doctor Snodgrass had
+said? Ah, yes&mdash;that it was a mistake to
+pause here in reading the verse. We must
+read on without a pause&mdash;<i>Lay not up treasures
+upon earth where moth and rust do corrupt
+and where thieves break through and
+steal</i>&mdash;that was the true doctrine. We may
+have treasures upon earth, but they must
+not be put into unsafe places, but into safe
+places. A most comforting doctrine! He
+had always followed it. Moths and rust and
+thieves had done no harm to his investments.</p>
+
+<p>John Weightman's drooping eyes turned
+to the next verse, at the top of the second
+column.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>But lay up for yourselves treasures in
+heaven.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Now what had the Doctor said about that?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>
+How was it to be understood&mdash;in what sense&mdash;treasures&mdash;in
+heaven?</p>
+
+<p>The book seemed to float away from him.
+The light vanished. He wondered dimly
+if this could be Death, coming so suddenly,
+so quietly, so irresistibly. He struggled
+for a moment to hold himself up, and
+then sank slowly forward upon the table.
+His head rested upon his folded hands. He
+slipped into the unknown.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>How long afterward conscious life returned
+to him he did not know. The blank
+might have been an hour or a century. He
+knew only that something had happened in
+the interval. What it was he could not tell.
+He found great difficulty in catching the
+thread of his identity again. He felt that he
+was himself; but the trouble was to make
+his connections, to verify and place himself,
+to know who and where he was.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>At last it grew clear. John Weightman
+was sitting on a stone, not far from a road
+in a strange land.</p>
+
+<p>The road was not a formal highway,
+fenced and graded. It was more like a
+great travel-trace, worn by thousands of
+feet passing across the open country in the
+same direction. Down in the valley, into
+which he could look, the road seemed to
+form itself gradually out of many minor
+paths; little footways coming across the
+meadows, winding tracks following along
+beside the streams, faintly marked trails
+emerging from the woodlands. But on the
+hillside the threads were more firmly woven
+into one clear band of travel, though there
+were still a few dim paths joining it here and
+there, as if persons had been climbing up
+the hill by other ways and had turned at last
+to seek the road.</p>
+
+<p>From the edge of the hill, where John<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>
+Weightman sat, he could see the travelers,
+in little groups or larger companies, gathering
+from time to time by the different paths,
+and making the ascent. They were all
+clothed in white, and the form of their
+garments was strange to him; it was like
+some old picture. They passed him, group
+after group, talking quietly together or
+singing; not moving in haste, but with a
+certain air of eagerness and joy as if they
+were glad to be on their way to an appointed
+place. They did not stay to speak to him,
+but they looked at him often and spoke to
+one another as they looked; and now and
+then one of them would smile and beckon
+him a friendly greeting, so that he felt they
+would like him to be with them.</p>
+
+<p>There was quite an interval between the
+groups; and he followed each of them with
+his eyes after it had passed, blanching
+the long ribbon of the road for a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+transient space, rising and receding across
+the wide, billowy upland, among the rounded
+hillocks of aerial green and gold and
+lilac, until it came to the high horizon, and
+stood outlined for a moment, a tiny cloud of
+whiteness against the tender blue, before it
+vanished over the hill.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time he sat there watching and
+wondering. It was a very different world
+from that in which his mansion on the
+Avenue was built; and it looked strange to
+him, but most real&mdash;as real as anything he
+had ever seen. Presently he felt a strong
+desire to know what country it was and
+where the people were going. He had a
+faint premonition of what it must be, but he
+wished to be sure. So he rose from the
+stone where he was sitting, and came down
+through the short grass and the lavender
+flowers, toward a passing group of people.
+One of them turned to meet him, and held<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>
+out his hand. It was an old man, under
+whose white beard and brows John Weightman
+thought he saw a suggestion of the
+face of the village doctor who had cared for
+him years ago, when he was a boy in the
+country.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;">
+<img src="images/gs03.jpg" width="350" height="329" alt="&quot;Welcome! Will you come with us?&quot;" title="&quot;Welcome! Will you come with us?&quot;" />
+</div>
+
+<p>"Welcome," said the old man. "Will
+you come with us?"</p>
+
+<p>"Where are you going?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"To the heavenly city, to see our mansions
+there."</p>
+
+<p>"And who are these with you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Strangers to me, until a little while
+ago; I know them better now. But you I
+have known for a long time, John Weightman.
+Don't you remember your old doctor?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," he cried&mdash;"yes; your voice has
+not changed at all. I'm glad indeed to see
+you, Doctor McLean, especially now. All
+this seems very strange to me, almost oppressive.
+I wonder if&mdash;but may I go with you,
+do you suppose?"</p>
+
+<p>"Surely," answered the doctor, with his
+familiar smile; "it will do you good. And
+you also must have a mansion in the city
+waiting for you&mdash;a fine one, too&mdash;are you not
+looking forward to it?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," replied the other, hesitating a
+moment; "yes&mdash;I believe it must be so,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>
+although I had not expected to see it so
+soon. But I will go with you, and we can
+talk by the way."</p>
+
+<p>The two men quickly caught up with the
+other people, and all went forward together
+along the road. The doctor had little to
+tell of his experience, for it had been a plain,
+hard life, uneventfully spent for others, and
+the story of the village was very simple.
+John Weightman's adventures and triumphs
+would have made a far richer, more imposing
+history, full of contacts with the great
+events and personages of the time. But
+somehow or other he did not care to speak
+much about it, walking on that wide heavenly
+moorland, under that tranquil, sunless
+arch of blue, in that free air of perfect peace,
+where the light was diffused without a
+shadow, as if the spirit of life in all things
+were luminous.</p>
+
+<p>There was only one person besides the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
+doctor in that little company whom John
+Weightman had known before&mdash;an old bookkeeper
+who had spent his life over a desk,
+carefully keeping accounts&mdash;a rusty, dull
+little man, patient and narrow, whose wife
+had been in the insane asylum for twenty
+years and whose only child was a crippled
+daughter, for whose comfort and happiness
+he had toiled and sacrificed himself without
+stint. It was a surprise to find him here, as
+care-free and joyful as the rest.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/gs04.jpg" width="400" height="273" alt="That free air of Perfect Peace" title="That free air of Perfect Peace" />
+</div>
+
+<p>The lives of others in the company were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>
+revealed in brief glimpses as they talked
+together&mdash;a mother, early widowed, who
+had kept her little flock of children together
+and labored through hard and heavy years
+to bring them up in purity and knowledge&mdash;a
+Sister of Charity who had devoted herself
+to the nursing of poor folk who were being
+eaten to death by cancer&mdash;a schoolmaster
+whose heart and life had been poured into his
+quiet work of training boys for a clean and
+thoughtful manhood&mdash;a medical missionary
+who had given up a brilliant career in science
+to take the charge of a hospital in darkest
+Africa&mdash;a beautiful woman with silver hair
+who had resigned her dreams of love and
+marriage to care for an invalid father, and
+after his death had made her life a long,
+steady search for ways of doing kindnesses
+to others&mdash;a poet who had walked among
+the crowded tenements of the great city,
+bringing cheer and comfort not only by his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
+songs, but by his wise and patient works of
+practical aid&mdash;a paralyzed woman who had
+lain for thirty years upon her bed, helpless
+but not hopeless, succeeding by a miracle of
+courage in her single aim, never to complain,
+but always to impart a bit of her joy and
+peace to every one who came near her. All
+these, and other persons like them, people
+of little consideration in the world, but now
+seemingly all full of great contentment and
+an inward gladness that made their steps
+light, were in the company that passed along
+the road, talking together of things past and
+things to come, and singing now and then
+with clear voices from which the veil of age
+and sorrow was lifted.</p>
+
+<p>John Weightman joined in some of the
+songs&mdash;which were familiar to him from their
+use in the church&mdash;at first with a touch of
+hesitation, and then more confidently. For
+as they went on his sense of strangeness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>
+fear at his new experience diminished, and
+his thoughts began to take on their habitual
+assurance and complacency. Were not these
+people going to the Celestial City? And
+was not he in his right place among them?
