HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOL. LXXIV. DECEMBER, 1886. No. CCCCXXXJX. THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. BY THE AUTHOR OF BEN HUR. The time draws near the birth of Christ; The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas hells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. ET us go see Uncle Midas. Ohyes! Let us go and have him talk to us. Outside the house all was winter, still and cold; inside were summer warmth, a rosy glow of light, and music and merry voices; for it was Christmas Eve, and the young people of the town had met to celebrate it. Uncle Midas held that such was the right welcome of the glad event. The sweetest song men ever heard was that of the singers who came with the Annunciator; and arguing that the lesson was cheerfulness and joy, the old gentle- man opened his doors to the boys and girls, and was himself happy, knowing they were happy. Now she who at the moment thought of Uncle Midas, and said let us go see him, and she who answered so willingly, were more than girls, yet not quite young women. They carried their childish names, but had lovers, each a number of them; and while they would laugh and dance and never tire, midst it all they could allow a serious thought. The first of the two to speak was Nan, the other was Puss, and in their dissimi]arity they were pretty. Moreover, for persons so young they were well read, and knew to talk of great events and take delight in hearing of far countries. So, leaving the waltzers and the fiddling and merriment, and the harmless play that leads to love, and the dear delusions so like love that even the wise often yield to their enchant- ment, only to find themselves mistaken, the two, hand in hand, stole out of the parlor door on the way to Uncle Midas. They came first to a conservatory full of verdant treasures. Amongst them, spe- cially in favor, were a palm-tree bearing stoneless dates, and a vine loaded with black grapes large as damson - plums. This, Uncle Midas would say of the palm, was given me hy the monks of Mar-Saaba. The tree I saw them cut it from was the only green thing in their grim monastery. And thisthe vine was from a garden just outside the walls of Jerusalem. Of such were the grapes of Eshcol. And see there, he would say of a certain dwarfish shruh; II plucked an acorn from the oak at Mamre, where the angels rested with the patriarch. Two thousand years hence it might be sugges- tive of its paternity. There were but few flowers under the glass roof. Flowers remind me of nothing so much as their frailty, but theseand he would look proudly and kindly at the palm and the outstretching vine and their less ambitious keep me reminded of famous places I have seen, of persons, and of the ventures with which my days of nerve and will were seasoned. When at last, one comes to live in the by-gone, as I am living, it is good to have such depend- ents always at his door to salute him, Hey, you remember this? or Have you forgot- ten that? You pomegranate, for example. I wrenched it from the terrace of a Greek Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1886, by Harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Lihrarian of congress, at washington. All rights reserved. VOL. LXXIV.No. 439.i 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. garden on the Bosporus, and now if I stop to clip a dead twig from it, it begins straightway whispering to me of misty mornings breaking oyer great ships com- ing and going in endless processions, and of afternoon dreams dreamed in caiques drifting along the empurpled shores of the hill-bound bay of Buyukdere. Passing through the conservatory, the visitors, by a door overhung with sheeny portidres, entered a study which was itself a study. With respect to interiors, pro- portions are always perfect when they raise no questions. No one ever asked Un- cle Midas about the height of this room, or its length and breadth. There was in the centre a carpet from the looms of Smyrna, deep-tufted, and of indigo blue almost bluick. A desk of cherry-wood in the middle of the carpet was overlooked by a Pensieroso of Angelo in Castellina marble. As there was but one door, so there was but one window, and it too was richly draped. Book-cases of cherry, much carven, hung from three sides. A flame burned brightly in a broad open fireplace, and an old-gold-colored rug of Khorassan caught the light of the flame, and held it in lustrous imprisonment. A circular window in the shallow arch of the ceiling permitted day in its hours to flood the in- terior, until the lettering of the books, on shelves not higher than an easy hand- reach, sparkled like jewelry. It is hardly enough to call the chamber a study. Uncle Midas had led a busy life; he had.been a lawyer, a soldier, an author, and a traveller; he had dabbled in art, diplomacy, and politics; and, like most men so diversely occupied, there had never been a day in which lie had not promised himself to let his mind say to his body, Thou hast served me well, and carried me about for much teaching, and I have profited much; now, 0 good ser- vant, take thine ease; the gathered fruits are waiting, and I alone will continue to labor. At length, noting the coming of his mid-afternoon of life, he determined to make the promise good. Toward that end lie built the study, and tied it to his house with the conservatory, reserving the shelves for those other and higher as- sociates which, in their cloaks of cloth and gold, would also wait for him, and, being called, begin talking in a manner the cleverest toiigue cannot attain, and of every possible theme of human interest. For such are books! With good women, they are the superlative solace of waning years. Then, the preparations all com- plete, he retired from the pursuits which have their origin in ambition, and betook himself to study and reflection, believing that the capacity to think was a necessary accomplishment for the next life, and that it could be carried there with him. The sick and desponding sometinies take to their chairs grimly waiting for death; but in perfect health, with a plentiful reserve of strength, a contentment which with him was but another name for charity, and a satisfaction perpetually exercising itself in finding excuses for the follies and frailties of strangers as well as ac- quaintances, he sat down in his study calmly and with deliberate forethought that his soul might educate and fit itself for the life to come. And this, lie used to say, shall no man be able to do ex- cept he believe in Jesus Christ. Now when the visitors had come into the study, they saw Uncle Midas in his rock- ing-chair before the fire, and as they ran to him they cried out cheerily, Oh, Uncle Midas ! And he arose and answered as cheerily, Heigli! Pussand Nan ! And he would have got them chairs, for he was a gentleman faithful to all the canons of the old school; but they divined his purpose, and were quicker than he; and when the chairs were brought and set at his right near his arm, and he was seated, they kissed him affectionately. Uncle Midas, it must be said, did not look his sixty and five years. He was tall, white-haired, and white-mustached. This evening he was in slippers and dress- ing-gown. A gray silk cap had the effect to deepen the ineradicable sun-tan of his cheeks. Well, well, lie said, yonder are beaux, and music, and dance; here there is only an old man; yet you leave them and come to him ? Yes; we have come to hear you talk, said Nan. A wave of music, splashing through the open door, streamed into the study. Hark! he said. Who may talk to young people against fiddles tiniing a waltz ? You canand must, said Puss. Must? he repeated. That was the word ; and the pretty girl, resting her elbows on the arm of his chair, looked up under his brows with an THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. 5 infinite persuasion in her blue eyes. His hand dropped upon her shoulder. I see I must; butdid you think to bring a subject with you ? Yes, indeed. You were very wise. It was She glanced appealingly at Nan; and Nan answered with a bright look, The Boyhood of Christ. Yes, yes; I had almost forgotten. ~And then, Puss added, it is so hard to think of him as a boyI mean to think of him running, jumping, playing mar- bles, flying kites, spinning tops, and going about all day on mischiefs, such as throw- ing stones and robbing birds nests. Uncle Midas looked up with a grave smile. Uncle Midas turned his face to the fire; then his head dropped lower, giv- ing the flame to redden his forehead and repeat itself in his eyes. The suggestion was plainly a surprise to him. Why that subject l~ he asked, to gain a little time. Because its Christmas Eve. TO DECK HIMSELF FROM THE ANEMONE BEDS ON THE HILI5.[5EE PAGE 8.] 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Rest you, little friend, he said; if the Nazarene lads of his day had tops, mar- bles, and kitesI am not sure they hadI would prefer to believe he found enjoy- ment in them. Oh, Uncle Midas! The good mans smile vanished. I see, he said, you are going the way of the many; by-and-by you will not be able to think of our Lord as a man. To me his human birth was as much a divine fact as anything in all his sublime story. Uncle Midas turned to the fire again, as if to assure himself of an idea. I find my love of God, he presently resumed, does not of itself help me stand up under the unutterable thought of Him. He is so beyond my comprehension. But for Christ-ah, how different my feeling! He is my friend, my brother; I could have borne to look into his face; I could have even laid my head fearlessly upon his breast. Why? Because he was a man- a man capable of returning my love in vastest measure, and therefore of easy un- derstandinga man who actually died for me, and of whose dying I am so much better. At this he stopped; whereupon the fid- dles, taking advantage of the silence, flung some of their liveliest notes into the study. Did you ever hear any one deny the human nature of the Saviour? I never did, said Nan, solemnly. But there are plenty to skip it as un- becoming their ideal of him, Uncle Mi- das replied, sharply. And then continued: Two pictures always present themselves when I think of our Lord in his charac- ter of Man. A little plain near Bethle- hem is illuminated in the night-time by a light dropped from the sky; and in the light there is movement and the flashing of wings, and one figure of indescribable majesty speaks to some cowering shep- herds, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good-will to men. This was the second annunciation, and the beautiful speech is a simple definition of the relation of Christ to men. And then the scene changes, giving me to see three crosses planted upon a low hill with mill- ions of people around it; and there is a gloom, almost darkness, in which the crosses rock to and fro, yielding to an earth- quake, and upon one of them a man, nail- ed hands and feet, lifts his face overhung with bloody locks, and cries, as if expir- ing, Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit. And the awfulness of the sight, my little friends, does not hide from me that the sufferer, dying as he was, tar- ried a moment to make definition of his relation to God. Uncle Midass voice shook; he was evi- dently very much in earnest; and while he rested, possibly to give his fair listen- ers time to comprehend his argument, there was a quick step behind the party, and they all turned to a new - comer. Again Uncle Midas would have risen, but Puss stayed him. Its only John, she said. The person so familiarly spoken of ap- proached. Do not move, he said to Uncle Midas. I come to tell Puss that the quadrille is forming, and if she wants to be in it, we must hurry. Uncle Midas glanced at John and Puss, and smiled. Its only John, meant a great deal to him. Thank you, she replied; I will not dance now. Uncle is talking. Bring a chair and join us. He will not object, I am sure. Then, when John was seated, Uncle Mi- das said, As the young man has kindly consented to be of our audience, it is but fair, Puss, that you tell him of what we are talking. And Puss did so, after which Uncle Midas proceeded: The vision of the Crucifixion never visits me without anothera veritable picture hanging in the Pitti Gallery in Florencethe Ecce Homo of Carlo Dolce. In artistic phrase, it is an idealization of the face of Christ, yet there is much more of it than a mere face. An ordinary expert can make fea- tures in likeness, but the rendition on can- vas of a thought, a passion, an emotion of the soul, a face bein~ used for the pur- pose, is a subtlety of genius of the highest order; and then the picture is in fact a portrait of the thought, passion, or emo- tion. In this sense the Ecce Homo of which I am speaking is a portrait of the agony of Christ dying, and to me there is nothing in the world of art of such overpowering effect. The crown of thorns, the dusty clotted locks, the blood- drops and sweat-stains, are utilized; but they do no more than identify the subject and the moment. There is no contraction of brow or writhing of facial muscle; the lower lip hangs a little apart, a deadly pal- THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. 7 br overcasts the But, Uncle countenance, the said Nan. eye~ah, therein I hear you, lies the achieve- he answered, ruent! Even in with a glance their faintness which as much they somehow as said he knew fasten upon the her thought. beholder, and say You were to to him, with a pa- talktousabout thos far beyond She hesitated. the power of About the words, See to boyhood,hesaid, what I have been smiling. Well, broughtI who came to tell you of alov- little one, your reminder only satisfies ing God, of resurrection after death, of a me that my preface has not failed its better life in store for youI who only object. You are impatient to hear the asked you to love and believe in me! kind of boy such a man as Christ was I will certainly see that picture when and we will now inquire if he bad a boy- I get to Florence, said John, impulsively, hood, except as the years of that stage of Uncle Midas waved his hand gently. life can be so called. And you will then understand the les- The old gentleman drew his brows down son it taught me. As the artist could not over his eyes, gazed into the fire awhile have painted the agony of the Lord without looked up again, and asked: Perhaps, giving us his face, so it is not possible for Nan, you can tell me the incidents in us to be convinced of his divinity except which the Lord as a child is made to ap- by the self-comparisons which a recog- pear in the Scriptures ? nition of his human nature affords. Yes: when the shepherds came to wor ANGELS WATCHING OVER THE cHILD JE5U5.[5EE PAGE 9.] 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ship him; at the visit of the Magi; the flight into Egypt; the presentation in the Temple; and when he was found with the doctors at the end of the Passover. Thank you, dear, Uncle Midas said, with a bow; then immediately continued: Now is it not amazing that the youth of one who intended so well and actually did so much, who left us the most pathetic of histories, who will remain forever the perfect standard of comparative holiness, applicable alike to every phase and cir- cumstance of human life, whose hold upon men has already proven him a prophet unto himself, and still goes on widening and deepeninghow wonderful, I say, that the childhood of such a man should be so beggarly of authentic incident! As an argument this fact seems at first glance to justify the opinion commonly held that the youth of the Saviour ran in course very much like that of the generality of poor Jewish children. I cant believe that, uncle, said Puss, with a show of indignation. The old gentleman looked at her benig- nantly. Nor can I, he said. They say that Joseph, to whom as a child our Lord was subject, was a carpenter who plied only the humbler branches of the trade, and that Mary, his wife, spun the flax and wool for the family, and was a housewife. These are the circumstances chiefly relied upon to support the theory that the con- dition of the child was poverty. Now while I admit the circumstances, I deny the conclusion. That Joseph was a car- penter signifies nothing, as the law re- quired every Israelite, rich or poor, to fol- low some occupation. Then was it not written of the exemplar of all the mo- thers in Israel, She looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness? And if we may give heed to accounts not purely Script- ural, Mary owned the house in Nazareth in which the family dwelt; but conform- ing to the Scriptures, it is to be remem- bered that amongst the gifts of the Magi there was gold. And I please myself thinking that there was enough of it to support the holy family while it was in Egypt, and afterward in Nazareth. In my view, then, the child was not born to pov- erty. If any one doubts the conclusion, let him ponder the awful declaration in the Talmud: These four are accounted as dead: the blind, the leper, the poor, and the childless. As to the social posi- tion of the family, it is enough to remark that, besides being a just man, Joseph was a lineal descendant of David the King. They were neither rich nor poor, then, said John. Only comfortable, Uncle Midas re- joined; then proceeded: Exactly the condition to allow our Saviour a marginal time in which to taste something of nat- ural boyish freedom; to have little play- mates, run races with the youngest of the flocks, deck himself from the anemone beds on the hills, and watch the clouds form slowly about the summit of old Her- mon. It must be noted, however, that this period was shorter with him than with our lads, for the terrible Talmudic rules fell upon him early, after which there was small chance to enjoy boyhood according to our ideas of its enjoyment. By overwhelming men, women, and chil- dren with duties, they put existence in iron jackets. To neglect the rules, or the least of them, was to invoke perdition. And besides Uncle Midas drew his gray cap well down, and meditated a moment. I was about to say, he then contin- ued, that there was another cause to cut short the jocund marginal period of our Lord which must not be overlookeda cause peculiar to himself, and, in my judgxnent, more influential even than the Talmudic rules. His precocity was mi- raculous. At a time when other children are muling in their mothers arms, the cells of his understanding be~an to en- large and fill with knowledge. The pro- cess must have been like the gradual rise of water in the basin of a spring; at all events, the knowledge was of a kind t& make him preternaturally serious, and it was not derived from books or school- masters. You think the angels waited upon him ? interposed Nan. The question was asked with such art- lessness that Uncle Midas, who had been talking with self-concentration, looked at her half startled. I did not think of being called upon to make the admission, my little friend, he said; but I willonly do not take me to be a modern spiritualist. You may have seen copies of the most beautiful of the Virgin Mothers. Murillo did but work according to his faith when he filled the space about the central figure with faces~ of attending spirits. At the feet of the THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. 9 Sistine Madonna, beyond perad- venture the most divinely per- fect Mother and Child in group, there are two little cherubs inimitably suggestive of mis- chievous urchins; but exam- ine them closely next time, and see what knowledge is conveyed in the expression of their countenances. Raphael painted them con amore mean- ing that he believed in them and so do I. I do not think such ministers go with us com- mon mortals. Goodness help them if they do! That they went with the divine Child, however, I am quick to believe. They watched him with jealous care; they floated on the clouds above him; they trod the air in his chamber; they gave color, direction, purity, and strength to his thought. His mother may have taught him the al- phabet, but neither she nor the teachers in the synagogue could have helped him to that other rarer and higher learning in the light of which the hearts of those about him were as prim- ers for easy reading. Through what human agency was it that hefore he was a man he was master of a lore which Hillel had not heen able to obtain with all his one hundred and twenty years of studious life? Uncle Midas concluded this speech with something like de- clamation; unconsciously he had become excited, and it was not a little to his relief that other young people broke into the study, and with whispers and smothered laughter closed around the fire. Hush! said John, severely. Uncle Midas is talking.~~ But Uncle Midas spoke more kindly: I fear the fiddlers will complain of me. Not just now, replied a girl THE STORY CAME FIRST FROM HER as she rested her arms on the back of his chair. They are at the cold chicken and mulled cider on As such was the general voice, he said: the sideboard. Very wellonly I am sorry the new- Never mind them, uncle, passed corners will have to guess what has pre- round in encouraging chorus. ceded by the fragment that follows. My 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. subject is the boyhood of Christ. I was was in my salutation and gift went up to saying I did not think he had much time God with as much acceptance, in my be- to enjoy his, and will now add another lief, as if it had been rendered with organ argument in support of the opinion. Sup- accompaniments amidst the splendors of pose by any chance he came while a child St. Peters. to know the mysteries of his birth. The There was a decided movement amongst effects would have been manifold, but of the audience at these words. Uncle Mi- one of them I am certainall desire for das was allowing himself to be carried pastime by childish means would have away again. The rustle, however, brought then ended. him back to his subject. Then you believe he knew it all ? I beg pardon, he said, with charm- asked Puss, impulsively knew it all ing candor. If I have wandered a lit- when he was a child ? tle, charge the fault to my great love of Well, he answered, let us see. He good women. The two, Joseph and was from the beginning in care of at least Mary, I was saying, possessed the secret two persons who could not have put their of our Lords origin. When I consider knowledge of him away had they wished their relationship to him, it becomes im- to do s~. The world has done injustice to possible for nie to think they did not tell Joseph. The fathers of the Church did him all they knew about him. I prefer better when they canonized him. He held to believe the story came first from her. a prodigious secret in his possession, and She knew it best; she loved him most; and was true to it. Who is this? the rabbis as to the time the tale was told, exactness asked, when Christ began his miracles; is of no importance. The hour, we may and they answered themselves, Oh, it is be sure, was auspicious; she held him the carpenters son! The other person clasped in her arms; his head lay upon was Mary, the mother. After all that her breast; from that soft pure pillow he has been said and written of her appear- looked up into her eyes; and then she re- ance, her devotion, her sanctityher wo- membered that he was the Messiah, and manliness makes her as incomparable she the most blessed of women, and from amongst women as her son is incompara- that moment he was lost to all the claims ble amongst men. I am somewhat rigid of boyhood. In the good old language so in my idea that worship is due to God nearly descriptive of the indescribable, alone; nevertheless, it would have been The grace of God was upon him. hard for me to refuse to fall in and march Well, if he did not play as other with Cyril in his great dispute. with Nes- children, he at least went to school ? one torius, and I am sensible of a kindly of the auditors said; and Uncle Midas feeling for Pope Gregory the. Great, be- hastened to reply: cause he at length settled the dispute by If Nazareth had a schooland the making it lawful to write Holy Mother better opinion is that the village was not of God after Marys name. Neither have so favored it is to be kept in mind that I any disposition to quarrel with the de- scholars could not be admitted before the votional habit the peasants have of stop- age of six, and that all instruction was ping to kneel before the Mother as she ap- limited to the Law, and entirely oral. pears above the rural altars on the way- The master sat on a raised seat; the cliii- sides of Italy. On the quay of the Bos- dren., on the floor, simply repeated what porus as one approaches Therapia there he recited to them until they knew the is an arched vault of an ancient ruin in lesson by heart. After six yearscertain- which a poor hunch-backed Greek keeps a ly after lie came to know himselfour candle always burning before a wretched Lord was taught, I think, by his mother. picture of the Virgin. In front of that She may have initiated him in the alpha- humble church I habitually stopped my bet earlier; anyhow I delight in imagin- caique, and going in, dropped a piastre ing the two at work. The torah is spread in the alms-box, and crossed myself. The upon her knee; he has a hand over her deformed keeper kept his light, such as it shoulder, she an arm about his waist; he was, burning in the world; my money is quick to apprehend; their voices are helped give him bread and maintain his low and sweet; at times they turn to each light; the sign was reverence to her who other, and it is the old story is to be the pattern of mothers while the earth endures; and such worship as there Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spake again. MARY TEACHING JESUS THE ALPHABET. THE BOYHOOD OP CHRIST. 13 LISTENING FOR VOICES. Uncle Midass voice was a little tremu- lous, but he went on in the same strain: After the lad came to know himself, the knowledge enforced solemnity and se rious thought. The old master who paint- ed him trudging after Joseph with a basket of tools had the true conception of him about this time, for he was humble and 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. uncomplaining, and delighted in service. Of out-door employments, I am sure he most loved that of the shepherd. In fol- lowing the capricious flocks, as they wan- dered over the broad Esdraelon, he could freely indul~,e the expectancy of revelation that must have been his constant condi- tion of mind. I have had visions of him out in the historic plain, sunburned, large- eyed, oval-faced, leaning upon a crook, a dog by his side. What time he is not observant of his charge, he is listening for voices, attentive to each passing wind, or gazing at the clouds for seraphic mes- sengers, or giving heed to the emotions of his own being in the hope of their becoming telltales of all he so wished. How tenderly he would carry the weak- liu~,s of the herd down the steeps and over the stony places! He loved them, and they loved him. But And Uncle Midas rested upon the word, and thereupon the violins off in the parlor seemed suddenly to find their lost notes. A peal of Strausss liveliest dance music penetrated the study, though with- out effect; even the waltzers of the party remained patiently around the old gen- tlemans chair. One little miss whisper- ed, Were all here but the fiddlers. And theyll be along presently, an- other one replied. I was about to do what the lovers of our Lord have so often done, Uncle Mi- das at length said, confidently, as if he had overtaken the idea that was trying to escape him in the fire I was about to grumble again at the meagreness of the record; but let us do betterlet us take up and eke out all we can of what there is. One of you get the Testament there on the table, and read from Luke ii., be- ginning with the 39th verse. Presently the reading began. Observe, said Uncle Midas, after the 43d verse, he is spoken of as the child Jesus. Jump now to 46 and 47. The reader was attentive. And it came to pass, that after three days they found him in the temple, sit- ting in the midst of the doctors,both hear- ing them, and asking them questions. And all that heard him were astonished at his understanding and answers. Rest there, said Uncle Midas some- what in the style of a captain giving an order rest there, and let us weigh what we have, lightening it with outside facts, and now and then with permissible touch- es of fancy. The herdsmen of Nazareth were ignorant and poor; still they coin- plied with the Law, and at least once ev- ery year went up to Jerusalem after the custom of the feast. In the procession on one such occasion there was a family the head of which was a plain, serious-look- ing, middle- ae,ed man, with whom the world has since become acquainted as Jo- seph. His wife, Mary, was then about twenty-seven years of age, gentle, mod- est, sweet-spoken, of fair complexion, with eyes of violet-blue, and hair half brown, half gold. She rode a donkey. James, Joses, Simon, and Jude, full-grown sons of Joseph, walked with their father. A child of Mary, twelve years old, walked near her. It is not at all likely that the group attracted special attention from their fellow-travellers. The peace of the Lord be with you! they would say in sa- lute, and have return in kind. More than eighteen hundred years have passed since that obscure family made that pious pil- grimage. Could they come back and make it now, the singing, shouting, and worship that would go with them would be with- out end; not Solomon in all his glory, nor Ca~sar, nor any or all of the modern kings, would have such attendance. Let us single out the boy, that we may try and see him as he wasafoot like his brethren, small, growing, and therefore slender. His attire was simple: on his head a white handkerchief, held in place by a cord, one corner turned under at the forehead, the other corners loose. A tu- nic, also white, covered him from neck to knees, girt at the waist. His arms and legs were bare; on his feet were sandals of the most primitive kind, being soles of ox-hide attached to the ankles by leathern straps. He carried a stick that was much taller than himself. The old painters, called upon to render this childish figure on canvas, would have insisted upon dis- tinguishing it with a nimbus at least; some of them would have filled the ai~ over its head with cherubs; some would have had the tunic plunged into a pot of madder; the very courtierly amongst them would have blocked the way of both mother and son with monks and cardi- nals. The boys face comes to me very clearly. I imagine him by the road-side on a rock which he has climbed, the bet- ter to see, the procession winding pictu- resquely through the broken country. His head is raised in an effort at far sight. ON THE WAY TO JERUSALEM. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The light of an intensely brilliant sun is upon his countenance, which in general cast is oval and delicate. Under the folds of the handkerchief I see the forehead, covered by a mass of projecting sunburn- ed blond hair, which the wind has taken liberties with and tossed into tufts. The eyes are in shade, leaving a doubt wheth- er they are brown, or violet like his mo- thers; yet they are large and healthfully clear, and still retain the parallelism of arch between brow and upper lid usually the characteristic of children and beauti- ful women. The nose is of regular in- ward curve, joined prettily to a short up- per lip by nostrils just full enough to give definition to transparent shadows in the corners. The mouth is small, and open slightly, so that through the scarlet fresh- ness of its lines I catch a glimpse of two white teeth. The cheeks are ruddy and round, and only a certain squareness of chin tells of years this side the day the Magi laid their treasures at his feet. Put- ting face and figure together, and mind- ful of the attitude of interest in what is passing before him, the lad as I see him on the rock is handsome and attractive. When the journey shall have ended, and his mother made him ready for the court of the temple, he may justify a more worshipful description; we may then see in him the promise of the Saviour of Men in the comeliness of budding youth, bis sad destiny yet far in the future. Uncle Midas sank back into the ample arms of his chair, tweaking his white mus- tache with nervous fingers; and thinking to give him a rest, Puss said: Thank you, uncle. The figure on the rock is ever so plain to our sightplain as if painted. We will wait a little if you are tired. I will go on, be replied. It was only the intrusion of that horrible Cruci- fixion. The plainer one sees the Lord the more dreadful his end appears. The old gentleman cleared his throat and resumed: The child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, filled with wis~o~n,is the language of the text. Spirit, as there used, means mind, and, in the connection, wisdom stands for vastly more than reading and writing, more even than ability to repeat the Law and the commentaries from end to end; it expresses all knowledgeknow- ledge of the high and low, of heaven and earth, of God and man; the knowledge that needs not the instruction of schools, that is not an acquisition at all, but an intuition of the universal; a quality that cannot be better described than as an illu- minated consciousness by help of which men see the truth invariably and prophe- sy and work miraclesin short, a quality that is itself a miracle. I do not bother asking how the lad came by the wisdom; the words of the old Apostle are enough; they cover the process and the facthe filled with wisdom. In this light the suc- ceeding narrative becomes comprehensi- ble ; and raising his voice, Uncle Midas gave order, Now read the other verses. The reader promptly responded. 48. And when they saw him, they were amazed: and his mother said unto him, Son, why hast thou thus dealt with us? behold, thy father and I have sought thee sorrowing. 49. And be said unto them, How is it that ye sought me? wist ye not that I must be about my Fathers business? 50. And they understood not the saying which he spake unto them. Ay, said Uncle Midas, with positive vehemence; that they did not under- stand him helps us realize the amazing growth of the child, and how prodigious- ly out of the common he so early became. And then, my young friends-his voice fell to its habitual calm assurance with that realization the discussion concludes itself. If any of you yet think the lad came away from Jerusalem a common boy, light-hearted, easily amused, quick at ac- quaintanceship, consider the effect upon him of the illuminated consciousness I have ventured in definition of what the chronicler calls wisdom. It was a light which for him reached and laid bare the infinite mysteries never so simply de- scribed as his Fathers business. His next appearance in Nazareth, we may well believe, was as a teacher. Up midst the congregation he arose, and going to the readers place, received the sacred roll which was that Sabbaths lesson. I hear the clear childish voice with which he begins, shriller growing as he advances. When at length he lifts his eyes from the page and launches into exposition, I see in their light the first suggestion of the nimbus. I see also his audience, in amaze- ment, sunk to breathless silence; and thinking of the Virgin Mother behind the lattice of the womens place in the syna- gogue, my sterner nature thrills in ac- knowledgment of the feeling with which she finished the white woollen gown that THE BOYHOOD OF CHRIST. 17 IN THE NAZARETH SYNAGOGUE. covered him from neck to heel, and part- ed his locks the night before in the style of her own, and kissed him on the full of the forehead, saying, so as to be heard by him, Rabbi, my rabbithou the Mes- siah! It is good to be a handmaiden best beloved of the Lord God And as the old gentleman seemed dis- posed to bring his talk to an end, John ventured to speak up. If you will par- don me, he said, what do you under- stand by the term my Fathers busi- ness ? Uncle Midas gave him a serious glance, and replied: My dear friend, I have a faith which in the great and material things, as it is permitted me to see them, accords perfectly with the ideas of the Christian world, 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and it gives me an inHuity of pure en joy- ment. It is obvious to me that there are many things in the connection which I (10 not understand; these all lie out in the field of conjecture. One of the clearest observations of my life is that people of good intent are never troubled in the mat- ter of religion except as they stray off into that field. In return for your trust in me, take a rule of conduct good for every days observance: When you hear a man talking oracularly in definitioii of topics which our Lord thought best to leave out- side of his teachings and revelations, set it down that he i~ trenching on the business of the Father and the prerogative of the Son; then go your way and let him alone. The rule is, of course, applicable only to subjects classified as religious. Here Uncle Midas arose, and said, with his oldschool politeness: Tomorrow, my young friends, or any time you choose other than to-night, I give you leave to criticise my talk upon the subject dealt with; you may even laugh at me for hav- ing taken so many of your precious min- utes in attempting to convince you that in fact Christ had no boyhood at all; but nowthe fiddlers are waiting for you You are mistaken, uncle, said Nan, with twinkling eyes. How so They too are here, and have been for the last fifteen minutes. Oh! very well; I am content with my short triumph over the fiddlers. Good- night to you all. Thereupon the company went to him one by one; the boys shook his hand and thanked him, the girls kissed him. And the music and the dance went on till holy- day stole through the windows. THE LEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS. BY ELIZABETH WORMELEY LATIMER. Esso parlava anchor della largl~ezza Che fece Niccolao aBe pulcelle, Per condurre ad onor br giovinezzaPuaGAToino, XX. IN old Italian story, ere Florence went astray, Misled by wealth and glory, in stern, sad Dantes day, A certain Knight, in hard-fought fight, was captured by his foe, Who swore a fierce, unknightly oath he would not let him go Without a ransom such as might a king or prince set free Ten thousand golden crowns paid downand that right speedily. The Knight refused these cruel terms; they cast him then straightway Into the castles oubliette, where one poor loaf a day And draught of waterless and lesswere let down by a cord, While a hoarse voice above exclaimed: By order of my lord Again I ask, wilt thou, Sir Knight, make terms for thy release? If not to-morrowany daythy dole of food may cease. I will not cast my childrens bread to dogs, the answer came. I will not bring my babes and wife to beggary and shame. I cannot raise ten thousand crownsnor would I if I could. Far better that my enemy should triumph in my blood Than Pia with her sweet sad eyes, and Nella with her smiles, And sweet Costanza, rosy-lipped, all kisses and all wiles, Should come to poverty through me; for who is there but knows The hardships that a maid of rank, undowered, undergoes ? But his lady fair discovered where her lord was held in prison. In her womans might, for her own true Knight, to the rescue she has risen. She has mortgaged their castle stern and grim, and all she can sell has sold; She has pledged the dower she brought to him for three thousand crowns in gold; She has pawned her tapestries, lace, and plate, her jewels and robes and furs There is nothing in all her coffers left of the treasures that once were hers. Still, lands and stuff were not enough to set the captive free: A thousand golden crowns she lacks to buy his liberty.

18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and it gives me an inHuity of pure en joy- ment. It is obvious to me that there are many things in the connection which I (10 not understand; these all lie out in the field of conjecture. One of the clearest observations of my life is that people of good intent are never troubled in the mat- ter of religion except as they stray off into that field. In return for your trust in me, take a rule of conduct good for every days observance: When you hear a man talking oracularly in definitioii of topics which our Lord thought best to leave out- side of his teachings and revelations, set it down that he i~ trenching on the business of the Father and the prerogative of the Son; then go your way and let him alone. The rule is, of course, applicable only to subjects classified as religious. Here Uncle Midas arose, and said, with his oldschool politeness: Tomorrow, my young friends, or any time you choose other than to-night, I give you leave to criticise my talk upon the subject dealt with; you may even laugh at me for hav- ing taken so many of your precious min- utes in attempting to convince you that in fact Christ had no boyhood at all; but nowthe fiddlers are waiting for you You are mistaken, uncle, said Nan, with twinkling eyes. How so They too are here, and have been for the last fifteen minutes. Oh! very well; I am content with my short triumph over the fiddlers. Good- night to you all. Thereupon the company went to him one by one; the boys shook his hand and thanked him, the girls kissed him. And the music and the dance went on till holy- day stole through the windows. THE LEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS. BY ELIZABETH WORMELEY LATIMER. Esso parlava anchor della largl~ezza Che fece Niccolao aBe pulcelle, Per condurre ad onor br giovinezzaPuaGAToino, XX. IN old Italian story, ere Florence went astray, Misled by wealth and glory, in stern, sad Dantes day, A certain Knight, in hard-fought fight, was captured by his foe, Who swore a fierce, unknightly oath he would not let him go Without a ransom such as might a king or prince set free Ten thousand golden crowns paid downand that right speedily. The Knight refused these cruel terms; they cast him then straightway Into the castles oubliette, where one poor loaf a day And draught of waterless and lesswere let down by a cord, While a hoarse voice above exclaimed: By order of my lord Again I ask, wilt thou, Sir Knight, make terms for thy release? If not to-morrowany daythy dole of food may cease. I will not cast my childrens bread to dogs, the answer came. I will not bring my babes and wife to beggary and shame. I cannot raise ten thousand crownsnor would I if I could. Far better that my enemy should triumph in my blood Than Pia with her sweet sad eyes, and Nella with her smiles, And sweet Costanza, rosy-lipped, all kisses and all wiles, Should come to poverty through me; for who is there but knows The hardships that a maid of rank, undowered, undergoes ? But his lady fair discovered where her lord was held in prison. In her womans might, for her own true Knight, to the rescue she has risen. She has mortgaged their castle stern and grim, and all she can sell has sold; She has pledged the dower she brought to him for three thousand crowns in gold; She has pawned her tapestries, lace, and plate, her jewels and robes and furs There is nothing in all her coffers left of the treasures that once were hers. Still, lands and stuff were not enough to set the captive free: A thousand golden crowns she lacks to buy his liberty. SHE STANDS WITH SHAME ON HER GLOWING 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THEY TOOK IllS HAND AND THEY LED HIM UP TO THE CHAMBER OF THE DEAD.~~ She has taken her three little girls by the hand, CostanEa, Nella, and Pia, And she stands with shame on her glowing face, in open day in the market-place, She holds out her hand with a piteous grace, and alms drop down at her feet apace, For her wifely courage and woful case melt the hearts of all who see her. The ransom was completed thus by public charity. They weighed the gold, its tale they told; they set the captive free. A gallant Knight in armor bright he to the fight had sped; A broken cripple he came back, with bowed and silvered head. He entered his court-yard still and bare: no wife came forth with greeting; CostanEa, Pia, and Nella were there, with tearful eyes and a frightened stare. Where is your mother, childrenwhere? Is this our longed-for meeting ? Oh! father, come; you must make her wake; she lies all white on her bed. They took his hand and they led him up to the chamber of the dead. A dull despair came over him there, and it lasted many a day. Time damp, the mould, the cruel cold of that fatal cell on his life had told: They had made him a man prematurely old, and had turned his black locks gray. Not far from the good Knights garden wall a little low hut there stood, Where he whom we call Saint Nicholas dwelt, then only known as the Good. We know how he looks from our story-books, as he travels our lands of snow, But he was a Florentine cobbler once, in the far-off Long A~,o. THE LEGEND OF SAINT NICHOLAS. 21 He was old and gray, and merry, they say, and his cheeks, though withered, were red. His dress was leather, whatever the weather, with a hood to puii over his head. He saw the Knight sit night after ni~ht alone in a big straw chair; He could hear him groan as he watched alone, and wrestled with dumb despair. I shall die; I am dying, was ever his plaint; and alas! when I am gone, My three poor portionless pretty maids will be left in the world alone. Three poor little feeble creatures left to the cruel mercies of men- Costanza seven, and Nella eight, and Pin, the eldest, ten. I cannot even provide the fee each convent asks with a nun. 0 Father, strengthen my heart for me till I say, Thy will be done ! Alas! alas I, good Nicholas cried, when he heard the sad Knights words, I see it needs hope to prop up faith and to bend our wills to the Lords. Last night I saw Costauza sweet feed a bird with her scanty bread, And blithe little Nella blew me a kiss as she mounted the stairs to bed; And motherly, patient, pious, and good is the eldest of all of themPia; I think the angels must love that child as they bend from their thrones and see her Patiently sewing and mending by night, and hearing her sisters prayers, And folding their clothes, and making them neat, with her little motherly airs. I have gold in my chest; the Lord ha~s blessed my labors from day to day; Three thousand crowns in gold I hold till He shall give it away. Twas His by vow, long, long ago, and now I await His word To say in my heart, Rise, do thy part, bestow the gift of the Lord. I seem to hear that voice draw near. Speak, Lord; is it really so? My dearest Lord, may I spend my hoard? In Thy name may I go And rain on this desolate house a shower, a shower of golden rain, Till each sweet flower beneath its power shall blossom in hope again. IBut, ah! I must do my part by stealth, for kindness may be unkind If it woundeth the pride of a noble race, and leaveth a sting behind. VOL. LXXIY.No. 439.2 IT BURST, AND OUT OF IT ROUND TIlE KNIGHT A GOLDEN SHOWER DID POUR. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. He sat down then on his cobblers bench, and he made him a bag to hold, Packed close and tight, a thousand bright red crowns of Venetian gold. The bells at midnight rang out clear on Christmas Eve so merrily When the good man crept like a thief in the night on his errand of charity. The sad Knight keeping his lonely watch sat still in his big straw chair, And the maidens three in their purity asleep in their chamber were. He gave one lookgood aim he tookthe bag fell flop on the floor; It burst, and out of it round the Knight a golden shower did pour. Upon the bag there was written thus: Take this and dower thy Pin. God loves the faithful, and His eyes with sweet approval see her. Down on his face the father fell, the gold all scattered round him. God will provide, a kind voice cried; never again misdoubt Him. The next night came good Nicholas, cautious, by by-paths creeping, When all the town had gone to rest, and the three babes were sleeping. How shall I fling my bag, he said, to-night for little Nella? I would not have it miss its mark, and yet to-night the house is dark; I cannot see of light a spark, from coping-stone to cellar. But as he spake out peeped the Moonsweet Lady Moon soft-hearted, And with a smile the curtain clouds that hid her face she parted. She let a shining beamlet fall where the old Knight was lying, And in a moment, quick as thought, another bag came flying. The Knight sprang quickly to his feet, still deeming he was dreaming, But through the window on the floor a flood of light was streaming, And Lady Moon peeped down to see (for she had none to tell her) How the glad father joyfully received the bag marked Nella. The third night came, this time all black with clouds and drenching rain. Saint Nicholas to his good work crept stealthily again. He carried in his hand a bag on which were writ these words: For her who, though in need herself, yet fed Gods little birds. But as he raised his arm to fling this his last gift of gold, Two arms behind him clasped him tight, with a convulsive hold. The arms that grasped him were the Knight~s. Oh, Nicholas, cried he, Servant of God, why should you seek to hide yourself from me? Here in my little maidens names I humbly kiss thy hands, And pray this deed that thou hast done be told through many lands. Nay, nay, Sir Knight, I beg, I prayI kneel upon my knee Let this thing be a secret kept between thyself and me. I love, when all are sound asleep, to creep by stealth at night, And comfort little lonely babes, or add some new delight To those that happy homes provide for good girls and good boys. If watched, how could I carry round my sweetmeats, cakes, and toys? Be silent, then, Sir Knight; some day my mission will be over; Then tell them all (for then you may) I was the childrens lover. But as he spoke the midiPght bells seemed as by one endeavor To ring out softly like a chime, Forevereverever! Eight hundred years have passed, and still the good saint has permission On every Christmas Eve to start upon his happy mission. He carries round the world that night (to fill our hearts with wonder) Gifts to make childrens Christmas bright, and burst their socks asunder. His name is now a household word, to no one land restricted, But world-wide and for evermore, as the church chimes predicted. We know him, love him; his pet name we hail with glad applause,. All happy childrens patron saint, our own dear Santa Claus. LA MERE VENUS. AN OUT-DOOR STUDY. BY GEORGE H. BOUGHTOK, R.A. NEVER could under- stand why or where- fore that lightsome little band of art stu- dents came to fix upon poor old Vir- ginie the above play- ful sobriquet. It was not partic- ularly pat or well fitting, for she was gnarled and battered with storm, and bent and twisted with infirmities, saddened and shadowed with poverty and sorrows. And yet, nothing is sacred to a French sapper, nor to the callow art student, especially on French soil. So she was by common consent Mbre Venus to us all, notwithstanding the fact that she ra- ther liked the nick- name, as Richelieu did his of the old fox, and it therefore had not that charm so sweet to the in- ventive blaguer of annoying his victim. Not that we were particularly spiteful, beyond the usual wont of fiery and conceited youth, but they had the little weaknesses of their kind, and when they had been at the pains to tack a nickname to any one, they liked to have him feel the point of the tack. The poor old soul had a very pretty name of her own, and there were those of her old cronies who said that once upon a time she had been the beauty of the village. Even in our time one could trace beneath the seams and scars of time and care the remains of a certain comeliness that had not been entirely furrowed and harrowed out. The villagers, one and all, called her by her baptismal name, I might say her maiden name, for she had never married, and therefore had no plausible or moral right to be called La Mbre anybody, like the other old crones. We first met the usual wayby chance. But let me sketch a bit of the back-

LA MERE VENUS. AN OUT-DOOR STUDY. BY GEORGE H. BOUGHTOK, R.A. NEVER could under- stand why or where- fore that lightsome little band of art stu- dents came to fix upon poor old Vir- ginie the above play- ful sobriquet. It was not partic- ularly pat or well fitting, for she was gnarled and battered with storm, and bent and twisted with infirmities, saddened and shadowed with poverty and sorrows. And yet, nothing is sacred to a French sapper, nor to the callow art student, especially on French soil. So she was by common consent Mbre Venus to us all, notwithstanding the fact that she ra- ther liked the nick- name, as Richelieu did his of the old fox, and it therefore had not that charm so sweet to the in- ventive blaguer of annoying his victim. Not that we were particularly spiteful, beyond the usual wont of fiery and conceited youth, but they had the little weaknesses of their kind, and when they had been at the pains to tack a nickname to any one, they liked to have him feel the point of the tack. The poor old soul had a very pretty name of her own, and there were those of her old cronies who said that once upon a time she had been the beauty of the village. Even in our time one could trace beneath the seams and scars of time and care the remains of a certain comeliness that had not been entirely furrowed and harrowed out. The villagers, one and all, called her by her baptismal name, I might say her maiden name, for she had never married, and therefore had no plausible or moral right to be called La Mbre anybody, like the other old crones. We first met the usual wayby chance. But let me sketch a bit of the back-

