The holder of the mortgage was a man named Dyer, who kept a tavern in the village that lay a mile distant from the little white farm-house of Mr. Bacon. When Dyer commenced his liquor-selling trade, for that was his principal business, he had only a few hundred dollars; now he was worth thousands, and was about the only man in the neighbourhood who had money to lend. His loans were always made on bond and mortgage, and, it was a little remarkable, that he was never known to let a sober, industrious farmer or store-keeper have a single dollar. But, a drinking man, who was gradually wasting his substance, rarely applied to him in vain; for he was the cunning spider watching for the silly fly. More than one worn-out and run-down farm had already come into his hands, through the foreclosure of mortgages, at a time of business depression, when his helpless victims could find no sympathizing friends able to save them from ruin.
One day, in mid-winter, as Mr. Bacon was cutting wood at his rather poorly furnished wood pile, the tavern-keeper rode up. There was something in his countenance that sent a creeping sense of fear to the heart of the farmer.
"Good morning, Mr. Dyer," said he.
"Good morning," returned the tavern-keeper, formally. His usual smile was absent from his face.
"Sharp day, this."
"Yes, rather keen."
"Won't you walk in and take something?"
"No, thank you. H-h-e-em!"
There was a pause.
"Mr. Bacon."
The farmer's eye sunk beneath the cold steady look of Dyer.
"Mr. Bacon, I guess I shall have to call on you for them three hundred dollars," said the tavern-keeper, in a firm voice.
"Can't pay that mortgage now, Mr. Dyer," returned Bacon, with a troubled expression; "no use to think of it."
"Rather a cool way to treat a man after borrowing his money. I told you when I lent it that I might want it at almost any time."
"Oh! no, Mr. Dyer. It was understood, distinctly, that from four to six months' notice would be given," replied Mr. Bacon, positively.
"Preposterous!" ejaculated the tavern-keeper. "Never thought of such a thing. Six months notice, indeed!"
"That was the agreement," said Mr. Bacon, firmly.
"Is it in the bond?"
"No, it was verbal, between us."
Dyer shook his head, as he answered,
"No, sir. I never make agreements of that kind; the money was to be paid on demand, and I have ridden over this morning to make the demand."
"It is midwinter, Mr. Dyer," was replied in a husky voice.
"Well?"
"You know that a small farmer, like me, cannot be in possession, at this season, of the large sum you demand."
"That is your affair, Mr. Bacon. I want my money now, and must have it."
There was a tone of menace in the way this was said that Mr. Bacon fully understood.
"I haven't thirty dollars, much less three hundred, in my possession," said he.
"Borrow it, then."
"Impossible! money has not been so scarce for years. Every one is complaining."
"You'd better make the effort, Mr. Bacon, I shall be sorry to put you to any trouble, but my money will have to be forthcoming."
"You will not enter up the mortgage?" said the farmer.
"It will certainly come to that, unless you can pay it."
"That is what I call oppression!" returned Mr. Bacon, in momentary indignation, for the utterance of which he was as quickly repentant.
"Good morning," said Dyer, suddenly turning his horse's head, and riding off at a brisk trot.
For nearly five minutes, old Mr. Bacon stood with his axe resting on the ground, lost in painful thought. Then he went slowly into the house, and sitting down before the fire, let his head sink upon his breast, and there mused on the trouble that was closing around him. But there came no ray of light, piercing the thick darkness that had fallen so suddenly.
Nothing was then said to his family on the subject, but it was apparent to all that something was wrong, for the lips that gave utterance to so many pleasant words, and parted so often in cheerful smiles, were still silent."
"Are you not well, to-day?" asked Mrs. Bacon, as the family gathered around the dinner-table, and she remarked her husband's unusually sober face.
"Not very well," he replied.
"What ails you, father?" said Mary, with tender concern in her voice, and her eyes were turned upon him with affectionate earnestness.
"Nothing of much consequence, child," was answered evasively. "I shall be better after dinner."
And as Mr. Bacon spoke he poured out a larger glass of brandy than usualhe always had brandy on the table at dinner timeand drank it off. This soon took away the keen edge of suffering from his feelings, and he was able to affect a measure of cheerfulness. But he did not deceive the eyes of Mrs. Bacon and Mary.
"I wonder what ails father!" said Mary, as soon as she was alone with her mother.
"I don't know," answered Mrs. Bacon, thoughtfully, "he seems troubled about something."
"I saw that Mr. Dyer, who keeps tavern over in Brookville, talking with father at the wood-pile this morning."
