Part 18 (1/2)

Rollo reflected a moment in order properly to frame his answer to his father's question. He thought he knew very well what the meaning of the word _independence_ was, but he did not readily know how to clothe the meaning in language. At last he said that he thought independence was doing what you thought was best yourself, without regard to what other people thought.

”Very well,” said his father. ”That's a pretty good definition of it.

And now, do you think it is a good quality, or a bad quality?”

”A good quality,” said Rollo; ”that is, I suppose it is good,” he added, hesitatingly, ”but I don't know.”

”It depends upon circ.u.mstances,” said Mr. Holiday. ”Should you think that firing his gun when _he_ thought best, instead of when the _captain_ thought best, was a good thing in a soldier, on the field of battle?”

”No, sir,” said Rollo.

”And so, would the independence of the colonel of a regiment,” continued Mr. Holiday, ”in marching when he thought best, instead of when the general ordered him, be a good quality or a bad quality?”

”Bad,” said Rollo; ”very bad indeed.”

”Independence is an excellent quality in its own right and proper sphere,” said Mr. Holiday; ”but when it takes the form of disregarding or rebelling against right and proper authority, it is a very bad quality. It cannot be tolerated. If it were allowed generally to prevail among mankind, the whole world would be thrown into confusion, and nothing could go on. This is now the kind of independence that you must guard against. You are growing up rapidly, and increasing in strength and knowledge every day. You are becoming a young man, and in a great many of the situations in which you are placed, you are fully competent to take care of yourself. Still you are what the law calls a minor. That is, you have not arrived at an age when you can safely be your own master, and support and take care of yourself. Consequently, the law makes it your father's duty, for some years to come, to furnish money for your support, and to provide for you all necessary protection. And the same law makes it your duty to be under my direction, to conform your conduct to my judgment; or, in other words, to do, not as _you_ think best, but as I, or whomsoever I may delegate to act in my stead, thinks best. This is reasonable. As long as a boy depends upon his father for the means of his support, it is right that he should act as his father's judgment dictates. It will be time enough for him to expect that he should act according to his own judgment, in his conduct, when he is able to earn his own living, and so release his father from all responsibility on his account. In a word, the pecuniary responsibility of the father, and the moral obligation of the son, go together.”

”Yes, father,” said Rollo; ”I think that is all true.”

”And now,” continued Mr. Holiday, ”I put you, for this journey, under your uncle George's care. I delegate my parental power over you to him.

It is your duty, therefore, to obey him in all things, and to comply with all his wishes, just as you would if I were in his place.”

”Yes, father,” said Rollo, ”I will.”

”Besides being your duty,” added Mr. Holiday, ”it is greatly for your interest to do so. If you begin to show your independence, as it is sometimes called, and insist on doing what you think is best, instead of what he thinks is best, so as to cause him trouble, and make him feel anxious and uneasy on your account, you will spoil the pleasure of his journey, and he will not wish to take you with him again.”

Mr. Holiday had some further conversation with Rollo on the subject, and the effect of what he said was to lead Rollo to think more than he otherwise would have done on the proper course which a boy ought to pursue when travelling under the charge of his uncle, and he resolved that he would, in all cases, not only obey implicitly his uncle's commands, but that he would comply readily and cordially with his wishes, whenever he could ascertain them.

Accordingly, in this case, he would not go even out into the Corso without first going up to obtain his uncle's permission. He opened the door of the room, and found his uncle there, writing a letter.

”Uncle George,” said he, ”here is a boy down below, who asks me to go out into the Corso with him.”

”What boy is it?” asked Mr. George.

”I don't know what his name is,” said Rollo. ”He is an English boy, I suppose. He just came in from taking a ride on horseback.”

”How long shall you probably be gone?” said Mr. George.

”I don't know,” said Rollo, hesitating. ”Perhaps about half an hour.”

”Very well,” said Mr. George; ”you can be gone two hours if you choose.

If you form any plan that will require more time than that, come home first and let me know.”

So Rollo went down stairs again, and having joined Copley at the door, they went together out towards the Corso.

In the mean time, Copley's brother William and his wife were waiting in their room for Copley to come up. They knew at what hour he would return from his ride, and they had formed a plan for going in a carriage out upon the Appian Way, to see some ancient ruins there. They knew very well that Copley would not care any thing about the ruins, but he always liked to go with them when they took drives in the environs of Rome. The special reason why Copley was so much interested in going on these excursions was, that he was accustomed, in such cases, to sit on the front seat with the coachman, as he did when travelling with the vetturins, and sometimes he obtained permission to drive a little, by secretly offering the coachman a piece of money. Mr. William had charged his brother to come up to the parlor as soon as he came home from his ride, and Copley ought to have done so. But it was never Copley's practice to pay much heed to requests of this kind from his brother.

Mr. William, having waited for some time after he had seen the two horses arrive at the door, wondering all the time why Copley did not come up, went down to the door to inquire what had become of him. The concierge informed him that Copley had gone away with another boy, out to the Corso. So Mr. William ordered the carriage, and he and his wife went away on their excursion alone.

Rollo and Copley had a very pleasant walk along the Corso. They were obliged, however, to walk in the middle of the street, for the sidewalks were so narrow and so irregular in shape, sometimes growing narrower and narrower, until at length there was scarcely any thing but the curb-stone left, that Rollo and Copley could not walk upon them.