LA MERE VENUS. AN OUT-DOOR STUDY. BY GEORGE H. BOUGHTOK, R.A. NEVER could under- stand why or where- fore that lightsome little band of art stu- dents came to fix upon poor old Vir- ginie the above play- ful sobriquet. It was not partic- ularly pat or well fitting, for she was gnarled and battered with storm, and bent and twisted with infirmities, saddened and shadowed with poverty and sorrows. And yet, nothing is sacred to a French sapper, nor to the callow art student, especially on French soil. So she was by common consent Mbre Venus to us all, notwithstanding the fact that she ra- ther liked the nick- name, as Richelieu did his of the old fox, and it therefore had not that charm so sweet to the in- ventive blaguer of annoying his victim. Not that we were particularly spiteful, beyond the usual wont of fiery and conceited youth, but they had the little weaknesses of their kind, and when they had been at the pains to tack a nickname to any one, they liked to have him feel the point of the tack. The poor old soul had a very pretty name of her own, and there were those of her old cronies who said that once upon a time she had been the beauty of the village. Even in our time one could trace beneath the seams and scars of time and care the remains of a certain comeliness that had not been entirely furrowed and harrowed out. The villagers, one and all, called her by her baptismal name, I might say her maiden name, for she had never married, and therefore had no plausible or moral right to be called La Mbre anybody, like the other old crones. We first met the usual wayby chance. But let me sketch a bit of the back- 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ground and surroundings before I do any more to the figures. I was passing the summer, some good few years ago, in a much besketched and painted little village not far from Paris. There was a rare nestful of us at the time, as I rememberAmericans, English, and French, a stray German or Swede now and thenand it was a mere toss-up as to which country could lay claim to the most reckless and abandoned farecurs of the party. To lead the other fellows into some farcical pitfall was with each nationality a duty so serious that it al- most verged on patriotism. How they found time for all these wild pranks, and the good hard work and study they did as well, is a mystery to me to this day. And though there was a constant striving as to who should show the best work, nothing could be more kindly and genuine than the applause all round for any worthy ef- fort. We often worked together out in the woods and fields, seldom more than two of us, as a larger number generally led to pranking of some kindgood enough in its way, but utterly inimical to serious sketching. I often noticed that the most wild farccur would take for choice some steady worker with him, if lie could entice him, as companion, and they often did their best work when they got their powers of levity and gravity properly adjusted. So it happened that on one sweltering summer afternoon one of the most aban- doned of the prankers and myselfper- haps he might revise the description; hut cest ~gal Iwere tempted by cool shades of the fragrant wood to wander off on chance of a subject in some of its devious all6cs. It was too hot for anything in- doors or in the openeven nonsense seem- ed to wilt and collapse. In the all4e were peace and shade and coolness, and we could lie under a tree and read and smoke, if too lazy to work. The late summer leaves were turning to that bronze gold hue that lights up to yellow flame under the afternoon sun. Where the leaves of the slender beech were catch- ing the glints of light, and just the breath of a passing breeze, they danced and trem- bled like showei~s of gold flakes. Some were silting sidelong down along the slen- der sinuous pathways. Lazy and demoralized as we felt with the heavy air of indolence and peace, the effect of the lovely shimmer of glowing color was too much for our dearest in- stincts. We occupied most of our time and energy, however, in very voluble admira- tion of it all. Even when trying to paint it, it was a running glorification of na- ture, a wild lament on how futile any at- tempt to do it, a running execration in the choicest of French bad language on the midges and mosquitoes that got into ones open pores and just buried theni- selves, to arise slaked with our gore only to wade into the fresh paint on palette or sketch. We had arrived almost at the point of despair where one breaks into calming song or violent action. By Jove! here she comes Which she ? I had my back to the direction indicated. Why, old Virginie, and old Julie with her. Look now! turn up that green tart of yours and gaze. Make haste. Theyre just in the right spot. I did turn up the work so felicitously described, and I rather gladly got up from the cram ping camp-stool, with my sys- tem full of pins and needles, and gazed as directed. Had Hebe and Aphrodite in their proper persons been brought before our ravished eyes, we could not have hail- ed them with much more rapture. To the young and tolerably healthy scarcely any good thing comes amiss. We had not tasted yet the fatal drug of the satiety that leads to ennui. They were, in fact, only two very old and time-battered crones that we saw coming slowly and wearily down the nar- row pathone leaning upon the arm of the other, and assisting herself with a stick as well. As they came nearer they passed through a slant beam of golden sunlight, and then somehow the whole picture fell into complete shape. We stayed them gently in their exact attitudes, as chance had put them in that fortunate moment. They were well used to such sudden demands on them, and took it all as a matter of course. My companion knew them well, but I, being a comparatively new comer, was a stranger for the moment. But to that posing community of villagers a painting palette or an open sketch-book was at any time a sufficient introduction. No further ceremony was required. Our conversa- tion was mainly in the peculiar patois of the region. And somehow we stu- dents managed to rapidly acquire and revel in such wondrous feats in it that the LA MERE VENUS. 25 accomplishment gave us more solid joy than would the purest vernacular of the Faubourg St. Germain itself. After the usual little salutations and greetings of the most polite kind we could command any sort of knowledge offor we always treated these women of the fields as if they were grand dames of the courtwe asked them if they had time to pose a little for us. They in their turn could not express their delight at being of any service to us. Would they sit down first after their walk ?and we of- fered them a bank of springy moss as if it had been a satin couch at Versailles. Merci, they would just rest a bit. We arranged them as comfortably as we could, and offered them a biscuit each. The wine was outbeing a warm daynaturally. When we were arranging them to their proper position I made the discovery that the elder woman was quite blind. I had noticed at first something uncanny about her eyes, as she seemed to blink out from under her deep-set gray brows with a sort of watery glimmer. I thought, how- ever, it was only the effect of the strong glancing sunlight on them. She had that tender, patient, submissive smile that one often sees on the sensitive sightless. Not- ing an unfamiliar voice and presence, she was informed about me by my companion in an unmerciful personal description, at which she laughed in a quiet, kindly way. We were thenceforth introduced. They would have nothing to do with my sur- name, finding it impossible to pronounce, naturally. She would only agree to know me as Msieu Georges; and in fact so were we all known to the villagersas Msieu Tome, Dicque, or Harrie, Billie or Sharlie, as the case might be. The tiresome studies of trees in shifting sunlight were put by, and we took out fresh boards, and went to work with re- newed vigor on our two figures, froni dif- ferent points of view. That pose finished, they were helped to their feet, and encouraged to execute a weird and rustic polka to get the pins and needles out of their cramped limbs. This was rare fun for theni, which they VIRGINIE AND JULIE. 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. enjoyed as much as we did. They scorn- ed the idea of being tired. It was only a diversion to them to pose. They had grown tolerably gray in the service of the many artists who haunted the village. So they did another position for us, scarcely moving a muscle, although allowed to rest when so disposed, ev~nencouraged to haye another fandango. They beguiled the time with that light and somewhat spicy badinage which the French crone usually knows so well how to make the most of. I observed that Vir- ginie used a much better style of lan- guage and pronunciation to us than to her companion. It soon came out that in her youth she had spent some years as nurse-maid in a large provincial town; that she there lost her sight, and was obliged to return to her native village. Her companion was much younger in years, but by some trick of time or mis- chance she appeared much older and far more infirm. Indeed, the causes of these little infirmities were the pins on which the blind old friend hung most of the little plaisanteries that passed between them. She has been such a wild, giddy thing mon Dien! If I had not been here to look after her and exercise her about, she wouldnt be here now. And when our little s6artce was over and they had their little silver reward, and were doddering homeward along the sun-flecked path, it was the elder who supported, though she was guided by the younger. Indeed, Venus had said, You know I can get about by myself even in the woods, but she cant without me, or some one. She tumbles about, and sits down in the rQad and cant get up again. A few days afterward, wishing to add some details to my sketches, I found my way to the home of Virginie. It was in an angle of an arid village court-yard, composed of the most retiring of the hum- ble cottages. I rapped at the door some- what startlingly, as we now and then fan- cy for a moment that a blind person is deaf as well. This brought not La M~re Venus, however, but most of the neigh- boring dames to their doors and windows. They were most kind each and all in the matter of profuse, wildly voluble, and al- most hopelessly unintelligible informa- tion. The gist of it was that Virginie had gone to the wood for sticks some time since, and might soon be back. I was in- vited to go in and make myself at home chez Virginie, or, if I preferred it, to come in where I liked, and if I wanted an urchin to go for her, or to show me the best place to find her, there were willing ones at my service; or if I would like a chair to sit on while I sketched the court-yard generally, I had only to mention it. There was such an embarrassment of rich proposals that I was puzzled for a moment what to do. The little den of La Mare Venus looked very inviting to the lover of stern simplicity and strong contrasts of light and shade. The door had been obligingly flung wide open for me, so I determined to wait there. Al- ions, bon ! The best chair was brought forward and dusted with the ready apron, the grimy casement was thrown back, and a mug of wild flowers was transferred from the mantel to the table to cheer and enliven the scene; several scattered old chiffons of the departed Venus were hustled into a capacious chest, and a broken pair of old muddy sabots into the back room, and Voil~, msieu ! there we were, presentable, and they soon consid- erately left me to my own devices. The little low dark room was on the ground literally the earthfloor; it had even been hollowed by constant sweeping and the constant impact of many hard wooden sa- bots for many years. The furniture was pathetically clumsy and decrepit. The most hardened sinner in bric-~-brac would never have been tempted by a single worm-bitten object in the place. And yet it was all so beau- tifully paintable where it stood. The little mendings and patchings, the lop- sided old chest with a hingeless lid, the propped - up, debilitated old wardrobe, which seemed to be cupboard and lum- ber-room as well, were things that the sketcher with a knowing eye would gur- gle over with delight. The impressive, and, in fact, oppressive, object in the place, however, was the bed the couch of Mother Venus herself. It nearly filled half the room. She was evidently her own handmaiden, and the toilet of the apartment was the outcome of a sensitive touch alonenot oversensitive here and there, perhaps; but what right had Ithere, after all? What little linen evinced itself timidly here and there seemed a priceless bit of artistic tone (with its own surroundings), but out in the free air, and under the azure LA MERE VENUS. 27 sky, I dont care to fancy what the exact tint of it would he. There were several crazy old chairs, two with bulgy cushions of faded chintz upon them, the only ap- proach to luxury or ease in the place, if one may except an old bit of worn and ravelled rug near the bed. It was too far gone for me to make out whether it had once been an Eastern prayer rug; if so, it had sadly changed for the worse. A half-glazed door divided this little room from its back kitchen and scullery, and, indeed, its only other room of any kind. I set open the doors of both rooms, so that the free air mi ht rush through, and perchance carry off a little of the smoky aroma that filled the place. In a few minutes it began to smell a little less like the inside of a chimney that had not been swept for years. The added light, however, spoiled the Rembrandt shadows, and let me see too painfully how sadly unkempt the little den was altogether. So, after a short blast of air and sweetness, I went back to my old-master-like effects. It takes a good dose of mere aroma to dis- courage an eager art student who sees through it and into a realm of rich bi- tumen and brown madder and velvety blacks. The back kitchen reeked with decaying onions, complicated with forgot- ten soapsuds. I was quite willing to ad- mit that quietly to myself; but if any su- persensitive cynic had been there to re- mind me of it, I should have almost de- nied it, and have seen naught but golden browns and smoky grays and whites, and a delicious tone over all. I found it a good plan, however, to pull the tops of ones socks over the bottoms of the trou- sers; the little brown skipper does not in- vite himself then by that approach. Then the aromas may come on. There is the ever - ready brier - root pipe loaded with Caporal, and it is a poor fellow who is afraid to fight back reek for reek. During the hour or so that I waited for the lady of the house, amusing myself with hasty notes of li~,ht and shade, I hink half the population of that court- yard filed through the place and through the little back garden into the field be- yond, having a good stare and a kindly word of some kind by the way. Soon a triumphant boy, with a broad smile upon him up to the stiff roots of his hair, came back with the Venus herself. Seein~ pos- sible~ sons in the air, he had fled to the wood and captured her; and there she was, beaming on me from her own door, and making me a little speech of welcome. The ladies of the court came round, and ex- plained in rattlingpatois how they in her absence had done the honors of the place. She thanked them in the same hearty rattle, and hobbled in with her small gleanings of twigs. I soon unfolded a little plan I had formed during my wait, namely, to use her little den as an occa- s~onal studio, where I could pose my vil- lage children and herself and cronies, in-doors and out, and count on Rem- brandt effects to my hearts content. I named my own terms, which seemed to enchant her enormously ; and thereafter for many weeks, I had the run of the place, free to come and go and stay to my hearts content. ozz OF MY VISITORS. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. There was no need of a pass-key. The children about me, I sought the sechi- poor old souls door was ever yielding to sion of Mother Venuss back garden. On the push of any coiner whenever the other days the open field, or a corner of the knock was unanswered. Thither came little larch wood, or a hedge-side, was good all the posing population of the village, enough studio. By a little careful manage- and so much were the services of the pic- ment the youngsters could be kept in some turesque people in request that sitting for sort of order. They took especial pleasure artists mi~ht have been called one of the in criticising the personal charms of some flourishing industries of the place. Mo- unfortunate sitter. And their delight in thers would bring the most painfully pol- the misery of the victim who had to keep ished and combed babies and youngsters, still and listen to scathing remarks was warranted never to shed a tear, but to be I blush to say, almost as much fun to me as good with Mother Venus or with any as it was to them. There was so much stray volunteer nurse as with their own caustic sarcasm, so free a flow of fiendish kin, and often they were better. Sittiug delight, that if I failed to awaken any art tolerably quiet for a short time seemed to instincts among those young varlets, at somehow connect itself in the infant mind least I may fancy that I fostered a rising with lumps of sugar, or even elementary brood of born critics of a certain well- dolls and tin soldiers. known kind. I didnt come off scathless The baby was often taken into the gar- either, for they didnt mind at all barbing den,and there let to disport itself as seem- their arrows with any shortcoming in the ed best to it within a certain radius. If sketching. There is no exact equivalent the flying pencil could not follow its love- for the spice and bite of their peasant ver- ly natural poses swiftly enough, so much nacular. The little bits of unmeant pro- the worse for the sketcher. The only way fanity that are common even with chil- was to consider them like kittens, or skip- dren, and looked upon as rather pious ejac- ping lambs, or breaking waves, and study ulations than otherwise, and their frank them in that spirit, and natural little improprieties, gave One fine niorning a small boy who had them a certain chic that other urchins dn been given a baby to mind thought to not possess. I found myself studying the earn a few honest sons by bringing him peculiarities of their patois (amid using for me to draw. He was a sturdy, rebel- them too where I ought not to, I found t~ hious-lookin~, mite, with crisp red hair and my horror) nearly as hard as I was study- hard mottled limbs. There was never ing drawing, and as I could do the tw~ much time wasted with undecided arran- at the same time, I got on very rapidly. gings and poses; anyhow would do, so Mother Venus was a great help to me in long as lie was kept tolerably right side this respect, as she could explain in prop- up. The idea was new and simple, and er French any new word or phrase that pleasing to the boy, but the baby regard- interested me. And though my questions. ed it not in that light; he howled and now and again brought a deep brown kicked and fought like a young tiger. It blush to her corrugated cheek, she did her was all the same to me; I wanted to study duty of instruction nobly. She spoke her a young howler just then, and to note words to nie so slowly and carefully that how exactly lie managed to screw his eyes I could follow her as well as print. so tight, to extend his rose-bud mouth so To amuse the sitters and me, she would cavernously, and to punch his counte- sometimes volunteer to sing to us, and it nance so viciously with his own fists. would generally be one of those crooning It was not so always, however, as he man- old songs of tIme last century, about Cohn aged to implant a few backhanders on and Lubin and Susette and the other the devoted head of his boy-nurse. The shepherds and sliepherdesses, and love in fine healthy yells soomi brought every old large and generous doses spread lavish- woman about the court to see who was ly about. But she was not always gay being murdered. Cant you keep him and giddy. One morning I went to her still ? Voyons ptit d~irnon I Sacred door rather earlier thami usual, and went little tiger-cat ! and various other endear- in rather unexpectedly to her, and found ing infamies were heaped on the little her on her knees at her bedside in an at- howlers head. titude so expressive of tIme utter prostra- When I did not care to work with a tion of whole body and soul in prayer large and somewhat critical audience of that I could not help a mental photograph LA MERE VENUS. 29 as I passed quickly and quietly through the room. I merely said, Dont derange yourself; I am going into the garden. Eon, bon, Msieu Georges; Ill be there in a little moment. I turned to take another glance at her, as she had not moved from her position. I took out my sketch-book from my pocket by some irre- sistible impulse and she seemed at once to know it. I can keep like this as long as you wish, Msieu Georges. I often keep this way for hours. I could not resist the temptress. Are you sure you are not tired ? MOTHERS WOULD BRING THE MO5T PAINFULLY POLISHED AND COMBED BABIES 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No, no; I had only just begun as you She gave a little mixed laugh, half sad came in. Allcz. and thoughtful and half gay. It has a And I need not say I did. And I think better chance. Anyhow I prayed for it, she never moved a muscle for goodness and I didnt pray for his, for he made me knows how long. I had done all I wished laugh so. At least, if it doesnt do you at the time, and could have done more, as any good, it cant do any harm. This she was still anxious to go on, pretending was her usual tag of philosophy for all she had not quite finished even then. her spiritual efforts. She then proceeded Were you really praying the whole to arrange her head-gear, standing actu- time, Virginie ? ally before a dim little lop-sided glass by The whole time. And after a little the bed, and which she had to locate by pause: Part of the time I was praying sense of touch. for you, Msieu Georges. Can you see anything at all, Vir- Thats very good of you. ginie ? Yes; I was praying that your picture No, msieu, not yet; but I hope to might be a grand success. some day, just as I am standing in this Not for my soul, then ? place. She then went almost as straight Oh no, msieu. You can take care as if she had her sight to a small bottle of yourself, but I feel you are going to on the high mantel, standing beside a make a good picture of me. Msieu small black crucifix. She tremblingly Sharlie, who sings Bob Ridley, I sat for uncorked the bottle, and began to touch him four hours. He sang the whole tinie her closed lids with her moistened finger. chansons dc n~grc to amuse me. I didnt What is that, Virginie, you are us- pray much then; I listened to him; how ing ? funny! Although I didnt know a word, Oh, this is some holy-water the cur6 I did laugh. Mon Dicul mon Dicu I, gave me. It may do me the good I pray Do you think my picture ought to he for some day. At any rate, it cant do any better than his because I didnt sing and harm. And again came that same smile amuse you ?, made of good-humor and sad patience. Some days her old crony of the woodland path would come in to have a chat with her, and the two would huddle to- gether and croon over a little sput- tering fire of a few green twigs on that great ~ gaunt hearth of the Rembrandt fireplace. There they would sit on their creaky easy- chairs, and rake over the gray ash- es of their past, and now and then they would stir up a few sparks of humor or a little smoke of some fire of days gone by. They had their little histoircs, I found. They had ON 1115 GOOD BEHAVIOR, danced lightly on LA MERE VENUS. 31 many a greensward, and lovers were lov- ers in those days. Aha! Oni, pas vrai, Julie? Dam! And they would gurgle and chuckle, and nudge each other, and spread their shrivelled brown hands toward the flicker to catch a little warmth. You would not think, msieu, so they telJ me, that when we were girls together, she had not gone yet to her first communion when I was a grown girl with sweethearts in plenty. This was a constant source of pride to Mother Venus, that she had kept more youthful than her younger crony. It was singular how little nourishment they seemed to take; and as for any stim- ulants, beyond a little bhie wine or crude ciderunless one might call their weak caft am lait stimulatingthey knew no- thing of their nature. A thick vegetable soup, powerful of onions and cabbage, a section of coarse bread, a morsel of odorous cheese, and that was about all. Tea was only spoken of as a medicine to be takenafter a long and careful stewing when recoverin from an illness. I longed to brine them some little tea-set and a pound or so of the herb from town, to cheer that gaunt THE CRONIES. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hearth-side, but was discouraged by my quently we would be re~nforced with a frank and matter-of-fact friend, who ac- fresh recruit, weary of the noisy idleness cused me of tryin,, to corrupt with un- of some of the big art schools. With the wonted luxuries a set of simple and toler- older and more experienced of the students ably innocent peasants. of either camp there was not much dis- This sort of life and experience went cussion. Each would know his own on for some months, and I found its charm wants and his own nature well enough and usefulness to me, as a means of quiet to follow his own devices and work out study, increase and develop constantly. his own destiny. I found from my own The master-mind that had attracted us to observation that the larger the mob of the spot was ever ready to aid with sterling students in any one big atelier, the less advice and teach by pure unaffected exam- individuality seemed to crop up. Forty ples. Evident love and devotion to the students would all imitate the good and pursuit of the art he loved so well was a bad of the so-called master with more sufficient pass to his good graces and his senseless unanimity than six would have sincere interest in you. He loved above done. When a master has fewer pupils, all things to foster and encourage mdi- lie generally succeeds in rousing in each vidual effort, and haile~l with delight any some personal and individual effort; he new, fresh way of looking at the things will discourage blind imitation as much with which lie was so familiar, as possible. Fr~re himself was a favorite It was almost an impossibility, how- pupil of Paul Delaroche, and what could ever, to paint the material there that lie be more wide apart than their styles? and had made his own without in a degree re- yet I have no doubt that Fr~re worked sembhing him. Why, the very children ever from the broad precepts of his mas- and the old womeii of the place looked ter, applying them to his own needs. like his pictures come to life, so that if you One fine day a visiting friend from got the local form and color at all, it was, Paris found his way to my reeking little in proportion to its success, bound to look den chez la ]lkre Venus, with some dif- like him as much as it knew how. His ficulty, it may be owned, as the villagers advice was never about methods, or fads, didnt know her by that name, or me by or style. There were no absurd conceits of the proper name lie gave m& So he fell nahvet4 or simplicity about him. Purely back on a striking personal description of natural himself, he was a keen discoverer niyself and a certain grievous green blouse of affectation in others, and nothing pain- I wore (bought by gas-light under the im- ed him more. His advice when given pression that it was a new tint of blue), and it always was free as air (literally and which gave me a nickname that mod- and commercially so too)would ever re- esty alone prevents me from trying to late to the eternal good principles of the translate. He was brought straight to me art. No matter how you chose to look or at once. How radiant, but inharmonious translate, his advice would apply equally and incongruous, he looked, clad in a well to the most simple realist as to the mashing suit of delicate gray check, in most ineffable idealist. It was the coun- that Rembrandtishi den of ours! The sel and advice that one has never occasion company chair expressly polished (with a to change or ask for again, as it is very copious paint rag) was not good enough; seldom forgotten. Brilliant faddists may lie must needs spread out his newspaper for a time keep him in seeming shade by as well before lie would sit down, and then the crude glitter of their cheap tinsel, but his feet were on the rungs of the chair, so for all time the name of Edouard Fr~re as not to touch the floor. He winked and will be a cherished power in the annals of blinked and sniffed in an ostentatious French art. manner, and excused it by reminding me Now and then some student-friends, that he had just come out of the sunshine pale and limp from some superheated and fresh air. Parisian atehier, would come out for a day My dear boy, you are just getting or so in our country retreat. Thiey would moss-grown down here. begin to mildly and condescendingly pity You know you are just green with our exile and deprivation of the move- en vy over this paradise of bitumen. Look ment of art in the capital. But some- at it! its running down the very walls. how in thie way of interchaff we rustics As old Squcers said about the school milk, cculd hold a good front; and not unfre- Theres richness for you! LA MERE VENUS. 33 Yes, I know, said my cynic; but tube bitumen is good enough for me, as I dont care to breathe it all day long, or to wade about in it for a few hours even. Promise me one thing, old man, you bric-a-brac fiend of the prairiesdont buy up this massive furniture and cart it off to Paris. I could see his practised eye rove quickly from object to object with no other expression than weary disdain. Seriously, now, you do want a change yourself. This coal-tar color is getting into your soul, and varnishing over all your better instincts. Now you come with me for a weeks rest, and then come back and see this den afresh, as I see it now. Hallo! whats that? Wait a mo- ment. Just move the leg of your seat a wee bit. Oh, I say, get up! Excuse my impatience, old man. Got a knife ? I offered him a scraper. Just the very thing! And he began scraping the dirt floor from some shiny object half hidden beneath. What have you turned up now? A Roman drain, or some ancient Gaulish pot- tery ? He paid little attention to nie, but scraped away at his object; it looked like a flat fragment of pottery. If you dont mind leaving that a few minutes longer, I shall be obliged to you. It is only a bit of Mother Venuss wash-pan that I put there to level up my sketching seat with. He stopped like a shot, and scanned my face, that I was trying to control; but he only hesitated a moment. I know you, Clara Vere de Vere. So not this time. And on he went with his scrape. Ill bet Ive got one this time, or a piece of one. And sure enough he had laid bare a small blue and gold tile with a fleur-de-lis on it in good rich color. There you are; and if Mother Venus has a toilet set of this stuff, I should like to make her a bid for it. What ware is it, anyhow ? said I, now subdued and sad at a frivolous fel- low like that unearthing precious relics under my very nose. You mean to say you have lived here all these months and dont know what stuff this is ? I blush to say it is a sad fact, but I have been busyvery busy all the time painting. I was just thinking of getting a pick and shovel to see what I could strike, and now youve let me off. What do you call it when you find that sort ? Well, I will tell you, and henceforth the placid currents of your existence will take a new and perhaps intelligent direc- tion. I bowed. You have heard of Palissy the Potter, no doubt ? I am positively sick and tired of him and his wifes wedding ring as well. Thats a good sign. Well, then, you perhaps know that his first success was this tile, not this very one, but this sort, and he tiled the floors of the old chateau on the hill with them. During the great French Revolution, which, of course, was before your time, the mob broke into the chateau and turned it inside out. They even grubbed up all the Palissy tiles, and cast them into the highways and by-ways. Soon afterward, when the storm blew over, the peasants gathered them all together again, and paved their cottages with them. The vil- lage baker paved his oven floor even with the archangel tiles. And later on, when Time brought his revenge, the restored Montmorencys made the villagers dis- gorge their ill-gotten tilings, and even the baker had to pull his oven to pieces. This cottage has evidently been tiled at one time, and this fleur-de-lis is the proof of it. This broken corner, too, may ac- count for its getting left. Violet! and now I think the poison of antiquarianism is beginning to course through your sys- tem. Well, you see, as I said before, Im very busy just now, but when .1 get to your age of affluence and indolence I may let the poison work, if it should ever take a good hold. Well, I still feel as if I had done some good this morning, and this tile alone is worth all my trouble of coming out to see you. And he proceeded to enwrap his tile in a bit of his paper. But before you depart with what you call your find, how about the poor owner of the property? For all you know, it may form some part of a well-planned decoration. I see, old fellow, what you are driv- ing at. We often do forget ourselves and others in moments of delirious success. Do you think ten solid francs would com- fort the Venus for the loss of this ? Ill try; and if she wants further con- solation, you can send on a check. He soon departed in high glee with his prize, and I returned to my work, but with a wandering eye prowling about the floor for a stray hint of lurking blue and 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gold; but not a bit could my unpractised eye discover. When Mother Venus returned from the bois with her small garner of sticks, I related the incident, and I put the two big five - franc pieces in her shrivelled hand. How her sightless, furrowed face lit up! it was like a gleam of sunshine over a brown ploughed field. Im in luck with you ! she cried. I prayed to the bon Dieu for a little turn of good chance, and here it is. Cest bien dr6le tout dm~mc. And then fo]lowed a string of pious blasphemyto my ears and all for ten francs. I didnt know of that tile, but there is a good tile with a picture on it that props up the back leg of the couch, and it was put there many years ago. I felt the blood of the anti- quary and discoverer beginning to riot through me. Would msieu like it? because if he would, mon Dieu! that shall be the tile for the ten francs. By the little image carven of wood [literall, I had clean forgotten all about the sacred little tile till you mentioned it. The crazy, creaky old couch was soon slewed round, and there was the tile, safe and sound, and glad perhaps to see the light once more. It was perfect, and lovely. I felt it singing and appealing to me the moment it came to view. As she said, it had a figure on it, an archangel; a corner-piece, the fleur-de- us, was only the border, and it was per- fect, without crack or flaw. A bit of wood was handy to fill its place, and the couch was soon wheeled round again. Now look you, Venus, the tile my friend discovered was his for his own ten francs; this is another affair. Now as this is better, you shall have fifteen or twenty francs for this, and it is to be mine. Mon Dien, Msieu Georges, you may be right, after all; but as the ten francs is more than the two sacred old rubbish of the dust heap is worth, I should like to give it to you or to the other msieu. She took the money, however, and a well - spring of pious mutterings over- flowed from her overfull heart. Soon after that I arranged my vengeance. I got out my antiquary again, and having planted my tile near to where he would be sitting, I proceeded to discover it as art- fully as I could. Not very well, I fear, for he flatly accused me of bad comedy be- fore it was half dug out; but when he saw its archangel face in all its perfection poor man! tears almost stood in his eyes. Well, what about it l And then ensued a roundabout negotiation for the treasure. Result, just to prove my good faith, and how easy it was now to find them after lie showed me how, I bestowed it upon him with my blessing. It was small reward of revenge, years after, when I saw that same tile in an honored place in his cabinet, and he said to me, My dear boy, you did owe me something for opening your gummed eyelids to these things; but the day you parted with that angel you were greemier than you are now. And the Venus? Well, there was a scene of parting, soon after, that I will omit. There is much more to say, but not much more to tell. She long since opened her eyes to other light than ours. INASMUCH. BY WALLACE BRUCE. you say that you want a meetin-house for the boys in the gulch up there, And a Sunday-school with pictur-books? Well, put me down for a share. I believe in little children; its as nice to hear em read As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the cattle feed. And I believe in preachin tooby men for preachin born, Who let alone the husks of creed, and measure out the corn. The pulpits but a manger where the pews are gospel-fed; And they say twas to a manger that the star of glory led. So Ill subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the stalls: I always give the best Ive got whenever my partner calls. And, stranger, let me tell you: Im beginning to suspect That all the world are partners, whatever their creed or sect; That life is a kind of pilgrimage, a sort of Jericho road, And kindness to ones fellows the sweetest law in the code. No matter about the nitials; from a farmer, you understand,

34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gold; but not a bit could my unpractised eye discover. When Mother Venus returned from the bois with her small garner of sticks, I related the incident, and I put the two big five - franc pieces in her shrivelled hand. How her sightless, furrowed face lit up! it was like a gleam of sunshine over a brown ploughed field. Im in luck with you ! she cried. I prayed to the bon Dieu for a little turn of good chance, and here it is. Cest bien dr6le tout dm~mc. And then fo]lowed a string of pious blasphemyto my ears and all for ten francs. I didnt know of that tile, but there is a good tile with a picture on it that props up the back leg of the couch, and it was put there many years ago. I felt the blood of the anti- quary and discoverer beginning to riot through me. Would msieu like it? because if he would, mon Dieu! that shall be the tile for the ten francs. By the little image carven of wood [literall, I had clean forgotten all about the sacred little tile till you mentioned it. The crazy, creaky old couch was soon slewed round, and there was the tile, safe and sound, and glad perhaps to see the light once more. It was perfect, and lovely. I felt it singing and appealing to me the moment it came to view. As she said, it had a figure on it, an archangel; a corner-piece, the fleur-de- us, was only the border, and it was per- fect, without crack or flaw. A bit of wood was handy to fill its place, and the couch was soon wheeled round again. Now look you, Venus, the tile my friend discovered was his for his own ten francs; this is another affair. Now as this is better, you shall have fifteen or twenty francs for this, and it is to be mine. Mon Dien, Msieu Georges, you may be right, after all; but as the ten francs is more than the two sacred old rubbish of the dust heap is worth, I should like to give it to you or to the other msieu. She took the money, however, and a well - spring of pious mutterings over- flowed from her overfull heart. Soon after that I arranged my vengeance. I got out my antiquary again, and having planted my tile near to where he would be sitting, I proceeded to discover it as art- fully as I could. Not very well, I fear, for he flatly accused me of bad comedy be- fore it was half dug out; but when he saw its archangel face in all its perfection poor man! tears almost stood in his eyes. Well, what about it l And then ensued a roundabout negotiation for the treasure. Result, just to prove my good faith, and how easy it was now to find them after lie showed me how, I bestowed it upon him with my blessing. It was small reward of revenge, years after, when I saw that same tile in an honored place in his cabinet, and he said to me, My dear boy, you did owe me something for opening your gummed eyelids to these things; but the day you parted with that angel you were greemier than you are now. And the Venus? Well, there was a scene of parting, soon after, that I will omit. There is much more to say, but not much more to tell. She long since opened her eyes to other light than ours. INASMUCH. BY WALLACE BRUCE. you say that you want a meetin-house for the boys in the gulch up there, And a Sunday-school with pictur-books? Well, put me down for a share. I believe in little children; its as nice to hear em read As to wander round the ranch at noon and see the cattle feed. And I believe in preachin tooby men for preachin born, Who let alone the husks of creed, and measure out the corn. The pulpits but a manger where the pews are gospel-fed; And they say twas to a manger that the star of glory led. So Ill subscribe a dollar toward the manger and the stalls: I always give the best Ive got whenever my partner calls. And, stranger, let me tell you: Im beginning to suspect That all the world are partners, whatever their creed or sect; That life is a kind of pilgrimage, a sort of Jericho road, And kindness to ones fellows the sweetest law in the code. No matter about the nitials; from a farmer, you understand, 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Whos generally had to play it alone from rather an ornary hand. Ive never struck it rich; for farming, you see, is slow, And whenever the crops are fairly good, the prices are always low. A dollar isnt very much, but it helps to fount the same: The lowest trump supports the ace, and sometimes wins the game. It assists a fellows praying when hes down upon his knees Inasmuch as you have done it to one of the least of these. I know the verses, stranger, so you neednt stop to quote: Its a different thing to know them or to say them off by rote. Ill tell you where I learned them, if youll step in from the rain: Twas down in Frisco, years ago; had been there hauling grain. It was near the city limits, on the Sacramento pike, Where stores and sheds are rather mixed, and shanties scatterin like. Not the likeliest place to be in, I remember, the saloon With grocery, market, baker-shop, and bar-room all in one. And this made up the picturemy hair was not thea gray, But everything still seems as real as if twere yesterday. A little girl with haggard face stood at the counter there, Not more than ten or twelve at most, but worn with grief and care; And her voice was kind of raspy, like a sort of chronic cold Just the tone you find in children who are prematurely old. She said: Two bits for bread and tea. Ma hasnt much to eat; She hopes next week to work again, and buy us all some meat. Weve been half starved all winter, but spring will soon be here, And she tells us, Keep up courage, for God is always near. Just then a dozen men came in; the boy was called away To shake the spotted cubes for drinks, as Forty-niners say. I never heard from human lips such oaths and curses loud As rose above the glasses of that crazed and reckless crowd. But the poor tired girl sat waiting, lost at last to revels deep, On a keg beside a barrel in the coriier, fast asleep. Well, I stood there, sort of waiting, until some one at the bar Said, Hello! I say, stranger, what have you over thar ? The boy then told her story, and that crew, so fierce and wild, Grew intent, and seemed to listen to the breathing of the child. The glasses all were lowered; said the leader: Boys, see here; All day weve been pouring whiskey, drinking deep our Christmas cheer. Heres two dollarsIve got feelings which are not entirely dead For this little girl and mother suffering for the want of bread. Heres a dollar. Heres another. And they all chipped in their share, And they planked the ringing metal down upon the counter there. Then the spokesman took a golden double-eagle from his belt, Softly stepped from bar to counter, and beside the sleeper knelt; Took the two bits from her fingers; changed her silver piece for gold. See there, boys; the girl is dreaming. Down her cheeks the tear-drops rolled. One by one the swarthy miners passed in silence to the street. Gently we awoke the sleeper, but she started to her feet With a dazed and strange expression, saying: Oh, I thought twas true! Ma was well, and we were happy; round our door-stone roses grew. We had everything we wanted, food enough, and clothes to wear; And my hand burns where an angel touched it soft with fingers fair. As she looked, and saw the money in her fingers glistening bright, Well, now, ma has long been praying, but she wont believe me quite, How youve sent way up to heaven, where the golden treasures are, And have also got an angel clerking at your grocery bar. Thats a Christmas story, stranger, which I thought youd like to hear; True to fact and human nature, pointing out ones duty clear. Hence to matters of subscription you will see that Im alive: Just mark off that dollar, stranger; I think Ill make it five. FOLLY. A CHRISTMAS RECOLLECTION. BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. IT was Christmas Eve. I remember it just as if it was yesterday. The Colonel had been pretending not to no- tice it, but when Drinkwater Torm* knocked over both the great candlesticks, and in his attempt to pick them up lurch- ed over himself and fell sprawling on the floor, he yelled at him. Torm pulled him- self together, and began an explanation, in which the point was tbat he had not tetched a drap in Gord knows how long, but the Colonel cut him short. Get out of the room, you drunken vagabond ! he roared. Torm~ was deeply offended. He made a low, grand bow, and with as much dig- nity as his unsteady condition would ad- mit of, marched very statelily from the room, and passing out through the dining- room, where he stopped only to abstract one more drink from the long heavy cut- glass decanter on the sideboard, meander- ed out to his house in the backyard, where he proceeded to talk religion to Charity, his wife, as he always did when he was particularly drunk. He was expounding the vision of the golden candlestick, and the bowl and seven lamps and two olive- trees, when he fell asleep. The roarer, as has been said, was the Colonel; the mean- derer was Drinkwater Torm. (The Col- onel gave him the name, because, he said, if he were to drink water once, he would die.) As Drinkwater closed the door, the Colonel continued, fiercely: Damme, Folly, II will! Ill sell him to-morrow morning; and if I cant sell him, Ill give him away. Folly, with troubled great dark eyes, was wheedling him vigorously. No; I tell you Ill sell him. Misery in his back! the mischief! hes a drunken, trifling, good-for-nothing nigger, and I have sworn to sell him a thousandyes, ten thousand times; and now Ill have to do it to keep my word. This was true. The Colonel swore this a dozen times a dayevery time Torm got drunk, and as that had occurred very fre- quently for many years before Folly was born,he was not outside of the limit. Pol * This spelling is used because he was called Torm until it became his name. VOL. LXXJV.No. 439.3 ly, however, was the only one this threat ever troubled. The Colonel knew he could no more have gotten on without Torm than his old open-faced watch, which looked for all the world like a model of himself, could have run without the main-spring. From tying his shoes and getting his shav- ing water, to making his juleps and light- ing his candles, which was all he had to do, Drinkwater Torm was necessary to him (I think he used to make the threat just to prove to himself that Torm did not own him; if so, he failed in his purpose Torm did own him). Torm knew it as well as he, or better; and while Charity, for private and wifely reasons, occasionally held the threat over him when his ex- poundings passed even her endurance, she knew it also. Thus Folly was the only one it deceived or frightened. It always deceived her, and she never rested until she had obtain- ed Torms reprieve for just one more time. So on this occasion, before she got down from the Colonels knees, she had given him in bargain just one more squeeze, and received in return Torms conditional pardon, only till next time. Everybody in the county knew the Col- onel, and everybody knew Drinkwater Torm, and everybody who had been to the Colonels for several years past (and that was nearly everybody in the county, for the Colonel kept open house), knew Folly. She had been placed in her chair by the Colonels side at the club dinner on her first birthday after her arrival, and had been afterward placed on the table and allowed to crawl around among and in the dishes to entertain the gentlemen, which she did to the applause of every one, and of herself most of all; and from that time she had exercised in her kingdom the functions of both Vashti and Esther, and whatever Folly ordered was done. If the old inlaid piano in the parlor had been robbed of strings, it was all right, for Fol- ly had taken them. Bob had cut them out for her, without a word of protest from any one but Charity. The Colonel would have given her his heart-strings if Folly had required them. She had owned him body and soul from 4

FOLLY. A CHRISTMAS RECOLLECTION. BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. IT was Christmas Eve. I remember it just as if it was yesterday. The Colonel had been pretending not to no- tice it, but when Drinkwater Torm* knocked over both the great candlesticks, and in his attempt to pick them up lurch- ed over himself and fell sprawling on the floor, he yelled at him. Torm pulled him- self together, and began an explanation, in which the point was tbat he had not tetched a drap in Gord knows how long, but the Colonel cut him short. Get out of the room, you drunken vagabond ! he roared. Torm~ was deeply offended. He made a low, grand bow, and with as much dig- nity as his unsteady condition would ad- mit of, marched very statelily from the room, and passing out through the dining- room, where he stopped only to abstract one more drink from the long heavy cut- glass decanter on the sideboard, meander- ed out to his house in the backyard, where he proceeded to talk religion to Charity, his wife, as he always did when he was particularly drunk. He was expounding the vision of the golden candlestick, and the bowl and seven lamps and two olive- trees, when he fell asleep. The roarer, as has been said, was the Colonel; the mean- derer was Drinkwater Torm. (The Col- onel gave him the name, because, he said, if he were to drink water once, he would die.) As Drinkwater closed the door, the Colonel continued, fiercely: Damme, Folly, II will! Ill sell him to-morrow morning; and if I cant sell him, Ill give him away. Folly, with troubled great dark eyes, was wheedling him vigorously. No; I tell you Ill sell him. Misery in his back! the mischief! hes a drunken, trifling, good-for-nothing nigger, and I have sworn to sell him a thousandyes, ten thousand times; and now Ill have to do it to keep my word. This was true. The Colonel swore this a dozen times a dayevery time Torm got drunk, and as that had occurred very fre- quently for many years before Folly was born,he was not outside of the limit. Pol * This spelling is used because he was called Torm until it became his name. VOL. LXXJV.No. 439.3 ly, however, was the only one this threat ever troubled. The Colonel knew he could no more have gotten on without Torm than his old open-faced watch, which looked for all the world like a model of himself, could have run without the main-spring. From tying his shoes and getting his shav- ing water, to making his juleps and light- ing his candles, which was all he had to do, Drinkwater Torm was necessary to him (I think he used to make the threat just to prove to himself that Torm did not own him; if so, he failed in his purpose Torm did own him). Torm knew it as well as he, or better; and while Charity, for private and wifely reasons, occasionally held the threat over him when his ex- poundings passed even her endurance, she knew it also. Thus Folly was the only one it deceived or frightened. It always deceived her, and she never rested until she had obtain- ed Torms reprieve for just one more time. So on this occasion, before she got down from the Colonels knees, she had given him in bargain just one more squeeze, and received in return Torms conditional pardon, only till next time. Everybody in the county knew the Col- onel, and everybody knew Drinkwater Torm, and everybody who had been to the Colonels for several years past (and that was nearly everybody in the county, for the Colonel kept open house), knew Folly. She had been placed in her chair by the Colonels side at the club dinner on her first birthday after her arrival, and had been afterward placed on the table and allowed to crawl around among and in the dishes to entertain the gentlemen, which she did to the applause of every one, and of herself most of all; and from that time she had exercised in her kingdom the functions of both Vashti and Esther, and whatever Folly ordered was done. If the old inlaid piano in the parlor had been robbed of strings, it was all right, for Fol- ly had taken them. Bob had cut them out for her, without a word of protest from any one but Charity. The Colonel would have given her his heart-strings if Folly had required them. She had owned him body and soul from 4 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the second he first laid eyes on her, when, on the instant he entered the room, she had stretched out her little chubby hands to him, and on his taking her had, after a few infantile caresses, curled up and, with her finger in her mouth, gone to sleep in his arms like a little white kitten. Bob used to wonder in a vague, boyish way where the child got her beauty, for the Colonel weighed two hundred and fif- ty pounds, and was as ugly as a red head and thirty or forty years of Torms mint- juleps piled on a somewhat reckless col- lege career could make him; but one day, when the Colonel was away from home, Charity showed him a daguerreotype of a lady which she got out of the top drawer of the Colonels big secretary with the brass lions on it, and it looked exactly like Polly. It had the same great big dark eyes, and the same soft white look, though Polly was stouter, for she was a great tomboy, and used to run wild over the place with Bob, climbing cherry-tr6es, and fishing in the creek, and looking as blooming as a rose, with her hair all tan- gled over her pretty head, until she grew quite large, and the Colonel got her a tutor. He thought of sending her to a boarding- school, but the night he broached the sub- ject he raised such a storm, and Polly was in such a tempest of tears, that he gave up the matter at once. It was well he did so, for Polly and Charity cried all night, and Torm was so overcome that even next morning he could not bring the Colonel his shaving water, and he had to shave with cold water for the first time in twenty years. He therefore employed a tutor. Most peo- ple said the child ought to have had a governess, and one or two single ladies of forgotten age in the neighborhood deli- cately hinted that they would gladly teach her; but the Colonel swore that he would have no women around him, and he would be eternally condemned if any should in- terfere with Polly; so he engaged Mr. Cranmer, and invited Bob to come over and go to school to him also, which lie did, for his mother, who had up to that time taught him herself, was very poor, and was unable to send him to school, her husband, who was the Colonels fourth cousin, having died largely indebted, and all of his property, except a small farm adjoining the Colonels, and a few ne- groes, having gone into the General Court. Bob had always been a great favorite with the Colonel, and ever since he had been a small boy he had been used to com- ing over and staying with him. He could gaff a chicken as well as Drinkwater Torm, which was a great ac- complishment in the Colonels eyes, for he had the best game-chickens in the coun- ty, and used to fight them, too, matching them against those of one or two of his neighbors who were similarly inclined, until Polly grew up and made him stop. He could tame a colt quicker than any- body on the plantation. Moreover, he could shoot more partridges in a day than the Colonel, and could beat him shooting with a pistol as well, though the Colonel laid the fault of the former on his being so fat, and that of the latter on his spectacles. They used to practise with the Colonels old pistols that hung in their holsters over the tester of his bed, and about which Drinkwater used to tell so many lies; for although they were kept loaded, and their brass-mounted butts peeping out of their leathern covers used to look ferocious enough to give some apparent ground for Torms story of how he and the Colonel had shot Judge Cabell spang through the heart, the Colonel always said that Ca- bell behaved very handsomely, and that the matter was arranged on the field with- out a shot. Even at that time some peo- ple said that Bobs mother was trying to catch the Colonel, and that if the Colonel did not look out, she would yet be the mis- tress of his big plantation. And all agreed that the boy would come in for something handsome at the Colonels death; for Bob was his cousin and his nearest male rela- tive, if Polly was his niece, and he would hardly leave her all his property, especial- ly as she was so much like her mother, with whom, as everybody knew, the Col- onel had been desperately in love, but who had treated him badly, and notwith- standing his big plantation and many ne- groes, had run away with his younger brother, and both of them had died in the South of yellow-fever, leaving of all their children only this little Polly; and the Colonel had taken Drinkwater and Chari- ty, and had travelled in his carriage all the way to Mississippi, to get and bring Polly back. It was Christmas Eve when they reached home, and the Colonel had sent Drinkwater on a day ahead to have the fires made and the house aired for the baby; and when the carriage drove up that night you would have thought a queen was coming, sure enough. FOLLY. 