+He had always looked forward to this journey.
+If they were sure, each one, of finding
+a mansion there, could not he be far more
+sure? His life had been more fruitful than
+theirs. He had been a leader, a founder of
+new enterprises, a pillar of Church and State,
+a prince of the House of Israel. Ten talents
+had been given him, and he had made them
+twenty. His reward would be proportionate.
+He was glad that his companions
+were going to find fit dwellings prepared for
+them; but he thought also with a certain
+pleasure of the surprise that some of them
+would feel when they saw his appointed
+mansion.</p>
+
+<p>So they came to the summit of the moor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>land
+and looked over into the world beyond.
+It was a vast, green plain, softly rounded like
+a shallow vase, and circled with hills of
+amethyst. A broad, shining river flowed
+through it, and many silver threads of water
+were woven across the green; and there were
+borders of tall trees on the banks of the
+river, and orchards full of roses abloom
+along the little streams, and in the midst of
+all stood the city, white and wonderful and
+radiant.</p>
+
+<p>When the travelers saw it they were filled
+with awe and joy. They passed over the
+little streams and among the orchards
+quickly and silently, as if they feared to
+speak lest the city should vanish.</p>
+
+<p>The wall of the city was very low, a child
+could see over it, for it was made only of
+precious stones, which are never large. The
+gate of the city was not like a gate at all,
+for it was not barred with iron or wood, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
+only a single pearl, softly gleaming, marked
+the place where the wall ended and the entrance
+lay open.</p>
+
+<p>A person stood there whose face was
+bright and grave, and whose robe was like
+the flower of the lily, not a woven fabric, but
+a living texture. "Come in," he said to
+the company of travelers; "you are at your
+journey's end, and your mansions are ready
+for you."</p>
+
+<p>John Weightman hesitated, for he was
+troubled by a doubt. Suppose that he was
+not really, like his companions, at his journey's
+end, but only transported for a little
+while out of the regular course of his life
+into this mysterious experience? Suppose
+that, after all, he had not really passed
+through the door of death, like these others,
+but only through the door of dreams, and
+was walking in a vision, a living man among
+the blessed dead. Would it be right for him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>
+to go with them into the heavenly city?
+Would it not be a deception, a desecration,
+a deep and unforgivable offense? The
+strange, confusing question had no reason
+in it, as he very well knew; for if he was
+dreaming, then it was all a dream; but if his
+companions were real, then he also was with
+them in reality, and if they had died then
+he must have died too. Yet he could not
+rid his mind of the sense that there was a
+difference between them and him, and it
+made him afraid to go on. But, as he
+paused and turned, the Keeper of the Gate
+looked straight and deep into his eyes, and
+beckoned to him. Then he knew that it
+was not only right but necessary that he
+should enter.</p>
+
+<p>They passed from street to street among
+fair and spacious dwellings, set in amaranthine
+gardens, and adorned with an infinitely
+varied beauty of divine simplicity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
+The mansions differed in size, in shape, in
+charm: each one seemed to have its own
+personal look of loveliness; yet all were
+alike in fitness to their place, in harmony
+with one another, in the addition which each
+made to the singular and tranquil splendor
+of the city.</p>
+
+<p>As the little company came, one by one, to
+the mansions which were prepared for them,
+and their Guide beckoned to the happy
+inhabitant to enter in and take possession,
+there was a soft murmur of joy, half wonder
+and half recognition; as if the new and
+immortal dwelling were crowned with the
+beauty of surprise, lovelier and nobler than
+all the dreams of it had been; and yet also
+as if it were touched with the beauty of
+the familiar, the remembered, the long-loved.
+One after another the travelers were
+led to their own mansions, and went in
+gladly; and from within, through the open<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+doorways, came sweet voices of welcome,
+and low laughter, and song.</p>
+
+<p>At last there was no one left with the
+Guide but the two old friends, Doctor McLean
+and John Weightman. They were
+standing in front of one of the largest and
+fairest of the houses, whose garden glowed
+softly with radiant flowers. The Guide laid
+his hand upon the doctor's shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>"This is for you," he said. "Go in;
+there is no more pain here, no more death,
+nor sorrow, nor tears; for your old enemies
+are all conquered. But all the good that
+you have done for others, all the help that
+you have given, all the comfort that you
+have brought, all the strength and love that
+you have bestowed upon the suffering, are
+here; for we have built them all into this
+mansion for you."</p>
+
+<p>The good man's face was lighted with
+a still joy. He clasped his old friend's hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>
+closely, and whispered: "How wonderful
+it is! Go on, you will come to your mansion
+next, it is not far away, and we shall see
+each other again soon, very soon."</p>
+
+<p>So he went through the garden, and into
+the music within. The Keeper of the Gate
+turned to John Weightman with level, quiet,
+searching eyes. Then he asked, gravely:</p>
+
+<p>"Where do you wish me to lead you
+now?"</p>
+
+<p>"To see my own mansion," answered the
+man, with half-concealed excitement. "Is
+there not one here for me? You may not
+let me enter it yet, perhaps, for I must confess
+to you that I am only&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I know," said the Keeper of the Gate&mdash;"I
+know it all. You are John Weightman."</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," said the man, more firmly than
+he had spoken at first, for it gratified him
+that his name was known. "Yes, I am
+John Weightman, Senior Warden of St.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>
+Petronius' Church. I wish very much to see
+my mansion here, if only for a moment. I
+believe that you have one for me. Will you
+take me to it?"</p>
+
+<p>The Keeper of the Gate drew a little book
+from the breast of his robe and turned over
+the pages.</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly," he said, with a curious look
+at the man, "your name is here; and you
+shall see your mansion if you will follow
+me."</p>
+
+<p>It seemed as if they must have walked
+miles and miles, through the vast city, passing
+street after street of houses larger and
+smaller, of gardens richer and poorer, but all
+full of beauty and delight. They came into
+a kind of suburb, where there were many
+small cottages, with plots of flowers, very
+lowly, but bright and fragrant. Finally
+they reached an open field, bare and lonely-looking.
+There were two or three little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>
+bushes in it, without flowers, and the grass
+was sparse and thin. In the center of the
+field was a tiny hut, hardly big enough for a
+shepherd's shelter. It looked as if it had
+been built of discarded things, scraps and
+fragments of other buildings, put together
+with care and pains, by some one who had
+tried to make the most of cast-off material.
+There was something pitiful and shamefaced
+about the hut. It shrank and drooped and
+faded in its barren field, and seemed to
+cling only by sufferance to the edge of the
+splendid city.</p>
+
+<p>"This," said the Keeper of the Gate,
+standing still and speaking with a low,
+distinct voice&mdash;"this is your mansion, John
+Weightman."</p>
+
+<p>An almost intolerable shock of grieved
+wonder and indignation choked the man for
+a moment so that he could not say a word.
+Then he turned his face away from the poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+little hut and began to remonstrate eagerly
+with his companion.</p>
+
+<p>"Surely, sir," he stammered, "you must
+be in error about this. There is something
+wrong&mdash;some other John Weightman&mdash;a
+confusion of names&mdash;the book must be
+mistaken."</p>
+
+<p>"There is no mistake," said the Keeper
+of the Gate, very calmly; "here is your
+name, the record of your title and your
+possessions in this place."</p>
+
+<p>"But how could such a house be prepared
+for me," cried the man, with a resentful
+tremor in his voice&mdash;"for me, after my long
+and faithful service? Is this a suitable
+mansion for one so well known and devoted?
+Why is it so pitifully small and mean? Why
+have you not built it large and fair, like the
+others?"</p>
+
+<p>"That is all the material you sent us."</p>
+
+<p>"What!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"We have used all the material that you
+sent us," repeated the Keeper of the Gate.</p>
+
+<p>"Now I know that you are mistaken,"
+cried the man, with growing earnestness,
+"for all my life long I have been doing things
+that must have supplied you with material.
