[illustration: instead of releasing his hold on neal the reptile held firm, etc. see page .] the search for the silver city. a tale of adventure in yucatan. by james otis. author of "the castaways," "a runaway brig," "the treasure finders," etc., etc. illustrated. new york: a. l. burt, publisher. copyright, , by a. l. burt. introduction. in mr. e. g. squier's preface to the translation of the chevalier arthur morelet's "travels in central america" the following paragraph can be found: "whoever glances at the map of central america will observe a vast region, lying between chiapas, tabasco, yucatan, and the republic of guatemala, and comprising a considerable part of each of those states, which, if not entirely a blank, is only conjecturally filled up with mountains, lakes and rivers. it is almost as unknown as the interior of africa itself. we only know that it is traversed by nameless ranges of mountains, among which the great river usumasinta gathers its waters from a thousand tributaries, before pouring them, in a mighty flood, into the lagoon of terminos, and the gulf of mexico. we know that it has vast plains alternating with forests and savannas; deep valleys where tropical nature takes her most luxuriant forms, and high plateaus dark with pines, or covered with the delicate tracery of arborescent ferns. we know that it conceals broad and beautiful lakes, peopled with fishes of new varieties, and studded with islands which supports the crumbling yet still imposing remains of aboriginal architecture and superstition. and we know, also, that the remnants of the ancient itzæs, lacandones, choles, and manches, those indomitable indian families who successfully resisted the force of the spanish arms, still find a shelter in its fastnesses, where they maintain their independence, and preserve and practice the rites and habits of their ancestors as they existed before the discovery. within its depths, far off on some unknown tributary of the usumasinta, the popular tradition of guatemala and chiapas places that great aboriginal city, with its white walls shining like silver in the sun, which the _curé_ of quiche affirmed to mr. stephens he had seen, with his own eyes, from the tops of the mountains of quesaltenango." in stephens' "yucatan," vol ii, page , are the following lines: "he (meaning the padre of quiche, with whom mr. stephens was conversing), was then young, and with much labor climbed to the naked summit of the sierra, from which, at a height of ten or twelve thousand feet, he looked over an immense plain--and saw at a great distance a large city spread over a great space, and with turrets white and glittering in the sun. the traditionary account of the indians of chajul is, that no white man has ever reached this city, that the inhabitants speak the maya language, are aware that a race of strangers has conquered the whole country around, and murder any white man who attempts to enter their territory. they have no coin or other circulating medium; no horses, cattle, mules, or other domestic animals except fowls, and the cocks they keep under ground to prevent their crowing being heard. one look at that city would be worth ten years of an every-day life. if he (the padre) is right, a place is left where indians and an indian city exist as cortez and alvarado found them; there are living men who can solve the mystery that hangs over the ruined cities of america; who perhaps can go to copan and read the inscriptions on its monuments. no subject more exciting and attractive presents itself to my mind, and the deep impression will never be effaced." contents. page. chapter i. the sea dream. chapter ii. under weigh. chapter iii. nassau. chapter iv. a new danger. chapter v. fighting the flames. chapter vi. the last resort. chapter vii. on shore. chapter viii. suspense. chapter ix. across the country. chapter x. a strange story. chapter xi. the journey. chapter xii. the silver city. chapter xiii. in the city. chapter xiv. the festival. chapter xv. a retreat. chapter xvi. discovered. chapter xvii. a halt. chapter xviii. cave life. chapter xix. a change of base. chapter xx. a desperate struggle. chapter xxi. a long halt. chapter xxii. jake's venture. chapter xxiii. a hurried departure. chapter xxiv. jake. chapter xxv. on the range. chapter xxvi. the pursuit. chapter xxvii. at bay. chapter xxviii. the catastrophe. chapter xxix. a fierce conflict. chapter xxx. a welcome change. chapter xxxi. the sea. chapter xxxii. a happy surprise. chapter xxxiii. homeward bound. the search for the silver city. chapter i. the sea dream. three years ago last august, it is unnecessary to specify the exact date, teddy wright was not only a very lonely fellow, but considered himself abused by circumstances. during the previous season he had studied very hard at the military school on the hudson which he often referred to slightingly as "the barracks," and as a reward for the flattering reports sent home by his teachers, had been promised a long vacation in the adirondacks with a schoolmate who lived in the northern portion of new york state. teddy's parents and sisters intended spending the summer at some one of the fashionable watering places; but with three long months of "roughing it" where game could be found in abundance, he had no desire to accompany them. "life in the woods knocks staying at a big hotel on the sea-shore, where a fellow is obliged to be dressed up all the time," he said when one of his sisters expressed surprise at his choice. "we shall regularly camp out, and father has given me a doubled-barreled breech-loader, to say nothing of his own rod and collection of flies. jack and i will have the jolliest kind of a time while you're moonin' on the hot sands trying to think it is fun." teddy went to jack's home, and, to his sorrow and dismay, found that young gentleman so ill that there was no hope of his being allowed to take the long-contemplated trip. he remained there, however, until perfectly certain of this unpleasant fact, and then returned home to the house which had been left in charge of one servant, and, as he expressed it, "just to spite himself," refused to join the remainder of the family. of course this was a most foolish proceeding; but teddy was in that frame of mind where a boy of seventeen is prone to foolish deeds, and there he stayed in a frame of mind very nearly approaching the sulks, until he received a letter from neal emery, another schoolmate, whose father lived in bridgeport. mr. emery owned a large factory in that city, and neal had intended to spend his vacation at home where he could enjoy the use of a small sloop-rigged yacht his mother had presented him with the year previous. the letter contained a very pressing invitation for teddy to visit bridgeport, since his trip to the adirondacks had been postponed, and concluded with the startling announcement: "father has just bought the sea dream, a beautiful steam yacht of an hundred feet in length, and i don't know how many tons. he proposes to cruise around three or four weeks while mother is at bar harbor, and is perfectly willing i should invite you to join us. we will have a jolly time, and if nothing prevents i want you to come at once. we are to start wednesday morning." the letter had been received monday afternoon, therefore teddy had but little time for preparation. he first sent a long telegram to his father, repeating the substance of what neal had written, and asked permission to enroll himself on the sea dream's passenger list. not until late in the evening did he receive a favorable reply; but his traps, including the gun and fishing tackle, were packed, and on the first train tuesday morning he started, all traces of ill-humor having vanished, for a cruise on a steam yacht promised quite as great pleasure as had the stay in the woods, with not so much certainty of hard work. neal met him at the depot, and after going to the former's home only long enough to leave the baggage, the two set out to view the yacht which, in all the bravery of glistening paint and polished metal, lay at anchor in the harbor. although not an expert in matters pertaining to marine architecture, teddy could appreciate the beauty of the little craft while she swung lazily to and fro at her cable as if husbanding strength against the time when speed and endurance would be required. neal signaled from the pier, two of the crew came ashore in the captain's boat, and the boys went on board where, during the remainder of the day, they were busy examining and admiring the jaunty little craft. leading from the main saloon were two state-rooms on either side, and in one of these neal had already stored such of his belongings as he intended to take on the cruise. "this is our room, and now that we are here i wonder why we were so foolish as to carry your baggage up to the house. if it was with us we would remain on board, for it is very much more pleasant than in the hot town." "there is nothing to prevent our bringing it down," teddy replied with a laugh. "i had certainly rather stay here to-night." "come on, and then we shall feel more at home when the cruise begins." the boys were rowed ashore, and the sailors instructed to remain at the pier until their return. then a short visit was made to mr. emery's office, where neal explained what they proposed to do, and having received permission to occupy the quarters slightly in advance of sailing time, teddy's baggage was soon in the small apartment which to both the boys looked so enchanting. "i wish we were to be gone three years," teddy said as he threw himself on a locker and gazed around. if he could have known just at that moment how long the cruise would really last it is very certain he would not have expressed such a desire. "next year father says he will start early in the season, take mother with us, and not come back until it is time for me to go to school." "and you must get an invitation for me," teddy replied, his eyes glistening with pleasure at simply contemplating such an excursion. "there won't be any difficulty about it. he has already promised that if nothing happens he will speak to your father." "and in the meanwhile we've got before us the jolly fact that we're to stay on board a month." "yes; but there's no good reason why we should remain below where it is so warm. come on deck for awhile, and then we'll have a look at the engine-room." the engineer, jake foster, was under the awning aft, and neal introduced his friend, saying as he did so: "teddy has never been yachting before, not even in a sailing craft." jake, a stout, jolly looking fellow hardly more than twenty-five years of age, gazed at the visitor curiously a moment, and then said with a hearty laugh: "he'll have a chance to find out what an acquaintance with the ocean means, for i understand that mr. emery is going to run well over to the bahamas before he comes back." "father has business there which it would be necessary to attend to not later than next fall, so intends to make it a portion of the pleasure trip." "are we likely to have much rough weather?" teddy asked, realizing for the first time that it was more than possible he might be called upon to pay neptune a tribute. "not at this time of the year; but its more'n probable the sea dream will kick up her heels enough to show something of what is meant by a life on the ocean wave before she pokes her nose into this port again." then the engineer was summoned from below, and the boys remained aft recalling to mind all they had studied relative to the bahama banks. the stores were on board; everything was in readiness for the start as soon as the owner should arrive, and when the steward summoned them to supper it seemed as if the voyage had really begun. chapter ii. under weigh. it was a long while before the boys could close their eyes in slumber on this first night aboard the sea dream, owing to the novelty of the surroundings. it seemed as if teddy would never cease admiring the snug quarters with the guns and fishing rods hung where they could be seen to the best advantage, and neal had very much to say regarding the plans he proposed to carry into execution during the cruise. despite such enchanting topics of conversation they were not able to remain awake all night, and when finally the journey into dreamland was made, neither returned to a full realization of the situation until quite late in the morning. teddy was the first to open his eyes, and in a very few seconds the throbbing of the screw, as well as the invigorating draught of cool air which came through the open port-hole, told him that the voyage had really begun. "neal, neal," he cried, shaking his friend vigorously. "wake up; i think we are at sea." neal was on his feet in an instant, and after one glance through the tiny window he replied with a laugh: "there's no question about our being under way; but we sha'n't see the sea to-day." "why, we are on it now." "if you have forgotten your geography as soon as this you'll be obliged to do some mighty hard studying when we get back to school. the sea dream must go through the sound before we reach the ocean, and most likely we shall make harbor at martha's vineyard to-night." "of course i knew about the sound; i had forgotten, that's all," and teddy looked just a trifle ashamed at having displayed so much ignorance. never had the boys made their toilets more quickly. both were eager to be on deck in order to extract the greatest possible amount of pleasure out of this first day of the cruise, and when they finally emerged from the companion-way an exclamation of surprise and delight burst from teddy's lips. the yacht was steaming at nearly full speed over waters as placid as a pond, and here and there were craft of all kinds darting back and forth like active fish. "i tell you there's nothing in the way of sport to beat sailing," teddy said enthusiastically. "there are times when it isn't quite as nice as this. when it storms, and the yacht dances around so that it is impossible to come on deck you will think camping in the adirondacks is much better." "i thought vessels always went into a harbor at such times." "if you are at sea it is necessary to take whatever comes in the way of weather, but there is no reason why we should speak of such things now. let's have a look at jake and his engine before breakfast." during this first day of the cruise the boys were very busy. considerable time was spent eating three decidedly hearty meals, and what with inspecting every portion of the steamer and watching the passing vessels, they managed without much trouble to find something in the way of amusement until the sea dream arrived off cottage city, where mr. emery proposed to stop a day or two. the wind had come up quite strong toward night, and when the little craft swung to her anchors some distance from the shore teddy was feeling decidedly disagreeable. there was not sea enough to trouble the greenest fresh-water sailor that ever "caught a crab;" but to poor teddy, who had never been on the water save when crossing from new york to brooklyn or jersey city, it seemed as if the sea dream was very like a hideous nightmare. she danced lightly on the long swell as if courtesying to the craft in her immediate vicinity, and each graceful movement caused neal's guest to fancy his stomach was turning somersaults. "you are not going below now?" the former said as teddy staggered toward the companion-way. "i am if it is possible to get there," was the impatient reply. "but we shall have a chance to see the town. father is going ashore presently." "in one of those little boats?" and teddy pointed to the davits where four polished tenders hung glistening in the sun like some articles of adornment. "of course. how else could he get there?" "that doesn't make any difference to me. this boat is bouncing around enough for a fellow to wish he'd never heard of such a thing as a yacht, and in one of those egg-shells i'm certain it must be terrible." "but it isn't. try not to think of being sick, and come on shore with me." "how can i help not thinking about it when i feel as if i was dying?" then, as if unable to prolong the conversation, teddy ran below, while his friend followed more leisurely. neal could offer no inducements sufficiently strong to tempt his companion out of the berth, and there he remained until next morning when, in half a gale of wind, mr. emery decided to take a party of friends to nantucket. only this was needed to give teddy a severe attack of seasickness during which, when he spoke at all, it was to repeat over and over again his intention of going home as soon as the sea dream arrived at cottage city. probably he would have carried this threat into execution if the excursion had not been prolonged; but it was four days before the yacht returned to martha's vineyard, and by that time he had, as jake expressed it, "found his sea legs." now no matter how much the little craft tumbled around he remained undisturbed, and the sight of food was no longer disagreeable, but very pleasing to him. therefore it was that when the sea dream left cottage city for the bahamas, the delightful portion of the cruise, so far as teddy was concerned, had but just begun. inasmuch as there was no especial reason why they should arrive at any certain time, and the owner wished to remain at sea as long as possible while making the voyage, the yacht was run at half speed, thus not only saving considerable coal; but unnecessary wear and tear of the machinery. that it could be very warm on the water had never entered the minds of the boys; but as they journeyed southward the heat became intense. during two days it was almost a perfect calm, the only air stirring being that caused by the motion of the steamer, and the cabin seemed like an oven. there the thermometer stood at degrees, while in the galley it was twenty degrees higher, and in the engine-room it frequently rose to degrees. neal and teddy could do little more than lie under the awning aft, working hard but unsuccessfully to keep cool by the aid of fans and such iced drinks as the steward prepared. the novelty of yachting had passed away in a measure, and they were already counting the days which must elapse before the sea dream would be in a less torrid climate. jake had assured them that when the yacht came to an anchor and the fires were drawn it would be much cooler on board, therefore both the boys were delighted when bridge point at the entrance to the n. e. providence channel was sighted. there was a light breeze blowing off the banks, and the yacht was running slowly as she passed within a quarter of a mile of the low lying land, when suddenly a most disagreeable odor from the shore caused neal to say impatiently: "if such perfumes as that are common to the bahamas i had rather endure the heat than stay a very long while, no matter how cool it may be when we cease steaming." "what is it?" and teddy covered his nose with his handkerchief. "i don't know; but i wish jake would put her ahead faster, for it is absolutely sickening." his desire for more speed was not gratified. to the surprise of both the boys the engine-room gong sounded for the machinery to be stopped, and as the headway was checked mr. walters, the sailing master, came from the wheel-house to where mr. emery was sitting. the boys could not hear the short conversation which followed; but their surprise increased as the order was given to lower away one of the port boats. "what are we stopping here for?" neal inquired of his father. "doesn't the odor give you any idea?" mr. emery asked with a smile. "none except that the sooner we get away the more comfortable i shall feel." "when i tell you that we are likely to find as the cause of your discomfort something nearly as precious as gold, it may be a trifle more bearable." both neal and teddy looked perplexed, and the latter said laughingly: "it is strong enough to be worth a good deal; but do you really mean what you say, sir?" "every word. mr. walters thinks he can find ambergris which has been washed up on the rocks, and that is quoted at ten dollars per ounce. now you boys have been at school long enough to know exactly why it is so valuable." "i have heard of it as being the base of the finest perfumes," neal said slowly; "but that must surely be a mistake if it smells anything like this," and he did violence to his stomach by inhaling a long breath of the disagreeably laden air. "it is true, nevertheless. ambergris is believed to be the product of a sort of ulcer or cancer which has formed in the bowels of a whale. after a certain length of time, or because a cure has been wrought by change of feeding place, the mass is dislodged. it floats, and is often found far out to sea; but more particularly among the cays in the turks islands. it is the foundation of nearly every perfume, and in ancient times was used for spicing wine." during this conversation the boat had been lowered, and, with mr. walters as steersman, was being pulled toward the land. now neal and teddy were sorry they had not accompanied the sailing master; but it was too late for regrets, and the odor did not seem to be nearly as disagreeable since they knew from what it proceeded. "never mind how much the stuff is worth," teddy said, as he and neal leaned over the rail in company with jake, who had come on deck to ascertain why the yacht had been brought to a standstill, "it isn't a nice thing to smell of, and i shall remember this afternoon whenever i see perfume." "it isn't always the most agreeable things which are of the most service," jake replied with an air of wisdom; and then as a loud shout was heard from the shore, the boat having reached the land some time since, he added, "it's ambergris for a fact, or they wouldn't be makin' such a fuss." five minutes later the little craft was seen approaching the yacht, and each instant the odor became stronger until both the boys were forced to cover their organs of smell. in the bow of the boat was a black mass looking not unlike coke, and weighing, as was afterward ascertained, forty ounces. "i thought i couldn't be mistaken, although i never run across anything of the kind but once before," mr. walters said triumphantly, as he handed the precious substance up to one of the sailors, who took it very unwillingly. "we shall be driven out of the yacht if you try to carry it home," mr. emery replied, moving aft as far as possible. "it won't trouble us many hours. we will sell or ship it at nassau, and i reckon all hands can manage to live until we arrive there." the valuable substance was wrapped carefully in several thicknesses of canvas, and placed in the hold where it is not probable any odor from it could have been perceptible on deck, although both the boys were quite positive the yacht was thoroughly permeated. after this short delay the sea dream continued on her course at a higher rate of speed, for now that she was so near land the heat seemed unbearable, and when night came neal and teddy stretched themselves out in the hammocks which had been slung under the after awning, wishing, not for a glimpse of nassau; but that they were off the new england coast instead of being so near the tropics. then, despite the profuse perspiration, both fell asleep, not to waken until the rattling of the cable through the hawse-holes told that they were in the harbor. chapter iii. nassau. a semi-tropical port in midsummer is by no means a pleasant place however diversified and picturesque the scenery may be, and when the boys awakened from their restless slumber the lassitude which beset them told how great an effect the climate could exert. even mr. emery was disinclined to any severe exertion; but his business must be transacted, and, after a breakfast eaten on deck, he ordered the boat to be made ready. "if possible i shall leave to-night," neal and teddy heard him say to the sailing master, "therefore it will be well to get your ambergris on shore before noon." neither of the boys cared to see the town at the expense of walking around under the blazing sun, and when mr. emery was being rowed toward the dock-yard they joined jake who, in the coolest spot under the awning, was watching the fishermen near by. the water was clear as crystal, and of a bright greenish tinge which admitted of their seeing very distinctly the tiny fish of silver and golden hues as they darted to and fro; the violet and blue medusæ, and the cream-colored jelly-fish as big as a watermelon. there were angel fish of a bright blue tinge; yellow snappers; black and white sergeant majors; pilot fish; puff fish which could inflate their bodies until they were round as a ball, or flatten themselves to the shape of a griddle cake. the cow fish attracted the boys' attention more particularly, for it had two horns, and its head was shaped exactly like a cow, and when one passed with a "calf" as teddy called it, swimming by her side, both agreed that it was well worth suffering so much from the heat to see such a sight. fish of all colors and sizes swam around the yacht as if examining her hull, and the effect of such brilliant hues displayed through the crystal-like water was actually startling because of the gorgeousness. before they were weary of admiring this aquatic panorama jake called their attention to a fisherman who, in a small canoe, was pursuing his vocation in a very odd manner. in his boat he had a hideous looking sucking fish, around the tail of which was tied a long cord with a wooden float at one end. while the boys were watching him he dropped the monster overboard, and in an instant it darted at a medium-sized jew fish, attaching itself to the latter by means of the sucking valve on the top of its head. having done this he remained motionless, his victim seeming to be literally paralyzed, and there was nothing for the boatman to do but pull in on the float, disengage his animated fishhook by a dextrous pressure on the sucker after both had been drawn aboard, and send the repulsive looking servant out again. although the jew fish must have weighed at least a hundred pounds, he was landed without difficulty, and jake gravely assured his companions that a sucking fish could "pull up the whole bottom of the ocean providin' the rope on his tail was strong enough to stand the strain." then the engineer told a story which did not bear quite so hard on the imagination since it was absolutely true, and began by saying as he pointed toward the little fortification known as montague fort: "that place has been the headquarters of at least a dozen pirates, the worst of which was called black beard, a bloodthirsty villain who sunk two vessels right where we are anchored this blessed minute. the feller's real name was john teach, an' that big banyan tree over there is where he used to hold what he allowed was court martials. "he was drunk about three-quarters of the time, an' allers had a great spree when there were any prisoners on hand. he an' his men would get the poor wretches to the tree, go through all the ceremony of a reg'lar trial, an' allers end by stringin' every blessed one of 'em up in such a way as to prevent 'em from dyin' quick, when a fire'd be built underneath, so's to roast the whole lot. "they do say he buried all the treasure among the roots of the banyan, an' many's the one who has dug for it; but so far as i ever heard, not a single piece has been found. while he lived this wasn't a very pleasant harbor for them as cared about a livin' to make." "what became of him finally?" teddy asked. "an english man-of-war got hold of him after awhile, an' he was strung on the yardarm to dry. if i'd been in command of the vessel he should have found out how it felt to be roasted. say, don't you boys want to go over to potter's cay?" "what is to be seen there?" "the sponge yards, an' it's a great sight if you never visited one." "it is too hot," neal replied with a very decided shake of the head. jake did not urge the matter, for just at that moment the second port boat was lowered, and mr. walters made ready to go ashore with his precious bundle of aromatic ambergris. idly the boys watched the perspiring party, pressing handkerchiefs to their faces meanwhile, since, despite the wrappings of canvas, the valuable mass gave most decided proof of its being in the vicinity, and when the boat started for the shore neal and teddy clambered into the hammocks, for even leaning over the rail was an exertion in the sultry atmosphere. during the middle of the day both the boys slept, for a siesta is as necessary as food in hot climates, and when the light breeze of evening crept over the waters mr. emery came aboard with the welcome intelligence that his business had been concluded. "we will get under way again before midnight," he said as he stepped over the rail, and was received by mr. walters. "now that a breeze has set in it should be cool enough to permit of the men's working without fear of prostration." "it would use me up to walk fore and aft twice," neal said in an undertone to teddy; "but it isn't for us to complain of the heat if we can get out of this furnace." jake was nowhere to be seen. it was as if after his invitation to go on shore had been declined he betook himself to some other portion of the yacht, where he could perspire without allowing the others to see his suffering, and the boys swung to and fro until the hour came when the singing of steam told that preparations for departure were being made. there could be no doubt but that nassau would be a pleasant place in which to spend the winter months; but it was by no means desirable during the summer, and when the sea dream left the little harbor where the water was hardly more than sufficient to float her, both neal and teddy gave vent to a sigh of relief. "we are to run south until it is possible to give the banks a clear berth, and then stand straight up the coast for home," the former said as the yacht glided almost noiselessly over the phosphorescent lighted waters down the eastern side of the shoals. "if a good head of steam is kept on we should be in a colder latitude very soon." "we can't get there any too soon to please me," teddy replied, as he waved the palm-leaf fan languidly. "i believe it would be a positive comfort to have my nose frost-bitten." "it isn't possible you will have such comfort as that for some time to come; but we may be able to make your teeth chatter in a few days," neal replied laughingly, and then as the breeze caused by the movement of the yacht over the water fanned his face, he added sleepily, "good night; i don't believe i shall open my eyes until after sunrise to-morrow." as a matter of fact this prediction was not verified; before evening a wind had come out of the sea which caused the yacht to bow before it like a reed in a storm, and the hammocks that, a few hours previous, had seemed so rest-inviting, were swinging at a rate that threatened to throw their occupants to the deck. "i fancy it is time we went below," neal said, as he awakened his friend by a series of vigorous shakes. "if we stay here half an hour longer it will be doubtful whether we're on board or in the water." the sea dream's lee rail was already so near the surface that the green waves curled over it now and then, and before the boys could reach the cabin they were thoroughly drenched. it was the greatest possible relief to crawl into the bunk and pull up the bed-clothes to defend themselves against the cold wind which came through the port-hole, and so delicious was this sense of being chilly that they failed to realize the cause of the sudden change in the weather, until they heard the sailing master in the cabin reply to mr. emery's question: "you are getting your first taste of what is known as a norther; but there isn't the slightest danger if we can crawl away from the land, and we shall have no trouble in doing that so long as there is a full head of steam on." "what does he mean by a norther?" teddy asked of neal, who had shown, by rising on his elbow, that he was awake. "a wind coming from the north, more frequently met in the gulf of mexico, when the temperature falls very suddenly, as was the case this evening, and a furious gale is often the result." "so long as it holds cold i don't see that we have any cause to complain," was the sleepy rejoinder; but before the night came to a close he had good reason for changing his mind on the subject. it was about midnight, as near as the boys could judge without looking at a watch, when the yacht was flung on her beam ends with a sudden force which threw both out of the berth, and before the port-hole could be fastened, flooded the state-room with water. teddy might well be excused for the shrill cry of alarm which escaped from his lips, for at that moment even an experienced sailor would have fancied the little craft had struck upon a reef, more particularly since it was known they were in a dangerous locality. "we are sinking!" he cried frantically as he tried in vain to open the door, and neal was of the same opinion. after what seemed to be a very long while although in reality it could have been but a few seconds, the sea dream slowly righted, and then it was possible for the boys to gain the cabin. here they were met by mr. emery, who had just succeeded in leaving his own room, and before any conversation could be indulged in the steamer began pitching and rolling about in a manner that showed she was not on the reef even if the first shock had been the result of striking one. it was only by holding with all their strength to the immovable articles of furniture that they avoided being flung from one end of the cabin to the other, as the yacht plunged and tossed, throwing violently to and fro everything which had not been securely fastened. the cabin lamp was burning dimly, and the faint light only served to reveal more clearly the general confusion. once amid the tumult the boys heard mr. emery shout: "don't be frightened; if there was any immediate danger mr. walters would warn us." "he may not be able to come where we are," teddy thought; but he refrained from giving words to such a dismal foreboding, and in silent fear waited for--he knew not what. chapter iv. a new danger. to the frightened boys in the cabin it was as if the night would never come to an end, and during every one of those fearful moments they believed the yacht was on the point of taking the final plunge. at four o'clock in the morning the steamer's movements became more regular; but not less in violence, and, shortly after, the sailing master came below. "we are laying-to," he said to mr. emery. "there is a nasty sea on, and i didn't care to take the chances of fighting against it." "how does she stand it?" "like a darling. i was afraid of straining her at first; but when she took the butt end of the storm in such a pleasant fashion there was no longer any reason to fret about her." "it didn't seem like such a very pleasant fashion to us," teddy said to neal, who had succeeded in gaining a chair near his friend. "it appeared to me as if she kicked pretty hard about it," neal replied, and then mr. emery asked: "what are the weather indications?" "there is no reason to hope for anything better until the wind blows itself out, and according to my way of thinking that won't be within the next twenty-four hours. why don't you people lie down?" "because it has been a matter of impossibility to remain in the berths." "you can do so now without much difficulty. come, boys, let me help you to turn in." the calm, matter-of-fact way in which mr. walters acted caused the boys to feel more comfortable in mind, and they made no protest when he assisted them to the state-room where there was yet water enough to show what had happened. "why didn't you call one of the stewards to mop this up?" the sailing master asked as he lighted the swinging lamp. "we haven't seen one since the gale begun," neal replied with a laugh. "i fancy they were as much frightened as teddy and i." "it won't take long to turn them out," and mr. walters started forward in a manner which boded no good for the skulkers. neal and teddy found little difficulty in retaining a recumbent position, although the yacht was tossing up and down like a mad thing. she no longer gave those sudden lurches which threatened to carry away even the short spars, and for the first time since the deluge from the port-hole, they began to feel really comfortable in mind. the steward came in very shortly after mr. walters left, and from the expression on his face it was evident he had been rated severely for neglect of duty. "it didn't make any difference to us whether the water was washed up or not," neal said in a friendly tone. "the sailing master saw it and asked why we hadn't called you." "he don't allow that a man has any right to sleep," the steward replied sulkily. "if he'd been up since five o'clock, he'd want to turn in before midnight instead of foolin' around the cabin till it was time to begin another day's work." "is it possible that you have been sleeping?" neal asked in surprise. "why not?" "i don't see how you could even lie down while the yacht was tumbling about in such a furious manner." "that was none of my business. i didn't ship before the mast, consequently it ain't any duty of mine to go prowlin' 'round if the wind happened to blow a little." "if you call this a 'little' i wouldn't like to be on board when you thought it was a regular gale," teddy said with a laugh. "i've seen the wind blow so hard that a fellow had to lash his hair down to keep it from bein' carried away when he went on deck; but that didn't stop my wantin' to get a watch below." with this remark the steward, having finished his work, left the room, and the boys were alone once more. although they had believed it would be impossible to sleep during a gale such as the yacht was now laboring under, the eyes of both were soon closed in slumber, not to be opened until late in the morning. so far as could be told by the motion, there was no diminution in the strength of the wind, and they experienced great difficulty in making their toilets. when this task had finally been accomplished, however, neal said as he opened the door after some trouble, owing to the erratic movements of the yacht: "i'm going on deck. it can't be much worse there, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to see what the ocean looks like in a gale." "i'll go too: but don't let's venture out of the companion-way, for the waves must be making a clean sweep over the decks." when the boys entered the cabin no one was to be seen save the surly steward who visited them the night previous, and in reply to neal's question he said: "your father left word that he wasn't to be called. it wouldn't be much use for him to turn out, because we can't set the table in such a rumpus." "what are we to do for breakfast?" "the same as mr. walters did, get a cup of coffee and a hard-tack; that'll go way ahead of nothin' if you're very hungry." "we can go into the galley when we want a bite," neal replied, and then he led the way up the narrow stairs where, through the half-opened hatch, it was possible to get a view of the raging waters. perhaps it would have been better, so far as their peace of mind was concerned, not to have ventured out, for the scene was anything rather than reassuring. standing there and looking forward the boys could see a huge wall of water dead ahead bearing down upon the yacht as if to swamp her, and at the moment when it appeared as if the final stroke had come she would lurch to leeward, presenting her side to the wave, rising on the succeeding one and shivering on its crest as if shaking the spray from her shrouds, after which came the downward plunge that caused the boys to hold their breath in fear. the sky, the swiftly flying clouds, and the waves were of a grayish hue looking ominous and threatening and the little craft appeared to be but a plaything for the angry elements. that she could out-ride the gale seemed almost impossible, and teddy said with a shudder as he descended the stairs: "don't let's stay where we can see it. i wish i hadn't looked, for, bad as matters seem to be down here, it is as nothing compared to being on deck." neal was of the same opinion, and the two passed through the cabin to the engine-room where jake was keeping vigilant watch over the machinery. "why, i thought we were hove to," neal exclaimed in surprise as the engineer assisted him and teddy to a seat by his side. "so we are; but it is necessary to keep the screw turning, otherwise it might not be possible to hold her in the proper position." "how long have you been on duty?" "since i saw you last." "haven't you had any sleep?" "i can bottle up enough when the gale abates; but just now it stands a man in hand to have his weather eye open pretty wide, for a bit of carelessness would work considerable mischief. i'm going to have breakfast, an' if you boys care to join me we'll make it three-handed. you're not likely to fare any better in the cabin than here to-day." the boys accepted the invitation, and with some cold meat and hard-tack placed on the locker where it could not slide off, and mugs of steaming coffee in their hands, all made a remarkably jolly meal under the unfavorable circumstances. during the remainder of the day neal and teddy stayed below, not caring for another view of the angry sea, and when night came the gale had so far abated that the yacht was sent ahead once more; but owing to the force and direction of the wind it was deemed best to continue on a southerly course even at the expense of reaching the caribbean sea, rather than take the chances of putting about. all this jake explained when the boys visited him just previous to retiring, and he added in conclusion: "it seems pretty tough to go yet further south; but mr. walters is a cautious sailin' master, an' when he makes up his mind to a thing you can count on its bein' mighty nigh right." "will it be possible to get home as soon as father intended if we go so far out of the way?" neal asked. "if he don't do any cruisin' after he gets up north i reckon it could be done; but there's no sense in figgerin' on that till we're off hatteras." now that the yacht had proved her seaworthiness by riding safely through the storm the boys would have been willing to go almost anywhere in her, and the idea that they might have no cruising in a more agreeable climate caused a decided feeling of disappointment; but, as jake had said, there was no reason to worry about that while they were so far from home, and as if by common consent the subject was not broached again. on the following morning when they went on deck the sun was shining down upon the yet angry looking waves; but one of the sailors assured them that "the gale had blowed itself out." "it stands to reason there'd be a heavy sea runnin'; but its settlin' down fast, an' by to-morrow there won't be swell enough for comfort." in this he was correct. twenty-four hours later the awnings were up, and all hands were panting under the blazing heat of a tropical sun. this sudden change prostrated the boys, and during the next two days they fanned themselves, drank iced drinks, and sought in vain for some spot where a breath of cool air could be found. it was the fourth day after the norther. while waiting for dinner to be brought on deck (the meals had been served under the awnings since the storm, for the cabin was too hot to permit even of their eating there), teddy lay near the after starboard boat lazily wondering why that thin curl of blue smoke should come from the planking directly over the kitchen, instead of through the pipe as it always had before. owing to the fact that there was no unusual disturbance he never fancied for a moment anything could be wrong, and remained gazing at it in silence so long that neal asked curiously: "what do you see that is so very interesting?" "i was wondering what had happened to the galley pipe." "how do you know that it isn't all right?" "i suppose it is; but it looks queer to see that smoke coming up as if from the deck." neal looked in the direction indicated by teddy's outstretched finger, and seeing the blue curl, which had now grown considerably thicker, sprang to his feet very quickly. without speaking to his friend he ran forward, teddy still ignorant there was any danger, and in the shortest possible space of time mr. walters came from the wheel-house in response to neal's emphatic request. to teddy it seemed as if but an instant elapsed before the deck was a scene of confusion, and as all hands were called for duty he heard one of the sailors cry in a tone of alarm: "tumble up, boys, the yacht is on fire!" chapter v. fighting the flames. it was some moments after the fire was discovered before anything could be done toward checking the flames, for the very good reason that the exact location remained a mystery until a visit had been paid to the hold. the cook said the galley felt unusually warm; but he paid no particular attention to the fact, thinking the weather had grown hotter, and, save for the