So in three minutes he put away his bowl and spoon, drew his
three-legged stool to the corner of the fireplace, where he could see to
read, seated himself, opened his packet, and displayed his treasure. It
was a large, thick, octavo volume, bound in stout leather, and filled
with portraits and pictured battle scenes. And on the fly-leaf was
written: "Presented to Ishmael Worth, as a reward of merit, by his friend
James Middleton."
Ishmael read that with a new accession of pleasure. Then he turned the
leaves to peep at the hidden jewels in this intellectual casket. Then he
closed the book and laid it on his knees and shut his eyes and held his
breath for joy.
He had been enamored of this beauty for months and months. He had fallen
in love with it at first sight, when he had seen its pages open, with a
portrait of George Washington on the right and a picture of the Battle
of Yorktown on the left, all displayed in the show window of Hainlin's
book shop. He had loved it and longed for it with a passionate ardor
ever since. He had spent all his half holidays in going to Baymouth and
standing before Hamlin's window and staring at the book, and asking the
price of it, and wondering if he should ever be able to save money
enough to buy it. Now, to be in love with an unattainable woman is bad
enough, the dear knows! But to be in love with an unattainable book--Oh,
my gracious! Lover-like, he had thought of this book all day, and
dreamt of it all night; but never hoped to possess it!
And now he really owned it! He had won it as a reward for courage,
truth, and honesty! It was lying there on his knees. It was all his own!
His intense satisfaction can only be compared to that of a youthful
bridegroom who has got his beloved all to himself at last! It might have
been said of the one, as it is often said of the other, "It was the
happiest day of his life!"
Oh, doubtless in after years the future statesman enjoyed many a
hard-won victory. Sweet is the breath of fame! Sweet the praise of
nations! But I question whether, in all the vicissitudes, successes,
failures, trials, and triumphs of his future life, Ishmael Worth ever
tasted such keen joy as he did this night in the possession of this
book.
He enjoyed it more than wealthy men enjoy their great libraries. To him,
this was the book of books, because it was the history of his own
country.
There were thousands and thousands of young men, sons of gentlemen, in
schools and colleges, reading this glorious history of the young
republic as a task, with indifference or disgust, while this poor boy,
in the hill-top hut, pored over its pages with all the enthusiasm of
reverence and love! And why--what caused this difference? Because they
were of the commonplace, while he was one in a million. This was the
history of the rise and progress of the United States; Ishmael Worth was
an ardent lover and worshiper of his country, as well as of all that was
great and good! He had the brain to comprehend and the heart to
reverence the divine idea embodied in the Federal Union. He possessed
these, not by inheritance, not by education, but by the direct
inspiration of Heaven, who, passing over the wealthy and the prosperous,
ordained this poor outcast boy, this despised, illegitimate son of a
country weaver, to become a great power among the people! a great pillar
of the State.