+Have you not heard that I have built a
+school-house; the wing of a hospital; two&mdash;yes,
+three&mdash;small churches, and the greater
+part of a large one, the spire of St. Petro&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>The Keeper of the Gate lifted his hand.</p>
+
+<p>"Wait," he said; "we know all these
+things. They were not ill done. But
+they were all marked and used as foundation
+for the name and mansion of John
+Weightman in the world. Did you not plan
+them for that?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered the man, confused and
+taken aback, "I confess that I thought often
+of them in that way. Perhaps my heart was
+set upon that too much. But there are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>
+other things&mdash;my endowment for the college&mdash;my
+steady and liberal contributions
+to all the established charities&mdash;my support
+of every respectable&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Wait," said the Keeper of the Gate
+again. "Were not all these carefully recorded
+on earth where they would add to
+your credit? They were not foolishly done.
+Verily, you have had your reward for them.
+Would you be paid twice?"</p>
+
+<p>"No," cried the man, with deepening
+dismay, "I dare not claim that. I acknowledge
+that I considered my own interest too
+much. But surely not altogether. You
+have said that these things were not foolishly
+done. They accomplished some good in
+the world. Does not that count for something?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes," answered the Keeper of the Gate,
+"it counts in the world&mdash;where you counted
+it. But it does not belong to you here. We<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>
+have saved and used everything that you sent
+us. This is the mansion prepared for you."</p>
+
+<p>As he spoke, his look grew deeper and more
+searching, like a flame of fire. John Weightman
+could not endure it. It seemed to strip
+him naked and wither him. He sank to the
+ground under a crushing weight of shame,
+covering his eyes with his hands and cowering
+face downward upon the stones. Dimly
+through the trouble of his mind he felt their
+hardness and coldness.</p>
+
+<p>"Tell me, then," he cried, brokenly,
+"since my life has been so little worth, how
+came I here at all?"</p>
+
+<p>"Through the mercy of the King"&mdash;the
+answer was like the soft tolling of a bell.</p>
+
+<p>"And how have I earned it?" he murmured.</p>
+
+<p>"It is never earned; it is only given,"
+came the clear, low reply.</p>
+
+<p>"But how have I failed so wretchedly,"
+he asked, "in all the purpose of my life?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>
+What could I have done better? What is it
+that counts here?"</p>
+
+<p>"Only that which is truly given," answered
+the bell-like voice. "Only that good
+which is done for the love of doing it. Only
+those plans in which the welfare of others is
+the master thought. Only those labors in
+which the sacrifice is greater than the reward.
+Only those gifts in which the giver
+forgets himself."</p>
+
+<p>The man lay silent. A great weakness,
+an unspeakable despondency and humiliation
+were upon him. But the face of the
+Keeper of the Gate was infinitely tender as
+he bent over him.</p>
+
+<p>"Think again, John Weightman. Has
+there been nothing like that in your life?"</p>
+
+<p>"Nothing," he sighed. "If there ever
+were such things, it must have been long
+ago&mdash;they were all crowded out&mdash;I have
+forgotten them."<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>There was an ineffable smile on the face
+of the Keeper of the Gate, and his hand
+made the sign of the cross over the bowed
+head as he spoke gently:</p>
+
+<p>"These are the things that the King never
+forgets; and because there were a few of them
+in your life, you have a little place here."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>The sense of coldness and hardness under
+John Weightman's hands grew sharper and
+more distinct. The feeling of bodily weariness
+and lassitude weighed upon him, but
+there was a calm, almost a lightness, in his
+heart as he listened to the fading vibrations
+of the silvery bell-tones. The chimney clock
+on the mantel had just ended the last stroke
+of seven as he lifted his head from the table.
+Thin, pale strips of the city morning were
+falling into the room through the narrow
+partings of the heavy curtains.</p>
+
+<p>What was it that had happened to him?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
+Had he been ill? Had he died and come
+to life again? Or had he only slept, and
+had his soul gone visiting in dreams? He
+sat for some time, motionless, not lost, but
+finding himself in thought. Then he took
+a narrow book from the table drawer, wrote
+a check, and tore it out.</p>
+
+<p>He went slowly up the stairs, knocked
+very softly at his son's door, and, hearing no
+answer, entered without noise. Harold was
+asleep, his bare arm thrown above his head,
+and his eager face relaxed in peace. His
+father looked at him a moment with strangely
+shining eyes, and then tiptoed quietly to
+the writing-desk, found a pencil and a sheet
+of paper, and wrote rapidly:</p>
+
+<p>"My dear boy, here is what you asked
+me for; do what you like with it, and ask for
+more if you need it. If you are still thinking
+of that work with Grenfell, we'll talk it over
+to-day after church. I want to know your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>
+heart better; and if I have made mistakes&mdash;"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
+<img src="images/gs05.jpg" width="400" height="278" alt="&quot;God give us a good Christmas together&quot;" title="&quot;God give us a good Christmas together&quot;" />
+</div>
+
+<p>A slight noise made him turn his head.
+Harold was sitting up in bed with wide-open
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>"Father!" he cried, "is that you?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, my son," answered John Weightman;
+"I've come back&mdash;I mean I've come
+up&mdash;no, I mean come in&mdash;well, here I am,
+and God give us a good Christmas together."</p>
+
+<p>THE END</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,1386 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Mansion
+
+Author: Henry Van Dyke
+
+Illustrator: Elizabeth Shippen Green
+
+Release Date: December 15, 2011 [EBook #38312]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANSION ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jen Haines, Suzanne Shell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
+file was produced from images generously made available
+by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ The Mansion
+
+ [Illustration: [See page 57 "BUT HOW HAVE I FAILED SO WRETCHEDLY?"]
+
+
+
+
+ THE MANSION
+
+ BY
+ HENRY VAN DYKE
+
+ WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+ ELIZABETH SHIPPEN GREEN
+
+ [Illustration]
+
+ HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
+ NEW YORK AND LONDON . M . C . M . X . I
+
+
+ COPYRIGHT 1910, 1911, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
+
+
+ PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+ PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1911
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+The Mansion
+
+
+There was an air of calm and reserved opulence about the Weightman
+mansion that spoke not of money squandered, but of wealth prudently
+applied. Standing on a corner of the Avenue no longer fashionable for
+residence, it looked upon the swelling tide of business with an
+expression of complacency and half-disdain.
+
+The house was not beautiful. There was nothing in its straight front
+of chocolate-colored stone, its heavy cornices, its broad, staring
+windows of plate glass, its carved and bronze-bedecked mahogany doors
+at the top of the wide stoop, to charm the eye or fascinate the
+imagination. But it was eminently respectable, and in its way
+imposing. It seemed to say that the glittering shops of the jewelers,
+the milliners, the confectioners, the florists, the picture-dealers,
+the furriers, the makers of rare and costly antiquities, retail
+traders in luxuries of life, were beneath the notice of a house that
+had its foundations in the high finance, and was built literally and
+figuratively in the shadow of St. Petronius' Church.
+
+At the same time there was something self-pleased and congratulatory
+in the way in which the mansion held its own amid the changing
+neighborhood. It almost seemed to be lifted up a little, among the
+tall buildings near at hand, as if it felt the rising value of the
+land on which it stood.
+
+John Weightman was like the house into which he had built himself
+thirty years ago, and in which his ideals and ambitions were
+incrusted. He was a self-made man. But in making himself he had chosen
+a highly esteemed pattern and worked according to the approved rules.
+There was nothing irregular, questionable, flamboyant about him. He
+was solid, correct, and justly successful.
+
+His minor tastes, of course, had been carefully kept up to date. At
+the proper time, pictures by the Barbizon masters, old English plate
+and portraits, bronzes by Barye and marbles by Rodin, Persian carpets
+and Chinese porcelains, had been introduced to the mansion. It
+contained a Louis Quinze reception-room, an Empire drawing-room, a
+Jacobean dining-room, and various apartments dimly reminiscent of the
+styles of furniture affected by deceased monarchs. That the hallways
+were too short for the historic perspective did not make much
+difference. American decorative art is _capable de tout_, it absorbs
+all periods. Of each period Mr. Weightman wished to have something of
+the best. He understood its value, present as a certificate, and
+prospective as an investment.