39 Every hand on the plantation was up at the great house waiting for them, and every room in the house had a fire in it. (Torm had told the overseer so many lies that he had had the men cutting wood all day, although the regular supply was cut.) And when Charity stepped out of the car- riage, with the baby all bundled up in her arms, making a great show about keeping it wrapped up, and walked up the steps as slowly as if it were made of gold, you could have heard a pin drop; even the Colonel fell back, and spoke in a whisper. The great chamber was given up to the baby, the Colonel going to the wing room, where he always staid after that. He spoke of sitting up all night to watch the child, but Charity assured him that she was not going to take her eyes off of her during the night, and with a promise to come in every hour and look after them, the Colonel went to his room, where he slept until nine oclock the next morning. But I was telling what people said about Bobs mother. When the report reached the Colonel about the widows designs, he took Folly on his knees and told her all about it, and then both laughed until the tears ran down the Colonels face and dropped on his big flowered vest and on Pollys little blue frock; and he sent the widow next day a fine short-horned heifer to show his contempt of the gossip. And now Bob was the better shot of the two; and they taught Folly to shoot too, and to load and unload the pistols, at which the Colonel was as proud as if one of his young stags had whipped an old rooster. But. they never could induce her to shoot at anything except a mark. She was the tenderest-hearted little thing in the world. If her taste had been consulted she would have selected a cross-bow, for it did not make such a noise, and she could shoot it without shutting her eyes; besides that, she could shoot it in the house, which, indeed, she did, until she had shot the eyes out of nearly all the bewigged gentlemen and hare-necked, long-fingered ladies on the walls. Once she came very near shooting Torms eye out also; but this was an accident, though Drinkwater declared it was not, and tried to make out that Bob had put her up to it. Dats de mischievouses boy Gord ever made, he said, complainingly, to Charity. Fortu nately his eye got well, and it gave him an excuse for staying half drunk for near- ly a week; and afterward, like a dog that has once been lame in his hind-leg, when- ever he saw Folly, and did not forget it, he squinted up that eye and tried to look miserable. Folly was quite a large girl then, and was carrying the keys (except when she lost them), though she could not have been more than twelve years old; for it was just after this that the birthday came when the Colonel gave her her first real silk dress. It was blue silk, and came from Richmond, and it was hard to tell which was the proudestFolly, or Char- ity, or Drinkwater, or the Colonel. Torm got drunk before the dinner was over, drinking de healthsh to de young mistis in de sky-blue robes what stands befo de throne, you know, he explained to Char- ity, after the Colonel had ordered him from the dining-room, with promises of prompt sale on the morrow. Bob was there, and it was the last time Folly ever sucked her thumb. She had almost gotten out of the habit anyhow, and it was in a moment of forgetfulness that she let Bob see her do it. He was a great tease, and when she was smaller had often worried her about it until she would fly at him and try to bite him with her lit- tle white teeth. On this occasion, how- ever, she stood everything until he said that about a girl who wore a blue silk dress sucking her thumb; then she boxed his jaws. The fire flew from his eyes, but hers were even more sparkling. He paused for a minute, and then caught her in his arms and kissed her violently. She never sucked her thumb after that. This happened out in front of her main- mys house, within which Torm was de- livering a powerful exhortation on tem- perance; and, strange to say, Charity took Bobs side, while Torm espoused Follys, and afterward said she ought to have tooken a stick and knocked Marse Bobs head s~ang off. This fortunately Folly did not do (and when Bob went to the university afterward he was said to have the best head in his class). She just turn- ed around and ran into the house, with her face very red. But she never slapped Bob after that. Not long after this he went off to college; for Mr. Cranmer, the tutor, said he already knew more than most college graduates did, and that it would be a shame for him not to have a university education. When the question 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of ways and means was mooted, the Col- onel, who was always ready to lend mon- ey if he had it, and to borrow it if he did not, swore he would give him all the mon- ey he wanted; but, to his astonishment, Bob refused to accept it, and although the Colonel abused him for it, and asked Polly if she did not think he was a fool (which Polly did, for she was always ready to take and spend all the money he or any one else gave her), yet he did not like him the less for it, and he finally persuaded Bob to take it as a loan, and Bob gave him his bond. The day before he left home he was over at the Colonels, where they had a great dinner for him, and Polly presided in her newest silk dress (she had three then); and when Bob said good-by, she slipped some- thing into his hand, and ran away to her room and when he looked at it, it was her ten-dollar gold piece, and he took it. He was at college not quite three years, for his mother was taken sick, and he had to come home and nurse her; but he had stood first in most of his classes, and not lower than third in any; and he had thrashed the carpenter on Vinegar Hill, who was the bully of the town. So that although he did not take his degree, he had gotten the start which enabled him to complete his studies during the time he was taking care of his mother, and until her death, so that as soon as he was ad- mitted to the bar he made his mark. It was his splendid defence of the man who shot the deputy-sheriff at the court-house on election day that brought him out as the Democratic candidate for the Consti- tutional Convention, where he made such a reputation as a speaker that the En- quirer declared him the rising man of the State; and even the Whig admitted that perhaps the Loco-foco party might find a leader to redeem it. Polly was just fifteen when she began to take an interest in poli- tics; and although she read the papers dili- gently, especially the Enquirer,which her uncle never failed to abuse, yet she never could exactly satisfy herself which side was right; for the Colonel was a stanch Whig, while most people must have been Democrats, as Bob was elected by a big majority. She wanted to be on the Col- onels side, and made him explain every- thing to her, which he did to his own entire satisfaction, and to hers too, she tried to think; but when Bob came over to tea, which he very frequently did, and the Colonel and he got into a discussion, her uncle always seemed to her to get the worst of the argument; at any rate, he generally got very hot. This, however, might have been because Bob was so cool; while the Colonel was so hot-tempered. Bob had grown up very handsome. His month was strong and firm, and his eyes were splendid. He was about six feet, and his shoulders were as broad as the Colonels. She did not see him now as often as she did when he was a boy, but it was because he was kept so busy by his practice. (He used to get cases in three or four counties now, and big ones at that.) She knew, however, that she was just as good a friend of his as ever; indeed, she took the trouble to tell her- self so. A compliment to him used to give her the greatest happiness, and would bring deeper roses into her cheeks. He was the greatest favorite with every- body. Torm thought that there was no one in the world like him. He had long ago forgiven him his many pranks, and said lie was the grettest gentman in the county skusin him [Torm] and the Col- onel, and that he alays handled heseif to he raisin, by which Torm made indi- rect reference to regular donations made to him by the aforesaid gentman, and particularly to an especially large bene- faction then lately conferred. It happen- ed one evening at the Colonels, after din- ner, when several guests, including Bob, were commenting on the perfections of various ladies who were visiting in the neighborhood that summer. The praises were, to Torms mind, somewhat too lib- erally bestowed, and he had attempted to console himself by several visits to the pantry; but when all the list was dis- posed of, and Pollys name had not been mentioned, epdurance could stand it no longer, and he suddenly broke in with his judgment that they didnt none on em hol a candle to his young mistis, whar wuz de vey pink an fiowr on em all. The Colonel, immensely pleased, order- ed him out, with a promise of immediate sale on the morrow. But that evening, as he got on his horse, Bob slipped into his hand a five-dollar gold piece, and he told Polly that if the Colonel really in- tended to sell Torm, just to send him over to his house: he wanted the benefit of his judgment. Polly, of course, did not understand his allusion, though the Colonel had told her POLLY. 41 of Torms speech; but Bob had a rose on his coat when he came out of the window, and the long pin in Follys bodice was not fastened very securely, for it slipped, and she lost all her other roses, and he had to stoop and pick them up for her. Perhaps, though, Bob was simply refer- ring to his having saved some money, for shortly afterward he came over one morn- ing and, to the Colonels disgust, paid him down in full the amount of his bond. He attempted a somewhat formal speech of thanks, but broke down in it so lamenta- bly that two juleps were ordered out by the Colonel to reinstate easy relations be- tween theman effect which apparently was not immediately producedand the Colonel confided to Folly next day that ~ince the fellow had been taken up so by those Loco-focos he was not altogether as he used to he. Why, he dont even drink his juleps clear, the old man asserted, as if he were charging him with, at the least, misprision of treason. However, he added, soft- ening as the excuse presented itself to his mind, that may be becanse his mother was always so opposed to it. You know mint never would grow there, he pur- sued to Folly, who had heard him make the same observation, with the same as- tonishment, a hundred times. Strangest thing I ever knew. But hes a con- foundedly clever fellow, though, Folly, he continued, with a sudden reviving of the old-time affection. Damme I like him. And, as Follys face turned a sweet carmine, added: Oh, I forgot, Fol- ly; didnt mean to swear; damme if I did. It just slipped out. Now I havent sworn before for a week; you know I havent. Yes, of course, I mean except then. For Folly, with softly fading col- or, was readin~ him the severest of lec- tures on his besetting sin, and citing an ebullition over Torms failing of the day before. Come and sit down on your uncles knee and kiss him once as a token of forgiveness. Just one more squeeze, as the fair girlish arms were twined about his neck, and the sweetest of faces was pressed against his own rough cheek. Folly, do you remember, asked the old man, holding her off from him and gazing at the girlish face fondlydo you re- member how, when you were a little scrap, you used to climb up on my knee and squeeze me just once more to save that rascal Drinkwater, and how you used to say you were going to marry Bob and me when you were grown up ? Follys memory apparently was not very good. That evening, however, it seemed much better, when, dressed all in soft white, and with cheeks reflecting the faint tints of the sunset clouds, she was strolling through the old flower-garden with a tall young fellow whose hat sat on his head with a jaunty air, and who was so very careful to hold aside the long branch- es of the rose-bushes. They had somehow gotten to recalling each in turn some in- cident of the old boy and girl days. Bob knew the main facts as well as she, but Folly remembered the little details and circumstances of each incident best, ex- cept those about the time they were play- ing knucks together. Then Bob recol- lected most. He was positive that when she cried because he shot so hard, lie had kissed her to make it well. Curiously, Follys recollection failed again, and was only distinct about very modern matters. DION T NONE ON EM HOJ A CANDLF TO 1115 YOUNG MISTIS. 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. She remembered with remarkable sudden- ness that it was tea-time. They were away down at the end of the garden, and her lapse of memory had a singular effect on Bob; for he turned quite pale, and insisted that she did re- member it, and then said something about having wanted to see the Colonel, and having waited, and did so strangely that if that rose-bush had not caught her dress, he might have done something else. But the rose-bush caught her dress, and Polly, who looked really scared at it, or something, ran away just as the Col- onels voice was heard calling them to tea. Bob was very silent at the table, and when he left, the Colonel was quite anx- ious about him. He asked Polly if she had not noticed his depression. Polly had not. Thats just the way with you women, said the Colonel, testily. A man might die under your very eyes, and you would not notice it. I noticed it, and I tell you the fellows sick. Ii say hes sick ! he re- iterated, with a little habit he had ac- quired since he had begun to grow slight- ly deaf. I shall advise him to go away and have a little fling somewhere. He works too hard, sticks too close at home. He never goes anywhere except here, and he dont come here as he used to do. He ought to get married. Advise him to get married. Why dont he set up to Sally Brent or Malviny Pegram? Hes a likely fellow, and theyd both take himfools if they didnt. I say they are fools if they didnt. What say ? I didnt say anything, said Polly, quietly going to the piano. Her music often soothed the Colonel to sleep. The next morning but one Bob rode over, and instead of hooking his horse to the fence as he usually did, he rode on around toward the stables. He greeted Torm, who was in the backyard, and af- ter extracting some preliminary observa- tions from him respecting the misery in his back, he elicited the further facts that Miss Polly was going down the road to dine at the Pegrams, of which he had some intimation before, and that the Colonel was down on the river farm, but would be back about two oclock. He rode on. At two oclock promptly Bob returned. The Colonel had not yet gotten home. He, however, dismounted, and tying his horse, went in. He must have been tired of sit- ting down, for he now walked up and down the portico without once taking a seat. Marse Bob 11 walk heself to death, observed Charity to Torm from her door. Presently the Colonel came in, bluff, warm, and hearty. He ordered dinner from the front gate as he dismounted, and juleps from the middle of the walk, greet- ed Bob with a cheeriness which that gen- tleman in vain tried to imitate, and was plumped down in his great split-bottomed chair, wiping his red head with his still red- der bandana handkerchief, and abusing the weather, the crops, the newspapers, and his overseer before Bob could get breath to make a single remark. When he did, he pitched in on the weather. That is a safe topic at all times, and it was aston- ishing how much comfort Bob got out of it this afternoon. He talked about it un- til dinner began to come in across the yard, the blue china dishes gleaming in the hands of Phzebe and her numerous corps of ebon and mahogany assistants, and Torm brought out the juleps, with the mint looking as if it were growing in the great silver cans, with frosted - work all over the sides. Dinner was rather a failure, so far as Bob was concerned. Perhaps he missed something that usually graced that table; perhaps only his body was there, while he himself was down at Miss Malviny Pe- grams; perhaps he had gone back and was unfastening an impertinent rose-bush from a filmy white dress in the summer twilight; perhaps But anyhow he was so silent and abstracted that the Colonel rallied him good-humoredly, which did not help matters. They had adjourned to the porch, and had been there for some time, when Bob broached the subject of his visit. Colonel, he said, suddenly, and whol- ly irrelevant to everything that had gone before, there is a matter I want to speak to you aboutaahwea little matter of great importance toahmyself. He was getting very red and confused, and the Colonel instantly divining the matter, and secretly flattering himself, and de- termining to crow over Polly, said, to help him out: Aha, you rogue, I knew it. Come up to the scratch, sir. So you are caught at last. Ah, you sly fox! Its the very thing you ought to do. Why, I know half a dozen girls whod jump at you. I POLLY. 43 knew it. I said so the other night. Pol- Bob was utterly off his feet by this time. I want to ask your consent to marry Polly, he blurted out, desperately. I love her. The devil you do 1 exclaimed the Colonel. He could say no more; he sim- ply sat still, in speechless, helpless, blank amazement. To him Polly was still a little girl climbing his knees, and an em- peror might not aspire to her. Yes, sir, I do, said Bob, calm enough now growing cool as the Colonel be- came excited. I love her, and I want her. Well, sir, you cant have her, roar- ed the Colonel, rising from his seat in the violence of his refusal. He looked like a tawny lion whose lair had been invaded. Bobs face paled, and a look came on it that the Colonel recalled afterward, and which he did not remember ever to have seen on it before, except once, when, years ago, some one shot one of his dogs a look made up of anger and of dogged resolu-. tion. I shall, he said, throwing up his head and looking the Colonel straight in the eyes, his voice perfectly calm, but his eyes blazing, the mouth drawn close, and the lines of his face as if they had been carved in granite. Ill be if you shall! stormed the Colonel; the King of England should not have her I and turning, he stamped into the house and slammed the door be- hind him. Bob walked slowly down the steps and around to the stables, where he ordered his horse. He rode home across the fields without a word, except, as he jumped his horse over the line fence, I shall have her, he repeated, between his fast - set teeth. That evening Polly came home all unsuspecting anything of the kind; the Colonel waited until she had taken off her things and come down in her fresh muslin dress. She surpassed in loveli- ness the rose-buds that lay on her bosom, and the impertinence that could dare aspire to her broke over the old man in a fresh wave, He had nursed his wrath all the evening. Polly, he blurted out, suddenly ris- ing with a jerk from his arm-chair, and unconsciously striking an attitude before the astonished girl, do you want to marry Bob ? Why no, cried Polly, utterly shaken out of her composure by the suddenness and vehemence of the attack. I knew it, declared the Colonel, tri- umphantly. It was a piece of cursed impertinence. And he worked himself up to such a pitch of fury, and grew so red in the face that poor little Polly, who had to steer between two dangers, had to employ all her arts to soothe the old man and keep him out of a fit of apoplexy. She learnt the truth, however, and she learnt something which, until that time, she had never known, and though, as she kissed her uncle good-night, she made no answer to his final shot of, Well, Im glad we are not going to have any nonsense about tIme fellow; I have made up my mind, and well treat his impu- dence as it deserves, she locked her door carefully when she was within her own room, and the next morning she said she had a headache. Bob did not come that day. If the Colonel had not been so hot-headedthat is,if he had not been a manthings would doubtless have straightened themselves out in some of those mysterious ways in which the hardest knots into which two young peoples affairs contrive to get un- tangled themselves; but being a man, he must needs, man-like, undertake to man- age according to his own plan, which is always the wrong one. When, therefore, he announced to Pol- ly at the breakfast table that morning that she would have no further annoy- ance from that fellows impertinence, for he had written him a note apologizing for leaving him abruptly in his own house the day before, but forbidding him, in both their names, to continue his addresses, or indeed to put his foot on the place again, he fully expected to see Pollys face bright- en, and to receive her approbation and thanks. What, then, was his disappoint- ment to see her face grow distinctly white! All she said was, Oh, uncle ! It was unfortunate that the day was Sunday, and that the Colonel went with her to church (which she insisted on at- tending notwithstanding her headache), and was by when she met Bob. They came on each other suddenly. Bob took off his hat, and stood like a soldier on re- view, erect, expectant, and a little pale. The Colonel, who had almost forgotten his impertinence, and was about to shake hands with him as usual, suddenly 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. remembered it, and drawing himself up, stepped to the other side of Folly, and handed her by the younger gentleman as if he were protecting her from a mob. Folly, who had been looking anxiously everywhere but in the right place, mean- ing to give him a smile which would set thi~i~s straight, caught his eye only at that second, and felt rather than saw the change in Bobs attitude and manner. She tried to give him the smile, but it died in her eyes, and even after her back was turned she was sensible of his defiance; and she went into church, and dropped down on her knees in the far end of her pew, with her little heart needing all the consolations of her religion. The man she prayed hardest for did not come into church that day. Things went very badly after that, and the knots got tighter and tighter. An attempt which Bob made to loosen them failed disastrous- ly, and the Colonel, who was the best- hearted man in the world, but whose pre- judices were made of wrought iron, took it into his head that Bob had insulted him, and Follys indirect efforts at pacifi- cation aroused him to such an extent that for the first time in his life he was almost hard with her. He conceived the absurd idea that she was sacrificing herself for Bob on account of her friendship for him, and that it was his duty to protect her against herself, which, man-like, he pro- ceeded to do in his own fashion, to poor little Follys great distress. She was devoted to her uncle, and knew the strength of his affection for her. On the other hand, Bob and she had been friends so long. She never could remem- ber the time when she did not have Bob. But he had never said a word of love to her in his life. On that evening in the garden she had known it just as well as if he had fallen on his knees at her feet. She knew it was just because he had owed her uncle the money; and oh! if she just hadnt got- ten frightened; and oh! if her uncle just hadnt done it; and oh! she was so unhap- py! The poor little thing, in her own dainty, white-curtained room, where were the books and things he had given her, and the letters he had written her, used tobut that is a secret. Anyhow, it was not because he was gone. She knew that was not the reason indeed, she very often said so to herselfbut because he had been treated so unjustly, and suffer- ed so, and she had done it all. And she used to introduce many new petitions into her prayers, in which if there was not any name expressed, she felt that it would be understood, and the blessings would reach him just the same. The summer had gone, and the Indian sum- mer had come in its place, hazy, dreamy, and sad. It always made her melan- choly, and this year, although the wea- ther was perfect, she was affected, she said, by the heat, and did not go out-of- doors much. So presently her cheeks were not as blooming as they had been, and even her great eyes lost some of their lustre; at least Charity thought so, and said so too, not only to Folly, but to her master, whom she scared half to death, and who, notwithstanding that Dr. Stop- per was coming every other day to see a patient on the plantation, and that the next day was the time for his regular visit, put a boy on a horse that night and sent him with a note urging the doctor to come the next morning to breakfast. The doctor came, and spent the day; examined Follys lungs and heart, prescribed out- door exercise, and left something less than a bushel-basketful of medicines for her to take. Folly was, at the time of his visit, in a very excited state, for the Colonel had, with a view of soothing her, the night be- fore delivered a violent phihippic against marriage in general, and in particular against marriage with impudent young puppies who did not know their places, and lie had proposed an extensive tour, embracing all the United States and Canada, and intended to cover the entire winter and spring following. Folly, who had stood as much as she could stand, finally rebelled, and had with flashing eyes and mantling cheeks espoused Bobs cause with a courage and dash which had almost routed the old Colonel. Not that he was anything to her except a friend, she was most careful to explain, but she was tired of hearing her friend assailed, and she thought that it was the hi~,hest compliment a man could pay a woman, etc., etc.,for all of which she did a great deal of blushing in her own room afterward. Thus it happened that she was both excited and penitent the next day, and thinking to make some atonement, and at the same time to take the prescribed ex- ercise, which would excuse her from tak POLLY. 45 ing the medicines, she filled a little bas- membered that afterwardbut he was so ket with goodies to take old Aunt Betty mean: it was always a little confused in at the Far Quarters; and thus it happen- her memory, and she could never recall ed that as she was coming back alon~ the exactly how it was. She was sure, how- path that ran down the meadow on the ever, that it was because he was so pale other side of the creek, which was the di- that she said it, and that she did not be- viding line between the two plantations, gin to cry until afterward, and that it and was almost at the foot-bridge that was because he would not listen to her Somebody had made for her so carefully explanation; and that she didnt let him with logs cut out of his own woods, and do it, she could not help it, and she did the long shadows of the willows made it not know her head was on his shoulder. gloomy, and everything was so still that she had grown very lonely and unhappy thus it happened that just as she was think- ing how kind he had been about making the bridge and hand-rail so strong, and about everything, and how cruel he must think her, and how she would never see him any more as she used to do, she turn- ed the clump of willows to step up on the log, and there he was standing on the bridge just before her, looking down into her eyes. She tried to get by himshe re- VOL. LXXIY.No. 4394 Anyhow, when she got home that even- ing her improvement was so apparent that the Colonel called Charity in to note it and declared that Virginia country doctors were the finest in the world, and that Stop- per was the greatest doctor in the State. The change was wonderful Indeed; and the old gilt mirror with its gauze-covered frame would never have known for the sad-eyed Polly of the day before the bright, happy little maiden that stood he- fore it now and smiled at the beaming UNTIL DINNER BEGAN TO COME IN ACROSS TIlE YARD. 46 face which dimpled at its own content. Old Bettys was a protracted pleurisy, and the good things Polly carried her daily did not tend to shorten the sickness. Ever afterward she blessed the Lord for dat chile whenever Pollys name was mentioned. Had she known how sym- pathetic Bob was during this period, she would doubtless have included him in her benison. But although he was inspecting that bridge every afternoon regularly, not- withstanding Pollys oft-reiterated wish and express orders as regularly declared, no one knew a word of all this. And it was a bow drawn at a venture when, o~n the evening that Polly had tried to carry out her engagement to bring her uncle around, the old man said, Why, hoity- toity! the young rascals cause seems to be thriving. She was so confident of her success that she was not prepared for failure, and it struck her like a fresh blow; and though she did not cry until she got into her own room, when she got there she threw herself on the bed and cried herself to sleep. It was so cruel in him, she said to herself, to desire me never to speak to him again! And, oh! if he should really catch him on the place and shoot him ! The pronouns in our language were probably invented by young women. The headache Polly had the next morning was not invented. Poor little thing! her last hope was gone. She determined to bid Bob good-by, and never see him again. She had made up her mind to this on her knees, so she knew she was right. The pain it cost her satisfied her that it was right. She was firmly resolved when she set out that afternoon to see old Betty, who was, in everybodys judgment except her own, quite convalescent, and whom Dr. Stopper pronounced entirely well. She wavered a little in her resolution when, descending the path along the wil- lows, which were leafless now, she caught sight of a tall figure loitering easily up the meadow, and she abandonedthat is, she forgotit altogether when, having doubt- fully suggested it, she was suddenly en- folded in a pair of strong arms, and two gray eyes, lighting a handsome face strong with the self - confidence which women love, looked down into hers. Then lie proposed it! Her heart almost stood still at his bold- ness. But he was so strong, so firm, so HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. reasonable, so self-reliant, and yet so gen tie, she could not but listen to him. Still she refusedand she never did consent; she forbade him ever to think of it again. Then she begged him never to come there again, and told him of her uncles threats, and of her fears for him; and then, when he laughed at them, she begged him nev- er, never, under any circumstances, to take any notice of what her uncle might do or say, but rather to stand still and be shot dead; and then, when Bob promised this, she burst into tears, and he had to hold her and comfort her like a little girl. It was pretty bad after that, and but for Pollys out-door exercise she would un- doubtedly have succumbed. It seemed as if something had come between her and her uncle. She no longer went about singing like a bird. She suffered under the sense of being misunderstood, and it was so lonely! He too was oppressed by it. Even Torm shared in it, and his ex- positions assumed a cast terrific in the last degree. It was now December. One evening it culminated. The wea- ther had been too bad for Polly to go out, and she was sick. Finally Stopper was sent for. Polly, who, to use Charitys ex- pression, was pestered till she was frac- tious, rebelled flatly, and refused to keep her bed or to take the medicines pre- scribed. Charity backed her. Torm got drunk. The Colonel was in a fume, and declared his intentions to sell Torm next morning, as usual, and to take Charity and Polly and go to Europe. This was well enough, but to Pollys consterna- tion, when she came to breakfast next morning, she found that the old mans plans had ripened into a scheme to set out on the very next day for Louisiana and New Orleans, where he proposed to spend the winter looking after some planta- tions she had, and showing her soiime thing of the world. Polly remonstrated, rebelled, cajoled. It was all in vain. Stopper had seriously frightened the old man about her health, and he was ada- mant. Preparations were set on foot; the brown hair trunks, with their lines of staring brass tacks, were raked out and dusted; the Colonel got into a fever, or- dered up all the negroes in the yard, and gave instructions from the front door, like a major-general reviewing his troops; got Torm, Charity, and all the others into a wild flutter; attempted to superintend Pollys matters, made her promises of FOLLY. 47 fabulous gifts; became reminiscent, and told marvellous stories of his old days, which Torm corroborated; and so excited Folly and the plantation generally that from old Betty, who came from the Far Quarters for the purpose of taking it in, down to the blackest little dot on the place, there was not one who did not get into a wild whirl, and talk as if they were all going to New Or- leans the next niorning, with Joe Rattler on the boot. Folly had, after a stout resistance, surrender- ed to her fate, and packed her modest trunk with very mingled feelings. Under other circumstances she would have enjoyed the trip immensely ; but she felt now as if it were part- ing from Bob forever. Her heart was in her throat all day, and even the excite- ment of packing could not drive away the feeling. She knew she would never see him again. She tried to work out what the end would be. Would he die, or would he marry Mal- viny Pegram? Every one said she would just suit him, and sh& d certainly marry him if he asked her. The sun was shining over the western woods. Bob rode down that way in the afternoon even when it was raining; he had told her so. He would think it cruel of her to go away so and never even let him know. She would at least go and tell him good-by. So she did. Bobs face paled suddenly when she told him all, and that look which she had not seen often before settled on it. Then he took her hand and began to explain everything to her. He told her that lie had loved her all her life; showed her how she had inspired him to work for and win every success that he had achieved; how it had been her work even more than his. Then he laid before her the life plans he had formed, and proved how they were all for her, and for her only. He made it all so clear, and his voice was so confi dent, and his face so earnest, as he plead- ed and proved it step by step, that she felt as she leaned against him and lie clasped her closely that he was right, and that she could not part from him. That evening Folly was unusually si- lent; but the Colonel thought she had never been so sweet. She petted him un- til he swore that no man on earth was worthy of her, and that none should ever have her. After tea she went to his room to look over his clothes (her especial work), and would let no one, not even her mammy, help her; and when the Colonel insisted on coining in to tell her some more concerning the glories of New Or- leans in his day, she finally put hin~i out and locked the door on 1dm. She was very strange all the evening. As they were to start tIme next morning, the Col- onel was for retiring early; but Folly would not go; she loitered around, hung N II, WAS INSPECTING ThAT BRIDGE EVERY AFTERNOON. 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. about the old fellow, petted him, sat on his knee and kissed him, until he was forced to insist on her going to bed. Then she said good-night, and astonished the Colonel by throwing herself into his arms and hursting out crying. The old man soothed her with caresses and baby talk, such as he used to comfort her with when she was a little girl, and when she became quiet he handed her to her door as if she had been a duchess. The house was soon quiet, except that once the Colonel heard Polly walking in her room, and mentally determined to chide her for sitting up so late. He, however, drifted off from the subject when he heard some of his young mules galloping around the yard, and he made a sleepy resolve to sell them all, or to dismiss his overseer for letting them get out of the lot. Before he had quite determined which he should do, he dropped off to sleep again. It was possibly about this time that a young man lifted into her saddle a dark- habited little figure, whose face shone very white in the starlight, and whose tremulous voice would have suggested a refusal had it not been drowned in the deep, earnest tone of her lover. Although she declared that she could not think of doing it, she had on her hat and furs and riding-habit when Bob came. She did, indeed, really beg him to go away; but a few minutes later a pair of horses cantered down the avenue toward the lawn gate,which shut with a bang that so frightened the little lady on the bay mare that the young man found it necessary to lean over and throw a steadying arm around her. For the first time in her life Polly saw the sun rise in North Carolina, and a few hours later a gentle-voiced young clergy- man, whose sweet-faced wife was wholly carried away by Pollys beauty, received under protest Bobs only gold piece,a coin which he twisted from his watch chain with the promise to quadruple, it if he would preserve it. When Charity told the Colonel next morning that Polly was gone, the old man for the first time in fifty years turn- ed perfectly white. Then he fell into a consuming rage, and swore until Charity would not have been much surprised to see the devil appear in visible shape and claim him on the spot. He cursed Bob, cursed himself, Torm, Charity, and the en- tire female sex individually and collec tively, and then, seized by a new idea, or- dered his horse, that he might pursue the runaways, threatened an immediate sale of his whole plantation, and the instanta- neous death of Bob, and did in fact get down his great brass-mounted pistols, and lay them by him as he made Torm, Char- ity, and a half-dozen younger house-ser- vants dress him. Dressing and shaving occupied him about an hourhe always averred that a gentleman could not dress like a gentle- man in less timeand still breathing out threaten in gs and slaughter, he marched out of his room, making Torm and Chai~- ity follow him, each with a pistol. Some- thing prompted him to stop and inspect them in the hall. Taking first one and then the other, he examined them curi- ously. Well, Ill be ! he said, dry- ly, and flung both of them crashing through the window. Turning, he or- dered waffles and hoe-cakes for breakfast, and called for the books to have prayers. Pohly had utilized the knowledge she had gained as a girl, and had unloaded both pistols the night before, and rammed the balls down again without powder, so as to render them harmless. By breakfast-time Torm was in a state of such advanced intoxication that he was unable to walk through the backyard gate, and the Colonel was forced to con- tent himself with sending by Charity a message that lie would get rid of him ear- ly the next mori~ting. He straithy en join- ed Charity to tell him, and she as solemn- ly promised. Yes, suh, Igwi tell him, she replied, with a faint tone of being wounded at his distrust; and she did. She needed an outlet. Things got worse. The Colonel called up the overseer and gave new orders, as if he proposed to change everything. He forbade any mention of Pollys name, and vowed that he would send for Mr. Steep, his lawyer, and change his will to spite all creation. This humor, instead of wear- mg off, seemed to grow worse as the time stretched on, and Torm actually grew sober in the shadow that had fallen on the plantation. The Colonel had Pollys room nailed up, and shut himself up in the house. The negroes discussed the condition of affairs in awed undertones, and watched him furtively whenever he passed. Va- rious opinions by turns prevailed. Aunt POLLY. Betty, who was regarded with veneration, three years), prophesied that he was going owing partly to the interest the lost Polly to die in torments, just like some old had taken in her illness, and partly to her uncle of his whom no one else had ever great age (to which she anunally added heard of until now, hut who was raked up HE HANDED HER TO HER DOOR AS IF SHE HAD HE~N A DUCHESS. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. by her to serve as a special example. The chief resemblance seemed to be a certain rankness in cussin. Things were certainly going badly, and day by day they grew worse. The Colonel became more and more morose. He don even quoil no mo, Torm complained pathetically to Charity. He jes set still and study. I feard he gwine stracted. It was indeed lamentable. It was ac- cepted on the plantation that Miss Polly had gone for goodsome said down to Louisianaand would never come back any more. The prevailing impression was that if she did, the Colonel would certain- ly kill Bob. Torm had not a doubt of it. Thus matters stood three days before Christmas. The whole plantation was plunged in gloom. It would be the first time since Miss Polly was a baby that they had not had a big Christmas. Torms lugubrious countenance one morning seemed to shock the Colonel out of his lethargy. He asked how many days there would be before Christmas, and learning that there were but three, he ordered prep- arations to be made for a great feast and a big time generally. He had the wood-pile replenished as usual, got up his presents, and superintended the Christmas opera- tions himself, as he used to do. But it was sad work, and when Torm and Charity re- tired Christmas Eve night, although Torm had imbibed plentifully, and the tables were all spread for the great dinner for the servants next day, there was no peace in Torms discourse; it was all of wrath and judgment to come. He had just gone to sleep when there was a knock at the door. Who dat out dyah ? called Charity. You niggers better go long to bed. The knock was repeated. Who dat out dyah, I say ? queried Charity, testily. Whynt you go long way from dat do? Torm was hard to wake, but at length he got up and moved slowly to the door, grumbling to himself all the time. When finally he undid the latch, Char- ity, who was in bed, heard him say, Well, name o Gord good Gord Amighty ! and burst into a wild explo- sion of laughter. In a second she too was outside of the door, and had Polly iu her arms, laugh- ing, jumping, hugging, and kissing her, while Torm executed a series of caracoles around them. Whar Marse Bob ? asked both ne- groes, finally, in a breath. Hello, Torrn! How are you, Main Charity ? called tl]at gentleman, cheeri- ly, coming up from where he had been fastening the horses; and Charity, sud- denly mindful of her peculiar appearance and the frosty air, scuttled into the house, conveying her young mistress with her. Presently she came out dressed, and in- vited Bob in too. She insisted on giving them something to eat; but they had been to supper, and Polly was much too ex- cited hearing about her uncle to eat any- thing. She cried a little at Charitys de- scription of him, which she tried to keep Bob from seeing, but he saw it, and had to--- However, when they got ready to go home, Polly insisted on going to the yard and up on the porch, and when there, she actually kissed the window-blind of the room whence issued a muffled snore sug- gestive at least of some degree of forget- fulness. She wanted Bob to kiss it too, but that gentleman apparently found something else more to his taste, and her entreaty was drowned in another sound. Before they remounted their horses Polly carried Bob to the greenhouse, where she groped around in the darkness for something, to Bobs complete mystifi- cation. Doesnt it smell sweet in here ? she asked. I dont smell anything but that niint bed youve been walking on, he laughed. As they rode off, leaving Torm and Chari- ty standing in the road, the last thing Pol- ly said was, Now be sure you tell him nine oclock. Umm! I know he gwi sell me den sho nough, said Torm, in a tone of con- viction, as the horses cantered away in the frosty night. Once or twice, as they galloped along, Bob made some allusion to the mint bed on which Polly had stepped, to which she made no reply. Butas he helped her down at her own door, he asked, What in the world have you got there ? Mint, said she, with a little low, pleased ]augh. By light next morning it was known all over the plantation that Miss Polly had returned. The rejoicing was clouded by the fear that nothing would come of it. In Charitys house it was decided that Torm should break the news. Torm was doubtful on the point as the time drew POLLY. 51 near, but Charitys mind never wavered. Finally he went in with his masters shav- ing water, having first tried to establish his coura~e by sundry pulls at a black bottle. He essayed three times to deliver the message, but each time his courage failed, and he hastened out under pretence of the water having gotten cold. The last time he attracted Charitys at- tention. Name o Gord, Torm, you gwine to scal horgs ? she asked, saicastically. The next time he entered, the Colonel was in a fame of impatience, so he had to fix the water. He set down the can, and bustled about with hypocritical industry. The Colonel was almost through; Torm retreated to the door. As his master finished, he put his hand on the knob, and turning it, said, Miss Polly come home larse night; sh say she breakfast at nine oclock. Slaphang! came the shaving can smash- ing agailis t the door, just as he dodged out, and the roar of the Colonel followed him across the hail. When finally their master appeared on the portico, Torm and Charity were watch- ing in some doubt whether he would not carry out on the spot his long-threatened purpose. He strode up and down the long porch, evidently in great excitenient. Hes turrible dis mornin, said Torm; he thowed de whole kittle o bum wa- ter at me. Pity he dida scal you to death, said his wife, sympathizingly. She thou~ht Torms awkwardness had destroyed Pol- lys last chance. Torm resorted to his black bottle, and proceeded to talk about the lake of brimstone and fire. Up and down the portico strode the old Colonel. His horse was at the rack, where lie was always brought before breakfast. (For twenty years he had probably never missed a morning.) Fi- nally he walked down, and mounting, rode off in the opposite direction to that whence his invitation had come. Charity, looking out of her door, inserted into her diatribe against all ~uthless, drunken, fool niggers a parenthesis to the effect HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. that Ef Marster meet Marse Bob dis morn- in, de don be a hide nor hyah left o nyah one on em; an dat lamb over dyah may- be got oystcbers waitin for him, too. Torm was so much impressed that he left Charity and went out-of-doors. The Colonel rode down the plantation road, his great gray horse quivering with life in the bright winter sunlight. He gave him the rein, and he turned down a cross-road which led out of the plantation into the main road. Mechanically he opened the gate and rode out. Before he knew where he wa.s he was through the wood, and his horse had stopped at the next gatethe gate of Bobs place. The house stood out bright and plain among the yard trees; lines of blue smoke curled up almost straight from the chimneys; and he could see two or three negroes run- ning backward and forward between the kitchen and the house. The sunlight glistened on something in the hand of one of them, and sent a ray of dazzling light all the way to the old man. He knew it was a plate or a dish. He took out his watch and olanced at it; it was five minutes to nine oclock. He started to turn around to go home. As he did so the memory of all the past swept over him, and of the wrong that had been done him. He would go in and show them his contempt for them by riding in and straight out again; and he actually un- latched the gate and went in. As he rode across the field he recalled all that Polly had been to him from the time when she had first stretched out her arms to him; all the little ways by which she had brought back his youth, and had made his house home, and his heart soft again. Every scene came before him as if to mock him. He felt once more the touch of her little hand; heard again the sound of her voice as it used to ring through the old house and about the grounds; saw her and Bob as children romping about his feet, and he gave a great gulp as he thonght how desolate the house was now. He sat up in his saddle stiffer than ever. D him! he would enter his very house, and there to his face and hers denounce him for his baseness; and he pushed his horse to a trot. Up to the yard gate he rode, and dismounting, hitched his horse to the fence, and slamming the gate fierce- ly behind him, stalked up the walk with his heavy whip clutched fast in his hand. Up the walk and np the steps without a pause, his face set as grim as rock, and purple with suppressed emotion; for a deluge of memories was overwhelming him. The door was shut; they had locked it on him; but he would burst it in, and- Ah! what was that? The door flew suddenly open; tuere was a cry, a spring, a vision of something swam before his eyes, and two arms were clasped about his neck, while lie was be- ing sniothiered with kisses from the sweet- est mouth in the world, and a face made up of light and laughter, yet tearful too, like a dew-bathed flower, was pressed to his, and before the Colonel knew it lie had, amid iau~hter and sobs and caresses, beeii borne into the house, and pressed down at the daintiest little breakfast table eyes ever saw, set for three persons, and loaded with steaming dishes, and with a great fresh julep by the side of his plate, and Torrn was standing behind his chair, and Bob was helping hini to oystchers, while Polly, with dimpling face, was at- tempting the exploit of pouring out his coffee without moving her arm from around his neck. The first thing lie said after he recovered his breath was, Where did you get this mint ? Polly broke into a peal of rippling, de- licious laughter, and tightened the arm about his neck. Just one more squeeze, said the Col- onel; and as she gave it he said, with the light of it all breaking on him, Damme if I dont sell you! or, if I cant sell you, Ill give you away that is, if hell come over and live with us. That evening, after the great dinner, at which Polly had sat in her old place at the head of the table, and Bob at the foot, because the Colonel insisted on sitting where Polly could give him one more squeeze, the whole plantation was ablaze with Christmas, and Drinkwater Torm, steadying himself against the sideboard, delivered a discourse on peace on earth and good-will to men so powerful and so eloquent that tIme Colonel, delighted, rose and drank his health, and said, Damme if I ever sell him again ! a,. SALLY JAG O1ZI(44LEY ASak~4~ 11997(EY

SALLY JAG O1ZI(44LEY ASak~4~ 11997(EY OF all the girls that are so smart Theres none like pretty Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. / THERE~ S NONE LIKE PRETTY SALLY.,~ 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. HER FATHER LIE MAKES CABBAGE-NETS There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry em; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy em; But sure such folks could neer beget So sweet a girl as Sally! She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. A; \\\ ;~i~ 7, V / 9 HER MOThER SHE SELLS LACES LONG. (7 ,4~ ,/\ 7 V (/jx 7 7 MY MASTER COMES LIKE ANY TURK. I SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. 59 When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely; My master comes like any Turk, And bangs inc most severely; But let him bang his bellyful, Ill bear it all for Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Of all the days thats in the week I dearly love but one day, And thats the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday; CAREY S ALLEY. 60 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. TO WALK ABROAD WITH SALLY. For then Im drest all in my best To walk abroad with Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. k SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. 61 My master carries me to church, And often am I blamed IBecause I leave him in the lurch As soon as text is named; I leave the church in sermon-time And slink away to Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. MX MASTER CARRIES ME TO CHURCH. 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. When Christmas comes about again, Oh, then I shall have money; Ill hoard it up, and box it all,. Ill give it to my honey: I would it were tell thousand Pound, Id give it all to Sally: She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master and the neighbors all Make game of me and Sally, And, but for her, Id better be A slave and row a galley; But when my seven long years are out, Oh, then Ill marry Sally! And then how happily well live, But not in our alley. I LEAVE HIM IN THE LURCH. jr / / I! / 7 / 1/ I (f 2 p 3 C z z C C C L~I z C ~1 THE MOUSE-TRAP. A FARCE. BY W. P. HOWELLS. IN her drawing-room, Mrs. Amy Somers, young, pretty, stylish, in the last eva- nescent traces of widowhood, stands con- fronting Mr. Willis Campbell. She has a newspaper in her hand, folded to the WhAT 15 IT ~ WHAT 15 IT ?[SEE PAGE 69.1 width of a single column, which she ex- tends toward him with an effect of indig- nant menace. Mrs. Somers: Then you acknowledge that it is yours l Campbell: I acknowledge that I made a speech before the legislative committee on behalf of the anti-suf- fragists. You knew I was going to

THE MOUSE-TRAP. A FARCE. BY W. P. HOWELLS. IN her drawing-room, Mrs. Amy Somers, young, pretty, stylish, in the last eva- nescent traces of widowhood, stands con- fronting Mr. Willis Campbell. She has a newspaper in her hand, folded to the WhAT 15 IT ~ WHAT 15 IT ?[SEE PAGE 69.1 width of a single column, which she ex- tends toward him with an effect of indig- nant menace. Mrs. Somers: Then you acknowledge that it is yours l Campbell: I acknowledge that I made a speech before the legislative committee on behalf of the anti-suf- fragists. You knew I was going to THE MOUSE-TRAP. 65 do that. I dont know how theyve re- ported it. Mrs. Somers, with severity: Very well, then; I will read it. Willis Camp- bell, Esq., was next heard on behalf of the petitioners. He touched briefly upon the fact that the suffrage was evidently not desired by the vast majority of educated women. Campbell: Youve always said they didnt want it. Mrs. Somers: That is not the point. Reading: And many of them would feel it an onerous burden, and not a privi- lege. Campbell: Well, didnt you- Mrs. Somers: Dont interrupt ! Read- ing: Which would compel them, at the cost of serious sacrifices, to contend at the polls with the ignorant classes who would be sure to exercise the right if conferred. Campbell: That was your own argu- ment, Amy. Theyre almost your own words. Mrs. Somers: That isnt what I ob- ject to. Reading: Mr. Campbell then referred in a more humorous strain to the argument, frequently used by the suifra- gists, that every tax-payer should have the right to vote. He said that he object- ed to this, because it implied that non- tax-payers should not have the right to vote, which would deprive of the suffrage a large body of adoptive citizens, who voted at all the elections with great promptness and assiduity. He thought the exemption of women from some du- ties required of men by the state fairly offset the loss of the ballot in their case, and that until we were prepared to seiid ladies to battle we ought not to oblige them to go to the polls. Some skirmish- ing ensued between Mr. Campbell and Mr. Wilhington, on the part of the suffra- gists, the latter gentleman affirming that in great crises of the worlds history wo- men had shown as much courage as men, and the former contending that this did not at all affect his position, since the courage of women was in high degree a moral courage, which was not evoked by the ordinary conditions of peace or war, but required the imminence of some ex- traordinary, some vital emergency.~~~ Campbell: Well, what do you object to in all that ? Mrs. Somers, tossing the paper on the table, and confronting him with her head lifted and her hands clasped upon her left side: Everything! It is an insult to women. Campbell: Woman, you mean. I dont think women would mind it. Whos been talking to you, Amy ? Mrs. Somers: Nobody. It doesnt matter whos been talking to me. That is not the question. Campbell: Its the question I asked. Mrs. Somers: It isnt the question I asked. I wish simply to know what you mean by that speech. Campbell: I wish you knew how pretty you look in that dress. Mrs. Somers involuntarily glances down at the skirt of it on either side, and rearranges it a little, folding her hands again as before. But perhaps you do.~ Mrs. Somers, with dignity: Will you answer my question ? Campbell: Certainly. I meant what I said. Mrs. Somers: Oh, you did! Very well, then! When a woman stands by the bedside of her sick child, and risks her life from contagion, what kind of courage do you call that ? C~ampbell: Moral. Mrs. Somers: And when she remains in a burning building or a sinking ship as they often doand perishes, while her child is saved, what kind of courage is it ? Campbell: Moral. Mrs. Somers: When she seizes an axe and defends her little ones against a bear or a wolf thats just bursting in the cabin door, what kind of courage does she show ? Campbell: Moral. Mrs. Somers: Or when her babe crawls up the track, and she snatches it from the very jaws of the cow-catcher C~ampbell: Oh, hold on, now, Amy! Be fair! Its the engineer who does that: he runs along the side of the locomotive, and catches the smiling infant up, and hfys it in the mothers arms as the train thunders by. His name is usually Hank Rollins. The mother is always paralyzed with terror. Mrs. Somers: Of course she is. But in those other cases how does her courage differ from a mans? If hers is always moral, what kind of courage does a man show-when he faces the cannon Campbell: Immoral. Come, Amy, are you trying to prove that women are braver than men? Well, they are. I 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. never was in any danger yet that I didnt wish I was a woman, for then I should have the courage to face it, or else I could turn and run without disgrace. All that Ii said in that speech was that women havent so much nerve as men. Mrs. Somers: They have more. Campbell: Nervesyes. Mrs. Somers: No, nerve. Take Dr. Cissy Gay~ that little, slender, delicate, sensitive thing: what do you suppose she went through when she was studying medicine, and walking the hospitals, and all those disgusting things? And Mrs. J. Plunkett Harmon: do you mean to say that she has no nerve, facing all sorts of audiences, on the platform, everywhere? Or Rev. Lily Barber, living down all that ridicule, and going quietly on in her work Campbell: Oh, theyve been talking to you. Mrs. Somers: They have not! And if they have, Dr. Gay is as much opposed to suffrage as you are. Campbell: As I ~ Arent you op- posed to it too ? Mrs. Somers: Of course I am. Or I was till you made that speech. cJampbell: It wasnt exactly intended to convert you. Mrs. Somers: It has placed me in a false position. Everybody knows, or the same as knows, that were engaged Campbell: Well, Im not ashamed of it, Amy. Mrs. Somers, severely: No matter! And now it will look as if I had no ideas of my own, and was just swayed about any way by you. A woman is despicable that joins with men in ridiculing women. Campbell: Whos been saying that ? Mrs. Somers: No one. It doesnt matter whos been saying it. Mrs. Mer- vane has been saying it. Campbell: Mrs. Mervane ? Mrs. Somers: Yes, Mrs. Mervane, that youre always praising and admiring so for her good sense and her right ideas. Didnt you say she wrote as logically and forcibly as a man ? Campbell: Yes, I did. Mrs. Somers: Very well, then, she says that if anything could turn her in favor of suffrage, it is that speech of yours. She says its a subtle attack upon the whole sex. Campbell; Well, I give it up! You are all alike. You take everything per- sonally in the first place, and then you say its an attack on all women. Couldnt I make this right by publishing a card to acknowledge your physical coui-age before the whole comm unity, Amy? Then your friends would have to say that I had rec- ognized the pluck of universal woman- hood. Mrs. Somers: No, sir; you cant make it right now. And Im sorry, sorry, sorry I signed the anti-suffrage petition. No- thing will ever teach men to appreciate women till women practically assert them- selves. Campbell: That sounds very much like another quotation, Amy. Mrs. Somers: And they must expect to be treated as cowards till they show themselves heroes. And they must first of all have the ballot. Campbell: Oh ! Mrs. Somers: Yes. Then, and not till then, men will acknowledge their equality in all that is admirable in both. Then there will be no more puling insolence about moral courage and vital emergen- cies to evoke it. Campbell: I dont see the steps to this conclusion, but the master-mind of Mrs. J. P1 unkett Harmon reaches conclusions at a bound. Mrs. Somers: It wasnt Mrs. Har- mon. Campbell: Oh, well, Rev. Lily Bar- ber, then. You neednt tell me you ori- ginated that stuff, Amy. But I submit for the present. Think it over, my dear, and when I come back to-morrow Mrs. Somers: Perhaps you had better not come back to-morrow. Campbell: Why ? Mrs. Somers: Becausebecause Im afraid we are not in sympathy. Be- cause if you thought that I needed some vital emergency to make me show that I was ready to die for you any moment Campbell: Die for me? I want you to live for me, Amy. Mrs. Somers: And the emergency never came, you would despise me. Campbell: Never! Mrs. Somers: If you have such a low opinion of women generally Campbell: I a low opinion of wo- men ! Mrs. Somers: You said they were cowards. Campbell: I didnt say they were cowards. And if I see med to say so, it II; .1 A A -x _______ ___ ___ / 7 a THERE NEVER WAS ANY MOUSE HERE.