smoke, there were no signs of fire to be seen anywhere until mr. walters called upon one of the men to raise the hatch which led into the eyes of the yacht directly beneath the kitchen. instantly this was done a broad sheet of flame burst forth, and had the stout covering not been replaced immediately, the little craft would have soon been consumed. working with all speed, for even the seconds were precious now, the hatch was battened down, and a hole large enough to admit of the nozzle of the hose, bored just abaft the hatch-way. while this was being done a portion of the crew had been getting into working order the hose used for washing down the decks, and when all was ready the real task of extinguishing the flames began. a steady stream of water was forced into the hold as rapidly as the men could work the pumps, and the lower deck examined carefully for the slightest aperture which might admit air. how the fire had started no one knew, nor was any time spent in trying to ascertain, for every person had been detailed to some duty. neal and teddy were given the lightest task, which was simply to watch the hose at the place where it entered the deck, to make sure the water flowed through freely, and the nozzle did not slip out. ten minutes after the alarm had been raised all hands were working methodically, thanks to the discipline maintained by mr. walters, and it became a question simply of whether the flames could be stifled or drowned. "do you think they can save the yacht?" teddy asked after a short time of silence, and neal, who had not seen the broad sheet of flame which leaped from the hatch-way replied confidently: "of course. if the hold is filled with water she surely can't burn." "are there boats enough to carry us all in case the fire does get the best of us?" "certainly; but it won't come to anything quite as bad as that." before teddy could ask another question one of the stewards shouted down the forward companion-way: "mr. emery says that his son is to come on deck. there is no need of two there." neal obeyed the summons thinking he was to assist at the pumps; but in this he was speedily undeceived. "take such things as you are likely to need most from your state-room, and stow them in one of the boats aft," his father said when he reported for further duty. "although i don't think we shall be obliged to abandon the yacht, it is well to be prepared for any emergency." this was no time to ask questions, and neal obeyed at once, observing as he entered the cabin that the stewards were collecting food and such other things as might be needed in case they were forced to depend upon the frail crafts. this work rather than the evidences of fire in the hold, frightened neal. until this moment he had not believed there was any possibility the steamer could be destroyed while there were so many to assist in saving her; but now there was no question as to the fact of their being in great danger. "unless father and mr. walters were convinced that the fire had got considerable headway, the boats would not be provisioned so soon," he said to himself. his portion of the work could be performed quickly. he and teddy had brought all their belongings, with the exception of the fowling pieces and the fishing rods, aboard in two satchels, and these he packed with the utmost expedition. then, with both weapons, he went on deck, stowed all the goods in the after port boat, and returned to his father's state-room to see if anything could be done there. from the disorder it was apparent that the stewards had been in this apartment before him; but a fine rifle yet hung on the bulk-head, and in the open locker was quite a large amount of ammunition. "there's no reason why these cartridges shouldn't be taken if we are obliged to leave the yacht," he said to himself as he gathered them into convenient shape for carrying. "in case we land on a desolate island they would be mighty useful." when he went on deck with his second burden the stewards were putting small kegs of water into each boat, and after stowing the ammunition by the side of the first articles brought, he looked over the little craft to ascertain what his father had thought best to save. he could find nothing there; but on searching the starboard gig he discovered a small quantity of wearing apparel. "i wonder if that is the craft he intends to go in, or have the clothes simply been thrown anywhere." at that moment mr. emery came out of the pilot-house followed by mr. walters, and neal ran forward to ask which boat his father intended to use in case the abandonment became necessary. "it makes no particular difference," mr. emery replied in answer to neal's question. "we can easily arrange the details later. go into the engine-room and tell jake to drive her at full speed, and to report if the water we are pumping in is likely to rise as high as the furnaces." promising himself that he would re-stow the goods on the gig, putting his father's with those belonging to himself and teddy, as soon as this message had been delivered, he descended the companion-way after glancing rapidly around the horizon. there was no land to be seen on either hand, and he understood at once why the order to keep the yacht going at full speed had been given. the small boats were by no means stanch enough to be depended on for a long cruise unless the present dead calm should continue until they could reach land, and every effort was to be made to gain some of the islands in the vicinity. when neal entered the engine-room he believed for an instant that jake had not heard of the terrible danger which threatened. work there was going on as usual, except, perhaps, that the engineer and his assistants were watching the machinery a trifle more carefully than seemed really necessary; but when he repeated the message jake's face grew just a shade paler. "say to your father that we have got on every pound of steam that can be raised, and it will be necessary to slow down presently because the bearings are growing warm. the water is already above the fire-room floors, and if the pump is worked an hour longer the fires will be drowned." "but you must keep her going, jake. it would be terrible to take to the boats when there was no land in sight." "i'm bound to do my best; but a man can go only so far. do you know where we are?" "no." "what is being done on deck?" "the sailors are pumping, and the stewards are provisioning the boats." "getting ready to abandon the little craft, are they?" "father said that was being done in order that we might be prepared for any emergency." "and he's got a pretty clear idea that the flames can't be kept under, or else there wouldn't be a thought of such a thing. how's the weather?" "a dead calm, as it was this morning." jake remained silent a few moments as if revolving some plan in his mind, and then he said abruptly: "neal, if we do have to put off you and teddy must try to go in the same boat with me." "unless father makes different arrangements." "of course, of course; but if nothin' is said we'll stick together. go back an' say that the sea dream shall do her best until the water gets above the fire-boxes, an' then my part of the work has been done." neal left the engine-room feeling that there was very little chance of reaching any port in the yacht, and since there was no reason why he should hurry on deck, he went around by the way of the galley where teddy was stationed. "how are things going on here?" he asked, forcing himself to speak in a cheerful tone. "can you get any idea of the fire?" "put your hand on the deck," teddy replied gravely, his face of a livid white although big drops of perspiration were streaming down his cheeks. neal obeyed, and immediately drew his hand back with a cry of mingled pain and fear. the planks were already so hot that it seemed as if the flesh must be burned. "has father been here within a few moments?" "he has just left." "did he say anything?" "nothing except that i was to come on deck when it was so hot i couldn't stand it any longer. neal," and now teddy spoke very earnestly, "you laughed when i referred to the possibility that the yacht might be destroyed; but i know your father thinks she cannot be saved." "i believe now that he does; but i didn't when i left you. everything is ready for us to abandon her when nothing more can be done." "are we to go in the small boats?" asked teddy, excitedly. "it is the only chance we've got; but don't look so frightened," he added, as teddy's face grew yet paler. "it is calm, there's absolutely no sea at all running, and we shall be as safe as on board the yacht." "it will be horrible," teddy whispered as if to himself, and neal added: "i'll tell father what jake said, and then come straight back to stay with you." "don't be away long. it seems as if i had been deserted, when there is no one here." neal could not trust himself to speak. ascending the companion-way rapidly he approached his father who was conversing with mr. walters near the bow, as if that position had been chosen to prevent the crew from hearing what was said. after repeating the engineer's message he asked: "can i go back where teddy is? i think it frightens him to stay there alone." "i can't say that i wonder very much; it is a very trying situation for a boy, especially one who has never been to sea before. ask jake if he will send a man to relieve him and then you may both come on deck." to deliver this message and return after one of the firemen took teddy's place at the nozzle, did not occupy five minutes, and the frightened boy gave vent to a long sigh of relief when he was in the open air once more. except for the heat the weather was perfect. the sea dream, showing no sign of the monster which was gnawing at her vitals, save by the clouds of smoke that ascended from the bow, dashed on like the thing of beauty she was; but when her flight should be checked there would remain nothing but the tiny boats to bear those on board to a place of safety. chapter vi. the last resort. mr. emery and the sailing master had decided that the yacht should be kept at full speed, headed for the nearest land, until the water which was being pumped into the hold drowned the fires in the furnaces, when recourse must necessarily be had to the boats. there could no longer be any question but that the entire forward portion of the hold was a mass of flames which it would not be possible to hold in check very much longer. by this time all on board understood that the yacht was to be abandoned, and, with the exception of those in the engine-room and at the pumps, every one gazed as if fascinated at the clouds of smoke arising from near the bow. already were tiny curls coming from between the deck planks, and teddy heard mr. walters say in a low tone to neal's father: "i am afraid the flames will burst through before the furnaces are flooded. it is too late to cut another hole in the deck, and by an hour at the latest we must take to the boats." "have the crew been told off?" "i will attend to that now." then the sailing master announced to each man the boat to which he was assigned, and during the next hour hardly a word was spoken. teddy and neal conversed now and then in whispers, as if not daring to make a noise, and the sailors worked in grim silence. nothing save the clank of the pumps and the throbbing of the screw could be heard. when the hour had passed it was no longer possible to force water into the hold. the heat was so great that the hose burned as fast as it could be pushed through the aperture, and long tongues of flame were appearing around the edges of the hatch. all hands, including the boys, were formed in line, and water sent below in buckets for twenty minutes more, when the word was given to slacken speed. the lower deck had burst through, and there was no more than time for jake and his assistants to clamber up the ladders before the flames had complete possession of the yacht from the bow to the engine-room companion-way. there was no time to be lost in lowering the boats, and the men were forced to leap in regardless of the previous assignment, for once the fire burst the bonds which had confined it so long it swept aft with almost incredible rapidity. teddy and neal, bewildered by the flames which actually burned their flesh as they stood by the rail while the sailors let go the falls, had only thought of reaching the craft in which their property was stowed, and jake followed; but as the little tenders were allowed to drop astern beyond reach of the intense heat the boys discovered that mr. emery was not with them. he had charge of one boat; mr. walters commanded another; jake was held responsible for the safety of the third, and the last was handled by the mate. "shall we come with you, father?" teddy shouted. "i don't think it will be advisable to make any change now, and you are as safe in one boat as another." "i'll answer for them," jake cried cheerily, and the sailing master added: "jake can handle a small boat better than any one here, therefore you need not fear an accident will result through carelessness." "how am i to steer?" the engineer asked. "due west. the boats must remain together, and in each one is a lantern to be hung up during the night to lessen the chances of being separated. two men in every craft are to be kept at the oars all the time, and, in order to make the work light, they should be relieved hourly. the indications are that the weather will hold clear; it is only a couple of hundred miles to the cuban coast, and we are not likely to be cooped up in these cockle shells very long." as he ceased speaking mr. walters gave the word for the oarsmen to begin the work which it was supposed would be continued without intermission until all were in a place of safety, and the boats were pulled about a mile from the burning steamer, when, as if by common consent, they were brought to a standstill to watch the destruction of the sea dream. the jaunty little craft was moving through the water slowly, enveloped in flames from bow to stern, and the boys gazed at her with a feeling of sadness which did not arise solely from the fact of their present peril. it seemed to them as if she could understand that those who should have saved her had fled when her need of assistance was greatest, and she was creeping slowly away to die alone. "the poor thing can't swim much longer," jake said, as if speaking to himself. "the boiler will explode----" even as he spoke a black cloud of smoke shot up from amidships, followed by a shower of fiery fragments, some of which struck in the immediate vicinity of the boats, and then the glare of the conflagration suddenly vanished as the sea dream sank beneath the waves. it would have been strange indeed if each member of the little party had not experienced a feeling of sorrow and desolation at this moment. the yacht which, a few hours previous, had appeared so stanch, was no longer afloat, and their only hope of reaching land was in the tiny boats which could hardly be expected to live in an ordinary sailing breeze. the tears were very near teddy's and neal's eyelids, and jake's voice was quite the reverse of steady as he gave the word for the men to resume work at the oars. [illustration: instead of releasing his hold on neal the reptile held firm, etc. see page .] night was close at hand. the sun had already set, and the short-lived twilight cast a sinister grayish hue over the waters. mr. walters' boat had the lantern raised at the bow on the end of an oar where it swung gently to and fro, and in a few moments all the others could be distinguished by the same signal. during such time as they had been waiting to witness the end of the sea dream the little crafts had drifted farther apart, until the one in charge of neal's father was nearly half a mile away, and the sailing master could be heard shouting for them to be brought nearer together. "we shall probably have a breeze to-night," he cried when jake's boat approached within easy hailing distance, "and if it should come you must rig up something to serve as a sail, for your only chance of keeping afloat will be to run before it. you have a compass, and remember that land is to be found to the westward." "ay, ay," the engineer replied, as he looked around in vain for some sign of the wind, and then he added in a low tone to the boys: "i allow mr. walters is off in his reckonin' this time, for there isn't a breath of air stirring now." "we may get it later," neal said apprehensively, and jake muttered to himself; but yet so loud that teddy could hear him: "it'll be tough on us if it comes out of the wrong quarter." in ten minutes from the time the word had been given to bring the boats into closer order the mantle of night had fully fallen, and the location of the other crafts could only be told by the tiny, swaying lights, or the hum of voices. jake's boat was loaded less deeply than the remainder of the little fleet. in addition to himself and the two boys, there were but three sailors on board, and the stock of provisions was correspondingly small. as a natural consequence she rode higher out of the water, and although built on the same model as the others, the engineer insisted she was by far the fastest sailing craft. an hour had not elapsed before it was possible to test her quality in this respect. the breeze which mr. walters predicted came up from the east, and as its first influence was felt jake shouted in a tone of relief: "we're in luck this time, lads. here's what will shove us along in the right direction, an' we can count on striking land without too much work. lash a couple of coats to the oars, an' set them up close by the forward thwart; you'll find a chance there to make 'em fast." this apology for a sail was soon gotten in place, and, small as was the surface presented to the wind, the little boat surged ahead, rippling the water musically under her bow. jake held the rudder lines, the boys sitting either side of him on the bottom of the boat where they could stretch out at full length in case they felt inclined to sleep, and after they had listened to the swish of the sea under the stern for some time neal asked as he raised his head to look over the side: "where are the others?" "considerable distance astern. i knew this one could show them her heels." "but the orders were that we must not separate," neal exclaimed in alarm. "that is true; but how can we help ourselves just now? we can't shorten sail, because there would be nothing left, and we're bound to run ahead of the waves, small as they are, or be swamped." "but suppose we never see them again?" "don't worry about that; we're all headin' in the same direction, an' have only got to wait till they overtake us after land is sighted." although jake spoke in a positive tone teddy and neal were far from feeling comfortable in mind; but, as he had said, nothing different could be done, and each tried to hide his fears from the other. the weight of the wind increased as the night advanced, and by the words of caution which the sailors uttered from time to time, the boys knew that those who should best understand such matters were anxious regarding the outcome of this night run. now and then a small quantity of water would dash over the side; but it was quickly bailed out, and, as one of the men said, "did more good than harm, for it gave them something to do." notwithstanding the gravity of the situation, neal and teddy fell asleep before midnight, therefore they were unconscious of the fight which their companions were making for life. it was necessary the frail craft should be kept dead before the wind; otherwise she would have been swamped by the following waves, which were now running dangerously high, and the skill of the helmsman was all that prevented her from destruction. not for a single moment during the hours of darkness was it safe to relax the vigilance, and the constant strain on one's nerves was more fatiguing than the real labor. just as the day was breaking neal awoke, and then he aroused teddy by asking jake: "can you see the other boats?" "not yet; but some of them may be in sight at sunrise. it isn't possible their lights would show up more than a mile off." "isn't the sea running very high?" teddy asked timidly as he attempted to stand erect; but jake grasped him by the shoulder as he said quickly: "it isn't safe to move around very much. lie quiet until the wind dies away a bit; we've got more'n we want, and the boat must be kept trimmed mighty carefully or there'll be trouble." it was only necessary for the boys to watch their companions in order to learn the dangers which beset them, and, clasping each other's hands, they waited in anxious suspense for the rising of the sun to learn if the remainder of the party was near. chapter vii. on shore. when the first rays of the sun appeared above the horizon the sailors searched with their eyes in every direction; but neither land nor a craft could be seen. "i knew we were bound to run away from the rest of the party," jake said, keeping his face turned toward the bow, for the slightest carelessness might be fatal to all. "if this wind dies out we can lay still till they come up, as they're sure to do before long." "but suppose the other boats have been swamped?" neal suggested, with a choking sob as he realized that he might never see his father again. "we won't suppose anything of the kind," jake replied sharply. "there are plenty in the crowd who can handle the boats better than this one was handled, and if we rode out the night in safety why shouldn't they have done the same?" "the only chance of our not seein' 'em," one of the sailors said thoughtfully, "is, that sailin' slower, they may now be near land that we passed in the night without knowin' it. there should 'a been a lot of keys within fifty miles of where we abandoned the sea dream." "that's very true, matey," and now jake spoke in his customary cheerful tone, "an' we'll soon be makin' some place where there'll be a chance of stretchin' our legs. overhaul the grub, one of you, an' let's have a bite; i feel like a man what's been on a thirty hour watch." "so you have, for that matter. even if you ain't a sailor man i'd like to see him as could handle a little craft any better. with me at the helm she'd have gone to the bottom before midnight." "i won't kick 'cause you praise me," jake replied with a laugh; "but don't lay it on too thick for fear i might get proud." "i was only tellin' the truth, an' jest what all of us think. when the breeze freshened i made up my mind that the voyage was about ended; but here we are yet, an' here we're likely to be a spell longer unless we strike another norther." while the man was speaking he had passed aft two cans of preserved meat, some hard bread, and a small jar of pickles, after opening the tins with his sheath knife, and every one on board made a hearty meal, the boys in particular feeling decidedly cheerful when the repast had been eaten. "the wind is fallin' off a bit, an' i reckon it'll come dead calm by noon," jake said, after refusing to allow one of the seamen to relieve him. "we'll all soon have a chance to bottle up sleep." "how long do you think it ought to be before we sight the land?" neal asked. "that's jest what i can't say, lad; but 'cordin' to my way of thinkin' we was a good bit below the coast of cuba when the little yacht went down. that norther blew us a good way off our course, an' it's possible mr. walters might have made a mistake in determinin' the position, although it ain't exactly the proper thing for an engineer to set up agin a first-class sailin' master." "it won't take long to find out if this breeze holds, an' that's some comfort," one of the sailors replied, and then the three men drew lots to see which two should take a watch "below." during the forenoon there was but little change in the condition of affairs. the wind decreased until it was nothing more than a good sailing breeze; but the expected calm did not come. the boat reeled off the knots in fine style, despite the poor apology for a sail, and the boys were allowed to change their position, which they did by sitting on the after thwart. about twelve o'clock jake stretched himself out on the bottom for a nap, awakening one of the sleepers that the man at the helm might have assistance in case he should require it, and the boys alternately dozed or searched the horizon in vain for some signs of the other boats. those who were hungry ate whenever it pleased them to do so, and there was no lack of either food or water. teddy would have talked with his friend regarding the prospects of reaching home within a reasonable length of time; but neal was so anxious about his father that he could speak of nothing else. toward the close of the day the wind freshened again, and, in obedience to his previous orders, jake was awakened, the man at the helm saying in an apologetic tone: "i can hold on here a good bit longer; but you wanted to know if there was any change, an' there is. it looks to me as if we should have more of a breeze than we had last night." "no signs of land yet?" "no sir; but the cuban coast, if that's what we're headin' for, is so low that we wouldn't be likely to raise it till we got close on." jake ate supper before taking his seat at the helm, and then the boys were advised to lie down as on the preceding night. "you'll be comfortable there, and won't stand so much of a chance of gettin' wet." it was evident that jake wanted to have them out of the way, and both obeyed at once, teddy saying as he stretched himself out on the hard boards: "it seems as if my bones were coming through the skin, and i'm sore all over." "things are not nearly as bad as they might be, so we musn't complain," neal replied philosophically; but at the same time it seemed as if he could not remain in that position another night. even in face of the danger to which they would be exposed, the occupants of the boat welcomed the increase in the weight of the wind since it was reasonable to suppose that each mile traversed carried them just so much nearer the land, and, with the exception of neal and teddy, all were in good spirits when the darkness of night covered the ocean. owing to the absence of exercise the boys did not sleep well, and when the unconsciousness of slumber did come upon them for a few moments at a time, it brought in its train dreams so distressing that wakefulness with the full knowledge of the dangers which encompassed them, was preferable. it seemed as if twenty hours instead of ten had passed when one of the men in the bow cried joyfully: "if i don't see the loom of land now it's because i never saw such a sight before." "where away?" jake asked, straining his eyes in the vain effort to discern anything amid the gloom. "dead ahead as we are running. it must be somethin' more'n a cay, or it wouldn't show up so big." the gray light of approaching dawn was lifting the mantle of night when the man spoke, and, ten minutes later, all saw with reasonable distinctness the dark cloud which could be nothing less than land. now the roar of surf was heard, and jake said in a troubled tone: "i don't see how we are to make it after all, unless we plump her straight on, an' that's likely to be a dangerous experiment." "why not take in the sail, and work the oars; then you can pick a landing place?" "all right, let go the halyards; but instead of furling the canvas you can stow it under one of the thwarts." this order was given and obeyed cheerily, for all were in the best of spirits now that the end of the wearisome journey seemed to be so near at hand and in a very short time the boat was moving slowly toward the shore, rising and falling gently on the heavy swell. each moment it was possible to see more distinctly the coast, and when they were thirty yards from a shore strewn with jagged blocks of coral, jake shouted: "hold on, boys, it would be worse than folly to attempt to run in there while the sea is so high." "can't you find a better place?" one of the men asked. "it appears to be the same all along for a mile or so in either direction." "there's more danger of bein' swamped while runnin' up or down the coast, than in makin' a try for it here. let her go in on the swell, an' when the water shoals we can jump over to lighten her so she'll strike well up on the shore where there'll be no trouble in savin' everything." "i don't like the idea," jake replied. "we can't tell what a fellow might meet with, an' to be swung agin one of them rocks would be hard lines." the sailors were determined to make the attempt regardless of his warnings, and after a few moments he refused to argue longer. "you ought to know better than i," he said, "an' its no more'n right you should have your own way without any fuss; but the boys an' i will stay here till she strikes. that is a better plan than goin' over the side when you know nothing about the shore, and besides, i can't see the advantage of lightenin' her." "so she'll strike higher up on the beach, of course, otherwise she'd be stove before you could say jack robinson." "do as you please, an' so will i. shall i steer her in now?" the sailors kicked off their boots, and began pulling vigorously at the oars while jake said in a low tone to the boys: "be ready to jump the minute she strikes; but not before. look out for the rocks, and take care the swell don't drag you back." the heavy waves were rolling up on the shore with a roar that rendered conversation difficult, and as he glanced ahead at the foaming waters in which it did not seem possible the little craft could live for a single moment, teddy pressed neal's hand as if to say good-by. neal gave him one quick, hopeful glance; pointed shoreward to intimate that they must watch every motion of the boat in order to be prepared when the most favorable time arrived, and, following jake's example both arose from the thwart, standing in a stooping posture in order to steady themselves by the rail. carried on the crest of an enormous wave the tiny craft hangs as if poised in mid-air for an instant, and as the vast body of water is dashed forward the three sailors leap into the boiling, swirling foam. teddy fancied he heard a muffled cry of agony; but just at that moment he could think only of saving his own life, and there was no time to so much as glance around. the boat was shot suddenly forward with the water dashing above the stern and sides, and jake shouted: "over with you now!" at the same instant that the boat struck the boys leaped, and during several fearful seconds it was doubtful whether they could hold their own against the treacherous under-tow. by clinging to the sides of the craft, and straining every muscle, the attempt was successful, and as the wave receded the little tender lay across a sharp piece of coral, almost a total wreck. "take hold and shove her further up!" jake shouted. "work now as you never did before, or we shall lose all our stores!" during the next half minute the three struggled to the utmost of their power, and then the fragments of the boat and the goods which had been brought from the sea dream were high upon the beach beyond reach of the next wave, which swept in with a yet louder roar as if enraged at having been deprived of its prey. not until this had been done was it possible to look around for the sailors, and teddy cried as he gazed seaward without seeing any living creature: "where are they?" jake watched the boiling waters several seconds before he replied mournfully: "it was as i feared. they either struck some of these jagged rocks as they leaped from the boat or the under-tow was so strong that it dragged them down." "do you mean that all three have been drowned?" neal cried. "if they were alive we should see them by this time," and jake ran along the shore hoping they might have succeeded in scrambling out at some other point. teddy and neal followed him, and when five minutes passed there could be no further doubt. "if they had waited until the boat struck, as we did, there would have been little trouble to get ashore; but now we shall never see them again." the boys could hardly realize that three strong men had been taken from this world so quickly, and when finally the fact stood out boldly without the slightest possibility of mistake, a feeling of deepest depression took possession of all. teddy threw himself face downward on the sand and gave way to grief, while neal and jake stood by his side in silence, for this dreadful catastrophe seemed to be a warning of their own fate. chapter viii. suspense. how long they remained on the shore in an apathy of despair not one of that party ever knew. jake was the first to arouse himself, and, understanding that work is the best remedy for mental troubles, he said, with a great effort to speak cheerily: "see here, lads, this will never do if we want to get out of the scrape. we've got to stay here till the other boats come along, and it is necessary to make some preparations for living. the goods must be stowed where they won't be destroyed, an' there's plenty to keep us busy for the rest of this day." "when do you think the other boats should arrive?" neal asked. jake realized fully how slight were the chances that either of the crafts would come to that exact spot, even if they were all afloat; but he had no idea of adding to his companions' grief, therefore he replied: "it may be forty-eight hours. you see some or all of them might have put out a sea anchor when it blew so hard, for they carried heavier loads than we did, and while layin' still we hummed right along, consequently its difficult tellin' when to expect 'em." "of course they are bound to land here?" jake hesitated only for an instant before he decided that under the circumstances a lie was absolutely necessary, and then replied positively: "of course. where else would they come?" "i was afraid there might have been some little difference in the steering." "we all were obliged to keep dead before the wind, therefore ought to come out pretty nigh alike." this reply appeared to satisfy neal, and he set about cheering teddy, who finally arose to his feet and signified his willingness to do whatever jake should propose as necessary. the engineer made many suggestions which he would not have thought of had he been alone, or in the company of those who did not need such a tonic. all the goods were first carried from the beach to the edge of the thick forest a hundred yards away, and over the collection was constructed a shelter to protect it from the dew. the fragments of the boat were carefully gathered up and deposited in the same place. then a quantity of such pieces of dead branches and decaying wood as could be found near at hand was stacked close by the beach, to serve as a signal in case a vessel or the boats should heave in sight. when this had been done it was noon, and jake set about preparing as elaborate a meal as their store of provisions would permit, saying as he summoned them to the repast: "now boys, i want you to fill yourselves up so's to be ready for hard work in case anything is to be done when the others get here. afterwards we'll take a snooze, which is the proper thing to do at the middle of the day in a hot climate, and then there must be some exploring, for we want to find out if we are really on the island of cuba." the boys' hunger was very much greater than their grief, and without further urging they did full justice to the meal, teddy saying as he helped himself to the third slice of preserved meat: "it wouldn't be a bad idea for us to hunt a little while for something in the shape of a vegetable, or we shall soon run short of provisions." "it's the very plan i was thinking of. in these woods we should be able to find many things that would help out on the bill of fare; but in case that can't be done, you boys must turn hunters. it's mighty lucky you have your guns and plenty of ammunition." this last suggestion pleased the boys wonderfully and if jake had not insisted very strongly that they sleep during the hottest portion of the day, both would have started into the forest without delay. after lying down in the shade slumber came to their eyelids quickly, and when he was convinced they were across the border of dreamland, jake arose softly, saying to himself as he stole up the shore: "this goes ahead of any scrape i ever had the bad luck to fall into, an' i'd give all i've got to know exactly where we are, for i'm certain it ain't cuba. if two days pass without our sightin' a sail i must fix up some story to make the boys eager to tramp across the country. that'll be better than stayin' here where, 'cordin' to my idea, there's mighty small chance of our finding anybody who can help us." he walked along the shore fully two miles; but there was no diversity of scene. the coast strewn thickly with coral rocks, and backed by a dense forest, was all that could be seen either above or below the place where they landed. then jake forced his way through the tangled undergrowth, experiencing no slight difficulty in so doing, and the vegetation confirmed his belief that the little craft had been carried by the wind to some land further south than was at first supposed. on the water not a sail was in sight, and when jake returned to the place where the rude shelter had been put up he was in even a more despondent mood than teddy and neal had been. "i s'pose we must wait here a couple of days to satisfy the boys the other boats won't come, an' then it's a case of strikin' across the country with good chance of wanderin' around until fever or wild animals puts an end to it." his companions were yet asleep, and he lay down beside them in order to prevent any suspicion that he had been spying out the land. under other circumstances the monotonous roar of the surf would have lulled him to rest; but now his anxiety was so great that, despite all efforts, his eyes would persist in staying open very wide, and he spent the remainder of the siesta trying in vain to decide what was best to do. not until late in the afternoon did the boys awaken, and then neal said as he sprang to his feet: "it won't do for us all to sleep again at the same time. if the boats came in sight since we've been lying here it is very probable father has missed us, for more than likely they would try for a better place to land further up or down the coast." "you needn't worry about that, lad. i've kept honest watch, and not so much as the wing of a sea gull has appeared above the horizon." teddy, remembering what jake had said about hunting, began to clean the guns, for both had been thoroughly wetted during the landing, and neal walked slowly along as he looked out over the water intently. before going very far he saw the engineer's footprints on the sand, and shouted excitedly: "some one has been here! perhaps father arrived before we did." "there's no such good luck," jake replied. "while you fellows were snoozing i went a long bit in that direction." "then it's only a waste of time for me to go over the same ground," and neal retraced his steps, adding when he gained teddy's side, "i'll do my share of that work." "you spoke too late, for i have finished. now let's see what can be done in the way of hunting; a roasted bird will be a big improvement over salt meat, and i count on finding plenty of game." "all right, provided jake is willing to stay here alone." "what is to prevent me from joining the party?" "someone must remain in case the boats heave in sight," neal replied in a positive tone, and the engineer said carelessly: "i didn't think of that; but it'll be all right, i'll keep my eyes peeled," and he added to himself, "i wish he wasn't so certain about the others coming, an' then the disappointment wouldn't be quite so great." jake cautioned the boys against going very far from the beach because of the danger of getting lost in the forest, and as they disappeared among the underbrush he threw himself upon the ground, unable longer to fight against the despair which was rapidly overpowering him. he understood perfectly well how great would be the danger in attempting to make their way through the wooded portion of the country at this season of the year, when fever germs lurked in every spot where stagnant water was to be found, and knew at the same time how extremely difficult it might be to find a place offering any more advantages than did the narrow strip of sand on which they had been thrown. "it wouldn't be quite as bad if i knew where we are," he said to himself. "it can't be possible that we're on the coast of south america; but if that should prove to be the case we'd make a pretty mess of it by trying to cross." then came the thought that perhaps it would be better to travel up the coast, and as to the advisability of this he studied a long while without being able to arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. two hours were spent in this profitless speculation, and then the boys returned, bringing with them two large hoccos, birds looking not unlike wild turkeys. "we shan't starve while such game as this is to be found," neal cried triumphantly. "i believe we might have shot a dozen by staying longer; but there was no sense in doing so just for the sake of killing. it will be a hard job to eat all this meat before it spoils." "how far in did you go?" jake asked, rising to his feet quickly and trying to banish from his face the look of dejection, lest his companions should suspect how desperate he believed the situation to be. "not more than half a mile," teddy replied. "what is the general appearance of the country?" "the undergrowth is very dense in places, and above here, a little to the right, we came upon what seems to be a swamp. it was there we found these birds, and something else which is not quite so promising." as he spoke teddy pulled up his shirt sleeve, and pointed to several black specks on his skin. "they are ticks, or garrapatas, as the spaniards call them," jake replied, as he opened his pocket knife. "the sooner you get rid of them the better, for they will make what is likely to be a bad sore unless a cordial invitation to leave is extended." "are you going to cut them out?" teddy asked in alarm. "not exactly; but you won't get rid of the pests without considerable pain, for they have the faculty of crawling under the skin mighty fast." jake set about the work in a methodical manner, causing teddy to cry aloud very often as the insects were pulled or dug from the flesh. then neal was called upon to undergo the same operation, and not until nearly an hour had passed were the hunters free from the painful pests. it was now nearly sunset, and all hands set about preparing the hoccos for roasting, by first plucking the fowls, removing the intestines, and sticking them on a sharpened stake in front of the fire. it was not an entirely satisfactory method of cooking, for while one portion was done brown, another would be hardly warmed through; but, as teddy said, "it went a long way ahead of nothing," and all three worked industriously, turning the game or piling on the fuel until, about an hour after sunset, the task was completed. by this time the castaways were decidedly hungry, and the half-cooked fowls tasted better than had the most elaborate meals on board the sea dream. chapter ix. across the country. when, supper having been eaten, preparations were made for the night, neal insisted that one of the party should remain on guard during the hours of darkness, in order to watch for the boats, and jake had no slight trouble in convincing him that it was not absolutely necessary. "we couldn't see their lights half a mile away if they have any hoisted, which isn't likely, for the oil must be scarce by this time," the engineer said, "and, in case we did sight them, what good would it do? we should induce them to land here, and we know how dangerous that is even in the daytime. i had rather let them pass without knowing where we are, than to be the innocent cause of a second disaster." after considerable discussion neal was made to understand that no good could come of posting sentinels, and the little party lay down on the bed of leaves; but, owing to the suspense concerning the fate of the others, neither slept very soundly. it was hardly light enough to see surrounding objects when jake began to prepare breakfast, and as soon as the sun rose neal and teddy paced to and fro on the beach gazing seaward; but without seeing that for which they sought. for the first time neal began to despair concerning his father, and returning to the camp he said in a voice choked by sobs: "i don't believe we shall ever see either of them again. the wind has held steady since we landed, and they should have been here a long while ago. our boat couldn't have sailed so much faster than theirs that we should arrive twenty-four hours in advance." "now put out of your mind the idea that we are not to see all hands some time," jake replied quite sharply. "i'm willing to admit that they may not strike here, for i might as well own up to the truth, and say the chances are against