+
+It was only in the architecture of his town house that he remained
+conservative, immovable, one might almost say Early-Victorian-Christian.
+His country house at Dulwich-on-the-Sound was a palace of the Italian
+Renaissance. But in town he adhered to an architecture which had moral
+associations, the Nineteenth-Century-Brownstone epoch. It was a symbol
+of his social position, his religious doctrine, and even, in a way,
+of his business creed.
+
+"A man of fixed principles," he would say, "should express them in the
+looks of his house. New York changes its domestic architecture too
+rapidly. It is like divorce. It is not dignified. I don't like it.
+Extravagance and fickleness are advertised in most of these new
+houses. I wish to be known for different qualities. Dignity and
+prudence are the things that people trust. Every one knows that I can
+afford to live in the house that suits me. It is a guarantee to the
+public. It inspires confidence. It helps my influence. There is a text
+in the Bible about 'a house that hath foundations.' That is the proper
+kind of a mansion for a solid man."
+
+Harold Weightman had often listened to his father discoursing in this
+fashion on the fundamental principles of life, and always with a
+divided mind. He admired immensely his father's talents and the
+single-minded energy with which he improved them. But in the paternal
+philosophy there was something that disquieted and oppressed the young
+man, and made him gasp inwardly for fresh air and free action.
+
+At times, during his college course and his years at the law school,
+he had yielded to this impulse and broken away--now toward
+extravagance and dissipation, and then, when the reaction came, toward
+a romantic devotion to work among the poor. He had felt his father's
+disapproval for both of these forms of imprudence; but it was never
+expressed in a harsh or violent way, always with a certain tolerant
+patience, such as one might show for the mistakes and vagaries of the
+very young. John Weightman was not hasty, impulsive, inconsiderate,
+even toward his own children. With them, as with the rest of the
+world, he felt that he had a reputation to maintain, a theory to
+vindicate. He could afford to give them time to see that he was
+absolutely right.
+
+One of his favorite Scripture quotations was, "Wait on the Lord." He
+had applied it to real estate and to people, with profitable results.
+
+But to human persons the sensation of being waited for is not always
+agreeable. Sometimes, especially with the young, it produces a vague
+restlessness, a dumb resentment, which is increased by the fact that
+one can hardly explain or justify it. Of this John Weightman was not
+conscious. It lay beyond his horizon. He did not take it into account
+in the plan of life which he made for himself and for his family as
+the sharers and inheritors of his success.
+
+"Father plays us," said Harold, in a moment of irritation, to his
+mother, "like pieces in a game of chess."
+
+"My dear," said that lady, whose faith in her husband was religious,
+"you ought not to speak so impatiently. At least he wins the game. He
+is one of the most respected men in New York. And he is very generous,
+too."
+
+"I wish he would be more generous in letting us be ourselves," said
+the young man. "He always has something in view for us and expects to
+move us up to it."
+
+"But isn't it always for our benefit?" replied his mother. "Look what
+a position we have. No one can say there is any taint on our money.
+There are no rumors about your father. He has kept the laws of God and
+of man. He has never made any mistakes."
+
+Harold got up from his chair and poked the fire. Then he came back to
+the ample, well-gowned, firm-looking lady, and sat beside her on the
+sofa. He took her hand gently and looked at the two rings--a thin
+band of yellow gold, and a small solitaire diamond--which kept their
+place on her third finger in modest dignity, as if not shamed, but
+rather justified, by the splendor of the emerald which glittered
+beside them.
+
+"Mother," he said, "you have a wonderful hand. And father made no
+mistake when he won you. But are you sure he has always been so
+inerrant?"
+
+"Harold," she exclaimed, a little stiffly, "what do you mean? His life
+is an open book."
+
+"Oh," he answered, "I don't mean anything bad, mother dear. I know the
+governor's life is an open book--a ledger, if you like, kept in the
+best bookkeeping hand, and always ready for inspection--every page
+correct, and showing a handsome balance. But isn't it a mistake not to
+allow us to make our own mistakes, to learn for ourselves, to live
+our own lives? Must we be always working for 'the balance,' in one
+thing or another? I want to be myself--to get outside of this
+everlasting, profitable 'plan'--to let myself go, and lose myself for
+a while at least--to do the things that I want to do, just because I
+want to do them."
+
+"My boy," said his mother, anxiously, "you are not going to do
+anything wrong or foolish? You know the falsehood of that old proverb
+about wild oats."
+
+He threw back his head and laughed. "Yes, mother," he answered, "I
+know it well enough. But in California, you know, the wild oats are
+one of the most valuable crops. They grow all over the hillsides and
+keep the cattle and the horses alive. But that wasn't what I meant--to
+sow wild oats. Say to pick wild flowers, if you like, or even to chase
+wild geese--to do something that seems good to me just for its own
+sake, not for the sake of wages of one kind or another. I feel like a
+hired man, in the service of this magnificent mansion--say in training
+for father's place as majordomo. I'd like to get out some way, to feel
+free--perhaps to do something for others."
+
+The young man's voice hesitated a little. "Yes, it sounds like cant, I
+know, but sometimes I feel as if I'd like to do some good in the
+world, if father only wouldn't insist upon God's putting it into the
+ledger."
+
+His mother moved uneasily, and a slight look of bewilderment came into
+her face.
+
+"Isn't that almost irreverent?" she asked. "Surely the righteous must
+have their reward. And your father is good. See how much he gives to
+all the established charities, how many things he has founded. He's
+always thinking of others, and planning for them. And surely, for
+us, he does everything. How well he has planned this trip to Europe
+for me and the girls--the court-presentation at Berlin, the season
+on the Riviera, the visits in England with the Plumptons and the
+Halverstones. He says Lord Halverstone has the finest old house
+in Sussex, pure Elizabethan, and all the old customs are kept up,
+too--family prayers every morning for all the domestics. By-the-way,
+you know his son Bertie, I believe."
+
+Harold smiled a little to himself as he answered: "Yes, I fished at
+Catalina Island last June with the Honorable Ethelbert; he's rather a
+decent chap, in spite of his ingrowing mind. But you?--mother, you are
+simply magnificent! You are father's masterpiece." The young man
+leaned over to kiss her, and went up to the Riding Club for his
+afternoon canter in the Park.
+
+So it came to pass, early in December, that Mrs. Weightman and her two
+daughters sailed for Europe, on their serious pleasure trip, even as
+it had been written in the book of Providence; and John Weightman, who
+had made the entry, was left to pass the rest of the winter with his
+son and heir in the brownstone mansion.
+
+They were comfortable enough. The machinery of the massive establishment
+ran as smoothly as a great electric dynamo. They were busy enough, too.
+John Weightman's plans and enterprises were complicated, though his
+principle of action was always simple--to get good value for every
+expenditure and effort. The banking-house of which he was the chief,
+the brain, the will, the absolutely controlling hand, was so admirably
+organized that the details of its direction took but little time. But
+the scores of other interests that radiated from it and were dependent
+upon it--or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, that contributed
+to its solidity and success--the many investments, industrial,
+political, benevolent, reformatory, ecclesiastical, that had made
+the name of Weightman well known and potent in city, church, and
+state, demanded much attention and careful steering, in order that
+each might produce the desired result. There were board meetings of
+corporations and hospitals, conferences in Wall Street and at Albany,
+consultations and committee meetings in the brownstone mansion.
+
+For a share in all this business and its adjuncts John Weightman had
+his son in training in one of the famous law firms of the city; for he
+held that banking itself is a simple affair, the only real difficulties
+of finance are on its legal side. Meantime he wished the young man to
+meet and know the men with whom he would have to deal when he became a
+partner in the house. So a couple of dinners were given in the mansion
+during December, after which the father called the son's attention to
+the fact that over a hundred million dollars had sat around the board.
