Ted and the Telephone | Page 2

its location but because labor was
needed there. A very sad decision it was for Ted who had passionately
loved the old farm on which he had been born, the half-blind gray horse,

the few hens, and the lean Jersey cattle that his father asserted ate more
than they were worth. To be cooped up in a manufacturing center after
having had acres of open country to roam over was not an altogether
joyous prospect. Would there be any chestnut, walnut, or apple trees at
Freeman's Falls, he wondered.
Alas, the question was soon answered. Within the village there were
almost no trees at all except a few sickly elms and maples whose
foliage was pale for want of sunshine and grimy with smoke. In fact,
there was not much of anything in the town save the long dingy
factories that bordered the river; the group of cheap and gaudy shops on
the main street; and rows upon rows of wooden houses, all identical in
design, walling in the highway. It was not a spot where green things
flourished. There was not room for anything to grow and if there had
been the soot from the towering chimneys would soon have settled
upon any venturesome leaf or flower and quickly shrivelled it beneath a
cloak of cinders. Even the river was coated with a scum of oil and
refuse that poured from the waste pipes of the factories into the stream
and washed up along the shores which might otherwise have been fair
and verdant.
Of course, if one could get far enough away there was beauty in plenty
for in the outlying country stretched vistas of splendid pines, fields lush
with ferns and flowers, and the unsullied span of the river, where in all
its mountain-born purity it rushed gaily down toward the village. Here,
well distant from the manufacturing atmosphere, were the homes of the
Fernalds who owned the mills, the great estates of Mr. Lawrence
Fernald and Mr. Clarence Fernald who every day rolled to their offices
in giant limousines. Everybody in Freeman's Falls knew them by
sight,--the big boss, as he was called, and his married son; and
everybody thought how lucky they were to own the mills and take the
money instead of doing the work. At least, that was what gossip said
they did.
Unquestionably it was much nicer to live at Aldercliffe, the stately
colonial mansion of Mr. Lawrence Fernald; or at Pine Lea, the home of
Mr. Clarence Fernald, where sweeping lawns, bright awnings, gardens,

conservatories, and flashing fountains made a wonderland of the place.
Troupes of laughing guests seemed always to be going and coming at
both houses and there were horses and motor-cars, tennis courts, a golf
course, and canoes and launches moored at the edge of the river.
Freeman's Falls was a very stupid spot when contrasted with all this
jollity. It must be far pleasanter, too, when winter came to hurry off to
New York for the holidays or to Florida or California, as Mr. Clarence
Fernald frequently did.
With money enough to do whatever one pleased, how could a person
help being happy? And yet there were those who declared that both Mr.
Lawrence and Mr. Clarence Fernald would have bartered their fortunes
to have had the crippled heir to the Fernald millions strong like other
boys. Occasionally Ted had caught a glimpse of this Laurie Fernald, a
fourteen-year-old lad with thin, colorless face and eyes that were
haunting with sadness. In the village he passed as "the poor little chap"
or as "poor Master Laurie" and the employees always doffed their caps
to him because they pitied him. Whether one liked Mr. Fernald or Mr.
Clarence or did not, every one united in being sorry for Mr. Laurie.
Perhaps the invalid realized this; at any rate, he never failed to return
the greetings accorded him with a smile so gentle and sweet that it
became a pleasure in the day of whomsoever received it.
It was said at the factories that the reason the Fernalds went to New
York and Florida and California was because of Mr. Laurie; that was
the reason, too, why so many celebrated doctors kept coming to Pine
Lea, and why both Mr. Fernald and Mr. Clarence were often so sharp
and unreasonable. In fact, almost everything the Fernalds did or did not
do, said or did not say, could be traced back to Mr. Laurie. From the
moment the boy was born--nay, long before--both Mr. Lawrence
Fernald for whom he was named, and his father, Mr. Clarence Fernald,
had planned how he should inherit the great mills and carry on the
business they had founded. For years they had talked and talked of
what should happen when Mr. Laurie grew up. And then