two boats coming so far and hitting the same spot on the coast. that doesn't prove, however, that there has been any further disaster." "then you do believe that they won't come here?" "yes." "why haven't you proposed to make some change?" "i didn't want to say anything until we were certain the boats wouldn't heave in sight. i shouldn't advise making a move yet awhile; but since you've broached the subject we may as well talk plainly." "do you think we are likely to be taken off by a vessel?" "the fact that none have passed within our line of vision certainly shows that such a chance is slim. i have come to the conclusion that we are not on the island of cuba, and it stands us in hand to try for some town or sea-port. we might stay here a month, and then have a craft heave in sight when the surf run so high as to prevent a boat landing." "what do you want to do?" "strike straight through the woods. there must be people living here somewhere, and the sooner we find them the sooner we'll get home." "why not follow along the beach?" "because, if this is an island, as it surely must be, we could get across quicker than around, and, besides, with all these coral rocks the beach is not the best sort of a road for traveling, loaded down as we shall be." neal was silent for a moment, and teddy took advantage of the opportunity to ask: "when do you think we ought to make a move?" "my idea is that we should stay here to-day (our supply of water won't last much longer), and start early to-morrow morning. that would be time enough to prove whether the boats are coming, and give us a chance to get the traps into proper shape for carrying." "you know best what should be done," neal said, speaking slowly, "and i am ready to do as you propose." "now that is what i call sensible talk," jake replied, in a tone of satisfaction. "by buckling right down to work, and putting out of our minds all unpleasant thoughts, for it don't do any good to moon over what can't be changed, we shall soon get out of this scrape." neal remained silent. to leave the coast seemed like deserting his father, and although he knew jake's plan should be carried out, it made him sad to think of going where it would be no longer possible to see the ocean. teddy, however, experienced a sense of relief as soon as it was decided to enter the forest in search of human beings. to him the place was anything rather than agreeable, for he could never rid himself of the feeling that the drowned sailors would soon be washed ashore, and during the hours of darkness all kinds of queer fancies came into his mind with every unusual sound. he was eager to discuss with jake the details of the proposed journey, and, neal listening to the conversation but taking no part in it, the matter was arranged to the satisfaction of the engineer and teddy. the ammunition and such provisions as had been brought ashore, was divided into three portions, one being very much heavier than the others, and each tied in such shape as would be most convenient for carrying. so much of the game as would not be needed for immediate consumption was wrapped in leaves for the travelers to take with them; but that which caused jake the most anxiety was the fact that the supply of water would be exhausted before they started. "it can't be helped," he said ruefully, "and we may be mighty thirsty before finding any; but the case would be worse if we staid here, so there is no reason why we need worry very much. in that swamp you spoke of we shall surely find what thirsty men can drink on a pinch, and i'm positive we'll get along all right." as if eager to convince himself that there was no great danger to be apprehended from the journey through the forest, he continued to talk about his plans until both the boys were perfectly familiar with all he hoped to gain by the attempt; but of his fears not a word was spoken. at night all retired early in order to be fresh for the morrow's work, and when the first faint flush of another day appeared in the eastern sky jake aroused his companions. "turn out, boys," he shouted cheerily. "we must make the most of these cool hours, for it will be necessary to halt at noon, and we want to get through the forest as quickly as possible." while speaking he was fastening the heaviest package on his back, and after a hurried toilet in the sea neal and teddy took up their loads. it was still quite dark under the towering trees when the journey was begun; but each moment the gloom grew less, until, when the sun rose it was possible to see the way with but little difficulty. to travel very rapidly was out of the question. in certain places the underbrush was so dense that considerable exertion became necessary in order to force a passage, and despite all efforts not more than two miles an hour could be made. at the swamp plenty of cool, clear water was found, and with this jake filled the two bottles, all they had in which to carry a supply of the precious liquid. at noon a long halt was made, and when the sun began to decline the weary march was resumed. by no means the least of the travelers' suffering was caused by thorns, and to one who has never had any experience of this sort, a description of the various spines and needles which project from the strange plants in these vast forests would seem exaggerated. they are of all sizes and shapes, and in many places actually prevent a man from making his way through the foliage even though he be armed with a machete. oftentimes it is absolutely necessary to make a long detour in order to avoid the painful obstructions, and before half of this day's journey was finished all three of the castaways bore bloody evidence of what these natural bristles can do. the siesta was decidedly abridged, for jake realized the importance of concluding the tramp as quickly as possible, and the afternoon was but little more than half ended when, to the intense surprise of all, they suddenly arrived at a clearing in the very midst of the forest. after wandering among the luxuriant vegetation the travelers were almost startled at seeing an avenue of banana trees which had evidently been planted by the hand of man, and, following it up, the little party were yet more surprised at seeing a white man swinging idly in a hammock. jake advanced as if unable to believe the evidences of his own senses, and said hesitatingly: "we had no intention of intruding, sir; but followed the line of banana trees without the slightest idea of finding a gentleman's home." "don't apologize," the stranger replied in good english, and springing to his feet as if in alarm. "it is true that i am not in the habit of receiving callers in this out-of-the-way place; but those of my own race are none the less welcome. will you walk into the house?" the boys peered through the foliage where, after some difficulty, they saw a small cabin, hardly large enough to be called a dwelling, and jake replied quickly: "we would prefer to remain here. having walked since sunrise, you can fancy that any place in which to rest our legs without fear of coming in contact with a scorpion or a snake is grateful." "i can't promise that you won't be troubled by such visitors; but you are welcome to do as you choose." jake threw himself on the ground, asking as he did so: "can you tell me how near we are to a sea-port? we have just landed from a pleasure yacht which was destroyed by fire, and haven't any idea where we are." "you are now in yucatan, and probably know perfectly well how near to the coast, for----" "in yucatan?" jake repeated in surprise. "exactly, and not so very far from the famed silver city of the chan santa cruz indians." "that last information doesn't seem to be very important so far as we are concerned; but it does surprise me to know we are in this section of the country, for our captain was quite positive we should strike the coast of cuba." "tell me how such a mistake was made." "that is exactly what i don't know myself; but it won't take long to explain why we are here." then jake told the story of the cruise in the sea dream, of the unaccountable conflagration, and the fatal landing on the coast, concluding by saying: "as a matter of course we are most anxious to reach some place from which we can find a steamer or sailing vessel going to the united states. probably you can give us the proper information, and by that means get rid of unexpected and, perhaps, unwelcome visitors." "but i do not wish to get rid of you," the stranger replied quickly. "on the contrary i am more than delighted because you were forced to come here, since you can render me a very great service." "i fail to understand how," jake replied in perplexity. "you shall soon know, and i fancy you will be decidedly surprised when i give you all the details. first, however, allow me to prepare supper, and then it will be singular if i do not tell such a story as will cause greater astonishment than you ever experienced before." with these strange words the young man--he did not appear to be more than thirty years old--leaped out of the hammock, and disappeared among the shrubbery which so nearly concealed the building. chapter x. a strange story. the meal, which was partaken of heartily by the weary travelers, consisted of eggs and fruit, with plenty of freshly cooked tortillas, and as teddy remarked in a low tone when it was absolutely impossible for him to eat any more, "it went way ahead of turkeys roasted on a stick." after his guests had finished this very satisfactory repast, the stranger proposed that all adjourn to the banana avenue where he slung another hammock that both the boys might lie down, gave jake a cigar of home manufacture, lighted one himself, and, lying upon the ground in an attitude of absolute repose, said laughingly: "now if you wish to hear the story i promised to tell there is nothing to prevent." "i would certainly like to know how it happens that you are living alone in this forest," jake replied. "then i will begin in regular story-book style, for when it is ended i intend to make a proposition. my name is byron cummings, and the last home i had previous to the building of this shanty, was in baltimore, maryland. two years ago--it may have been longer, for one does not keep a very strict record of time in this country--i visited merida on a pleasure trip, and while there heard the story of the silver city." "is that the name of a town, or do you mean that the precious metal is so plentiful there?" teddy interrupted. "i refer to a city built by the chan santa cruz indians which has received this name because the ornamentation of the houses is of silver, and so profuse as to give it the appearance, at a distance, of being a collection of silver buildings. don't laugh until you hear the whole story," he added, as a smile of incredulity passed over jake's face. "any one in merida, and, in fact the english histories, will tell you that this wonderful city is in the vast tract of marshy land situated between here and merida, known as the black swamp. it is a fact that no white man has ever seen it, since the only approach is across the swamp on the south side, and the way so closely guarded that a person must have special sources of information in order to get through the labyrinth of narrow water courses on the banks of which are sentinels ready to salute the visitor with a shower of poisoned arrows. "it cannot be reached from the east because of the rocks, a few samples of which you probably saw on the sea coast. as you doubtless know, the indians hereabout have never been conquered by the whites, and the interior is as much an unknown land as it was at the time of the conquest. "certain of the chan santa cruz indians visit merida at certain seasons of the year, where they sell, or rather, exchange for goods, gold dust and massive golden ornaments, valuing the yellow treasure so lightly, and bringing such quantities that there can be no doubt they have access to an enormous deposit. silver they use as we do iron, and i myself have seen one of these visitors wearing thick beaten bands of it as a protection to his legs, probably because of the thorns." "if they come into the towns i should think some venturesome fellow would follow, to learn the secret of the city in the swamp," jake suggested, and it could plainly be seen that he was growing decidedly interested. "that has often been tried; but, so far as i can learn, no one ever succeeded. twice i tracked three villainous looking old fellows to the very edge of the marsh, and both times they disappeared so silently and completely as to make it seem as if the earth had opened and swallowed them. then, learning of the many who had failed in the same attempt, i formed a plan which must give me the victory, although it has required much time." "what is it?" jake asked breathlessly. "i resolved to learn the language, and to that end came here with an indian who knows the habits and customs of these people, he having dealt with them for many years, and, what is more, has been within sight of the famous city. from him i have gained all the information necessary to enable me to penetrate the swamp, and now flatter myself that i can speak the dialect of the chan santa cruz tribe as perfectly as a native." "have you remained here two years doing nothing else but studying how to reach the village?" neal asked. "very little beside that. we built the hut, planted these trees for a lounging place, and now raise chickens and fruit enough to provide us with food." "where is the man you speak of?" "he went to merida three days ago; but will return by the day after to-morrow if no accident has befallen him." "when are you going to make the attempt to get through the swamp?" "very soon if you accept my proposition." "what have we to do with it?" jake asked in surprise. "i will explain. old poyor and myself are not strong enough numerically to make the attempt alone, for in case the secret of our identity should be discovered, nothing could save our lives. with you three as an addition to the party, and two armed with good weapons, i would not be afraid to travel straight through the city. as a matter of fact the only real danger is in approaching the place; but i have studied over that portion of the business so long that i do not fear a failure if you can be prevailed upon to join us." "that is out of the question," neal replied decidedly, speaking quickly, as if afraid jake might agree to the scheme. "you know we must get back to our own country as soon as possible, for if father is alive he will suffer great anxiety concerning us." "you are right to make haste; but what if i tell you that by going with me no time will be lost?" "how can that be possible?" "because if you were in merida to-day you could not reach progresso in time to take the steamer which left for the united states this morning. if you remain here two weeks more, there will then be ample opportunity to get passage on the next vessel which starts. i have a time table, and you can see by it that i am telling the truth." as he ceased speaking cummings arose, walked leisurely to the house, and returned with the article in question, which he handed to neal. it was only necessary to glance at it in order to learn that his statement was a fact, and when teddy was also convinced, the host continued: "according to the plan i have formed we should be back in less than ten days from the time we begin the journey, and if you agree to the scheme it should make us all wealthy." "but you said the old indian would not return for three days," jake interrupted. "very true; but we shall not wait for him to come here. that which he will bring is exactly what we want as an outfit, and we can meet him at the only entrance to the swamp where, for more than three months, i have had a boat hidden in readiness for the attempt." then cummings gave a more detailed account of the wonderful city as he had heard it in merida and from poyor, and so well did he tell the story that in a short time his guests were in the highest state of excitement. "now the question is whether you will join me?" he said in conclusion. "having studied the matter so long i feel warranted in saying that it is not an unusually dangerous venture, and, if we are successful, the amount of wealth we can carry away must be enormous." "it wouldn't take me long to decide," jake replied promptly; "but seeing that i am in mr. emery's employ i couldn't go contrary to his son's orders. as a matter of fact i'm not bound in any way; but it seems to be the only square thing to do." "and what is your idea?" cummings asked as he looked toward teddy. "since we can't start for home immediately, i don't see why we shouldn't spend the time in what will be the jolliest kind of an adventure whether there is any gold to be gained or not." the young man then turned to neal questioningly, and the latter said hesitatingly: "it isn't fair for jake to make me decide. he should know better than i whether we ought to go with you. if it was possible for us to leave the country at once there could be no question, for we must return to the united states at the earliest opportunity." "and since that cannot be done you have no objections to joining us in the visit to the silver city?" "i don't know. you would not go until to-morrow, so we have a chance to discuss the matter among ourselves." "very true. i've some work to attend to, and while i am away you will be able to talk privately." then cummings arose, went toward the house and when he disappeared from view neal said to jake: "now tell me just what you think of going with him; i mean, what you think father would say if we could consult him, not what we would like to do." "well, if you put it in that way," and now jake spoke as if weighing every word, "i can't see why we shouldn't have a little fun, seein's how we're bound to stay here longer than he allows is enough to go to this silver city an' back. it would be a mean kind of a man who'd object to our havin' enjoyment after all that's happened." "then you believe father would approve of our going with mr. cummings?" jake was not exactly prepared to say "yes," and at the same time he did not wish to reply in the negative after his acquiescence in all the host had advanced as reasons why they should accompany him, and after a long pause neal added: "of course i want to go, for it can't be possible that there is very much danger, and i make this proposition: we must sail on the next steamer, and if mr. cummings is willing we should desert him, no matter what may be the condition of affairs when it is time for us to start for the coast, then we are warranted in accepting the proposition." "that is what i call putting the matter in the proper light," jake replied with considerable emphasis. "on this basis no one can possibly find any fault, and we may as well tell him that we have decided to go." "first explain that we must leave yucatan on the next steamer which starts from progresso." "i'll do it, and if he is so certain that we shall be out of the silver city in that time there can be no reason for any fault-finding." "i think neal has arranged the business as it should be," teddy said approvingly, and from that moment the castaways believed they were committed to the scheme. half an hour later, when cummings returned to learn the result of the interview, jake explained upon what grounds the decision had been arrived at, and he expressed himself as perfectly satisfied with the arrangement. "if we can't get into the city during the coming week there is no use trying," he said, "and i will undertake to see you on board the next steamer which sails. now it only remains to decide upon the details, and at sunrise to-morrow we will begin what i have been preparing for, during the past two years." since the details consisted only in agreeing upon what amount of luggage should be taken with them, but little time was spent in discussion, and as the boys retired on this night it was with the knowledge that when the sun rose again they would start for the silver city which every traveler in yucatan admitted had an existence. chapter xi. the journey. the boys and jake had no preparations to make for the journey. the goods they had brought from the coast was their only property, and could readily be carried as during the tramp to this point. on the contrary, cummings found many things which it was necessary should be done before departure. whether successful in the attempt to reach the marvelous city or not, he could hardly hope to return to the hut where all his preparations had been made, and there was much to be done. after ascertaining that his guests were willing to accompany him he made arrangements for their comfort during the night, and then, excusing himself on the plea of work, was seen no more until the time for departure had come. of the three castaways neal was the only one who had any misgivings regarding the proposed detour. it seemed to him as if he was in some way abandoning his father by embarking in this enterprise, although how anything more could be done to aid those who had taken refuge in the boats was beyond his comprehension. this much was clear in his mind, however: he had agreed to aid in the attempt, and when cummings awakened the little party he arose quickly, firmly resolved to do everything in his power to reach the city which, as yet, he was not thoroughly convinced existed. it was still dark when the final preparations for the journey were begun, and cummings' impatience was so great that the sun had but just shown himself above the horizon when the morning meal had been eaten, and their host was urging them to make haste. "we must be at the rendezvous not later than this afternoon in order to avoid the chance of passing poyor on the way," he said impatiently, "therefore the sooner we start the better." "we are ready," jake replied, and, after setting the fowls loose, cummings led the way through the underbrush, finding a path where the others would not have believed any existed. as if to prevent the boys from losing their interest in the search for the silver city, their guide continued to add to the story he had already told, and during the long march but little else was talked about. jake who was as excited as a man well could be, for he had no doubt but that they could find large quantities of treasure where there would be no difficulties in the matter of carrying it away, plied cummings with questions whenever the conversation lagged, and neal had but little opportunity to speculate upon the fate of his father. not until late in the night, when to neal and teddy it seemed as if they could go no further, did the party halt, and during the last hour of the march the utmost silence was maintained. "it is absolutely necessary to avoid detection in case any of the indians may be in the vicinity," cummings had said, "and we must move as stealthily as if we knew positively they were waiting for us." from that time no one spoke. the guide crept on at a slow pace, his every movement copied by the remainder of the party, and on arriving at the rendezvous he motioned the others to lie down, whispering as they gathered around him: "we are near the canoe, and it only remains to watch for poyor, who should be here by morning. i'll stand guard while the others sleep." there was no thought of putting up anything in the shape of a shelter, and the boys stretched themselves on the ground in the midst of a thick clump of vegetation, teddy whispering to neal: "if it is necessary to take such precautions as these before we are near the city, we may expect pretty rough times before arriving at the place." "that's a fact, and i begin to wish we hadn't started. there is no positive assurance we shall get through in time to take the next steamer for home, and even cummings himself can't say whether any of us will ever come back." "do you want to give up the job now?" "i'd be ashamed to do that, for it would look as if we were afraid; but i'm sorry we agreed to the plan;" and teddy replied heartily: "so am i." jake had nothing to say; but whether his silence was caused by a desire to obey cummings' instructions to avoid making a noise, or by misgivings as to the wisdom of the venture, neither of the boys could guess. despite the anxiety of the younger members of the party they soon fell asleep, owing to excessive fatigue, and did not arouse to consciousness until jake whispered as he shook them vigorously: "it's time to start. the indian has come, an' ain't half as bad a lookin' man as i counted on seeing." the boys sprang to their feet, finding themselves face to face with a tall, half naked figure which, in the dim light, looked more like a statue of bronze than a human being. he stood scrutinizing them keenly for fully a minute, and then, as if satisfied with their appearance, turned away to walk swiftly along the edge of the swamp until lost to view in the darkness. "poyor has just arrived," cummings said by way of explanation; "and according to his belief it is well for us to start at once." "where has he gone?" teddy asked. "after the canoe; it is but a short distance from here." "don't you dare to cook breakfast?" "certainly not; the light of a fire would be worse, for us, than the report of a gun. until we arrive at the silver city it will be a case of eating cold food, and perhaps we may be obliged to wait even longer than that before having anything very elaborate in the way of a meal." "if we are only certain of coming back again where it is possible to do as we please, i won't grumble about what we are obliged to eat," neal said, with a nervous laugh. "don't borrow trouble," cummings replied quickly; but both the boys noticed that he no longer spoke in the same confident tone as before the journey was begun. "we shall surely get through without difficulty." the conversation was interrupted by the approach of poyor, who came down the water-way in the canoe more like a ghost than a creature of flesh and blood, and jake, whose head had been turned in the other direction, could not suppress a slight exclamation of surprise as the indian suddenly appeared by his side. the canoe which had been brought thus silently was simply the trunk of a tree hollowed out, and about fifteen feet in length. it yet rested lightly on the water when the entire party and all the traps were on board, and the boys noticed with no slight degree of astonishment, that one stroke of the paddle was sufficient to send it sharply in either direction. "now you have a chance to finish your nap," cummings whispered as, kneeling aft, he began to assist poyor in propelling the craft. "don't you want us to help?" teddy asked. "no, there will be nothing you can do until we enter the silver city." tired though the boys were it was literally impossible to close their eyes in slumber now, and they remained very wide awake watching the coming of a new day. when the sun had risen they could get some slight idea of the country through which they were passing; but of what might be a few yards beyond no one could say. the shores of this particular water-way through the swamp were flat, covered with reeds and long grass, with here and there dense tangles of trees and vines, and the channel was so narrow that only at rare intervals could the paddles be used. the indian and the white man pushed the boat from one bend to another, oftentimes finding it difficult to pass the sharp curves, and the boys confidently expected this labor would be continued during the entire day, therefore their surprise was great when, about an hour after sunrise, the little craft was forced under a clump of overhanging foliage as if the journey was at an end. "what is the matter?" neal asked in a whisper, and cummings replied in the same cautious tone: "nothing. it would be in the highest degree dangerous to travel very far now that it is light." "how long are we to stay here?" "until the darkness comes again." "wouldn't it be safe to go on the bank where we can stretch our legs?" "we must not leave the boat. it will be only for a few hours, and then we shall have plenty of exercise paddling." immediately the canoe had been made fast under the mass of vines and shrubbery poyor stretched himself out in the bow as if the task of remaining perfectly quiet during an entire day was a very agreeable one, and cummings followed his example. jake, who had been sitting amidships, moved toward his friends, and the three spent an hour talking of what was now termed by all "a foolish venture." there was nothing left for it, however, but to continue on since they were in the swamp, and after a time neal said petulantly: "well make the best of it, and if an opportunity should occur to go to merida there must be no hesitation, whatever cummings may say." as if this resolution gave them renewed courage, the boys lay down in the most comfortable position possible, after eating a light lunch, and until nightfall no sound save that caused by heavy breathing could have been heard from the boat. then, when darkness came again, poyor, who had remained almost without motion during the entire time of the halt, aroused himself, ate half a dozen bananas, and took up the paddle. the precautions against being discovered by those who might be on the watch were now redoubled. before rounding a bend the indian waited in a listening attitude to assure himself no one was moving in the immediate vicinity, and when it became necessary to work the canoe along by aid of the foliage the utmost care was exercised to prevent the branches from rustling. as the hours wore on and no attack was made cummings appeared to be highly elated, and jake's gloomy forebodings were dispelled in the thought of the treasure which they might be able to bring away. once, about midnight, when they halted a moment for poyor to reconnoiter, neal whispered to the leader: "how many nights of this kind of traveling is necessary before we reach the city?" "when we next halt it will be to leave the boat and continue the journey on foot. it was the possible difficulties, not the distance, which rendered the undertaking formidable." the indian returned, stepped into the canoe without speaking, and took up the paddle as if to say there was nothing to prevent them from going ahead. from this time until faint streaks of light caused by the approach of the sun could be seen in the sky there was no lengthy interruption to the advance, and then as the boat was pulled out of the channel into a sort of basin or break of the bank which led among the more dense portions of the forests, cummings said to neal: "in two hours you shall have a full view of the silver city, and then there can be no doubt as to the truth of what i have told you." chapter xii. the silver city. to neal and teddy the thought that they were so near the wonderful place described by cummings overshadowed everything else, and the probable danger was but a secondary consideration. jake was in a perfect fever of excitement, and so great was his desire to see the city from which he fully expected to bring away enormous amounts of gold that more than once did the leader caution him in an impatient tone to remain quiet. impassive, apparently unmoved by the fact that the plan which he and his white companion had spent so many months in perfecting was about to be proven successful, or a failure that might result in the death of all concerned, the indian stood silent and motionless at the foot of a gigantic cypress tree; but teddy observed that he was on the alert for the slightest unusual sound. cummings dealt out some food; but none of the party ate it. hunger had been banished by suspense, anxiety and anticipation. gradually the gloom was dispelled, and it became possible to see the varied forms of life everywhere around. the party had halted upon a slight elevation, where they had a limited view of that portion of the forest which appeared to be distinct from the region of marsh. as the sun arose, and a singularly dazzling light, different from anything the boys had ever seen before was reflected on the tops of the trees, it seemed as if every branch was laden with birds of the most gorgeous plumage flitting here and there like movable jewels against a background of green enamel. hundreds of monkeys filled the air with an almost incessant chattering which drowned all other sounds, and snakes of every color and size writhed and wriggled in different directions to greet the grateful heat of the sun. it was a picture most beautiful, and at the same time, because of the serpents, terrifying. cummings began to make his way up the trunk of the cypress, aided by poyor; but when jake would have followed, the indian motioned for him to remain with the boys. [illustration: the indian stood silent and motionless at the foot of the gigantic cypress tree, etc.] one glance appeared to be sufficient for the leader of the party, and as he descended he whispered to neal: "we have made no mistake. the city can be seen plainly. you and your companions may gratify your curiosity, for we shall remain here until poyor comes back." then turning to the indian, cummings whispered a few words, and the former glided through the underbrush, being lost to view almost immediately. by assisting each other the three castaways were soon where such a marvelous sight was presented that exclamations of surprise and admiration burst from their lips; but, fortunately, the chattering of the monkeys would have prevented the outcries from being heard had a party of chan santa cruz indians been at the foot of the tree. far to the eastward was a long range of low, rocky mountains, and at the north and south spurs or cliffs, all enclosing a beautiful valley in the center of which was a city of dazzlingly white buildings. to look at this collection of houses and temples very long at a time was almost impossible because of the peculiar glare which the boys had mistaken for the sun's rays. it was caused by the reflection of the god of day on an edifice in the center of the city, the dome-like roof of which was covered with a burnished metal substance having the appearance of silver. the adjoining buildings, composed of white stone having a softness as of alabaster, threw this peculiar light in every direction, causing the city to stand out amid the green foliage like a huge incandescent mass. each house stood in a square by itself, and, judging from the area of the city one might have estimated the population at about fifteen thousand. the streets were laid out with the utmost precision, and composed of what appeared to be fine white sand, while at every intersection were monuments of grotesque figures or animals. at regular intervals were enormous white columns capped with the glistening metal, the same as displayed on the dome of the principal building and on many of the houses. after taking in this wonderful picture as a whole the boys gazed at the most prominent objects in turn, the central edifice occupying the greater share of attention. that this was a place of worship seemed reasonable to suppose because of the crowds of people entering or departing from the opening formed by lofty pillars of shimmering metal, and also because of the tiny threads of smoke which arose from several apertures in the roof as if from altar fires. to confirm the beholders in this belief the faint sound of sweet music arose in the air, and instantly the throngs in the streets prostrated themselves in adoration of some one of the statues. the citizens were dressed in flowing garments of white, and all seemed intent on worship which was prolonged until after the spectators left the tree. one singular fact was noted by teddy, and he called neal's attention to it. neither on the surrounding hills nor in the city could a single animal of any kind be seen. it was as if even the birds from the forest so shaped their course as to avoid flying over the dazzling wonderful city which was shut out from the rest of the world by the swamp wherein fever lurked in its most horrible form. how long the boys and jake gazed at this marvelous picture neither of them could ever say. they took no heed of the passage of time, and when cummings called softly that it would be well to come down in order to gain a little rest before poyor returned, teddy noticed with surprise that the sun was high in the heavens. "well, do you believe now that the silver city really has an existence?" the leader asked when the three stood by his side. "after that anything seems possible," neal replied with a sigh as if weary of gazing at so much magnificence. "save some adjectives expressive of admiration until we are in the city, when i fancy you will see very much that is more curious." "the people don't appear to be so terribly ferocious," teddy said, "and yet you think they would kill us all if our presence was discovered." "i am positive of it. in a white man they see only one of that race which has worked them so much injury, making ruins of many cities, and oppressing the rightful owners of the country." "if that is the case how are we to get in there?" neal asked. "poyor has a plan which i think will be successful; wait until he returns, and if the conditions are favorable to the attempt you shall soon know." "but suppose he stays away until a party of indians take it into their heads to come in this direction?" "there is little danger of our being discovered unless it has been suspected we have crossed the swamp, which is hardly probable. very few of the inhabitants ever venture out, and there is no reason why they should come to this exact spot. lie down now, poyor will be with us by nightfall." it was a simple matter to follow the first portion of this advice; but decidedly difficult to close their eyes in slumber after what had been seen. teddy and neal, who threw themselves on the ground side by side, could not keep their thoughts from the wonderful city, and when both jake and cummings were apparently wrapped in slumber the former whispered: "do you think now that we were foolish to come?" "no, because it isn't so far in the swamp but that we can get out in a short time if anything happens, and a glimpse of that city would repay a fellow for considerable trouble." "but suppose the indians get hold of us?" "that is something i reckon cummings can take care of. if he has made such elaborate preparations for entering, when it is so near where he was living we can be pretty certain there will be no very grave mistake." "even if we succeed in reaching the city i can't understand how it will be possible to carry away much gold." "nor i; but yet you know a small package is valuable, and five persons could lug a great deal." "do you fancy he brought us simply to carry the treasure for him?" "he said we would all share alike, so our services wouldn't be of much advantage to him, more particularly since he and the indian could bring away a heavier load than all three of us." in this manner, speculating upon the benefits which might accrue to them rather than regarding the great danger to which the entire party was exposed, the boys passed the time until late in the afternoon, and then poyor approached so softly that he stood in their midst before any one had heard even a rustling among the leaves. on seeing the man cummings sprang up eagerly, asked a question in the indian dialect, and the reply was given at great length, poyor using more gestures than the boys had ever fancied were at his command. that his report was in the highest degree interesting to cummings there could be no doubt, for the latter listened intently, interrupting him only to ask some question, and not until nearly half an hour had passed was any explanation made to the others. then cummings said with a slight show of triumph: "poyor has just come from the city, and there is no suspicion that we have passed the line of sentinels." "if he did that what is to prevent us from doing the same?" jake asked as the leader paused for an instant. "nothing except our skins are white, and he can readily pass himself off for a chan santa cruz. he speaks the language, resembles them in features, and could make his way around the town with but little trouble; but on that point no great amount of time need be spent. here is the plan which i wish to carry into effect: poyor has found a vacant building on the outskirts of the place which he has bargained for, representing himself as one of the sentinels recently released from duty on the eastern side. in that character no person will be likely to wonder why he is without acquaintances, for the watchmen often remain away from the city one or two years, entering only when it is necessary to procure provisions." "is he to go on alone?" jake asked. "certainly not. at a late hour to-night we will accompany him, and all our hopes of success depend upon gaining this building without being discovered." "how long are we to stay there?" "a week if necessary." "a week!" teddy and neal cried in concert. "yes, and i hope we shall be able to remain concealed in the house during that time, otherwise it may go hard with us." "but what do you expect to do shut up in a building, for of course we must keep out of sight?" and jake's face expressed the utmost surprise and apprehension. "that is exactly what you shall learn when we arrive there. since i have proven that the silver city really has an existence, the least that can be done is to aid in carrying out my programme without too much discussion." "you won't have any reason to complain because i don't obey orders," jake replied quickly. "then i will soon show you what we expect to do providing our plans work without a hitch during the next ten hours. let's get these traps into a more convenient shape for carrying, in order that we may be ready for the last stage of our journey when poyor gives the word." chapter xiii. in the city. the boys and jake were decidedly perplexed and not a little worried in regard to the outline of work as given by cummings. they failed to understand how it could be to their advantage to go into the city if it should be necessary to remain hidden all the time, or in what way they would derive any benefit from the visit. although the leader of the party knew from the expression of their faces that they were dissatisfied with the general outlook, he did not volunteer any information, thinking, perhaps, that it was unnecessary to do so since they were where it was impossible to withdraw from the enterprise. neither teddy nor neal believed the party would be exposed to any extraordinary danger. the only idea in their minds was as to whether it would be possible for them to get out of the swamp in time to take the next steamer which left progresso for the united states, and both believed it would be a great misfortune to miss the first opportunity of reaching home. "we can stand it for one week," neal said in a whisper: "but what i am afraid of is that it won't be possible to leave the city at the end of that time," and teddy replied in the same cautious tones: "it is for us to see that such a contingency does not arise. jake will do as we say, and if cummings refuses to leave at a date sufficiently early for us to reach progresso, we must force him to act as has been promised." "what shall we do in case he refuses?" "we are three out of a party of five, and should be able to arrange matters to our own liking." neal was perfectly contented with such a view of the case, and he felt well satisfied that nothing could prevent them from doing as they wished; but unfortunately, he failed to take into consideration the very important fact that while it might be a simple matter to enter the city, they could not be certain of leaving it at will. "we can do as we please by standing firm to our determination of going away in time to take passage on the steamer," he said; "therefore we'll see the adventure through to that point, and if cummings fails in his purpose of bringing away a large amount of gold we will have had such an experience as can be talked about when we get home." as for jake, a glimpse of the glistening walls of the city had literally intoxicated him, and his one and only desire was to reach that point where he could satisfy himself by the sense of touch as well as sight. as the time drew near for the final move in the bold scheme cummings became greatly agitated. it was as if all the blood had left his face, and his eyes were open wide and staring as he gazed into vacancy. "are you sick?" teddy asked in alarm. the young man shook his head. "i suppose i'm acting like a fool; but can't prevent my nerves from getting the best of me just at this time. after laboring two years for one thing, and then being so near a successful completion of the work, is enough to make any fellow excited." teddy was on the point of saying he fancied that fear of the ultimate result might have some share in this alleged nervous attack; but, fortunately, he checked himself in time, and turned to watch poyor who was hiding the boat beneath an ingeniously constructed screen of leaves. night came slowly; the twittering of the birds and the chattering of the monkeys