[SEE PAGE 73.] P A ~6 xi, 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. was my misfortune. I honestly and truly Mrs. Somers: That one with the shelf think, Amy, that when a woman is roused, coming down almost to the carpet. Poke she isnt afraid of anything in heaven or under it with the poker ! As Camp- on He stops abruptly, and looks to- bell obeys, she again hides her face. ward the corner of the room. U-u-u-gh! Is it gone now ? Mrs. Somers: What is it ? Campbell: It wasnt there. Campbell: Oh, nothing. I thought Mrs. Somers: Poke hard! Bang I saw a mouse, against the mop-board! Bang ! Mrs. Somers: A mouse ! She flings Campbell, poking and banging: There! herself upon him, and clutches him with I tell you it never was there. convulsive energy. Then suddenly free- Mrs. Soniers, uncovering her face: Oh~ ing him, she leaps upon a chair, and stoops wh~t shall I do? It must be somewhere over to hold her train from the floor, in tide room, and Iq~ever can breathe till Oh, drive it out, drive it out! Dont youve found it. Bang again ! kill it. Ohe-e-e-e! Drive it out! Oh, Campbell: Nonsens~hits gone long what shall I do? Oh, Willis, love, jump ago. Do you suppose a mouse of any on a chair! Oh, horrid little dreadful presence of mind or self - resj~ct w~uld~P,, reptile! Oh, drive it out ! In uttering stay here after all this uproar ? He re- these appeals Mrs. Somers alternately stores the tongs to their stand with a c]ash~ looses her hold upon her train in order Mrs. Somers, responsive to the clash: to clasp her face in her hands, and then Ow! uncovers her face to seize her train. Campbell, advancing toward her and Oh, isit gone? Come here, Willis, and extending his hand: Come, Amy; get let me hold your hand! Or no! Drive down now. I must be going.~~ it, drive it, drive it out! Mrs. Somers, in horror: Get down? Campbell, going about the room in de- Going ? liberate examination: I cant find it. I Campbell: Certainly. I cant stay guess its gone into its hole again. here all day. Ive got to follow that Mrs. Somers: No, it hasnt! It hasnt mouse out into the street and have him got any hole here. It must have come in arrested. Its a public duty. from somewhere else. Oh, I hope I shall Mrs. Somers: Dont throw ridicule have a little wisdom some time, and never, on it ! After a moment: You know I never, never have cake and wine brought cant let you go till Ive seen that mouse into the drawing-room again, no matter leave this room. Go all round, and stamp how faint with walking any one is. Of in the corners. She covers her face again. course it was the smell of the fruit and Ugh! crumbs attracted it; and they might just Campbell: How are you going to see as well take the horse-cars, but they said him leave the room if you wont look? they had walked all the way to get me to Hes left long ago. I wouldnt stay if I sign the suffrage petition, and when I said was a mouse. And Ive got to go, any- Id signed the anti-suffrage, of course I way. had to offer them something; I couldnt Mrs. Somers, uncovering her face: do less. Have you driven it out ? No ! I beg, I command you to stay, Campbell: Ive done my best. But or I shall never get out of this room alive. I cant find it, and I cant drive it out till You know I shant. A ring at the street I do find it. door is heard. Oh dear, what shall I Mrs. Somers: Its rim into the fire- do? Ive told Jane I would see anybody place. Rattle the tongs ! Campbell ~ that called, and now I darent step my to the fireplace and rattles the foot to the floor! What shall I do ? against the shovel, Mrs. Somers a- Campbell, with authority: You must while covering her face. Owugh- get down. Theres no mouse here, I tell e-e-e-e! Is it gone ? She uncovers her you; and if people come and find you eyes. standing on a chair in your drawing- Campbell: It never was there. room, what will they think ? Mrs. Somers: Yes, it was, Willis. Mrs. Somers: I can kneel on it. She Dont tell me it wasnt! Where else was drops to her knees on the chair. There ! it if it wasnt there? Look under that campbell: Thats no better. Its book table ! worse. Campbell: Which oiie ? Mrs. Somers, listening to the party at / THE MOUSE-TRAP. 69 the door below, which the maid has open- Mrs. Curwen, with a laugh of mingled ed: Sh! I want to make out who it is. ter%r and enjoyment, from the top of the Sh! Yesit is ! After listening: Yes! table where she finds herself: Where Its Mrs. Miller and Lou Bemis and Mrs. Curwen! I dont see how they happen to come together, for Mrs. Miller and Mrs. Ourwen perfectly hate each other. Oh yes! I know ! Theyre all on the way to Mrs. IRansorns reception ; lies show- ing his pictures and some of her things ---horrid daubs; I dont see how she can have the faceand theyve met here by accident. Si! Shes showing them into the reception - room. Yes, thats quite right. Mrs. Somers delivers these sen- tences in a piercing whisper of extreme volubility. Now as soon as she brings up their cards Ill say Im not at all well that Im engagedjust going out. No, that wont do. I must be sick. Any- thing else would be perfectly insulting after saying that I was at home; and Jane has got to go back and tell them she forgot that I had gone to bed with a severe headache. As Jane app& ars at the draw- ing-room door, and falters at sight of Mrs. Somers kneeling on her chair, that lady beckons her to her, frowning, shaking her head, and pressing her finger on her lip to enforce silence, and takes the cards from her, while she continues in whisper: Yes. All right, Jane! Go straight back and tell them you forgot I had gone to bed with a perfectly blinding headache; and dont let another soul into the house. Mr. Campbell saw a mouse, and I cant get down till hes caught it. Go ! Jane, after a moment of petrifaction: A mouse! In the room, here? Oh, my goodness gracious me ! She leaps upon the chair next to Mrs. Somers, who again springs to her feet. lVfrs. Somers: Did you see it? Oh, e-e-e-e Jane: W-o-o-o-o! I dont know! Where was it? Oh yes, I thought They clutch each other convulsively, and blend their cries, at the sound of which the la- 4ies in the reception-room below come fiockin~ upstairs into the drawing-room. The Ladies; at sight of Mrs. Somers and her servant: What is it ? what is it ? Mrs. Somers: Oh, theres a mouse in the room. Oh, jump on chairs ! Mrs. Miller, vaulting into the middle of the sofa: A mouse! Mrs. Lou Beinis, alighting upon a slight reception-chair: Oh, not in this room, Mrs. Somers! Dont say it ! VOL. LXXDT.No. 4396 is it? Mrs. Somers: I dont know. I didnt see it. But, oh! its here somewhere. Mr. Campbell saw it, and Jane did when she came up with your cards, and hes been trying to drive it out, but he cant even budge it; and Campbell, desperately: Ladies, there isnt any mouse here! Ive been racket- ing round here with the shovel and tongs all over the room, and the mouse is gone. You can depend upon that. Youre as safe here as you would be in your own rooms. Mrs. Somers: How can you say such a thing? No, I wont be responsible if anything happens. The mouse is in this room. No one has seen it go out, and its here still. Mrs. Bemis, balancing herself with diffi- culty on her chair: Oh dear! how tippy it is! Im sure its going to break. Mrs. Curwen: Get up here with me, Mrs. Bemis. We can protect each other. Mrs. Miller: You would both fall off. Better come here on the sofa, Mrs. Bemis. Mrs. Curwen: The mouse could run up that ottoman sofa as easily as the ground. Mrs. Miller, covering her face: Oh, how can you say such a thing ? Airs. Bemis: Oh, I know Im going to fall! Mrs. Somers: Willis, for shame I Help her ! Campbell: But how how can I help Mrs. Somers: Get her another chair. Campbell: Oh ! He pushes a large arm-chair toward Mrs. Bemis, who leaps into it with a wild cry, spurning the re- ception-chair half across the room in her flight. Airs. Bemis: Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Campbell! Oh, I shall always bless you ! Airs. Curwen: Yes, you have saved all our lives. Where theres a man, I dont care for a thousand mice. Mrs. Miller: Oh, how very frank ! Mrs. Curwen: Yes, Im nothing if not open-minded. Campbell, surveying her with amuse- ment and interest: I dont believe youre very much scared. Mrs. Beinis: Oh yes, she is, Mr. Camp- 70 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hell. She keeps up that way, and then the first thing she faints. Mrs. Curwen: Not on centre tables, my dear; there isnt roOm. Gampbell, witl~i~ ~ing facinktiou: Why dont you ~et down,.and set the ros~t an am~.~f courage ? AQ~. Curweh: I prefer to set th& ~x- ample here: its safer. Campbell: You look like the statue of some goddess on her altaror saint Mrs. Curwen- -.t.T~h nk you. If you will say victim, I will agree with yom~- Say Iphig~ii~:- -Rut th~ others nre too much. I dra~w the line at goddes~es and saii~~U~ ~ Campbell. tAnd ~o~j%e afraid 6~nice to~ ~ Mrs. .~~wen: To %e sure I ~ C~aP4~be?l ~ W~4~..tPer~.is no monse down here--nothing but a miserable man. Now will you get down ? Mrs. Somers: Mrs. Curwen, dont think of it! Hes just saying it. The mouse is there. To Campbell: You are placing us all in a very ridiculous position. Campbell: I am sorry for that; I am indeed. I give you my word of honor that I dont believe theres any mouse in the room. Mrs. Somers: Jane just saw it. Campbell: She thought she saw it, but I dont think she did. A lion would have been scared out by this time. A ring at the door is heard. Mrs. Somers: There, Jane, theres some one ringing! You must go to the door. Jane, throwing her apron over her head: Oh, please, Mrs. Somers, I cant go! Im so afraid of mice Mrs. Somers: Nonsense! you must go. Its perfectly ridiculous your pre- tending not. Jane: Oh, I couldnt, Mrs. Somers! I was always so from a child. I cant bear em. Mrs. Somers: This is disgraceful. Do you mean to say that you wont do what I ask you? Very well, then; you can go! You neednt stay the week out; I will pay you, and you can go at once. Do you nn- derstand ? Jane: Yes, I do, and Id be glad to go this very minute, but I dont dare to get down. Mrs. Somers. But why shouldnt you get down? There isnt the least danger. P there any dan,,er now, Mr. Camp- dl? Campbell: Not the ~ast lii the world. Mouse gone long ago. Mr~ Somers: There ! Jane: I cant help it. There are so many in the dining-room- Mrs. Somers: In my dining - room? G~y goodness! ~why didnt you tell me before? Jane: And one ran right over my foot. -~ Mrs. SOme~rs! YouV foot? ~Oh I won- der that you live to tell it. ~Why havent you put traps? Wheres the cat ? Jane: The cooks spoiled the cat, feed~ ing it so much. Mirs. Miller: Yes, thats the worst of cooks: they always spoil cats. Mrs. Bemis: They overfeed them. Mrs. Miller: And then, of course, the cats are worth nothing as muousers. I had a cat The bell sounds again. Mrs. Somers: There! Some one must go. Campbell: Why, Ill go to the door. Mrs. Somers: And leave us here? Never! How can you propose such a thing? If you dare to go, I shall die. Dont think of such a thing. Jane: The cook will go, if they keep ringing. Oh! ugh! hu! hu! When ever shall I get out of this ? Mrs. Somers: Stop ~rying, Jane! Be calm! Youre perfectly safe. You may be glad its no worse. Sli! Theres the cook going to the door at last. Who can it be? Listen Jane, clutching Mrs. Somers Oh! ugh! Wo-o-o-o All the Ladies: E-e-e-e ! Mrs. Somers: Whats the matter, Jane? Let me go! IVhats the matter ? Jane: Oh, I thought I was falling right down in amongst it Mrs. Agnes Roberts, calling up from below: What in the world is it, Amy? ~31ampbell: Oh, my prophetic soul, my sister Mrs. Somers, shouting: Is that you, Agnes? Dont come up! Dont come up, for your life! Dont come up, unless you wish to perish instantly. Oh, its dread- ful, your coming now. Keep away! Go right straight out of the house, unless you wish to fling your life away. The other Ladies: Dont come! Dont come! Keep away! It will do no good. Mrs. Roberts, mounting the stairs, as if THE MOUSE-TRAP. 71 lured to her doom by an irresistible fasci- I wouldnt care for the bite of an elephant. nation: Not come Keep away? Whos Ifs the idea. Cant you understand ? talking? What is it? Oh, Amy, what The other Ladies: Oh yes, its the is it? As she reaches the stair-landing idea. space before the drawing-room and looks Mrs. Somers: Yes, I told him in the in, where Campbell stands in the middle first place, Agnes, that it was the idea of a of the floor with his hands in his pockets mouse. and despair in his face: You here, Wil- Mrs. Curwen: Its the innate repug- lis? What are you doing? What is it? nance. Her eye wanders to the ladies trembling Campbell: Its the enmity put be- in their several refuges, and a dawning tween the mouse that tempted Eve and apprehension makes itself seen in her face. the woman What is Oh, it isit isntit isnt Mrs. Roberts: Dont besacrilegious, amouse! Oh, Amy! Amy! Amy! Oh, Willis! Dont, for your own sake ! how could you let me come right into the Mrs. Somers: Yes, its very easy to oom with it? Oh, I never can forgive make fun of the Bible. you! I thought it was somebody getting Mrs. Roberts: Or woman. And the killed. Oh, why didnt you tell me it was wit is equally contemptible in either case. a mouse ? She alights on the piano stool, Mrs. Miller: Other animals feel about and keeps it from rocking by staying her- mice just as we do. I was reading only self with one hand on the piano top. the other day of an elephantyour men- ~3fam~pbell: Now look here, Agnes tioning an elephant reminded me of it, Mrs. Roberts: Hush! Dont speak to Mrs. me, Willis! You unnatural, cruel, heart- Mrs. Roberts: Oh ! less Why did you let me come in? I The other Ladies: E-e-e-e ! wonder at you, Willis! If you-had been Mrs. Somers: What is it ? half the brother you ou~ht to be Oh Mrs. Roberts: Nothing. I thought dear! dear! I know how you will go I was going to fall. Go on, Mrs. Miller. away and laugh now, and tell every- Mrs. Miller: Oh, its merely that the body. I suppose you think it corrobo- elephant was asleep, and a mouse ran up rates that silly speech of yours before the its trunk legislative committee thats wounded all All the Ladies: Horrors ! your best friends so, and that Ive been Mrs. Miller: And the poor creature talking myself perfectly dumb defending sprang up in the greatest alarm, and bel- you about. Mrs. Roberts unconscious- lowed till it woke the whole menagerie. ly gives a little push for emphasis, and It simply shows that it isnt because wo- the stool revolves with her. E-e-e-e! men are nervously constituted that theyre Oh, Amy, how can you have one of these afraid of mice, for the nervous organism old-fashioned, horrid, whirling things, fit of an elephant for nothing but boarding-house parlors ! Mrs. Somers: The first time I went Mrs. Somers, with just pique: Im to Europe I found a mouse in one of my very sorry you dont like my piano stool, trunks. It was a steamer trunk, that you Agnes. I keep it because it was my poor push under the berth, and Ive perfectly mothers; but if youll give me due ~notice loathed theni ever since.~~ another time, Ill try to have a different Mrs. Bemis: Once, in a farm-house Mrs. Roberts, bursting into tears: Oh, where we were staying the summer, a dont say another word, Amy dear! Im mouse ran right across the table. so ashamed of myself that I can hardly All the Ladies: Oh ! breathe now ! Mrs. Curwen: One morning I found Campbell~ 4~l Im ashamed of you one in the bath-tub. too, Agnes! t do~it~*at stool, and All the Ladies: Oh, Mrs. Curwen behave ye f like a sensibl~ oma,p~. Mrs. Curwen: Wed heard it scram- He goes w~*d her ~ if to lift her down. bling round all night. It was stone- The louse is gone long ago~. And if it dead. was hei~e, it wouldnt bite you. All the Ladies: Hideous I Mr8.1 Roberts, repelling him with one Campbell: Why, bless my soul! if hand ~hule she clings insecurely to the the mouse was dead piano *ith the other: Bite? Do you Mrs. Somers: Then it was ten times suppose~I care for a mouses biting, Willis? as bad as if it was alive. Cant you un 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. derstand? Its the idea. But, oh, dont lets talk of it any more, ladies! Lets talk of something else! Agnes, are you going to Mrs. Ransoms ? Mrs. Roberts: Ive been. Nearly ev- erybodys coming away. Mrs. Miller: Why, what time is it, Mrs. Somers ? Airs. Somers: I dont know. Campbell, looking at his watch: Its ten minutes of six, and Ive missed my appointment. Mrs. Curwen: And if we dont go now we shall miss the reception. Mrs. Bemis: Papa was very particu- lar I should go, because he couldnt. Mrs. Miller: We must go at once. Mrs. Somers: Oh, Im so sorry! Jane, go down with the ladies. Jane: Oh, please, Mrs. Somers ! Mrs. Miller: But how are we to go? We are imprisoned here. We cannot get away. You must do something. Mrs. Curwen: It is your house, Mrs. Somers. You are responsible. Mrs. Somers: But what can I do? I cant get down myself. And if I did, what good would it do ? Mrs. Roberts: For shame, Willis! To laugh Campbell: I wasnt laughing. I was merely smiling aloud. Mrs. Roberts: Its the same thing. You ought to think of something. Mrs. Somers: Oh yes, do, Willis. Think of something for myfor good- ness sake, and I will always thank you. Youre so ingenious. Campbell: Well, in the first place, I dont believe theres any mouse in the room. Mrs. Somers: That is nonsense; Jane saw it. Is that all your ingenuity amounts to? Mrs. Roberts, electrically: Amy, I have an idea! Airs. Somers: Oh, Agnes! How li/ce you ! Mrs. Roberts: Not at all. Its the simplest thing in the world. Its the only way. And no thanks to Willis, either. All the Ladies: Well? Well? Well ? Airs. Roberts: Its just this: all make a rush, one after another, and the rest scream. And Willis must keep beating the floor. Mrs. Somers: How perfectly magnif- icent! Well, Agnes, you have got your wits about you! It is the very thing Now, Mrs. Curwen, if you will jump down and make a rush Mrs. Curwen: Its for you to make the rush first, Mrs. Somers. You are the hostess. Mrs. Somers: Yes, but Im not going, dont you see. Ive sent my card to Mrs. Ransom. Mrs. Curwen: Then, Mrs. Miller, will you, please Mrs. Miller: Mrs. Bemis is nearest the door. I think she will wish to start first. Mrs. Bemis: No; I will wait for the rest. Mrs. Somers: That is a good idea. They ought to all rush together, not one after another. Dont you think so, Agnes ? Mrs. Roberts: Yes; that was what I meant. And we ought to all scream just before they start, so as to scare it. Mrs. Somers: Oh, how capital! You have got a brain, Agnes! Now I begin to believe we shall live through it. And Mr. Campbell ought to beat the floor first, oughtnt he ? Campbell: I havent got anything to beat it with. He looks about the room. But I can go down and get my cane .411: No! Mrs. Somers: Jane will go down and get it for you. Jane: Oh, I couldnt, Mrs. Somers. Campbell: Perhaps the pokerbut it would spoil your carpet. Mrs. Somers: No matter for the car- pet; you can beat it intopulp. Camp- bell gets the poker and beats the carpet in different pla~~es. Harder! Beat harder Mrs. Roberts: Youre not beating at all, Willis. Youre justtemporizing. Campbell wildly thrashes the carpet. Mrs. Somers: There! that is some- thing like. Now scream, Agnes! Scream, Mrs. Curwen! Mrs. Miller, Lou, scream, please All: E-e-e-e ! Airs. Somers: But nobody started ! Airs. C~uruen: Ijii~dnt believe the rest would sjtart-anso Idjdnt. Airs. iAtiller: I was sure no one else would start. Mrs. Bemis: So was I. ~ Mrs. Roberts: We must have faith in each other, or else the plans a failure. Now all scream ! They scream. Mrs. Somers: E-e-e-e! Keep~beating the carpet, Willis! Hard, hard4 hard! THE MOUSE-TRAP. 73 The other ladies all leap down from their would believe there were a million mice perches, and rush screaming out of the in the room. drawing-room, followed by Jane, with a Campbell: Amy, indeed whoop that prolongs itself into the depths Mrs. Somers: No; if you could de- of the basement, after the retreating wails ceive me then, you can deceive me now. and hysterical laughter of the ladies have If you could say there was a mouse in the died out of the street door. Oh, wasnt room when there wasnt, you are quite it splendid? It was a perfect success. capable of saying there isnt when there Campbell, leaning on his poker, and is. You are just saying it now to get me panting with exhaustion: They got out to get down. alive. Campbell: Upon my honor, Im not. Mrs. Somers. And it was all Agness Airs. Somers: Oh, dont talk to me idea. Why, Agnes is gone too ! of honor! The honor of a man who could C~ampbell: Yes, Agnes is gone. I revelyes, revelin the terrors of help- think it was a ruse of hers to save her less women own life. Shes quite capable of it. ~ Campbell: No, no; Id no idea of it, Mrs. Somers, with justice : No, I Amy. dont think that. She was just carried ~Mrs. Somers: You will please not ad- away by the excitement of the moment. dress~e in that way, Mr. Campbell. You Clamp bell : At any rate, shes gone. have forfeited all right to do so. And now, Amy, dont you think youd Campbell: I know it. What I did better get down ? was very foolish and thoughtless. Mrs. Somers, in astonishment: Get Mrs. Somers: It was very low and down ~ Why, you must be crazy. How ungentlemanly. I .suppose you will go can I get down if its still there ? away and laugh over it with yourasso Campbell: What ? ciates. Mrs. Somers: The mouse. Campbell: Why not say my ruffianly Campbell: But it isnt there, my dear. accomplices at once, Amy? No, I assure You saw for yourself that it wasnt there. you that unless you tell of the affair, no- Mrs. Somers: Did you see it run out ? body shall ever hear of it from me. Its Campbell: No; but__ too disastrous a victory. Im hoist by Airs. Somers: Very well, then, its my own petard, caught in my own mouse- there still. Of course it is. I wouldnt trap. There is such a thing as succeeding get down for worlds. to9well. Campbell: Oh, good heavens! Do~Z-Mrs. Somers : I should thinic you you expect to spend the rest of your life would be ashamed of it. Suppose you up there in that chair ? have shown that women are nervous and Mrs. Somers: I dont know. I shall excitable, does that prove anything ? not get down till I see that mouse leave Campbell: Nothing in the world. this room. Mrs. Somers: Very likely some of us Campbell, desperately: Well, then, will be sick from it. I dare say you think I must make a clean breast of it. There that would be another triumphant argu- never was any mouse here. ment. Mrs. Somers: What do you mean ? Camnpbell: I shouldnt exult in it. Campbell: I mean that when we Mrs. Somers: I dont know when I were talkingarguingabout the physic- shall ever get over it myself. I have had al courage of women, I thought I would a dreadful shock. try a mouse. Its succeeded only too Campbell: Im sorry with all my well. Ill never try another. heartI am indeed. I had no conception Mrs. Somers: And could you really that you cared so much for micedespised be guilty of such a cruel them so much. Campbell: Ye~. Mrs. Somers: Oh yes, laugh, do! Mrs. Somers: Shameless Its quite in character. But if you have Campbell: I was. such a contempt for women, of course Mrs. Somers: ~ Despicable deception ? you wouldnt want to marry one. Campbell: It was vile, I know, but I Campbell: Yes, I should, my dear. did it. But only one. Mrs. Somers: I dont believe it. No, Mrs. Somers: Very well, then! You rather than believe that of you, Willis, I can find some other one. All is over be- 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tween us. Yes! I will send you back Mrs. Somers: Did I say that ? the precious gifts you have lavished upon Campbell: Yes, you did. me, and I will thank you for mine. A Mrs. Somers: I must have been very man who can turn the sex that his mo- much incensed against you. I beg your ther and sister belong to into ridicule can pardon forbeing so angry. have no real love for his wife. I am Campbell: That wont do. I dont glad that I found you out in time. care how angry you are if you dont call Campbell: Do you really mean it, me names. You must take them back. Amy? Mrs. Somers: Do you see my hand- Mrs. Somers: Yes, I mean it. And kerchief anywhere about on the carpet ? I hope it will be a lesson to you. If you Campbell, looking about, and then find- find any other poor silly trusting crea- ing it: Yes; here it is. He hands it to ture that you can impose yourself upon her, and she bends forward and takes it for a gentleman as you have upon me, I from him at arms-length, whipping it advise you to reserve your low, vulgar, nervously out of his hand. Whats the boyish tricks till after she is helplessly matter ? yours, or she may tear your hateful ring Airs. Somers: Oh nothingnothing! from her finger, and fling it She at- Will you please give me my fan from the tempts to pull a ring from her finger, but table there ? He obeys, and she catches it will not come off. Never mind! I it from him as she has caught the hand- will get it off with a little soapsuds; and kerchief. Thank you! Keep away, then please ! Campbell: Oh no, my dear! Come, Campbell, angrily: Really this is too can allow for your excitement, but I much. If you are afraid of touching cant stand everything, though I admit me everything. When a man has said hes Airs. Somers: No, I dont mind touch- played a silly part he doesnt like to be ing you; that isnt it. But if you stood told so, and as for imposing myself upon so near, dont you see, it might run up you for a gentlemanyou must take that you and jump on to me. back, Amy. Campbell: What might ? Airs. Somers: I do. I take it back. Airs. Somers: You know. The .There hasnt been any imposture. I knew mouse. you were not a gentleman. Campbell: The mouse! There is no C~ampbell: Very good! Then Im mouse. not fit for a ladys company, and I dont Mrs. Somers: Thats what you said deny, though youre so hard upon me, before. that youre a lady, Amy. Good-by. He Campbell: Well, its true. There bows and walks out of the room, isnt any mouse, and there never was. Mrs. Somers, sending her voice after Mrs. Somers: Theres the idea. And him in a wail of despair: Willis! thats all I ever cared for. Campbell, coming back: Well? Campbell: Well, what are you going Mrs. Somers: I cant let you go. to do? I cant kill the idea of a mouse, He runs toward her, but she shrinks and I cant drive it out of the room. back on her chair against the wall. No, Mrs. Somers: I dont know what Im no ! going to do. I suppose I shall die here. Campbell, hesitating: Why did you She presses her handkerchief to her eyes. call me back, then ? I shall never get out of the room alive. Mrs. Somers: II didnt call you Then I hope you will be satisfied. back; I just saidWillis. Campbell: Amy, how can you say Campbell: This is unworthyeven of such things to me ? you. Mrs. Somers: Oh, I suppose youre Mrs. Somers: Oh ! fond of me, in your contemptuous way. Campbell: Do you admit that you I never denied that. And Im sorry, Im have been too severe ? sure, if I wounded your feelings by any- Mrs. Somers: I dont know. What thing I said. did I say ? ; Campbell: Then you admit that lam Campbell: A number of pleasant a gentleman ? things; that I was a fraud, and no gentle- Mrs. Somers: I didnt say that. man. Campbell: And IF cant be satisfied THE MOUSE-TRAP. 75 with less. Ill own that Ive been stupid, but I havent been ungentlemanly. I cant remain unless you do. Mrs. Somers: And do you think threatening me is gentlemanly ? Campbell: That isnt the question. Do you think Im a gentleman ? Mrs. Somers: Youre what the world calls a gentlemanyes. Campbell: Do yoa think Im one Mrs. Somers: How can I tell? I cant think at all, perched up here. Campbell: Why dont you get down, then ? Mrs. Somers: You know very well why. Campbell: But youll have to get down some time. You cant stay there always. Airs. Somers: Why should you care Campbell: You know I do care. You know that I love you dearly, and that I cant hear to see you in distress. Shall I beat the carpet, and you scream and make a rush ? Mrs. Somers: No; I havent the strength for that. I should drop in a faint as soon as I touched the floor. Campbell: Oh, good heavens! What am I going to do, then ? Airs. Somers: I dont know. You got me into the trouble. I should think you could get me out of it. Campbell, after walking distractedly up and down the room: Theres only one way tbat I can think of, and if were not enga~,ed any longer, it wouldnt do. Airs. Somers, yielding to her curiosity, after a moments hesitation: What is it? Campbell: Oh, unless were still en- gaged, its no use proposing it. Airs. Somers: Cant you tell me with- otit~ Campbell: Impossible. Airs. Somers, looking down at her fan: Well, suppose we are still engaged, then ? Looking up: Yes, say we are engaged. Campbell: Its to carry you out. Airs. Somers, recoiling a little: Oh! do you think that would be very nice ? Campbell: Yes, I think it w-ould. We can both scream, you know. Airs. Somers: Yes?. Campbell: And then you fling your- self into my arms. Mrs. Somers: Yes? Campbell: And I rush out of the room with you. Airs. Somers, with a deep breath: I would never do it in the world. Campbell: Well, then, you must stay where you are. Airs. Somers, closing her fan: Youre not strong enough. She puts her hand- kerchief into her pocket. You would be sure to fall. She gathers her train in one hand. Well, then, look the other way 1 Campbell turns his face aside and waits. No, I cant do it. Campbell, retiring wrathfully to the other side of the room: What shall we do, then ? Airs. Somers, after reflection: I dont know what we shall do. But if I were a man Campbell: Well, if you were a man- Airs. Somers: Dont you think Mrs. Curwen is fascinating ? Campbell: She does. Airs. Somers: You must admit shes clever? And awfully stylish ? Campbell: I dont admit anything of the kind. Shes always posing. I think she made herself ridiculous standing there on the table. Airs. Somers, fondly: Oh, do you think so? You are very severe. Campbell: Come, now, Amy, what has all this got to do with it ? Airs. Somers: Nothing. But if I were a man Campbell: Well? Airs. Somers: Well, in the first place, I wouldnt have got you wrought up so. Campbell: Well, but if you had! Suppose you had done all that Ive dor~e, and that I was up there in you#~place standing on a chair, and wouldnt let you leave the room, and wouldnt get down and walk out, and wouldnt allow myself to be carried, what should yoi~ do Airs. Somers, who has been regarding him attentively ove~the toj of her fan, which she hold~ pressed against her face: Why, I sup~4se if you wouldnt let me help you willinglyI should use vio- lence. Campbell: You witch ! As he makes a wild rush upon her, the curtain, which in the plays of this author has a strict regard for the convenanees, abruptly de- scends. LTJJE LETTERS. THEY had dined late that afternoon, and now, in a room dim with the shadow of a November twilight, three people sat silently: one was a girl whose fair hair fell in heavy braids, caught by a black ribbon; another, a woman with a face that was restful to look upon because of its gentleness; and the third was a young man. After a time the maid came in with a letter and a pasteboard box. For Miss Kitty and Mr. John, she said. They came while you were away. She hesitated a little over th last word, as if her first intention had been to use sonie more definite term. Mr. John, reaching out his hand for the letter, held it un- opened, and seemed soon to forget its pre- sence. Kitty took from the box, which the maid had placed before her, a bunch of golden chrysanthemums, and she cried a little over a note which fell from among them. Presently she explained that they were from a girl at school, a very queer sort of a girl, whom nobody knew much. Thereupon Kitty cried a little more, and began to arran~e the flowers in a tall vase of some dull blue ware. It was thoughtful of your friend to send them to-night, said the woman, breaking the silence which had again set- tled upon the room. I dont see how she dared to do it said Kitty; they are such bright flowers. But she has written a very nice note; it sounds as if she had made it right out of her own head. She says, read Kitty, It would be very sad if this were the end; but it is only a more beautiful way of living, and so I send you the flowers. Isnt that a strange thing for her to write, Uncle John l ~ said the young man, absently; but it is very kind. You had better an- swer it to-night; that will give you some- thing to do. The others can wait. Fifteen to - day, said Kitty; that makes one hundred and seventeen, and I suppose more will be coming all the time; we may have as many as two hundred. Uncle John l What is it, dear ? Aunt and I have opened the letters just as you told us, and there is one from a very old lady, who writes to say that she is your great-aunt Catherine, and she hopes you havent forgotten her. Aunt Catherine I said the young man, arousing a little. She must be nv HARRIET LEWIS BRADL Y.

LTJJE LETTERS. THEY had dined late that afternoon, and now, in a room dim with the shadow of a November twilight, three people sat silently: one was a girl whose fair hair fell in heavy braids, caught by a black ribbon; another, a woman with a face that was restful to look upon because of its gentleness; and the third was a young man. After a time the maid came in with a letter and a pasteboard box. For Miss Kitty and Mr. John, she said. They came while you were away. She hesitated a little over th last word, as if her first intention had been to use sonie more definite term. Mr. John, reaching out his hand for the letter, held it un- opened, and seemed soon to forget its pre- sence. Kitty took from the box, which the maid had placed before her, a bunch of golden chrysanthemums, and she cried a little over a note which fell from among them. Presently she explained that they were from a girl at school, a very queer sort of a girl, whom nobody knew much. Thereupon Kitty cried a little more, and began to arran~e the flowers in a tall vase of some dull blue ware. It was thoughtful of your friend to send them to-night, said the woman, breaking the silence which had again set- tled upon the room. I dont see how she dared to do it said Kitty; they are such bright flowers. But she has written a very nice note; it sounds as if she had made it right out of her own head. She says, read Kitty, It would be very sad if this were the end; but it is only a more beautiful way of living, and so I send you the flowers. Isnt that a strange thing for her to write, Uncle John l ~ said the young man, absently; but it is very kind. You had better an- swer it to-night; that will give you some- thing to do. The others can wait. Fifteen to - day, said Kitty; that makes one hundred and seventeen, and I suppose more will be coming all the time; we may have as many as two hundred. Uncle John l What is it, dear ? Aunt and I have opened the letters just as you told us, and there is one from a very old lady, who writes to say that she is your great-aunt Catherine, and she hopes you havent forgotten her. Aunt Catherine I said the young man, arousing a little. She must be nv HARRIET LEWIS BRADL Y. THE WHITE GARDEN. 77 nearly ninety. And she has remembered us! Put the letter by itself, dear. Some one must write to-morrow. She says a great deal about me, ob- served Kitty. She thinks I am still a baby, and she doesnt see how you will ever be able to bring me up; and she wishes she lived nearer. I shall send her my photograph. And here is a very thick letter that has not yet been opened. It is to you, Uncle John. Shall I open it ? If you will, dear. I cant make the least sense out of ~ said Kitty, glancing through the closely written pages. It does not apply to us in the least, unless some one has made a story about you and papa when you were very young. It is fearfully written such a funny cramped hand! Just listen to this: And the little angel he]ped the chil- dren to heap up stones until they formed a wall around the place, and then he said, Now make everything ready and wait, and the next time I will lend you each a pair of wings, and you shall gather some seeds for yourselves. There- upon the an~el flew away, and the two children began to spade the ground very careful- ly. Isnt that singular ? said Kitty, who had de- ciphered this with great difficulty. And it has no signature, she added, turning to the end. Read ~ said Aunt Mary, as John made no comment, and scarcely seemed to notice Kittys discovery. And the angel brought a paint-box, and told the children that if they wanted a very red rose, they could easily add a little color to a pink one, and that they might paint all the yel- low pansies purple if they wished; but the grass was always to be green, and they were never to make any black flowers or white flowers; that as soon as a flower be- came black it ceased to be a flower, and that white flowers were only for the gar- dens of paradise. Certainly very remarkable, said Aunt Mary. John apparently had not been listening, for he showed no curiosity. VOL. LXXIY.No. 4397 I would put it away for to-night, child; your eyes look tired. Dont you feel sleepy enough to go to bed ? I might try, said Kitty. I suppose we have got to go on eating and sleeping just the same. Did you see what dear Dan Fergusson wrote ? About his mothers rose-bush ? said Aunt Mary. Yes. Wasnt it lovely? And lie is such a plain sort of a man, who would have expected him to write at all ? The girl rested her head upon her hand wearily for a moment; then, gathering the letters into the table drawer, she said, Good-night, and went out of the room. Ten years before, when Kitty was six years old, she was in the street one morn- ing with her hands full of white roses. A man who was mending a neighbors fence stopped in his work and gave a longing look at the flowers, and as the child passed lie called to her, Little girl, do you think I could see the bush that your roses grew upon ? Ill show it to you now, said Kitty, and child-like gave him her hand and led him back to the garden. IT WOULD BE VERY SAD IF THIS WERE TUE END; BUT IT IS ONLY A MORE BEAUTIFUL WAY OF LIVING. 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Its a real old - fashioned bush, said the man. I was afraid it wouldnt be; its like the one that used to grow over the porch at home. I thought the kind had gone by. After that Dan Fergusson came every June, generally on Saturday evening when his weeks work was over, and Kit- ty had named the bush Dan Fergus- son s mothers rose-bush. He had now written to say that possibly Mr. John might not feel quite like working in the garden another summer, and he would be pleased, if there were no objection, to come around and look after things a little every Saturday evening, and he hoped the white rose that dear Mr. Robert had planted would be some comfort to Mr. John and Miss Kitty, as it always was to their humble servant, Daniel Fergusson. Aunt Mary, left alone with her nephew, spoke of the letter which he still held, and asked if he were not going to open it. Yes, he said, but there was time enough yet; and he added, as they heard footsteps in the room above, that it was not good for the child to be up there by herself; ought not some one to go to her? he feared she might take cold. I think not, answered the woman. The room is warm; I had the fire lighted. That was very thoughtful, said the man. Poor little girl! and she is so brave ! He rose and walked up and down the room. Presently he stopped by the fire, and asked, restlessly, Aunt Mary, what becomes of the remnants, th~ pieces that are left over ? They are invaluable for all sorts of things, said the woman, carrying out his thought without seeming to understand him for charity work, a babys dress, a sofa cushion, a Christmas present. Some- times the choicest thing is made out of a remnant. I suppose it all depends upon whose hands it falls into, said John, and then there was another long silence. The woman longed to break it again. Her own mind was so full of sweet and comforting thoughts that she felt selfish in not sharing them; but with the sight of the unopened letter in her nephews hand, and the knowledge of the one hundred and seventeen in the library table drawer, she knew that all words either spoken or written would be but meaningless. And so the silence remained undisturbed until the door above opened and closed, and Kitty crossed the hall to her own room. Then the man arose and went upstairs, and Aunt Mary heard the girls voice say- ing: Yes, I am quite well; yes, I think I shall sleep. Good-night, uncle dear. After this there were sounds of other foot- steps in the room above. I am glad I remembered the fire,~~ said the woman,with a look of great sym- pathy in her eyes; it cannot be so utter- ly lonely if the fire is bright. It was not so lonely as John Goodwin had feared; it even seemed pleasant in the room, but that might have been the fire- light. He had hesitated at the door, and wondered how Kitty had the heart to go in. The world seemed so helpless with- out Robert: it was he who understood ev- erything, who made their life worth liv- ing, and he had gone so suddenly, and it was so unlike him to leave them. Snatch- es of sentences spoken during the even- ing drifted aimlessly through the young mans mind: It would be very sad if this were the end, and they were to make no black flowers, for if a flower be- came black it ceased to be a flower, and he is such a plain sort of a man, who could have expected him to write ? a babys dress, a sofa cushion, a Christmas present, Yes, I think I shall sleep; good-night, uncle dear. His head was very tired. Suddenly he reached out his hand toward the bed, and said: Did you speak, Robert? Are you quite comfortable ? This startled him, and, re- called to himself, he remembered what had happened. Then he noticed some bits of paper upon the carpet; it was the letter which all this time had been in his hand until it had become twisted and torn into fragments. He collected these, and placed them together until this sen- tence was formed: DEAR MR. JOHN, I miss you so. Will you not come soon to Your friend Jo~ ? 11.KITTYS COMMISSION. It was a Queen of Flowers, a Queen of Wisdom, and a Queen of Hearts who sent this message. I miss you so. John was the Prime Minister and court musi- cian. He knew all the royal secrets and sorrows; he knew as no other did the pain that lay hidden under the smiles and gra- cious words; he knew also that for what THE WHITE GARDEN. 79 he gave, she would repay him a thousand- fold. This little Queen had great power, and, like Kitty, she was a young girl fair and sweet and sixteen. John Goodwins house-keeping went on very quietly that winter. Kitty came home from school every Saturday night, and two evenings in the week he spent with Joy; otherwise his life was a solitary one. On the last morn- ingof the year, Kitty, ~~ho was at home for the Christmas holi- days, stood looking out into the snowy world. It had storm- ed during the night, and through the scarcely passable streets a few early people were making their way with diffi- culty. There she goes cried the girl, sud- denly. I was won- dering what had be- come of her ; and hurrying into the hall, Kitty reappear- ed with her fur-trimmed garment already half fastened. I cannot wait a moment, Matha, she said. Tell uncle when he comes down that it wa;s something very impor- tant and unexpected. Do take some coffee first, Miss Kitty, said the maid; youll be ill going out in this dreadful walking without any break- fast. Kitty raised the cup to her lips. I may be back in an hour, she said, and II may be gone all the morning. I wouldnt miss that woman for anything in the world. A very ordinary-looking little woman had passed on the opposite side of the street. She was quite lame, and a thick veil concealed her face. Kitty had count- ed upon this lameness when she waited for her coffee, and going out, she saw the woman only a short distance in advance. At the end of a long walk, and a climb up two flights of stairs, the woman opened a door marked with gilt letters on a black ground, Madame Flower, Fashionable Dress-maker. Kitty, who had followed, stood for a moment considering, and then, as she remembered having passed a mil- liners room on the floor below, she went back, and found the friendly shopwoman as ready to communicate all she knew concerning her neighbors as to measure off a ribbon for this early customer. Janet Green at Madame Flowers, repeated Kitty to herself, and going out, she made a careful memory note of the number over the street door. Janet Green was a member of that in- numerable sisterhood of lone women who live in a few rooms, or one room with an alcove, following a plan of life known as light house-keeping. She began her lone- liness with two rooms, two stairways, two outside doors, one wood-shed, and a cat. The cat, finding it a little dull, remained but one night. The rooms were small and sunny, and each had a window full of plants; the two outside doors and the wood- shed were as much like other outside doors and wood-sheds as one thing can be like another, but the two stairways were un- like anything of a similar nature ever be- fore constructed either above or under the earth. To Janet Green they were a con- stant subject of thought and wonder. When she was in her rooms, she was won- dering how she got there, and how she should ever be able to get down; and when she was down she was wondering how she should ever be able to get up again. DID YOU SPEAK, ROBERT? ARE YOU QUITE COMFORTABLE? 80 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The front stairs had a neat green carpet, but they were dark and twisting and nar- row, each stair, being of a different width, had to be learned separately, and at one dangerous point in their winding they ran through such obscurity as to be com- pletely invisible. The back stairs were built outside the house; they were steep and ruinous all the year round, and dur- ing the winter exceedingly cold and icy. Visitors generally preferred this outside stairway, danger being not so much to be dreaded when the sun shines upon it. Janet climbed cautiously up these stairs on New-Years Eve, and entered the little kitchen, glad to be back again in the shel- ter of what to her was home. The fire had burned low, and she replenished this before taking off her wraps. Then she pushed the table of plants away from the window and threw an apron carefully over them. I told the man at the bake-shop that you were all quite well, posies dear, she said. Now you must be careful not to take cold to-night. This plain little wo- man had a sweet way of talking with her flowers as if they were friends; indeed, she had no one else with whom she could talk. On her way home she had stopped at a bakery, and the man who waited upon her inquired with indiscriminate kindliness if the folks were all well at home, this question being a polite atten- tion usually reserved for his regular customers. Janet thanked him and said they were quite well, and thereupon he remarked that there was nothing like good health, and that he wished her a happy New-Year. She thought of all this as, having carefully covered both ta- bles of plants, she sat before the kitchen fire and waited for the teakettle to boil. A happy New-Year! Of course the ba- ker didnt care what sort of a year she had, any more than he cared whether she had any folks at home or not; still it sounded pleasant. What was her year likely to be? Button-holes! Yes, that was it, cut- ting holes in beautiful cloth, silk and sat- in and velvet, and then making the edges beautiful to match the material. It does not seem like a happy New-Year, said Janet to herself, and then she began to calculate if she made so many dozen a day, how many could she make in three hundred and sixty - five days, including Sundays. She was not old, this little womanat the shop they called her a girl still she was a good deal older than Kit- ty. Some one came stumbling up the outside stairway, and Janet, taking the lamp from the table, held it in the open doorway. Ive most broke my neck, not to speak of my leg, said a boy who appeared at the top. It was the errand-boy from Ma- dame Flower. Nobody has any right to build such stairs, he grumbled; might as well have a ladder and done with it. They aint fit for a third-class hen-coop. Heres a couple of bundles, and if you could work the button - holes before to- morrow morning, Miss Flowerthis boy could never be induced to say Madame told me to tell you it would be an awful accommodation. Other bundle is some- thing left at the shop for you. Very well, said Janet. Thank you, Jimmy. Be careful how you go down. The boy said he guessed there want no danger, but that hed be careful; and reach- ing the lower landing, he called back to Janet, who still held the lamp in the door- way, that it was much as ever hed got down alive, and that he wouldnt insult her by wishing her a happy New-Year, knowing as how shed got to risk her life every day getting in and out of her house. The girl closed the door with a shiver, and went in to open the bundles. The blue velvet basque she had already seen at the shop, but the pot of white heath was as unexpected as a happy New-Year would have been to her. Oh, you beauty ! she said; you lit- tle white New-Years tree. She laid her cheek gently against the plant for a mo- ment, as if to welcome it. It was very kind of the girls in the shop, she thought; they were always good to her. Here Janet caught sight of an envelop, and opening this, she found a package of horse- car tickets, and a card upon which was written, Sent by Kitty from your friend and hers. Then it was not from the girls at the shop. Janet felt herself growing first hot, then cold, then a little faint. She opened the door and went out to the top of the stairway. It was a clear night; the stars were out, but they were so far away, and the world looked so bitterly cold! If the kitten had been there she might have rubbed her rough little tongue over the girls hands, and that would have been something in the way of sympathy; but there was no one and nothing; even the THE WHITE GARDEN. 81 plants were hidden away under a ging- ham apron. Janet had just one friend who would have sent her this gift. It was so like him to think of the tickets, she said; he was always re- membering other peoples comfort. It was so like him to send it by Kitty, that I might know I had two friends instead of one. It was so like him to send the little ALL THIS JANET SAID VERY SLOWLY AND QUIETLY, AS IF SHE WERE TRYING TO SOOTHE SOME OTHER rERSON. white tree. All this Janet said very slowly and quietly, as if she were trying to soothe some other person. She stood perfectly still for some moments in the cold night; then she said, in the same low, decided voice: It is all right. I told him to go away. I said that waiting would be useless; that I was not fit for him I, Janet Green, lame and disfig- ured. I meant all that I said. And now this comes, and it hurts me. I am unrea- sonable. Going back to the kitchen, she placed the heath with the other plants, and drew the covering around it. She could not bear the sight of it just then. The tickets and the written slip she laid under a pile of heavy hooks, and then she sat down to her work. Her head ached with an inward excitement, as if she were under- going the strain of some great trouble. She was glad that the first button-hole came under the collar. She found that she could not see very well, and her hands were cold. How foolish I am I she said, putting down her work; and how good he is! How good they both are Then she walked up and down helplessly for a while in the darkness of the inner room. Af- ter this she was able to say that she was glad for them, and that she thanked them for remem- bering her; and having fasten- ed a wet cloth around her ach- ing temples, she sat down to work out her feelings in the button - holes, of which there were twenty-four. I did a little commission for papa to-day, said Kitty Good- win, as, sitting with her uncle before the library fire, she wait- ed to see the new year come in, something that got left over. You remember the lame girl, uncle, whom papa used to watch from the window? He said one day he meant to send her some horse-car tickets. She went by this morning, and that is the reason I was not here to pour out your coffee. And how did you do it, Lovely One ? Oh, I followed her, said Kitty, and I managedit was easy enough. I didnt quite know what to write on the card. You know a present without some clew to the giver is worse than no present. I wanted to write something that would mean both our names, because it was papas present, and I was doing it; so I wrote, Sent by Kitty from your friend and hers. 1.Joy. One day John took Kittys mysterious discovery from the one hundred and seven~ 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. teen letters in the library table drawer; out flowers. The angel flew down and and carrying the package to the Queen, advised them to divide the garden equal- he asked if her Highness would find plea- ly, and thus have half the flowers light sure in looking it over. and half dark. The contrast will be It seems to be a story, he said; but beautiful, said the angel, and the har- we have never been able to understand it, mony of your lives will be still more beau- or why it should be sent to me. It may tiful ; but the very next day the two bro- be that I am the wrong man, still you see thers disputed again concerning the shade it is addressed to John X. Goodwin. There of blue for the forget-me-nots, and in the are other John Goodwins in the town, but night Dear Boy entered the garden and only one John X. emptied a pot of dark blue paint over the And only one John X. in the world, forget-me-not beds. There were bitter said the Queen, graciously. She delight- words between the brothers after this, ed in mysteries, and when she had finish- and the younger said that if Gold Heart ed reading the story she began to make wanted a faded-out pink and blue garden a clear copy that was as easy to read as he might have it. That is as far as I print. The Queens life was a very busy have written, said the Queen; but you one. There were books to be studied each know what comes next. day, there were flowers to be arranged ev- No, said John; I never even read as ery morning, there were royal favors to far as that. I am sorry that Dear Boy had be considered and granted, there were the such poor taste in sweet-peas. A sweet- court receptions and private audiences. pea ought always to be pink. It is a good The Queens throne was white, with a thing that his temper got the better of mass of flowers at the foot, the throne him before he commenced to spoil the was a bed, and Joy, in her soft white roses. gown, rich with wrought-work and bor- Play to me now, said the Queen; dered with beautiful lace, could never something that is your very own. leave it, for the Queen was ill with an A few weeks later the Queen told John illness past recovery. No one knew much that Dear Boy having left the garden in about. her sufferings; she never spoke of anger, Gold Heart had died of grief, and them, and it was against the court eti- before he died he asked the angel to send quette to allude to them in her presence. his brother a bag of forget-me-not seeds, Her room was the brightest, happiest place with a message of reconciliation; and his in the land, and John was the royal favor- last words were, I ought not to have ite. Sometimes they read together, often- cared so much about the colors, but I did er they talked; before going he always love pink sweet-peas. played to her, now and then she showed Dear Boy wandered over the whole him the fragment which she had that day earth, read the Queen, and whenever copied, or related the progress of the story, he did a kind deed he planted a row of and one evening she read the following: forget-me-not seeds, but the blossoms were On a certain summer morning Prince always dark blue. One day he came to a Gold Heart, the older brother, saw the high gateway, and before this he planted youngerbrother, DearBoy, walking among the remaining seeds. The place reminded the sweet-peas with the angels paint-box him of the entrance to the garden where in one hand and a long brush in the other. he had left his brother. He waited eagerly Do not touch the sweet-peas, called for the first flower to bloom; it was dark Gold Heart; they are sweetest pink. blue, his own selfish color, and thereupon Dear Boy, who was as fond of dark rich he went away. The older people called colors as of having his own way, said that him the sad Prince Dear Boy, for he they would be just as sweet one color as was Prince now that his brother was another, and thereupon he painted a whole dead; the sick and poor called him the row of pink blossoms in shades of reddish- good Prince Dear Boy; and the children brown and dull purple. He was quite called him their own Dear Boy, without willing to acknowledge later that they any Prince whatsoever. were very ugly, but after this the two I am sorry for him, said John. I brothers could never agree about the col- can almost forgive him for upsetting that oring. Gold Heart wished to have every- pot of blue paint. How long will he go thing pale and delicate; Dear Boy said he on in this way I never could live among a lot of washed- There isnt much more, said Joy, THE WHITE GARDEN. 