The　Mansion
  by　Henry　van　Dyke
  There　was　an　air　of　calm　and　reserved　opulence　about
  the　Weightman　mansion　that　spoke　not　of　money　squandered；
  but　of　wealth　prudently　applied。　　Standing　on　a　corner　of
  the　Avenue　no　longer　fashionable　for　residence；　it　looked　upon
  the　swelling　tide　of　business　with　an　expression　of　complacency
  and　half…disdain。
  The　house　was　not　beautiful。　　There　was　nothing　in　its　straight
  front　of
  chocolate…colored　stone；　its　heavy　cornices；　its　broad；　staring
  windows　of
  plate　glass；　its　carved　and　bronze…bedecked　mahogany　doors　at　the
  top　of　the　wide　stoop；　to　charm　the　eye　or　fascinate　the
  imagination。
  But　it　was　eminently　respectable；　and　in　its　way　imposing。
  It　seemed　to　say　that　the　glittering　shops　of　the　jewelers；　the
  milliners；
  the　confectioners；　the　florists；　the　picture…dealers；　the
  furriers；
  the　makers　of　rare　and　costly　antiquities；　retail　traders　in
  luxuries　of　life；　were　beneath　the　notice　of　a　house　that　had　its
  foundations　in　the　high　finance；　and　was　built　literally　and
  figuratively
  in　the　shadow　of　St。　Petronius'　Church。
  At　the　same　time　there　was　something　self…pleased　and
  congratulatory　in
  the　way　in　which　the　mansion　held　its　own　amid　the　changing
  neighborhood。
  It　almost　seemed　to　be　lifted　up　a　little；　among　the　tall
  buildings
  near　at　hand；　as　if　it　felt　the　rising　value　of　the　land　on　which
  it　stood。
  John　Weightman　was　like　the　house　into　which　he　had　built　himself
  thirty　years　ago；　and　in　which　his　ideals　and　ambitions　were
  incrusted。
  He　was　a　self…made　man。　　But　in　making　himself　he　had　chosen　a
  highly　esteemed　pattern　and　worked　according　to　the　approved
  rules。
  There　was　nothing　irregular；　questionable；　flamboyant　about　him。
  He　was　solid；　correct；　and　justly　successful。
  His　minor　tastes；　of　course；　had　been　carefully　kept　up　to　date。
  At　the　proper　time；　pictures　of　the　Barbizon　masters；　old　English
  plate　and　portraits；　bronzes　by　Barye　and　marbles　by　Rodin；
  Persian　carpets
  and　Chinese　porcelains；　had　been　introduced　to　the　mansion。
  It　contained　a　Louis　Quinze　reception…room；　an　Empire
  drawing…room；
  a　Jacobean　dining…room；　and　various　apartments　dimly　reminiscent
  of
  the　styles　of　furniture　affected　by　deceased　monarchs。　　That　the
  hallways
  were　too　short　for　the　historic　perspective　did　not　make　much
  difference。
  American　decorative　art　is　capable　de　tout；　it　absorbs　all
  periods。
  Of　each　period　Mr。　Weightman　wished　to　have　something　of　the
  best。
  He　understood　its　value；　present　as　a　certificate；　and
  prospective　as
  an　investment。
  It　was　only　in　the　architecture　of　his　town　house　that　he
  remained　conservative；　immovable；　one　might　almost　say
  Early…Victorian…Christian。　　His　country　house　at
  Dulwich…on…the…Sound
  was　a　palace　of　the　Italian　Renaissance。　　But　in　town
  he　adhered　to　an　architecture　which　had　moral　associations；
  the　Nineteenth…Century…Brownstone　epoch。　　It　was　a　symbol　of
  his　social　position；　his　religious　doctrine；　and　even；　in　a　way；
  of　his　business　creed。
  〃A　man　of　fixed　principles；〃　he　would　say；　〃should　express　them
  in
  the　looks　of　his　house。　　New　York　changes　its　domestic
  architecture
  too　rapidly。　　It　is　like　divorce。　　It　is　not　dignified。　　I　don't
  like　it。
  Extravagance　and　fickleness　are　advertised　in　most　of　these　new
  houses。
  I　wish　to　be　known　for　different　qualities。　　Dignity　and　prudence
  are
  the　things　that　people　trust。　　Every　one　knows　that　I　can　afford
  to
  live　in　the　house　that　suits　me。　　It　is　a　guarantee　to　the
  public。
  It　inspires　confidence。　　It　helps　my　influence。　　There　is　a　text
  in
  the　Bible　about　'a　house　that　hath　foundations。'　That　is　the
  proper　kind　of
  a　mansion　for　a　solid　man。〃
  Harold　Weightman　had　often　listened　to　his　father　discoursing　in
  this　fashion　on　the　fundamental　principles　of　life；　and　always
  with
  a　divided　mind。　　He　admired　immensely　his　father's　talents
  and　the　single…minded　energy　with　which　he　improved　them。
  But　in　the　paternal　philosophy　there　was　something　that
  disquieted
  and　oppressed　the　young　man；　and　made　him　gasp　inwardly　for　fresh
  air
  and　free　action。
  At　times；　during　his　college　course　and　his　years　at　the　law
  school；
  he　had　yielded　to　this　impulse　and　broken　awaynow　toward
  extravagance
  and　dissipation；　and　then；　when　the　reaction　came；　toward　a