was hushed. among the dense underbrush the darkness was intense, yet the indian remained motionless in a listening attitude. amid profound silence the moments passed until to the boys it seemed as if it must have been midnight when cummings whispered: "it is time. poyor shall lead the way, and i will bring up the rear." walking in single file, and keeping firm hold of each other's garments lest they should be separated, the little party began the last stage of the journey. the indian went forward as if familiar with all the surroundings, and when half an hour had passed he halted only long enough to point ahead where, through the foliage, could be seen the city, its buildings gleaming ghostly white in the starlight. the decisive moment had arrived. if they should be seen by a single person the alarm would be given, for the clothing as well as the skin of all the party, save poyor, would proclaim the fact that these newcomers belonged to the hated race, and the end could not be long delayed. assuring himself that there was no one in sight, poyor quickened his pace, leading the way toward a small building on the outskirts of the town, and ten minutes later, the strangers were inside the dwelling; but although successful in the undertaking, were virtually prisoners. the house was very small as compared with the majority of those seen by the boys when they gazed from a distance, and had evidently been unoccupied a long while. the one room which comprised the entire lower floor was destitute of anything in the way of furniture, and the sides, ceiling and floor were formed of the same soft-looking white stone which appeared to be the only building material in the city. poyor did not give his companions much time in which to inspect this portion of the building. with an impatient gesture to the boys who were gazing around them in evident disappointment, he led the way up a narrow flight of stairs to a sort of attic hardly more than six feet high, and with only two narrow slits in the wall to serve as windows. here five hammocks had been slung, and on one of them the indian threw himself without a word of rejoicing or comment upon the ease and safety with which they had entered the city. "now what is to be done?" neal asked as cummings started toward the stairway. "i wish to bar the lower door, for it would be exceedingly inconvenient if we should have callers." "it strikes me that there will be very little chance to get gold if we are to stay shut up here." "that's just what has been puzzlin' me ever since i saw the place," jake added. "we're not even in the city, only on the edge, and so far as seein' what's goin' on is concerned, the big tree in the swamp would have been a better place." "you may find that we are too near the heart of the town," cummings replied with a grimace. "to-morrow, after poyor has looked around some, we will decide on a plan. you had better go to sleep while there is a chance, for no one can say when we may be obliged to beat a hasty retreat." the boys followed this advice for the simple reason that there was nothing else to be done. teddy had looked through the narrow slit in the wall; but without being able to see anything of interest, and in this city which may have been, and probably was standing when columbus discovered america, the three who had been literally thrown upon the coast of yucatan lay down to sleep. owing to the strangeness of their surroundings, and the knowledge of the danger which threatened, no one gave himself up to very profound slumber. the silence was so perfect as to be almost oppressive, until half an hour before sunrise, when a low strain of sweetest music arose on the air, gradually swelling in volume, and finally ending in a wild burst which caused poyor to spring to his feet. "what is the matter?" teddy asked, and cummings replied carelessly: "nothing in particular. that music is the summons to prayer, and now is the time when the indian can go through the streets with less danger of being discovered." in another instant jake and the boys were at the apertures which served as windows; but some time elapsed before they could see anything owing to the gloom. then, as day dissipated the darkness, they distinguished throngs of white robed figures hurrying from every quarter toward some common point, which was probably the temple with its dome of silver. it was an odd sight to see so many people moving rapidly, but without noise, while neither cart nor animal of any kind accompanied them. here and there were men carrying burdens on their backs by aid of a strap passed around the forehead, and many women and children literally loaded down with flowers. "i don't see any great show of gold or silver," teddy said, after gazing at the scene some time in silence. "no one appears to wear anything like jewelry." "that may be because such metal is too common here," jake replied. "what bothers me is to make out why cummings and the indian are so afraid of being discovered. these people don't look as if they'd kill a fly unless he made a noise, an' that's what they seem to be scared of." "don't make a mistake," cummings whispered, as he overheard the last portion of the conversation. "if it was known that a white man had succeeded in entering the city our lives would be taken within the next hour." "you may believe all that; but i'll hold to it that they're the most peaceable lot i ever saw, until somethin' comes up to prove the contrary," and jake went toward the street door with poyor, regardless of whether he was seen by the passers-by or not until the indian said sharply: "go back; i do not wish to die." "if you're frightened of course i'll get out of the way," jake replied half angrily; "but before we leave this town i'll show you how much reason there is for being afraid." "and in ten minutes from that time you will cease to live," poyor replied gravely, as he left the building, closing the door carefully behind him. "it will be well to remember what he has said," cummings added sharply as he approached the engineer to bar the door. "these people are peaceable until the time comes when religion and all the traditions of their race tell that a long remembered wrong should be avenged, and then no class can be more implacable. i would not show my face outside of this door for as much gold as can be found in yucatan." this remark silenced jake, but he was by no means convinced of its truthfulness, as could be told by his whispered remark to neal: "they know we will have a chance to lug off a pile of money, an' to prevent us from wantin' too much, try to prove that we must stay out of sight so's they can get the cream of the bargain." "don't do anything foolish," teddy replied earnestly. "cummings would not have asked us to come with him unless there had been good reason for wanting assistance, and it is not possible he has made any mistake regarding the nature of the people." jake had nothing more to say; but it could readily be seen that he believed his own ideas on the subject were correct, and at this moment something occurred which demanded his entire attention. poyor had but just left the building, and a crowd was gathering in front of the door, causing cummings to say with every sign of fear: "we shall soon have a chance of learning what these people will do in event of finding a white man in the city, for it looks as if we were discovered." chapter xiv. the festival. it can well be imagined with what anxiety the party in the building looked through the narrow apertures at the crowd below. even jake began to fancy he had made a mistake in regard to their peaceful dispositions, and teddy noticed that he examined very carefully all the weapons. those on the outside were armed chiefly with bows and arrows; but a few carried a sort of spear with a tip which looked not unlike glass, and neal whispered to cummings: "if they have got nothing but arrows we ought to be able to hold a large number in check with our guns." "don't make the mistake of despising their weapons, for every one is covered with a poison so deadly that a single scratch would be more dangerous than a wound from a bullet." "do you think they have learned that we are here?" "i can't explain in any other way the motive for the gathering; but none of them appear to be paying very much attention to the building." as a matter of fact, although there were four to five hundred directly in front of the house, hardly one of them glanced toward the openings through which the little party were gazing; but the majority appeared to be having a most sociable time. as the moments passed without any evidence that an attack was to be made the voluntary prisoners began to grow more comfortable in mind, and again jake proposed that such people were neither able nor inclined to inflict much injury upon any one. suddenly there was a great commotion among the crowd; the men shouted and waved their weapons, danced about in the most grotesque fashion and from afar off could be heard the sound of music. five minutes later the cause of this sudden change of demeanor became apparent. down the street from the direction of the forest came several hundred women decorated with the most beautiful flowers, and carrying huge bouquets or wreaths. they trooped along without any attempt at marching in regular order: but on arriving in front of the men they halted suddenly in response to sharp strokes on a gong or tongueless bell which one of them held high in the air. the men were now on one side of the street and the women on the other, and in this order they stood when twenty persons of both sexes, carrying on a broad flower-covered platform a repulsive looking figure apparently composed of gold, marched between the ranks and halted. instantly every one sank down with bowed head as if in adoration, and the invisible music, accompanied by the peals of sweet-toned bells, filled the air with melody. "we were frightened too soon," cummings said with a sigh of relief. "it is a festival of some sort, and this happens to be the place where it is to be welcomed to the city. it would be most unfortunate if poyor should take it into his head to come back just at this time." "he could see the crowd before getting very near and would know enough to stay at a distance," neal replied. "i'd like to know what that statue represents." the golden figure was certainly very odd. its body was in shape not unlike a panther's; but the tail was short, and stuck straight in the air. the head might have been formed to represent a monkey, although the ears were very long, and the whole was covered with carving to represent scales. "how much do you suppose it weighs?" teddy asked of jake, and the latter, who had also been trying to compute its value, replied: "not an ounce less than a hundred pounds. what a prize that would be if we could carry it away!" "there are many of the same kind in the city." cummings added, "and we should be able to get off with some before a week is ended." "then that is the plan you have formed?" neal said interrogatively. "exactly. poyor is to examine all the statues near by, and decide upon such as we can pull down some night, after which it will only be a question of reaching our boat. i have no fear of being able to get through the swamp providing we have a start of five or six hours." while this conversation was being carried on the people outside remained in the same devout attitude; but just as cummings ceased speaking there was a change in the affairs. the music grew louder, and the bells were rung more rapidly, and the devotees sprang to their feet with shouts and songs, the women throwing flowers on the platform until the hideous god was nearly hidden from view. when the tongueless bell was struck three times the crowd gathered around the image bearers, and all started toward what the white men believed was the temple, chanting in perfect harmony with the music. the worshipers were soon lost to view; but their voices could be heard for ten or fifteen minutes, after which clouds of smoke, probably caused by burning incense, arose from the silver-domed building. "if poyor is wise he will come now," cummings said, as he looked anxiously out. "the people are so intent upon the worship, or installation of a new god, whichever it may be, that he can get into the house without being seen." but there were no signs of the indian. strain their eyes as they might he did not appear. the sounds of music died away. the smoke ceased to arise from the temple, and the people began to walk the streets intent upon their business or pleasure. "it is strange he is so imprudent," cummings muttered half to himself. "now the only safe way is to wait until night, if indeed he is yet at liberty." "do you think anything has happened to him?" neal asked. "of course i can't even guess; but it is very strange he has waited so long." more than that cummings would not say: but both the boys could plainly see he was very anxious, and all grew greatly distressed in mind as the hours wore on. noon came, and once more the streets were nearly deserted, for the inhabitants of the city were indulging in a siesta. now cummings stationed himself at the window, peering out eagerly; but all in vain. slowly the moments passed. the boys tried to eat; but the terrible suspense had spoiled all appetite for food, more especially since it was not particularly inviting, and after swallowing a few crumbs teddy said: "it's no use, i can't even force it down. why did we come here, knowing at least a portion of the danger?" "'cause we were fools," jake replied philosophically; "but that is no reason why we shouldn't have as near to a square meal as is possible," and he began to devour another tortilla. "we won't despair yet," cummings said, as he left his post at the window and joined the little group in the further corner of the room, "poyor is cautious in the extreme, and may believe it isn't safe to enter the house in the daytime under any circumstances." "did he say when he would come back?" "no; it was understood he should return at the first favorable opportunity." "could you find the way to the boat if we never saw him again?" teddy asked. "yes, although we might have some trouble in doing so." then another long interval of silence came upon the little party, during which each one listened intently for the slightest sound which might betoken a visitor. finally jake fell asleep, and so loud was his snoring that it seemed as if he must be heard from the street, therefore the boys pinched him when there was too great a volume of sound, and at the same time wished they could enjoy the same happy unconsciousness of the situation. cummings alternately paced to and fro, and stood by the narrow aperture overlooking the street, until nightfall, when the citizens walked up and down singing or chatting. it was as if every one was perfectly happy, and this condition of affairs caused cummings to feel less despondent. "look," he said to neal and teddy, "if poyor had been discovered the people would show some signs of excitement. we have no reason to fear yet awhile." the argument was certainly a good one, and the boys' courage revived wonderfully. they made a reasonably hearty supper of tortillas, and when the promenaders began to disappear, thus telling that the hour for retiring was near at hand, cummings went downstairs and unbolted the door. now every second appeared like a minute, and when it seemed as if the night must be well nigh spent a slight sound was heard from below. jake would have rushed to the stair-case to welcome the indian; but cummings restrained him. it was not certain who the visitor might be, and with bated breath all listened until a low voice said: "it is poyor." the remark was commonplace in the extreme; but no combination of words sounded more sweetly to the boys, and they rushed forward to clasp the indian by the hand. in the dim light it was not possible to see him very clearly; but from the imperfect view all understood that something serious had happened. he was panting as if just having concluded a long race, and the flowing white garments he had put on before leaving in order to resemble the inhabitants of the city, were torn and stained with mud. cummings spoke to him in the indian dialect, and he replied gravely, the first words causing the white man to utter an exclamation of dismay. "what is the matter? what has happened?" teddy asked; but cummings made no reply until poyor had spoken at considerable length, and then he said: "the worst possible misfortune has befallen us. our boat has been discovered and brought into the city. it is believed we are hiding in the swamp, and a number of men are searching there for us." "why didn't he come straight back to tell us?" jake asked angrily. "if these people are so fierce as you pretend, it is time we were making our escape." "to have approached this place in the daytime would have been in the highest degree dangerous, and, besides, he had a good deal of work to do." "such as what?" "it was necessary we should know exactly the strength and whereabouts of the searching party. that he has discovered." "and how much good will it do us while we are shut up in here?" "do not cast reproaches in the time of trouble," cummings replied gravely. "we must work together to extricate ourselves from the danger into which i have persuaded you to come." jake was silenced, and poyor continued to tell his story, but still speaking in his own language. the boys fancied he was proposing some plan which did not meet with cummings' approbation, for the latter spoke vehemently at times. while this was going on teddy whispered to neal: "it begins to look as if the sailors who were drowned in the surf were more fortunate than the rest of us. they died quickly, and we shall probably find out what it means to be tortured." "don't speak of such horrible things, teddy. we are not captured yet, and there is no sense in looking trouble in the face." "it can't be helped sometimes. i've had enough of adventures, and if we do live to escape from this place all the gold in the world wouldn't tempt me to get into another such scrape." chapter xv. a retreat. cummings and poyor talked together fully half an hour before the former volunteered any further information to his white companions, and then he said: "it would be useless for me to disguise the truth in any particular, for it is important all should know the absolute facts of the situation. in laying my plans for this expedition the only contingency for which i did not prepare, was exactly what has happened. i never believed there were so many sentinels in the swamp that the boat would be discovered, and when we came through without seeing a single one, i felt perfectly safe on that score." "isn't it possible the indians will think it is a craft belonging to some of their own people?" neal asked. "there is no hope of that. she is entirely different in build, and you must remember that we left a number of things on board. those who found her came directly to the city, and orders have been given by the chief men that the swamp be searched thoroughly. there is no longer any possibility that we could go through without being discovered." "then we've got no chance of escaping," jake cried passionately, and cummings replied calmly: "who says we haven't? the coast line, where no one would think of looking for an enemy, is still open, and what prevents us from trying to make our way in that direction?" "then you have given up all hope of carrying away any treasure?" "under the circumstances i shall be well pleased if we succeed in getting away alive. we are now in a position where nothing save escape must be thought of, and i am the one who has placed you three in such a dangerous situation. shut your eyes to the fact that so much treasure might be gained, and bend all your energies to leaving this section of the country. as compared with life gold amounts to very little." "then we are to say that the attempt has been a failure," jake added in a tone of reproach. "yes, and i take upon myself all the blame. you have spent but little time on the enterprise, while to it i have devoted not less than two years, therefore you can get some idea of the extent of my disappointment as compared with yours." "we recognize that fully," neal replied, "and understand that you believed the expedition would be successful; but since it has proven to be a failure let us decide upon the proper course to be pursued rather than spend our time reproaching each other." "you are talking like a sensible fellow," cummings said approvingly. "here is the situation in a nut-shell, and poyor understands english sufficiently to follow us in all we say. to go back by the way we came is now impossible, and yet we must leave the city before a house to house search is made, as i am convinced will be the case when it is shown that there are no strangers in the swamp. the only open course is toward the east, over the mountains, and the journey can be accomplished if we hang together. i am willing to acknowledge that i have led you on an unsuccessful search, although that may be of little satisfaction, and now my only aim is to release you from the dangers which beset us all." "we understand that perfectly," teddy said quickly, "therefore there is no reason why the matter should be discussed. we took the same chances that you and poyor did, consequently our interests are identical. show us how to get out of here, and the chan santa cruz indians may keep all their gold and silver so far as i am concerned." "but how are we to be paid for the time spent?" jake asked fretfully. "by saving your own life, which is now in great danger," neal replied. "give up all idea of making yourself rich by the venture, and think only of how we can best get away." "that is something for cummings to fix," jake replied in a sulky tone. "i came here for gold, and if that can't be had let those who put up the job help us out of the scrape." "i have already taken upon myself all the blame of the failure, and admitted that it came about through an oversight of mine," cummings said sternly. "now if you will listen to my plan i believe we can get out of here alive, which is the one important thing just at this time when everything has gone against us." "what do you propose to do?" neal asked, with a glance at jake which should have silenced him. "strike for the sea-shore. poyor believes it is yet possible to leave the city on the eastern side without danger of meeting the sentinels, the majority of whom have been withdrawn to aid in searching the swamp, and by moving quickly we can at least be out of this hornets' nest before sunrise." "you are the best judge; we will follow your directions," teddy said, speaking more calmly than one would have fancied was possible in view of all the danger. "tell us what you think is best and we will agree to it, for now neal and i have but one desire, which is to leave the silver city in the shortest possible space of time. we can be of but little assistance in case of a regular fight, and according to my way of thinking, your greatest mistake has been in accepting such useless companions." "i am perfectly satisfied that so far as you are concerned i have not made any error. with twenty well-armed men i should not try to maintain my position, for to hold out against an attack would be impossible, and the only question now is whether we can escape. having been here once i will come again, and at some time in the future you shall hear that i succeeded in bringing away treasure from this same wonderful city." then cummings held a short conversation with poyor, and when it was concluded turned toward neal and teddy, as if disdaining to submit any plans to jake, and said: "my first idea was to make an effort to return by the same way we came; but the indian has persuaded me to the contrary. are you willing to do as we think best?" "you are as eager to save your own lives as we are ours," neal replied, "and since you are familiar with this country it would be foolish for us to offer any advice. do whatever in the opinion of both is best, and we will obey orders." "our scheme necessitates an immediate move, for, as yet, no attempt has been made to learn if there are any strangers in the city." "then you propose to go without making any effort to carry away gold?" jake asked. "exactly. the journey has been a failure, through my carelessness as i said before, and to load ourselves down with treasure when a long march is before us, would be the height of folly." jake remained silent, and neal said: "don't waste any more time talking. let us start at once." cummings spoke with poyor, and the latter replied with the air of one who considers himself vanquished, after which the former said: "we may need all this food. make it up into bundles, and we will start at once. the journey before us is a long and a dangerous one: but, as i believe, it is the only way of escape left open." the boys set about making the small amount of baggage into five parcels while cummings and the indian were still discussing some point, and when the conversation was concluded the former said: "we will start for the sea coast. there is no immediate hurry, for there is yet at least six hours before the inhabitants will be stirring." "there must be sentinels on the east as well as the west side," teddy suggested. "true; but if the information brought by poyor be correct, there will not be as strict a watch kept. the indian believes we should try to force a passage through the swamp, fighting in case of a necessity; but i prefer that course where the least danger is to be met, even though the distance be greater." neither neal nor teddy cared to discuss the matter: they knew that cummings was the best judge in such a case, and were well content to follow his leadership; but jake did not trust him so implicitly. "before we leave here i want to know your plans," he said. "my life as well as yours and the others, is in danger, and it is no more than right that i have at least a faint idea of what is to be done." "you are quite right," cummings replied mildly. "it is my purpose to travel toward the east as far as the sea-shore, and from there make our way to my hut. so far as i can see it is the only practicable course." "what does the indian say?" "he thinks we can go through the swamp even if we have no boat: but, in my opinion, the danger of contracting the fever is too great." jake had the appearance of a man who is about to make some protest, and neal whispered to him: "in such a case as this it is our duty to accept cummings' view of the matter. do not delay now when we all know that every moment is precious." "have it your own way, i won't say another word," the engineer replied impatiently; "but i think we have followed this man blindly as long as we should." neal paid no attention to the latter portion of this remark, but said as he turned toward the leader: "it is all right; we are ready." "then follow me, and remember that our lives may pay the forfeit if a single incautious word is spoken." thus speaking he took up one of the packages, looked once more to the cartridges in his gun, and started down the stairs, the boys and jake following, while poyor brought up the rear. at the outer door he hesitated an instant, much as if to persuade himself that it was absolutely necessary to flee from this city to enter which he had spent so many days in making preparations, and then, throwing it open, he led the way into the deserted streets. "our safest plan is to go straight across, rather than try to circle around the outskirts where we may meet with sentinels," he said, motioning for poyor to lead the way. "at present no one suspects that we are here, consequently the guard will not be particularly on the alert." "do as you think best," neal replied, and then, falling back by the side of teddy, he whispered: "if it hadn't been for me you wouldn't have gotten into this scrape; in case anything happens try not to believe it was my fault." "there is no possible chance that you can be to blame," teddy replied warmly. "any one would have accepted the invitation to go yachting, and this last part of the cruise is only the result of an accident with which you had nothing to do." jake did not open his mouth; he acted as if cummings had done him a personal injury in proposing such a trip, and the fact that they were obliged to leave without making any effort to carry away the vast amount of treasure which he knew to be in the city unguarded, aroused his anger in a most unreasonable degree. poyor took the lead and conducted the party directly past the enormous temple with its ornamentation of silver which shone in the pale rays of the moon until the entire structure appeared to be a solid mass of the precious metal, and the marvelous sight was too much for jake, who, coming to a sudden halt, said doggedly: "it may be all right for you boys with rich fathers to turn your backs on so much wealth; but i'm goin' to have some part of this treasure, or give the indians a fair chance to kill me." chapter xvi. discovered. cummings was bringing up the rear during this march across the city, and when jake halted he naturally thought it was in obedience to some signal made by poyor, therefore he remained silent until hearing neal say imploringly: "go on, jake. don't stop now when we have a chance of getting away in safety, for what is gold in comparison with life?" "have you halted with any idea that it may be possible to carry anything off with us?" cummings asked, speaking in a whisper, and jake replied in the same cautious tone: "that's the size of it. you brought us here with the promise that we could make ourselves rich, and when the first little thing goes wrong you run. now i will do as i please." "it is nothing less than suicide. we have before us a journey so long and difficult that however small a burden you may have to carry, it will seem all too heavy." by this time poyor turned back to learn the cause of the halt, and when it was explained he said gravely: "each instant we stand here brings death so much nearer. even at this moment watchful eyes may be upon us, and once we are discovered flight will be almost impossible." the little party stood directly in front of what was evidently the main entrance to the temple. it was formed of twenty slender shafts of white stone which in the moonlight looked translucent, and each column upheld a grotesque figure composed of what appeared to be silver. "i am goin' to have one of them images, no matter what happens," jake said doggedly. "i don't care how much of a tramp there is before us, and the more the thing weighs the better i'll be pleased, for it's the first chance i ever had to make myself rich." "but think of us," teddy whispered. "we all run the risk of being killed because of what you propose to do." "there's no need of your waitin' here. go on, an' i'll take care of myself. i ain't such a chump as not to be able to find my way out." "it must be as he says. we can wait no longer," poyor said peremptorily. "better one should die than all," and, seizing neal by the shoulder, he literally dragged him away. cummings did the same by teddy, and as the boys were thus forced from the place they saw jake trying to make his way up one of the smooth shafts. "it is cruel to leave him when you know he will be killed," neal said as he struggled in vain to release himself from the indian's grasp. "he knows the danger, and will not come. we must care for ourselves. now remain quiet; there has been too much noise and too long a delay." poyor was walking at a pace so rapid that the boys were forced to run; but before they reached the next intersecting street a loud crash was heard from the direction of the temple, and cummings whispered: "he has toppled over one of the columns, and discovery is now certain. he has insured our destruction as well as his own." the words had hardly been uttered when shouts were heard from different portions of the city, and, as if he had sprung from the ground, a man appeared directly in their path. a second's delay would have been fatal. poyor, releasing his hold of neal, dashed forward with the agility of a cat, and springing upon the stranger bore him to the ground. there was a short, sharp struggle which lasted while one might possibly have counted ten, and then the man lay motionless while poyor, grasping neal by the arm once more, darted on down the street. now it seemed as if the entire city had been aroused. on every hand could be heard shouts as if of command and cries of surprise and anger. the sound of footsteps in the rear told that the pursuit had already begun, and it was a race for life with the odds fearfully against the fugitives. "you must run now as you never did before," cummings said sharply to teddy. "there can be no thought of fatigue until we reach some shelter where it will be possible to make a stand." "i can hold out as long as neal; but neither of us are a match for poyor." "he could run all day." two moments later, when they were nearing a broad street which cummings fancied led to the woods on the eastern side of the city, poyor slackened his pace to say: "there is one close behind who must be stopped. will you do it, or shall i?" "help teddy along, while i try it." as the indian took teddy by the arm, thus having a boy on either side of him, cummings unslung the rifle which had been strapped over his shoulder, and, wheeling suddenly, raised it at a man who was not more than forty yards in the rear. "don't shoot! it's me!" a familiar voice cried, and as cummings turned to resume the flight he muttered to himself: "it's a pity they haven't caught you. but for your folly we could have passed through the city unobserved." jake no longer believed the chan santa cruz indians to be such a peaceable race. when, as cummings had suspected, the shaft he was trying to climb toppled over, he was able to escape injury by leaping to one side, and immediately made an effort to detach the statue which was cemented firmly to the stone. it seemed to him that he had but just begun the task when two men rushed from the interior of the temple. fortunately for him they were unarmed or his term of life would have expired at that moment; but as it was one of them seized a fragment of the stone as he turned to run, and threw it with such accuracy of aim that jake's cheek was cut from the eye to the chin as smoothly as if done with a razor. with the blood streaming down his face jake ran for dear life in the direction taken by the remainder of the party, and now fully realizing the danger he had brought upon them. "i deserve to be killed," he said to himself, "and if that poyor don't try to even up things with me for this night's job it'll be because he's a better indian than i ever gave him credit for." when the remainder of the party reached the end of the broad street with the welcome shelter of the forest not more than half a mile away, jake was ten or twelve yards in the rear, and three times that distance behind him were a dozen men who appeared to be gaining each instant. again poyor spoke to cummings, and again the latter stopped suddenly and wheeled about: but this time there was no warning shout to prevent the rifle from being discharged. there was a loud report, a cry of pain from one of the pursuers, and all halted for an instant to aid their wounded companion. when cummings turned to continue the flight jake was by his side, saying as they ran: "if it comes to close quarters i'll drop behind, and make as long a fight as i can, which will give the rest a chance to gain on the crowd." "they would surely kill you. there could be no hope in a hand to hand struggle." "i know that, and it will be no more than i deserve. if i hadn't been such a fool you would have got through without turning a hair." this confession and the proposition to sacrifice himself had the effect of dissipating cummings' anger, and he said decidedly: "we will stick together and take even chances. no matter what has been done one shall not be sacrificed to save the rest unless i, who brought you here, am that one." to carry on any extended conversation and at the same time continue the pace was out of the question, and during the next five minutes not a word was spoken. now there were two dozen pursuers, and the boys had become so nearly exhausted that teddy felt positive that he could not keep on his feet long enough to reach the forest. poyor, seeing that both the boys had nearly run their race, shouted in his own language a few words to cummings, clasped his panting companions by the waist, and, although thus burdened, soon drew away from both the white men. nearer and nearer come the pursuers. once more cummings halts, discharges his rifle, and then presses forward. poyor gains the shelter while the others are a hundred yards away, and allowing the boys to drop to the ground, he unslings neal's gun, stands at the very edge of the cover where he fires two shots just in time to save the remainder of the party. "we must not stop here," he says as cummings comes to a halt by his side. "help the boys, and leave me here long enough to hold them in check until you have put considerable distance between the crowd and yourselves." cummings waited only until he had given the indian his own rifle and some cartridges, for it was a more effective weapon than neal's, and then he and jake did as directed. traveling in as nearly a straight line as possible they marched rapidly, while behind them could be heard shot after shot, telling that poyor was doing his duty. "if he can keep that up long enough we shall give them the slip after all," jake said, speaking with difficulty as he gasped for breath. "there are others to be met. between here and the coast is a line of sentinels who may be more vigilant than those in the swamp." now that the pace was slower, and because of the assistance rendered, neal and teddy were able to make their way unaided, and the former said as he pushed cummings from him: "i am all right now. you have as much as you can do to take care of yourself, and it is not fair to half carry me as you and poyor have been doing." "it hasn't been such a very hard job; but i'm perfectly willing to give it up if you are feeling better." "we are both in fair condition," teddy replied, and being relieved of the burdens the men were able to travel more rapidly. during the next ten minutes not a word was spoken, and then cummings said as he halted: "we'll take a little rest, for i am nearly blown." all threw themselves on the ground where they lay panting until, recovering somewhat, jake asked: "how is poyor to find us in this thicket? he can't follow a trail in the darkness." "he will succeed in doing so as---- say, are you wounded?" "one of those fellows cut my cheek open with a rock; but beyond the pain i don't reckon there's been any great damage done." "you are fortunate that it was not inflicted by an arrow or spear. let me try to bandage it, for the loss of blood will tell upon you if we continue this gait very long." with strips torn from jake's shirt the wound was bound up in an awkward fashion, and cummings said as he finished the work: "when poyor comes he will gather a certain leaf which has healing properties, and in a short time all the pain will go away; but i fancy you'll carry that scar to your grave." chapter xvii. a halt. jake professed to have but little care how long the scar might remain on his face providing the wound healed, and they succeeded in escaping from the chan santa cruz indians. "nothing that can happen to us during the journey to merida would be half as bad as to fall into their hands," he said with a shudder, "and what surprises me most is that i should have thought they were peaceably inclined." "but that is exactly what they are until it comes to dealing with a white man," cummings replied. "you must remember all that the people--the natives i mean--have suffered since america was discovered. the barbarous treatment they received from the spaniards is told from father to son, and it is a portion of their religious training to work all the injury possible to the whites. read of what the invaders did to satisfy their thirst for gold, and then you can no longer wonder why these people, the only ones who have kept their city free from the conqueror, are so implacable. remember that yucatan was once covered with populous cities, the ruins of which show even at this late date how magnificent they were, how splendid beyond comparison with the one we have seen, and you ask yourselves why these indians do not rise and massacre all of the hated color that can be found." "but you also came hoping to take away their treasure," neal said, smiling at cummings' vehemence. "that is true, therefore i have no word of blame when they attempt to kill me; but, as a matter of course, i try to save my life even though i am to them nothing more than a common robber. in my own eyes, however, the case seems different. to procure such goods as i most desired, would probably be, by the aid of poyor, to solve that which scholars have studied for so long in vain--the origin of the aztecs and toltecs, for i believe the chan santa cruz belong to the latter race, and keep fresh all their histories and traditions." "and now that you have failed it would be better to go home with us," teddy said. "this attempt has failed; but i shall try again and again until i succeed, providing we get out of this scrape alive, which is by no means certain, for we have a long and perilous journey before us." "which we are not likely to make unless poyor comes back," neal added grimly. "it surely seems as if he should be here by this time. i haven't heard the report of his rifle for a long while." "most likely we are too far away for the sound to reach us. we will wait half an hour longer, and then i will go back to see if anything has happened." cummings had hardly ceased speaking before the indian appeared in their midst, having come so softly that no one heard him until he stood before them. "it is not a good watch you keep," he said to cummings, speaking in english. "we cannot guard against such an approach as yours. where are the enemy?" "i left them at the edge of the forest. knowing how we are armed they do not dare to follow very close; but when the sun rises a hundred will be at our heels." "shall we go on now, or will you rest awhile?" "i am ready. we have no time to lose." cummings rose to his feet, the others following his example, and the indian started forward without delay. "how far are we from the sea-shore?" cummings asked as the march began. "more miles than we shall travel for many days. by sunrise every sentinel will know we are here, and it will be impossible to break through their lines." "then how are we to get home?" teddy asked in alarm. "he probably hopes to find some place where we can stay in hiding for awhile. in this section of the country there are many large caverns in which streams of water are invariably found, thus causing the belief that a subterranean river flows from the valley to the sea. if we stop at one of them until it is decided we have succeeded in escaping, you will not be able to take the steamer as intended." "but we may have to stay two or three weeks." "better that than to be captured," cummings replied, and then he relapsed into silence. during the next two hours the little party pressed steadily forward, making their way with difficulty through the tangled foliage, and then neal was forced to ask for another halt. "i must rest awhile," he said. "my feet are sore, and it seems impossible to take another step." poyor halted, was about to seat himself, and then, as if suddenly remembering something, he said: "wait here. i will soon be back." the white members of the party were too tired even to talk. throwing themselves upon the ground they enjoyed the luxury of rest, and, convinced there was no danger to be apprehended from the enemy until daylight, neal and teddy gave themselves up to the embrace of slumber. an hour passed before the apparently tireless poyor returned, and he awakened the sleepers by saying: "i have found that for which i sought. come with me, and repose until labor will seem a pleasure." "what is it? a cave?" neal asked sleepily. "more than that. an underground house where we can live in safety, unless the retreat should be discovered." it was a great exertion to get into traveling trim; but all hands did it after a time, and poyor led the way, although he had probably been there but once before, as if following a familiar path. after about half an hour's rapid walking the indian halted at an opening in the hillside hardly more than large enough for one to go through on his hands and knees, and motioned for the others to enter. cummings led the way, and while he was doing so teddy asked poyor: "have you been here often before?" "this is the first time." "how could you see a small hole like that while it is so dark?" "on the line of these caves the earth is always damp. when we halted last i could feel that we were on the underground water