83 but there is enough for another night. The end is quite wonderful; you will like the end. Havent you the slightest idea who wrote it l Absolutely none, said John. Kitty and I have considered every one we ever knew or heard of. If it were really in- tended for me, as it would seem, being an account of two brothers, why couldnt the author have made me more life-like? Why, I hate everything that Dear Boy does in the way of flow- ers, and I never go about doing good, and no one ever calls me Poor John or Good John, or even their own Dear Boy. Somebody shall, said the Queen. I am quite tired of saying Mr. John ; and then she asked, what no one else had dared to ask before, how Roberts garden was, and if her own Dear Boy worked in it every day as he used to do. I have never been in it at all, said John, ex- cept in the early spring, and then it hurt me so to see the green things coming up, and every one of them seeming to say, Do you re- member ? And so you never go there now ? said Joy, with a touch of sympathy in her tone that could only be added by a Queen of Hearts. No, saidJohn; I havent the cour- age. Kitty works in it every Saturday evening when she comes home for her holiday. I often hear her out there chat- ting with Dan Fergusson. Poor garden! I am afraid Robert would hardly know it now. I overheard Dan Fergusson saying that it was curious how many things got winter-killed. John played to the Queen as usual that night, and as he was leaving she called him back to ask what the music meant. I couldnt understand it at all, she said. It was Roberts birthday, and a frag- ment of verse had been constantly accom- panying John Goodwins thoughts. He hesitated a little at the girls question, and then answered, rather lightly, that it might mean a bit of verse which had come into his mind. Did she care to hear it? Yes said Joy. And the young man repeated: I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain, I shall not hear the nightin,,ale Sing on, as if in pain, And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set Ilaply I may reinemher, And haply may forget. And haply means perhaps, said the little Queen. Thank you, Dear Boy. I like to understand things. Joy finished her work of copying. She fastened the leaves of the manuscript with a white satin ribbon, and gave it to John. You must read the end for yourself, she said; my voice is not so strong as it used to be. The court receptions grew rarer, and finally ceased, and there were fewer pri- vate audiences. The books were banish- ed, and the sunlight only permitted to en- ter the room through shaded windows; but the flowers remained, a mass of color at the foot of the throne; and Joy, now very pale and still, was the same brave young Queen. John went to her every evening. Some- times he sat quietly by the bedside; some- times he played a little. One summer twilight, Joy, who had seemed to be asleep, opened her eyes and said, faintly, Dear Boy, I want some music that has no hap- lyin it. She was saying that this morning, said one of the attendants. It may be the medicine. But John understood. Play me something with no haply in it, said the girl again. The woman who had spoken before made a sign for John to go to the piano. HAPLY. 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Some little gentle thing will soothe her, she loves your music so. Withno haplyinit, said Joy. The Queen had ordered, and the court musician went to his instrument, and as he played, the Queen fell quietly asleep. LITTHE OTHER JOHN X. GOODWIN. Dear brave Joy ! said Kitty, as John told her the next morning; and it hap- pened when you were playing, uncle dear l Yes, said the man. I dont know how I was able to play. I hope. it was what she wished. Will you read me the end of the story now ? The manuscript, copied in the Queens fair hand, lay upon the library table, and as Kitty opened it, her uncle took from the table drawer the package of letters, a~id looked them through idly. After many years, said the girl, reading, the younger brother found himself standing before the same high gateway, and upon either side was a bed of forget-me-nots; in one the flowers were a pale blue, and in the other a deep blue. Down the pathway came a number of young girls laden with white flowers; the tallest among the girls wore a bridal wreath. Dear Boy thought of the angels words, and said, Surely this must be a garden in paradise; and yet how can it be, for I do not remember to have died l As the girl-bride passed she held out to him a branch of white roses, and he asked ho~ long there had been two shades of blue in forget-me-nots. Always, she said, as long as I can remember. I should have come sooner, said the Prince. You have come at the best time,~~ an- swered the girl, for to-day you can see the White Garden; it is not always open. Dear Boy, entering, saw that it was the garden of his childhood; the only differ- ence was that now there were no colored flowers. He found the arbor, with the bench which Gold Heart and he had made together; then he came to the pansy bed. The pansies were sweeter and larger than in the old days, and they also were white. Near by stood the angel, who said, with gracious kindness: Welcome back to the garden, Prince Dear Boy. I am bidden to make you a guardian of white flowers. Prom that time the world grew purer and fairer, for the Prince had given orders to leave the gateway open, that every one might bear away something from the sweetness within. It is an ingenious little story, said the man, still searching among the let- ters. Curious how people think of such things ! Things people write just seem to grow, observed Kitty; only it is more curious than flowers growing, because you cant buy the seeds for a story. No; story seeds are too costly. I suppose everything written springs from some experience; and the strangest part of it is that out Qf a little hard black seed may grow the most wonderful flower. What became of that note from your school friend, the one who sent the chrys- anthemums ? I think it was left with the others, said the girl. Perhaps it got folded into one of the letters. Ah, here it is, said the man. I feared it might have been destroyed. As he spoke, the maid entered with the morning mail, and Kitty, having given a hurried glance through her share of this, exclaimed, in a tone of great excite- ment: Uncle John! here is the most ex- traordinary thing. Aunt Mary has found your namesake, the other John X. Good- win. Uncle, are you listening ? With all my ears, Lovely One. Did I ever expect to hear of a fellow-being whose middle name began with Xl I cant listen enough. What has she done with him ? She was sitting by the fire reading her Church paper, said Kitty, and it seems, uncle, she saw a little poem signed John X. Goodwin. She thought it was unlike you to write a religious poem. Totally, said the man. And then she remembered the mys- tery of our flower story, and she wrote to the editor, who gave her the other John X. Goodwins address, and she found that he lived in this very town, but quite a different street and number from ours, and so she has written to this other John X. to come here. Well, that certainly is extraordinary. And it is possible he may come to- day, continued Kitty. I shall put on my best dress and watch. I want to see him come up the steps. What do you expect to see ? An interesting, pale, and rather shab- by young man. People who write, I am THE WHITE GARDEN. 85 told, are generally interesting, pale, and shabby. I fancy he sets up type in some printing-office. You ought to help him publish his story, Uncle John, on account of the name; then I could have a copy with From the Author written in it. Your author is quite as likely to be a woman as a man, said John. Women, especially young women, often write un- der a mans name. I expect to see a pret- ty and rather timid young woman, a lit- tle pale perhaps, but not shabby. I think she will be becomingly and inexpensively dressed. You will not see any woman at all, said Kitty, so dont expect one. The story hasnt a wo- man in it. The writing isnt like a womans; and, moreover, I feel that it is a man, and e~ery one knows that ~ wo- mans intuition is more to be relied upon than a man 5 judgment. Kitty watched in vain that day for the arrival of a shabby, inter- esting, pale young man. Shabby young men went through the street in great numbers, a few were pale and interesting, but none came up the steps. Just after tea, however, as she was dis- cussing some points in gardening with Dan Fergussonit being Saturday night a caller was announced, and Kitty, going into the parlor, found a plainly dressed young woman sitting near the hall door; her face was partly shaded by a veil, and as she rose and took a few steps forward, she walked with some diffi- culty. Why, its papas woman ! said Kitty to herself, in astonishment. I am Janet Green, said the older girl, simply. I am John X. Goodwin in print. I wrote the verses. Have I made a mis- take ? she asked, as Kitty stood speech- less. A lady who wrote me a very kind letter about the verses said I was to come here. I have brought the letter ; and Janet held out an envelop addressed in Aunt Marys familiar hand. VOL. LXXJV.No. 439.S And did you write a little story call- ed Garden Flowers ? asked Kitty, rather severely. She was greatly disappointed in the failure of her intuitions. Is that why I was told to come ? said Janet. I sent it to a magazine, and I never heard from it again. I thought some day it might be published, because these things take a very long time. And did you have an experience to make you write it ? interrupted Kitty. I mean did you go through anything? I hope I do not seem rude, but Joy and I were so interested in the story. See! Joy has copied it, and Kitty placed the manu- script in the girls hand. I wish I knew what sort of an experience it takes to make a person write like that, continued Kitty. When you have it published will you write in one copy, From your friend the Author, and give it to me? and you know you cannot write that truth- fully unless you are my friend. It was impossible to be more winningly gracious than Kitty Goodwin as she held out her hands to the little lame woman; an din the unexpectedness of being asked to tell her experiences, when she had none, of seeing her half-forgotten manuscript PLAYING ? 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. daintily copied and tied with a white sat- in ribbon, of finding her two hands in the friendly clasp of this fair young girl, Janet Green found speech for a moment an impossibility. This is my great experience, she said at length. I never had one before. But how could you write the story, then ? said Kitty; and why do you sign yourself John X. Goodwin? Uncle is John X., because there were four John Goodwins in our family, and so grand- papa said that uncle should be called John X. to distinguish him from the others, and also to mean that he was to excel. People think that X. stands for Xerxes or Xenophon, but it is just the letter X. That is what mine is, said Janet. Just the letter X. I sign my articles John Goodwin because they have to be signed something, and the initials J. G., you see, form my initials. I added the X. for the first of your grandfathers reasons, to distinguish my John Goodwin from other John Goodwins. As for writ- ing out of an experience, she continued, if I write out of anything, it is out of button-holes. I make them for a living; there are a great many button-holes in Garden Flowers. Dear me ! said Kitty, intensely sur- prised and sympathetic. I understand why I am here now, said Janet: the story was rejected, and I must have forgotten to write out my name and street, and so it came back to the real John X. Goodwin. And have you never seen a white garden ? questioned Kitty. Did you make that out of button-holes ? I have never even seen any white pansies, replied the woman, looking with loving interest at the flowers which Kitty wore. V.IN THE WHITE GARDEN. The young girl led Janet out into a garden and through a pathway which ran between borders of pale sweetness, until they came to an arbor where there was a bench; near by grew a pansy bed, and the pansies were large and white. It is like your story, dear, said Kit- ty. Do you see that this is a white gar- dens? She still held Janets hand, and she had added the dear with a feeling of tender solicitude. She was afraid that this little woman, who seemed so frail, and who had never before had an expe rience, might faint now that things were happening to her. And you are the angel, said Janet, who was not at all faint, and inwardly longed to say dear also. No, I am not the angel, said Kitty, for this is not a garden in paradise, be- cause we have not yet died. Dont you remember there was something like that in your story ? Then, making the lame girl sit down in the arbor, she told her about the evening when the manuscript was found among the letters; about Joy, the brave young Queen,who had copied it; about the two brothers, who had planted the garden together, and how now that only one brother was left, he never came into the garden, because it was so sad and it hurt him so. Has it been white all summer ? asked Janet. Did it begin white ? Ever since the first crocus and violet said Kitty. Matha, our maid, calls it the mourning garden, and thinks the flowers wear white for the same reason that I wear black, because we are all mourning for papa. Janet looked about her in wonder. It is beautiful to have it white, said Kitty, and it is a great comfort, but it is easy enough to explain. It happened that most of the colored flowers died in the winter from not being properly pro- tected, and the few seeds we planted nev- er came to anything. It can all be ex- plained except the pansies; they were pur- ple last year. I had a terrible accident once, said Janet Green, as if she felt that it was now her turn to make an explanation. You see I am lame, and one side of my face has an ugly scar. I have been very un- happy about it, because I love beautiful things, and it was hard to be young and to lose all ones fairness. I could not bear to be pitied, and so I have avoided people;. and through all my loneliness and un- happiness the one good thing has been that I loved flowers, and have kept them with me, and have written about them b~cause I loved them; and now to come here among more flowers than I have ever seen! I can never make you under- stand what it means to me. And the hymn, said Kitty, the lit- tle poem in the Church paper, do you mind telling me how you happened to write that? Dont tell me, if you mind, but it is so interesting ! THE WHITE GARDEN. 87 There is nothing to tell, said Janet, be your friend was a part of it. It was except that I am not good at all, and I so kind, and it did me so much good. No wrote it because the words had a pleasant one ever came to me like that before. sound. I didnt feel the words; I wish I You forget, Janet, said a voice at her had. side, and Dan Fergusson held out both his Oh dear ! said Kitty again; but per- hands. - haps you get hold of the words first, and Uncle John ! And that was all Kitty the feeling will come later; you cannot found herself able to say as she opened the have everything at once. And then she door of the music-room. went on to regret that Janet had never Well, was the young man here? Did seen Joy. It was curious, she said, he look as pale and shabby as you expect- that Joy knew you through the story, ed? And why was the X. placed between and papa knew you from seeing you go his two respectable names? Why, Lovely by, and you do not know them at all. One, what is it? What has happened ? What do you think, asked the lame asked John, as, turning from the piano, girl, abruptly, about death and what he saw Kitty standing with wet eyes. comes after it, and all the worry and tan- Nothing at all, said Kitty. Dont gles and mistakes that go before it? I speak to me. And she crossed the room mean what do you believe ?people believe to the window. John waited. He knew so many things. You must have thought better than to approach her, but from the about it. lesson of past experiences he ventured to There was a wistful look in Janets say that if it were pleasant the next day eyes, as if this lonely soul were starving lie might go away in the early train, and for some reassurance, and it came to Kit- if it rained, he was afraid the hay crop ty to say, simply and unhesitatingly, as would be quite ruined, which would make if there could be no other answer, I be- no particular difference to him, but would lieve in God, the Father Almighty, Maker be bad for the farmers. of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ That will do, said Kitty; you need His only Son our Lord. not keep on. I have got over itat least Oh ! said Janet, I never heard it comparatively. It wasnt a young man sound like that before, and after a pause at all; it was papas little lame woman. she said that she had heard it said in She is in the garden, and she wrote the church, but the people always seemed in story out of nothing but button-holes. a hurry to get to Pontius Pilate, and that She thinks as she works them. I suppose she had never thought about it, except to you and I might work button-holes day wonder if Pontius were Pilates first name, and night forever without being able to or a title like Queen Victoria. write anything. Listen! said Kitty. Uncle is play- Yes, said John, if we were able to ing. Come nearer the window. work them under any circumstances, John had been thinking all day of Joy, which I doubt. and of the music he had played the night Somehow, said Kitty, she belongs before; he wondered if he could remem- to Dan, only she didnt think she was fit ber itif this last song of the court were for him after her accidentas if that to be his inheritance; and as Kitty and could make any difference. And so he Janet stood listening outside, his fingers has been waiting, and what I sent on were wandering slowly into the music New-Years Eve only served to make that had no haply in it. matters a great deal worse, because she He is playing what you believe, said thought that this was the way he took to Janet, in a hushed voice. Dont you let her know that he was married, and hear the grandness of it, and the gladness that his wifes name was Kitty. I dont and the sureness and the tenderness ? see how things could get so twisted. After this neither of them spoke until They seem strangely twisted to me the music died away in a few quiet chords. said John. Button - holes, an author If any one believed that, continued whose manuscript comes back to me, and Janet, impulsively I mean believed it an accident, and you married to Dan. as you said it, and as the music said it, Oh, that part is all untwisted now, one could never be unhappy, because to said Kitty. I have explained, and Dan be unhappy would be to doubt it; the way has explained; but it was queer at first. you gave me your hand and asked me to Her name is Janet Green, and I am afraid 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. she will be ill, for she has done nothing but go through experiences ever since she came, which is only an hour ago, and she says that she never had any experiences before. Will you come out to them, un- cle, or shall I bring them in ? I will go out, said the man. And thus it happened that the two John X. Good wins met in the White Gar- den. There was not much said, because so much was happening; but when the little lame woman went away, her hands were full of roses from Dan Fergusson s mothers rose-bush, and to Kittys uncle, lingering among the wonderful white- ness, there came a remembrance of the school-girls letter: It would be very sad if this were the end; but it is only a more beautiful way of living, and so I send you the flowers. THE LEGEND OF FREY BERNARDO. BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. THREE hundred years ago, or more, In Portugal, at Santarem, Between whose walls the Tagus flows, Washing with lazy waves the shore, A stately monastery rose, Begirt with palaces, for there The King in summer did repair With his light loves, of course for prayer, For their confessors came with them! ~busy place; for in the streets, Where one to-day the muleteer meets, Jogging in dust with jangling bells, Rude as the mountains where he dwells, Grave merchants met, who fortunes drew From world-old lands discovered new Beyond the dark and dangerous seas By followers of the Genoese; These, and the crews their ships who manned, Whose cheeks with tropic suns were tanned, Who rolled their costly bales ashore With songs like oceans stormy roar. A holy spot was Santarem, Famed for its tall cathedral spires, That caught the mornings earliest fires, And for the chapels under them, Peopled with priests and sandalled friars; Famed for its monastery more, For where twas builded years before The Virgin in a Vision shone, A lady on a golden throne, Who in her arms an Infant bore. To mark the spot they builded there A monastery, large and fair, Whose doors were open night and day, Inviting all who passed that way To enter freely, and to stay, If when within its walls they stood, And saw its pious brotherhood, The simple lives they led seemed good; As good they were to many then, World-wearied, meditative men Who, till their spirits found release, Desired forgetfulness and peace. One of this sort one summer day Came to the monastery gate, Burdened with some mysterious fate That made him prematurely gray. He may have been a banished lord, Bereft of his ancestral state; A soldier who had sheathed his sword, Repenting deeds of blood too late. Whoeer he was, he sought the prior, And from that hour became a friar Adopted all the brothers ways, And patterned after theirs his days; Rose when they rose at matin bell And went when they went to his cell. Dead to the world, which missed him not, But which he clung to with regret, He struggled sternly to forget Something that would not be forgot Struggled in silence and alone, Asking no aid except his own The spectre of his soul to lay; For he was never known to pray, Either at mornings dewy prime, Or Angelus, or vesper chime,

88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. she will be ill, for she has done nothing but go through experiences ever since she came, which is only an hour ago, and she says that she never had any experiences before. Will you come out to them, un- cle, or shall I bring them in ? I will go out, said the man. And thus it happened that the two John X. Good wins met in the White Gar- den. There was not much said, because so much was happening; but when the little lame woman went away, her hands were full of roses from Dan Fergusson s mothers rose-bush, and to Kittys uncle, lingering among the wonderful white- ness, there came a remembrance of the school-girls letter: It would be very sad if this were the end; but it is only a more beautiful way of living, and so I send you the flowers. THE LEGEND OF FREY BERNARDO. BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. THREE hundred years ago, or more, In Portugal, at Santarem, Between whose walls the Tagus flows, Washing with lazy waves the shore, A stately monastery rose, Begirt with palaces, for there The King in summer did repair With his light loves, of course for prayer, For their confessors came with them! ~busy place; for in the streets, Where one to-day the muleteer meets, Jogging in dust with jangling bells, Rude as the mountains where he dwells, Grave merchants met, who fortunes drew From world-old lands discovered new Beyond the dark and dangerous seas By followers of the Genoese; These, and the crews their ships who manned, Whose cheeks with tropic suns were tanned, Who rolled their costly bales ashore With songs like oceans stormy roar. A holy spot was Santarem, Famed for its tall cathedral spires, That caught the mornings earliest fires, And for the chapels under them, Peopled with priests and sandalled friars; Famed for its monastery more, For where twas builded years before The Virgin in a Vision shone, A lady on a golden throne, Who in her arms an Infant bore. To mark the spot they builded there A monastery, large and fair, Whose doors were open night and day, Inviting all who passed that way To enter freely, and to stay, If when within its walls they stood, And saw its pious brotherhood, The simple lives they led seemed good; As good they were to many then, World-wearied, meditative men Who, till their spirits found release, Desired forgetfulness and peace. One of this sort one summer day Came to the monastery gate, Burdened with some mysterious fate That made him prematurely gray. He may have been a banished lord, Bereft of his ancestral state; A soldier who had sheathed his sword, Repenting deeds of blood too late. Whoeer he was, he sought the prior, And from that hour became a friar Adopted all the brothers ways, And patterned after theirs his days; Rose when they rose at matin bell And went when they went to his cell. Dead to the world, which missed him not, But which he clung to with regret, He struggled sternly to forget Something that would not be forgot Struggled in silence and alone, Asking no aid except his own The spectre of his soul to lay; For he was never known to pray, Either at mornings dewy prime, Or Angelus, or vesper chime, WHERE THE LEECH FEARED TO GO HE WENT.~~ 90 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Though at the service of the dead He closed his eyes and bowed his head. He lived not wholly understood Among that simple brotherhood. They pitied him for his distress That never sought relief in prayer, But loved him for his gentleness, And for the comfort he was there, For many a weary heart and head By him was sweetly comforted. His was the hand, when they were ill, And tossing on the bed of pain, That gave the draught, and his the skill That nursed them back to life again. Such Frey Bernardo was, and so The years with him did come and go, Monotonous and dull and slow, Till one dark day the pestilence Broke out in Santarem, from whence, Smitten with fear, the people fled, Leaving the dying and the dead. Then he arose in righteous ire, Like one who has been calm too long, And with quick steps, and eyes of fire, And late-recovered manhood strong, Went where the pestilence was worst, And where they needed most his care, Among the outcast and accursed, Where death was in the tainted air: He mitigated mortal pains In cells where prisoners lay in chains, And in the close dark hold of ships Moistened the sailors fevered lips: Where the leech feared to go he went, And to the sick and dying lent Patience to live and strength to die, And faith to pale priests standing by To give them the last sacrament. All man could do he did to save His stricken fellows from the grave, If ever doubtful, certain then That God was served by serving men. Before the pestilence was done The shadows of departed lives Filled all the streets of Santarem; Husbands lamented for their wives The widowed mother for her son And little children, left with none To comfort or to care for them, Wept for their parents up and down That dark, depopulated town. The heart of Frey Bernardo, wrung At sights and sounds of sorrow, grew Womanly oer these waifs, who drew Tears to his eyes, they were so young, And so unfriended and alone; And two, whose mother he had known In better days, and might have grown To love, if fate had not denied, And whopoor thing !the hour she died, Giving to each the parting kiss, Had placed their little hands in his, He fatheredhe could do no less, - He pitied so their helplessness. When the last sufferer was at rest, And hushed the last sad funeral knell, He clasped the children to his breast And bore them to his lonely cell. Whether the saintly brotherhood, To whom their cloistral solitude And still, set ways alone seemed good, Would let them stay with him, or he Would have to shelter them elsewhere, Troubled him at first, but needlessly, The children were so welcome there. What they to Frey Bernardo were He could not, if he would, have told, Nor how from his souls sepulchre The stone had suddenly been rolled, And he had shuffled off at last The stifling cerements of the Past. But so it was. And he began To put his old dead self away, No more the lone and loveless man Whose head and heart alike were gray: For what a few short days before Had pity been for their distress, Had deepened into something more, And now was anxious tenderness. Sweet was the light in their young faces, For the swift hours restored their bloom, Unconscious of their childish graces As dewy buds in secret places Of their rathe beauty and perfume. Perpetual sunshine filled his cell Since he had fetched the children there, And sweet, low voices, seldom still; For long before the matin bell Summoned the drowsy monks to prayer, Before the earliest of the birds Had piped its first faint morning trill, They wakened him with loving words. He feared, in separating them From all the children whom they knew In their past life at Santarem, He might, perhaps, have done them wrong LISTENING WHILE FREY BERNARDO READS. 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. (And may have done so-who can tell ?), There was so little he could do To make them happy in his cell, And shorten for them the long days. They had a hundred little plays That kept the days from being long. Pablo, the youngest, had his toys, Like other Lusitanian boys Rude images in clay and wood, The Patriarchs here and Prophets stood, With fishermen of Galilee; And there the followers of Mahound, Their swarthy brows with turbans bound, And red-cross knights, armed cap-a-pie. If the girl, Inez, played with these. It was to please her restless brother, Who she had promised her dead mother Should be her care when she was gone. Left to herself, she sits alone, Her small hands folded on her knees, Holding her lately counted beads Listening while Frey Bernardo reads Black-letter tomes of ancient lore, Which men, grown wiser, read no more. Such was the quiet life they led In the seclusion of his cell, Through whose barred grate the sunlight fell Till the hot sun was overhead; Then, wooed by softest airs and sounds, They wandered out-of-doors together, And flitting through the garden grounds, Enjoyed the perfect summer weather. Beneath the shady orchard trees, Whose laden boughs with fruit were bent, Hand locked in hand, the children went, Their light locks fluttering in the breeze; The birds were singing far and near, But they were hushed, content to hear Such heavenly songs, so low, so clear! What they to Frey Bernardo grew As days went by, and their sweet ways Became a portion of the days, He rather felt at first than knew. . I THEY WANDERED OUT-OF-DOORS TOGEThER. THE LEGEND OF FREY BERNARDO. 93 It was a pleasant sight to see This grave, good man, erewhile so stern, So gracious and so happy now; And how his loving eyes would turn And watch the children, who had brought Their brightness to his heart and thought, The boy, say, sitting on his knee, Where song or story he demands, While closer still his sister stands, Smoothing the furrows from his brow! He told them stories such as he Was told in childhood, and as we Were in our later childhood told Old stories that are never old, Despite their known antiquity; For though mythologists may trace Through all the lands their golden way, Back to the cradle of the race, They are as fresh and young to-day As when they first were said or sung Young as old Homers song is young! When these, which in his cell apart Day after day the children heard Till their light hearts no more were stirred, For now they knew them all by heart, Had lost their charm, he told them others, As mythical, perhaps, as these, Culled from the hagiologies, Of holy fathers, sainted mothers, Gone to their long and heavenly rest Only the sweetest and the best; Not those that touched on martyrdom, // ~ For soon enough their tears would come For their own sorrows. They shall be Happy while they are here with me. Watching the pair with kindly eyes, Which tears unshed would sometimes dim, He pondered what they were to him, And he to themthe tender ties That bound their hearts together there, Their confidence, his constant care; And pondering so one day, his mind, Which till that moment had been blind, Saw what he had so long denied, So dark had been his soul with prid& The sovereign Fatherhood above, The certainty of Heavenly Love! Thou art, whatever doth befall, The Maker and the Lord of all; And as these children cling to me, Hereafter I will cling to Thee, Father and God. He said no more, But wept he had not prayed before. The legend ends here. But I know It never ended here, nor so; For given the man whom I have sun Who was at once so old and young, Xud who at last his duties learned To God and Manthat man returned Back to the world, where both could be Much better served by such as lie, Who had begun by shunning them, Than in his cell at Santarem. WOOD NOTES. BY WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON. lifE are as much strangers in nature VV as we are aliens from God, says Emerson. We do not understand the notes of birds. The fox and the deer run away from us. But to those worthy of their companionship there are few stran- gers in the forest. Sitting alone in the woods I have some- times known a moment of such supreme exaltation that I have almost questioned my sanitya spirit and an impulse which I would no more attempt to frame into words than I should think to define the Deity Himself. I am glad to the brink of fear. The pulses of the woods beat through me. The joyous flight of bird starts buoyant memories, and the linnets song seems swelling in my own throat. At such times boundless confidences seem open to us; anything seems possi- ble. Have you never stood at the edge of a precipice and realized that you could fly? I have approached a squirrel run- ning wild in the woods, have seen him pause to wait for me, while he permitted himself to be taken into my arms and ca- ressed. I captured one thus in the piny woods of North Conway. Had I been alone, what old-time confidences might we not have exchanged together! but there were witnesses, and I think that the unworthy self-consciousness of my proud distinction served to break the spell. My pet discovered that I was only a degen- erate human being after all, and quickly made his escape. I have often felt the contact of the plumy halo of the humming-bird above the flowers; yes, and know what it was to have him nestle contentedly within my palm as I drew my fingers about him in his hovering poise. I have taken the winged jewel to my room and covenant- ed with him as he perched voluntarily upon my finger, and preened his ruby breast and tiny wing. It is noticeable in many ways with what a kindly spirit these nature-broods will meet you on their OWIl ground if you are truly converted. Even when you go a step further, and strive to converse with them in their own tongue, how willingly, surprisingly, indeed, they seem to ignore your palpable shortcomings, as though detecting the right intent even in your crudest and most primitive efforts! I have often surprised myself at the ease with which I could call about me a con- vocation of chickadees or aflock of jays, a robin or a wood-pewee, and other birds. Hark! Do you hear that distant jargon of the crows? Come, sit close against this shaded beech trunk, and await devel- opments; only as I play the liar dont gaze at me, I beg. Twould disconcert me, spoil my pucker, perhaps break my throttle-valve. There! I have done the best I could. Now we will wait a little. Listen again! Do you not notice how their tumult is lessened, and how evident- ly nearer is its proximity? I will give them one more blast. There! that has silenced them all, you will find. You may listen in vain for a single sound. Sh! look up yonder above our treethe wily scout of the gang! See him circle about above the woods in our vicinity, with head bent low, and eager eyes searching every nook and vista. And now the sunny spots among the woods are dancing with flitting shadows, and as we look aloft again the sky seems swarm- ing with the sable multitude; but they are as mum as death, even to the crafty muffling of their wings. Presently one by one they will perch, and at length peo- ple the topmost boughs in silent, curious scrutiny. Again and again have I lain beneath the pine-trees and thus decoyed th~ crows, even to the very tree beneath which I loitered, always observing this same routine of cautious advance-courier, and of the silent, suspicious invasion of the tree-tops. But only now let me as much as crack a twig, and what a hocus- pocus! what a demoralization! From a Quaker meeting to the Stock Exchange in the flap of a wing. Such a chorus of commotion, of laughs, screams, and other strange exclamations, until at length it dies away in the distance, where we may even yet catch the burden of their reflect- ive observations at their council tree: Haw! haw! Oh, corvus! corvus! Shaw! shaw! shaw! The chewink and veery-thrush are oth- er birds which I have often thus brought within close eye-shot. What an amusing, artful fellow this chewink is! for I am

WOOD NOTES. BY WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON. lifE are as much strangers in nature VV as we are aliens from God, says Emerson. We do not understand the notes of birds. The fox and the deer run away from us. But to those worthy of their companionship there are few stran- gers in the forest. Sitting alone in the woods I have some- times known a moment of such supreme exaltation that I have almost questioned my sanitya spirit and an impulse which I would no more attempt to frame into words than I should think to define the Deity Himself. I am glad to the brink of fear. The pulses of the woods beat through me. The joyous flight of bird starts buoyant memories, and the linnets song seems swelling in my own throat. At such times boundless confidences seem open to us; anything seems possi- ble. Have you never stood at the edge of a precipice and realized that you could fly? I have approached a squirrel run- ning wild in the woods, have seen him pause to wait for me, while he permitted himself to be taken into my arms and ca- ressed. I captured one thus in the piny woods of North Conway. Had I been alone, what old-time confidences might we not have exchanged together! but there were witnesses, and I think that the unworthy self-consciousness of my proud distinction served to break the spell. My pet discovered that I was only a degen- erate human being after all, and quickly made his escape. I have often felt the contact of the plumy halo of the humming-bird above the flowers; yes, and know what it was to have him nestle contentedly within my palm as I drew my fingers about him in his hovering poise. I have taken the winged jewel to my room and covenant- ed with him as he perched voluntarily upon my finger, and preened his ruby breast and tiny wing. It is noticeable in many ways with what a kindly spirit these nature-broods will meet you on their OWIl ground if you are truly converted. Even when you go a step further, and strive to converse with them in their own tongue, how willingly, surprisingly, indeed, they seem to ignore your palpable shortcomings, as though detecting the right intent even in your crudest and most primitive efforts! I have often surprised myself at the ease with which I could call about me a con- vocation of chickadees or aflock of jays, a robin or a wood-pewee, and other birds. Hark! Do you hear that distant jargon of the crows? Come, sit close against this shaded beech trunk, and await devel- opments; only as I play the liar dont gaze at me, I beg. Twould disconcert me, spoil my pucker, perhaps break my throttle-valve. There! I have done the best I could. Now we will wait a little. Listen again! Do you not notice how their tumult is lessened, and how evident- ly nearer is its proximity? I will give them one more blast. There! that has silenced them all, you will find. You may listen in vain for a single sound. Sh! look up yonder above our treethe wily scout of the gang! See him circle about above the woods in our vicinity, with head bent low, and eager eyes searching every nook and vista. And now the sunny spots among the woods are dancing with flitting shadows, and as we look aloft again the sky seems swarm- ing with the sable multitude; but they are as mum as death, even to the crafty muffling of their wings. Presently one by one they will perch, and at length peo- ple the topmost boughs in silent, curious scrutiny. Again and again have I lain beneath the pine-trees and thus decoyed th~ crows, even to the very tree beneath which I loitered, always observing this same routine of cautious advance-courier, and of the silent, suspicious invasion of the tree-tops. But only now let me as much as crack a twig, and what a hocus- pocus! what a demoralization! From a Quaker meeting to the Stock Exchange in the flap of a wing. Such a chorus of commotion, of laughs, screams, and other strange exclamations, until at length it dies away in the distance, where we may even yet catch the burden of their reflect- ive observations at their council tree: Haw! haw! Oh, corvus! corvus! Shaw! shaw! shaw! The chewink and veery-thrush are oth- er birds which I have often thus brought within close eye-shot. What an amusing, artful fellow this chewink is! for I am / \\ A WOOD INTERIOR. 90 ITARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. persuaded that there is more significance in that foxy-red vest of his than is gem erally accredited. Once after having amused myself, as I supposed, at his expense for a full half- hour, I suddenly discovered that I, and not he,had been playing the fool. While watching with much self-credit his queer antics as he hovered about my conceal- ment, I chanced to observe his mate alight for a moment on a distant brancb, just long enough for me to note the cat- erpillar in her bill and tell me that her brood nestled somewhere near at hand. Taking the angle of her flight as a guide, I arose from my covert to seek the nest, and then began the ejaculatory jargon from bush and thicket. Dont ye wink! dont ye wink I said this alert picket- guard, in the plainest Anglo-Saxon, as I prowled around among the undergrowths, only soon to discover the female bird on a branch above me. After several mo- nients vain search I loitered back to my original retreat, and here my robin again entertained me with all sorts of antics among the underbrush and dried leaves, seeming to favor especially a spot be- neath a clump of maiden-hair ferns to my left. In fact, nearly all of his ma- rnzeuvres were confined to this particular side, and with artful purpose, as I after- ward discovered to my chagrin; for on arising suddenly to leave the wood, the female bird started up not ten feet to the right of where I stood, and a moments search revealed the nest embedded in the leaves at the foot of a tree, and contain- ing four callow young. Seated at a new point of view, whence I could easily perceive the nest, I awaited to observe the mother-bird return. But I waited long and vainly. She was no- where to be seen, though her knowing I / STRATEGY OF THE CHEWINK. WOOD NOTES. 97 spouse still pursued his former arts close by. Only once he called out so plainly Dont ye wink ! that I instinctively turned toward the nest. But the mother- bird failed to appear, and as I arose once more to depart, and approached her brood, what was my astonishment to observe her deliberately get off the nest before my eyes, run a few feet, and fly up among the trees! Thus twice she seemed to spirit herself upon her nest, and elude me even of the deer, who during daylight sights his stationary rifle upon a piece of phos- phorescent wood adjusted above the bait- ed salt-lick, and waits in the darkness to observe his fox-fire obscured crc he pulls the trigger. Imagine my surprise, however, to ob- serve this white spot disappear, apparent- ly without any intervention, even while I looked upon it; and of my still further surprise to discover, on a nearer approach, the quiet, soft-eyed bird demurely sitting in front of it, and revealing it again as she took wing. She winked! she winked I cried a hovering voice from right and left, apparently accepting no other theory of discovery. Thus then wa.s the riddle of her presence solved She had kept the tree between us while I looked, while her con federate in the hocus-pocus in her approach, and appar- kept up his continual divert- ently awaited an opportune ing pleasantry. At length I moment when my eyes were thought of an aid to my ~n- directed to her arch-confed- vestigations, and approaching NEST OF THE VEERY. erate to steal around the base the nest, I tucked within the of the trunk and glide upon meshes of its further side a small piece of her nestan act which I soon observed white paper a focussing point some- and when once nestled she so assimilated what after the manner of the night hunter herself to her surroundings that I doubt if 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the dried leaves themselves knew of a foreign presence among them. Yes, the ground-robin comes honestly by his mot- ley. The veery, the nuthatch, the chat, the Maryland yellow-throat, and the daintiest feathered forms of tiny warblers will come about your woodland haunt without decoy or other invitation. The cat-bird among the fringy undergrowth at the ed~,e of the wood will dart and mew, and other- wise beguile your amused attention by the hour. I doubt not that I could stroke his gray coat if I really and determinedly at- tempted. I have often come very near it without half trying. Listen and look intently, and catch the exact effect as nearly as you can, says a well-known contemporaneous saun- terer. Strolling through a thick wood one day, I heard the familiar guttural notes of the cuckoo, or rain-crow, among the trees not far distant. A closer anal- ysis of the sound suggested a peculiar quality not before noted, and I instinct- ively picked up two bowlders from the stone wall which ran through my covert, and by striking them together with a slight rebounding pressure and a gradu- ally accelerated stroke, to my surprise I decoyed the bird so close that I could see the color of its eyes. I hope to get an- other opportunity to repeat the test and assure myself that the former episode was not an accident or mere coincidence. How the resonant tattoo of the wood- pecker rings out through the arches of the vernal wood! It has proven a puzzle to many that this tiny hammer should pos- sess the power to awaken such a volume of sound. But the secret lies not so much in the hammer as the drumthe dry, vibrant wood. The bird is not here for food; no crumbly, soggy timber would thus speak out for him, for he has his bul- letin tree in the orchard and his signal tree in the forest. If he desires to wake the echoes, to tell the whole woodsy com- munity, including his listless mate, pei- haps, that he is about, this ringing wood- en tongue serves him better than his own. Sometimes it serves him to his peril as well, no doubt, for the hunter too has ears, whether he be that human bird of prey, the biped without feathers, or his winged prototype. I once observed a red- tailed hawk cautiously following up this inviting clew of sound. Approaching from behind the tree, he made a sudden dash for the spotted quarry. There was a commotion of wings, a shower of falling twigs and lichens, but the nippers and the hammer never met. Downy was off with flying colors, and I soon heard the p~an of victory resound from a distant tree. Apropos of the vibrant property of wood, have you never heard the grinding in the dead, dry trunk of the pinethe gnawing of the minute teeth of the borers? It is like a busy carpenter shop in full blast. I remember, in a recent walk in Conway woods, that such a tree audibly announced its presence fully twenty feet in advance of me. Sawdust poured out from hundreds of apertures, and on lay- ing my ear against the trunk and closing my eyes, I seemed to be in the midst of a metropolitan bedlama whole city block behind in its contract and rushed for the finish, with hammers and planes and chisels in wild echoing confusion. I could hear the saws and augers, gouges, derricks, and pulleys, almost the hurried foot-fallsindeed, everything but the pro- fanity of the workmen. And yet a sin- gle one of these disclosed in his hiding- place was scarcely larger than a brad. I have before alluded to the remarkable shooting powers of the witch-hazel pod. Some time ago, being desirous of putting this force to some practical test to ascer- tain the distance covered by the flight of the seeds, I brought home several of the branches, as well as a pocketful of the nuts. My experiments with the latter upon a long piazza and elsewhere proved to a demonstration that the momentum of the seed would commonly carry it to a distance of twenty feet, often over thirty feet, and in one or two instances the di- minutive double-barrelled howitzers suc- ceeded in propelling their missiles to the distance of forty-five feet by actual mea- surement. I placed the bough well laden with the nuts over a picture in my room, and retired; but I might as well have sought sleep in Pandemonium. The in- cessant clatter upon ceiling, wall, and furniture forced me at length to drop the offending branch out of the window. A large pasteboard box containing a pint or so of the loose pods kept up such a con- tinual spiteful tattoo that these also had to follow their fellows, and several of my friends to whom I had presented sprigs of the festive shrub told me on the follow- ing morning that they had been obliged to give them separate apartments. WOOD NOTES. 99 Who has not been brought closer to the flowers and insects through the spirit of such books as those of Darwin, Sprengel, Muller, and Lubbock? How these vol- umes lift the veil! how they sharpen and equip the eye to interpret the hieroglyph- ics of wood and field! With what awe and respect we now look upon the hum- blest blossom! Where shall we begin? Even here at our elbow in the woods is a plant which we have all known since childhood. The wood-betony, it is called to select its worthier titlea common early flower of our woods, blooming in cornpany with the uvularia, Sol- omons - seal, crane s- bill, downy yellow vi- olet, and others, the plants growing in fern- like tufts, with scatter- ed blossom heads of varied shades, from pinkish, purplish, or even carmine. It will readily be recalled by a glance at the accompanying drawing. I remember reading a few years since a remark by a prominent botanical author- ity concerning this flower, to the effect that its fertilization was a puzzle, as insects were rarely to be fcund upon it, which, taken together with what I had observed of the strange form and disposition of the blossoms, and the curiosity awakened by my reading, possessed a peculiar signifi- cance for me. In the light of Darwins and Mfillers pages,how eagerly I now sought the haunt of my wood-betony, and how readily, too, it cQn- fided to me the secret which had heretofore es- caped me as well as other earnest though too hasty seekers! Visiting a cer- tain wood path where the plants grew in profusion, I seated myself among them, and observed carefully. It was in the middle of BUMBLEBEES CHARGE. 1~ / 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. May, and the flowers were in their prime, and in such omnipresent profusion that I felt assured that some honey-seeking in- sect must soon be tempted thither among the tens of thousands of brimful nectaries. I had not long to wait be- fore a well-known drowsy hum fell upon my ear, and a large bumblebee alighted upon a flower head close by. In his habitual impetuous fashion he rifled the sweets from another and another of the blossom heads, so lost in his absorbing work that I was permitted to steal close upon him and observe his eager method, for method indeed there was in every movement. In almost ev- ery instance he made his approach at the base of the flower head, and followed around the spiral arrange- ment of the flowers to the summit of the cluster. It needed only a single glance to receive an instant revelation of the reason which lay beneath this sin- gular and always heretofore mys- terious spiral arrangement of the flowerstheir spiral arrangement not only, but the individual lateral curve of each separate blossom, which in every case brought the opening of its tube facing to the left. A moments careful attention to my burly little interpreter revealed also the strange utility of the singular fissure down the right side of each corollaa slit in the flower tube extending from its throat half- way to the base of the tube, but only on one side.. Why on one side and not the other? why always on this outer curve of the flower? These had been questions which I had.frequently asked myself when / examining this queer one-sided formation. But they were now answered to my satis- faction. The whole arrangement of these flowers, together with their individual ten- dencies, shows a direct, conscious affilia- tion to the bumblebee, affording as perfect an illustration of the sympathetic de - pendence between flower and insect as we may find anion~ the wonders of the orchid tribe so beautifully and clearly disclosed by Darwin. What is this peculiar spiral pro- cess if not an inducement of conven- iencean inviting flight of stairs, as it were? What is this individual turning about of each separate flower, if not a wel- come invitation to its heart? And what is this strange fissure at the side bat a fa AN INTERESTING TRAMr. WOOD NOTES. 101 cility to aid and to speed the parting guest? And through all this, how beau- tifully, by what wondrous art, has his mis- sion been fulfilled! Observe our bee close- ly with me. He now alights obliquely at the base of a flower head, inserts his head deep within the tube of the lowest flower, the strange fissure assisting in the expan- sion of its tube while his long tongue probes its nectary. His wedge - shaped head has forced apart the compressed sides of the corolla, thus opening the pollen box (the compressed anthers) within the walls of the arched tip of the flower, the yellow fertilizing powder falling upon his head. He has now emptied the horn of plenty, when, almost without withdrawing his head, he slips his tongue through the ready exitthe fissure in the flower tubeto find an expectant, inviting face turned toward him, and in the most convenient possible attitude for his kiss. He proceeds as before, but not until he has unwittingly paid his toll and won his right of way, having deposited the requi- site touch of pollen upon the overhanging tip of the stigma, and thus cross- fertilized the flower. And thus he pursues his course to the sum- mit of the spiral, carrying from its latest anthers a vivifying touch which secures in the next flower head he visits the still more important function of ab- solute cross-fertilization from a separate plant. In- deed, it is doubtful whether the pollen from separate heads is not more or less ~ ~ continually inter- mingled and this end secured in all the flowers, considering that only a grain or two of the thousands are required to insure the fertilization of the ovules. Here is another familiar face. We all know him-the tramp of the under- woods; for who, in spite of himself, has not brou~ht home the beggars - ticks (Dcsrnodium accuininatus)? Look out for him in the rogues gallery. See him now! with clustered leaves and saucy chains of seed-pods and airy tips of pink pea-blossomed flowers! A tiny fly alights upon the small pink blossom, when, lo! the flower explodes, the insect is greeted with a slap on the face or breast and a dab of dust in his eyes. For this flower, like many others of its tribe, is a verita- ble trap, delicately set. Upon the slight- K-i I VOL. LxxIv.No. 439.--9 7 .K~ I K-- Ki \ ;/~7~~~ ~, K-, V KEYS TO TiURIEJ) TREASURE. 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. est touch the loaded springconsisting of the rigid column of filaments enclosing the young podis released from its over- lapping petals, and the anthers hurl their shower of pollen upon the body of the in- truder. But observe the wise adjustment beneath all this mechanism. The stigma the organ through which the seeds are fertilizedprojects a little beyond the an- thers, and is the first to come in contact with the insect, and thus gets a supply of pollen from the previously visited flower. The woad - waxen (Genista tinctoria), the identical whin of the English downs, now sparingly naturalized in some sections of New England, affords, perhaps, in the large size of its flowers and rigid tension the best illustration of this peculiar explosive mechanism to be found among our flora, and, like the va- rious desmodiums, is well worth a little study in its haunts. But the sprightly trap of the genista is an innocent affair compared to that of the dog-bane (Apocynum androscemifo- hum), another very common and pretty plant frequenting the borders of our woods. It will be readily recognized by a mere mention of its fragrant clusters of pinkish, bell - shaped flowers and its~ long, drooping, spike-like pods. Only let a fly thrust its tongue within, and in an in- stant the stamens fasten upon its tip, and hold the struggling prisoner in a grip from which lie seldom escapes alive. How now, my convert? Has our wood- land walk brought no harvestno garner too precious for words? Do you not even now feel a special quickening presence here within these dim aisles of the hem- locks, a lighter, surer foot, as though now at last you trod the path to a nobler, worthier fortune? Look about you: this glossy inviting carpet of intermingled leaves and blossoms; the coptis with its. lucky stars and proffered keys to buried treasureemblems of natures half-hid- den wealth. Press among the yielding leaves. Open up the damp ddbris. How the bright gold-thread gleams against the dark mould! 0 for more coptis gold in our daily walk !gold which is kept where wise Nature hath designed; for hath she not planted it in the earth, given it weight only as the token that it should keep the lower plane, a means subservient to a high- er life with fragrance, fruit, and blossom ? THE KING OF FOLLY ISLANQ. BY SARAH ORNE JEwETT. I. THE September afternoon was nearly spent, and the sun was already veiled in a thin cloud of haze that hinted at coming drought and dustiness rather than rain. Nobody could help feeling sure of just such another golden day on the morrow; this was as good weather as heart could wish. There on the Maine coast, where it was hard to distinguish the islands from the irregular outline of the main-land, where the summer greenness was just be- ginning to change into all manner of yel- low and russet and scarlet tints, the world seemed to have done its work and begun its holidays. Along one of the broad highways of the bay, in the Johns Island postmasters boat, came a strangera man of forty-two or forty-three years, not unprosperous, but hardly satisfied, and ever on the quest for entertainment, though he called his plea- sure by the hard name of work, and liked himself the better for such a wrong trans lation. Fate had made him a business. man of good success and reputation; in- clination, at least so he thought, would have led him another way, but his busi- ness ventures pleased him more than the best of his holidays. Somehow life was more interesting if one took it by con- traries; he persuaded himself that he had been looking forward to this solitary ram- ble for many months, but the truth re- mained that he had found it provokingly hard to break away from his city office. his clerks, and his accounts. He had grown much richer in this last twelve- month, and as he leaned back in the stern of the boat with his arm over the rudder, he was pondering with great perplexity the troublesome question what he ought. to do with so much money, and why he should have had it put into his careless hands at all. The bulk of it must be only a sort of reservoir for the sake of a later~ need and ownership. He thought with scorn of some liberal gifts for which he