+
+But on Christmas Eve father and son were dining together without
+guests, and their talk across the broad table, glittering with silver
+and cut glass, and softly lit by shaded candles, was intimate, though
+a little slow at times. The elder man was in rather a rare mood, more
+expansive and confidential than usual; and, when the coffee was brought
+in and they were left alone, he talked more freely of his personal
+plans and hopes than he had ever done before.
+
+"I feel very grateful to-night," said he, at last; "it must be
+something in the air of Christmas that gives me this feeling of
+thankfulness for the many divine mercies that have been bestowed upon
+me. All the principles by which I have tried to guide my life have
+been justified. I have never made the value of this salted almond by
+anything that the courts would not uphold, at least in the long run,
+and yet--or wouldn't it be truer to say and therefore?--my affairs
+have been wonderfully prospered. There's a great deal in that text
+'Honesty is the best'--but no, that's not from the Bible, after all,
+is it? Wait a moment; there is something of that kind, I know."
+
+"May I light a cigar, father," said Harold, turning away to hide a
+smile, "while you are remembering the text?"
+
+"Yes, certainly," answered the elder man, rather shortly; "you know I
+don't dislike the smell. But it is a wasteful, useless habit, and
+therefore I have never practised it. Nothing useless is worth while,
+that's my motto--nothing that does not bring the reward. Oh, now I
+recall the text, 'Verily I say unto you they have their reward.' I
+shall ask Doctor Snodgrass to preach a sermon on that verse some day."
+
+"Using you as an illustration?"
+
+"Well, not exactly that; but I could give him some good material from
+my own experience to prove the truth of Scripture. I can honestly say
+that there is not one of my charities that has not brought me in a
+good return, either in the increase of influence, the building up of
+credit, or the association with substantial people. Of course you have
+to be careful how you give, in order to secure the best results--no
+indiscriminate giving--no pennies in beggars' hats! It has been one of
+my principles always to use the same kind of judgment in charities
+that I use in my other affairs, and they have not disappointed me."
+
+"Even the check that you put in the plate when you take the offertory
+up the aisle on Sunday morning?"
+
+"Certainly; though there the influence is less direct; and I must
+confess that I have my doubts in regard to the collection for Foreign
+Missions. That always seems to me romantic and wasteful. You never
+hear from it in any definite way. They say the missionaries have done
+a good deal to open the way for trade; perhaps--but they have also
+gotten us into commercial and political difficulties. Yet I give to
+them--a little--it is a matter of conscience with me to identify
+myself with all the enterprises of the Church; it is the mainstay of
+social order and a prosperous civilization. But the best forms of
+benevolence are the well-established, organized ones here at home,
+where people can see them and know what they are doing."
+
+"You mean the ones that have a local habitation and a name."
+
+"Yes; they offer by far the safest return, though of course there is
+something gained by contributing to general funds. A public man can't
+afford to be without public spirit. But on the whole I prefer a
+building, or an endowment. There is a mutual advantage to a good name
+and a good institution in their connection in the public mind. It
+helps them both. Remember that, my boy. Of course at the beginning you
+will have to practise it in a small way; later, you will have larger
+opportunities. But try to put your gifts where they can be identified
+and do good all around. You'll see the wisdom of it in the long run."
+
+"I can see it already, sir, and the way you describe it looks
+amazingly wise and prudent. In other words, we must cast our bread on
+the waters in large loaves, carried by sound ships marked with the
+owner's name, so that the return freight will be sure to come back to
+us."
+
+The father laughed, but his eyes were frowning a little as if he
+suspected something irreverent under the respectful reply.
+
+"You put it humorously, but there's sense in what you say. Why not?
+God rules the sea; but He expects us to follow the laws of navigation
+and commerce. Why not take good care of your bread, even when you give
+it away?"
+
+"It's not for me to say why not--and yet I can think of cases--" The
+young man hesitated for a moment. His half-finished cigar had gone
+out. He rose and tossed it into the fire, in front of which he
+remained standing--a slender, eager, restless young figure, with a
+touch of hunger in the fine face, strangely like and unlike the
+father, at whom he looked with half-wistful curiosity.
+
+"The fact is, sir," he continued, "there is such a case in my mind
+now, and it is a good deal on my heart, too. So I thought of speaking
+to you about it to-night. You remember Tom Rollins, the Junior who was
+so good to me when I entered college?"
+
+The father nodded. He remembered very well indeed the annoying
+incidents of his son's first escapade, and how Rollins had stood by
+him and helped to avoid a public disgrace, and how a close friendship
+had grown between the two boys, so different in their fortunes.
+
+"Yes," he said, "I remember him. He was a promising young man. Has he
+succeeded?"
+
+"Not exactly--that is, not yet. His business has been going rather
+badly. He has a wife and little baby, you know. And now he has broken
+down,--something wrong with his lungs. The doctor says his only chance
+is a year or eighteen months in Colorado. I wish we could help him."
+
+"How much would it cost?"
+
+"Three or four thousand, perhaps, as a loan."
+
+"Does the doctor say he will get well?"
+
+"A fighting chance--the doctor says."
+
+The face of the older man changed subtly. Not a line was altered, but
+it seemed to have a different substance, as if it were carved out of
+some firm, imperishable stuff.
+
+"A fighting chance," he said, "may do for a speculation, but it is not
+a good investment. You owe something to young Rollins. Your grateful
+feeling does you credit. But don't overwork it. Send him three or four
+hundred, if you like. You'll never hear from it again, except in the
+letter of thanks. But for Heaven's sake don't be sentimental.
+Religion is not a matter of sentiment; it's a matter of principle."
+
+[Illustration: "It is not a good investment"]
+
+The face of the younger man changed now. But instead of becoming fixed
+and graven, it seemed to melt into life by the heat of an inward fire.
+His nostrils quivered with quick breath, his lips were curled.
+
+"Principle!" he said. "You mean principal--and interest too. Well,
+sir, you know best whether that is religion or not. But if it is,
+count me out, please. Tom saved me from going to the devil, six years
+ago; and I'll be damned if I don't help him to the best of my ability
+now."
+
+John Weightman looked at his son steadily. "Harold," he said at last,
+"you know I dislike violent language, and it never has any influence
+with me. If I could honestly approve of this proposition of yours, I'd
+let you have the money; but I can't; it's extravagant and useless. But
+you have your Christmas check for a thousand dollars coming to you
+to-morrow. You can use it as you please. I never interfere with your
+private affairs."
+
+"Thank you," said Harold. "Thank you very much! But there's another
+private affair. I want to get away from this life, this town, this
+house. It stifles me. You refused last summer when I asked you to let
+me go up to Grenfell's Mission on the Labrador. I could go now, at
+least as far as the Newfoundland Station. Have you changed your mind?"
+
+"Not at all. I think it is an exceedingly foolish enterprise. It would
+interrupt the career that I have marked out for you."
+
+"Well, then, here's a cheaper proposition. Algy Vanderhoof wants me to
+join him on his yacht with--well, with a little party--to cruise in
+the West Indies. Would you prefer that?"
+
+"Certainly not! The Vanderhoof set is wild and godless--I do not wish
+to see you keeping company with fools who walk in the broad and easy
+way that leads to perdition."
+
+"It is rather a hard choice," said the young man, with a short laugh,
+turning toward the door. "According to you there's very little
+difference--a fool's paradise or a fool's hell! Well, it's one or the
+other for me, and I'll toss up for it to-night: heads, I lose; tails,
+the devil wins. Anyway, I'm sick of this, and I'm out of it."
+
+"Harold," said the older man (and there was a slight tremor in his
+voice), "don't let us quarrel on Christmas Eve. All I want is to
+persuade you to think seriously of the duties and responsibilities
+to which God has called you--don't speak lightly of heaven and
+hell--remember, there is another life."
+
+The young man came back and laid his hand upon his father's shoulder.
+
+"Father," he said, "I want to remember it. I try to believe in it. But
+somehow or other, in this house, it all seems unreal to me. No doubt
+all you say is perfectly right and wise. I don't venture to argue
+against it, but I can't feel it--that's all. If I'm to have a soul,
+either to lose or to save, I must really live. Just now neither the
+present nor the future means anything to me. But surely we won't
+quarrel. I'm very grateful to you, and we'll part friends. Good-night,
+sir."
