ARTHUR
6

I left it for a long time and returned home not until late at night. As soon as I entered, my father handed Betty over to me as his wife and wished I could accept her as a mother.

It was not until after repeated and serious statements from both of them that I was persuaded to do this. The effect on my feelings can be easily understood. I know that woman is rude, stupid and immoral. Had I suspected this event, I might have fortified my father's weakness and allowed him to avoid the abyss he was heading towards; but my supposition had been negligent of it all.

To think that such a person should replace my esteemed mother is intolerable.

To treat him in any way that is not worth his actual services; to dissuade the anger and derision from rising up upon seeing him in his new condition, not in my power. Being reduced to his servant, being a sport of hatred and his intelligence, should not be borne. I have no independent provision; but I am my father's only child and quite hopeful of succeeding in his legacy. On top of this hope I have built a thousand pleasant visions. I have contemplated innumerable projects that with this ownership of the land will allow me to carry them out. I had no desire beyond the agricultural trade and beyond the luxury that a hundred acres would provide.

The house I live in is no longer mine, not even mine. Until now I have thought and acted in it with the freedom of a master; but now I am becoming in my own concept, an alien and a rooftop enemy to which I was born. Every tie that tied me to it was melted down or turned into something that kept me away from it. I was a guest whose presence was filled with anger and impatience.

I was very impressed by the need for a transfer, but I did not know where to go, or what kind of livelihood to look for. My father was an emigrant and had no relatives on this side of the sea. My mother's family lived very far away and the long separation had deprived her of all the rights of relationships in her descendants. Cultivating land was my only profession and in order to benefit from my expertise in it, I needed to become a day worker to serve foreigners; but this was my destiny, he said, who had so long enjoyed the pleasure of independence and command, could not suddenly reconcile myself. It occurred to me that the city might grant me asylum. A short day trip will bring me into it. I have been there two or three times in my life, but only a few hours at a time. I don't know anyone there. I am not qualified to have a job that fits with city life, but pen life. This, indeed, was once my favorite tool and although it may seem a bit strange, it is no less true that I have practiced almost as much with quill pens as in mattock. But the amount of my skill lies in tracking down different characters. I have used it only to write down what others have written or to give shape to my own conception. Whether the city would give me a job, as a mere copyist, profitable enough, was the point where I had no means of information.