course, and it was only necessary to follow it up. here we shall find both food and drink." "i don't understand where the food comes in unless we are to live on bats," neal said laughingly, as he in turn entered the aperture. by the time teddy was inside cummings had lighted a branch of what is mistakenly called fat wood, and, using this for a torch, it was possible to have a reasonably good view of the temporary home. the boys found themselves standing in an enormous chamber, from which led several galleries or smaller rooms, lined with the same soft white stone seen in the buildings of the silver city, and at the further end was a narrow stream rising apparently from the solid rock, crossing the cavern to the opposite side where it disappeared. to describe the beauty of this marble chamber fashioned by nature would be impossible. neal and teddy had but just begun to realize its magnificence when they were startled by the whirring of wings and a clucking noise such as is made by a barn-yard fowl, and an instant later poyor had knocked over with a piece of rock what looked very much like a chicken. "it is a toh," cummings said, as he took the prize from the indian. "at the city from which we came so unceremoniously these birds are kept as hens, and their eggs are most delicious." "but how did this one happen to be in here, i wonder?" teddy muttered. "the species are found nowhere else but in the caverns. probably there are several hundred here." before the torch had burned out the boys had time to examine the odd chicken. it was about as large as a bantam, had soft, silky plumage, and a tail composed of two feathers which were nothing more than stems up to the very tips, where were tassel-like appendages. "now if the enemy does not track us here we can live pretty comfortably for a few days; but i hope we shan't be obliged to stay any longer. poyor will destroy our trail as soon as it is light, and if they should come i fancy we can tire them out, for one man can hold this place against a hundred." "i am going to drink my fill of that water," jake said, as he groped his way toward the rear of the chamber. "it seems as if i hadn't had all i needed since we started on this trip." "be careful," cummings shouted quickly. "don't venture near the stream until i get another torch." "why not?" "because in some of these caverns alligators are found, and it is never safe to drink from the running water without first making sure that there are no saurian guards about." cummings went to the entrance for more wood, and when he returned the indian was with him. "this will cure the wound on your face," the latter said to jake as he held out a branch covered with small, glossy green leaves. "take off the cloth that i may see it." while jake obeyed, cummings was kindling a fresh torch, and as the light fell upon the engineer's cheek both the boys uttered exclamations of surprise. it was certainly a terrible looking wound, the dried blood causing it to appear even larger than it really was; but poyor set about dressing it with the utmost indifference, perhaps because he thought jake deserved it for having been so stubborn and criminally foolish. the indian chewed the leaves to a pulp, and then spread them thickly on the wound, after which cummings replaced the cloth, and jake declared that the pain had subsided instantly. "i must remember the name of that plant if it can be found in a dried state at home," he said, "and there are many times when such a poultice would come in mighty handy." "he has only bound on leaves from a shrub called guaco; but you needn't try to remember the name, for they are efficacious only while green. now that the surgeon's duties have been performed we will get some water, and then set about cooking breakfast. poyor, bring in plenty of wood, and then try to find another toh." at the swiftly running stream nothing resembling an alligator was seen, and the white members of the party enjoyed to the utmost copious draughts of the ice-cold liquid. meanwhile the indian was rapidly obeying cummings' orders. he built a fire near the water, and by the light which the white stones reflected in every direction, had but little difficulty in knocking over three more of what teddy persisted in calling "chickens." leaving the cave again he soon returned with a lot of clay which he pasted over the tohs without removing the feathers or intestines, and thus prepared one would have supposed they were nothing more than so many balls of mud. these he put into the fire, piled the wood over and around them, and then sat down to wait for the fruits of his labor. the boys fell asleep before the fowls were cooked: but after a little more than an hour cummings awakened them to get their share of the feast. the now thoroughly baked clay was broken open, and it was found that the feathers and skin of the birds had adhered to the covering, leaving the white flesh temptingly exposed. among the small amount of stores there was salt sufficient for several days' consumption, therefore they were not without seasoning for the meat, and jake, neal and teddy were quite positive they had never eaten anything half so delicious as this odd chicken baked in a most singular manner. chapter xviii. cave life. when the meal was ended it was nearly daylight and cummings said as he stretched himself out close by the entrance: "it is necessary that the strictest kind of a watch should be kept every moment of the time from now on. i'll take the first trick, jake shall be awakened next, and poyor, who has done the most work, comes last." "but what are teddy and i to do?" neal asked in surprise. "we are as well able to stand guard as any one else." "i allowed that it would be at least twenty-four hours before you were in condition for anything," cummings replied with a laugh. "that is where you made a big mistake," teddy added. "we insist on doing our full share." "very well, if poyor is asleep when jake goes off duty one of you shall be called." it was arranged that they should sleep near the entrance where the sentinel could awaken them if necessary, without making a noise, and after the weapons were examined once more to make certain they were in good working order, all save cummings made a business of going to sleep. the indian did not give any one an opportunity of awakening him. at the expiration of an hour, just as cummings was thinking it time to call jake, he arose and peered cautiously out through the opening. "why did you get up so soon?" cummings asked. "you need rest, and there is nothing to prevent your sleeping until noon if you feel so disposed." "there is much work to be done," he replied gravely. "when the sun rises i must examine the trail to make sure it is not too plain." "it will be another hour before daylight." "by sitting here i shall be ready to go as soon as it is light." "i do not think you are giving me the true reason," and cummings ignited a match that he might see the indian's face. "you must not do that," he said quickly, as he clasped his hand over the tiny flame. "it is unwise so near the entrance." "you believe then that we are in considerable danger?" "we shall be until we are outside the chan santa cruz country." "that is not all you can say. i wish to know exactly your opinion of the situation." "you shall know; but it is not well to explain to the others. our enemies will find us i think, and we may be forced to fight to the end, for they will not give up the chase until after many days." "do you think it would be unsafe to push on again now we have had rest and food?" "by this time the sentinels know what happened last night, and the forest is full of enemies. a poisoned arrow can be sent in the daytime, while he who shoots it remains concealed. before noon we would all be dead." cummings was silent for a moment, and then he asked in a low tone: "how far do you think we are from the sea-shore?" "the distance is not great; but the way so difficult that the journey could not be ended in less than five days." "then it seems that we are in a tight place whatever course is pursued." "we can fight longer here than where the trees conceal our foes," was the grave reply, and then poyor crept through the opening into the gloomy forest where wild animals and wilder human beings lurked to destroy. after this conversation cummings was in no mood for sleep, and he refrained from awakening jake. seated where he could hear the slightest sound from the outside, he reflected upon all the dangers of the situation, and reproached himself for having led the boys and the engineer into such peril. "i would have been culpable if no one but poyor had accompanied me," he said to himself, "and now i am directly responsible for the lives of those who but for me, would at this moment be safe in merida." there was nothing to be gained by scolding one's self, and he strove with very poor success to put such thoughts from his mind until the sun rose, partially lighting up the gloomy recesses of the forest, and sending tiny rays of light through the narrow aperture. the three sleepers breathed regularly and noisily; but the sentinel disturbed them not. the minutes passed slowly until two hours had elapsed, and then a slight rustling of leaves near the entrance caused cummings to seize the rifle more firmly and peer out. it was poyor returning, and he appeared weary like one who has run a long race. "have you seen anything?" cummings asked anxiously. "there were four indians about a mile south from here. they came from the city last night, and are searching. it was possible to hear them talk. the sentinels near the coast have been doubled in number, and there is little hope we could pass them." "it is barely possible they may not find this cave; the entrance is small, and almost hidden by the brushes." "yet i found it in the night." "true," cummings replied gloomily, and as he said nothing more poyor went to the stream to quench his thirst. while passing by jake he accidentally brushed the latter's arm with his foot, and the engineer was on his feet in an instant, staring around stupidly as if believing the enemy was upon him. "why didn't you call me to stand my watch?" he asked in a loud tone, and poyor, darting back to his side whispered: "it is not safe to make any noise. do not so much as speak aloud." by this time the boys were aroused, and when the indian had cautioned them in turn all three went to where cummings was seated. "are we going to move, or have you concluded to stay here?" neal asked. "we shall be obliged to make this our headquarters for a few days. poyor has seen people from the city in the immediate vicinity, consequently it is advisable to keep under cover." "do you think we will be able to leave in a week?" teddy asked anxiously, and cummings replied evasively: "i hope so." to jake, who did not feel so eager to reach home by the next steamer that left progresso, the prospect of remaining in the cave several days was agreeable rather than otherwise, and he asked: "are we to cook any breakfast this morning?" "no, because the smoke might be seen. to-night there will be no such danger, and the light can be screened from view, therefore it is a case of getting along with a cold bite until then. sleep as much as possible in order that you may be ready to do your share of the watching, and remember that perfect silence is absolutely necessary." then cummings intimated that the conversation should cease, by turning his attention to what might be happening outside, and the three went toward the opposite end of the cavern where the indian had thrown himself down for a nap. here, after discussing what little they knew regarding the situation, they ate a few totopostes, a thin, dry tortilla which will remain sweet many days, and then gave themselves up to slumber once more. to sleep when one does not feel the necessity of such rest is, however, not an easy matter to be arranged, and after two or three short naps the boys found it impossible to woo the drowsy god. they walked around the cavern, arousing flocks of tohs; but, owing to the dim light, finding nothing worthy of attention, and then they went to the entrance where cummings refused to hold any conversation with them because of the possibility that some of the enemy might be lurking outside, where it was possible to hear the sound of their voices. in this restless manner the day was spent, and when night came again poyor ventured out once more. by this time cummings felt the necessity of gaining a little rest, and he proposed that neal and teddy take their turn at standing watch. "it will not be so tedious if you remain here together," he said, "and we will give jake a job later in the night." it was really a relief to the boys to have something to occupy their time, and as they took his place at the entrance he lay down near at hand where they could awaken him without difficulty in case it should become necessary. to repeat all the unimportant incidents of the night would be tedious. when poyor returned from his first trip outside he built a fire near the stream, shielded the flame by a screen of boughs that the light might not be reflected from the entrance, and then, with the air of one who is accustomed to such work, set about catching "chickens" enough to make a hearty meal. dishing these up in clay he roasted them as before, and cummings was awakened to share in the appetizing meal. then the indian went out again, while jake was standing watch, and an hour later (it was then about two o'clock in the morning), he returned, and roused cummings, saying in his native tongue as he did so: "five miles from here is a smaller cave. the sentinels have just finished searching it. they will be here in the morning. i have thought we might slip past them, by exercising great caution, and it would be just so much nearer the coast." "do you believe it should be done?" cummings asked, as he sprang to his feet. "it can do no harm, providing we are not discovered during the march through the forest, and we may possibly be able to throw them off the scent." "then we will start at once. under such desperate circumstances nothing should be neglected which might be of benefit. how much food have we got on hand?" "all that will be needed. it is not difficult to procure provisions in this forest." it surely seemed as if they might better their condition very materially by making this change, and, in view of all things, it was the proper manoeuvre since by remaining there was no doubt the party would be discovered, when a regular siege must necessarily be the result. there was yet a considerable amount of the roasted tohs on hand. this was wrapped in leaves with the remainder of the provisions, and all the luggage made up in three packages, for it had been decided that the boys should not be called upon to carry any burden. "it may be that we shall be obliged to move quickly," poyor said, "and it is best they have nothing but their guns." when everything was in readiness for the start the indian went outside once more to reconnoiter, and on his return the final preparations were made. he, cummings and jake fastened the bundles to their backs; neal and teddy were cautioned to take plenty of cartridges from the general store, and then, poyor leading the way, they emerged from the cave. chapter xix. a change of base. although the boys did not know the full extent of the danger, they could understand something of the anxiety felt by both cummings and poyor when the shelter of the cave had been left behind. the latter moved with the utmost caution, taking half a dozen steps and then stopping to listen; halting whenever the foliage rustled more than he fancied was usual and otherwise acting as if believing the enemy had completely surrounded them. under such circumstances the advance was necessarily slow, and at least an hour was consumed in traveling less than a mile. teddy was on the point of protesting against such excessive precaution when the sound of voices caused all the party to crouch low among the bushes, hiding themselves in the foliage just as four chan santa cruz indians came to a halt not more than twenty feet away. it was not difficult to distinguish the form of each one even amid the gloom, and from their manoeuvers teddy and neal were confident that they had halted for the remainder of the night. it would have been impossible to hold any conversation, however guarded, without the certainty of being heard while these men were so near, and the fugitives remained motionless, hardly daring to breathe, until it seemed as if some change of position must be made regardless of the consequences. each one with the possible exception of poyor, was so cramped as to be in great pain: but all knew that the slightest unusual noise among the foliage would have attracted attention. of course cummings' party was more than a match for the indians; but in addition to his disinclination to begin a fight, was the chance that there might be others in the immediate vicinity who would join in the battle, thus reducing the odds which appeared to be in favor of the white men. it was in the highest degree important, also, that they remain hidden, for once the indians got a glimpse of the party it would be a simple matter to track them to the next hiding place. there was another and a very weighty reason why both cummings and poyor wished to avoid an encounter in the forest, even though their weapons were much superior to those carried by the chan santa cruz so far as rapid work was concerned. unless struck in some vital part, the chances are in favor of recovery from a bullet wound; but let the skin be punctured ever so slightly by arrows poisoned with the venom of the snake known as the nahuyaca and death is certain to follow. with all this in mind it is little wonder that the fugitives suffered considerable pain before making any attempt to change positions, and that they would be forced to remain exactly where the halt had been made, until morning, seemed positive. poyor was well content to stay there as long as the men carried on a conversation, for he was thus enabled to get some valuable information concerning their proposed movements, and not a word escaped him. three hours elapsed before the pursuers gave any sign of leaving the place, and then a peculiar sound as of a night bird calling to its mate, caused them to start to their feet. it was evidently a signal from another party of pursuers, for these men answered it by a similar cry, and it was repeated several times by those in the distance. a moment later the indians had started, and as they disappeared neal whispered to teddy: "i never realized before how much comfort there is in the ability to move whenever a fellow feels so disposed." "if i'd been obliged to keep still ten minutes longer i believe my legs would have dropped off," teddy replied with a sigh of relief. there was no time to say anything more; poyor had begun the advance, and the little party moved slowly and silently through the gloomy forest until the indian halted in front of an opening slightly larger than the one leading to the cave they had just left. jake did not wait to be told that the journey had come to an end; but at once crawled through, followed by cummings with the materials for making a torch, and in a few moments the boys were also inside. poyor did not accompany them; he wanted to assure himself that they had not been discovered, and proposed to stand guard among the trees until this had been accomplished. the cavern was not more than half as large as the one first visited; but was formed of the same peculiar stone. here also was a stream across one corner, the bottom of which sloped gently up to the shore of fine white sand, and, so far as could be ascertained, it did not afford a home for disagreeable monsters in the shape of alligators. there was plenty of evidence near the entrance to show that in addition to searching the cave the indians had made a long halt. fragments of totopostes were scattered around, and a small pile of fine shavings told where one of them had repaired an arrow. the only objection which could be found in this new refuge was that it had not been taken possession of by tohs. cummings searched everywhere in vain for the "chickens," and the troubled look on his face spoke plainly of his disappointment in failing to find a supply of food close at hand. "if we should be discovered and besieged it will be a case of short rations," he said as the little party returned to the opening to wait for poyor. "don't you suppose there are fish in the stream?" teddy asked. "i never heard that there were; but even if it was stocked with them we should be none the better off since there are neither hooks nor lines here." "neal and i have got plenty of both, so what's to hinder our finding out? a fresh fish wouldn't taste badly." "very well. i'll stay here on guard, and----" he was interrupted by the arrival of poyor, who had crept through the short passage without making sufficient sound to be heard by those who were supposed to be watching, and, speaking in english, he said to cummings: "i do not think there is any one near here, and now i wish to go further on to learn where the next line of sentinels is posted. we may be able to change our quarters again, and if every move takes us nearer the coast we shall be gaining just so much every time. you must keep a better watch, however, for if i can surprise you, so can others." "i will take it upon myself to see that no one else is able to do the same thing," cummings replied with a laugh. "when you are outside in the vicinity i always feel secure; for the best chan santa cruz that ever lived couldn't pass without your knowledge. did you hear anything of importance while we were hiding so near that party?" "from what they said it is positive fully a hundred men have been sent from the city to search for us, and with the sentinels there must be double that number between here and the coast." "it would seem as if with so many they ought to run us to the ground finally," cummings said musingly. "where were those fellows going?" "they had been following the wet track examining the caves, and began near the range of hills which forms the east boundary of their country. one of the party believed we had doubled back in order to cross the swamp, and if we can remain hidden it may not be long before all the searchers will be sent in that direction." "did they make any talk about what would be done with us in case they run us down?" jake asked. "all are to be taken to the city alive, if possible, and it is not hard to say what would be our fate there." "what do they do with their captives?" jake continued, as if this not very cheerful subject fascinated him. "a white man would be sacrificed in the temple before the gods, and the death stroke would not be delivered until much torture had been inflicted." "don't talk of such horrible things," teddy interrupted nervously. "it can do us no good to learn all the terrible particulars. i want to keep my mind on the one idea of escape." "that is where you are right," cummings replied approvingly. "we shall be worth any number of dead men for some time to come, and won't discuss even the possibility of capture. when are you going to start, poyor?" "when i have bound more guaco leaves on this man's wound," was the answer, and now the boys noticed that he had brought a fresh supply of the wonderful shrub. after preparing it as before the bandage was removed, and by the light of a splinter of fat wood which cummings fired with a match, it could be seen that the edges of the gash had already united. "to-morrow there will be no reason for keeping it tied up." "that is to say, the wound will be healed, and you'll have a souvenir of the silver city which can never be lost," cummings added. "i won't complain, for i came out of the scrape much better than i deserved," the engineer replied with a laugh. poyor was now ready to go on the scout, and he delayed only long enough to say: "there must be no talking while i am away, for one who speaks cannot listen, and if the enemy should come here again his approach will be like that of a serpent." "you shan't have any cause to complain," cummings replied, and an instant later the indian had left the cave. teddy now thought the time had come when he should settle the question of whether there were any fish in the stream, and after gaining cummings' permission to make the attempt he and neal brought out the lines and flies which had been saved from the wreck of the sea dream. "we shall need bait," he whispered. "if there were a million fish there they couldn't see a fly in the dark, and, besides, if this river runs underground entirely not one of them knows anything about insects." "a piece of roasted toh will be the very best we could have," and neal soon brought out some of the toughest portions of the remnants left from the last meal. cummings would not listen to their proposition that a fire be lighted, therefore it was necessary to work in the dark, and they experienced considerable difficulty in beginning the task. then, while jake sat near by deeply interested in the experiment, the boys moved their lines to and fro, forced to wade quite a distance into the water, and ten minutes passed before there was any sign that their efforts would be rewarded by success. "i've got a bite," teddy whispered excitedly. "by the way he pulled it must have been a big fel---- hello, he's taken hook and all!" "tie on another quick while i try to catch him," and neal ventured further into the water, throwing the line as far as possible toward the other side. the thought came into jake's mind that, while no alligators had been seen when they first entered it was by no means certain one or more would not follow down the course of the stream, and he was on the point of warning neal not to venture too far from the edge of the shore, when there was a mighty splash, a cry of fear and pain from the fisherman, and the engineer shouted regardless of the fact that the enemy might be close at hand: "help! an alligator has got neal!" chapter xx. a desperate struggle. there was no necessity for the outcry. the splashing of the water told cummings what had happened even before jake had time to shout, and he started forward at full speed, carrying with him the materials for torches. when jake and teddy were in a condition to understand anything, for the sudden attack had bewildered them to a certain extent, neal was lying face downward upon the sand, and being slowly dragged backward. the alligator had evidently snapped at his leg, and, missing his aim, had caught the boy's trousers rather than the flesh. instead of releasing his hold for a better grip, he was trying to drag neal into deeper water, and once there the struggle would have been quickly ended. neal had dug his hands into the sand, straining every muscle to prevent being pulled into the stream; but despite all efforts the monster was rapidly getting the best of him. cummings lost no time after arriving on the scene of action. the boys' cries had guided him to the exact spot, and he waited only long enough to kindle a blaze before joining in the fight. "teddy, go back to the entrance, get one of the guns, and be sure that no one comes through, for we are likely to make so much noise here that if any of the enemy are in the vicinity we shall be discovered. jake, you are to hold the torch, and take good care that it burns brightly." cummings was armed with nothing but his hunting knife and by this time the alligator had dragged fully half of neal's body into the water. there seemed to be but little hope that the boy could be rescued before serious injury had been inflicted. pulling off his coat and belt cummings leaped boldly on the back of the saurian monster, burying the blade of his knife in the alligator's eye at the same time, and then ensued a most terrific struggle. instead of releasing his hold on neal the reptile held firm, and put forth every effort to sink in the deeper water to dislodge the more formidable antagonist who was striking beneath the surface with his weapon in the hope of hitting some vulnerable spot. jake stood on the bank holding the torch high above his head to prevent it from being extinguished by the showers which were sent up by the lashing of the monster's tail, and powerless to aid in the fight for life. slowly but surely neal was being pulled from the shore. with only the sand to clutch he could retard, not check the saurian's movements, and work as he might, it seemed impossible for cummings to strike a fatal blow. "drop your torch and seize the boy by the arms," the latter shouted as he saw that the battle was going against him. "at this rate i shall soon be where it will be out of the question to prolong the struggle." jake did as he was commanded, and in the darkness the remainder of the terrible fight was waged. the engineer pulled until to neal it seemed as if his arms would be torn from their sockets, and the alligator retained his hold as he struggled to throw off cummings. the noise of the combat sounded almost deafening to teddy, who was doing his best to listen for any unusual disturbance among the foliage outside, and he felt confident that if the enemy was anywhere in the vicinity the secret of their hiding place would soon be discovered. the struggle lasted only five minutes; but neal would have said an hour had passed since he was first seized, and then cummings won the victory by slipping from the alligator's back regardless of the rapidly moving tail, and stabbing him under the fore leg. even then it appeared as if the victory was to be purchased at a great cost, for, in order to avoid being killed by the monster's dying struggles, cummings was forced to release his hold, and the current carried him rapidly toward the channel formed by the waters through the rock. "light the torch!" he shouted, putting forth all his strength in order to breast the tide. "i'm in the middle of the stream, and likely to be carried through the wall." jake had pulled neal high up out of the water the instant the alligator's hold was released, and at this appeal he dropped him suddenly, groping around for the bundle of wood so hurriedly cast aside. it was several seconds before he could find it, and then much valuable time was lost in trying to ignite the fuel made damp by the spray which had been thrown up. it seemed to him that never had he been so clumsy, and the anxiety to move quickly only served to retard his efforts. finally, after what to teddy appeared to be a very long while, the fat wood was ignited, and then it could be seen that cummings was in a most dangerous position. he was not more than six feet from the aperture through which the water raced with redoubled force because the opening was several inches lower than the surface, and swam as if nearly exhausted. jake was the only one who could render any assistance just at this moment, and he proved to be equal to the occasion. seizing one of the guns he waded into the water to his waist, and succeeded in extending the weapon sufficiently for cummings to grasp the end of the barrel. "hold on for grim death; i've got to drop the torch!" he shouted, suiting the action to the words, and teddy could see no more because the light was suddenly extinguished. now the sentinel forgot that the enemy might creep upon them and running forward he cried: "don't give in, jake; i'll help you." before he could reach the stream the work was accomplished. jake pulled cummings on the bank by the side of neal, and proceeded to relight the torch, a difficult matter since the matches in his pocket had been spoiled by the action of the water. in this last work teddy was able to render some assistance, and the flame had but just sprung up from the wood when cummings said hurriedly: "extinguish that light. if we haven't advertised our whereabouts to the indians already there is no reason for taking foolish risks. we'll attend to matters here, teddy, and you get back to the entrance." this command was obeyed at once, and the sentinel heard only a faint sound from the direction of the stream until his companions rejoined him, none the worse for the battle except in the respect of being decidedly wet. "have you heard anything suspicious?" cummings asked anxiously. "not the slightest noise. if there had been any indians in the vicinity they would surely have made an attempt to enter when all hands was raising such an uproar." cummings crept through the short tunnel and investigated in the immediate vicinity of the opening before he could believe they had been so fortunate, and when he returned jake said: "i thought you wouldn't find anything. if those imps had had the slightest inkling of where we are it wouldn't have been necessary to wait so long as this before the fact was made known." "it was better to be sure. poyor was so careful to caution us about a noise that i was afraid he knew some of them were lurking near by. it is all right, however, and we can congratulate ourselves on a fortunate escape from more than one danger." the weather was so warm that no one felt any serious effects from the involuntary bath. a portion of the wet clothing was taken off and hung on the guns set in the sand as stakes, to dry, and since their fears regarding the proximity of the indians had been partially set at rest by cummings' survey, there was a general disposition to talk of something foreign to the struggle through which they had just passed. "you have said very much about the poisoned arrows which the chan santa cruz indians use," neal began, "and i would like to know how they manage to render them so deadly." "it is by no means a difficult matter, and as poyor's people use very nearly the same method of increasing the death-dealing power of their weapons, i can describe the process exactly," cummings replied, speaking in a whisper, regardless of the indian's remark that "he who talks cannot listen." "you have heard me say many times that the nahuyaca is the most venomous of serpents, and instead of being content with a single bite, as is the case with snakes in general, he strikes many times with almost incredible rapidity. when the indians wish to prepare the poison for their arrows or spears they first get the liver of a tapir, or some other animal as large, and then hunt for the species of serpent i have spoken of. once found he is pinned to the ground with a forked stick in such a manner that he can use his head freely; but yet be unable to escape, and the liver, fastened to a long pole, is held where he can strike at it. "when the snake refuses longer to bite he is killed, and the liver placed where it will decompose without any of the moisture being lost. you can imagine what a mixture it is when thus prepared, and in it the weapons are dipped. "it is said that the venom retains its deadly properties for many weeks, and, in fact, i know of a native who came very near losing his life by being scratched with an old arrow that must have been poisoned nearly a year previous." "i should think they might make a mistake when shooting game, and use a doctored arrow rather than one of the ordinary kind," teddy said. "that could only result from sheer carelessness. the point of a poisoned weapon is covered with a reddish brown substance which cannot be mistaken, and, for greater security, the feathers used for the tip are invariably green. a central american indian never takes a green shafted arrow, nor a spear on which is painted a band of the same color, when he goes out to procure food." "then if we happen to meet these fellows who are hunting for us, we are likely to come out second best even though they have only bows with which to shoot," jake suggested grimly, and, evading a direct answer, cummings replied: "we will hope that we shan't get near enough to let any such thing as that trouble us." then the conversation gradually ceased. neal and teddy, after learning that cummings intended to remain on watch until poyor returned, lay down together, where for at least the hundredth time they discussed the chances of reaching home within a reasonable number of days, and, hopeful though both tried to appear, neither could bring himself to set any definite day for the end of the dangerous journey which might never be finished. "there is so much certain," neal said decidedly after a short pause, "once we get out of this section of the country we'll go to the nearest sea-port and wait there for a steamer or a vessel, without ever setting our feet outside the town. there'll be no more delays if we get clear of this scrape." "you can count me in on that, and now i'm going to sleep. it seems as if a week had passed since we started from the last cavern." jake had already taken advantage of the opportunity to indulge in slumber, and soon cummings was the only one on the alert; anxiety kept his eyes very wide open, for he believed poyor should have returned some time before. chapter xxi. a long halt. when the morning dawned poyor was still absent and cummings' anxiety had become intense. it hardly seemed possible the indian would go very far from the cave of his own free will, and that he had been captured by the enemy appeared more than probable. neither jake nor the boys awakened until after the sun had risen, and, as a matter of course, the first inquiry of each was concerning the man upon whom all depended so entirely. before cummings could give words to the fears which had haunted him during the night the entrance to the cave was darkened, and teddy cried joyfully: "here he is, and i hope we are to make another move pretty soon, for after last night's adventure this isn't the most pleasant place i ever saw in which to spend any length of time." it could easily be seen from the indian's general appearance that he brought no bad news, and without waiting to be questioned he went toward the stream to quench his thirst. a sharp cry from both the boys caused him to halt very suddenly, and when cummings told the story of the adventure with the alligator he said: "you should not have made such an attempt except when a fire was burning, and even then to wade into the water was wrong. i will get what can be used for both drinking and fishing." again he left the cave, returning ten minutes later with what looked like a slender bamboo, save that there were no joints in it. through the middle of the pole, running the entire length, was a small hole hardly larger than is to be found in a reed, and with this while standing five or six feet from the stream he drank at leisure, keeping his eyes fixed upon the surface of the water to guard against an attack. having thus quenched his thirst he returned to where cummings was on guard and told the story of his wanderings. he had followed straight along the line of moisture, finding cave after cave but none of them as well adapted to their purpose as was this one, and had seen none of the enemy until five or six miles had been traversed, when a strong cordon of sentinels was discovered. the men were stationed not more than twenty feet apart, and, as nearly as he could judge, had been ordered to remain and prevent the fugitives from leaving the country by way of the coast. from what he already knew concerning the people, he understood the number of men on duty at this particular point had been largely increased, therefore the natural inference was that there were two distinct bodies engaged in trying to capture the white men. one whose duty it was to guard the boarder so thoroughly that it would be impossible to escape, while the other scoured the forest and swamp. "we must stay here several days," he said in conclusion. "after a time the men will grow careless, and then we may be able to make our way through the lines; but now it is impossible." until this moment neal and teddy had hoped there might yet be a chance for them to reach progresso in time to take passage on the steamer as first agreed upon; but now they were in despair. poyor spoke so positively that there could be no doubt the journey to the coast would be a long one, in case they ever succeeded in making it, and the thoughts of the loved ones at home who were probably mourning them as dead caused them to be more gloomy than on the night of the flight, when it did not seem possible any of the party would escape alive. cummings, who had no care as to when he reached the coast, and jake, to whom time was no particular object, received the news calmly. a week more or less made but little difference to them, and after a short pause cummings said: "if you will stay on guard, jake, i'll find out if it is possible to catch any fish. the food supply is an important matter which should be settled at once, for we must not depend upon what can be gotten in the forest, since no one can say how soon we may be besieged." poyor lay down to sleep as if perfectly indifferent to the experiment, and the boys followed cummings. to watch him fish was better than remaining quiet thinking over their troubles. the reflection of the sun from the outside had so far dispelled the gloom that it was possible to distinguish surrounding objects with reasonable distinctness, and cummings stood by the bank of the stream as he tied one end of teddy's line to the pole poyor had used for drinking purposes, while, with the last remaining fragments of roasted toh, began the work. in the most perfect silence the boys watched him for ten minutes, and teddy said: "i guess you'll have to give it up as a bad job. there's nothing but alligators in the stream, and what they most want is another chance to get hold of neal's trousers." "it was lucky for me that they didn't get hold of my ankle as well. i don't understand how i escaped so easily, for----" "here's the first one," cummings said triumphantly, as he swung on shore a fish weighing about three pounds. "if we find many such there won't be any danger of suffering from hunger." the boys seized the flapping evidence of cummings' skill as an angler, and hurried to the entrance in order to examine it more closely. in shape it was similar to a brook trout; but instead of being spotted had black scales as large as one's thumb nail, and not until it had been scrutinized carefully was anything seen to betoken the presence of organs of sight. then jake pointed out two slight depressions near the end of the upper jaw, which were protected and nearly covered by a cartilaginous substance extending entirely across the head something after the fashion of a hood. "i don't wonder he had to try a long while before catching this fellow," teddy said with a laugh. "a fish that has such poor apologies for eyes can't be expected to see bait very quickly." "it isn't likely they can see anything, and if these small specks are eyes they've probably only been put on as ornaments." at this point jake, regardless of the fact that he should have been listening intently at the aperture, began what was evidently about to be a long dissertation on the subject of a fish being able to smell while in the water, and to prevent him from neglecting his duties as sentinel, the boys went back to the stream, arriving there just as cummings landed a second prize. at the end of an hour four fish, aggregating in weight not less than ten pounds, were on the bank, and it was decided that no more should be caught. "we've got food enough to last us during twenty-four hours," cummings said, "and it would be a waste of time to fish any longer." "when are we to cook them?" teddy asked. "that is a job which must be left for poyor. he can do it better than either of us, and, since there are none of the enemy in the immediate vicinity, i fancy we may count on having these for the next meal." then cummings took his turn at sleeping, after impressing on the minds of the boys and jake that a strict watch should be kept by all regardless of the news brought by the indian, and during the two hours which followed before there was any change in the condition of affairs, little else was done save to discuss the situation. they talked of the loved ones at home; of the probable whereabouts of those who had left the burning yacht in their company, and of the chances that they would soon reach the coast, until jake changed the subject by saying abruptly: "we'll soon be blind if the indian don't find a hidin' place where the sunlight penetrates once in awhile. i begin to feel a good deal like a bat already, an' have a big mind to slip out for a walk." "don't so much as think of it," teddy cried in alarm. "it isn't certain that the enemy are not close by, and the risk is too great." "i can't see it in that light," jake replied in his old obstinate manner. "perhaps poyor has had more experience in these woods than i have; but i'll bet considerable that i can get around as well as he does." "do you remember what happened the last time you believed cummings and poyor were mistaken or ignorant?" neal asked meaningly. "what has that got to do with my going where i can use my eyes a bit?" "very much, considering the fact that cummings thinks it is dangerous even for him to venture out. you