102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. est touch the loaded springconsisting of the rigid column of filaments enclosing the young podis released from its over- lapping petals, and the anthers hurl their shower of pollen upon the body of the in- truder. But observe the wise adjustment beneath all this mechanism. The stigma the organ through which the seeds are fertilizedprojects a little beyond the an- thers, and is the first to come in contact with the insect, and thus gets a supply of pollen from the previously visited flower. The woad - waxen (Genista tinctoria), the identical whin of the English downs, now sparingly naturalized in some sections of New England, affords, perhaps, in the large size of its flowers and rigid tension the best illustration of this peculiar explosive mechanism to be found among our flora, and, like the va- rious desmodiums, is well worth a little study in its haunts. But the sprightly trap of the genista is an innocent affair compared to that of the dog-bane (Apocynum androscemifo- hum), another very common and pretty plant frequenting the borders of our woods. It will be readily recognized by a mere mention of its fragrant clusters of pinkish, bell - shaped flowers and its~ long, drooping, spike-like pods. Only let a fly thrust its tongue within, and in an in- stant the stamens fasten upon its tip, and hold the struggling prisoner in a grip from which lie seldom escapes alive. How now, my convert? Has our wood- land walk brought no harvestno garner too precious for words? Do you not even now feel a special quickening presence here within these dim aisles of the hem- locks, a lighter, surer foot, as though now at last you trod the path to a nobler, worthier fortune? Look about you: this glossy inviting carpet of intermingled leaves and blossoms; the coptis with its. lucky stars and proffered keys to buried treasureemblems of natures half-hid- den wealth. Press among the yielding leaves. Open up the damp ddbris. How the bright gold-thread gleams against the dark mould! 0 for more coptis gold in our daily walk !gold which is kept where wise Nature hath designed; for hath she not planted it in the earth, given it weight only as the token that it should keep the lower plane, a means subservient to a high- er life with fragrance, fruit, and blossom ? THE KING OF FOLLY ISLANQ. BY SARAH ORNE JEwETT. I. THE September afternoon was nearly spent, and the sun was already veiled in a thin cloud of haze that hinted at coming drought and dustiness rather than rain. Nobody could help feeling sure of just such another golden day on the morrow; this was as good weather as heart could wish. There on the Maine coast, where it was hard to distinguish the islands from the irregular outline of the main-land, where the summer greenness was just be- ginning to change into all manner of yel- low and russet and scarlet tints, the world seemed to have done its work and begun its holidays. Along one of the broad highways of the bay, in the Johns Island postmasters boat, came a strangera man of forty-two or forty-three years, not unprosperous, but hardly satisfied, and ever on the quest for entertainment, though he called his plea- sure by the hard name of work, and liked himself the better for such a wrong trans lation. Fate had made him a business. man of good success and reputation; in- clination, at least so he thought, would have led him another way, but his busi- ness ventures pleased him more than the best of his holidays. Somehow life was more interesting if one took it by con- traries; he persuaded himself that he had been looking forward to this solitary ram- ble for many months, but the truth re- mained that he had found it provokingly hard to break away from his city office. his clerks, and his accounts. He had grown much richer in this last twelve- month, and as he leaned back in the stern of the boat with his arm over the rudder, he was pondering with great perplexity the troublesome question what he ought. to do with so much money, and why he should have had it put into his careless hands at all. The bulk of it must be only a sort of reservoir for the sake of a later~ need and ownership. He thought with scorn of some liberal gifts for which he THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 103 had been aggravatingly thanked and ~praised, and made such an impatient gest- iire with his shoulder that the boat gave a surprised flounce out of its straight course, and the old skipper, who was carefully in- ~specting the meagre contents of the mail- bag, nearly lost his big silver spectacles overboard. It would have been a strange and awesome calamity. There were no ~new ones to be bought within seven miles. Did a flaw strike her ? asked Jabez Pennell, who looked curiously at the sky and sea and then at his passenger. Ive known of a porpus histing a boat, or may- hap you kind o shifted the rudder ? Whereupon they both laughed; the -passenger with a brilliant smile and indescribably merry sound, and the old postmaster with a mechanical grimace of the face and a rusty chuckle; then he -turned to his letters again, and adjusted the rescued spectacles to his weather-beat- ~n nose. He thought the stranger, though a silent young man, was a friendly sort of chap, boiling over with fun, as it were; whereas he was really a little moroseso much for Jabezs knowledge of human nature. Feels kind o strange, tis likely; thats better than one o your forrard kind,~ mused Jabez, who took the visitor for one ~of the rare specimens of fancy-goods run- ners who sometimes visited Johns Island to little purpose it must be confessed. The postmaster cunningly concealed the fact that he kept the only store on Johns Island; he might as well get his pay for setting the stranger across the bay, and it was nobodys business to pry into what he wauted when he got there. So Jabez gave another chuckle, and could not help looking again at the canvas-covered gun case with its neat straps, and the well- packed travelling bag that lay alongside it in the bows. I suppose I can find some place to stay in overnight ? asked the stranger, presently. Do knows you can, Im sure, replied Mr. Pennell. There aint no reglar boarding places onto Johns Island. Folks keep to theirselves pretty much. I suppose money is of some object ? gently inquired the passenger. Waal, yes, answered Jabez, without much apparent certainty. Yes, Johns Island folks aint above nippin an squeez- in to get the best of a bargain. Theyre ~pretty much like the rest o the human trace, an want money, whether theyve got any use for it or not. Take it in cold weather, when youve got pork enough and potatoes and them things in your sullar, an it blows an freezes so taint wuth while to go out, most all that mon- eys good for is to set an look at. Now I need to have more means than most on em, continued the speaker, plaintively, as if to excuse himself for any rumor of his grasping ways which might have reached his companion. Keeping store as I do, I have to handle But here he stopped short, conscious of having taken a wrong step. However, they were more than half across now, and the mail was overdue; he would not be forced into go- ing back when it was ascertained that he refused to even look at any samples. But the passenger took no notice of the news that he was sailing with the chief and only merchant of Johns Island, and even turned slowly to look back at the shore they had left, far a way now, and fast growing dini on the horizon. Johns Island was, on the contrary, growing more distinct, and there were some smaller frag- ments of land near it; on one he could al- ready distinguish a flock of sheep that moved slowly down a barren slope. It was amazing that they found food enough all summer in that narrow pasture. The suggestion of winter in this remote corner of the world gave Frankfort a feeling of deep pity for the sheep, as well as for all the other inhabitants. Yet it was worth a cheerless year to come occasionally to such weather as this; and he filled his lungs again and again with the delicious air blown to him from the inland coun- try of bayberry and fir balsams across the sparklincr salt-water. The fresh north- west wind carried them straight on their course, and the postmasters passenger could not have told himself why he was going to Johns Island, except that when he had apparently come to the end of everything on an outreaching point of the mainland, he had found that there was still a settlement beyondJohns Isl- and, twelve miles distant, and communica- tion would be that day afforded. Sheep farmers and fishermena real old-fash- ioned crowd, he had been told. It was odd to go with the postmaster: perhaps he was addressed by fate to some human being who expected him. Yes, he would find out what could be done for the Johns- Islanders; then a wave of defeat seemed to chill his desire. It was better to let 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. them work toward what they needed and wanted; besides, the gift without the giver were dumb. Though after all it would be a kind of satisfaction to take a poor little neighborhood under ones wing, and make it presents of books and various enlightenments. It wouldnt be a bad thing to send it a Punch and Judy show, or a panorama. May I ask your business ? interrupted Jabez Pennell, to whom the long silence was a little oppressive. I am a sportsman, responded John Frankfort, the partner in a flourishing private bank, and the merchant-postmas- ters face drooped with disappointment. No bargains, then, but perhaps a lucrative boarder for a week or two; and Jabez in- stantly resolved that for not a cent less than a dollar a day should this man share the privileges and advantages of his own food and lodging. Two dollars a week being the current rate among Johns-Isl- anders, it will be easily seen that Mr. Pen- nell was a man of far-seeing business en- terprise. II. On shore, public attention was begin- ning to centre upon the small white sail that was crossing the bay. At the land- ing there was at first no human being to be seen, unless one had sharp eyes enough to detect the sallow, unhappy countenance of the postmasters wife. She sat at the front kitchen window of the low-storied farm-house that was perched nearly at the top of a long green slope. The store, of which the post-office department was a small fraction, stood nearer the water, at the head of the little harbor. It was a high, narrow, smartly painted little building, and looked as if it had strayed from some pretentious inland village, but the tumble-down shed near by had evi- dently been standing for many years, and was well acquainted with the fish busi- ness. The landing-place looked still more weather-beaten; its few timbers were bar- nacled and overgrown with sea - weeds below high-water mark, and the stone- work was rudely put together. There was a litter of drift-wood, of dilapidated boats and empty barrels and broken lobster pots, and a little higher on the shore stood a tar kettle, and, more prom- inent still, a melancholy pair of high chaise wheels, with their thorough-braces drawn uncomfortably tight by exposure to many seasonings of relentless weather. The tide was high, and on this sheltered~ side of the island the low waves broke with a quick, fresh sound, and moved the pebbles gently on the narrow beach. The sun looked more and more golden red, and all the shore was glowing with color. The faint reddening tinge of some small oaks among the hemlocks farther up the island shore, the pale green and primrose of a group of birches, were all glorified with the brilliant contrast of the sea and the shining of the autumn sky. Even the green pastures and browner fields looked as if their covering had been changed to some richer material, like velvet, so soft and splendid they looked. High on a bar- ren pasture ridge that sheltered the land- ing on its seaward side the huckleberry bushes had been brightened with a touch of carmine. Coming toward Johns Island one might be reminded of some dull old picture that had been cleansed and wet, all its colors were suddenly grown so- clear and gay. Almost at the same moment two men appeared from different quarters of the~ shore, and without apparently taking any notice of each other, even by way of greet- ing, they seated themselves side by side on a worm-eaten piece of ship timber near the tar pot. In a few minutes a third resident of the island joined them, coming over the high pasture slope, and looking for one moment giant-like against the sky. Jabez neednt grumble to-day on ac- count o no head-wind, said one of the first comers. I was mendin a piece o wall that was overset, an I see him all of a sudden, most inshore. My woman has. been expecting a letter from her brothers~ folks in Castine. I spose yeve heard? They was all down with the throat dis- temper last we knew about em, an she was dreadful put about because she got no word by the last mail. Lor, now want it just like Jabes contrairiness to go over in that fussin old dory o his with no sail to speak of ? Wouldnt have took him half the time in his cat-boat, grumbled the elder man of the three. Thinks he can do as hes a mind to, an weve got to make the best ont. Ef I was postmaster I should look out, fust thing, for an abler boat nor any hes got. Hes gittin nearer every year, Jabe is., Taint far to the citizens, said the first speaker. Dont git no mail but twice a week anyhow, an then he liters~ THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 105 round longs hes a mind to, dickerin an spoutin politics over to the Foreside. Folks may be layin dyin, an theres all kinds o urgent letters that ought to be in owners hands direct. Jabe neednt think we mean to put up with him frever ; and the irate islander, who never had any let- ters at all from one years end to anothers, looked at both his companions for their assent. Dont ye git riled so,. Danel, softly responded the last-coiner, a grizzled little fisherman-farmer, who looked like a pi- rate, and was really the most amiable man on Johns Islanddont ye git riled. I don know as, come to the scratch, ary one of us would want to make two trips back an forrard every week the year round for a hunderd an twenty dollars. Take it in them high December seas, now, an long in Jenoary an March. Course he accom- modates himself, an it comes in the way o his business, an he gits a passenger now an then. Well, it all counts up, I spose. Theres somebody or nother aboard now, said the opponent. They may have sent over for our folks from Castine. They was headin on to be dangerous, three o the childn and Washnton him- self. I may have to go up to-night. Dare say theyve sent a letter we aint got. Darn that Jabe! Ive heard before now of his looking over everything in the bag comm oversortin he calls it, to save time-but twouldnt be no wonder ef a letter blowed out o his fingers now an again. Theres King George a-layin off, aint lie ? asked the peace - maker, who was whittling a piece of dry kelp stalk that he had picked up from the pebbles, and all three men took a long look at the gray sail beyond the moorings. What a curis critter that is ! exclaim- ed one of the group. I suppose, now, nothins goin to tempt him to set foot on Johns Island longs he lives-do you ? but nobody answered. Don know who hes spitin but him- self, said the peace-maker. I was un- derrunning my trawl last week, an he come by with his fare o fish, an hove to to see what I was gittin. Me and King Georges alas kind o fellowshipped a lit- tle by spells. I was off to the Banks, you know, that time he had the gran flare up an took himself off, an so he aint count- ed me one o his enemies. I always give my vote that he want in his right mind; twant all ugliness, now. I went to school with him, an he was a clever boy as there was, said the elder man, who had hardly spoken before. I never moren half blamed him, how- ever twas, an it kind o rankled me that he should ha been drove off an outlawed hisself this way. Twas Jabe Pennell; he thought George was stanin in his light bout the postmastership, an he worked folks up, an set em agin him. Georges mothers folks did have a kind of a punky spot somewhere in their heads, but he never give no sign o anything till Jabe Pennell begun to hunt him an dare him. Well, hes done a good thing sence he bought Folly Island. I hear say King George is gittin rich, said the peaceful pirate. Twas a hard thing for his folks, his wife an the girl. I think hes been more scattery sence his wife died, any- way. Darn! how lonesome they must be in winter! I should think theyd be afeard a sea would break right over em. Poltics be hanged, I say, that 11 drive a mali to do such things as themnever- step foot on any land but his own agin I tell ye weve each on us got rights. This was unusual eloquence and ex- citement on the speakers part, and hi~ neighbors stole a furtive look at him and then at each other. He was an own cousin to King George Quint, the recluse owner of Folly Islandan isolated bit of land several miles farther seawardand one of the listeners reflected that this re- lationship must be the cause of his bra- very. The post-boat was nearly in now, and the three men rose and went down to the waters edge. The sail was furled, and the old dory slipped about uneasily on the low waves. The postmaster was greeted by friendly shouts from his late maligners, but he was unnecessarily busy with his sail and with his packages amidships, and took his time, as at least one spectator grumbled, about coming in. King George had also lowered his sail and taken to hi~ oars, but just as he would have been alongside, the postmaster caught up his. own oars, and pulled smartly toward the lauding. This proceeding stimulated hi~ pursuer to a stern - chase, and present- ly the boats were together, but Pennell pushed straight on through the low wavea to the strand, and his pursuer lingered just outside, took in his oars, and dropped 2106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. his killick over the bow. He knew per- fectly well that the representative of the government would go ashore and take all the time he could to sort the contents of the mail-hag in his place of business. It would even be good luck if he did not go home to supper first, and keep everybody waiting all the while. Sometimes his constituents had hailed him from their fishing-boats on the high seas, and taken their weekly newspaper over the boats side, but it was only in moments of great amiability or forgetfulness that the King of Folly Island was so kindly served. This was tyranny pure and simple. But what could be done? So was winter cold, and so did the dog-fish spoil the trawls. Even the Johns-Islanders needed a fear- less patriot to lead them to liberty. The three men on the strand and King George from the harbor were all watch- ing with curious eyes the stranger who had crossed in Jabez Pennells boat. He was deeply interested in them also; but at that moment such a dazzling glow of sunlight broke from the cloud in the west that Frankfort turned away to look at the strange, remote landscape that sur- rounded him. He felt as if he had taken a step backward into an earlier age these men had the look of pioneers or of colonistsyet the little country-side show- ed marks of long occupancy. He had really got to the outer boundary of civil- ization. Now its too bad o you, Jabez, to keep George Quint a-waitin, deprecated the peace-maker. Hes got a good ways to go way over to Folly Island, an likes not he means to underrun his trawl too. We all expected ye sooner with this fair wind. At which the postmaster gave an unintelligible growl. This ere passenger was comm over, calclatin to stop a spell, an wants to be accommodated, he announced presently. But one of the group on the strand in- terrupted him. He was considered the wag of that neighborhood. Ever ben to Folly Island, stranger ? he asked, with great civility. Theres the King of it, layin off in his boat. George ! he call- ed, lustily, I want to know ef you cant put up a travler that wants to view these parts o the airth l Frankfort somehow caught the spirit of the occasion, and understood that there was a joke underlying this request. Folly Island had an enticing sound, and he lis tened eagerly for the answer. It was well known by everybody except himself that Jabez Pennell monopolized the entertain- ment of the travelling public, and King George roared back, delightedly, that he would do the best he could on short notice, and pulled his boat farther in. Frankfort made ready to transfer his lug- gage, and laughed again with the men on the shore. He was not sorry to have a longer voyage in that lovely sunset light, and the hospitality of Johns Island, al- ready represented by these specimens of householders, was not especially alluring. Jabez Pennell was grumbling to himself, and turned to go to the store. King George reminded him innocently of some groceries which he had promised to have ready, and always fearful of losing one of his few customers, he nodded and went his way. It seemed to be a strange com- bination of dependence and animosity be- tween the men. The King followed his purveyor with a blasting glance of ha- tred, and turned his boat, and held it so that Frankfort could step in and reach back afterward for his possessions. In a few minutes Mr. Pennell returned with some packages and a handful of newspapers. Have ye put in the cough drops ? asked the fisherman, gruffly, and was an- swered by a nod of the merchants head. Bring them haddick before Thus- day, he commanded the island potentate, who was already setting his small sail. The wind had freshened. They slid out of the bay, and presently the figures on the shore grew indistinct, and Frank- fort found himself outward bound on a new tack toward a low island several miles away. It seemed to be at consid- erable distance from any other land; the light of the sun was full upon it. Now he certainly was as far away as he could get from city life and the busy haunts of men. He wondered at the curious chain of circumstances that he had followed that day. This man looked like a her- mit, and really lived in the outermost isl- and of all. Frankfort grew more and more amused with the novel experiences of the day. He had wished for a long time to see these Maine islands for himself. A week at Mount Desert had served to make him very impatient of the imported society of that renowned watering-place, so incon- gruous with the native simplicity and THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 107 quiet. There -was a serious look to the dark forests and bleak rocks that seemed to have been broken into fragments by some convulsion of nature, and scattered in islands and reefs along the coast. A strange population clung to these isolated bits of the world, and it was rewarding to Frankforts sincere interest in such indi- vidualized existence that he should now be brought face to face with it. The boat sailed steadily. A colder air, like the very breath of the great sea, met the voyagers presently. Two or three light-house lamps flashed out their first pale rays like stars, and evening had be- gun. Yet there was still a soft glow of color over the low seaboard. The west- ern sky was slow to fade, and the isl- ands looked soft and mirage-like in the growing gloom. Frankfort found him- self drifting away into dreams as if he were listening to music; there was some- thing lulling in the motion of the boat. As for the King, he took no notice of his passenger, but steered with an oar and tended the sheet and hummed a few notes occasionally of some quaint minor tune, which must have been singing itself more plainly to his own consciousness. The stranger waked from his reverie before very long, and observed with delight that the man before him had a most interesting face, a nobly moulded forehead, and brave, commanding eyes. There was truly an air of distinction and dignity about this King of Folly Island, an uncommon di- rectness and independence. He was the son and heir of the old Vikings who had sailed that stormy coast and discovered its harborage and its vines five hundred years before Columbus was born in Italy, or was beggar to the surly lords and gen- tlemen of Spain. The silence was growing strange, and provoking curiosity between the new- made host and guest, and Frankfort asked civilly some question about the distance. The King turned to look at him with sur- prise, as if he had forgotten his compan- ionship. The discovery seemed to give him pleasure, and he answered, in a good clear voice, with a true fishermans twang and brogue: Were moren half there. Be you cold ?,, And Frankfort confessed to a stray shiver now and then, which seemed to inspire a more friendly rela- tionship in the boats crew. Quick as thought, the King pulled off his own rough coat and wrapped it about the shoulders of the paler city man. Then he stepped forward along the boat, after handing the oar to his companion, and busied him- self ostentatiously with a rope, with the~ packages that he had bought from Pen- nell. One would have thought he had freed himself from his coat merely as a matter of convenience; and Frankfort, who was not a little touched by the kind- ness, paid his new sovereign complete- deference. George Quint was evidently a man whom one must be very careful about thanking, however, and there was another time of silence. I hope my coming will not make any trouble in your faniily, ventured the stranger, after a little while. Bless ye, no ! replied the host. Theres only Phebe, my daughter, and nothing would please her better than somebody extra to do for. Shes dread- ful folksy for a girl thats had to live alone on a far island, Phebe is. Taint every one Id pick to carry home, though, said the King, magnificently. Thas been my plan to keep clear o humans much as could be. I had my fill o the Johns-Isl- anders a good while ago. Hard to get on with ? asked the lis- tener, humoring the new tone which his ears had caught. I could get on with em ef twas any- ways wuth while, responded the island chieftain. I didnt see why there was any need o being badgered and nagged. all my days by a pack o curs like them Johns~ Islanders. Theyd hunt ye to. death if ye was anyways their master; and I got me a piece o land as far off from em as I could buy, and here I be. I aint stepped foot on any mans land but my own these twenty-six years. Ef any- body wants to deal with me, he must come to the waters edge. The speakers voice trembled with ex- citement, and Frankfort was conscious of a strange sympathy and exhilaration. But why didnt you go ashore and. live on the main-land, out of the way of such neighbors altogether l he asked, and. was met by a wondering look. I didnt belong there, replied the King, as if the idea had never occurred. to him before. I had my living to get. It took me more than twelve years to fin- ish paying for my island, besides what hard money I laid down. Some years the fish is mighty shy. I always had an eye to the island sence I was a boy; and. 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. weve been better off here, as I view it. I was some sorry my woman should be so fur from her folks when she was down with her last sickness. The sail was lowered suddenly, and the boat rose and fell on the long waves near the floats of a trawl, which Quint pulled over the bows, slipping the long line by with its empty hooks until he came to a small haddock, which he threw behind him to flop and beat itself about at Frank- forts feet as if imploring him not to eat it for his supper. Then the sprit-sail was hoisted again, and they voyaged toward Folly Island slowly with a failing breeze. The King stamped his feet, and even struck his arms together as if they were chilled, but took no notice of the coat which his guest had taken off again a few minutes before. To Frankfort the even- ing was growing mild, and his blood rushed through his veins with a delicious thrill. The island loomed high and black, as if it were covered with thick woods; but there was a light ashore in the win- ~dow of a small house, and presently the pilgrim found himself safe on land, quite stiff in his legs, but very serene in temper. A brisk little dog leaped about him with clamorous barks, a large gray cat also ap- peared belligerent and curious; then a voice came from the doorway: Late, aint you, father? Without a word of reply, the King of that isle led the way to his castle, haddock in hand. Frankfort and the dog and cat followed after. Before they reached the open door, the light shone out upon a little wilderness of bright flowers, yellow and red and white. The King stepped careful- ly up the narrow pathway, and waited on the step for his already loyal subject to enter. Phebe, lie said, jokingly, Ive brought ye some companya gentleman from Lord knows where, who couldnt seem to content himself without seeing Folly Island. Phebe stepped forward with great shy- ness, but perfect appreciation of the right thing to be done. I give you welcome, she said, quietly, and offered a thin affec- tionate hand. She was very plain in her looks, with a hard-worked, New England plainness, but as Frankfort stood in the little kitchen he was immediately con- scious of a peculiar delicacy and refine- ment in his surroundings. There was an atmosphere in this out-of-the-way corner of civilization that he missed in all but a few of the best houses he had ever known. The ways of the Folly Island house- keeping were too well established to be thrown out of their course by even so un- common an event as the coming of a stranger. The simple supper was eaten, and Frankfort was ready for his share of it. He was touched at the eagerness of ~his hostess to serve him, at her wistful questioning of her father to learn whom he had seen and what he had heard that day. There was no actual exile in the fishermans lot after all; he met his old acquaintances almost daily on the fishing grounds, and it was upon the women of the household that an unmistakable burden of isolation had fallen. Sometimes a man lived with them for a time to help culti- vate the small farm, hut Phehe was skill- ed in out-door handicrafts. She could use tools better than her father, the guest was told proudly, and that day she had been digging potatoesa great pleasure evi- dently, as anything would have been that kept one out - of - doors in the sunshiny field. When the supper was over, the father helped his daughter to clear away the ta- ble as simply and fondly as could be, and as if it were as much his duty as hers. It was very evident that the cough drops were for actual need; the poor girl cough- ed now and then with a sad insistence and hollowness. She looked ill already, so narrow-chested and bent-shouldered, while a bright spot of color flickered in her thin cheeks. She had seemed even elderly to Frankfort when he first saw her, but he discovered from something that was said that her age was much less than his own. What a dreary lifetime! he thought, and then reproached himself, for he had never seen a happier smile than poor Phebe gave her father at that mo- ment. The father was evidently very anx- ious about the cough; he started uneasily at every repetition of it, with a glance at his guests face to. see if he also were alarmed by the foreboding. The wind had risen again, and whined in the chimney. The pine-trees near the house and the wind and sea united in a solemn, deep sound which affected the new-coiner strangely. Above this undertone was the lesser, sharper noise of waves striking the pebbly beach and retreating. There was a lone- liness, a remoteness, a feeling of being an infinitesimal point in such a great ex THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 109 panse of sea and stormy sky, that was almost too heavy to be borne. Phebe knitted steadily, with an occasional smile at her own thoughts. The teakettle sane and whistled away; its cover clicked now and then as if with hardly suppressed cheerfulness, and the King of Folly Isl- and read his newspaper diligently, and doled out bits of information to his com- panions. Frankfort was surprised at the tenor of these. The reader was evidently a man of uncommon depth of thought and unusual common-seuse. It was both less and more surprising that he should have chosen to live alone; one would imagine that his instinct would have led him among people of his own sort. It was no wonder that he had grown impatient of such society as the postmasters; but at this point of his meditation the travellers VOL. LXXIV.No. 43910 eyes began to feel strangely heavy, and he fell asleep in his high-backed rocking- chair. What peacefulness had circled him in! the rush and clamor of his busi- ness life had fallen away as if he had be- gun another existence, without the fret- ful troubles of this present world. Hes a pretty man, whispered Phebe to her father, and the old fisherman nod- ded a grave assent, and folded his hands upon the county newspaper while he took a long honest look at the stranger within his gates. The next morning Frankfort made his appearance in the kitchen at a nobly early hour, to find that the master of the house had been out in his boat since four oclock, and would not be in for some time yet. Phebe was waiting to give him his break- HE TOOK A LONG HONEST LOOK AT TIlE STRANGER. 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fast, and soon afterward he saw her going to the potato field, and joined her. The sun was bri6ht, and the island was gay with color; the asters were in their best pale lavender and royal purple tints; the bay was flecked with sails of fishing-boats, be- cause the mackerel had again struck in; and outside the island, at no great dis- tance, was the highway of the coasting vessels to and from the eastern part of the State and the more distant Provinces. There were near two hundred craft in sight, great and small, and John Frank- fort dug his potatoes with intermittent in- dustry as he looked off east and west at such a lovely scene. They might have been an abbe galartt and a dignified mar- quise, he and Phebeit did not matter what work they toyed with. They were each filled with a charming devotion to the other, a grave reverence and humor- ing of the mutual desire for quiet and meditation. Toward noon the fishing- boat which Phebe had known constantly and watched with affectionate interest was seen returning deep laden, and she hastened to the little landing. Frank- fort had already expressed his disdain of a noonday meal, and throwing down his hoe, betook himself to the highest point of the island. Here was a small company of hemlocks, twisted and bent by the north- east winds, and on the soft brown carpet of their short pins our pilgrim to the outer boundaries spent the middle of the day. A strange drowsiness, such as he had of- ten felt before in such bracing air, seemed to take possession of him, and to a man who had been perplexing himself with hard business problems and erratic ven- tures in financiering, potato-digging on a warm September day was not excitin ~. The hemlocks stood alone on the sum- mit of the island, and must have been a landmark for the King to steer home by. Before Frankfort stretched a half-cleared pasture, where now and then, as he lazily opened his eyes, he could see a moving sheeps back among the small birches and fern and juniper. Behind him were the cleared fields and the house, and a fringe of forest trees stood all round the rocky shore of the domain. From the water one could not see that there was such a well-arranged farm on Folly Island be- hind the barrier of cedars, but the inhab- itants of that region thriftily counted upon the natural stockade to keep the winter winds away. The sun had changed its direction alto- gether when he finally waked, and shone broadly down upon him from a point much nearer the western horizon. At that moment the owner of the island made his appearance, looking somewhat solici- tous. We didnt know what had become of ye, young man, he said, in a fatherly way. Taint nateral for ye to go with- out your dinner, as I view it. Well soon hearten ye up, Phebe an me; though she dont eat no more than a chippin-sparrer, Phebe dont, and his face returned to its sadder lines. No, said Frankfort; she looks very delicate. Dont you think it might be bet- ter to take her inland, or to some more sheltered place, this winter ? The question was asked with hesitation, but the speakers kind-heartedness was all in his words. The father turned away, and snapped a dry hemlock twig with im- patient fingers. She wouldnt go witbouten me, he answered, in a choked voice, an my vow is my vow. I never shall set foot on another mans land while Im alive. The day had been so uneventful, and Folly Island had appeared to be such a calm, not to say prosaic, place, that its vis- itor was already forgetting the thrill of interest with which he had first heard its name. Here again, however, was the un- mistakable tragic element in the life of the inhabitants; this man, who might be armed and defended by his commonsense, was yet made weak by some prejudice or superstition. What could have warped him in this strange way? for, indeed, the people of most unenlightened communi- ties were prone to herd together, to follow each others lead, to need a dictator, no matter how much they might rebel at his example or demands. This city gentle- man was moved by a deep curiosity to know for himself the laws and charts of his new-found acquaintances existence; he had never felt a keener interest in a first days acquaintance with any human being. Society would be at a stand-still, he said, with apparent lightness, if each of us who found his neighbors unsatisfactory should strike out for himself as you have done. The King of Folly Island gave a long shrewd look at his companion, who was still watching the mackerel fleet; then he THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 111 blushed like a girl through all the sea- changed color of his cheeks. Look out for number one, or else number twos got to look out for you, he said, with some uncertainty in the tone of his voice. Yes answered Frankfort, smiling, I have repeated that to myself a great many times. The truth is, I dont belong to my nei~hbors any more than you do. I expect that you have got a better chance nor me; ef I had only been start- ed amonst Christians, now ! exclaimed Quint, with gathering fury at the thought of his Johns-Islanders. Human nature is the same the world over, said the guest, quietly, as if more to himself than his listener. I dare say sure to go home disappointed, or worse, at night~ but at this point he shrugged his shoulders angrily because he could not forget some still undecided ventures of his own. How degraded a man became who chose to be only a money-maker! The zest of the chase for wealth and the power of it suddenly seemed a very triv- ial and foolish thing to Frankfort, who confessed anew that he had no purpose in making his gains. You aint a married man; live a bachelor life, dont ye ? asked the King, as if in recognition of these thoughts, and Frankfort, a little startled, nodded assent. Makes it a sight easier, was the un- expected response. You dont feel as if you might be wronging other folks when that the fault is apt to be our own; but there was no response to this audacious opinion. Frankfort had risen from the conch of hemlock pins, and the two men walked to- ward the house together. The cares of modern life could not weigh too heavy on such a day. The shining sea, the white sails, gleaming or gray-shadowed, and the dark green of the nearer islands made a brilliant picture, and the younger man was impatient with himself for thinking the armada of small craft a parallel to the financial ventures which were made day after day in city life. What a question of chance it was, after all, for either her- ring or dollarssome of these boats were you do what suits you best. Now my woman was wuth her weight in gold, an she lays there in the little yard over in the corner of the fieldshe never fought me, nor argued the pint again after she found I was sot, but it aged her fetchin of her away from all her folks, an out of where she was wonted. I didnt foresee it at the time. There was something martyr-like and heroic in the exiles appearance as he spoke, and his listener had almost an ad- miration for such heroism, until he re- minded himself that this withdrawal from society had been wilful, and, so far as he knew, quite selfish. It could not be said that Quint had stood in his lot and place as a brave man should, unless he had left Johns Island as the Pilgrim Fathers left England, for conscientious scruples and a necessary freedom. How many pilgrims since those have falsely made the same plea for undeserved liberty! 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. What was your object in coming here ? the stranger asked, quietly, as if ne had heard no reason yet that satisfied him. I wanted to be by myself; and the King rallied his powers of eloquence to make excuses. I want one that could stand them folks that overlooked an har- ried me, an was too mean to live. They could go their way, an I mine; I wouldnt harm em, but I wanted none of em. Here, you see, I get my own livin. I raise my own hog, an the women - folks have more hens than they want, an I keep a few sheep a-runnin over the other side o the place. The fish o the sea is had for the catchin, an I owe no man anything. I should ha ben beholden if Id stopped where we come from ; and he turned with an air of triumph to look at Frankfort, who glanced at him in return with an air of interest. I see that you depend upon the larger islands for some suppliescough drops, for instance ? said the stranger, with needless clearness. I cannot help feel- ing that you would have done better to choose a less exposed islandone nearer the main-land, you know, in a place bet- ter sheltered from the winds. They do cut us most in two, said the King, meekly, and his face fell. Frank- fort felt quite ashamed of himself, but he was conscious already of an antagonistic feeling. Indeed, this was an island of folly; this man, who felt himself to be better than his neighbors, was the sacri- ficer of his familys comfort: he was heap- ing up riches, and who would gather them? Not the poor pale daughter, that was certain. In this moment they passed the corner of the house, and discovered Phebe herself standing on the door-step, watching some distant point of the sea or sky with a heavy, much battered spy- glass. She looked pleased as she lowered the glass for a moment, and greeted Frank- fort with a silent welcome. Oh, so tis; now I forgot twas this afternoon, said Quint. Shes a-watch- in the funeral; aint you, daughter? Old Mis Danforth, over onto Wall Island, that has been layin sick all summera cousin o my mothers, he confessed, in a lower tone, and turned away with feigned unconcern as Frankfort took the spy-glass which Phebe offered. He was sure that his hostess had been wishing that she could share ia the family gathering. Was it possible that Quint was a tyrant, and had never let this grown woman leave his chosen isle? Freedom, indeed! He forgot the affairs of Folly Island the next moment, as he caught sight of the strange procession. He could see the cof- fin with its black pall in a boat rowed by four men, who had pushed out a little way from shore, and other boats near it. From the low gray house near the water came a little group of women stepping down across the rough beach and getting into their boats; then all fell into a rude sort of orderliness, the hearse-boat going first, and the procession went away across the wide bay toward the mainland. He low- ered the glass for an instant, and Phebe reached for it eagerly. They were just bringing out the coffin before you came, she said, with a little sigh; and Frankfort, who had seen many pageants and ceremonials, rebuked him- self for having stolen so much of this rare pleasure from his hostess. He could still see thefloating funeral. Though it was only a far-away line of boats, there was a strange awe and fascinatioa in watch- ing them follow their single, steady course. IDanforths folks bury over to the Fore- side, explained the King of Folly Island; but his guest had taken a little book from his pocket, and seated himself on a rock that made one boundary of the gay, dis- orderly garden. It was very shady and pleasant at this side of the house, and he was too warm after his walk across the unshaded pastures. It was very hot sun- shine for that time of the year, and his holiday began to grow dull. Was he, after all, good for nothing but money- making? The thought fairly haunted him: he had lost his power of enjoyment, and there might be no remedy. The fisherman had disappeared; the funeral was a dim speck off there where the sun glittered on the water, yet he saw it still, and his hook closed over his list- less fingers. Phebe sat on the door-step knitting now, with the old glass laid by her side ready for use. Frankfort looked at her presently with a smile. Will you let me see your book ? she asked, with a childs eagerness; and he gave it to her. It is an old copy of Wordsworths shorter poems, he said. It belonged to my mother. Her name was the same as yours. 0 0 r12 0 L~J w 0 0 z 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. She spelled it with the o, said Phebe, radiant with interest in this dis- covery, and closely examining the fly- leaf. What a pretty hand she wrote! Is it a book you like ? I like it best because it was hers, I am afraid, replied Frankfort, honestly. Yes, it does one good to read such po- ems; but I find it hard to read anything in these days; my business fills my mind. You know so little here on your island of the way the great world beyond pushes and fights and wrangles. I suppose there are some pleasant folks, said Phebe, simply. I used to like to read, but I found it made me lone- some. I used to wish I could go ashore and do all the things that folks in books did. But I dont care now; I wouldnt go away from the island for anything. No,~~ said Frankfort, kindly; I wouldnt if I were you. Go on dreaming about the world; that is better. And it does people good to come here and see you so comfortable and contented, he added, with a tenderness in his voice that was quite foreign to it of late years. But Phebe gave one quick look at the far ho- rizon, her thin cheeks grew very rosy, and she looked down again at her knitting. Presently she went into the house. At tea-time that evening the guest was sur- prised to find the little table decked out for a festival, with some flowered china, and a straight-backed old mahogany chair from the best room in his ~own place of honor. Phebe looked gay and excited, and Frankfort wondered at the feast, as well as the master of the house, when they came to take their places. You see, you found me unawares last night, coming so unexpected, said the poor pale mistress. I didnt want you to think that we had forgotten how to treat folks. And somehow the man whose face was usually so cold and unchanging could hardly keep back his tears while, after the supper was cleared away, he was shown a little model of a meeting-house, steeple and all, which Phebe had made from card-board and covered with small shells a winter or two before. She brought it to him with a splendid sense of its art, and Frankfort said everything that could be said except that it was beautiful. He even begged to be told exactly how it was done, and they sat by the light together and discussed the poor toy, while the King of Folly Island dozed and waked again with renewed pleasure as he con- templated his daughters enjoyment. But she coughed very often, poor Phebe, and the guest wondered if the postmasters supply of drugs were equal to this pitiful illness. Poor Phebe! and winter would be here soon! Day after day, in the bright weather, Frankfort lingered with his new friends, spending a morning now and then in fishing with his host, and coming into closer contact with the inhabitants of~ that part of the world. Before the short visit was over, the guest was aware that he had been very tired and out of sorts when he had yielded to the desire to hide away from civilization, and had drifted, under some pilotage that was beyond himself, into this quiet haven. He felt stronger and in much better spir- its, and remembered afterward that he had been as merry as a boy on Folly Isl- and in the long evenings when Phebe was busy with her knitting-work, and her father told long and spirited stories of his early experiences along the coast and among the fishermen. But business cares began to fret this holiday-maker, and as suddenly as he had come he went away again on a misty morning that promised rain. He was very sorry when he said good-by to Phebe; she was crying as he, left the house, and a great wave of com- passion poured itself over Frankforts heart. He never should see her again, that was certain; he wished that he could spirit her away to some gentler climate, and half spoke his thought as he stood hesitating that last minute on the little beach. The next moment he was fairly in the boat and pushing out from shore. George Quint looked as hardy and ruddy and weather-beaten as his daughter was, pale and faded, like some frost-bitten flow- er that tries to lift itself when morning comes and it feels the warmth of the sun. The tough fisherman, with his pet doc- trines and angry aversions, could have, no idea of the loneliness of his wife and daughter all these unvarying years on his Folly Island. And yet how much they had been saved of useless rivalries and jealousies, of petty tyranny from narrow souls! Frankfort had a bitter sense of all that as he leaned back against the side of the boat, and sailed slowly out into the bay, while Folly Island seemed to retreat into the gathering fog and slowly disap THE KING OF FOLLY ISLAND. 115 pear. His thoughts flew before him to his office, to his clerks and accounts; he thought of his wealth which was buying him nothing, of his friends ivho were no friends at all, for he had pushed away some who might have been near, strange- ly impatient of familiarity, and on the de- fence against either mockery or rivalry. He was the true King of Folly Island, not this work-worn fisherman; he had been a lonelier and a more selfish man these many years. George Quint was watching Frankfort eagerly, as if he had been waiting for this chance to speak to him alone. You seem to be a kind of solitary crea- tur, he suggested, with his customary frankness. I expect it never crossed your thought that twould be nateral to git married ? Yes, I thought about it once, some years ago, answered Frankfort, seri- ously. Disappointed, was you? Well, twas better soon nor late, if it had to be said the sage. My mind has been dwellin on Phebes case. She was a master pooty gal arlier on, an I was dreadful set against lettin of her go, though I call to mind there was a likely chap as found her out, an made bold to land an try to court her. I drove him, I tell you, an ducked him under when I caught him af- terward out a-fishin, an he took the hint. Phebe didnt know what was to pay, though I dare say she liked to have him follerin about. Frankfort made no answer ---- he was very apt to be silent when you expected him to speak-and presently the King re- sumed his suggestions. Ive been thinking that Phebe ought to have some sort o brightenin up. She pines for her mother: they was a sight o company for each other. Now I spose you couldnt take no sort o fancy for her in course o time? Ive got more hard cash stowed away than folks expects, an you should have everything your own way. I could git a cousin o mine, a widow woman, to keep the house winters, an you an the gal neednt only summer here. I take it youve got some means Frankfort found himself smiling at this pathetic appeal, and was ashamed of him- self directly, and turned to look seaward. Im afraid I couldnt think of it, he an- swered. You dont suppose Lor no, said George Quint, sadly, shifting his sail. She aint give no sign, except that I never see her take to no stranger as she has to you. I thought you might kind of have a feehin for her, an I knowed you thought the island was a sightly place; twould do no harm to speak, leastways. They were on their way to Johns Isl- and, where Frankfort was to take the post- masters boat to the main-land. Quint found his fog-bound way by some myste- rious instinct, and at their journefs end the friends parted with little show of sen- timent or emotion. Yet there was much expression in Quints grasp of his hand, Frankfort thought, and both men turned more than once as the boats separated, to give a kindly glance backward. People are not brought together in this world for nothing, and poor Quint had no idea of the confusion that his theories and his manner of life had brought into the well- regulated affairs of John Frankfort. Jabez Pennell was brimful of curiosity about the visit, but he received little satisfac- tion. Phebe Quint was the pootiest gal on these islands some ten years ago, he proclaimed, an a born lady. Her mo- thers folks was ministers over to Cas- tine. The winter was nearly gone when Frankfort received a letter in a yellow envelop, unbusinesslike in its appearance. The King of Folly Island wrote to say that Phebe had been hoping to get strength enough to thank him for the generous Christmas-box which Frankfort had sent. He had taxed both his imagi- nation and memory to supply the minor wants and fancies of the islanders. But Phebe was steadily failing in health, and the elderly cousin had al- ready been summoned to take care of her and to manage the house-keeping. The King wrote a crabbed hand, as if he had used a fish-hook instead of a pen, and he told the truth about his sad affairs with a simple, unlamenting bravery. Phebe only sent a message of thanks, and an as- surance that she liked to think of Frank- forts being there in the fall. She would soon send him a small keepsake. One morning Frankfort opened a much- crushed bundle which lay upon his desk, and found this keepsake, the shell meet- ing-house, which looked sadly trivial and astray. He was entirely confused by its unexpected appearance; he did not dare to t16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. meet the eyes of an office-boy who stood near; there was an uncomfortable feeling in his throat, but he bravely unfastened a letter from the battered steeple, and read it slowly, without a very clear understand- ing of the words: DEAR FRIEND (said poor Phebe), I was very thankful for all that you sent in the boxI take such pleasure in the things. I find it hard to write, but I think about you every day. Father sends his best respects. We have had rough weather, and be stays right here with me. You must keep your promise, and come back to the island; he will be lonesome, and you are one that takes father just right. It seems as if I hadnt been any use in the world, but it rests me, laying here, to think what a sight of use you must be. And so good-by. A sudden vision of the poor girl came before his eyes as he saw her stand on the door-step the day they watched the boat funeral. She had worn a dress with a quaint pattern, like gray and yellowish willow leaves as one sees them fallen by the country roadsides. A vision of her thin, stooping shoulders and her simple, pleasant look touched him with real sor- row. Much use in tbe world ! Alas! alas! how had her affection made her fancy such a thing! The day was stormy, and Frankfort turned anxiously to look out of the win- dow beside him, as he thought how the wind must blow across the distant bay. He felt a strange desire to sweep away everything that might vex poor Phebe or make her less comfortable. Yet she must die, at any rate, before the summer came. The King of Folly Island would reign only over his sheep pastures and the hemlock-trees and pines. Much use in the world! The words stung him more and more. The office-boy still stood waiting, and now Frankfort became unhappily con- scious of his presence. I used to see one o them shell - works where I come from, up in the country, the boy said, with unexpected forbearance and sympa- thy; but Frankfort dismissed him with a needless question about the price of cer- tain railroad bonds, and dropped the em- barrassing gift, the poor little meeting- house, into a deep lower drawer of his desk. He had hardly thought of the lad before except as a willing, half-mechani- cal errand-runner; now he was suddenly conscious of the hopeful, bright young face. At that moment a whole new fu- ture of human interests spread out before his eyes, from which a veil had suddenly been withdrawn, and Frankfort felt like another man, or as if there had been a re- vivifying of his old, unii~terested, self-oc- cupied nature. Was there really such a thing as taking part in the heavenly war- fare against ignorance and selfishness? Had Phebe given him in some mysterious way a legacy of all her unsatisfied hopes and dreams? THE CUP OF DEATH. FOR A PICTURE BY ELIHU VEDD R. BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. SH E bends her lovely head to taste thy draught, 0 thou stern Angel of the Darker Cup, With thee to-night in the dim shades to sup, Where all they be who from that cup have quaffed. She had been glad in her own loveliness, and laughed At Lifes strong enemies who lie in wait, Had kept with golden youth her queenly state, All unafraid of Sorrows threatning shaft. Then hulnan Grief found out her human heart, And she was fain to go where pain is dumb; So Thou wert welcome, Angel dread to see, And she fares onward with thee willingly, To dwell where no man loves, no lovers part So Grief that is makes welcome Death to come.