+
+The father held out his hand in silence. The heavy portiere dropped
+noiselessly behind the son, and he went up the wide, curving stairway
+to his own room.
+
+Meantime John Weightman sat in his carved chair in the Jacobean
+dining-room. He felt strangely old and dull. The portraits of
+beautiful women by Lawrence and Reynolds and Raeburn, which had often
+seemed like real company to him, looked remote and uninteresting. He
+fancied something cold and almost unfriendly in their expression, as
+if they were staring through him or beyond him. They cared nothing for
+his principles, his hopes, his disappointments, his successes; they
+belonged to another world, in which he had no place. At this he felt
+a vague resentment, a sense of discomfort that he could not have
+defined or explained. He was used to being considered, respected,
+appreciated at his full value in every region, even in that of his own
+dreams.
+
+Presently he rang for the butler, telling him to close the house and
+not to sit up, and walked with lagging steps into the long library,
+where the shaded lamps were burning. His eye fell upon the low shelves
+full of costly books, but he had no desire to open them. Even the
+carefully chosen pictures that hung above them seemed to have lost
+their attraction. He paused for a moment before an idyll of Corot--a
+dance of nymphs around some forgotten altar in a vaporous glade--and
+looked at it curiously. There was something rapturous and serene about
+the picture, a breath of spring-time in the misty trees, a harmony
+of joy in the dancing figures, that wakened in him a feeling of
+half-pleasure and half-envy. It represented something that he had
+never known in his calculated, orderly life. He was dimly mistrustful
+of it.
+
+"It is certainly very beautiful," he thought, "but it is distinctly
+pagan; that altar is built to some heathen god. It does not fit into
+the scheme of a Christian life. I doubt whether it is consistent with
+the tone of my house. I will sell it this winter. It will bring three
+or four times what I paid for it. That was a good purchase, a very
+good bargain."
+
+He dropped into the revolving chair before his big library table.
+It was covered with pamphlets and reports of the various enterprises
+in which he was interested. There was a pile of newspaper clippings
+in which his name was mentioned with praise for his sustaining power
+as a pillar of finance, for his judicious benevolence, for his
+support of wise and prudent reform movements, for his discretion
+in making permanent public gifts--"the Weightman Charities," one very
+complaisant editor called them, as if they deserved classification as
+a distinct species.
+
+He turned the papers over listlessly. There was a description and a
+picture of the "Weightman Wing of the Hospital for Cripples," of
+which he was president; and an article on the new professor in the
+"Weightman Chair of Political Jurisprudence" in Jackson University,
+of which he was a trustee; and an illustrated account of the opening
+of the "Weightman Grammar-School" at Dulwich-on-the-Sound, where he
+had his legal residence for purposes of taxation.
+
+This last was perhaps the most carefully planned of all the Weightman
+Charities. He desired to win the confidence and support of his rural
+neighbors. It had pleased him much when the local newspaper had spoken
+of him as an ideal citizen and the logical candidate for the
+Governorship of the State; but upon the whole it seemed to him wiser
+to keep out of active politics. It would be easier and better to put
+Harold into the running, to have him sent to the Legislature from the
+Dulwich district, then to the national House, then to the Senate. Why
+not? The Weightman interests were large enough to need a direct
+representative and guardian at Washington.
+
+But to-night all these plans came back to him with dust upon them.
+They were dry and crumbling like forsaken habitations. The son upon
+whom his complacent ambition had rested had turned his back upon the
+mansion of his father's hopes. The break might not be final; and in
+any event there would be much to live for; the fortunes of the family
+would be secure. But the zest of it all would be gone if John
+Weightman had to give up the assurance of perpetuating his name and
+his principles in his son. It was a bitter disappointment, and he felt
+that he had not deserved it.
+
+He rose from the chair and paced the room with leaden feet. For the
+first time in his life his age was visibly upon him. His head was
+heavy and hot, and the thoughts that rolled in it were confused and
+depressing. Could it be that he had made a mistake in the principles
+of his existence? There was no argument in what Harold had said--it
+was almost childish--and yet it had shaken the elder man more deeply
+than he cared to show. It held a silent attack which touched him more
+than open criticism.
+
+Suppose the end of his life were nearer than he thought--the end
+must come some time--what if it were now? Had he not founded his
+house upon a rock? Had he not kept the Commandments? Was he not,
+"touching the law, blameless"? And beyond this, even if there were
+some faults in his character--and all men are sinners--yet he surely
+believed in the saving doctrines of religion--the forgiveness of
+sins, the resurrection of the body, the life everlasting. Yes, that
+was the true source of comfort, after all. He would read a bit in the
+Bible, as he did every night, and go to bed and to sleep.
+
+He went back to his chair at the library table. A strange weight of
+weariness rested upon him, but he opened the book at a familiar place,
+and his eyes fell upon the verse at the bottom of the page.
+
+"_Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth._"
+
+That had been the text of the sermon a few weeks before. Sleepily,
+heavily, he tried to fix his mind upon it and recall it. What was it
+that Doctor Snodgrass had said? Ah, yes--that it was a mistake to
+pause here in reading the verse. We must read on without a pause--_Lay
+not up treasures upon earth where moth and rust do corrupt and where
+thieves break through and steal_--that was the true doctrine. We may
+have treasures upon earth, but they must not be put into unsafe
+places, but into safe places. A most comforting doctrine! He had
+always followed it. Moths and rust and thieves had done no harm to his
+investments.
+
+John Weightman's drooping eyes turned to the next verse, at the top of
+the second column.
+
+"_But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven._"
+
+Now what had the Doctor said about that? How was it to be
+understood--in what sense--treasures--in heaven?
+
+The book seemed to float away from him. The light vanished. He
+wondered dimly if this could be Death, coming so suddenly, so quietly,
+so irresistibly. He struggled for a moment to hold himself up, and
+then sank slowly forward upon the table. His head rested upon his
+folded hands. He slipped into the unknown.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+How long afterward conscious life returned to him he did not know. The
+blank might have been an hour or a century. He knew only that
+something had happened in the interval. What it was he could not tell.
+He found great difficulty in catching the thread of his identity
+again. He felt that he was himself; but the trouble was to make his
+connections, to verify and place himself, to know who and where he
+was.
+
+At last it grew clear. John Weightman was sitting on a stone, not far
+from a road in a strange land.
+
+The road was not a formal highway, fenced and graded. It was more like
+a great travel-trace, worn by thousands of feet passing across the
+open country in the same direction. Down in the valley, into which he
+could look, the road seemed to form itself gradually out of many minor
+paths; little footways coming across the meadows, winding tracks
+following along beside the streams, faintly marked trails emerging
+from the woodlands. But on the hillside the threads were more firmly
+woven into one clear band of travel, though there were still a few dim
+paths joining it here and there, as if persons had been climbing up
+the hill by other ways and had turned at last to seek the road.
+
+From the edge of the hill, where John Weightman sat, he could see the
+travelers, in little groups or larger companies, gathering from time
+to time by the different paths, and making the ascent. They were all
+clothed in white, and the form of their garments was strange to him;
+it was like some old picture. They passed him, group after group,
+talking quietly together or singing; not moving in haste, but with a
+certain air of eagerness and joy as if they were glad to be on their
+way to an appointed place. They did not stay to speak to him, but they
+looked at him often and spoke to one another as they looked; and now
+and then one of them would smile and beckon him a friendly greeting,
+so that he felt they would like him to be with them.
+
+There was quite an interval between the groups; and he followed each
+of them with his eyes after it had passed, blanching the long ribbon
+of the road for a little transient space, rising and receding across
+the wide, billowy upland, among the rounded hillocks of aerial green
+and gold and lilac, until it came to the high horizon, and stood
+outlined for a moment, a tiny cloud of whiteness against the tender
+blue, before it vanished over the hill.