are safe so long as the indians do not get a glimpse of you, and it would be endangering the lives of all hands if you tried such a foolish experiment that can be of no especial benefit in case it is made successfully." jake did not reply; but from his manner neal believed he intended to leave the cave at the first favorable opportunity, and resolved to keep a close watch upon him. nothing more was said on the subject because at this moment poyor arose, and going to the stream for a drink of water, saw the fish on the bank. "hungry?" he asked, coming toward the entrance. "i wouldn't object to something warm," teddy replied with a laugh; "but i suppose it isn't safe to build a fire till after dark." "we can have one now," the indian said, as he began to crawl through the passage. "there," jake said triumphantly, as poyor disappeared, "you can see how much danger there would be in our taking a stroll. yesterday he wouldn't let a fellow whisper, and now we're to cook as if such a tribe as the chan santa cruz had never existed." "that doesn't make the slightest difference so far as we are concerned. he could go in safety where you'd be certain to get into trouble." again the engineer was silenced but not convinced and neal's fears that some dangerously foolish move might be made by him, were increased. when poyor returned he brought with him a small quantity of wood, more mud, and a bundle of green leaves. at the further end of the cave he built a fire; encased the fish as he previously had the "chickens," piled the embers over them, and then, in the canteen brought by cummings, he steeped the leaves. breakfast or dinner, whichever it might be called was ready in half an hour, and when poyor set the repast before them, where all could be on the alert while eating, teddy exclaimed: "those leaves must have been from a tea plant; it seems quite like being on the yacht again to smell that." "you'll be disappointed when you taste of the beverage," cummings, who had just been awakened by the indian, said, as he approached his companions. "he has made an infusion of pimientillo leaves, a drink of which the natives of yucatan are very fond." teddy was pleased rather than otherwise with the flavor, which was as of tea mixed with cloves, and drank so much that poyor was forced to brew another canteen full in order to satisfy his own desires. the fish were pronounced delicious, and although cummings thought he had caught considerably more than could be consumed in one meal, there was very little left when the hunger of all had been appeased. it was now nearly noon, when every native of the country believes a siesta is necessary, however important business he may have on hand, and poyor stretched himself once more out on the sand, cummings advising the boys and jake to do the same thing. "i slept so long that i couldn't close my eyes now if i tried, so you had better take advantage of the opportunity." chapter xxii. jake's venture. the boys followed cummings' advice; but owing to the fact that they had taken no exercise the slumber was neither prolonged nor refreshing. when they awakened poyor and jake were yet asleep, and they went softly to where cummings was keeping most vigilant watch. "had enough of it?" he asked with a smile. "yes: we are not feeling so comfortable in mind that we can sleep at will, and just now a little goes a great way," neal replied. "don't make the mistake of dwelling upon your troubles. by putting them from your mind you are in better condition to meet what may come, and besides, fretting never did mend matters." "i'll admit that the advice is good; but it is not every one who can follow it." "why not? have you tried by looking for something else with which to occupy your attention?" "shut up here as we are it would be pretty hard work to think of anything except our own situation." "i'm not so certain of that. suppose we try by speaking of the country on whose shores you were cast by the waves?" "it was formerly an independent republic; but now forms one of the mexican states," teddy replied promptly. "i'll admit that to be true; but it is a small fund of information for a schoolboy to have regarding a country which was probably the most powerful on the hemisphere hundreds of years before columbus crossed the ocean. here have been found the ruins of forty-four large cities; the remains of enormous artificial lakes, paved roads, and, in fact, all the evidences of a high state of civilization which existed before europe could boast of the slightest form of government." "you may be certain that i shall study about it with more interest in case we are so fortunate as to be able to go to school again," teddy replied. "tell us about the people who lived here when it was so great." "i wish i could," cummings said with a sigh. "if it had been possible for us to have taken from the silver city any records, or sculptured figures, or plates of a historical nature, i might have succeeded in solving that which the student can speak of only as a mystery. before the conquest it was known as maya--that is to say, the territory now called yucatan, and the chan santa cruz yet speak the maya language. it is only certain that for many centuries there was here an important feudal monarchy, which doubtless arose after the toltec overthrow of the very ancient kingdom of xibalba." "cortez was the first white man to come into this country," neal said half questioningly. "not by any manner of means. in the year ferdinand columbus, driven by adverse currents out of his southerly course, sighted a group of islands off honduras, and captured a huge canoe, which is described as having been as wide as a galley and eighty feet long, formed of the trunk of a single tree. in the middle was an awning of palm leaves, not unlike those of venetian gondolas, under which were the women, children and goods. the canoe was propelled by twenty-five indians who wore cotton coverlets and tunics without sleeves, dyed various colors and curiously worked. the women wrapped themselves in large mantles of similar material. "the men wore long swords, with channels each side of the blade, edged with sharp flints that cut the body as well as steel. they had copper hatchets for chopping wood, belts of the same material, and crucibles in which to melt it. for provisions they carried roots and grain, a sort of wine made from maize, and great quantities of almonds. this is a fragment of the history of yucatan, simply a suggestion of what can be found by study, and some day when you have nothing to do, ask poyor to tell you of his people's traditions." cummings had succeeded in interesting the boys despite neal's assertion that it would be impossible to think of anything but their own condition, and teddy asked, hoping to hear more about the country: "how large is yucatan?" "i question if even the officials know. it is set down as containing , square kilometres, with , inhabitants; but the last figures can be only guess-work, since regarding the unconquerable tribes of the interior, such as we are now trying to escape from, all is conjecture." this concluded the conversation so far as cummings was concerned, for poyor had awakened and joined the party, and there was very much to be discussed with him relative to what move should be made, when a sufficient time had elapsed. in order that the boys might understand all which was said, the two men spoke only in english, and when the consultation was brought to a close the former had a very clear idea of the condition of affairs. "it is safe to venture out in search of food," poyor said, when cummings intimated by his silence that there was no further topic which he wished to discuss, "and i will go for a short time." "why not take one of the boys with you?" the leader of the expedition asked. "it is dull work for them here, and a little exercise will be beneficial." "not yet," the indian replied quickly. "too broad a trail would surely attract the attention of the enemy, and we must not run such a risk." "very well, we will do a little fishing in order to have something hearty for supper in case you are not successful." then the indian went cautiously out through the narrow passage, and he had but just disappeared when jake awakened. "what's goin' on?" he asked with a yawn. "has poyor left us again?" "he thought it might be possible to get some game near by, and proposes to make the attempt," cummings replied carelessly. "now that you are awake stand watch awhile, for the boys and i are going to catch a few more fish." jake seated himself by the entrance, and cummings led the way to the stream, never fancying for a single moment that the sentinel might desert his post. the second effort to draw food from the water was more successful than the first. cummings had hardly dropped the line before the bait was seized, and he landed a fairly good sized fish, after which he proposed that teddy should try his hand at the work. "i don't want to monopolize all the fun," he said laughingly, "therefore you boys had better take turns until we get enough for supper. to-night we'll ask poyor to cut another pole, and then both can enjoy the sport at the same time." the fish were smaller than those previously taken and half an hour elapsed before there were enough on the shore to make up what cummings believed was sufficient for a hearty meal. then the three walked slowly toward the entrance to relieve jake; but, to the surprise of all, he was not there. "it is my fault," neal cried while cummings was looking around in the belief that the sentinel had gone to another portion of the cave and would soon be back. "i knew from what was said this forenoon that he had an idea of venturing out, and made up my mind to watch him closely; but the history lesson and the fishing caused me to forget it entirely." "do you mean that he has had an idea of leaving us?" cummings asked in astonishment. "no; he simply proposed to take a walk. he thinks it is as safe for him as for poyor." "but i, who surely understand the woods better than he, would not dare to attempt it." "you know what he has done." "if he does not lose his own life ours may be sacrificed," cummings said passionately. "the indian can go through the undergrowth without leaving any sign of his passage: but for jake to do so is simply to set up a guide-board by which the enemy can find us." "i should have told you at once," neal said in self reproach. "you are not to be blamed in the slightest; but if i could get my hands on him at this moment he would regret most sincerely ever having such a thought in his head." "what will be the result?" teddy asked in distress. "if he succeeds in finding his way back, which i doubt very much, we will be forced to make a change regardless of the consequences, and if he is captured it becomes a case of our putting the greatest possible distance between this cave and ourselves," cummings replied bitterly. "i might go out and try to find him," neal suggested, and his companion put an end to any such idea by saying impatiently: "your efforts to aid him would only result in making our own position just so much the worse. we must wait until poyor comes back, and learn what he has to say in regard to the affair." "but it seems cruel to let him run into danger without saying a word." "it is not half as bad as it is for him to jeopardize all our lives. he did the same thing once before, and the consequence was that instead of making back tracks to my shanty, as could easily have been done, we are forced to skulk around two or three weeks with no certainty of escaping even at the end of that time." both neal and teddy understood that it would be useless to say anything more in jake's favor, and as a matter of fact, they felt quite as bitter toward him as did cummings, for it was not difficult to see what might be the result of his foolish excursion. in silence the little party waited until the indian returned bringing the carcass of a tapir, a small quantity of alligator pears, and two so-called cabbages cut from palm trees. "it is not difficult to get all the food that may be needed provided we can keep the fact of our being here a secret," he said in a tone which showed how greatly he was pleased by his success. "and that we shall not be able to do many hours longer except by some piece of rare good luck," cummings said bitterly. "jake went out a long while ago, and is now, i presume, roaming around in order to give the enemy an opportunity of looking at him." "went out?" the indian repeated in surprise. "do you mean that he has left the cave?" "that is exactly the size of it." "why did he do such a foolish thing?" "because he was too much of a baby or an idiot to stay in hiding until the danger had passed. he claimed that exercise was necessary." "he will get all he needs," poyor said half to himself, as he allowed the supply of provisions to fall unheeded from his hands. "we also must leave this place." "do you mean that we should go at once?" cummings asked as if he had been expecting such a remark. "when the night has come we will start, and with but little hope of breaking through the line of sentinels." "are we not to wait for jake?" neal interrupted. "if he does not return before we are ready there will be little chance of ever seeing him again," was the grim reply as poyor paced to and fro, evidently so disturbed that it was impossible for him to remain in one position. chapter xxiii. a hurried departure. neal and teddy were in a state of the most painful suspense from the moment poyor returned until the time for their departure arrived. the one hope was that jake would succeed in finding his way back, for the thought that he might be captured was terrible, and they sat near the entrance listening intently to every sound. "you're bound to be disappointed if you count on hearing him," cummings said bitterly. "but there is a chance that the indians are some distance from here," teddy replied. "poyor didn't find any until he reached the line of sentinels." "i am not saying that he is necessarily captured yet; but it would be little short of a miracle if he found his way back after going any distance from this cave. i wouldn't dare to make the attempt." "but are we to go away without trying to find the poor fellow?" neal asked in a tone of distress. "it would be useless to search, and we are now in too much danger to waste any time," cummings said sternly. "our one chance of escape was to give the enemy the idea that we had succeeded in getting out of the country, and he has destroyed it. now this portion of the forest will be filled with indians, and in twenty-four hours from the moment he or his trail is seen, we shall be discovered. we cannot aid him, and i doubt whether i would be willing to do so if it was possible, for a man of average common sense who will act as he has done deserves punishment." the boys made no reply. each instant their companion's anger against jake increased, and it was not well to rouse him by further conversation. near the bank of the stream poyor had built a fire and was cooking a portion of the tapir and the fish, for in the hurried flight which was soon to be begun there might not be an opportunity to prepare food. the indian had unpacked the bundles in order to discard everything not absolutely necessary, and was tying each compactly when the boys approached. "why are you making only three packages?" neal asked. "teddy and i want to do our full share of the work, and it isn't right for you and cummings to lug everything." "you will be forced to do more than an equal share because that which jake carried must now be divided between us," poyor replied grimly. "the fourth load is to be made up of the provisions." "are you going straight for the coast, and try to force your way through the line of sentinels?" "that cannot be done. we must now ascend the mountain range on the north of the forest." "but by so doing the journey will be made much longer, won't it?" "very much." "then why not try to fight through?" "because it is impossible. not one of us would live to see the ocean." there was not much comfort to be derived from such a conversation, and again the boys went to the entrance where cummings was examining carefully all the weapons. "you must carry plenty of cartridges where they can be gotten at quickly," he said, as they came up. "it is impossible to say what may happen, and no precaution should be neglected. the guns are in good order, and with them we may succeed in holding the enemy at such a distance that their arrows cannot be used." "we have filled our pockets," neal replied, and throwing himself upon the ground, he watched cummings and poyor at their work. ten minutes later the indian came to the entrance and said as he began to crawl through the narrow passage: "i will make one effort to find him who has caused us so much trouble." "don't spend any time on such a fool," cummings cried fiercely. "he knew the danger, and if he chooses to run into it, jeopardizing our lives at the same moment, nothing too bad can happen to him." "he may be near at hand. i will make a search," poyor replied as he rose to his feet on the outside, and neal whispered to teddy: "if jake can be found matters won't seem quite so hard, for it will be terrible to think of him wandering around until captured, and we running away from him." teddy nodded his head; but did not dare trust himself to speak. he had been thinking of home until the tears were so very near his eyelids that he feared they would overflow. during the next half hour not a word was spoken by either of the little party, and then poyor returned alone. there was no necessity of questioning him, and neal covered his face with his hands to hide the distress he knew must be pictured there, for there was no longer any hope the engineer would accompany them on their rapid and most dangerous flight. by this time the meat was cooked, and the indian brought a generous supply to the entrance; but no one had any particular desire for food. "you must take some," cummings said, when neal and teddy turned away. "we may not have an opportunity to eat again for many hours, and it is necessary to be prepared for a long tramp." the boys managed to swallow a small quantity after considerable effort, when the final preparations were made, and by the time they were completed the sun had set. night had not fully settled down when poyor gave the signal for the start, and one by one the fugitives crept from the cave, pushing their bundles before them, since the passage was not sufficiently large to admit of their walking upright. "strap the pack on firmly," cummings said in a whisper, when they were in the open air. "we may be obliged to run, in which case there must be no chance of losing our baggage. you boys follow poyor, and i will bring up the rear." the indian was waiting for them to get into proper marching order, and instantly this had been done he started at a rapid pace. as they left the cave it seemed to neal and teddy that jake had really been abandoned, and, regardless of what he had done, they felt that it was cruel to hurry away so soon. "it could have done no harm to wait until morning," neal said in a whisper, when they halted a short distance from the starting point while poyor went ahead to reconnoiter. "and by that time we might have found ourselves besieged. it would have been a delay of twenty-four hours, for all our traveling must be done in the night," cummings replied. "we have taken the only course he left open to us, and we won't discuss the matter any more." the march was resumed after a short delay, and not until two hours had passed did the indian so much as slacken his pace. they had arrived where the forest is less dense; but the undergrowth more tangled, and poyor signified by gestures that the boys would be allowed a short time of rest. teddy was about to ask if he could take off the pack, for the cords were cutting into his flesh in a painful manner; but the indian checked him with a quick motion of the hand. the party were now near where it was supposed a line of sentinels was stationed, and, holding his finger to his lips, cummings gave them to understand that the utmost silence must be preserved. again poyor went forward alone, and the tired boys sat with their backs against a tree thinking only of jake and his possible fate. the silence was so profound as to be almost alarming. here and there amid the foliage could be seen countless fire-flies; but not even the rustling of the leaves broke the stillness, and it did not require any very great stretch of the imagination to fancy that the enemy were lurking close at hand awaiting an opportunity to spring upon them. once a rat-like tuza ran past within a few inches of teddy's feet, and as the boy leaped up in affright, fancying the vengeful indians had discovered him, it was with difficulty he repressed a cry of alarm. with so many horrible things to think of it was a decided relief when poyor came gliding noiselessly back to announce that the journey could be continued, and once more the little party picked their way over fallen and decaying timber, or through thickets where thorns tore both clothing and flesh. after a time they reached ascending ground, showing that they were on the foot hills of the range, and the advance became more laborious, until, shortly before sunrise, neal declared that he could go no farther. "we must stop," he whispered to poyor. "i have held out as long as possible, and could not keep on half a mile more if the enemy were in close pursuit." the indian nodded his head to signify that the halt should be made, and a few moments later he turned aside into a small ravine or cut on the side of the hill. here he threw down his burden, and the boys followed the example, paying no attention to the advantages or disadvantages of the spot as a refuge during the day which was so near at hand. lying at full length on the ground, heeding not that deadly reptiles might be close at hand, neal and teddy fell asleep almost immediately, and poyor proposed that cummings should also seek repose. "i will watch," he said, "and when the sun rises we can decide whether it is safe to stay here." although the white man was weary he would not admit that the indian could bear more fatigue, and insisted on keeping awake until it was learned if they should be warranted in remaining. in perfect silence the two stood guard over the sleeping boys, and when the morning came the important question was soon settled. the place of refuge to which chance had brought them was admirable both for purposes of defense and for hiding. it was a deep, narrow cut extending thirty feet into what appeared to be a mass of sandstone, and at the entrance was not more than ten feet wide, while over the top the foliage grew so luxuriantly as to completely conceal them from the view of any one who might be above. in front the trees were small, and it was possible to see forty or fifty yards down the side of the hill, therefore the enemy could not approach unobserved save from the top. "it is good," poyor said approvingly. "we can remain here until night." "but why have we not met the sentinels which you believe to be so numerous?" "they are further on. at the end of the next march we shall be in their midst." "and then comes the most difficult portion of our journey. but we won't search for trouble," cummings added after a short pause. "let us have breakfast, and then one shall stand guard while the others sleep." poyor unpacked the provisions, awakened neal and teddy, and with a view before them which, under other circumstances, would have called forth expressions of the most lively admiration, the little party made a hearty meal. chapter xxiv. jake. it was only natural that on awakening neal and teddy should first think of the engineer and his possible fate; but the other two members of the party were so incensed against him that neither cared to speak on the subject. they asked concerning their location, and were told all that cummings and poyor knew, and when the very satisfactory meal was brought to a close the former said as if inviting a discussion: "we have sufficient food to last us three days if there is no game picked up on the way; but our supply of water threatens to run short very soon unless we can manage to refill the canteens. are we likely to find a stream among these hills, poyor?" "when we descend into the valley there will be no lack of plenty to drink; but on beginning the ascent of the mountains we must be careful not to use too much." "how long shall we probably be on the range providing every thing works smoothly?" "three days--perhaps four." "but we can only carry water enough for two days at the best." "then each one must take but half as much as he needs." "of course that would settle the matter; but it is going to be pretty tough to travel in heat without all we want to drink." "better that than to fall into the hands of the chan santa cruz," poyor replied gravely. "i am willing to admit it; but at the same time i believe we can hit upon some plan of carrying all that may be needed." "we may find the water pitchers in the forest, and by means of them replenish the supply." "that is figuring upon a possibility, and we are by no means certain of getting what we want." "there is plenty of time to think the matter over, for, unless we are discovered, it will be necessary to stay here until night. will you sleep now?" "you need rest more than i," cummings replied. "lie down while i stand guard." the indian did not hesitate; it made very little difference who remained on watch providing the utmost vigilance was maintained, and he stretched himself on the ground at the farther end of the ravine where he could be sheltered from the rays of the sun. the boys seated themselves by cummings' side where the best view of the surrounding country could be had; but the latter was in no mood for further conversation, and the three remained silent for an hour or more, when teddy asked: "how long before you intend to call poyor?" "there is plenty of time," cummings replied carelessly. "we have all day before us, and when i am tired he shall take his turn." "why can't we do something? if you lie down now it will be gaining just so much more sleep, and surely both of us can keep watch as well as either you or he." "that is a good idea, and i'll take advantage of the offer. call me if you see the slightest thing suspicious, or hear any sound not made by the birds. i don't fancy we shall be troubled; but at the same time no one knows what may happen." "we'll take good care; you shall be told if anything larger than a rat comes in view," teddy replied, "so don't lose time that might be spent in sleep." cummings followed this advice at once, and in a few moments his heavy breathing told that he had crossed over into slumberland. during the next hour nothing was seen or heard by the sentinels, who sat just within the shadow cast by the rock gazing intently down the hill, and then teddy whispered excitedly as he pointed to a clump of bushes near where the trees were thickest: "look in that direction. can't you see the foliage is moving to and fro more than should be the case on a calm day like this?" neal followed with his eyes teddy's finger, and after a close scrutiny said: "i see what you mean: but there is probably some animal among the bushes. at all events we shan't be a great while finding out, and it isn't well to call cummings until we are positive something is wrong." during five minutes the boys watched intently, and then there could be no question but that the leader should be awakened. they had seen a man, or at least a portion of one, as the foliage was parted gently to admit of his looking out, and neal said as he raised his gun: "call cummings. i won't fire until he gives the word unless that fellow comes too near." believing that they were about to be attacked, teddy shook the leader of the party vigorously as he whispered: "they've found out where we are, and one is just getting ready to make a rush." this information was well calculated to arouse poyor as well as the white man, and they ran with all speed toward the entrance to the ravine where neal was making ready to shoot. "he has shown himself twice since teddy went to call you," the boy said, "and i know exactly where to fire if you believe it ought to be done." "do you think he knows we are here?" cummings asked, and neal replied: "he has been looking out from among the bushes as if suspicious that there was something wrong in this quarter; but i don't fancy he has seen us." "then do not fire. it is of the greatest importance that we should remain concealed, and to discharge a weapon now would only be to bring down a crowd upon us. get back to the farther end of the ravine while poyor and i find out what is going on." the boys did as they were bidden, taking their station where it was possible to see all the men were doing, and after ten minutes both were surprised by hearing cummings say in a tone of relief: "it is only that idiot, and he evidently mistakes us for enemies. the best thing we can do is to let him stay where he is, for then he can't get us into another scrape." "it's jake!" teddy cried. "i thought that arm didn't look like an indian's!" "it will be worse than wicked if cummings don't let him know who we are. of course he's hunting for us, and we _must_ call to him." as neal spoke he stepped forward, and was about to cry out when cummings prevented him. "let the fool alone," the latter said. "if he joins us we shall never be able to pass the sentinels." "you can't mean to let him wander off by himself." "better that than give him another chance to bring the enemy down upon us." "but i won't allow it," neal cried angrily. "it is true he has been worse than foolish twice----" "and the third time he'll succeed in bringing all hands up with a sharp turn. we are where very little is needed to put us in the power of the enemy, and we cannot afford to take such chances as he appears to delight in." "then teddy and i will leave you, and run all the risk with him, which is nothing more than fair, considering the fact that he is one of our party." from the look on cummings' face it was evident he intended to make an angry reply; but before he could speak poyor said: "the boys are right. it is not good to desert a friend, no matter what he has done." "very well," cummings said impatiently. "call him in, and during the remainder of this journey, if we live to finish it, i will see that he does not have a chance to work any more mischief." neal did not delay. stepping out from the ravine he shouted: "jake! jake, come in here!" although the engineer was so far away the cry of mingled surprise and joy which burst from his lips could be heard distinctly, and in the shortest possible space of time he was in the ravine shaking the boys' hands vigorously. "what are you up to here?" he asked. "looking for me?" "indeed we were doing nothing of the kind," cummings said angrily. "after you so kindly did all you could to tell the indians where we had located it was necessary to make a quick move, and if i had had my way you would never have known how near we were." "i don't suppose it will do any good to say that i am sorry?" jake suggested meekly. "not a bit, for this is the second time you have done all the mischief possible. by this last performance it has been necessary to take a course nearly three times as long as the one we intended to travel, and no one can say what you won't do before we are out of the scrape." "i pledge my word to obey orders. the experience i have had during the past twenty-four hours has taught me that i can't afford to take any more chances while we are in this heathenish country." "it is a grave question whether we shall be able to get clear, and now that you have come we must make another change, running all the risks of traveling in the daytime, for the enemy can follow up on your trail as readily as if you had set sign-boards all the way." jake understood that it would do no good to make any reply while cummings was in such a rage, and he very wisely retreated to the further end of the ravine where he whispered to teddy: "can't you give me a bite to eat? i'm just about starved." "haven't you had anything since leaving the cave?" "not a mouthful, and only one drink of water." "where have you been?" "walkin' all the time. when i went away it was only with the intention of travelin' a short distance. it didn't seem as if i had gone a quarter of a mile before i turned to go back, an' i've been tryin' to get there ever since." "didn't you sleep any last night?" "not a wink. i wanted to; but some kind of a big animal came prowlin' around the tree i'd chosen as my sleepin' apartment, and after that i couldn't so much as shut my eyes without takin' the chances of fallin' off the branch." "did you meet any one?" "no." "but how came you over here so far?" "it seems as if i'd had time to go across the whole country since i saw you last. say, give me some water and a mouthful of anything that's eatable, an' then i'll get a little sleep before tacklin' cummings again. i suppose its a case of goin' way down on my marrow bones before he'll forget what i've done." "i fancy you are right in that respect," teddy said gravely, as he overhauled the stores to procure the food, "and he can't be blamed, for you have put us in a very bad position without even the poor excuse of having tried to benefit the party." "from this out i won't so much as yip," jake replied earnestly, as he made a vigorous attack on the roast tapir. "getting lost in such a forest as this is enough to make a fellow's hair turn white." "if it will prevent you from playing the fool any more i shall be satisfied," cummings, who had come up unperceived, said emphatically. chapter xxv. on the range. although it was nearly noon, the time when the natives of yucatan believe a siesta is absolutely necessary, cummings insisted that the flight should be continued without further delay. "it would not be surprising if the chan santa cruz sentinels had seen that idiotic jake, and followed him in order to learn where we were hiding," he said when neal asked why they had left the ravine during the hottest portion of the day. "if the indians should besiege us here, it would only be a few hours before surrender must be made, because of lack of water, therefore we can render our position no worse, and may succeed in bettering it by going now." poyor evidently looked at the matter in the same light, for he made no protest; but began at once to prepare for the tramp. jake, after eating a hearty meal, had stretched out at the further end of the hiding place, and was just giving himself up to the luxury of slumber when teddy aroused him by saying: "come, what are you lying here for? we are ready to start, and there's a good deal of satisfaction in knowing that this time you'll have to carry your share of the load." "but i've got to have a nap first. just think how long it's been since i've had a chance to close my eyes." "you'll have to wait awhile. both cummings and poyor believe it is absolutely necessary for us to make a quick move, and if you're not ready they will go away alone." jake began to protest; but teddy cut him short by saying: "it won't do any good to kick. they are angry because we were forced to leave the cave, and won't spend much time coaxing." "hurry along," cummings shouted impatiently. "we must be well up on the range before sunset." these words spoken in an imperative tone caused jake to spring to his feet very nimbly, and as he neared the entrance poyor pushed one of the packages toward him as he said: "we carried all last night, and it would be only right to give you a double load." "i'd have to take it if you did," jake replied; but as if to prevent any different distribution of the burdens, he tied this one on quickly, saying when it was fastened firmly to his back, "now i'm ready to tramp as long as you do; but it would have suited me better if i'd had time for a nap." "it will serve you right if you don't get a chance to sleep for a week," cummings replied sharply. "go on, poyor leads the way as before, and see to it that you keep close at his heels." the fugitives soon learned that however difficult it might be to travel through the tangled underbrush of the forest, it was as nothing compared to clambering over the ledges of green or white rock which formed the base of the range. here there was nothing to shield them from the fervent rays of the sun, and so intense was the heat that it seemed as if they were walking over the top of a furnace. the only relief from the excessive warmth was when they came upon a deep fissure in the rocks where was a pool of water, with the most gorgeous flowers around the margin. everywhere else the soil was sandy, covered in places with pebbles and burning gravel. in front of them were the mountains, bare and sterile, on which the least experienced of the party knew no drop of water could be found. as a matter of course both cummings and poyor kept strict watch over the surrounding country lest the enemy should be creeping upon them unawares; but when, late in the afternoon, a short halt was called, nothing suspicious had been seen. "i don't understand how you could have wandered around twenty-four hours without being discovered by some of the sentinels," cummings said to jake, when they were reclining on the side of the mountain in the shadow cast by an overhanging rock, where a full view of the valley beneath could be had. "perhaps they have given over lookin' for us," the engineer suggested. "there's no chance of that. every square foot of the country will be searched, and sooner or later they'll come across our trail." "how long will it take us to get over the range?" neal asked. "it is impossible to say: but we must keep moving nearly all the time, for the small amount of water we have with us now is the last that'll be seen until we are on the other side." "i feel as if i could drink the entire supply, and then want more," teddy said, the knowledge that they were cut off from all means of adding to the store making him thirsty. "i reckon every one in the party feels much the same way," cummings replied grimly. "if it was possible to find a stream now and then the journey across the range would not be such a dangerous one." with the exception of the suggestion he made when they first halted, jake did not join in the conversation. his eyes had closed in slumber almost instantly after lying down, and during half an hour he was allowed to sleep uninterruptedly. then poyor awakened him, and the weary march was resumed, the advance becoming more difficult each moment as they climbed higher up on the range. about two hours before nightfall the sun was hidden from view by dense masses of dark clouds, and the boys hailed with joy this relief from the burning heat. "if we could only have it like this all the time!" neal exclaimed. "better the sun than the clouds," cummings said in a tone of anxiety, and poyor increased his pace, no longer searching with his eyes for the enemy; but casting quick glances from side to side as if hunting for some particular object. a south wind came up, and the boys were trudging along right merrily, despite their fatigue, when it was as if a solid sheet of water descended upon them. there had been no warning drops to give notice of the coming storm; but the rain literally fell in torrents, drenching the fugitives at the first downpour. it was now impossible to see twenty feet in either direction. the driving rain and the white clouds which completely enveloped the mountain shut out everything from view. the enemy might have crept close upon them without being aware of the fact. there was no place in which to shelter themselves, and the boys had a thorough illustration of what a tropical rain-storm may be during the time poyor was hunting for such a place as would serve to shield them from the flood. not until half an hour had passed did they make a halt, and then the indian led them under an overhanging ledge, in front of which was a sheer descent of eighty feet or more to the valley beneath. "here we can wait until the worst of the gale has blown over," he said, as he threw down his burden and prepared to enjoy a long rest. "it is not likely we shall be able to move to-night, and there is no fear the enemy will come upon us while the storm rages." "we shall at least be where the canteens can be filled," cummings replied in a tone of content, "and by gaining a fresh supply of water the journey will be robbed of half its dangers, consequently a wetting is of but little consequence." to have seen the mountain at this moment one would hardly have thought that the party could have suffered from thirst. every crevice of the rocks was now a stream, and by reaching out in a dozen different directions a quantity of the precious liquid could be obtained. the only thing to cause alarm was the fact that this storm was but the beginning of the summer season, during which rain might be expected each day, and thus the danger of fever while crossing the low lands would be greatly increased. "the sentinels will certainly keep under cover during such weather as this," cummings said in a tone of satisfaction, "and we may be able to get over the range without a hand to hand fight, as i had anticipated." under such climatic conditions the meat would not keep sweet many hours, and poyor set the entire stock before his companions, saying as he did so: "what cannot be eaten must be thrown away, therefore he is fortunate who can now swallow enough to prevent the pangs of hunger from being felt during the next forty-eight hours." "but we certainly won't be forced to stay here that length of time," neal replied. "it can't rain all the day and night." "it is safe to count on a long storm," cummings added. "this is the beginning of the bad season, and there will be a certain amount of water fall each day." "did you take the fact into consideration when you made ready to visit the silver city?" neal asked. "of course, and if there had been nothing to prevent the carrying out of my plans we would have been clear of the swamp by this time, or so near the edge that but a few hours traveling must have taken us through." it was worse than useless to talk of what might have been, and the little party settled down to make themselves as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. overhead the rock sheltered them from the rain; but now that every crevice had been turned into a stream it was difficult to protect one's self from the innumerable tiny crevices through which the water was pouring, and each member of the party lay down in turn only to find himself literally flooded out before it was possible to gain any rest. the night had come, and the air, so warm a few hours previous, was uncomfortably cold. jake proposed that a fire be built, providing he could find a sufficient quantity of dry wood; but both cummings and poyor decided against it in a very emphatic manner. "although we have been traveling for the past six or eight hours where any one in the valley might see us, we are not so insane as to build a beacon here that our pursuers may be guided to this halting place." cummings spoke in a petulant tone, and fearing that he might add something regarding the fact that if jake had behaved himself all would now be in the cave, teddy hastened to say: "if we can't build a fire why not spend the time walking, for it will be impossible to sleep with this rain beating down upon us?" "it would take a better man than poyor to lead the way in the darkness and storm. here we must stay, at least until morning, and then unless the rain has ceased falling, it will be a case of going hungry awhile." finding that there was to be no change in the condition of affairs, jake had crawled into the further end of the shelter where, with the water dripping down upon him he was trying his best to sleep, and neal curled up beside him. poyor, regardless of the weather, remained just outside the rock as if on guard, while cummings, a few paces behind him, sat upon a fragment of stone listening intently, and teddy wisely concluded to find a resting place somewhere, for he was so weary that repose seemed absolutely necessary, more especially since there could be no doubt but that the journey would be continued immediately the storm cleared away. selecting a spot where some portion of his body could be kept dry, he lay down, and, regardless of all discomforts was soon oblivious to everything around him. chapter xxvi. the pursuit. during this night of discomforts the boys and jake succeeded in gaining more rest than one would have thought possible under the circumstances. the temperature had fallen so much that, in comparison with the heat of the day, it was positively cold; but by lying close together and covering themselves with half a dozen enormous leaves from a vine which encircled the rock, they managed to pass the long hours without positive pain. whenever neal, who awakened very often, opened his eyes he saw cummings