Chapter II. A Calamity

by Horatio Alger

　　Efforts for the recovery of the cow went on. Elihu Perkinsexhausted all his science in her behalf. I do not propose to detailhis treatment, because I am not sure whether it was the best, andpossibly some of my readers might adopt it under similar circumstances,and then blame me for its unfortunate issue. It is enough to saythat the cow grew rapidly worse in spite of the hot-water treatment,and about eleven o'clock breathed her last. The sad intelligencewas announced by Elihu, who first perceived it."The critter's gone," he said. "'Tain't no use doin' anything more.""The cow's dead!" repeated Mr. Walton, sorrowfully. He had knownfor an hour that this would be the probable termination of thedisease. Still while there was life there was hope. Now both wentout together."Yes, the critter's dead!" said Elihu, philosophically, for he lostnothing by her. "It was so to be, and there wa'n't no help for it.That's what I thought from the fust, but I was willin' to try.""Wasn't there anything that could have saved her?"Elihu shook his head decidedly."If she could a-been saved, I could 'ave done it," he, said." WhatI don't know about cow diseases ain't wuth knowin'."Everyone is more or less conceited. Elihu's conceit was as to hisscientific knowledge on the subject of cows and horses and theirdiseases. He spoke so confidently that Mr. Walton did not ventureto dispute him."I s'pose you're right, Elihu," he said; "but it's hard on me.""Yes, neighbor, it's hard on you, that's a fact. What was she wuth?""I wouldn't have taken forty dollars for her yesterday.""Forty dollars is a good sum.""It is to me. I haven't got five dollars in the world outside ofmy farm.""I wish I could help you, neighbor Walton, but I'm a poor manmyself.""I know you are, Elihu. Somehow it doesn't seem fair that my onlycow should be taken, when Squire Green has got ten, and they're allalive and well. If all his cows should die, he could buy as manymore and not feel the loss.""Squire Green's a close man.""He's mean enough, if he is rich.""Sometimes the richest are the meanest.""In his case it is true.""He could give you a cow just as well as not. If I was as rich ashe, I'd do it.""I believe you would, Elihu; but there's some difference betweenyou and him.""Maybe the squire would lend you money to buy a cow. He alwayskeeps money to lend on high interest."Mr. Walton reflected a moment, then said slowly, "I must have acow, and I don't know of any other way, but I hate to go to him.""He's the only man that's likely to have money to lend in town.""Well, I'll go.""Good luck to you, neighbor Walton.""I need it enough," said Hiram Walton, soberly. "If it comes, it'llbe the first time for a good many years.""Well, I'll be goin', as I can't do no more good."Hiram Walton went into the house, and a look at his face told hiswife the news he brought before his lips uttered it."Is she dead, Hiram?""Yes, the cow's dead. Forty dollars clean gone," he said, ratherbitterly."Don't be discouraged, Hiram. It's bad luck, but worse things mighthappen.""Such as what?""Why, the house might burn down, or--or some of us might fall sickand die. It's better that it should be the cow.""You're right there; but though it's pleasant to have so manychildren round, we shan't like to see them starving.""They are not starving yet, and please God they won't yet awhile.Some help will come to us."Mrs. Walton sometimes felt despondent herself, but when she sawher husband affected, like a good wife she assumed cheerfulness,in order to raise his spirits. So now, things looked a little morehopeful to him, after he had talked to his wife. He soon took hishat, and approached the door."Where are you going, Hiram?" she asked."Going to see if Squire Green will lend me money; enough to buyanother cow.""That's right, Hiram. Don't sit down discouraged, but see what youcan do to repair the loss.""I wish there was anybody else to go to. Squire Green is a verymean man, and he will try to take advantage of any need.""It is better to have a poor resource than none at all.""Well, I'll go and see what can be done."Squire Green was the rich man of the town. He had inherited fromhis father, just as he came of age, a farm of a hundred and fiftyacres, and a few hundred dollars.The land was not good, and far from productive; but he had scrimpedand saved and pinched and denied himself, spending almost nothing,till the little money which the farm annually yielded him hadaccumulated to a considerable sum. Then, too, as there were nobanks near at t hand to accommodate borrowers, the squire used tolend money to his poorer neighbors. He took care not to exact morethan six per cent. openly, but it was generally understood that theborrower must pay a bonus besides to secure a loan, which, addedto the legal interest, gave him a very handsome consideration forthe use of his spare funds. So his money rapidly increased, doublingevery five or six years through his shrewd mode of management, andevery year he grew more economical. His wife had died ten yearsbefore. She had worked hard for very poor pay, for the squire'stable was proverbially meager, and her bills for dress, judgingfrom her appearance, must have been uncommonly small.The squire had one son, now in the neighborhood of thirty, but hehad not been at home for several years. As soon as he attained hismajority he left the homestead, and set out to seek his fortuneelsewhere. He vowed he wouldn't any longer submit to the penuriousways of .the squire. So the old man was left alone, but he did notfeel the solitude. He had his gold, and that was company enough.A time was coming when the two must part company, for when deathshould come he must leave the gold behind; but he did not liketo think of that, putting away the idea as men will unpleasantsubjects. This was the man to whom Hiram Walton applied for helpin his misfortune."Is the squire at home?" he asked, at the back door. In that householdthe front door was never used. There was a parlor, but it had notbeen opened since Mrs. Green's funeral."He's out to the barn," said Hannah Green, a niece of the old man,who acted as maid of all work."I'll go out there."The barn was a few rods northeast of the house, and thither Mr.Walton directed his steps.Entering, he found the old man engaged in some light work."Good morning, Squire Green.""Good morning, Mr. Walton," returned the squire.He was a small man, with a thin figure, and a face deep seamedwith wrinkles, more so than might have been expected in a man ofhis age, for he was only just turned of sixty; but hard work, poorand scanty food and sharp calculation, were responsible for them."How are you gettin' on?" asked the squire.This was rather a favorite question of his, it being so much thecustom for his neighbors to apply to him when in difficulties,so that their misfortune he had come to regard as his harvests. ."I've met with a loss," answered Hiram Walton."You don't say so," returned the squire, with instant attention."What's happened?""My cow is dead.""When did she die?""This morning.""What was the matter?""I don't know. I didn't notice but that she was welt enough lastnight; but this morning when I went out to the barn, she was lyingdown breathing heavily.""What did you do?""I called in Elihu Perkins, and we worked over her for three hours;but it wasn't of any use; she died half an hour ago.""I hope it isn't any disease that's catchin'," said the squire inalarm, thinking of his ten. "It would be a bad job if it shouldget among mine.""It's a bad job for me, squire. I hadn't but one cow, and she'sgone.""Just so, just so. I s'pose you'll buy another.""Yes, I must have a cow. My children live on bread and milk mostly.Then there's the butter and cheese, that I trade off at the storefor groceries.""Just so, just so. Come into the house, neighbor Walton."The squire guessed his visitor's business in advance, and wantedto take time to talk it over. He would first find out how greathis neighbor's necessity was, and then he accommodated him, wouldcharge him accordingly.