+
+For a long time he sat there watching and wondering. It was a very
+different world from that in which his mansion on the Avenue was
+built; and it looked strange to him, but most real--as real as
+anything he had ever seen. Presently he felt a strong desire to know
+what country it was and where the people were going. He had a faint
+premonition of what it must be, but he wished to be sure. So he rose
+from the stone where he was sitting, and came down through the short
+grass and the lavender flowers, toward a passing group of people. One
+of them turned to meet him, and held out his hand. It was an old man,
+under whose white beard and brows John Weightman thought he saw a
+suggestion of the face of the village doctor who had cared for him
+years ago, when he was a boy in the country.
+
+[Illustration: "Welcome! Will you come with us?"]
+
+"Welcome," said the old man. "Will you come with us?"
+
+"Where are you going?"
+
+"To the heavenly city, to see our mansions there."
+
+"And who are these with you?"
+
+"Strangers to me, until a little while ago; I know them better now.
+But you I have known for a long time, John Weightman. Don't you
+remember your old doctor?"
+
+"Yes," he cried--"yes; your voice has not changed at all. I'm glad
+indeed to see you, Doctor McLean, especially now. All this seems very
+strange to me, almost oppressive. I wonder if--but may I go with you,
+do you suppose?"
+
+"Surely," answered the doctor, with his familiar smile; "it will do
+you good. And you also must have a mansion in the city waiting for
+you--a fine one, too--are you not looking forward to it?"
+
+"Yes," replied the other, hesitating a moment; "yes--I believe it must
+be so, although I had not expected to see it so soon. But I will go
+with you, and we can talk by the way."
+
+The two men quickly caught up with the other people, and all went
+forward together along the road. The doctor had little to tell of his
+experience, for it had been a plain, hard life, uneventfully spent for
+others, and the story of the village was very simple. John Weightman's
+adventures and triumphs would have made a far richer, more imposing
+history, full of contacts with the great events and personages of the
+time. But somehow or other he did not care to speak much about it,
+walking on that wide heavenly moorland, under that tranquil, sunless
+arch of blue, in that free air of perfect peace, where the light was
+diffused without a shadow, as if the spirit of life in all things were
+luminous.
+
+There was only one person besides the doctor in that little company
+whom John Weightman had known before--an old bookkeeper who had spent
+his life over a desk, carefully keeping accounts--a rusty, dull little
+man, patient and narrow, whose wife had been in the insane asylum for
+twenty years and whose only child was a crippled daughter, for whose
+comfort and happiness he had toiled and sacrificed himself without
+stint. It was a surprise to find him here, as care-free and joyful as
+the rest.
+
+[Illustration: That free air of Perfect Peace]
+
+The lives of others in the company were revealed in brief glimpses as
+they talked together--a mother, early widowed, who had kept her little
+flock of children together and labored through hard and heavy years to
+bring them up in purity and knowledge--a Sister of Charity who had
+devoted herself to the nursing of poor folk who were being eaten to
+death by cancer--a schoolmaster whose heart and life had been poured
+into his quiet work of training boys for a clean and thoughtful
+manhood--a medical missionary who had given up a brilliant career in
+science to take the charge of a hospital in darkest Africa--a
+beautiful woman with silver hair who had resigned her dreams of love
+and marriage to care for an invalid father, and after his death had
+made her life a long, steady search for ways of doing kindnesses to
+others--a poet who had walked among the crowded tenements of the great
+city, bringing cheer and comfort not only by his songs, but by his
+wise and patient works of practical aid--a paralyzed woman who had
+lain for thirty years upon her bed, helpless but not hopeless,
+succeeding by a miracle of courage in her single aim, never to
+complain, but always to impart a bit of her joy and peace to every one
+who came near her. All these, and other persons like them, people of
+little consideration in the world, but now seemingly all full of great
+contentment and an inward gladness that made their steps light, were
+in the company that passed along the road, talking together of things
+past and things to come, and singing now and then with clear voices
+from which the veil of age and sorrow was lifted.
+
+John Weightman joined in some of the songs--which were familiar to him
+from their use in the church--at first with a touch of hesitation, and
+then more confidently. For as they went on his sense of strangeness
+and fear at his new experience diminished, and his thoughts began to
+take on their habitual assurance and complacency. Were not these
+people going to the Celestial City? And was not he in his right place
+among them? He had always looked forward to this journey. If they were
+sure, each one, of finding a mansion there, could not he be far more
+sure? His life had been more fruitful than theirs. He had been a
+leader, a founder of new enterprises, a pillar of Church and State, a
+prince of the House of Israel. Ten talents had been given him, and he
+had made them twenty. His reward would be proportionate. He was glad
+that his companions were going to find fit dwellings prepared for
+them; but he thought also with a certain pleasure of the surprise that
+some of them would feel when they saw his appointed mansion.
+
+So they came to the summit of the moorland and looked over into the
+world beyond. It was a vast, green plain, softly rounded like a
+shallow vase, and circled with hills of amethyst. A broad, shining
+river flowed through it, and many silver threads of water were woven
+across the green; and there were borders of tall trees on the banks of
+the river, and orchards full of roses abloom along the little streams,
+and in the midst of all stood the city, white and wonderful and
+radiant.
+
+When the travelers saw it they were filled with awe and joy. They
+passed over the little streams and among the orchards quickly and
+silently, as if they feared to speak lest the city should vanish.
+
+The wall of the city was very low, a child could see over it, for it
+was made only of precious stones, which are never large. The gate of
+the city was not like a gate at all, for it was not barred with iron
+or wood, but only a single pearl, softly gleaming, marked the place
+where the wall ended and the entrance lay open.
+
+A person stood there whose face was bright and grave, and whose robe
+was like the flower of the lily, not a woven fabric, but a living
+texture. "Come in," he said to the company of travelers; "you are at
+your journey's end, and your mansions are ready for you."
+
+John Weightman hesitated, for he was troubled by a doubt. Suppose that
+he was not really, like his companions, at his journey's end, but only
+transported for a little while out of the regular course of his life
+into this mysterious experience? Suppose that, after all, he had not
+really passed through the door of death, like these others, but only
+through the door of dreams, and was walking in a vision, a living man
+among the blessed dead. Would it be right for him to go with them
+into the heavenly city? Would it not be a deception, a desecration, a
+deep and unforgivable offense? The strange, confusing question had no
+reason in it, as he very well knew; for if he was dreaming, then it
+was all a dream; but if his companions were real, then he also was
+with them in reality, and if they had died then he must have died too.
+Yet he could not rid his mind of the sense that there was a difference
+between them and him, and it made him afraid to go on. But, as he
+paused and turned, the Keeper of the Gate looked straight and deep
+into his eyes, and beckoned to him. Then he knew that it was not only
+right but necessary that he should enter.
+
+They passed from street to street among fair and spacious dwellings,
+set in amaranthine gardens, and adorned with an infinitely varied
+beauty of divine simplicity. The mansions differed in size, in shape,
+in charm: each one seemed to have its own personal look of loveliness;
+yet all were alike in fitness to their place, in harmony with one
+another, in the addition which each made to the singular and tranquil
+splendor of the city.
+
+As the little company came, one by one, to the mansions which were
+prepared for them, and their Guide beckoned to the happy inhabitant to
+enter in and take possession, there was a soft murmur of joy, half
+wonder and half recognition; as if the new and immortal dwelling were
+crowned with the beauty of surprise, lovelier and nobler than all the
+dreams of it had been; and yet also as if it were touched with the
+beauty of the familiar, the remembered, the long-loved. One after
+another the travelers were led to their own mansions, and went in
+gladly; and from within, through the open doorways, came sweet voices
+of welcome, and low laughter, and song.
+
+At last there was no one left with the Guide but the two old friends,
+Doctor McLean and John Weightman. They were standing in front of one
+of the largest and fairest of the houses, whose garden glowed softly
+with radiant flowers. The Guide laid his hand upon the doctor's
+shoulder.