and poyor standing near at hand like statues, and the natural supposition was that they did not seek repose even to the slight extent of sitting down. once he called to the white man, proposing to do his share of the watching; but the offer was positively declined. "i could not rest even if i should lie down," he replied in a whisper. "there are too many chances that the chan santa cruz indians may creep upon us under cover of this mist, and both poyor and myself are needed. sleep if you can, so that we may be prepared for a hard tramp to-morrow." as it proved, however, these excessive precautions were useless. the rain continued to fall steadily and in great volume until daybreak, and then all hands prepared for another tramp, for each one was so completely drenched that a little water more or less could not make much difference. the breakfast was by no means a hearty one. the moisture had spoiled the roast tapir, and even the remaining totopostes were so damp as to be decidedly unpleasant to the sight as well as the taste. jake shut his eyes and ate a small quantity: but neither neal nor teddy could force the food down, and, in view of the fact that there was little likelihood of finding any game on the summit of the mountain, it seemed reasonably certain they would be forced to fast a long while. the burdens, soaked with water, had increased in weight very materially, and again poyor overhauled them in order to throw away yet more of the load. all the fishing tackle, two extra suits of clothes belonging to the boys, the spoiled provisions and, in fact, nearly everything except the ammunition and weapons, was left behind when the ascent of the mountain was continued. it was not yet time for the sun to rise; but the gray light of coming day served to show the way, and poyor strode on in advance at a pace which would have soon winded the boys had cummings not ordered him to proceed more slowly. "we must keep on without a halt until noon," he said, "and it would be bad policy to use a portion of the party up before the journey has fairly begun." even at the best pace possible the progress was by no means rapid, owing to the obstructions in the path. here it was necessary to make a long detour that an overhanging ledge might be avoided, and there they were literally forced to scramble among boulders of every size at imminent risk of breaking limbs or being precipitated to the valley below. before half an hour had passed the rain ceased falling as rapidly as it had begun, and as the sun appeared the clouds at the foot of the mountain were dispersed. poyor halted and turned to look toward the valley. almost at the same instant a loud shout was heard and cummings uttered an exclamation of dismay, as a party of at least a hundred indians burst into view about a mile below. "they halted rather than run the risk of passing us during the storm," he said half to himself. "inasmuch as the slowest of that crowd can travel two yards to our one we are likely to be overhauled in a very short time." "it is the end," poyor said gravely. "there is little chance of escape, and none of running from them." "do you propose that we shall stand and fight?" cummings asked. "there is nothing else to be done." "but we have no show against them." "as much as to run." "here in the open they can soon surround us." "we will be able to throw up a line of these rocks before they get here, and because it is in the open we can hold them back a few hours." there was plenty of material near at hand with which to make a shelter sufficient to protect them from the poisoned arrows, and after a few seconds' hesitation cummings saw that poyor's plan was the only one which could be carried into execution. "set to work lively, boys," he shouted, as he began to throw up the smaller boulders in a circle. "everything depends on our getting a fort ready before they come within shooting distance." there was no necessity of urging the boys or jake to labor industriously. they could see the enemy and hear their yells of triumph at having tracked the game so successfully, therefore not a second was wasted. it seemed as if poyor had the strength of a dozen men in his arms. he lifted huge boulders which the remainder of the party together could hardly have moved from their resting place; flung the smaller ones around as if they were nothing more than pebbles, and when the circle had been raised four feet high, set about digging away the sand from the center in order to increase the depth. the preparations were not yet completed when the foremost of the pursuers came in view from beneath a ledge about forty yards away, and he said to cummings: "three guns are enough to hold them back while jake and i finish the work here. do not hesitate to shoot, for they will stop at nothing when the time comes that we can hold out no longer." "teddy, you sit there," cummings said, as he pointed to an aperture in the wall which had been left as a loop-hole. "neal, you're stationed next to him, and i'll hold this place. now work lively, and pick off every one of those yelling villains that comes within range." he discharged both barrels of his weapon in rapid succession as he ceased speaking, and the two leaders disappeared immediately; but whether they had been hit by the leaden messengers, or only frightened, no one could say. teddy raised his gun as a third man pressed forward, and, as he afterward confessed, closed his eyes while pulling the trigger, for to fire deliberately at a human being was something inexpressibly terrible. even if he did not hit the mark the bullet must have gone so near the man as to frighten him, for when neal discharged his weapon at a fourth indian the entire party beat a retreat, disappearing behind the ledge. "they can't send an arrow from that distance with any accuracy of aim," cummings said in a tone of satisfaction, "therefore we may count on keeping them back until night, at all events." "and then what?" teddy asked with a shudder. "that is something we won't talk about yet awhile," was the grave reply. "we've got at least twelve hours before us, providing they don't catch us napping, and at such a time as this it is a much longer lease of life than i expected." teddy and neal looked at each other in silence. the situation must indeed be desperate if cummings could count on remaining at liberty only one day, and then---- in fancy teddy could see them led back to the silver city as prisoners. he almost heard the strains of music while they were marched into the temple amid the slender, silver-tipped columns, with the throng of people following to witness the torture and final stroke which should relieve them from suffering. "what is the matter?" neal whispered. "you have turned as white as a ghost." "i was thinking of what will happen when those murderers get us in their power." "don't do anything of the kind; it is too terrible. i will die here fighting rather than be taken prisoner." "and is that all the hope we have left?" "to be killed here? perhaps not; but it is far preferable to the torture poyor and cummings say is sure to be our portion in case of capture." neal's face was also pale; but there was a certain look of determination about it which told he had made up his mind for the worst, and would struggle manfully to the end. jake on the contrary, was nearly paralyzed with fear. he understood now if never before all the trouble he had brought upon his companions, first by making their presence in the city known, and, lastly, by betraying the whereabouts of the party when he ventured out of the cave. that the indians would not be turned from their purpose he realized fully, and there could be no mistaking the desperate condition in which he had placed all hands. he was supposed to be aiding poyor; but, as a matter of fact he could do little more than look out over the fortifications, fearing each moment that the enemy would make a sudden dash. the particular thought in the minds of all was as to what might be done in the way of replenishing the larder, for now the siege had really begun the question of how food could be procured was a serious matter, more especially since no one had eaten what would be worthy the name of breakfast. neither cummings nor poyor feared a direct assault. in their opinion it was only a question of holding the enemy in check, and to this alone did they pay any attention. cummings watched over the line of rocks, and at the slightest show of a living target discharged his weapon; but, so far as could be ascertained, without inflicting any injury upon those who were ready to deal out death at the first opportunity. "it is only a question of holding back until the night comes, when they can ascend the mountain, and, being above us, be able to shoot us down without exposing themselves," teddy said as he sat by the aperture watching for a sight of the enemy. "we will wait until sunset before we give up entirely," neal replied, in a tone that showed he had lost all hope. "then, unless poyor can devise some plan for escape, we shall have to stand a hand to hand fight which can result in but one way." "you admit that we can't escape?" teddy replied interrogatively. "five against a hundred won't be able to stand very long." "we can at least hold our own a few hours, and when the end comes we will be found fighting." this was poor consolation for a fellow who hoped his friend might see some better way out of the difficulty, and teddy settled back to watch for an opportunity to discharge his weapon with effect; but feeling that it was vain labor so far as the ultimate result was concerned. during the forenoon, while every crevice in the rocks was running with water, poyor filled the canteens, and when this work was done he insisted that jake should continue to aid him in lowering the level behind the line of rocks; but the engineer was, to use his own words, "completely played out," and the necessary work was neglected until he could gain a certain amount of rest, which, under the circumstances, every other number of the party was willing to forego for a time. chapter xxvii. at bay. when the indian had scraped the sand away to the solid rock, thereby deepening the enclosure at least twelve inches, he ceased work, and, seating himself by cummings' side, prepared to do his share of the watching. by this time the assailants had become convinced that it was useless to expose themselves to the murderous fire which could not be returned with any possibility of injuring the white men, and they remained under cover. "i believe we might sneak away from them," neal said, after looking fifteen or twenty minutes at the ledge beneath which the enemy had taken refuge, without seeing so much as a man's head. "they think we will shoot them down, and might keep under cover while we were escaping." "then you believe they do not know what we are about?" cummings asked grimly. "how can it be possible if no one comes out to reconnoiter?" "look down the valley." following with their eyes the direction of cummings' outstretched finger the boys saw a party of indians far down the mountain side out of range, traveling rapidly in the opposite direction. "they are running away!" teddy cried gleefully. "our guns were too much for them." "do you believe there are as many in that crowd as we saw coming up the mountain?" teddy gazed again, and this time the look of joy and relief faded from his face. "no," he replied slowly, "only about half as many." "and the remainder are under the ledge ready to come out at the first good opportunity." "but what are those fellows doing?" "going out of range where every movement we make can be seen without risk of being shot at, and when the night comes they will circle around us." that this supposition was correct could be seen a few moments later when the party halted in full view, and disposed of themselves in such places as the bushes afforded any shade from the sun's hot rays. "they are taking things mighty easy," neal said after a long pause, during which he watched the enemy intently. "what is to prevent?" cummings replied. "time is of no especial object to them providing we can be captured finally, and just now we are situated very much like rats in a trap." "i wonder what would be the result if one of us should show himself?" teddy said musingly. "you shall soon see. poyor, walk a short distance up the mountain, and let the boys learn how well we are watched." the indian did as he was requested, and had hardly left the fortification when those in the valley made a series of signals to the men above, and instantly cummings had another opportunity to empty his weapon at a living target as several men sprang out from beneath the ledge. "now you have some slight idea of what the result would be if we should attempt to run away," he said while re-loading the gun. "but what is to be gained by staying here if you are certain we shall be surrounded? wouldn't it be better to have the fight out when it is possible to see what we are doing?" "yes, decidedly; but i prefer to wait longer. while there's life there's hope, and before sunset something may happen to give us the advantage." poyor came back leisurely, and as he re-entered the circle of rocks those in the valley settled down contentedly once more. during this conversation jake had been sleeping soundly; but now the sun shone full upon him, and the heat was so great that he was forced to change his position, saying as he did so: "in a couple of hours more we shall be roasted to a turn." "that isn't the worst that may befall us," cummings replied, evidently pleased at an opportunity to increase the engineer's fears. "but it seems as if we might make a try for some game. i'm very nearly starved." "you are at liberty to do as you please, because it is not possible to work us any further injury. according to your belief the chan santa cruz indians are such peaceable fellows that they might allow you to hunt in the valley awhile." "what's the use of roughing into me now? i know i've made a fool of myself twice; but i'm in the same hole with the rest." "that doesn't make our situation any the more bearable, and when we think how it was brought about it is only natural to feel sore. even now you insist on taking rest when the others are working." "but i traveled steadily for twenty-four hours, and haven't had half as much sleep as the remainder of the party." "what about last night?" jake made no reply. he considered himself abused because cummings persisted in talking about what had been done, when he believed the matter should be dropped after the fault was acknowledged. another hour passed. the sun was directly overhead, and the heat seemed excessive. there was no longer any shadow cast by the rocks, and the sand was so hot as to be painful to the touch. "there is no reason why you boys should remain on guard," cummings finally said. "the indians will not make a move before afternoon, and it is equally certain we shall not get a chance to shoot at those under the ledge." "we may as well sit here, for no fellow could sleep in this oven," teddy replied; but poyor showed what might be done, by lying down near the front wall and closing his eyes. at the end of two hours there was no further change in the condition of affairs. poyor continued to sleep, the boys and cummings remained on guard, and jake sat leaning his head against the rocks while the perspiration ran down his face in tiny streams. then, as on the previous evening, the clouds began to gather, and cummings said in a tone of satisfaction as he gazed toward the sky: "there's evidently no danger that we shall suffer from thirst, for another storm is coming up, and while it lasts we may see some chance of giving those fellows the slip." "but you didn't dare to travel last night when it was raining," teddy said. "very true; but that was at a time when we were not positive the enemy were so near. now they are close at our heels we shall be warranted in running many risks which, twenty-four hours ago, would have been most imprudent." in a very short time the sun was hidden from view; a cooling wind blew across the mountain, and every member of the sad visaged party experienced a wonderful sense of relief. poyor arose to his feet like one refreshed, and jake bestirred himself sufficiently to propose that he relieve neal or teddy a short while. "you can sleep now that the sun doesn't shine," he said, "and i promise to keep strict watch." after some hesitation teddy accepted the offer while he paced to and fro to rest his cramped and aching limbs, and poyor consulted with cummings relative to an attempt at flight when the storm should come. his idea was that they could not be any worse off by making one effort to reach the summit of the range, even if the desired result was not attained, and after considerable discussion the white man agreed to the plan. "it is barely possible that we may get on all right, and the situation is so desperate that almost any change must be for the better," he said. "we will wait half an hour or so, and then start if the enemy have made no move meanwhile." the threatened storm was not long delayed. in less than an hour it was upon them in all its fury, and cummings said sharply as he pressed nearer the front of the fortification: "now we need all the eyes in the party. keep a sharp watch, and fire at the first moving thing you see." on this occasion thunder and lightning accompanied the wind and rain, and by the glare of the flashes it was possible to see as if at noon-day. never before had the boys witnessed such a terrible tempest. the entire heavens seemed ablaze at times, and the peals which echoed and re-echoed from one point to another appeared to shake the mountain. the wind was so powerful that even poyor could not stand against it, and cummings said in a tone of deepest disappointment: "unless we choose to venture into the valley again flight is out of the question. we must stay here and take what the indians care to give us when the storm clears away." he had hardly ceased speaking when a flash of lightning nearly blinded them; the earth shook most decidedly before the thunder peal came, and then it was as if all nature was in convulsion. the rocks forming the fortification were precipitated down the mountain; the little party were hurled violently forward, and then intense darkness and the most profound silence ensued. teddy reached out his hand to touch neal; but the latter was not near him. "neal! neal!" he shouted again and again, and several moments elapsed before he heard, as if far away, an answering cry. "where are you, teddy?" "here, on the side of the hill. come this way." "i can't. i'm nearly buried in the sand." from the direction of the voice teddy knew his friend had been thrown quite a distance down the hill, and he cried: "keep on shouting so i can find you." "don't move! wait for another flash of lightning!" it was cummings who had spoken, and an instant later jake was heard begging for help. [illustration: the little party were hurled violently forward, and then intense darkness ensued.] "all the rocks of the fort must be on top of me. will somebody help pull them away." the rain was yet falling in torrents: but the electrical disturbance had ceased entirely. that something terrible had occurred all knew; but what it was no one could say. when jake implored some one to aid him the second time, poyor cried: "let each remain motionless. i will find the engineer. the earth has opened here, and i am on the brink of a chasm." this order was obeyed, and the boys knew by the sound of the indian's voice that he was making his way toward jake. at the end of ten minutes he shouted: "there has been no harm done here. we will come to you." the boys spoke from time to time to guide him, regardless of the fact that they might also be calling the enemy, and after what seemed to be a very long while the party were re-united at the spot where neal was, as he had said, nearly buried in the sand. chapter xxviii. the catastrophe. to extricate neal from his disagreeable position was a long, but not a difficult operation. it appeared as if the earth poyor had dug up from the middle of the fortification was all heaped above him in such a manner that he could do nothing in his own behalf, and it was only necessary to dig this away. "what could have happened to upset things so thoroughly?" he asked, staggering to his feet, and being obliged to sit down very suddenly lest the wind should blow him down. "as near as i can guess there has been a land slide," cummings replied. "i believe it began at the ledge under which the indians were hidden, and how far it extends no one can so much as guess until it is possible to get a view of the country." "are you not afraid of an attack?" teddy asked. "not while this storm is raging. stand up for a moment, and then you can see whether those fellows would make much headway trying to reach us." the wind was blowing furiously, and the rain falling in great volume. now and then the little party cowering close together for mutual protection, would be struck by a perfect shower of pebbles and wet sand with such force that, had they been in a standing position, all would have been overthrown, and it really required considerable exertion to remain in one spot. the ammunition, or rather, the greater portion of it, had been left near the front wall of the fort, and the chances were that it was destroyed by the water or scattered beyond finding. teddy was the first to think of this misfortune, and he said in a tone of despair: "there's little hope now that we can hold the enemy in check even for an hour, in case they should make an attack, for i don't believe we have twenty cartridges left." "and but two guns, for i lost mine when i was blown down the side of the mountain," neal added. "don't make the mistake of searching for trouble," cummings interrupted. "it is sufficient to know that we are alive and uninjured. the indians will not bother us for some time." not until considerably past midnight did the rain cease falling; but the wind storm still continued, and poyor said, speaking for the first time since the party were united: "it will not be possible to leave here until sunrise. those who can sleep should try to do so, for we may have a hard day's work before us to-morrow." "i should as soon think of sleeping during a battle," teddy replied with a shudder. "the suspense is worse than actual danger." "what can you be afraid of just now?" jake asked. "at this particular moment, nothing: but i feel positive that when the sun rises we shall find ourselves surrounded by the indians." this was not a pleasant subject of conversation, and it was dropped as if by mutual consent. the wind seemed icy cold, and the fugitives nestled closer together for protection against the blast, counting the slowly passing moments until heralds of the coming dawn appeared in the sky. before it was sufficiently light to distinguish surrounding objects the wind lulled, and, standing erect each looked anxiously down the side of the mountain, waiting impatiently for the rising of the sun. as the misty clouds which veiled the top of the range drifted away, an exclamation of astonishment burst from the lips of all. where, a few hours previous, had been a band of men eager to capture or slay the white strangers, was now only a yawning chasm. beginning at the ledge of rocks it appeared as if a giant hand had rent the side of the mountain apart, throwing the huge mass of earth into the valley, uprooting or crushing trees, and making desolate for many hundred yards what had been a perfect garden of trees, flowers and shrubs. "why, there must have been an earthquake!" jake exclaimed when the first burst of astonishment passed away. "hardly as bad as that," cummings replied. "i fancy the lightning struck the ledge, and then a regular land slide followed." "do you suppose the indians are buried under that pile of earth and rocks?" "unless they understood what damage might be done by such storms they must be, and it stands us in hand to get away from this spot before others can arrive." "it is terrible to think of so many being killed," teddy said mournfully, and jake asked sharply: "are you sorry we've got a chance for escape?" "certainly not; but no matter who they were, one can't help feeling shocked at such a catastrophe." "it is not well for us to stay here," poyor said before any reply could be made. "while looking at what we believe to be the grave of the chan santa cruz army, they may be climbing the mountain to cut us off." "you are right, poyor. boys, look around for the ammunition and neal's gun, and whether we find anything or not we must be on our journey in five minutes." cummings led in the search, which resulted in nothing, for even the boulders which formed the fort were hidden from view by the sand and gravel, and then poyor advanced on the way upward once more. although it seemed certain the enemy had been destroyed the indian did not neglect any precaution. he traveled further in advance than usual and from time to time cast searching glances toward the valley where, in all probability, so many lay dead. now every member of the party were suffering for food. it was thirty-six hours since they had satisfied their hunger, and during the greater portion of this time a large amount of labor had been performed. "i believe i could eat an iguana, and that's the most disagreeable looking reptile i've ever seen," teddy whispered to neal, and the latter replied gravely: "it doesn't seem right to complain about being hungry after escaping from such a terrible situation; but at the same time i'm willing to confess that almost anything would taste mighty good just now." the travelers were nearing the summit of the mountain where not so much as a blade of grass could be seen, and there was nothing for it but to endure hunger, as they were forced to, the heat, which, as the day advanced, seemed almost insupportable. it was about noon when the little party stood on the highest point of land, and, looking over a long stretch of valley and plain covered with verdure of the deepest green, saw the blue waters of the caribbean sea, the crests of the waves sparkling in the sunlight like jewels set in sapphire-colored enamel. never had the ocean seemed so beautiful and friendly as now, after the long, dangerous tramp, and the boys forgot all privations and discomforts as they gazed at the broad expanse of water. "if the sea dream was afloat and anchored off there how quickly we could get home," teddy cried. "even allowing that nothing happens to prevent our traveling ten hours a day, it will be a week before you can stand on the shore of the sea," cummings replied, glancing backward as if regretting that he was about to descend the range which would separate him from the wonders and wealth of the silver city. "at least, we have nothing more to fear from the indians, and there is now good reason to believe we shall get home at some time, which is more than either of us could have said truthfully last night." "we can't have that satisfaction," and cummings turned to resume the march. "the chan santa cruz frequently go to the coast, and there are plenty living near by who may try to make matters disagreeable for us. but we must not stand here speculating; it is necessary to gain the forest below before finding anything for supper, and i'm free to confess that either fish or meat will be very acceptable." the thought of food caused all to forget their fatigue, and the descent was begun, the progress being as easy and rapid as it had previously been slow and difficult. the afternoon was not more than half spent when they reached the fringe of bushes marking the forest line, and an hour later the little party were shielded from the rays of the sun by the wide spreading branches of enormous trees. now the advance was more of a hunting excursion than the ending of a day's journey, and each member of the band searched among the foliage for something eatable. poyor was the one who finally succeeded in replenishing the larder, and he did it in a right royal manner. while neal and teddy were looking for a bird which the latter declared he had caught a glimpse of among the leaves, the indian started off at full speed, returning in a short time with two armadilloes. "good for you!" cummings shouted joyfully. "we'll have a first-class supper now, with plenty to spare for breakfast. how did you manage to get both?" "an indian is a better hunter than the white man," poyor said with a smile as he set about building a fire. "do you intend to eat those horrid looking things?" teddy asked in surprise. "indeed i do, and after you get a taste of the old fellow's flesh, roasted in his own shell, you'll say it goes ahead of everything except a morsel of fat from the back of mr. armadillo." a small spring bubbled out of the ground beneath a huge logwood tree, giving rise to what would probably be a large stream by the time it reached the coast, and here it was proposed to spend the night. to protect themselves from possible visits from wild beasts cummings set about collecting fuel for camp-fires, and in this work the others assisted while the indian played the part of cook. while his game was being roasted poyor searched the forest in the immediate vicinity, and succeeded in finding a quantity of yellowish green fruit which cummings explained to his companions were mangoes. "i thought it was necessary to cultivate mangoes," teddy said in surprise. "not here, although it was originally introduced from india; but it took so kindly to the soil that one finds the fruit even in the heart of the primitive forest. except for the odor of turpentine, i think it the most pleasing of all that nature has bestowed." just at that moment the boys were more interested in what poyor was doing than regarding the fruits of yucatan, and instantly he pulled the first armadillo from the fire they were ready to be served. during ten minutes after receiving his share of the meat on a broad leaf, every member of the party ate ravenously, and then jake said with a sigh of content, as he helped himself to another generous portion: "i declare it is almost worth while going without grub in order to know how good it tastes." "i'd rather eat less at a time, and have my meals more regularly," teddy said with a laugh, as he made an attack upon a pile of mangoes. then cummings began to discuss with poyor the best course to pursue while journeying to the coast, and the others listened in silence, for upon the decision arrived at might depend all their chances of ever reaching home again. chapter xxix. a fierce conflict. that poyor believed the more serious danger was over, the boys understood from the fact that camp-fires were to be kept burning during the night, something which would never have been allowed had he feared an attack from the chan santa cruz. then again, the indian no longer refused to converse lest the duty of the sentinel should be neglected; but talked readily and at considerable length with cummings regarding the course to be pursued. he also indulged in the luxury of a smoke, something he had not done since leaving the white man's hut, and, taking their cue from him, the remainder of the party gave themselves up to absolute repose both of body and mind, therefore because of these reasons if for no other, this particular halting place was afterward remembered as the most pleasant they knew during the long, fruitless journey. when cummings and poyor finally decided upon the line of march for the following day, the twilight was rapidly deepening into the gloom of night, and the latter lighted the fires, thus making a circle of flame completely around the party. "is it really necessary to have such a blaze, or are you indulging in it simply because it has been so long since we dared allow our whereabouts to be known?" teddy asked, as he sat with his chin on his knees gazing at the burning wood. "we are guarding against brute enemies. it is said that jaguars are plenty in this section, and there can be no question but snakes abound. these embers, which require only labor to keep alive, will do very much toward saving our small stock of ammunition." jake did not appear disposed to join in any conversation since dinner. he had thrown himself on the ground near the foot of a gigantic tree, and, from the expression on his face, neal fancied he was regretting that they had not succeeded in bringing away any treasure from the silver city. "what are you thinking of?" he asked. "only figgerin' out what a 'royal excursion this would 'a been if i'd got that image i tried so hard for." "if you had succeeded in carrying it outside the city we should not be here now," cummings said gravely. "with that lump of silver added to our load i fancy we would be prisoners at this moment if they allowed us to live so long." "i reckoned you'd take the disappointment harder, after spendin' so much time gettin' ready for the trip." "of what use would it be for me to complain? in view of all that has happened we have been remarkably fortunate in getting away alive, and consequently there is very much to be thankful for." "do you think that if i'd obeyed orders right up to the handle anything more could have been done?" "not in the matter of carrying away treasure, for all hope fled the moment our boat was discovered. you simply caused us additional hardships, and have put an end to my visiting the place again for many months." "what?" teddy cried in surprise. "are you still thinking of entering the city again?" "i am, most certainly. it shall be my life work to discover the history of these people, and tell to the world the meaning of the inscriptions on the monuments of copan. this failure has simply been a misfortune, not anything which will prevent my continuing the labor." "do you count on asking others to go with you?" "no," cummings replied, with a meaning glance toward jake. "if i ever succeed the honor will be divided among poyor and myself alone." then, as on the day when he first broached the subject, he reviewed all that is known to the white race concerning the buried cities of central america and of the descendants of that mighty race of people whose once high state of civilization cannot be questioned. when he concluded jake indulged in but one remark before composing himself for slumber: "it don't make any difference to me whether the inscriptions can ever be read or not; but a fellow feels sore to think that he had a chance of scoopin' in enough to set himself up in great shape, an' was prevented when the precious metal was under his very fingers." "have you any particular reason for going to progresso?" neal asked after a pause. "i have most decidedly. since getting you in a scrape which nearly cost your lives, it is only right i should see you homeward bound." "couldn't we find our way alone?" "that would be impossible even for me. poyor is the only guide, and when he has done his work you sail on the steamer, while he and i return to the little hut, there to wait for another opportunity of getting inside the silver city." after this cummings appeared disinclined to talk any more, and the boys lay down near jake for the slumber which both needed so badly. although their eyelids were heavy with sleep, it was not possible to lose consciousness immediately. now their safety was in a measure assured, the thoughts of cummings' great disappointment, and the lost opportunity of making themselves famous, came to mind more forcibly than ever before, causing both to remain awake after all save poyor were breathing heavily. "this won't do," teddy said half to himself. "the mysteries of the silver city are not to be solved by us, and the sooner we go to sleep the better condition we shall be in for to-morrow's tramp." before neal could reply the indian stole softly toward them and whispered: "if you would see the father of serpents, sit up and look toward the spring; but make no noise." the boys did as they were directed and could distinguish by the glare of the camp-fires the largest snake either had ever seen. it was a boa, moving lazily toward the water course as if conscious that its own wonderful strength was sufficient to enable it to cope successfully with all enemies. before it was possible to form any estimate as to the serpent's size another stranger appeared on the scene, causing poyor to raise his gun ready to shoot. this visitor was a jaguar, who had evidently come out for a drink, and the unusual light prevented him from seeing the boa. he moved warily forward, ready to meet an attack, and probably trying to make up his mind whether or not this was a favorable opportunity to get a particularly good supper, when the boa darted upon him. taken by surprise from the rear, the snake had one complete turn around the animal's body before there was any show of resistance, and then ensued a most thrilling conflict. the boys could see that the boa's tail was fastened firmly around a tree, thus giving him a purchase such as the jaguar would have difficulty in overcoming. using both claws and teeth the animal defended himself bravely for ten minutes, and then it could be seen that the rapidly tightening folds of the serpent were hampering his movements. he no longer struggled so desperately; but uttered shrill cries of alarm which were responded to from a distance. "his mate is coming," poyor whispered. "now we shall see a royal battle." it was as he had said. a few moments later another jaguar appeared, and the boys could understand that the boa was making haste to crush the first victim before meeting the second enemy. it was possible to see the muscles of the serpents' tail stand out as the pressure was increased, and then could be plainly heard the breaking bones while the victim uttered wild screams of agony. the female jaguar had but just come into view when her mate was killed, and she darted at the serpent with a yell of rage which was answered by an angry hiss. whether the boa was taken at a disadvantage in the beginning of the fight, or had become so weary with its previous exertions as to render it incapable of putting forth all its powers could not be told; but certain it is that the second battle was short. the beast caught it by the neck at the third attempt, and the lashing of the monster's tail told that he was beaten. "he killed one jaguar easily; but this last beast will soon finish him," teddy whispered, and almost before the words had been uttered the battle was virtually at an end. having relinquished its hold of the tree, and unable to encircle the animal's body with its deadly folds, the boa's strength was useless, and from that time on only the snarling of the jaguar and the threshing of the serpent could be heard until the fight came to an end. "what are you going to do?" neal asked as poyor raised his weapon when the silence told that the conflict had been decided in favor of the weaker party. "kill the beast. there are too many of her kind already, and i shall be doing a favor to those who come after us by reducing the number." "don't shoot; she has proved her right to live, if the theory of the survival of the fittest be correct, and after such a battle it would be cowardly to kill her." "if, on the morrow, you should find yourself suddenly seized by her, there would not be so much pity in your heart," poyor replied, and before neal could make any reply the animal had vanished in the thicket. "there is no longer any question of what should be done," the indian said regretfully, after a pause, as he lowered his weapon. "there is a fine skin for those who care to save it." "it can lay there for all i care," teddy replied with a laugh. "fur in this kind of weather isn't pleasant even to think of. perhaps in the morning cummings will fancy it worth his while to carry the hide away." "the ants will have devoured it before the sun rises, and since it has no value for you it is well to go to sleep. one of the white men can call you when it is time to stand your share of the watch." "is guard to be kept all night?" "it would be unsafe for all to sleep. if the jaguars had not met the serpent what would have been the result to those whose eyes were closed in slumber?" "there is no necessity of saying anything more," neal replied with a laugh. "we will be ready when our turn comes." then, as soon as they could compose themselves sufficiently, the boys surrendered to the demand of slumber, and cummings must have stood their watch himself, since they were not awakened until another day had come. breakfast was already cooked. on a number of gigantic leaves the indian had spread such food as he could procure: mangoes without stint; a roasted bird shaped not unlike a goose, and several small, white cones which tasted like radishes. except for such articles as bread or vegetables, it was a meal which would have tempted an epicure and to it all hands did full justice. when their hunger had been satisfied, cummings said as he shouldered one of the two remaining guns and took up a greater portion of the cartridges: "it is time we were moving. we can travel reasonably slow, in order that no one may become exhausted; but not an hour must be lost. the way before us is long, even after we reach the sea-shore, and each day wasted is just so much delay in reaching our destination." "now that we are really homeward bound you will have no reason to complain because our powers of endurance are too slight," neal replied, as he took up the remaining weapon, and the march was immediately begun. chapter xxx. a welcome change. while they were on the mountain where no shade could be found the boys thought that it would be a wonderful relief to gain the shelter of the forest; but after traveling an hour they realized that the heat was nearly as great in one place as another. among the trees the rays of the sun did not beat directly down upon them; but to balance this every breath of wind was shut out, and the atmosphere seemed stifling. the perspiration rolled from their faces in streams, and so great was the humidity that it seemed as if it would be a positive relief to be in the sunlight. "i reckon you've got a better opinion of mountain travel by this time," cummings said laughingly, as neal involuntarily halted. "in such a climate the shade of the trees is a positive discomfort." "we can stand it," teddy replied bravely. "every step takes us just so much nearer the coast, and one glimpse of the sea will repay us for all our exertions." it seemed as if even poyor was affected by the heat. he no longer strode forward at such a rapid pace; but lagged from time to time as badly as either member of the party. cummings urged first one and then another on until about eleven o'clock in the forenoon, and then he said, coming to a full stop by the side of the stream they had been following: "we can now afford to indulge in a siesta, and shall probably travel all the better for frequent halts. later in the day one of us will do a little hunting, and the march need not come to an end until it is no longer light enough for us to see the way." to this very welcome proposition no one had any objections to offer, and in the shortest possible space of time only the sentinel, which on this occasion proved to be teddy, was left awake. it was dull work sitting there listening to the droning of the insects; but no member of the party could have kept watch more conscientiously than did he, and when it seemed impossible to hold his eyes open any longer he paced to and fro to prevent them from closing. with the exception of the usual noises of the forest, it was as if all nature slumbered, and he had just begun to think that standing watch was a useless precaution when an unusual rustling among the foliage caused him to start in surprise. his first thought was that the chan santa cruz had followed them over the range; but an instant later this was shown to be a mistake, as four copper-colored men, bearing no resemblance to the inhabitants of the silver city, however, passed through the forest a short distance away without apparently being aware of the proximity of the white party. to arouse poyor was but the work of an instant, for it was only necessary to touch him gently on the shoulder when he sprang to his feet. "there are some men over there," teddy whispered as he pointed in the direction taken by the strangers. the indian started through the underbrush as noiselessly as a serpent, and as he disappeared the boy awakened cummings. "were they armed?" the latter asked, after the short story had been told. "i didn't notice. my only idea was to arouse you and poyor, and there wasn't much time for an examination." "it can't be that they have followed us over the range," cummings said, half to himself, as he seized his weapon and made sure it was loaded. "it won't do any harm to be prepared, therefore you had best get the others on their feet; we may have to trust to our legs." it was not an easy matter to awaken the remainder of the party without causing an outcry; but by first covering the mouth of each with his hand teddy finally