  romantic
  devotion　to　work　among　the　poor。　　He　had　felt　his　father's
  disapproval
  for　both　of　these　forms　of　imprudence；　but　is　was　never　expressed
  in
  a　harsh　or　violent　way；　always　with　a　certain　tolerant　patience；
  such　as　one　might　show　for　the　mistakes　and　vagaries　of　the　very
  young。
  John　Weightman　was　not　hasty；　impulsive；　inconsiderate；　even
  toward　his
  own　children。　　With　them；　as　with　the　rest　of　the　world；　he　felt
  that　he
  had　a　reputation　to　maintain；　a　theory　to　vindicate。　　He　could
  afford　to
  give　them　time　to　see　that　he　was　absolutely　right。
  One　of　his　favorite　Scripture　quotations　was；　〃Wait　on　the　Lord。〃
  He　had　applied　it　to　real　estate　and　to　people；　with　profitable
  results。
  But　to　human　persons　the　sensation　of　being　waited　for　is　not
  always　agreeable。　　Sometimes；　especially　with　the　young；　it
  produces
  a　vague　restlessness；　a　dumb　resentment；　which　is　increased　by
  the　fact　that　one　can　hardly　explain　or　justify　it。　　Of　this
  John　Weightman　was　not　conscious。　　It　lay　beyond　his　horizon。
  He　did　not　take　it　into　account　in　the　plan　of　life　which　he　made
  for
  himself　and　for　his　family　as　the　sharers　and　inheritors　of　his
  success。
  〃Father　plays　us；〃　said　Harold；　in　a　moment　of　irritation；　to　his
  mother；
  〃like　pieces　in　a　game　of　chess。
  〃My　dear；〃　said　that　lady；　whose　faith　in　her　husband　was
  religious；
  〃you　ought　not　to　speak　so　impatiently。　　At　least　he　wins　the
  game。
  He　is　one　of　the　most　respected　men　in　New　York。　　And　he　is
  very　generous；　too。〃
  〃I　wish　he　would　be　more　generous　in　letting　us　be　ourselves；〃
  said　the　young　man。　　〃He　always　has　something　in　view　for　us
  and　expects　to　move　us　up　to　it。〃
  〃But　isn't　it　always　for　our　benefit？〃　replied　his　mother。
  〃Look　what　a　position　we　have。　　No　one　can　say　there　is　any　taint
  on
  our　money。　　There　are　no　rumors　about　your　father。　　He　has　kept
  the　laws　of　God　and　of　man。　　He　has　never　made　any　mistakes。〃
  Harold　got　up　from　his　chair　and　poked　the　fire。　　Then　he　came
  back　to
  the　ample；　well…gowned；　firm…looking　lady；　and　sat　beside　her　on
  the　sofa。
  He　took　her　hand　gently　and　looked　at　the　two　ringsa　thin　band
  of
  yellow　gold；　and　a　small　solitaire　diamondwhich　kept　their
  place　on
  her　third　finger　in　modest　dignity；　as　if　not　shamed；　but　rather
  justified；
  by　the　splendor　of　the　emerald　which　glittered　beside　them。
  〃Mother；〃　he　said；　〃you　have　a　wonderful　hand。　　And　father　made
  no　mistake
  when　he　won　you。　　But　are　you　sure　he　has　always　been　so
  inerrant？〃
  〃Harold；〃　she　exclaimed；　a　little　stiffly；　〃what　do　you　mean？
  His　life　is　an　open　book。〃
  〃Oh；〃　he　answered；　〃I　don't　mean　anything　bad；　mother　dear。
  I　know　the　governor's　life　is　an　open　booka　ledger；　if　you
  like；
  kept　in　the　best　bookkeeping　hand；　and　always　ready　for
  inspectionevery　page　correct；　and　showing　a　handsome　balance。
  But　isn't　it　a　mistake　not　to　allow　us　to　make　our　own　mistakes；
  to　learn　for　ourselves；　to　live　our　own　lives？　　Must　we　be
  always　working　for　'the　balance；'　in　one　thing　or　another？
  I　want　to　be　myselfto　get　outside　of　this　everlasting；
  profitable　'plan'to　let　myself　go；　and　lose　myself　for　a　while
  at　leastto　do　the　things　that　I　want　to　do；　just　because
  I　want　to　do　them。〃
  〃My　boy；〃　said　his　mother；　anxiously；　〃you　are　not　going　to　do
  anything
  wrong　or　foolish？　　You　know　the　falsehood　of　that　old　proverb
  about
  wild　oats。〃
  He　threw　back　his　head　and　laughed。　　〃Yes；　mother；〃　he　answered；
  〃I　know　it　well　enough。　　But　in　California；　you　know；　the　wild
  oats　are
  one　of　the　most　valuable　crops。　　They　grow　all　over　the　hillsides
  and
  keep　the　cattle　and　the　horses　alive。　　But　that　wasn't　what　I
  meantto　sow
  wild　oats。　　Say　to　pick　wild　flowers；　if　you　like；　or　even　to
  chase
  wild　geeseto　do　something　that　seems　good　to　me　just　for　its
  own　sake；
  not　for　the　sake　of　wages　of　one　kind　or　another。　　I　feel　like　a
  hired　man；
  in　the　service　of　this　magnificent　mansionsay　in　training　for
  father's　place　as　majordomo。　　I'd　like　to　get　out　some　way；
  to　feel　freeperhaps　to　do　something　for　others。〃
  The　young　man's　voice　hesitated　a　little。　　〃Yes；　it　sound　like
  cant；
  I　know；　but　sometimes　I　feel　as　if　I'd　like　to　do　some　good　in
  the　world；
  if　father　only　wouldn't　insist　upon　God's　putting　it　into　the
  ledger。〃
  His　mother　moved　uneasily；　and　a