+
+"This is for you," he said. "Go in; there is no more pain here, no
+more death, nor sorrow, nor tears; for your old enemies are all
+conquered. But all the good that you have done for others, all the
+help that you have given, all the comfort that you have brought, all
+the strength and love that you have bestowed upon the suffering, are
+here; for we have built them all into this mansion for you."
+
+The good man's face was lighted with a still joy. He clasped his old
+friend's hand closely, and whispered: "How wonderful it is! Go on,
+you will come to your mansion next, it is not far away, and we shall
+see each other again soon, very soon."
+
+So he went through the garden, and into the music within. The Keeper
+of the Gate turned to John Weightman with level, quiet, searching
+eyes. Then he asked, gravely:
+
+"Where do you wish me to lead you now?"
+
+"To see my own mansion," answered the man, with half-concealed
+excitement. "Is there not one here for me? You may not let me enter it
+yet, perhaps, for I must confess to you that I am only--"
+
+"I know," said the Keeper of the Gate--"I know it all. You are John
+Weightman."
+
+"Yes," said the man, more firmly than he had spoken at first, for it
+gratified him that his name was known. "Yes, I am John Weightman,
+Senior Warden of St. Petronius' Church. I wish very much to see my
+mansion here, if only for a moment. I believe that you have one for
+me. Will you take me to it?"
+
+The Keeper of the Gate drew a little book from the breast of his robe
+and turned over the pages.
+
+"Certainly," he said, with a curious look at the man, "your name is
+here; and you shall see your mansion if you will follow me."
+
+It seemed as if they must have walked miles and miles, through the
+vast city, passing street after street of houses larger and smaller,
+of gardens richer and poorer, but all full of beauty and delight. They
+came into a kind of suburb, where there were many small cottages, with
+plots of flowers, very lowly, but bright and fragrant. Finally they
+reached an open field, bare and lonely-looking. There were two or
+three little bushes in it, without flowers, and the grass was sparse
+and thin. In the center of the field was a tiny hut, hardly big enough
+for a shepherd's shelter. It looked as if it had been built of
+discarded things, scraps and fragments of other buildings, put
+together with care and pains, by some one who had tried to make the
+most of cast-off material. There was something pitiful and shamefaced
+about the hut. It shrank and drooped and faded in its barren field,
+and seemed to cling only by sufferance to the edge of the splendid
+city.
+
+"This," said the Keeper of the Gate, standing still and speaking with
+a low, distinct voice--"this is your mansion, John Weightman."
+
+An almost intolerable shock of grieved wonder and indignation choked
+the man for a moment so that he could not say a word. Then he turned
+his face away from the poor little hut and began to remonstrate
+eagerly with his companion.
+
+"Surely, sir," he stammered, "you must be in error about this. There
+is something wrong--some other John Weightman--a confusion of
+names--the book must be mistaken."
+
+"There is no mistake," said the Keeper of the Gate, very calmly; "here
+is your name, the record of your title and your possessions in this
+place."
+
+"But how could such a house be prepared for me," cried the man, with a
+resentful tremor in his voice--"for me, after my long and faithful
+service? Is this a suitable mansion for one so well known and devoted?
+Why is it so pitifully small and mean? Why have you not built it large
+and fair, like the others?"
+
+"That is all the material you sent us."
+
+"What!"
+
+"We have used all the material that you sent us," repeated the Keeper
+of the Gate.
+
+"Now I know that you are mistaken," cried the man, with growing
+earnestness, "for all my life long I have been doing things that must
+have supplied you with material. Have you not heard that I have built
+a school-house; the wing of a hospital; two--yes, three--small
+churches, and the greater part of a large one, the spire of St.
+Petro--"
+
+The Keeper of the Gate lifted his hand.
+
+"Wait," he said; "we know all these things. They were not ill done.
+But they were all marked and used as foundation for the name and
+mansion of John Weightman in the world. Did you not plan them for
+that?"
+
+"Yes," answered the man, confused and taken aback, "I confess that
+I thought often of them in that way. Perhaps my heart was set upon
+that too much. But there are other things--my endowment for the
+college--my steady and liberal contributions to all the established
+charities--my support of every respectable--"
+
+"Wait," said the Keeper of the Gate again. "Were not all these
+carefully recorded on earth where they would add to your credit? They
+were not foolishly done. Verily, you have had your reward for them.
+Would you be paid twice?"
+
+"No," cried the man, with deepening dismay, "I dare not claim that. I
+acknowledge that I considered my own interest too much. But surely not
+altogether. You have said that these things were not foolishly done.
+They accomplished some good in the world. Does not that count for
+something?"
+
+"Yes," answered the Keeper of the Gate, "it counts in the world--where
+you counted it. But it does not belong to you here. We have saved and
+used everything that you sent us. This is the mansion prepared for
+you."
+
+As he spoke, his look grew deeper and more searching, like a flame of
+fire. John Weightman could not endure it. It seemed to strip him naked
+and wither him. He sank to the ground under a crushing weight of
+shame, covering his eyes with his hands and cowering face downward
+upon the stones. Dimly through the trouble of his mind he felt their
+hardness and coldness.
+
+"Tell me, then," he cried, brokenly, "since my life has been so little
+worth, how came I here at all?"
+
+"Through the mercy of the King"--the answer was like the soft tolling
+of a bell.
+
+"And how have I earned it?" he murmured.
+
+"It is never earned; it is only given," came the clear, low reply.
+
+"But how have I failed so wretchedly," he asked, "in all the purpose
+of my life? What could I have done better? What is it that counts
+here?"
+
+"Only that which is truly given," answered the bell-like voice. "Only
+that good which is done for the love of doing it. Only those plans in
+which the welfare of others is the master thought. Only those labors
+in which the sacrifice is greater than the reward. Only those gifts in
+which the giver forgets himself."
+
+The man lay silent. A great weakness, an unspeakable despondency and
+humiliation were upon him. But the face of the Keeper of the Gate was
+infinitely tender as he bent over him.
+
+"Think again, John Weightman. Has there been nothing like that in your
+life?"
+
+"Nothing," he sighed. "If there ever were such things, it must have
+been long ago--they were all crowded out--I have forgotten them."
+
+There was an ineffable smile on the face of the Keeper of the Gate,
+and his hand made the sign of the cross over the bowed head as he
+spoke gently:
+
+"These are the things that the King never forgets; and because there
+were a few of them in your life, you have a little place here."
+
+ * * * * *
+
+The sense of coldness and hardness under John Weightman's hands grew
+sharper and more distinct. The feeling of bodily weariness and
+lassitude weighed upon him, but there was a calm, almost a lightness,
+in his heart as he listened to the fading vibrations of the silvery
+bell-tones. The chimney clock on the mantel had just ended the last
+stroke of seven as he lifted his head from the table. Thin, pale
+strips of the city morning were falling into the room through the
+narrow partings of the heavy curtains.
+
+What was it that had happened to him? Had he been ill? Had he died
+and come to life again? Or had he only slept, and had his soul gone
+visiting in dreams? He sat for some time, motionless, not lost, but
+finding himself in thought. Then he took a narrow book from the table
+drawer, wrote a check, and tore it out.
+
+He went slowly up the stairs, knocked very softly at his son's door,
+and, hearing no answer, entered without noise. Harold was asleep, his
+bare arm thrown above his head, and his eager face relaxed in peace.
+His father looked at him a moment with strangely shining eyes, and
+then tiptoed quietly to the writing-desk, found a pencil and a sheet
+of paper, and wrote rapidly:
+
+"My dear boy, here is what you asked me for; do what you like with it,
+and ask for more if you need it. If you are still thinking of that
+work with Grenfell, we'll talk it over to-day after church. I want to
+know your heart better; and if I have made mistakes--"
+
+[Illustration: "God give us a good Christmas together"]
+
+A slight noise made him turn his head. Harold was sitting up in bed
+with wide-open eyes.
+
+"Father!" he cried, "is that you?"
+
+"Yes, my son," answered John Weightman; "I've come back--I mean I've
+come up--no, I mean come in--well, here I am, and God give us a good
+Christmas together."
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mansion, by Henry Van Dyke
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