"You did!" Mrs. Bacon spoke with a new manifestation of interest.
"Yes; and I thought, as I looked at him out of the window, that he appeared to be angry about something."
Mrs. Bacon did not reply to this remark. Soon after, on meeting her husband, she said to him,
"What did Mr. Dyer want this morning?"
"Something that he will not get," replied Mr. Bacon.
"The money he loaned you?"
"Yes."
"It's impossible to pay it back now, in the dead of winter," said
Mrs. Bacon, in a troubled tone of voice, "he ought to know that."
"And he does know it."
"What did you tell him?"
"That to lift the mortgage now was out of the question."
"Won't he be troublesome? You remember how he acted towards poor old
Mr. Peabody."
"I know he's a hard-hearted, selfish man. I don't believe that there is a spark of humanity about him. But he'll scarcely go to extremities with me. I don't fear that."
"Did he threaten?"
"Yes. But I hardly think that he was in earnest."
How far this last remark of old Mr. Bacon was correct, the following brief conversation will show. It took place between Dyer and a miserable pettyfogging lawyer, in Brookville, named Grant.
"I've got a mortgage on old Bacon's farm that I wish entered up," said the tavern-keeper, on calling at the lawyer's office.
"Can't he pay it off?" inquired Grant.
"Of course not. He's being running down for the last six or seven years, and is now on his last legs."
"And so you mean to trip him up before he falls of himself." The lawyer spoke in an unfeeling tone and with a sinister smile.
"If you please to say so," returned Dyer. "I've wanted that farm of his for some time past. When I took the mortgage on it my object was not a simple investment at legal interest; you know that I can do better with money than six per cent a year."
"I should think you could," responded the lawyer, with a chuckle.
"When I loaned Bacon three hundred dollars, of course I never expected to get the sum back again. I understood, perfectly well, that sooner or later the mortgage would have to be entered up."
"And the farm becomes yours for half its real value."
"Exactly."
"Are you not striking to soon?" suggested the lawyer.
"No."
"Some friend may loan him the amount."
Dyer shook his head.
"It's a tight time in Brookville."
"I know."
"And still better for my purpose," said Dyer, in a low, meaning, voice; "drunkards have few friends; none, in fact, willing to risk their money on them. Put the screws to Bacon, and his farm will drop into my hands like a ripe cherry."
"I should think you could," responded the lawyer, with a chuckle.
"When I loaned Bacon three hundred dollars, of course I never expected to get the sum back again. I understood, perfectly well, that sooner or later the mortgage would have to be entered up."
"And the farm becomes yours for half its real value."
"Exactly."
"Are you not striking to soon?" suggested the lawyer.
"No."
"Some friend may loan him the amount."
Dyer shook his head.
"It's a tight time in Brookville."
"I know."
"And still better for my purpose," said Dyer, in a low, meaning, voice; "drunkards have few friends; none, in fact, willing to risk their money on them. Put the screws to Bacon, and his farm will drop into my hands like a ripe cherry."
"You can hardly call Bacon a drunkard. You never see him staggering about, nor lounging in bar-rooms."
"Do you remember his farm seven years ago?"
"Perfectly well."
"Look at it now."
"There's a great difference, certainly."
"Isn't there! What's the reason of this?"
"Intemperance, I suppose."
"Drunkenness!" said the tavern-keeper. "That is the right word. He don't spend much in bar-rooms, but look over his store bill and you'll find rum a large item."
"Poor Bacon! He's a good sort of a man," remarked the lawyer. "I can't help feeling sorry for him. He's his own worst enemy."
"I want you to push this matter through in the quickest possible time," said Dyer, in a sharp, firm voice.
"Very well. It shall be done. I know my business."
"And I know mine," returned the tavern-keeper.
On the next day, Mr. Bacon was formally notified that proceedings had been instituted for the satisfaction of the mortgage. This was bringing the threatened evil before his eyes in the most direct aspect. In considerable alarm and perturbation, he called over to see Dyer.
"You cannot mean to press this matter on to the utmost extremity," said he, on meeting the tavern-keeper, the hard aspect of whose features gave him little room for hope.
"I certainly mean to get my three hundred dollars," was replied.
"Can you not wait until after next harvest?"
"I have already told you that I want my money now," said Dyer, with affected anger. "If you can pay me, well; if not, I will get my own by aid of the Sheriff."
"That is a hard saying, Mr. Dyer," returned the farmer, in a subdued voice.
"Nevertheless, it is a true one, friend Bacon, true as gospel."