t16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. meet the eyes of an office-boy who stood near; there was an uncomfortable feeling in his throat, but he bravely unfastened a letter from the battered steeple, and read it slowly, without a very clear understand- ing of the words: DEAR FRIEND (said poor Phebe), I was very thankful for all that you sent in the boxI take such pleasure in the things. I find it hard to write, but I think about you every day. Father sends his best respects. We have had rough weather, and be stays right here with me. You must keep your promise, and come back to the island; he will be lonesome, and you are one that takes father just right. It seems as if I hadnt been any use in the world, but it rests me, laying here, to think what a sight of use you must be. And so good-by. A sudden vision of the poor girl came before his eyes as he saw her stand on the door-step the day they watched the boat funeral. She had worn a dress with a quaint pattern, like gray and yellowish willow leaves as one sees them fallen by the country roadsides. A vision of her thin, stooping shoulders and her simple, pleasant look touched him with real sor- row. Much use in tbe world ! Alas! alas! how had her affection made her fancy such a thing! The day was stormy, and Frankfort turned anxiously to look out of the win- dow beside him, as he thought how the wind must blow across the distant bay. He felt a strange desire to sweep away everything that might vex poor Phebe or make her less comfortable. Yet she must die, at any rate, before the summer came. The King of Folly Island would reign only over his sheep pastures and the hemlock-trees and pines. Much use in the world! The words stung him more and more. The office-boy still stood waiting, and now Frankfort became unhappily con- scious of his presence. I used to see one o them shell - works where I come from, up in the country, the boy said, with unexpected forbearance and sympa- thy; but Frankfort dismissed him with a needless question about the price of cer- tain railroad bonds, and dropped the em- barrassing gift, the poor little meeting- house, into a deep lower drawer of his desk. He had hardly thought of the lad before except as a willing, half-mechani- cal errand-runner; now he was suddenly conscious of the hopeful, bright young face. At that moment a whole new fu- ture of human interests spread out before his eyes, from which a veil had suddenly been withdrawn, and Frankfort felt like another man, or as if there had been a re- vivifying of his old, unii~terested, self-oc- cupied nature. Was there really such a thing as taking part in the heavenly war- fare against ignorance and selfishness? Had Phebe given him in some mysterious way a legacy of all her unsatisfied hopes and dreams? THE CUP OF DEATH. FOR A PICTURE BY ELIHU VEDD R. BY LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON. SH E bends her lovely head to taste thy draught, 0 thou stern Angel of the Darker Cup, With thee to-night in the dim shades to sup, Where all they be who from that cup have quaffed. She had been glad in her own loveliness, and laughed At Lifes strong enemies who lie in wait, Had kept with golden youth her queenly state, All unafraid of Sorrows threatning shaft. Then hulnan Grief found out her human heart, And she was fain to go where pain is dumb; So Thou wert welcome, Angel dread to see, And she fares onward with thee willingly, To dwell where no man loves, no lovers part So Grief that is makes welcome Death to come. TIlE CUP OP DEAThFrom the paintilig by Ehilin Veddor BLIND WILLY. BY B. L. FARJEON. YOUVE given me meat and drink, and I thank you. It is the least I can do and the most. If you had any idea that I could pay you for what youve done for me, the sooner you get rid of it the better. Twopence-hapenny is all my fortune, and Ive had the devils own luck to get here with as much. It has been a bard pinch to keep body and soul together this last weekhalf a meal a day, and sleeping by the side of a hay-stack for three nights running, in the open air, with the white snow falling upon me. A cold blanket twas. For some poor devils a shroud, but not for me. I had something more important to do than to die; I had to keep alive and get to this village, though Im here before my time; I wasnt expected so soon. Why did I sleep in the open air instead of nuder a dry roof? For the best of bad reasons. I hadnt money to pay for a bed, and no Christian offered me one. I might have begged a bed? Yes, but I havent come to begging yet; befo~e I do so, Ill take my choice and die in a ditch or a hay-field, where I shall be beholden to no one. My father was an honest man, and my mother an honest woman, and none of my race ever asked charity. So, though I could stand by the road-side, with my hat in my hand, cry- ing, Please pity the poor blind ! till I was cick of the sound of my own voice, I dont choose to do it. Theres the pride of the poor and the pride of the rich, and I know which is the more honorable. Im poor enough, its true, but no cheat, though its only a week since I came out of prison. Im proud of having been there, and would serve my time over a~ain rather than not have done what I got five years for. Its a queer thing to boast of, isnt it? But its gospel truth, friend. You know Ive just come out of prison? Then I might have saved myself the trou- ble of telling you. I can believe you or not, -as I please. I dare say you think its easy enough to deceive a blind man, but let me tell you theres no credit in tIme doing of it, and as for your throwing it in my teeth that Im a prison-bird You didnt say it to reproach me? Thank you. What did you say it for at all, then? So that I might have confidence in you VOL. LXXIV No 439.i 1 so that I might trust you? Well, theres something in that. To be kind to a man, as you have been to rue, when you know lie has just come out of prison, is a bit of a proof that you dont quite despise him. Give me your hand that I may feel it, and let me put mine on your face. Your hand is cool and firm, and your face doesnt twitch. How old may you be? Fifty-two. Are you married? Ah, youve got a wife, then. No ? I ask your pardon, friend, for opening a wound. Per- haps you have children, though. One daughter, seventeen years old? Theres a shake in your voice I think I know the meaning of. A blind man has more senses than five. You and your daughter are knit pretty close. Well! well! When a childs pretty ways fasten on to the heart, they cling close to the roots. I had a lit- tle one myself, who died too soon, and I can see her soft eyes shining on me now. I had my sight when I lost her, but after she died I never saw her quite clearly till I became blind. Never a day or a night passes though day and night to me are the samethat I dont see my little two- year-old child at her pretty tricks, that I dont feel her little hands on my face, that I dojit hear her babbling about me. In prison they couldnt take her aw4y from me, and couldnt prevent her tod- dling along at my side in a daisy-field, as she did one day when she was alive. So my blindness is a blessing, for my child is always with me. There are bits of hea- ven in life, master. Is that your daughter I hear singing outside? Theres no cloud on her life; her voice is as sweet as the rippling of a brook. Well, I must be going. Whats my hurry? Simply that Im dying almost to touch tIme hand of the only human being in the world left to me to love. If you think its a woman, youre mistaken. Its a gentlemanand a man, every inch of him. Thats what Ive been walking the last six days for, feeling my way with my stick, getting a lift now and then from drivers who called out to me and asked where I was goingGod thank them for it and blind to every flower in hedge and field. There was one wagoner brought me twenty miles along. Ive got his name and where he lives, and the first few shill-

BLIND WILLY. BY B. L. FARJEON. YOUVE given me meat and drink, and I thank you. It is the least I can do and the most. If you had any idea that I could pay you for what youve done for me, the sooner you get rid of it the better. Twopence-hapenny is all my fortune, and Ive had the devils own luck to get here with as much. It has been a bard pinch to keep body and soul together this last weekhalf a meal a day, and sleeping by the side of a hay-stack for three nights running, in the open air, with the white snow falling upon me. A cold blanket twas. For some poor devils a shroud, but not for me. I had something more important to do than to die; I had to keep alive and get to this village, though Im here before my time; I wasnt expected so soon. Why did I sleep in the open air instead of nuder a dry roof? For the best of bad reasons. I hadnt money to pay for a bed, and no Christian offered me one. I might have begged a bed? Yes, but I havent come to begging yet; befo~e I do so, Ill take my choice and die in a ditch or a hay-field, where I shall be beholden to no one. My father was an honest man, and my mother an honest woman, and none of my race ever asked charity. So, though I could stand by the road-side, with my hat in my hand, cry- ing, Please pity the poor blind ! till I was cick of the sound of my own voice, I dont choose to do it. Theres the pride of the poor and the pride of the rich, and I know which is the more honorable. Im poor enough, its true, but no cheat, though its only a week since I came out of prison. Im proud of having been there, and would serve my time over a~ain rather than not have done what I got five years for. Its a queer thing to boast of, isnt it? But its gospel truth, friend. You know Ive just come out of prison? Then I might have saved myself the trou- ble of telling you. I can believe you or not, -as I please. I dare say you think its easy enough to deceive a blind man, but let me tell you theres no credit in tIme doing of it, and as for your throwing it in my teeth that Im a prison-bird You didnt say it to reproach me? Thank you. What did you say it for at all, then? So that I might have confidence in you VOL. LXXIV No 439.i 1 so that I might trust you? Well, theres something in that. To be kind to a man, as you have been to rue, when you know lie has just come out of prison, is a bit of a proof that you dont quite despise him. Give me your hand that I may feel it, and let me put mine on your face. Your hand is cool and firm, and your face doesnt twitch. How old may you be? Fifty-two. Are you married? Ah, youve got a wife, then. No ? I ask your pardon, friend, for opening a wound. Per- haps you have children, though. One daughter, seventeen years old? Theres a shake in your voice I think I know the meaning of. A blind man has more senses than five. You and your daughter are knit pretty close. Well! well! When a childs pretty ways fasten on to the heart, they cling close to the roots. I had a lit- tle one myself, who died too soon, and I can see her soft eyes shining on me now. I had my sight when I lost her, but after she died I never saw her quite clearly till I became blind. Never a day or a night passes though day and night to me are the samethat I dont see my little two- year-old child at her pretty tricks, that I dont feel her little hands on my face, that I dojit hear her babbling about me. In prison they couldnt take her aw4y from me, and couldnt prevent her tod- dling along at my side in a daisy-field, as she did one day when she was alive. So my blindness is a blessing, for my child is always with me. There are bits of hea- ven in life, master. Is that your daughter I hear singing outside? Theres no cloud on her life; her voice is as sweet as the rippling of a brook. Well, I must be going. Whats my hurry? Simply that Im dying almost to touch tIme hand of the only human being in the world left to me to love. If you think its a woman, youre mistaken. Its a gentlemanand a man, every inch of him. Thats what Ive been walking the last six days for, feeling my way with my stick, getting a lift now and then from drivers who called out to me and asked where I was goingGod thank them for it and blind to every flower in hedge and field. There was one wagoner brought me twenty miles along. Ive got his name and where he lives, and the first few shill- 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ings I can spare 11 go to his little ones, or my name isnt Willy Price. I mustnt go yet? Why not? Because you knov the gentleman I want to speak to? His name, then? Sir Edmund Bar- ry! By the Lord, youve hit it! Theres something strange in all this- your meeting with me, your bringing me here to rest, your giving food (though ]ill pay you for it before long) to a man who has no claim on you What does it all mean? You met me by accident, you say, and knew me at once, though you never set eyes oa me before. How can that be? Well, yes, youre right there; a man may be recognized by a description of him. Who gave you a description of me? The gentleman whose name you mentionedSir Edmund Barry! He hasnt forgotten me, then? No; but I was sure he would never do that. AIi! if I laid down my life for him a hundred times over, it wouldnt pay the debt of love I owe him. lie owes me a debt of love, he says! Did he say thatdid he? God bless him for it! He didnt expect to see me for another month at least, but they let me out before my time, for good con- duct, they said, and I was only too glad to find myself a free man once more: Off I set for this village without an hours de- lay, and now that Im here, and have had this talk about my dear master, I cant wait another minute. Ill thank you kind- ly if youll direct me to an inn called the Golden Crown. What do you say? This is the Golden Crown! You cant be de- ceiving me, for youve nothing to gain by it. But youve set me in the middle of a maze. Show me the way out of it. Yes, yes; I understand that you are act- ing. under orders, and I must be content to wait for ray master till he can come to me; but I cant for the life of me under- stand what good or ill fortune it is in my power to bring to you. Yet it is so, you say. Theres your daughter singing again. By the Lord, its the song my master used to sing! She must have learned it from him. She did? Thats a mark of friend- ship between him and her. Youve gota message for me from him? What is it? On the first day you see Willy Price, ask him to tell you all he knows about me, and then youll be able to judge how far that woman spoke the truth when she called me a cheat and a coward. He knows the woman I mean; her name is Lady Judith, and we have both cause to remember her to the last hour of our lives. I am satisfied; you are not deceiving me. Only Sir Edmund Barry could have given you that message. But I cant for the life of me see the connecting links between what lie asks me to tell you, and Lady Judith, and the good or ill for- tune that is to happen to you when Ive finished what Im bid to say. However, thats no immediate affair of mine; all that I care for is that it shall bring no misfortune to my dear master. It will bring a blessing upon him if he comes out of the affair asyou hope he will? That has an honest ring in it, and I accept it in good faith. If Sir Edmund Barry has been speaking to you about me, you know, of course, that I have not been always blind. Until near upon five years ago my eyes were as good as any man need wish for. I must collect my thoughts a bit, for the name of Lady Judith has set my blood boiling. What did she call him ? a cheat and a coward? A man and a hero, as sure as theres a God in heaven! So shes been at him again, that black-haired daughter of the devil! Ak, if I had her here before me, Id strangle her where I stand, blind as I am, if I knew she was doing anything to injure my master. Id put a stop to her lyin~ tongue, once and for all. Listen: you shall hear the whole affair, and shall judge for yourself. It commenced many a year ago be- tween me and my dear master. I lived down Dorsetshire way, and my father was a farm laborer. There were four of us mother, father, my sister Miriam,and my- selfand we had a little cottage, and lived on next to nothin~ a week. That pretty well represents what my fathers wages were. He was a hard worker, an igno- rant, honest man; my mother was weak- ly, and could do nothing out-of-doors to help him ; for the matter of that, she had enough to do in-doors, what with cooking, cleaning, and washing for the lot of us. My sister was a cripple walk- ed with two crutchesso she couldnt do much. I was sixteen; Miriam was a year younger, and no beauty: good looks didnt run in our family. No more did good luck; we had a terrible hard time of it; pigs wereprinces in comparison with us. Well, though nearly every one in my class accepts his lot as a matter of course, I didnt; I rebelled against it, and was BLIND WILLY. 121 thoroughly unhappy. One reason was that I had a passionate love for my sister, and could do nothing to help her into health. It used to make me mad to see her white, hungry face. I was not all bad,though,wliateVer I might have ripen- ed into. I was a strong lad and a plucky theres no reason why I shouldnt say it -and one day when I saw a horse gallop- ing across the fields, dragging after him a young gentleman who had been thrown, and whose foot was fast in the stirrup, I didnt wait to think, hut I ran like mad af- ter the horse, and catching the bridle, tried to stop the frightened creature. What I remenibered afterward was the gentle- mans handsome face splashed with blood, and myself screaming and holding on like grim death. That was all. Down I went, with my eyes full of blood; but for all that, it seems, at the very moment I lost my sensesfor the horse had kicked me in the face, and given me the gash I put my finger on nowat that very mo- ment the horses speed slackened, and some people coming up carried the young gen- tleman and me to the nearest ale-house. There I lay for weeks, niost of the time insensible, and near to death; the young gentleman was well and about sooner than I was, and when I rose from my bed I had the satisfaction of knowing that my little bit of pluck had made a stanch friend of the man whose life it was said I had saved. You guess, of course, that this gentleman was Sir Edmund Barry. His father had lately bought an estate in the neighborhood,and had come to live there, and this, I dare say, helped to keep me in his mind. But if lie had lived a thousand mile away lie wouldnt have forgotten me. It isnt in the nature of men like him. Now I dont know if it is a common thing to get attached to a man because you save his life, but I think it had some- thing to do with the love I grew to have for Sir Edmund. I had strong reason for love and gratitude apart from that. Grate- ful, as not every man is, for the service I had rendered him, he had sought out my family while I lay knocking at deaths door, and had made himself acquainted with their circumstances. What did I discover on the first day I was able to walk in the fresh air? Well, it seemed to me like a fairy story, and it had been kept from me while I was ill, so that it might afford me the greater pleasure. I found my father and mother and Miriam living in a comfortable cottage, with a garden attached to it; I found my father in a situ- ation in which he was earning fair wages; I found my mothers hard load lightened; I found a doctor attendin~ my sister Miri- am; I found them all brighter and happi- er, and ready to lay down their lives for the man who had made life sweet for them. Powerful reasons these for love and gratitude, and there came 1pon me a wonderful change. I was no longer mo- rose and rebellious; my days and nights were not charged with bad thoughts; I was glad to live; and I too was ready to lay down my life for the man who had brought such blessings upon us. It seemed as if, to his thinking, he could not do too much. As I took a liking to him, he took a liking to me, and allowed me to hang about him, and render him small services it was a delight to me to perform. There was one thing he couldnt do, with all his kindness; he could not save my sisters life. She died after a long sick- ness, and seemed to be perfectly happy when lie stood for a few moments at her bedside. I am telling you these things, which dont properly belong to what I shall presently come to, so that you may have some understanding of the kind of man I am speaking of. There are few, if any, who know him as I do. On the evening of Miriams funeral he came to me and said, Willy, I am going away, and I should like to do something for you. Just as if lie had not already done enough. Take me with you,I said, and let me be your servant. That is all I want. And then, I remember, I broke out into passionate entreaties that he would not leave me behind him. I spoke roughly, of course, and accordingtomyhighmts; Iliad had no education, and did not know one letter from another. It must have been on that evening, I think, that he became aware that I loved him better than any- thing or anybody in the world. He look- ed at me in silence until I had run myself out, and then he said: Well, Willy, I owe you more than I can ever repay; but I am going on a long tour, and I dont want a servant. To tell you the truth, I shouldnt know what to do with one if I had him. When I come back, I must have some one about me I like and can trust, and Id sooner have 122 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. you than anybody else; youll be a man then, and we should get along very well together. Now I have a plan. I waited eagerly to hear it. You wont do as you are. The fact is, Willy, if I am to take you as my ser- vant by-and-by, you will have to be polish- ed up; and theres only one wa.y to bring that about. I must send you to school; and if you get along well while I am away, I promise, if you are in the same mind, to take you as my valet. What do you say to that ? Depressed as I was at the idea of not seeing him for a couple of yearsthe length of time he said his tour would oc- cupyI had the sense to see that lie was doing the very best thing that could be done for me, and I expressed my grati- tude and willingness. So he made ar- rangements to send me to a better school than could be found in our village, and that is why I can express myself better than many men of my station in life. For I tried my hardest to do credit to him when lie returned from his tour in for- eign parts. Dont run away with the no- tion that I had any idea of becoming a gentleman; that was the farthest from my thoughts; the only thing my mind was set upon was to show him when lie came back that I was not a dunderhead, and that I was niost sincerely desirous to serve him. He travelled all over the world, and was away longer than he said. He wrote two or three times to the master of the school, and I know received a good re- port of me. I wrote to him, too, and perhaps you can understand the pride I felt when I sent him my first letter, writ- ten by my own hand. During his absence I lost both my parents, so that I may say, but for my young masterfor in that con- nection, and no other, I always thought of himI was alone in the world. He also lost his father, and it was that loss that brought him home suddenly and un- expectedly. There are certain things it isnt necessary to dwell upon, so it will be sufficient for me to say briefly that when he came home he fulfilled his promise, both of us being in the same mind, and took me into his service. He was heir to a great fortune, and the absolute master of it. Being young, high- spirited, and liberal-hearted, lie set him- self out naturally to enjoy it. Of course he went to London, and there he became a regular lion, as the society people call it. He went everywhere, was a meniber of the best clubs, and very soon was sur- rounded by so-called friends, who helped him spend his money. He was willing enough and careless enough, and it would have been strange if he had not been led into all kinds of extravagance. He was overwhelmed kvith invitations to fashion- able houses, and he was so hunted after by match-making mothers that it was a mystery how he escaped being caught. I attended him everywhere, and made my- self so necessary to him that he often told me lie didnt know what he should do without me. I may take the credit of having kept him out of many a scrape, for though he was high and I was low, I saw thu~ough people a great deal quicker than he did. I took the liberty occa- sionally of airing my opinions of his ac- quaintances and friends, and he always listened to me good-naturedly, though he would never trouble himself about what I said. What if so-and-so is a hawk ? he would say. I can afford to be plucked. And plucked he was; but a fortune such as his takes a long time gettin~, through, and so we jogged on coinforta- bly enough for three or four years. He believed in everybody, distrusted nobody. It is so much easier, lie would say. You must make no mistake in his char- acter. His head, perhaps, was not so well balanced as it might have been, but his heart was in the right place, and he did many a kind action which carried joy with it. That he was frequently imposed upon in his charities did not disturb him; lie was not to be soured. And, let me tell you, notwithstanding his extrava- gancies and the life he led, with its dan- gerous temptations, he was free from actual vice. He was never guilty of a niean or dishonorable act, and he never played a woman false. He was laughed and sneered at for his opinions of wo- mankind, but he was not to be turned from them. He had an unconquerable be- lief in womans goodness, and he pitied where others condemned. He never join- ed in the laughter caused by tales of scan- dal, and I remember that he was called by some of his friends the modern Bay- ard. He did not see, but I did, that the name was given to him more from de- rision than sincerity. I got him to ex- plain to me the meaning of the name, and BLIND WILLY. 123 I was satisfied that his friends had hit isnt what a true man would do, and Ill the mark without intending it. be no party to it. A. word as to myself. The love I had This sent my heart down into lower for him as a boy grew with my manhood. depths, and I stood foolishly before him, There was nothing in the world he could and stammered that I would never leave ask me to do for him that I was not ready him unless he drove me away, and that I to do. He was most truly my friend de- did not know what to do. Then he spoke spite that we stood to each other in the re- out, seriously and kindly, and bound me lation of master and servant; he never if possible closer to him. There was no gave me an unkind word, and I think he reason for my leaving him,he said,if Alice trusted and believed in me as I believed would be satisfied with the suggestion he and trusted in him. Free as I was in air- was about to make. He confessed that he ing my opinions to him, I always stopped liked as little as I did the idea of my quit- when I saw that I was giving him pain. tiug his service. He was good enough to And now there came a change in my say that lie doubted whether he should life. We had chambers in a fashionable ever find another man as faithful as I was part of London; in the house there were to him. Why shouldnt I marry and re- two other sets of chambers, which, with main with him? Alice could continue to our own, were looked after by a house- live with her aunt, and no doubt a room keeper, who lived in the basement. This could be found down-stairs for us. He woman, who was a widow, could have done had no intention of removing from Lon- very well and have saved money had it don at present, and if he ever settled down not been for a scapegrace of a son, who in a separate establishment of his own, kept his mother in continual hot water, which, lie said, pleasantly, lie should prob- and squandered every shilling of her say- ably have to do one of these fine days, ings. He did not live with his niothier, some sort of position should be found for and it was because I was civil and re- my wife in his new household, so that spectful to her that she told me of her there need be no fear of our being separa- troubles. One day I saw a young woman ted. So it was arranged. Alice was de- coming from the basement; it was the lighted and contented, and you may be house-keepers niecean orphan, who had sure I was. In less than a month we were come to live with her aunt. What did I married. Sir Edmund came to the wed- do but fall in love with her, and what did ding, and made Alice a present of a gold she do but fall in love with me? watch and chain. I was the happiest man It did not trouble me at first, for we in all the wide world, and had any oue were both over head and ears, and when prophesied that before three years passed you are in that condition you dont stop by I should find myself in a felons dock, to think. I paid court to her honestly, listening to my sentence of five years im- and was entangled and compromised be- prisonment, I should have laughed in his fore I knew where I was. I had no idea face, and called him the maddest of the that our secret was known to any one but mad. But it was to be. No man let him ourselves, and I was considerably aston- be ever so secure, knows what strange re- ishied when my master spoke to me about verse~ fate has in store for him. it. That woke me up and set me think- For ten short months my happiness last- ing. It is stran~,e that a mans love for a ed, and then I was visited by a terrible man should stand in the way of his love grief. My wife died, and in her deathi an- for a woman, but it was so in my case. I other life was knit to mine. She left a was determined not to leave my master; baby girl behind her, and by Sir Edniunds not even niy love for Alice could drive me advice I placed the child with a family in to that; and I told him so with a sinking the country, where she throve and was heart, and with words as sincere as ever well cared for. Through all these changes fell from a mans lips. He was touched Sir Edmund showed me more the sympa- by my devotion; I saw that. thy of a brother than a master, and he Well, Willy, he asked, with a smile, sometimes acconipanied me when I paid what is to be done ? my weekly visit to my little girl. I will I answered, very much troubled, that I finish that part of my story which relates did not see my way out of it. to my own private affairs by saying that It will never do, he said, to break my child lived but two years. She had the heart of a good and pretty girl. It grown very fond of Sir Edmund, and he 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of her. She lay in his arms when she drew her last breath. If I have dwelt a little longer than you care for upon my own joys and sorrows it is because I wish to show you the true grain of my masters nature. There lives not in the world a kinder-hearted, a truer gentleman than he. Never did lie forget the small service I rendered to him when I was a lad, but I think it was apart from that, because he had a regard for me, and knew how faithful I was to him, that he allowed me privileges which a servant sel- dom enjoys. I come now to Lady Ju- dith. You have seen lier,I understand,though I can~t for the life of me discover why she should come to you and speak to you against my master. What do you say? You will tell me when I have finished my story? I will go on to the end, then. Is she as handsome, I wonder, as she was when Sir Edmund first met her? Small-made and dark-skinned it is true, and with hair as glossy and black as coal. They generally pick out fair women for beauties, but, so far as appearances go, the Lady Judith could hold her own with the stateliest and most beautiful woman that ever was wooed. Her eyes were as bright as diamonds, her teeth as white as the whitest pearls, her lips were cherry red, her cheeks had the most wonderful glow in them. So much for her face; as for her heart, that is another matter. Sir Ed- mund believed he had won it, and she fooled him rarely. She had a great fol- lowing-of men; she was the star wher- ever she appeared. The women, I heard, hated her, but that would be natural, per- haps, as she spoiled the chances of many. Although she was a widow, she was young enoughnot more than twenty-fwo, I judged. There was a mystery about her which to some men may have been an addi- tional attraction. By mystery I mean that she was not knoxvn in the higher fashion- able circles of society until she came from India, where she had lived,I was told,from her childhood,where she married and lost her husband in the course of a few months, and came home with his fortune, which she inherited. I dont know where my master first met her, nor do I know by what arts she had won his love. I was surprised when I got an inkling of the state of affairs, for she was not the style of woman I thought would have captivated him. In such mat- ters, however, one man is not a judge of another. Now let me tell you. It was my impression then, and it is my conviction now. I have spoken the word love~~ in connection with my master and Lady Ju- dith, but although lie was completely in her power I venture to say that the feeling lie entertained toward her was very dif- ferent from a feeling of true love. She dazzled and enthralled him, and I make no doubt led him on until he found it was too late to retreat. I have read of such wo- men, but I had never met with one until Lady Judith appeared to blight the lives of a noble man, and of him who, blind to all around him, is now speaking to you. Look you. It is from no foolish de- sire to hear the sound of my own voice it is from no vainglory, it is from no wish to excite your compassion for me, that I am taking pains to make my story clear to you; it is simply because my dear and beloved master has, through you, set a command upon me, which I obey, as I would obey any command from him, though it led me into the jaws of death. Who comes into the room? Your daughter? And she sings the songs my master sang, and he is her friend? It will not harm her if she shakes hands with me. I beg of you. It will bring me nearer to him. Tell me your name, child? Alice! God in heaven! it is the name of my wife and child. She is gone. Bear with me a little. It has shaken me a bit; you will have patience with me, I am sure. You know as well as I what it is to lose a wife who is truly loved. But you do not know, and pray you may never live to know, what it is to lose a childa mans only child, who has wound herself into his heart so closely that its fibres quiver at the lightest touch. Is your daughter dark or fair? Fair! I am glad to hear it. Back to my Lady Judith and my story. When it became known that my master was following her and was a favorite suit- orthough how far it had gone I will not take it upon myself to say, except that my master was honest and pure-minded in his followingother would-be lovers fell aside, as though it was useless contend- ing wjth a man who had not only good looks to recommend him, but a large for- tune at his back. Then there was her own behavior to him; her preference for him, whether sincere or not, could not be mis- BLIND WILLY. 125 taken. Whenever he appeared, cold looks for others. It was as much as if she said, You are intruding; this is the man of my choice. That was the way of it. Most of them took the hint and retired. But one remained-Captain Whitelock. This man once seen was never after- ward to be mistaken, and there was a most curious resemblance between his name and a certain peculiarity in his ap- pearance. His hair, like Lady Judiths, was coal-black; but there came down over his brows, exactly between his eyes, a white feather of hair which took the shape of a curl. A man who could take the lib- erty, seeing him for the first time, could not help feeling inclined to raise his hand and brush it away, it was so exactly like a feather hanging over his forehead. It was a birth-mark. You have seen this maii? When and where? Here, when you saw Lady Ju- dith? Then he is not dead. You give me a curious kind of comfort, though it were better he was dead than alive. He had a black silk bandage round his right hand? Ah! he may thank me for that. Wait, wait, and you will understand. Her husband, is lie? A pretty pair! Well matched! Lady Judiths husband! A fair endingfor my master! Before long Lady Judith, my master, and Captain Whitelock were seen con- stantly together in public; but the part Captain Whitelock played was that of a friend who took an honorable interest in the love-making that was going on be- tween the other two. He also had a ser- vant, who appeared to stand to him in the same relation as I stood to Sir Edmund, and between this man, whose name was Limpett, and me a kind of intimacy natu- rally sprung up, more cordial on his part than on mine. I doubt whether he saw through me as I saw through him. He served his master as I served mine, and that he looked on me as a bit of a simple- ton was more in my favor than his in the game we were playing. For it did not take me long to discover, from the ad- vances lie made toward me and the ques- tions lie put to me, that he had been set on by his master, and was following out definite instructions. So I took my cue, and fell very comfortably, with my eyes wide open, into the trap prepared for me. By which means, in an indirect way, I made discoveries. He learned from me that Sir Edmunds fortune was very large and entirely unencumbered, and I learn- ed from him that Captain Whitelock had been very sweet on Lady Judith, and that he was number one in her eyes till my master appeared on the scene. Then, of course, said Limpett, as Sir Edmund Barry has pounds where Cap- tain Whitelock hasnt shillings, we had to take a back seat. Ahi! said I, that is the way with women; its a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence with the lot of em. And as far as that goes, its a matter of pounds, shillings, and pence with most of us; it is with me, I know. If masters look after themselves, why shouldnt we Right, old fellow, said Limpett, slapping me on the shoulder; if we can work the oracle, you wont be any the worse off for it. I just give you this as a sample of our talk, and you niay guess it made me keen to watch. Now if the impressions that forced themselves upon me were correct, there was every reason to suppose that Lady Judith was in collusion with Cap- tain Whiitelock in a conspiracy against my master. I sharpened myself up, so to speak, for the task I set before methe task of saving my master from becoming the victhn of a couple of tricksters. It was difficult, and I had to play a quiet part. I did not dare to speak, even indi- rectly, to Sir Edmund; I did not dare to say the slightest word which might lead him to suppose that I had any suspicion of Lady Judith. Attached as he was to me, I make no doubt that he would have discharged me on the spot. When it came to choosing between me and Lady Judith, I knew which one would have to go to the wall. So all I could do was to wait and watch, and use my best cunning to gather evidence. What made my task all the more difficult was that Sir Edmund had not mentioned Lady Judiths name to me. Ordinarily he had been in the habit of speaking of his friends and ac- quaintances, but in my hearing Lady Ju- dithis name had never passed his lips. It was not for me, therefore, lightly to in- troduce it; my reasons would have to be weighty ones. It was about this time that my master began to play higher than usual, and to plunge heavily at the races. I heard Lady Judith say once it was a fortunate thing she was a widow, because it enabled her to do things which would be perfectly 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. shocking in a single young lady. That is why she came to Sir Edmunds rooms in London; it was at her persuasion, I had no doubt, that he gave parties there, so that she might have an opportunity of being pre ent. Cards and dice were soon introduced, and there were times when I saw the tables covered with gold and bank- notes. I did not like the look of it: my master seemed to be going down hill. Captain Whiitelock was a great gambler, cool and methodical, and never caring how high the stakes were. One night, to my surprise, I saw Lady Judith sitting at one of the tables with a pile of money before her. It surprised me, because I had an idea that she would have been more prudent than to exhibit her failings to Sir Edmund. I noticed that he looked grave, which was not usual with him he was always in the highest spirits though whenever she addressed him he brightened up. I was seldom absent on these nights; my master liked to have me near him, so that lie might give me in- structions with respect to his guests. He was a princely host, and was annoyed if there was the slightest hitch in his enter- tainments. Limpett, also, was generally hanging around. One night there was some talk about an exhibition of pistol practice that was to be given in a shoot- ing-gallery on the following day, and an arrangement was made to meet there. Captain Whitelock, upon Lady Judiths saying that she would like to be present, offered to escort her. I should prefer you, she said to Sir Edmund. And he answered that he would drive her and Captain Whitelock to the rooms. The principal feature in the programme was a match between two famous profes- sional pistol-shots, and there was high betting on the result. When the match was decided, Captain Whitelock chal- lenged my master to a trial. My master excused himself, saying that he was a poor hand with the pistol. Then Captain Whitelock challenged the winner of the match. Limpett beckoned me aside. Theyre laying three to one on the professional, he whispered. Back the captain; the money will be as good as in your pocket. And then he told me that Captain Whitelock was the fiuiest shot in Europe. He must have spoken the truth, for Captain Whitelock won easily, and astonished everybody by his skill. Proud of the praise lie was receiving, he asked Lady Judith to lend him her gloves, which he fixed fiat against the wall, with the fingers slightly apart. Then, firing rap- idly at thirty paces, he shot off the tips of each finger and thumb. Just the nails, lie smilingly said. You owe me a dozen pairs of gloves, said Lady Judith to him. Sir Edmund will give them to you, lie replied, with a laugh which was half a sneer; hes the bird youre to bring down. The remark was carelessly made, and it produced an impression. The speaker bit his lip, as though he would have liked to recall his words, Lady Judith uttered a little scream, and my master started and threw a look of suspicion on Lady Judith and the successful marksman. What I mean is, said Captain White- lock, that if I ventured to make you a present of a dozen pairs of gloves, I should expect Barry to call me out, which wouldnt be desirable. Certainly not for me, said my mas- ter, gravely. Nothing more was said upon the sub- ject, and the conversation turned upon some regimental races which were to take place on a suburban race-course in a few weeks. Im open to make a match, said an officer, for any sum up to five hundred sovs. My mare Miss Sehim against any- thing that can be brought against her. Three miles over the steeple-chase course, thirteen stone, owners up. Theres only one bit of horseflesh can beat Miss Selim, said Captain Whitelock, and thats Babbling Fanny. Shes to be bought, said sonic one. Whoever buys it will be sold, re- niarked the officer. I saw a look of intelligence pass between Captain Whiitelock and Lady Judith. I think no one else observed it; but I was on the watch: the game was growing se- rious. The game that was played that night in my masters chambers was serious enough in all conscience. Sir Edmund was play- ing with Lady Judith, and was laughing at the sums she was winning from hiin-i. She had wooed him back into good-humor, and had dispelled his suspicions, if he had any. Captain Whitelock was looking on, and proposed to join in. Before the party broke up my master had lost ten thousand BLIND WILLY. 127 pounds, and Captain Whitelock had won the chief part of it. It did not surprise me very much to hear, a week afterward, that my master had bought Babbling Fanny, and had made the match against Miss Selim. There was a great deal of talk over it, and my master took me into his confi- dence, and almostfor the first time intro- duced Lady Judiths name into the con- versation. She has set her heart upon it, Willy, he said, and is going to back my mare. Captain Whitelock says Babbling Fanny is bound to win.~~ Whos to ride her, sir ? I asked. Owners up, he said, laughing. I shall be in the saddle. He was a fine rider, but I doubted his ability to ride a steeple-chase. He con- vinced me, however, on the following day by taking me down to the stable in which Babbling Fanny was being trained, and riding the mare himself over the course on which the match was to take place. There was an advantage in the stable be- ing so near; Miss Selim was being trained fifty miles away. We went down fre- quently to see and ride the mare. Cap- tain Whitelock was often with us, and lie declared that my master was the finest gentleman rider in England. And make no mistake about it, he said. Babbling Fanny can give Miss Selim a stone, and walk away from her. Dont try to win too easily, though; wait upon her to the last hurdle, and then win by a length or so. It will be quite enough. Ive backed your mare for five thousand, and Im going to put every shilling Im worth on her. The odds were six to four on Babbling Fanny, and gradually lengthened till they reached four to one. Its buying money dearly, said Cap- tain Whitelock, ~but I dont think theres a doubt about it. You feel pretty certain, dont you ? My master showed him his book. He stood to lose fifty thousand pounds on the match, and to win about sixteen. Losing or winning will make a differ- ence of nearly seventy thousand to you, observed Captain Whiitelock. A convincing argument, isnt it ? asked my master. Dont want a better, said Captain Whitelock. I shall go on laying the odds. Its only once in a lifetime a fel low gets such a chance. Keep yourself cool; thats all youve got to do. My master, indeed, was training him- self for the race, and was keeping better hours. There were no more late parties; the revels were postponed until the match was decided. All this time the love affair between him and Lady Judith was pro- ceeding as usual, and it was a fortnight before the race that he said to me, Willy, I dare say you guess that I am engaged to be married ? I didnt like to take the liberty of speaking of it, sir, I said. To Lady Judith, I suppose? Yes, Willy. If I win the match, we shall get married a few weeks after- ward. It was a curious thing, I thought, to let a marriage depend upon the winning or the losing of a race, but I said nothing on that head; it would have been presump- tion on my part. But the news troubled me; in my own mind I felt sure that there was no feeling of true, honest love between Sir Edmund and Lady Judith. She had managed to get his promise, and he was bound to abide by it, and I saw in store for him a life of unhappiness. I could have knocked my head against the wall in vexation, but I could see no way out of the difficulty. I did venture to say one thing to him. I asked him if he had heard that Captain Whitelock and Lady Judith were once said to be engaged. In- stead of being angry with me, as I was afraid he would be, he said, in a kind tone: It wouldnt do, Willy, for me to listen to rumors against the lady I am pledged to marry. There is scarcely a person in the world whom the breath of scandal does not touch. Dont bring me ai~y more rumors. Ah, thought I, but what if I brought you facts! Would you listen to them? I had my doubts even on that point. But I had no facts to show him, only suspi- cions which he would laugh away. I little guessed that fate had a stroke of great good fortune in store for me. Lady Judith had left London on a visit to some friends in Paris, and was to be absent till the night before the match, which she wouldnt miss seeing for the world, she said. She had told my master that he was not to expect to hear from her. I hate lettei-writing, she said; it makes my head ache, and I never 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. know what to say. He did not object to her going, and I supposed she had gone to Paris to buy dresses. Captain White- lock was in London, and we saw him ev- ery day. Now two days before the match was to be run something occurred upon which my whole story turns. It was nine oclock at night, and I was out walking. Whom should I meet but Limpett? I came upon him suddenly as I turned a corner. He was in a violent state of excitement, and was talking ex- citedly to himself. I saw, too, that he had been drinking. Hallo ! I said; whats the matter? Have you been having a row with any- body i A chance shot, but it hit the mark. He broke out into violent invectives against Captain Whitelock, with whom, it appears, he had had an angry scene, and by whom he had been discharged without notice. I saw my opportunity, but I did not dream where it would lead to. I nursed his passion to my advan- tage, and I worked him into such a furi- ous state that he swore to be revenged upon the man lie had served so long, and who had behaved so ungratefully to him. More than once the name of Lady Judith escaped his lips. The cause of the quar- rel, as I understood, was that Limpett had been backing Babbling Fanny secretly, and Captain Whitelock, discovering it, had been furious with him for doing what was likely to spoil the market. I had a suspicion, however, that another cause of the quarrel was that Captain White- lock had discovered that Limpett had been robbing him. That there were se- crets between them which made each afraid of the other I had no doubt; for although Limpett swore to be revenged, he announced his intention almost in the same breath of going to America when Babbling Fanny had won the match, and he had received the money lie expected to win. Ill leave this cursed country behind me,he said; I can make my fortune in the States, and become a gentleman like the best of them. I settled instantly upon a plan of ac- tion. If auythin~, was to be discovered which would set my master free from Lady Judith, it was to be discovered now, and through Limpett. He, and no other man, it seemed to me, held in his hands the threads of my dear masters happiness. I approached the subject cautiously; I told him I had as little regard as lie had for Captain Whitelock, and not much for Lady Judith, and that if he could put me in the way of finding out anything about them that would be of service to my inns- ter,I was ready to pay handsomely for it. When you laud in America, I said, the more money you have in your pock- et, the better your chances. Thats true, lie said, thoughtfully, and lie considered a few moments in si- lence. What do you call paying hand- somely ? What do you ? I asked, in return. How does five hundred pounds strike you ? lie said. He had named the exact amount I hind saved during my service with Sir Edmund. He was a liberal master, as you may im- agine. I did not stop to ha~gle; the stake was too great; hind Limpett named my life into the bargain, I would have given it willingly to save my master. I said tIm sum lie wanted was as much as I had saved, and that he was welcome to it. I must have the money down, lie said. It happened that I had fifty pounds about me; I pulled it out at once and handed it to him. My bank - book and check-book were also in my pocket. I showed him both so that he might reckon the figures for himself, to prove that I was dealing fairly by him. Then I drew a check for four hundred and fifty pounds, and gave it to him. There is still something else to be set- tled, he said: I am not to appear in the affair, and you will take your oath not to mention that I have had anything to do with it. I agreed to everything, and then he told me to write down an address. It was Laburnuni Villa, Sydenham, and he gave me precise instructions how to find it. I knew the road, and I had no doubt that I could go straight to the villa. Take Sir Edmund Barry there, said Limpett, to-night, and you will find that I have earned my money. With that we parted. Now, thought I, how to induce my inas- ter to go to Laburnum Villa, Sydenham, at once, this very night? We could drive and get there before midnight; we could take a train and get there still earlier. To drive would be best; it would insure our getting home in decent time. I hit upon BLIND WILLY. 129 an expedient, and was quite satisfied to practice a deception. It was likely to be successful, for the one reason that Lady Judiths name was not to appear in it. Upon a piece of paper, wbich I took care should not be of the cleanest, I wrote, in a disguised hand, the following words: If you want to find out something about Captain Whitelock and tim match you are going to ride on Babbling Fanny, go immediately to Laburnum Villa, Syden- ham. My master was at home. I went to him, without a moments delay, with the story that the piece of paper had been slipped into my hand by a person who looked like a stable-boy. He read it, and jumped to his feet. Do you know the place, Willy ? he asked. I know Sydenbam well, I replied, and I think I can take you straight to the house. I am sure I have seen the name ~ Perhaps its a trick, lie said. Trick or not, I said, it will do no harm going there. There may be some- thing in it, and theres more money than yours depending on the race. This remark had weight with him, and lie decided to go. So little time had been lost that by ten oclock we were on the road, rolling along at the rate of ten miles an hour. My master gave the reins to me, and leaning back in thought, spoke no word. Limpetts directions had been very precise, and I had no difficulty in finding the villa. To make sure, I alight- ed, and read the name on the posts of the garden gate. That is the house, I said, returning to my master. The windows were lighted up, and sounds of music proceeded from a room on the fi~ st floor. The windows of this room were partly open, the night being warm. We were almost directly in front of the house; there was no moon, and we were in darkness. There was therefore little danger of our being observed. On the other hand, the light in the room was so brilliant that we could see pretty clear- lv into it. Whats the first move, Willy ? asked my master. We never thought of that. Before I had time to reply, a woman be- gan to sing. There was nomistaking the voice: itwas Lady Judiths. My master listened, spell-bound; but when, the song being finished, lie saw Lady Judith come to the window, he awoke from his stupor. She turned her bead, and seemed to call to some one in the room. In response to the summons a man came to liar side. It was Captain Whitelock, and he was smoking a cigar. He passed his arm round Lady Judiths waist, and they stood laughing and talk- ing to~ether. Then my master said, very quietly, It is time to go home. He took the reins, and we drove back to London as we had comein silence. He uttered no word, and I did not venture to speak. The next day was the day before the race, and we drove to the training stables to see Babbling Fanny. The mare was in perfect condition. Fit to run for a mans life, the trainer said. Upon our return to London my master drove to certain friends who, to his knowledge, had back- ed Babbling Fanny. He sent me also with letters marked Private outside to other friends of his. He made no refer- ence to the scene we had witnessed on the previous night. He spent the evening at home, and was busy writing and making up accounts. Half an hour before mid- night, as lie was about to retire to bed, a telegram came for him. He read it, and handed it to me. It was from Lady Ju- dith, to the effect that she had just return- ed from Paris after a delightful fortnight passed in that city, and that she was look- ing forward eagerly for to-morrow, when she would meet him on the race-course. It was a long telegram, and it ended with the words, Be sure you winfor my sake 1 I show you the telegram, Willy, said my master, because you already know something of the shameful affair, and in order, if anything happens to me, that you may give any person the lie who cir- culates a false version of it to my dis- credit. What is going to happen to you l I asked, in alarm. I may break my neck to-morrow in trying to clear the ditch. Dont look frightened, he added, with a gay laugh. I have no such intention, I assure you. For a long time past I have been under the influence of a bad dream; I am heart- ily glad it is over. Look you, Willy; I like you, not because you think better of me than I deserve, but because you have 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. been, from first to last, honest and faith- ful; I feel safe with you, my lad. It hap- pens sometimes that a kind of evil en- chantment comes upon a man; it came upon me, and I have a notion that I have you to thank for dispelling it. I dont ask you to tell me anything; keep your secret, if you have one. Though I may come out of the affair a ruined man to- morrow, I shall not find life less enjoy- able on that account. As to what you saw last night, you will not speak of it while I live without my permission. And now, Willy, before we get to bed, one more word. Youre an Englishman, and if a woman hit you, it wouldnt enter your head to return the blow l No I said. Of course not, he said; but if a man who professed himself your friend gave you a foul blow, what then ? I should return it, I said, straight from the shoulder. Where he would most feel it, Willy, said my master, laughing again, even though it was in his pocket. Yes,~ I said, though I did not under- stand what he meant by the pocket. Exactly. That is what Im going to do. I want you to bear in mind a certain important fact in connection with the match to-morrow. Win or lose, not one of my friends, not a man who has acted squarely by me, will he a shilling out of pocket. Thats what Ive been busy about to-day. And now, good-night. He shook hands with me, and when I left him I swore to watch over him and protect him from danger. He had some plan in his head, I saw, and without know- ing anything about it, I was satisfied as to its justice. He was up in good time in the morn- ing, and I heard him singing in his bath. It gladdened me to know, from his cheer- ful voice, that his heart had never been really engaged in his affair with Lady Judith. She and Captain Whitelock had egged him on, and had endeavored to com- piomise him for their own purposes. We did not arrive on the race-course till a few minutes before the time for running the match, and we went at once to the pad- dock, where Babbling Fanny and Miss Selim were being saddled. The officer who owned and was to ride Miss Sehim was there, and complained of the book- makers, who had refused to accommodate him when he wanted to back his mare. Ill give you four monkeys to one, said my master. The book-makers look upon the race as a certainty, and dont care to meddle with it. But I learned afterward that it was by private arrangement with him that the book-makers would have nothing to do with it. He succeeded in his endeavor to keep the bets in private hands. It was while he and the officer were booking the bet of four monkeys to one that Captain Whitelock came up to them. Lady Judith has been looking out anxiously for you, he said to my mas- ter. I have only just arrived, said my master. I thought it best to keep myself cool, as you advised. If Lady Judith wishes, I will see her after the race. Of course she wishes, said Captain Whitelock. What bet are you book- ing ? My master showed it to him; Captain Whitelocks face was radiant. I shall win a pot, he said. Unless I happen to get beat, observed my master, cheerfully. The radiant look vanished from Cap- tam Whitelocks face. You haveift been hedging at all, have you ? he asked. Captain Whitelock, said my master, gravely, I havent hedged a shilling. If Miss Selim wins, I shall be pretty nearly, if not quite, ruined. I shall be in the same boat, said Cap- tain Whitelock; only you can afford it, and I cant. But nothing venture, no- thing win. As you stick to your bets, I shall stick to mine. I should say its a thousand to one on Babbling Fanny. Keep your eyes and your ears open, said my master to me, when he was in the saddle, and before lie passed out of the saddling paddock iuto the course. I did both, and posted myself close to Captain Whitelock and Lady Judith while Babbling Fanny and Miss Sehim were cantering down to the starter. Captain Whitelock was telling her that he had seen my master, who stood to lose a fortune on the match. He would be a better catch for me than you, after all, she said, in a low tone, but not so low that it did not reach my ears. Dont try any of your tricks upon me, my lady, he said, almost in a whis- per. I think I should be able to check- mate the pair of you. BLIND WILLY. 