"Wherever I may go, and whatever I may become or fail to be, my heart will always be true to you, Jenny."

"And I will do all I can for father and mother; I will be your heart to them, so that you may give your time to your pen. Every one in a family should seek to do for the family what others lack or are not able to do.

You can write; I can not, but, Ben, I can love."

She walked about the wild rose bushes, where the red-winged blackbirds were singing.

"O Ben," she continued, "I am so glad that you wrote that piece, and that father liked it so well! I would not have been more glad had you received a present from a king. Maybe you will receive a present from a king some day, if you write as well as that."

"You will keep the secret, Jenny?"

"Yes, Ben, I will look for the paper to-morrow. How glad Uncle Ben would be if he knew it. Why, Ben, that name, Silence Dogood, is a piece in itself. It is a picture of your heart. You are just like Uncle Ben, Silence Dogood."

The name of Silence Dogood became famous in Boston town. Jenny obtained Ben's permission to tell Uncle Benjamin the great secret, and Uncle Benjamin's heart was so delighted that he went to his room and told the secret "to the Lord."

The three hearts were now very, very happy for a time. Jenny was growing up a beautiful girl, and her thoughts were much given to her hard-working parents and to laughed-at, laughing little Ben.

When Uncle Benjamin had heard of Ben's failure as a poet and success as Silence Dogood, he took him down to Long Wharf again.

"I am an old man," he said. "But here I have a lesson for you. If you are conscious that you have any gift, even in small degree, never let the world laugh it away. See 'that no man take thy crown,' the Scripture says. Every one who has contributed anything to the progress of the world has been laughed at. Stick a pin in thee, Ben.

"Now, Ben, you may not have the poet's imagination or art, but if you have the poetical mind do not be laughed out of an attempt to express it. You may not become a poet; I do not think that you ever will.

Perhaps you will write proverbs, and proverbs are a kind of poems. I am going to reprove Brother Josiah for what he has said. He has given over your education to me, and it is my duty to develop you after your own gifts.

"Let us go back to the shop. I want to have a talk with Josiah; but, before we leave, I have a short word to say to you.

"Hoi, Ben, hoi!--I don't know what makes me repeat these words; they are not swear words, Ben, but they come to me when my feelings are awakened.

"It is hard, hard for one to see what he wants to be and to be kept back. I wanted to be a philosopher and a poet. Don't you laugh, Ben. I did; I wanted to be both, and I was so poor that I was obliged to write my thoughts on the margin of the leaves of my pamphlets, which I sold to come to teach you. Ben, Ben, listen: I can never be a philosopher or a poet, but you may. Don't laugh, Ben. Don't let any one laugh you out of your best ideas, Ben. You may. The world will never read what I wrote.

They may read what you will write, and if you follow my ideas and they are read, you will be content. Hoi, Ben, hoi!"

They went to the candle shop.

"Josiah, you do wrong to try to suppress Ben's gift at rhyme. A man without poetry in his soul amounts to no more than a chopping block. The world just hammers itself on him, and that is all. You would not make Ben a dunce!"

"No, brother, no; but a goose is not a nightingale, and the world will not stop to listen if she mounts a tree and attempts to sing."

"No, Brother Josiah, but a goose that would like to sing like a nightingale would be no common goose; she would find better pasture than other geese. Small gifts are to be prized. 'A little diamond is worth a mountain of gla.s.s,' as the proverb says."

"Well, if you must write poetry, don't publish it until it is called for."

"Well, Brother Josiah, your advice will do for me, for I am an old man; but I must teach Ben never to be laughed out of any good idea that may come to him. Is not that right, brother?"

"Yes, Uncle Ben. But you can't make a hen soar to the skies like an eagle. If you are not a poet, you have a perfect character, and that is why I leave the training of Ben to you. If you can make a man of him, the world will be better for him; and if you can make something else of him besides a poet out of his poetical gift, I shall be very glad. Your poetry has not helped you in life, has it, Benjamin?"

"I don't know. You think it is that that has made me a burden to you."

Josiah looked his brother in the face.