"I haven't the money, nor can I borrow it, Mr. Dyer."
"Your misfortune, not mine. Though I must say, it is a little strange."
"What is strange?"
"That a man who has lived in this community as long as you have, can't find a friend willing to loan him three hundred dollars to save his farm from the Sheriff. There's something wrong."
Yes, there was something wrong, and poor old Mr. Bacon felt it now more deeply than ever. Another feeble effort at remonstrance was made, when Mr. Dyer coldly referred him to Grant the lawyer, who had now entire control of the business. But he did not go to him. He felt that to do so would be utterly useless.
Regular proceedings were entered upon for the settlement of the mortgage, and hurried to an issue as speedily as possible. It was all in vain that Mr. Bacon sought to borrow three hundred dollars, or to find some person willing to take the mortgage on his farm, and let him continue to pay the interest. It was a season when few had money to spare, and those who could have advanced the sum required, hesitated about investing it where there was little hope of getting the amount back again except by execution and sale. For, Mr. Bacon, in consequence of his intemperance, was steadily running behindhand; and all his neighbours knew it.
The effect of this trouble on the mind of Mr. Bacon was to cause him to drink harder than before. His cheerful temper gave place to a silent moodiness, when in partial states of sobriety, which where now of rare occurrence, and he lost all interest in things around him. A greater part of his time was spent in wandering restlessly about his house or farm, but he put his hand to scarcely any work.
Deeply distressed were Mrs. Bacon and Mary. Each of them had called, at different times on Mr. Dyer, in the hope of moving him by persuasion to turn from his purpose.
But, only in one way would he agree to an amicable settlement, and that was, by taking the farm for the mortgage and three hundred dollars cash; by which means he would come into possession of property worth from twelve to fifteen hundred dollars. This offer he repeated to Mary, who was the last to call upon him in the hope of turning him from his purpose.
"No! Mr. Dyer," said the young girl firmly, even while tears were in her eyes. "My father will not let the place go at a third of its real value."
"He over-estimates its worth," replied Dyer, with some impatience, "and he'll find this out when it comes under the hammer."
"You will not, I am sure you will not, sacrifice my father's little place,the home of his children," said Mary, in an appealing voice.
"I shall certainly let things take their course," replied the tavern-keeper. "Tell your father, from me, that he has nothing to hope for from any change in my purpose, and that he need make no more efforts to influence me. I will buy the place, as I said, for six hundred dollars, its full value, or I will sell it for my claim."
And saying this, the man left, abruptly, the room in which his interview with Mary was held, and she, hopeless of making any impression on his feelings, arose and retired from the house, taking, with a sad heart, her way homeward. Never before had Mary, a gentle-hearted, quiet, retiring girl, been forced into such rough contact with the world at any point. Of this act of intercession for her father, Mr. Bacon knew nothing. Had she dropped (sic) a a word of her purpose in his hearing, he would have uttered a positive interdiction. He loved Mary as the apple of his eye, and she loved him with a tender, self-devoted affection. To him, she was a choice and beautiful flower, and even though his mind had become, in a certain degree, degraded and debased by intemperance, there was in it a quick instinct of protection when any thing approached his child.
Slowly and thoughtfully, with her eyes bent upon the ground, did Mary Bacon pursue her way homeward; and she was not aware of the approach of footsteps behind her, until a man stood by her side and pronounced her name.
"Mr. Green!" said she, in momentary surprise, pausing as she looked up.
Mr. Green was a farmer in easy circumstances, whose elegant and highly cultivated place was only a short distance from her father's residence. He was, probably, the richest man in the neighbourhood of Brookville; though, exceedingly close in all money matters. Mr. Bacon would have called upon him for aid in his extremity, but for two reasons. One was, Mr. Green's known indisposition to lend money, and the other was the fact that he had several times talked to him about his bad drinking habits; at which liberty he had taken offence, and retorted rather sharply for one of his mild temper.
The colour mounted quickly to Mary's face, as she paused and lifted her eyes to the countenance of Mr. Green. The fact was, she had been thinking about him, and, just at the moment he came to her side, she had fully made up her mind to call upon him before going home.
"Well Mary," said he, kindly, and he took her hand.
Mary's lips quivered, but she could not utter a word.
Mr. Green moved on, still holding her hand, and she moved by his side.
"I'm sorry to hear," said Mr. Green, "that your father is in trouble. I learned it only an hour ago."
"That is just what I was coming to see you about," replied Mary, with a boldness of speech that surprised even herself.