131 Dont talk nonsense, she replied. He doesnt suspect, does he ? Hes the greenest goose Ive ever met with, said Captain Whitelock. Alto- gether too good for such a wicked little devil as you. Their attention was now centred upon the horses. The flag fell and the bell rang. There was no attempt at racing for the first mile. Miss Selim held the lead, Babbling Fanny a couple of lengths in the rear. Thats the style, said Captain White- lock; hes playing a waiting race. Its a certainty. I tried to keep down my excitement. The horsesfenced beautifully, and skimmed the hurdles like swallows. Babbline, Fan- ny fell back a couple of lengths, and Miss Selim held a four lengths lead. There was still, however, a mile and a half to go. He can make it up when he likes, said Captain Whitelock, trembling from excitement. Id give a thousand pounds to see Miss Sehiin break her neck at the ditch. But Miss Seljin cleared the ditch in grand style, and sailed along with a long, low stride which caused shout3 in her fa- vor to be raised all over the course. Bab- bling Fanny also cleared the ditch, though not in such fine style as her rival, nnd was now at least a dozen lengths behind. Come on! come on 1 screamed Cap- tain Whitelock. Two miles were passed, and a wide gap still separated the horses. They did not make a mistake at the hurdles, but Miss Selim seemed to have the foot of Babbling Fanny. Before the last hurdle was reach- ed there was a hill, and here Babbling Fanny gained two or three lengths. Its all right, sighed Captain White- lock, but it was risking too much to keep so far behind. The last hurdle was safely got over, and then Miss Selims rider raised his whip. Hurrah! cried Captain Whitelock, as he saw Babbling Fanny gaining on her rival. Why dont you come on? It was too late. Miss Selim passed the winning-post two lengths ab cad. I looked at Captain Whitelock. He was as white as a ghost, and there was blood on his lip: he had bitten it through. I made my way immediately to the saddling paddock. The officer who had ridden Miss Selim was pale with excite- ment, and almost reeled in the saddle as he passed through the gate. My masters face was pale also, but he was calm. Well, he said, as I assisted him to dismount, the comedy is finished. There was a sudden commotion in the crowd, and Captain Whitelock pushed his way through. He would have come close to my master had I not stood between them. What do you want l said my mas- ter. Have you lost money on the race? So have I. I will give any man fifty thousand pounds to pay my losses. You shall answer to me for this, said Captain Whitelock. I will answer you now, said my master, and I tell you that you are ei- ther a scheming scoundrel or a contempt- ible fool. The sympathy of the by-standers was so clearly with my mastermany men whom lie knew and whom he had saved from loss gathering around him with expres- sions of sympathy-that Captain White- lock was hustled about. You shall hear from me before the day is over, he muttered, and took his departure. Come, Willy, said my master, let us go into the ring.~~ There he conducted himself so cheerful- hy,chatting genially, and bearing his great losses so bravely, that sympatliizin~ hands were stretched out to him from all sides. There could be no doubt, from what I heard, that not one of his friends was a suf- ferer by the result of the match. There were only two losers, himself and Captain Whitelock. The captain had taken his departure from the race-course; Lady Ju- dith also had disappeared. I related to my master the conversation I had overheard between them. She has set me free, he said, blithely; but we have not heard the last of the af- fair. Captain Whitelock will challenge me, and will propose that we shall cross the Channel for the duel. Mention it to no one, my lad. You will iiot accept the challenge ? I cried. I must, lie said. Not another word, Willy; I will not allow it. I am the judge of my own honor. Now, indeed, I had something to occupy my thoughts. The scene in the shooting- gallery came before me again, and I knew 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. that my master was a dead man unless I could prevent the challenge and the duel. And I determined to prevent it, at what- ever cost and risk to myself. The scheme that suggested itself was a mad one enough in all conscience, but I resolved to carry it out if it cost me my life. My story is coming to an end, and I am going to tell you exactly why it was that my master did not receive the challenge from Captain Whitelock. He never quite knew the truth of it, for I have never spokeii of it till now. A moment, friend. Has not some one come into the room? No one? Then my ears must have de- ceived me. Well, this was the way of it. Take my hand in yours and feel it. Tough and hard, isnt it? Grip mine as hard as you can; harderharder. Your fingers are like haby fln~ers as they twine themselves round mine. I could crush every hone in them with my ~teel grip; as I crushed every hone in Captain Whitelocks right hand, and rendered it impossible for him ever again to hold a pistol in it. He occupied chambers, as my master did. I knew I should find him at home early in the evening, and a few minutes after my master and I returned from the races I knocked at Captain Whitelocks door. His own voice bade me enter. He was alone, and was standing at a table examining a pair of pistols. He looked at nie with a strange smile. I was just thinking of your master, lie said. Have you come to me with an apology from him? You can take it back, and tell him that with one of these toys I shall shoot him through the heart. I dont come from my master, I said, and as I spoke I turned the key in his door; I am here on my own account, and I have a watch-word for you. Your design seems to he robbery, he said, roused to anger hy the purposed insolence of my tone. Unlock that door. Hear my watch-word first, I said. Out with it, then I he cried. Laburnum Villa, Sydenham. I saw by his livid face that he knew all had been discovered. With an oath lie threw himself upon me, and raised his ri~ht hand with a pistol in it. I seized the hand, and the pistol went off obliquely across my eyes. From that moment I have been stone-blind. But I did not let go his hand; I held on to it, and crushed it in mine. He scream- ed with pain, and his cries brought people to the door, which they could not imme- diately open. While they were beating it in, Captain Whitelock and I struggled all over the room. Let go ! he shrieked; you are crush- ing my fingers You shall never use them again I muttered, between my teeth. It was a brutal act, I know, and I have only to plead, in justification of it, that it saved my dear masters life, for from that evening Captain Whitelocks right hand was powerless for mischief. I was taken up for it, of course, and tried; but Captain Whitelock said nothing at the trial of the injury to his hand. The charge against me was attempted robbery, accompanied by violence. I was sen- tenced to five years imprisonment. That is the whole of my story, friend, which I have related to you by my mas- ters orders. I[ have told it ill if I have not made it clear to you that there lives not on Gods earth a nobler-hearted gen- tleman than Sir Edmund Barry. How long have you known him? Over a year? Well, you should have got a pretty good inkling of his character in that time. And how was it that Lady Judith came to you and called him a cheat and a coward? She was driving accidentally thiough the village, was she? Yes. Go on. And hearin~ that Sir Edmund Barry was here, and was well liked? Yes, yes; go on. And not only well liked, but well loved? Yes, yes; that was sure to be. Go on. Stop! What was that you said? And going to be married to your daugh- ter? What, to that young lady who sin~s my masters songs so sweetly? God bless herand him! I see it all. Lady Judiths venom showed itself when she heard the news, and she thought she would spoil my masters happiness. But she hasnt done so, has she? Hes as good and true a gentleman as any girl in the land could hope to win. That woman has not stepped in the way of his happiness, has she? No ? Then God bless you! There is some one stirring in the room. You cant deceive me any longer. I know the step. Willy ! My dear master! God bless you! God bless you! Let me kiss the hand of the lady you love! BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. A THANKSGIVING STORY. BY BLANCHE WILLIS hOWARD. 1.THE FLIGhT. WHEN the Gardines and the Glyn- dons assembled in full force, it was like the gathering of two mighty Scotch clans. Arrayed in wedding garments, t~iey now stood on the platform of the railway station at Pineville, concentrating their attention npon two yonng people at a window of a parlor-car, and indulging in those well-meant but inane remarks which seem, by common consent, to be- long to the amenities of travel. Be sure and not take cold, Beryl. Write often, wont you ? And, John, if you should happen to see Consin Thomas, give hini my love. And mine to Cousin Anne, Beryl. And a kiss to dear little Charlie. And remember to give my kindest re- gards to old Dr. Mason. Oh, Beryl, the aconite and nux are in a corner of your dressing-case. Take care of yourself, old fellow. And take good care of Beryl. And write often. And dont take cold. Mr. and Mrs. John Gardine, but two hours previous pronounced man aiid wife, looked as bright and unconcerned as if they were starting off to play tennis, he twenty-one, dark, a genuine Gardine; she seventeen, fair, a tine Glyndon both comely, amiable, and gay, and nearly as ignorant of life as two kittens. To the benisons and warnings flung at them by their kinsfolk they responded with smiles, nods, and an occasional inco- herent and random word. The locomo- tive began to draw deep breaths, like a cuPbed living thing eager for escape, and its slow inexorable puff-pus caused all the Gardines and all the Glyndons to val- iantly raise their voices for a final charge, and aniid the frantic fluttering of two- score pocket-handkerchiefs to call after the receding fl~ures at the window a se- ries of confused and undistinguishable shrieks: Dont take cold, Beryl ! And do write often! And, John, givemy love to And pray try to see Nux and aconite But above the whirling fragments of affectionate arid liortatory remark the voice of Aunt Susan Glyndon rang out, clear and commandin~ as a war-trump- et, Children, come home for Thanksgiv- ing Jack and Beryl, now fairly off, gave one long look into each others eyes, and broke into a hearty laugh. If Aunt Susan only knew ! began Beryl, as soon as she could speak. If they any of them knew ! rcturned Jack. After which they laughed again in de- licious contemplation of some mysterious idea known only to them. When Beryl had sufficiently recovered to wipe the mer- ry tears from her eyes, and Jacks parox- ysm of mirth had subsided into low inter- ruittent chuckles, she exclaimed, with as much sarcasm as her placid and rosy face could express: Thanksgiving, indeed! The most dreadful day ! Because the most of a family day, Jack chimed in. Thanksgiving is the family, he added, sententiously. And such a family! Jack, I really dont know what weve ever done to de- serve it. Its ridiculous! Anybody might think we were Europeans ! she conclud- ed, with indignant emphasis. And when we consider, reflected her husband, that its not the etiquette of the Spanish court, but purely affectionate in- terest which has Watched over us, she interrupted, impetuously, and followed us, and ac- companied our goings out and comings in and listened to every word weve spo- ken, and repeated it to twenty-six Glyn- dons And twenty-seven Gardines, groan- ed Jack. -And rejoiced with us so intrusive- ly, and beamed satisfaction at us, and suf- focated us with sympathy, and, in short, chaperoned us so closely that weve never been really alone together until now. Alone ! exclaimed Jack, glancing impatiently up and down the well-filled car. Yet you wouldnt let me take ~ compartment. Because I simply will not look like a bride, she returned, complacently, push-

BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. A THANKSGIVING STORY. BY BLANCHE WILLIS hOWARD. 1.THE FLIGhT. WHEN the Gardines and the Glyn- dons assembled in full force, it was like the gathering of two mighty Scotch clans. Arrayed in wedding garments, t~iey now stood on the platform of the railway station at Pineville, concentrating their attention npon two yonng people at a window of a parlor-car, and indulging in those well-meant but inane remarks which seem, by common consent, to be- long to the amenities of travel. Be sure and not take cold, Beryl. Write often, wont you ? And, John, if you should happen to see Consin Thomas, give hini my love. And mine to Cousin Anne, Beryl. And a kiss to dear little Charlie. And remember to give my kindest re- gards to old Dr. Mason. Oh, Beryl, the aconite and nux are in a corner of your dressing-case. Take care of yourself, old fellow. And take good care of Beryl. And write often. And dont take cold. Mr. and Mrs. John Gardine, but two hours previous pronounced man aiid wife, looked as bright and unconcerned as if they were starting off to play tennis, he twenty-one, dark, a genuine Gardine; she seventeen, fair, a tine Glyndon both comely, amiable, and gay, and nearly as ignorant of life as two kittens. To the benisons and warnings flung at them by their kinsfolk they responded with smiles, nods, and an occasional inco- herent and random word. The locomo- tive began to draw deep breaths, like a cuPbed living thing eager for escape, and its slow inexorable puff-pus caused all the Gardines and all the Glyndons to val- iantly raise their voices for a final charge, and aniid the frantic fluttering of two- score pocket-handkerchiefs to call after the receding fl~ures at the window a se- ries of confused and undistinguishable shrieks: Dont take cold, Beryl ! And do write often! And, John, givemy love to And pray try to see Nux and aconite But above the whirling fragments of affectionate arid liortatory remark the voice of Aunt Susan Glyndon rang out, clear and commandin~ as a war-trump- et, Children, come home for Thanksgiv- ing Jack and Beryl, now fairly off, gave one long look into each others eyes, and broke into a hearty laugh. If Aunt Susan only knew ! began Beryl, as soon as she could speak. If they any of them knew ! rcturned Jack. After which they laughed again in de- licious contemplation of some mysterious idea known only to them. When Beryl had sufficiently recovered to wipe the mer- ry tears from her eyes, and Jacks parox- ysm of mirth had subsided into low inter- ruittent chuckles, she exclaimed, with as much sarcasm as her placid and rosy face could express: Thanksgiving, indeed! The most dreadful day ! Because the most of a family day, Jack chimed in. Thanksgiving is the family, he added, sententiously. And such a family! Jack, I really dont know what weve ever done to de- serve it. Its ridiculous! Anybody might think we were Europeans ! she conclud- ed, with indignant emphasis. And when we consider, reflected her husband, that its not the etiquette of the Spanish court, but purely affectionate in- terest which has Watched over us, she interrupted, impetuously, and followed us, and ac- companied our goings out and comings in and listened to every word weve spo- ken, and repeated it to twenty-six Glyn- dons And twenty-seven Gardines, groan- ed Jack. -And rejoiced with us so intrusive- ly, and beamed satisfaction at us, and suf- focated us with sympathy, and, in short, chaperoned us so closely that weve never been really alone together until now. Alone ! exclaimed Jack, glancing impatiently up and down the well-filled car. Yet you wouldnt let me take ~ compartment. Because I simply will not look like a bride, she returned, complacently, push- 134 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing the hassock with a boot convicted of to tell each other all in our heartsever utter newness by its conspicuously clean get really talked out, you know, Jack. sole, and reaching a faultlessly gloved Of course not; but I cant yet realize hand after a brand-new travelling bag that weve escaped, and that some of them resplendent with silver monogram and wont appear in a moment-Cousin Carry mountin~,s. I was trying to tell you with her eternal cup-cake. my idea about brides that day in the li- Or mamma with a shawl, laughed brary when Arthur interrupted us. I be- Beryl. lieve I never began to tell anything but Or Harry wanting help with his al- somebody interrupted. You see, I wouldnt gebra. have a compartment any more than I Or Aunt Susan simply and literally would wear gray, which mamma prefers, hanging round. but which I think looks lovey-dovey, or Yes, l3eryl, she was the worst. brown, which Aunt Mary declares is the Wasnt she! As stiff as a clothes-pin only proper thing, but which I find quite and as dry as a nutmeg. Its been no- too conspicuously bridey. Why, every thing less than persecution. To think girl I know has gone on her wedding that even when you first told me that you journey in either gray or brown! Where- loved me, and we did suppose we were as, Jackturning her face temptingly quite alonepeople usually are at such toward him, and smiling in triumph at times her own astuteness-in this black Hen- And it was just dusk, and you looked rietta cloth with a box-pleated skirt, no- like an angel in your white dress. body could possibly suspect me. And there we stood on the back pi- You would look beautiful in any- azzawed barely managed to escape from thing, whispered John, fervently, lean- the others, and my heart was beating so ing over her, and after pretending to ar- fast ! range the window-shade, letting his hand It seemed so long before you spoke. fall upon hers with a lingering pressure. But I couldnt speak, Jack. The old gentleman opposite smiled be- And I began to fear you liked Bob. niguly, and adjusted his newspaper at an Oh, Jack! Bob? Bob is very nice, angle of consideration for the lovers, and but Bob isnt you. the negro porter delicately failed to offer And there we stood, and it was so them coffee, which he happened to be car- still- ryin~ by on a large tray. And, con- When suddenly Aunt Susanoh, tinned Jack, you do have the brightest Jack, wasnt she awful ?coughied quite ideas, Beryl. You certainly are the very distinctly at the second- story window, cleverest girl I ever saw. and called out: Well, Beryl, dont dilly- Oh, I dont know as Im really dcv- dally. Speak up and say youll have er, Beryl responded, modestly. But him, and then hurry in to tea, or the ideas I must say I do have, and many muffins will fall. Muffins! Oh, Jack! thoughts about life that Ive wanted to And its been muffins or something else tell you so often; but there, with such a ever since. ~ family ! But weve turned the tables now, ~We shall have time now, Beryl, Beryl, thanks to your happy thought. Jack said, softly, and with so amorous a And Thanksgiving will come, and the glance that the old maid in the corner stupid old turkey and mince-pies and blushed and wheeled round with a jerk. plum-pudding. Oh yes, years amid years, yet never And the speech about the Pilgrim time enough to say all. How long do Fathers and the family hearth-stone. you suppose we shall live, Jack ? And the family will seek us in vain. Well, the Gardines and Glyndons am e And the family will oh and ah both long-lived races. Grandfather Gar- and wonder dine is eighty-two. And twenty-six Glyndons And Grandpa Glyndon is eighty. And twenty-seven Gardines And yet, Jack, if we live to be as old as Will run distractedly to and fro, and that (and we probably shall, for we are hold up fifty-three astonished hands__ going to be so happy, and happiness And not a voice will disturb us makes people healthy), why, even then I Not a letter will reach us. Oh, Jack, dont believe we shall have time enough dearest Jack, its heavenly ! BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 13~i As near as was possible in two obdu- rately screwed-down chairs these ingenu- ous young people approached each other. Low, fast, laughingly, their indefatigable voices ran on. Their fellow - travellers enjoyed them much. What cared they? Jack saw only his bride, and she was se- cure in the disguise of her black Henri- etta. Everybody knew that this conspicuous- ly blissful young couple had tickets for Boston. The conductor knew it officially; the diplomatic porter knew because it was his province to know everything; the be- nign old gentleman knew because lie was curious, and had looked at the tickets; and all the other people knew whether they would or no, the Gardines and Glyndons assembled on the platform at Pineville having proclaimed it generously to the four winds of heaven. Yet as the train went on, after a brief stop at a certain ob- scure little station, in the very middle of the car stood two empty chairs. All the brightness and beauty, the youth, hilari- ty, and unconsciousness, which had made that spot a pleasant place had vanished. The rigid chair backs looked much farther apart than before, and destitute of any de- sire to lend themselves to mysterious and amused confidences. People stared curi- ously at the sudden void, then accepted it as a fact. The old gentleman, finding his surroundings no longer entertaining, covered his face with a large silk handker- chief and went to sleep. The train steamed toward its legitimate destination, and bore on to Boston two ownerless trunks, each marked with a large G., but Mr. and Mrs. John Gardinewhere were they? In a country chaise, with an extempo- rized front seat for the driver, the lovers fled through November twilight mists, their faces turned seaward. The road grew rough and boggy, and scarcely wider than a bridle-path. They floundered and jolted over fallen branches. Wet boughs hung low and scraped the chaise-top liea- vily, and flung showers of drops in their laughing faces. They took it all as a l)art of the universal joke. The stolid- eyed young driver, inwardly consumed by curiosity, kept his broad back turned upon the eccentric pair. Behind this rus- tic shelter their mirth bubbled irrepressi- bly, and their spirits rose ever higher, as strong salt gusts proclaimed the near pre- sence of the Atlantic. VOL. LXXJV.No. 439.12 11.LOVE IN A COTTAGE. St. Simon Stylites on his pillar had no Beryl, and St. Barbara on her tower no John, but otherwise the seclusion neither of pillar nor tower was more complete than that of the shooting-box ii~ which Jack and Beryl sought refuge from the clamorous attentions of their friends. St. Barbaras tower had three windows, the shooting - box five. St. Simon Stylitess pillar was exposed to wind and weather. So was the shooting-box, through whose multitudinous crevices and crannies fierce Atlantic blasts swept at will. The small rough house stood on a bleak point, which for all romantic purposes sufficiently re- sembled the traditional desert island of shipwrecked mariners, being surrounded on three sides by wild waves, while its approach from land was at most seasons submerged enough to necessitate wading. If Jack could have hired a conveniently located little desert island, lie would doubt- less, in his pardonably exalted state of mind, have paid an extravagant price for it. But lie was none the less grateful to a deceased uncle for having created the shooting-box, and left hiini the key, with some more valuable possessions, in his will. The genius of solitude extended his wings over that little hermitage. Sand, sea, the horizon, comprised its view, with a dark line of woods running across the neck which led inland. A passing sail by day and the distant light-house flame by night were the most enlivening objects in range. A poet. a painter, might have been happy here with unveiled nature; a misanthrope could not have chosen a niore appropriate den in which to secrete him- self and curse the world; a philosopher wrapped in reflection would have paced the three small rooms and the knee-deep sand before the door with calm appropri- ateness. Jacks uncle had not permitted himself the luxury of being a pronounced poet, painter, philosopher, or misanthrope, but was a bit of each by turns, and a fair sportsman to boot. Shut in between four walls lined xvith dusty legal tomes, he ex- perienced periodical yearnings for air and space. This had led him to buy the Neck, and build the rou~h little dwelling which, for reasons of his own, lie named Owls Roost. Here he would sometimes retreat for a while, quite alone, in restful hermit fashion, which the world called eccentric. 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Again, he would summon from their va- rious ~haunts other bachelors like himself for a season of shooting, fishin ~, and was - sail, and at this the world very properly (irew (lown the corners of its mouth, and bad no epithet sufficiently severe to apply to those days of revelry when Jehu with his boon companions would drive out to Owls Roost in a dog-cart, and be met on the sands by their sun-browned hearty host, Nimrod. Camping here with guns and fishing-tackle, and holding high car- nival, the jolly sportsmen from inland cities gloried in their fre~dom, and when they returned to the daily routine of busi- ness they had in vested the barren isolated spot with charms difficult to prove to a dispassionate mind. With all indulgence for the frailties of Owls Roost, it cannot he denied that its interior wore a somewhat battered, old- bachelor aspect. Pipes and card-tables, prehistoric cigar stumps, and eloquent bits of broken wineglasses met Beryls glance of innocent surprise as she entered the first low, roughly plastered room. A stags head raised its proud antlers over the door, and on a shelf perched a graduated row of owls, twelve in number, and most impressive from the hypnotic stare of their glass eyes. Stoves of an asthmatic air-tight descrip- tion were not wanting, and John had sent out fuel, as well as a huge supply of Al- bert biscuit, canned meats, fruits and vege- tables, pickles and sardines. What more could two fond hearts seeking a prolong- ed t6te-4-t~te desire? While Jack kindled the fires in the dis- used stoves, Beryl, at first animated and alert, examined everything with dainty curiosity. It was chilly, and the chimney smoked. She shivered and coughed slightly. It was not an ominous sound, but the young husband turned his face, red from zealous blowing, and looked at her with appre- hension. It will be warmer soon, she respond- ed, cheerfully. That stove isnt like our great open fire in the hail; but we couldnt bring that along with us very well. A house where no one has lived for some time is always queer; but its exact- ly what we wanted, isnt it, Beryl ? kneel- ing and blowing strenuously. O1~, its perfect, she assured him,with a shiver, drawing a heavy travelling shawl round her shoulders. Jack, why didnt your uncle have window-curtains? It looks so black and horrid out there. Ill close the shutters, you dear little coward. Fortunately we have no neigh- bors to look in-theres not a soul within ten miles. During his brief and legitimate absence she was nervous and homesick, and wish- ed that lie would come back. There was something ghastly in the concentrated stare of those twelve birds of wisdom. She started violently when Jack, after a struggle, closed an obstinate shutter with a bang. For weeks Beryl had longed for this moment, and had hoarded countless pre- cious themes in regard to which they two, once alone, should exchange the results of their observation, necessarily imma- ture, but on that account all the more de- lightfully positive and incontestable in its mode of expression. But the conversa- tional frigate which we most heavily load is rarely the one upon which we embark. No lofty sentiment occurred to either of them,as Johubreathiess and a little grimy, concluded his unwonted labors and ten- derly embraced his bride. Aloneat last! he exclaimed. Yes responded Beryl, gravely re- gaiding the bare plaster walls and the air- tight stove; and how pleasant it is! Jack, how did your uncle look? Was he tall and terribly pale? I cant help im- agining him like the Corsican brothers. Her apprehensive glance peered through the doorway into the darkness of the next room. What a joke! He was rather short and stout, and awfully jolly. Beryl gently repudiated the more cheer- ful description, and clung to her first ro- mantic sketch. How he must have suf- fered! she murmured, pensively. Jack, how long did he ever stay in this place alone at any one time ? It must by no means be supposed that this conversation flowed on with a regular pendulum swing of question and answei, as when a long-hooked-for bishop catechises a long-expectant Sunday-school. On the contrary, there were oft-recurring blissful pauses. The two young people were sit- ting in one corner of a small, straight- backed sofa, apparently with the laudable intention of economizing space. As nei- tImer of them had ever economized any- thing else, it was surely a step in the right BEIRYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 137 direction. Recovering herself after cer- tain interruptions, Beryl returned to her categorical demands. How long did the poor man ever stay here all alone ? Oh, I dont know. Six weeks, per- haps. But he liked it. Then Merrill and Little and Smith used to drive down, and they had clam chowders and a lark gen- erallv. Liked it! Oh, Jack, when I think of that lonely, heroic man concealing his sadness when his friends drove down Yes, he concealed it well, chuckled Jack. And playing the part of genial host He did that uncommonly well too. And keeping up, Jackkeeping up so bravely, while they were here, and then, after they were gone, returning to his melancholy, desperate thoughts, to his solitude and desolation in this awful place oh, Jack, when I remember all that, I could cry Dont cry, Beryl, begged poor Jack, with some excitement; and whats the use of bothering about uncle? He was a capital fellow, and I have every reason to be grateful to him; but lies gone, you know. ~Thy, Jack, you wouldnt reproach me for a feeling of commiseration for an unhappy, misunderstood man,would you? What did he do down here ? she persisted. Do? Why, lie fished, and went shoot- ing. He shot no end of snipe, and upland plover too, back there across the neck, and quail and partridges. Snipe! repeated Beryl, sadly, and shook her head with an astute air which would. have exasperated Jack had his mood heen less fond. Snipe! Poor, poor man ! Suddenly she stared at the wall xvith a horrified Oh, Jack! is that gun loaded ? If it is, it wont go off. Its too damp. Oh, dont go near it; it might burst. Old guns are apt to explode, arent they? Oh, please dont trifle with it. Cant you take it up gently and throw it out of the window ? Why, Beryl, I didnt know you were afraid of a gun.~~ Every sensible person is afraid of a gun, she rejoined, with a touch of asper- ity born of fear. Jack looked wonderingly at her, and was silent. A great gust rattled the windows and swept like a cold wave along the floor. It seemed to Beryl that the gloomy thud of the sea grew louder and nearer. Jack, if burglars should attack us! No one within ten miles, did you say ? Burglars ~ be returned, with a laugh. Why, there isnt a burglar in the world mean enough to show himself in a hole like this. The sea sounded angry and threatening. The feeble lamp-flame was burning on one side of the wick, and strug~,ling painfully for existence. A depressing chilliness and dampness pervaded the atmosphere. Beryl looked pale, cold, and undemonstra- tive. Jack, cheerfully undaunted, deter- mined to approve of his surroundings. What is commonly called tact was not, perhaps, his greatest virtue. Think, Beryl, if we werent here to- night, we should be cooped up in a com- monplace hotel. Not that I dont approve of hotel comforts, but one doesnt go on one~s wedding journey every day, and I must say your idea was clever and unique. It was a happy thou~ht. So here we are, all alone, miles and miles away from ev- erybody, and the sea roaring and the wind howling like mad; whereas in unroman- tic Boston we should be toasting our toes before a hot coal grate, and have oysters and gas and easy-chairs, and everything as prosaic and comfortable as possible. Instead of replying, Beryl leaned for- ward and fixed her strangely intent gaze upon a distant dusky corner. The next instant she was poised on a chair, tightly clutching her skirts and holding them high. Oh, Jack! oh, Jack! ohm, Jack! she screamed, in shrill and terrified crescendo. For Heavens sake, Beryl Oh, cant you see? Oh, Jack, its a mouse! There! He gave one glance at the corner iiidi- cated by her desperate gesture, another at her convulsive attitude, then broke into laughter as jolly and irrepressible as any that had pealed there in response to after- dinner stories durin~ the halcyon days of his uncles hospitality, and, ardent young lover as lie was, a passing thought cross- ed his mind that what Emerson calls the restraining grace of common-sense niight at this moment improve even Beryl. Still, since the exhibition of feminine weakness is by no means a displeasing tribute to mas- culine strength, lie controlled his mirth, 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and walked toward her with an air at once superior and indulgent. In the experi- euce of every youthful married couple there are moments when lie, again when she, seems to be the more mature. Jack, through no virtue of his own, belonging to the sex in which nature has implanted no acute and agonizin~ dread of the mouse, andin justice be it addedto the sex whose costuriie, except in benighted lands where men wear draperies, presents less surface and fewer iiitricate folds in which the mouse can secrete himself, now as- sumed a patriarchal and benign aspect, and extending protectin~ arms, murmur- ed reassuringly, much as he would have tried to soothe a nervotis horse, There, Beryl; therethere ! But lie reckoned without his host. She cast one exhaustive glance at the corner haunted by the hated quadruped, relaxed for the first time her frenzied grasp of her skirts, pushed her husbands hand dis- dainfully aside, sprang down, and burst- ing into tears, threw herself upon the sofa. You laughed, she ejaculated throu~h deep-drawn sobs. I know I did, he returned, con- tritely. You laughedheartily. You see, I didnt know girls acted in that fashion, he apologized. If Id known, I wouldnt have laughed. I may have heard of it, but it never made any impression upon me before. And you, who swim and ride- What has a horse to do with a mouse? she demanded, shortly, behind her hand- kerchief. Well. I know, lie admitted, in gen- tlest propitiation. To bring me down here to this dismal place, and then laugh at me ! she gasped, with a fresh paroxysni of grief. But,Beryl, he demanded, inordinate- ly surprised at this accusation, and speak- ing with considerable liveliness but, Beryl, honestly now, who proposed this scheme? Who first suggested coming here? Who longed to be away from the world alomie with each other, and all that ? Beryl wept no more. Slowly rising from her half - recumbent position, she drew herself up with dignity to her full height, and confronted him with wet and solemn eyes. And if I did propose it, Jack Gar- dine, she said, with tragic emphasis, is it generous of you to remind me of it now He stared at her, discomfited and bewil- dered. Her grandly illogical charge had routed him completely. He began to whistle softly between his teeth and pace the room. He had known Beryl Glyndon all her life. They had been playmates as chil- dren, friends and comrades always. The course of their affection had run very smoothly. Everybody desired and ex- pected the enga~ement. There had not been one obstacle, one single lurid gleaum of tragedy. Beryl was the dearest, pret- tiest, cleverest girl in the world, and if he didnt know her, why, lie didiit know his own brothers and sisters, he didnt know himself. Stillcasting a furtive glance at her tear-stained averted face still, she had succeeded in surprising him greatly, aiid the trouble was lie didnt know how to make thiin~s right. Beryl was so placid, even - tempered, and amiable! All the Gardines and Glyn- dons pronounced her emphatically the most amiable girl in town. And even if she were less amiable, what in Heaven~s name had he done? Was he to blame that she was afraid of a mouse? Was a laugh a crime? Really Beryl ought to have more consideration. When before had a Gardine on his wed- ding journey failed to take his bride to the best hotels? Who but Beryl had pro- posed this rough-and-ready performance? To be sure, he had cordially acquiesced, for the Gardines amid Glyndons had been mnaddening in their sustained ubiquitous- ness; and Beryls happy thought, confided to him by fragments, with an interested aunt, a sympathetic cousin, or a fond elder sister continually hovering about and in- terrupting, had impressed him as the fresh- est and most attractive bit of rebellion against family traditioii that could be con- ceived. After all, lie had reasoned, a man and his wife can go anywhere they please. It had seemed odd, as he ordered aU those canned things, to think that when they should open and eat them, Beryl would be his wife. She had slipped her list into his prayer-book at morning service a cer- tam Sunday, and he, seizing his opportu- nity, had given her hand a shi~ht squeeze as it gently withdrew from the book lying on the pew cushion between them. As luck would have it, Aunt Susan turned BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 139 her head that very moment, and stared at them from the pew in front with her air of proprietorship. Of course she saw the squeeze. She had never indulged in such weakness herself, but she had certainly succeeded in catching on the wing all the squeezes and kisses designed for other peo- ple in her neighborhood. Happily she had not spied the paper. That evening, in the library, he had whis- pered to Berylwhile Uncle Henry turn- ed his head away to sneezethat her idea of house-keeping was evidently a gigantic kind of picnic. She replied with so be- witching a smile that lie would have kiss- ed her for it had not Uncle Henry, hay- in~ satisfactorily achieved his sneeze, now given his undivided attention to the young people. Why should Beryl be displeased? And Jacks uneasy stride gained momentum. Had he not made every effort to gratify her whims? Had he not ordered con- densed milk, which lie despised, and thought of fuel and kerosene, and char- tered the vehicle and the boy? Why was she unreasonable and silent? Much aggrieved, his mood sinking fast toward sullenness, his honest face grow- ing heavy and set, lie continued his reflec- tions and his promenade. As his mental alienation from Beryl increased, he widen- ed the actual distance between them, ad- vancing into the second roomonce the kitchen, where his uncle had proudly broiled his own birdsturning there and walking hack toward the motionless, ob- stinate figure, returning and prolonging his comfortless course into the outer dark- ness of the little sleeping-room beyond. His monotonous march and the sound of the winds and waves were loud in the silent cottage. And Beryl? As Jacks heart hardened, hers softened. It was strangely dismal down here. She had rarely been away from home be- fore, except, indeed, to other girls homes. The Glyndoiis did not approve of board- ing-schools, and even for her so-called ac- complishments teachers had come to the house. Beryl was a home-child, and near- ly every night of her life had gone to sleep in her little white room overlooking the garden. To become engaged to Jack Gardine had been the most natural thing in the world, and the whole time of their en- gagement delightful, although exciting. Something was always going on. There were dinners, suppers, and dances; dress- makers, seamstresses, and journeys to Bos- ton for shopping; in short, the time had passed very rapidly. The truth was, now that it was all over, she felt tired and urn nerved. The day, too, hind been exciting. Be- fore she was scarcely awake, her mother and aunts and cousins and cousins cous- ins had kissed her, and wept over her, and wished her happiness, and begged her to he calm. Beryl was usually very calm, but this was enough to shake the nerves of a snail. A bride is a puppet in the hands of her nearest and dearest women - folk. The chief personage in the drama, she must yet be wanting in will and initiative. Beryl had been arrayed in white for the church by a dozen eager hands, which seized her after the marriage ceremony and put her into her travelling dress as if she were a soulless doll. Everything had seemed hurried arid queer. No one had consulted her about anything. Even in church she had felt less solenin than she anticipated, and could not help observing what funny wrinkles the Rev. Mr. Tasker hind on each side of his nose. Well, what was the trouble now? Here they were beyond the reach or ken of the familyonly she and Jackand yet she was standing with her back turned, and lie was striding moodily up and down as if they had quarrelled. Somebody hind told her that a man and his wife usually have a quarrel during the first six nionths of married life. But the very first day that would be terrible! It was strange to be there in that dreary place, stared at by owls, shrieked at by winds. Involuntarily she pictured the fa- miliar faces and brightness of home. Still, she had chosen this, and she had chosen Jack. How good he was! What pos- sessed her to be foolish, and make him glooniy? But it should not be a quarrel. She turned toward himhesitated stopped short. He was now vanishing in the darkness of the last little room. Behind him came a pair of rapid feet. Jack, Jack, pleaded a soft voice, and the quarrel was nipped in the bud. 111.A CONVERSATIONAL LULL. Does tragedy make the character, or is the character the cause of the tragedy? How long would Romeo and Juliet have, 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. found each other entertaining at Owls Roost, provided all the iVLontagues and Capulets had been ea~er for the match from the beginning? Suppose Juliet, conventionally designed for Romeo, had played dolls, top, croquet, and tennis with him in peaceable progression, had danced the german with him at neighbors houses, met him at concerts, rowing parties, and church fairswould she still, in spite of these cheerful mundane auspices, have been classically passionate and touching? How long would Hero and Leander have been blissful, cooped up in that fishing- box, assuming that Leander were not obliged to swim over, thereby creating daily excitement and interest? And might not Jack and Beryl, if opposed by fate, cruelly maltreated by all the Gar- dines and Glyndons, doomed from birth to tragedy and woe, present a more digni- fied and rounded aspect of romance dur- ing their sojourn at Owls Roost? For in shamefaced apology it must be confess- ed that whatever was the cause, whether owing to too much worldly ease or too little natural aptitude for the heroic, their conduct was singularly unimpressive. They began their picnic life the next morning with much sprighti mess. Get- ting breakfast presented certain difficulties and humorous situations, which they en- joyed. It rained hard, apparently set- ting in for a long November storm, Jack prophesied, with a weather-wise air. So much the better, said Beryl, cheerfully revertipg to first principles. We have such worlds to say to each other, and we shall have no interrup- tions. No, I should say not, Jack muttered, with a queer long glance through a very obscure and grimy window-pane, out upon the gray flat wet landscape. But that is what we like, protested Beryl. Oh, yes, yes; certainly, Jack assured her, with suspicious haste. Beryl washed the breakfast dishes with few conveniences. Jack manfully tend- ed the fires. These homely duties were performed with spirit and a certain pic- turesqueness, and sweetened by expres- sions of mutual affection and apprecia- tion. After their labors they seated them- selves on the ascetic sofa, the long rainy day stretching on before them. Surely the hour for unbounded soul revelation had now struck. Silence reigned in the cottage. The air - ti~ht stove crackled sharply npw and then, and puffed. Beryl listened with tranquil pleasure to the tick- ing of her new watch. Jack, she said, gently. Yes, darling. How long did you say your poor uncle staid here all alone 2 My poor uncle! But, Beryl, when I tell you he liked it Oh, yes, yes; I forgot, she murmur- ed, conciliatingly. Another long silence. Jack. Yes, dearest. Not that Im not perfectly satisfied, and dont find it all delightfulbut, Jack, I only wanted to ask-do you think you would have preferred the light-house? You remember my first idea was a light- house. It was a brilliant idea, but, you see, an obdurate government couldnt have been induced at so short notice to displace some worthy individual and give us the appointment. Its a pity, she returned, with an ab- stracted air; for there is so much I could say to you if we were in a light-house far from the world. A light-house is so grand and high. Well, what is it you want to say, Beryl? Is it too flat to talk here ? he demanded, practically. Theres a great deal of scouring and rubbing to do in a light-housed I believe. The work would occupy our time, which might be a good thing. Oh, people who love each other dont need to have their time occupied, the little bride returned, serenely. Jack could do no less than kiss her, and gallantly repudiate the most distant possibility of ennui in her presence. You didnt happen to put a pack of cards in your travelling bag ? he asked, presently. No, dear; certainly not. Or a book ? No, Jack. Why, you dont want to read, do you ? Not at allnot at all, my dear. I simply inquired. Beryl smiled brightly at him. He smiled brightly at her. Presently she walked across the room and searched her travelling bag. What are you looking for ? Oh, nothing of any importance. I BERYLS HAPPY THOUGHT. 141 merely thought one of the girls might have dropped my lace-work in here. You surely dont want to sew to-day ? Certainly not, dearest Jack. I was only looking. Again they valiantly exchanged their smile of perfect satisfaction. Let no mocker infer that they were act- ually weary of themselves and the place in this brief time. Ali no; their secret grief lay deeper. It was not to-day that dismayed them, but -half confessed to their own soulsthe prospect of a series of morrows stretching on through that dis- inal November weather, far from the im- portunate family, hut far too from books, from music, from warm hearth-stones, and the pleasant sound of friendly human voices. Ahi ! thought Beryl, the dreary sea, the dismal rain, the melancholy wind, the damp and dirt and chilliness and discom- fort, and no chance to surprise him with pretty toilets. Confound it! mused Jack ; that beastly wind and ghastly sea, and rain- ing cats and dogs, and not a cigar, and a surfeit of canned horrors instead of a Christian dinner 1 Beryl regarded the watery horizon, and gave an involuntary sigh. Jack at this moment yawned. They turned and look- ed guiltily at each other. You arent lonesome, Beryl ? The little laugh with which she re- sponded was somewhat hollow and high, and less spontaneous than her usual mirth- ful note. You yawned, Jack. I hope youre not sleepy ? Whereupon, to refute the insinuation, he laughed too, and his histrionic attempt was even less successful than hers, being, indeed, a lamentable failure, and as unlike honest Jack Gnrdines voice as if the owls on the shelf had united in one demoniac hoot. It would scarcely have surprised Beryl had they opened their twelve beaks and loudly expressed the derision which their uncanny stare indicated; for be- fore the close of that endless first day she was fully persuaded that the Owls Roost scheme was a prodi~ ious mistake. But what could she do? She herself had originated it, clothed it with radiant colors, and con- vinced Jack that it would be a foretaste of paradise. If, after all her enthusiasm, she should be the first to lose courage ar~d patience, and worse still, if she should plainly admit that his presence was not more than sufficient to make sunshine in a shady place, to illumine a sandy beach in a November storm, and to warm and glorify a cold and dirty room, what would he think of her consistency, of her affec- tion? No: although she knew well that if she should fly to Jack and put her arms round his neck, and say, Jack dear, this is miserable business, and all my fault; take me back to civilization, he would comply lovin~ly (she even suspected with alacrity), yet she would not, could not, ought not, to begin her marriage life with so fatal an evidence of vacillationno, not if Owls Roost should prove her death. Meanwhile Jack, advancing by another course of reasoning, had arrived at the same determination. She proposed it: how can I be the first to weary of it ? he asked himself. It would be unkind, un- gallant, ungenerous, almost cruel. With- out a cigar, its rather hard lines. A man is nervous and irritable in spite of him- self when he cant smoke. But that, again, was a part of Beryls happy thought. She had said, Only each other, and the world far off, and cigars did seem so inappropri- ate and commonplace. I suppose they are, he reflected, but Id give five dol- lars for one this minute. Well, if she can bear it, I can. I wont complain. Last night it excited her to have me even men- tion that coming here was her plan. I wont remind her of it. I wont open my lips. I can hold out as long as she can. We shant starve or freeze, I presume. I wonder how long she can stand it? Its three weeks now to Thanksgivingthree weeks. He eyed her curiously. Girls are queer creatures, he mused, helpless before his peculiar problem. I wonder, now, if it would be possible for her to hold out three weeks? I wonder how she real- ly feels about it? I cant and wont ques- tioii her, and Beryl is a darling, if Owls Roost is a beastly den. In spite of Beryls longing for absorb- ing conversational topics, the more she ran sacked her intellect, the less she found. Jack, she began, resolutely, I want you to tell me all your secrets. Well, he returned, with great good- humor, thats sudden! You might as wellbetter, in factdemand my money or my life. I have no secrets, Beryl. Why, Jack ! Upon my word I havent any, he protested. I know it sounds green, but 142 HAIIPER$ NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. there never was a fellow so little mysteri- ous as I am. I thought that boys had experiences and Cut up? Some do; some dont. And you have nothing at all on your conscience that it would relieve you to confide to me ? she continued, despair- ingly. I cant remember anything in particu- lar; but you neednt look so sad about it. You never felt remorse ? Not any, thank you. I dont make pretensions to early piety, but my life has been pretty fair and square s6 far. As to secrets, Im not worth a cent. She looked in his ingenuous, laughing face, and sighed. She was baffled again. No hope of escape in this direction. Why, have you had secrets, Beryl? Are you mysterious ? I? Never. That is, Jack dear blushing painfully Owls iRoost is the first real secret I ever had. And this is a famous secret, lie de- clared, fibbing generously. What would they all say if they knew we were here? Were mysterious enough! And, Beryl, as to secrets, if youre fond of them, per- haps we can get up some as we go along. Were a little behiudhand, but up to three- score years and ten we could collect a large assortment. She smiled affectionately, and felt re- assured by his cheerful tone. Again she reflected. A hopeful gleam shone in her eyes as she eagerly suggested But, John, you may not call it a secretyou may have forgotten. Ive read that men do forget such things. You must have been in love, with somebody else, I mean. Was she dark? Was she fair? Did you suffer? Did you write verses to her? Did she give you a lock of her hair? Did she trifle with you, or did her parents dis- approve of you ?stupid things! Have you kept her letters? How I wish you had them here, that we mi~ht read them together and cry over them! Tell tue all, Jack. Dont be afraid. I am not jealous. I shall only sympathize with you, and then youll feel better. And where, mayl inquire, did all this romance take place ? demanded Jack, astonished. Oh, I dont know. It must have hap- pened at Boston, or on some journey. Well, it just didnt, Beryl Glyndon; and Jack stood up and looked serious. This may sound greener than having no secrets; but the truth is, I never liked any girl but you, and except for that little flurry about Bob Bob ! she murmured, contemptuous ly. Except for that, I always expected to marry you, and nobody else. I dont think the Gardines are very hover-ly. They are certainly not romantic. I fear the Glyndons arent either, she added, in a crestfallen way. But the Gardines have made pretty good husbands, he continued, stoutly; and if Im half such a good husband as my father is, its more than I expect to be, and you may thank your stars. Why, I do already, she interposed. Then why are you disappointed ? Disappointed! Oh, Jack, it wasnt that at all. Im proud of you. Well, whatever it was, perhaps by the time Im threescore and ten I shall have a different tale to tell. Ill try, since the idea seems to please you, lie added, with a bright laugh. She would have been less than woman not to be happy in his assurance of faith- fulness. Still another hope had failed. No secrets, no love affairs upon which to dilate, and three weeks still to Thanks- giving. It had been far from their inten- tion to obey Aunt Susan~s parting injunc- tion, but Beryl now began to meditate upon the possibility of making a virtue of yielding. It would be the only way of leaving Owls Roost with some sem- blance of dignity. Vague suspicions flit- ted through her mind that there were cer- tain inconveniences and disadvantages at- tending a young married couple who had always been near neighbors, and had led calm, virtuous, and happy lives. She found herself regretting the absence of incident in their combined store of rem- iniscence, and she realized, not without a pang of conscience for her previous in- gratitude, that the kaleidoscopic group- ings of a large family connection present fruitful opportunities for censure ridi- cule, and sarcasm, which even in most amiable circles impart a piquant relish to conversation. To remark how like a lunatic Aunt Susan looked last Tuesday night, with her cap awry ! could now scarcely create a smile, whereas to see Aunt Susan and her cap, and to mildly chuckle and deride, was a stimulating lit- tle pastime. BERYL~S HAPPY THOUGHT. 143 Beryl desperately tried books. Now these bright and agreeable young persons were in the habit of reading what- ever the young people of their set read; that is to say, nearly all the new novels as they came out, and now and then some essays, if they were the~ fashion. Beryl especially was rarely without something new to read; and she read entirely for her passing amusement, as she played ten- nis and progressive euchre. She took a 1)00k that pleased her somewhat as she tookehocolate pudding; one to which she was indifferent had to her the potency of veal, while one which she positively dis- liked occupied a place in her remembrance akin to olives. She was apt to succinctly pronounce a story good, pretty good, hor- rid, or splendid; aud with her own opin- ionexpressed, be it said, in the modest and serene manner which was one of her charmsBeryl was corn pletely satisfied. But the hand of the writer behind his words she never grasped, much less caught sudden glimpses of his soul. Why should she, indeed? She filled her comfortable little niche in life very prettily, and no one expected her to have a poets spirit. Still, as she had never loved book - folk and lived with them, how could they come to her and comfort her now at Owls Roost? What is your favorite among Dick- enss novels ? she asked, abruptly. Oh, I dont know, her husband re- plied, with amiable indifference. I read Dickens when I was a boy. I liked them all, I believe. Why, Beryl, what made you think of Dickens ? Dont you think Robert Browning is perfectly splendid ? Yes, ratherwhen I know what lies talking about. Now what reminded you of Browning ? I do like Charles Eghert Craddock so much! Dont you ? Of course; but you know already what I like and dont like. Alas! she did but too well; and at best a literary conversation restricted to Dont you like this? and Do you like that? with monosyllabic answe