"A burden? No, brother. One of the greatest joys of my life was to have you come here, and it will be the greatest blessing to my life if you can make the life of little Ben a blessing to the world. I am not much of a musician, but I like to sound the fiddle, and if you have any poetic light, let it shine--but as a tallow dip, like my fiddling. You are right, brother, in teaching little Ben never to be laughed down. I don't blame any one for crying his goods if he has anything to sell. But if he has not, he had better be content to warm his hands by his own fire."

"Brother Josiah, listen to me. Little Ben here has something to sell.--Hoi, Ben, hoi! you listen.--There have thoughts come to me that I know did not rise out of the dust. I have been too poor to publish them.

You may laugh at me, and call me a poor philosopher and say that my philosophy has kept me poor. But Benjamin here is going to give my thoughts to the world, and the things that I put into my pamphlets are going to live. It was not you that gave Ben to me: it was Heaven. A veil hangs over us in this world, and if a man does good in his heart, the hand behind that veil moves all the events of his life for good.

"Don't laugh at us, Josiah; we are weaving together thoughts that will feed the world. That we are.--Hoi, Ben, hoi!"

"Well, Brother, your faith makes you a happy old man. I hope that you will be able to make something of Ben, and that he may do credit to your good name. It may be so. Faith sees.

"I love to see you go into the South Church, Brother. As soon as your face appears all the people look very happy, and sit still. The children all sit still. The t.i.thingman stands still; he has nothing to do for a time.

"It is something, Brother Ben, to be able to cast such an influence as that--something that money can not buy. I am sorry if I have hurt your feelings. Heaven be praised for such men as you are, Brother Ben! I hope that I may live to see all that you see by faith. I think I may, Brother Ben. 'Men do not gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles,' but they do gather grapes of grapes and figs of figs. I hope that Ben will be the book of your life, and make up for the pamphlets. It would be a good book for men to read."

"Hoi, Ben, hoi!" said the old man, "I can see that it will."

One Sunday, after church, in summer, Uncle Ben the poet and Silence Dogood went down on Long Wharf to enjoy the breezes from the sea. Uncle Ben was glad to learn more of the literary successes of Silence Dogood.

"To fail in poetry is to succeed in prose," said the fine old man. "But much that we call prose is poetry; rhymes are only childish jingles. The greatest poetry in the world is written without rhyme. It is the magic spirit and the magic words that make true poetry. The book of Job, in my opinion, is the greatest poetry ever written. Poetry is not made, it exists; and one who is prepared to receive it catches it as it flows.

Ben, you are going to succeed in prose. You are going to become a ready writer. Study Addison more and more."

"Uncle Ben, do you not think that it is the hardest thing in life for one to be told that he can not do what he most wants to do?"

"Yes, Ben, that is the hardest thing in life. It is a cruel thing to crush any one in his highest hope and expectation."

"Was Solomon a poet? Are the Proverbs poetry?"

"Yes, yes. The book of Proverbs is a thousand poems."

"Then, Uncle Ben, I may be a poet yet. That kind of little poems come to me."

"Ha! ha! ha!"

A voice rang out behind them.

It was Jamie the Scotchman.

"Well, Ben, it is good to fly high. I infer that you expect to become a proverb poet, after the manner of Solomon. The people here will all be quoting you some day. It may be that you will be quoted in England and France. Ha! ha! ha! What good times," he added, "you two have together--dreaming! Well, it costs nothing to dream. There is no toll demanded of him who travels in the clouds. Move along, young Solomon, and let me sit down on the sea wall beside you. When you write a book of proverb poetry I hope I'll be living to read it. One don't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear--there's a proverb for you!--nor gather wisdom except by experience--there's another; and some folks do not get wisdom even from experience." He looked suspiciously toward Uncle Ben.

"Experience keeps a dear school," said Uncle Ben in a kindly way.

"And some people can learn of no other," added Silence Dogood.

"And some folks not even there," said Jamie the Scotchman.

The loons came semicircling along the sea wall, their necks aslant, and uttering cries in a mocking tone.

"Well, I declare, it makes the loons laugh--and no wonder!" said Jamie the Scotchman. He lighted his pipe, whose bowl was a piece of corncob, and whiffed away in silence for a time, holding up one knee in his clasped hands.

Silence Dogood surveyed his surroundings, which were ship cargoes.