succeeded, and then stood on the alert with them as cummings made his way in the direction taken by poyor to assist in the investigation. one, two, three minutes of suspense followed, and then came a cry which set all their fears at rest. it was the salutation of friends, and an instant later cummings shouted: "do not fear; we have found acquaintances." "it is time something of the kind was discovered," jake said in a tone of relief. "i was beginning to think we should never meet one again." "they looked like indians," teddy said doubtfully, and neal added: "i fancy we can take cummings' word for it. here they are, and it will soon be possible to know why they were so foolish as to come into this part of the country where wild beasts are not the least of the dangers to be encountered." the strangers appeared, escorted by poyor and the white man, and the latter said as they came into the opening selected as a halting place: "these are acquaintances of ours from merida, who have visited this section of the country in search of bird skins, which find a ready sale among your people. they have a canoe, and report that a dozen miles below here the stream widens until it can be navigated by reasonably large crafts." "since we haven't so much as the smallest kind of a boat i can't see how that information will be of any use to us," neal replied laughingly. "it won't take long for me to explain. i propose to hire them to carry us to the sea-shore, and thus save just so much labor of traveling on foot." "is their canoe large enough?" "it will carry a dozen." "then our troubles are indeed over," teddy cried joyously; but cummings dampened his ardor somewhat when he added: "there will then remain the journey around the coast, and with such a load it would not be safe to put to sea in their craft. but let us enjoy the blessings which come to us," he added, on observing how quickly his companions' countenances fell. "half a loaf is decidedly better than no bread at all, and when a tramp of six days can be set aside we have good cause to feel pleased." the strangers had not waited to be welcomed by the other members of the party. without stopping to be invited they began preparations for cooking on rather an extensive scale, using the contents of their well filled game bags, and the savory odor which soon arose brought jake to a full realization of the good fortune that had come to them. "with those fellows to hunt the game it will be a regular feast from here to the coast," he said approvingly, "and i think this is the first piece of good luck we've had since leaving the sea dream." the newcomers could not speak the english language, consequently all the conversation on the part of the fugitives was carried on by cummings and poyor; but these two interpreted such portions as they thought might be of interest to the boys. from the middle of what is known as the "dry season" until the period of almost incessant rains is well advanced, these hunters spend their time on one or another of the streams leading from the coast, and they consider themselves well paid when a year's work nets each an hundred dollars. "that is really a large amount of money to them," cummings explained when neal suggested that hunting was not a very profitable employment. "one quarter of the sum will serve to purchase the absolute necessities of life in a country where fruit can be had for the labor of gathering, and in ten years they can well afford to retire from business, or become landed proprietors by leasing logwood cuttings, sub-letting the land to those who will pay fifteen cents a hundred pounds for all that can be gathered." the strangers were quite as satisfactory cooks as poyor, and when the dinner had been spread on the leaves each member of cummings' party was ready to do it full justice. after the meal a short time was spent by the men in smoking, and at about four o'clock in the afternoon the journey was resumed. feeling secure because of numbers, and the reports made by the newcomers that there was no one in the immediate vicinity the boys were allowed to follow their own inclinations as to the line of march, and each strayed here or there as he pleased until the coming of night forced them to keep together because of the danger to be apprehended from wild animals. it was late in the evening when they arrived at the hunters' camp; but cummings did not propose to remain there even for one night. he insisted that they could travel by water as well during the hours of darkness, while it would be no more labor for one to guide the canoe, allowing her to drift with the current, than to stand watch. the strangers used every argument to induce him to defer the beginning of the journey until morning; but he was determined, and after some controversy the men made the canoe ready. neal, teddy and jake were stationed amidships, where thanks to the generous size of the craft, they could stretch out at full length whenever the fancy seized them. poyor was seated in the bow, cummings on the stern thwart, and the owners of the boat where they could use the paddles to advantage. of this first night's journeying the boys knew very little. the stream was narrow, and lined on either bank with trees so that at times even the heavens were obscured by foliage, therefore they could perceive nothing save the dark wall on either side. from the movements of the helmsman it was possible to understand when the canoe was rounding a bend, or being pulled from the bank; but that was all, and, weary of watching without being able to see anything, the boys soon gave themselves up to slumber. when they awakened the little craft was moored to the bank at a point where the stream formed a basin; a fire was burning brightly, and over it poyor bent in a suggestive attitude. "well, this is the kind of traveling that suits me," teddy cried, springing to his feet and arousing his companions. "while we were sleeping the boat drifted steadily on, and, at this rate, when we arrive at the coast all hands ought to be in good condition for a long tramp." "where's cummings?" neal asked, as he in turn arose from the bottom of the canoe. "gone for game," the indian replied. "oh, we're not to have breakfast until it is shot," he added laughingly. "it makes no difference what they find, for there are twenty fat fish roasting in the coals, and you may eat at any time." "is there a chance of meeting with an alligator or a crocodile in this stream?" "not here." "then i'm going to have a bath," and neal began to undress, teddy and jake quickly following his example. during half an hour they had most glorious sport swimming, and then the return of the hunters literally laden down with game warned them that it was time to prepare for the morning meal. chapter xxxi. the sea. after breakfast the voyage was resumed. the owners of the canoe urged that the party remain in camp until the following day, in order as they said, that all hands might be the better fitted for the journey; but cummings decided against such delay in a very emphatic manner. "it is of the greatest importance to these boys that we reach the coast at the earliest possible moment," he said, "and there is no good reason for halting any longer than is necessary for the purpose of cooking. with such a large crew each one can get all the rest he needs, and yet not be obliged to do a great amount of labor." very unwillingly the indians took their seats in the boat, and during the day the boys saw very much to interest them. among the trees were monkeys in regular droves, and the more mischievous appeared to think it great sport to follow the craft and pelt the occupants with fruit. next to these long tailed brutes, black squirrels were the most numerous, and had the party been on a hunting excursion it would have been possible to load the canoe to the water's edge with this species of game. now and then a sleek jaguar showed himself. again a drove of peccaries peered out from among the underbrush, and more than once cummings was forced to exert all his authority to prevent the indians from stopping to bag an incautious tapir which had come to the stream for water. the animals seen on this day's journey were few, however, as compared with the birds. there were times when it seemed as if the channel was literally blocked with them, and as the boat advanced they dived under the surface or flew with harsh, discordant cries past the travelers' heads. there were tantales with hard, crooked beaks, white heron, the spoon-bill with pink plumage, long necked flamingoes with flaming wings, cranes on their stilt-like legs, and teal and ducks in greatest variety. only once did cummings allow any shooting to be done, and then it was to bring down a jacana that the boys might see the long spur, sharp as steel, which nature has placed under the wing, thus rendering him a formidable antagonist even to the boa. for the noon-day meal there was plenty of provisions left from breakfast, and while the canoe was being borne along by the current at the rate of three or four miles per hour, the little party regaled themselves with meat or fruit as fancy dictated. when the sun was within an hour of sinking behind the trees the word to halt was given, and that they had covered a long distance since morning could be told from the alligators and the turtles which were so numerous as to often render navigation dangerous. "you will indulge in no more baths this side of progresso," cummings said, as the boys leaped ashore just as the long snout of an alligator appeared at the very edge of the water, its owner waiting in the hope that by falling overboard some of the boatmen would provide him with a supper. "the presence of these fellows shows that we are nearing the coast, and if they will give us half a chance you shall know the taste of fresh water turtle, which is much finer than that of their cousins from the sea." it would have been a very agile alligator who could have stopped poyor in his search for a toothsome morsel, and in a short time two, known as hicoteas, were roasting in the midst of a roaring fire. "while a fellow is traveling in this manner he can't complain of the bill of fare," jake said, in a tone of most perfect content, as he helped himself to another portion of the turtle. "with a different kind of food at each meal, and all of the primest quality, we ought to grow fat." "more especially since you are not obliged to exert yourself in the slightest," teddy added with a laugh. "there's a good deal in that also, though i never refuse to do my share of the work." "except when you feel very tired." "well a man must take care of himself, and there are times when it becomes absolutely necessary to rest. say, if we had some of those silver images here it wouldn't be a very hard job to carry them, eh?" "now don't get back to that subject," neal said impatiently. "if you are so eager to have two or three stop here with cummings, and make one of the party when he tries the venture again." jake did not appear inclined to trust his precious body in such a dangerous place again, and, the command to go on board the canoe having been given, the conversation was brought to an abrupt close. all night the little craft drifted with the current, more than once striking with considerable force the back of a sleeping alligator, and neither the boys nor jake were called upon to stand watch. neal offered to do his share of the work; but cummings would not listen to the proposition. "with six men on board the time of duty for each one is short, and we have an opportunity to get more sleep than is really needed. besides, you are not sufficiently acquainted with such sailing to be a very valuable assistant at the helm." when the boys awakened on the second morning the character of their surroundings had changed entirely. instead of being on a narrow, swiftly-running stream, they were in a broad lagoon with innumerable water-ways leading in every direction, and it had become necessary to use the paddles. "where are we?" neal asked in surprise. "within less than a day's journey from the sea," cummings replied. "the stream led into this lagoon, and if these indians know the true course, as they claim to do, we shall start direct for progresso in the morning, in good condition for a long tramp." a short stop was made at a spot where a few trees broke the monotony of the scene, and here a second meal of turtle was prepared, cummings saying as the boys began the repast: "our water supply is now limited, for that by which we are surrounded is brackish if not absolutely salt. i intend to take the greater portion of what the men have on board, when we start up the coast, and every drop will be needed before the journey is finally ended." "when did they take it on board?" teddy asked in surprise, as he learned by examination that all the gourds had been filled. "while you were asleep." "we can't carry one of these big things." "by tying a rope of vines around the necks of two i guarantee to get along without much trouble, for they will grow lighter every hour." "will the journey be a hard one?" "you mean up the coast? yes, it will, and what is bound to make it particularly bad is the glare of the sun as reflected from the water." "it can't be any worse than climbing the range, knowing the indians were close behind," teddy said with evident satisfaction. "you are right, my boy, and we shall have the pleasure of knowing that each step taken is one the less, without any fear of being obliged to double back in order to escape enemies." during nearly the entire day the boys strained their eyes trying to get a glimpse of the sea; but not until late in the afternoon was this possible. then, as the canoe rounded a point, the vast expanse of water lay spread out before them, and was greeted with three rousing cheers. "it begins to look now as if there was some chance of our getting home," teddy cried excitedly. "we are at least where a vessel can be signaled in case anything should prevent us from walking and----" "don't flatter yourself that we shall see many sailing crafts within hailing distance," cummings interrupted. "at this point the water is so shallow that only the smallest boats venture inshore." "never mind, we can see the ocean while tramping along, and know that somewhere on it is the steamer which will carry us home." when the voyage was resumed all hands worked at the paddles, for it was quite important, according to cummings' belief, that they should get out of the lagoon before sunset, and the canoe sped on, dashing the spray in the air with her bow as if rejoicing that the journey was so nearly ended. there were yet two hours of daylight remaining when the party reached the mouth of the narrow channel they had been threading, and to the left was the coast, piled high with rocks. only through the inlet leading to the lagoon could a landing be effected from a vessel, and it was at this point that the hunters had been set ashore by the craft on which they had come from progresso. there was yet a small supply of provisions on the canoe, and these the indians willingly shared with their passengers. the water gourds were divided between the two parties, and, having been paid a good price for their labor, by cummings, the four men departed, not wishing to spend the night where fever lurked. "we don't particularly need rest," cummings said, when the fugitives from the silver city were alone again; "but it would be foolish to begin the last portion of our journey so late at night. we'll carry our belongings up the shore a bit, and then camp." the crooked necks of the water gourds afforded a good handle by which to carry them, and, each taking a portion of their sadly depleted outfit, the little party followed the leader about a hundred yards from the place at which they had landed, to where the huge rocks gave promise of a partial shelter. now the time had come when both food and water must be husbanded with care, and instead of setting out the entire amount for each to thoroughly satisfy himself, cummings divided so much as he thought would be sufficient for the meal, giving every one an equal share. "it is to be short rations for awhile," he said cheerfully. "that will be better than to fill ourselves up now, and suffer afterward." no one could take any exception to this very reasonable precaution, and the meal was eaten in the merriest possible fashion. then there was nothing to do but wait until morning, when the march was to be resumed, and neal and teddy occupied their time speculating as to what the loved ones at home were doing just at that particular moment. it was not a remarkably pleasant thing to do, considering how great a distance separated them, and when they grew weary of thus making themselves mentally uncomfortable, teddy asked: "how long do you suppose it will take us to reach progresso?" "i hope to be there in about a week." "and you feel positive there is no chance of hailing a vessel?" "just a chance: nothing more. the possibilities are so slight that it wouldn't pay to spend any time waiting for a craft to heave in sight." "what would you do if one should come along to-morrow morning?" "try to attract the attention of those on board, of course; but there'll be no such good fortune as that, so the best thing we can do is to lie down now, for we have a hard day's work before us." chapter xxxii. a happy surprise. the monotonous roar of the surf should have lulled the boys to sleep very shortly after they lay down on the sand where a number of boulders formed a partial shelter; but instead of doing so it appeared to have the opposite effect. for a long while after cummings and jake were wrapped in slumber they talked of the journey which lay before them, and speculated with heavy hearts as to the fate of those who had left the burning yacht in their company. this was a topic of conversation seldom brought up since the day they first saw the silver city, because their peril had been so great as to overshadow everything else. now, however, when it seemed as if they were very near home, the fear that but one boat of the four had lived to reach the land came to both with painful intensity, and fully half the night was spent in trying to persuade themselves that it was well with the remainder of the sea dream's crew. when they did finally sink into slumber poyor was sitting bolt upright with his back against a huge block of coral-like rock, looking out over the water, and in the morning when neal opened his eyes the indian was in the same position. "have you seen a vessel?" the boy asked. "there is one," was the calm reply, and neal sprang to his feet in the greatest excitement to see a small, schooner-rigged craft with all sail set moving slowly through the water on a parallel line with the coast, about three miles away. in another instant he had awakened the remainder of the party by shouting vigorously, as if believing it possible that those on board could hear his voice. "what's the matter?" cummings asked: but before the question could be answered he also saw the craft. "it looks as if she was bound in our direction, and we had better try to attract attention; but you'll never do it by shouting, my boy." "what shall we do?" "build a fire, of course," jake replied. "they have got plenty of time to send a boat ashore, for it is nearly calm, and in another hour there won't be so much as a breath of wind." before he had ceased speaking neal and teddy were running back toward the line of trees for wood, and in a short time a cloud of smoke was ascending from the shore at the very edge of the water. while the others continued to bring fuel poyor sprinkled the flames with a bough wet in the sea in order to prevent them from burning too freely, and there was no interruption in the work until a flag was raised on the schooner's main-mast to signify that the signal would be answered. "we're in great luck," cummings said, as he seated himself on one of the boulders, for it was no longer necessary to keep the fire burning. "no matter where she is bound i don't fancy we shall have much trouble in persuading them to put into progresso, and the tramp up the shore which all have been dreading can be avoided." as a matter of course the entire party were in the best of spirits, and to neal and teddy the little craft had a particularly friendly look. the schooner had been headed for the shore when the smoke first began to ascend; but the wind was so light that she hardly moved through the water, and, after a few moments, the watchers could see that a boat was being lowered. "that dashes some of my hopes," cummings said with a laugh. "what do you mean?" neal asked. "i thought there might be just a chance that she hailed from progresso, and we should have no trouble in persuading them to do as we wished." "why do you think that isn't the case?" "because you couldn't find a crew of natives who would willingly row so far; the majority would wait for a breeze a week before voluntarily performing so much labor." the boys watched the boat as she approached slowly, and when she neared the shore both they and jake started in surprise, scrutinized her more intently, and then looking at each other as if in fear. "what is the matter?" cummings asked, and neal replied slowly: "the man who is steering resembles mr. walters, the sailing master of the sea dream, that is all." "it _is_ him!" teddy cried excitedly. "i am certain of it now; but how did he get here in that schooner?" as a matter of course the question could not be answered by his companions, and all waited with the liveliest signs of impatience until the gentleman was within hailing distance, and then neal shouted: "is that really you, mr. walters?" "to the best of my knowledge it is," was the laughing reply. "are you all well?" "in first-class condition. where is father?" "on board the schooner. i will give the signal to let him know the crew of the yacht have all been saved." as he spoke he discharged a revolver, and the waving of the flag told that the good news was understood. "not all, mr. walters, the three sailors in our boat were drowned while trying to land on this coast." "it is too late now to rectify the mistake. i hoped when i saw so many that there had been no disaster." by this time the little craft had been rowed around the point of the lagoon where it was possible to effect a landing without danger of being swamped, and the sailing master leaped ashore to welcome by hearty handshakes those whom he had feared were dead. cummings and poyor were introduced, and then neal asked: "where did you get the schooner?" "chartered her to hunt for you; but mr. emery shall tell the story. will you come aboard now?" "you are to go with us," neal said, turning quickly toward cummings. "i hardly know what to do. it would probably be wisest for poyor and i to begin the homeward march since there is no longer any necessity of going to progresso." "but you must see my father. time is not so precious just now but that you can afford to spend another day in our company." "it shall be as you say," cummings replied laughingly. "i hesitated only because the sooner our long tramp comes to an end the more comfortable i shall feel in mind." jake and teddy had already clambered into the boat; the others followed, and the little craft, loaded down nearly to the water's edge, was rowed out toward the schooner. it is not necessary to make any attempt at trying to describe the reception the castaways met with from the remainder of the yacht's crew, nor the manner in which poyor and cummings were welcomed. after the heartiest greetings had been exchanged mr. emery and the sailing master asked for an account of the landing and subsequent wanderings, and it is safe to say that they were treated to a wilder story than they had ever dreamed of hearing. mr. walters was at first disposed to look upon it as a "yarn;" but the souvenir which jake carried on his face was evidence that could not be doubted, and cummings soon convinced the skeptical sailing master that the chan santa cruz really had an existence. "that is an adventure i would like to have," he finally said in a tone of enthusiasm. "i can't understand why it shouldn't be possible to hit upon some hiding place within half a mile of the city, and on a stormy night, for instance, lug away precious metal enough to make ourselves rich." "that and more can be done if one has patience and discretion." "now we're where there's little doubt about gettin' home you may rap at me as often as you please," jake said with a hearty laugh. "i admit having acted like a fool; but so long as nothing serious came of it, except the cut on my own cheek, it isn't a hanging matter." "i haven't a relative in this world," mr. walters continued, "and now the sea dream has gone down would be obliged to look around for a job, therefore if you'll accept me as a comrade i'll stay here instead of going back to the states." "do you really mean to enter upon such a wild venture?" mr. emery asked in surprise. "most certainly. what is to prevent?" "nothing that i know of; but it seems little less than suicide to go there after the indians have been so thoroughly aroused." "we shall not make the attempt for several months, perhaps a year," cummings added. "where would you propose to stop? here?" "how far do you intend to go in this schooner?" "to the nearest port where we can find a steamer bound for the united states." "that is progresso, and if you have no objections poyor and i will accompany you there. we need some supplies from merida, and if mr. walters is of the same mind when we arrive i shall be more than pleased to have him go with us." "the vessel is at your disposal. we will land you at any point, and i yet have sufficient money with me to pay walters' wages and make him a slight advance if he needs it." "very little will be required if he joins poyor and myself. the cost of living in this country is small, for nature provides bountifully." the captain of the schooner, a full-blooded negro, was told to head his craft for progresso as soon as the wind should spring up again, and then mr. emery asked many questions concerning the city the boys had seen, while their answers only made the sailing master more eager to remain with cummings. "this is hardly fair," neal finally said. "all the time we have been telling you of our adventures, and not one word have we heard regarding your movements. i would like to know where the three boats we out-sailed went to on the night after leaving the yacht, and where this schooner was found?" "it is not a long story," mr. emery replied. "when you disappeared in the darkness we continued on the same course, and succeeded in keeping the three boats well together. at sunrise your craft was not in sight. we held on all that day and the next, finally arriving at cozumel where we stayed three days in the hope you would appear. then this schooner touched at the island, and i chartered her to search for you. we have been cruising up and down the coast ever since, for it seemed positive your boat reached the land in this immediate vicinity." "how long would you have stayed here?" "not many days more, for we had begun to believe you were picked up by a vessel. knowing jake could handle a small craft better, perhaps than any other member of the crew, and also that she was the most seaworthy of the four tenders, it did not seem reasonable she had foundered while the others went through in safety." "then we came out just in time." "yes, for i had no idea you could be so far up this way, and we should have left the locality as soon as the wind would permit." jake wanted to ask the sailing master how it happened that he had made such a mistake in his reckoning; but it was a delicate question, and he thought it best to wait until mr. walters had left them, when neal's father could probably give the desired explanation. chapter xxxiii. homeward bound. one can readily fancy what a feeling of perfect content had come over the boys after finding themselves once more with nearly all the crew of the sea dream. there was no longer anything to cause anxiety; the vengeful indians had been left far behind, and the fear of an attack was among the things of the past. "i used to think it would be mighty nice to go into some such place as we have just left," neal said to teddy, while the two were sitting under the awning aft, some distance from their companions; "but now we know what the reality is like, i've had enough." "i suppose our story would sound pretty fair if it was put into a book; but whoever wrote it couldn't be all the time telling about how hungry and tired we were, how the mosquitoes and flies nearly ate us up, how thoroughly we were frightened the greater portion of the time, nor how disagreeable it is to be where there's precious little chance for a fellow to keep clean." "that is why adventures seem so nice when you read about them, for all the trifling things which serve to make a person uncomfortable in both body and mind are omitted." "yes," teddy said very emphatically, "one day would be enough for any fellow i know, and the idea of going where there is likely to be plenty of chance for adventure will never again have any fascination for me." in this strain the boys talked until dinner was served on deck, which was not a particularly well cooked meal, after which the conversation became general. the re-united party spoke chiefly of mr. walters' determination to remain with cummings, and while listening to it jake forgot all else save the wonderful sights he had seen in the famous city. "i have a good mind to stay with you," he finally said. "the idea that i have been where silver could be had for the labor of carrying it away, and didn't get any, makes me angry with myself. now that mr. walters has concluded to try his hand at it i believe i'll do the same thing." poyor looked up quickly, shook his head very decidedly, and cummings said emphatically: "then it will be necessary for you to go alone; i've been there once with you, and it was only by the rarest good fortune that we succeeded in coming away alive, therefore i'm not disposed to try the same dangerous experiment again." "i suppose you think i would make a fool of myself once more?" "i am positive of it. when your opinion chanced to be at variance with ours you would go straight on without giving the slightest heed to the consequences. it is best for you to stay with the boys." jake had nothing more to say; but later in the day he told neal and teddy privately that he believed he would venture into the swamp alone. "i could do it as well as poyor can. they want to make out that it is a very dangerous venture." "you thought the same on the night when that beautiful scar was presented, and also when you wandered away from the cave, unable to find your way back," neal replied with a laugh. then jake had a desperate fit of the sulks from which he did not recover until the schooner was standing up the coast under the influence of the strong night breeze. the voyage to progresso from this time on occupied but a few hours. the clumsy looking vessel proved to be a good sailor, and on the following afternoon she had dropped anchor in the harbor, twenty-four hours before the next steamer was advertised to leave. there was yet plenty of chance to bid good-by to those who intended to remain behind, and the last moments were spent together rather than visit the quaint town, for no one could say whether they would meet again. jake made no further preparation to join the treasure seekers, and neal felt positive that if they had allowed him to make one of the party his courage would have failed him at the last minute. not until a late hour in the night was there any attempt to break up the gathering. each felt a certain repugnance to so doing, and if mr. emery had not finally insisted on retiring all might have remained under the awning until morning. "it is good-by as well as good-night," cummings said as he arose. "we do not care to stay here very long for fear some of the chan santa cruz may recognize us, and by daybreak i propose to be on our way to merida, from which point we shall return to the hut where we first saw the castaways." "we can at least count on hearing from you," mr. emery said. "the boys will be eager to learn how your venture succeeded." "it is not convenient to post a letter where a journey of fifty miles on foot is necessary to reach a mailing place; but you shall hear from us at the first favorable opportunity." with jake, cummings and poyor spent but little time; neither had any especial love for him after all that had happened; but with the boys the indian was almost affectionate. "if the gods will listen to poyor's prayer your lives shall be free from clouds," he said gravely, and laying his hands on their heads he went through a certain ceremony as if blessing them, after which he did not speak again. if good wishes were of any avail both walters and cummings should have succeeded in their attempt to carry away treasure from the silver city; but whether they have yet been able to do so neither neal nor teddy know, for not a word has been heard from them since that parting in the harbor at progresso. the trip home was as uneventful as is usually the case when one travels on a steam vessel, and at about the time when the sea dream should have arrived the castaways landed in new york before the news of the yacht's destruction had been learned. as a consequence neither teddy's parents nor neal's mother had been anxious concerning them, and the home coming was a very tame affair, as compared with what both had been through. even at this late day the boys are speculating as to whether the white men and the indian ever succeeded in their desires, and both believe the news will soon come that cummings has been able to read the inscriptions on the monuments at copan by the aid of his researches in the silver city. the end. the vee-boers a tale of adventure in southern africa by captain mayne reid published by george routledge and sons ltd, london this edition dated the vee-boers, by captain mayne reid. ________________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________________ the vee-boers, by captain mayne reid. chapter one. on the karoo. a vast plain, seemingly bounded but by the horizon; treeless, save where a solitary _cameel-doorn_ [note ] spreads its feathered leaves, or a clump of arborescent aloes, mingled with rigid-stemmed euphorbias, breaks the continuity of its outline. these types of desert vegetation but proclaim its sterility, which is further evinced by tufts of whiteish withered grass, growing thinly between them. over it three waggons are moving; immense vehicles with bodies above four yards in length, surrounded by an arching of bamboo canes covered with canvas. to each is attached eight pairs of long-horned oxen, with a driver seated on the box, who flourishes a whip, in length like a fishing-rod; another on foot alongside, wielding the terrible _jambok_, while at the head of the extended team marches the "foreloper," _reim_ in hand, guiding the oxen along the track. half a score horsemen ride here and there upon the flanks, with three others in advance; and bringing up the rear is a drove of milch cows-- some with calves at the foot--and a flock of _fat-tailed_ sheep, their tails full fifty pounds in weight, and trailing on the ground. the cows and sheep are in charge of ten or a dozen dark-skinned herdsmen, most of them all but naked; while a like number of large wolfish-looking dogs completes the list of living things visible outside the waggons. but, were the end curtains raised, under their tilts would be seen women with children--of both sexes and all ages--in each the members of a single family, its male head excepted. of the last there are three, corresponding to the number of the waggons, of which they are the respective proprietors--the three men riding in advance. their names, jan van dorn, hans blom, and klaas rynwald. all dutch names, and dutch are they who bear them, at least by descent, for the scene _is_ southern africa, and they are _boers_. not of the ordinary class, though, as may be told by their large accompaniment of unattached cattle and sheep--over a hundred of the former, and three times as many of the latter. these, with other signs well-known to south africans, proclaim them to be vee-boers [note ]. they are far away from any settlement of civilised or white men, the nearest being their own frontier town, zoutpansberg, in the transvaal, from which they are distant full three hundred miles northward. nor are they in transvaalian territory, but that of the tebele, beyond the limpopo river, and journeying on north. why they are there calls for explanation, and a word will suffice. the world has of late heard much of the transvaal republic and its brave people; how distasteful to them was annexation to the english government; indeed, so repugnant, that many plucked up the rooftrees they had but lately planted, and were off again, scarce thinking or caring whither, so long as they got beyond the reach of british rule. it is on record--a painful one--that many of those political fugitives passed through hardships scarce conceivable, and not a few perished by the way--miserably perished, the victims of fatigue, hunger, and thirst. and it is of just such a party we purpose giving account of, their journeyings, adventures, and dangers, by flood and by field. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the time was just after the annexation, and our vee-boers, as introduced to the reader, were weeks away from their abandoned homes in the transvaal. that they had permission to enter the territory of the tebele, might be taken for granted, otherwise they would have been on dangerous ground. for its powerful and despotic chief was not the man to allow intrusion into his dominions, even by peaceful travellers. but they had his leave, backed by invitation, not only to pass through, but make permanent home in them, if they wished. jan van dorn, the "_baas_" [note ] of the migrating party, an old _jager_, had, in bygone days, hunted all over the tebele country, smoked the pipe of peace with moselekatse himself, and so established a friendship still existing. in one of his expeditions he had discovered a magnificent grazing country-- a very paradise for the vee-boer--and it was for this they were now making. they were journeying by night, or rather early morning, before daybreak. it was not their habit to lie late; but just then they had more than one reason for being up betimes and moving. it was in the torrid zone, where travelling by day is oft a very torture, especially over a plain such as that they were crossing. they had entered upon a track of _karoo_ [note ], which they knew to extend for more than miles; treeless, shadeless, and without water, save here and there in pools, or natural cisterns, at long distances apart. besides, no rain had fallen on it for months, and like as not the water reservoirs would all be dried up. not strange, then, their travelling by night, as by day; for it was life or death to them to get across the karoo. luckily they were favoured by moonlight, with stars in a clear, unclouded sky, which insured them against straying from the practicable route. and as their guide, a hottentot, by name smutz knew every inch of it, they had confidence in his piloting. so on they moved, noiselessly, save when now and then crack of whip, the sharp snap of a _jambok_ [note ], or the ejaculations of the men wielding this formidable instrument of animal torture, disturbed the stillness of the night. more rarely was it broken by the rumble of wheels, these for the most part being fellies deep in soft, yielding sand. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . the "cameel-doorn," literally, camel-thorn, is a species of acacia, whose tender shoots and leaves are the favourite food of the cameleopard, or giraffe. it is a common and characteristic tree in most districts of southern africa, having pinnate leaves, and, like most of the acacia tribe, bright yellow blossoms. note . "vee-boers" are distinguished from other boers by their special employment being the grazing and raising of cattle. to this they devote themselves exclusively, as the _stockmen_ of australia, and the _ranchmen_ of western america. they have no fixed habitation, flitting about from place to place with their flocks wherever the pasture tempts them, and making house and home of their huge _trek-waggons_, just as the "cheap jacks" of england. they have tents also, and sometimes erect rude huts. note . "baas," master. it is synonymous with the "boss" of the southern united states, which, no doubt, was carried thither by the slave negroes who had had dealings with the dutch of south africa. note . the "karoos" of southern africa may be compared with our moorlands, only more extended in area, and with a different sort of vegetation. heaths of many beautiful species are among their characteristic plants, as all may know who take a pride in the keeping of hothouses. note . the "jambok," or "schambok," is an elastic whip, all stock and no lash, or if you like, _vice versa_. some six feet long, it tapers from a butt of about an inch in diameter to the tiniest tip; and, when forcibly laid on, will make _weals_ on the skin of a horse, and cut that of a man clean through. it is a cruel instrument of torture, and, i regret to say, not exclusively employed to punish animals, as the natives of south africa too well know. to threaten a disobedient servant with the jambok--be he hottentot, fingo, or caffre--is to bring him back to kneeling obeisance. the best jamboks are made of hippopotamus hide. chapter two. a weird spectacle. going at a slow crawl in profound silence, the huge vehicles, with their dark bodies and white tilts, the long serried line of yoked oxen extended in advance of them, would have presented a strange mystifying spectacle to one not knowing what it was. weird and ghostlike under the silvery light of the moon, a native of the country, where such had never been seen before, viewing it from a distance, might have imagined it some monster of a world unknown. but before morning came, the travellers were themselves witnesses of a spectacle common enough in that same district, yet, in seeming, quite as strange and mysterious as that of the waggon-train. proceeding in the opposite direction, and at no great distance off, appeared a number of dark forms, one following the other in single file. immense creatures they were; each nearly as large as any of the waggons, but, unlike these, living and breathing. for they were elephants--a troop on the march--nigh threescore in number, their line extending for hundreds and hundreds of yards across the karoo. they were passing on silent as spectres, the tread of the ponderous pachyderm being noiseless as that of a cat. even on stony ground it is scarce distinguishable at the shortest distance, and on that sand-bestrewed plain it made not the slightest sound to betray their presence. adding to their spectral appearance were the long, withered grass-tufts and karoo bushes, white as if coated with hoar frost. these concealing their stride, they seemed to glide along as boats upon water, propelled by some invisible agency, acting underneath. to the vee-boers, as much hunters as herdsmen, it was a tempting, tantalising sight, and under other circumstances the silence of the night would have been broken by the cracking of shots. but they knew that to attack the elephants might infuriate and bring them in charge upon the waggon-train, which would surely be its destruction. [note .] so they resisted the temptation, and let the herd pass on; the two parties, silent and weird-like as ever, gradually widening the space between, till at length they were beyond sight of one another. soon after daylight declared itself; but it brought no rest to the now wearied wayfarers--not even when the sun had risen high above the horizon. for they had failed to come across any water, and halting without that were worse than keeping on. already suffering from thirst, it would but prolong their suffering to make stop or stay. several of the so-called cisterns, or natural tanks, had been passed, and as many pools, but all were dry, or with only just enough moisture to keep the mud in their bottoms. remaining by these would be rest neither to them nor the animals, now needing water as much or more than themselves. another element also contributed to their torture--heat. as the sun mounted higher in the firmament, this became excessive; so sultry that men and animals were perspiring at every pore; while on the ground, hot as the floor of a baker's oven, it was painful to set foot. the shoeless natives--hottentots and caffres alike--suffered especially, notwithstanding the soles of their feet being callous, and hard as horn. some were seen to adopt a singular plan for keeping them cool--by a plaster of mud, taken from the waterless but still moist pools, applying it poultice-fashion, and at intervals damping them with the juice of the euphorbia, and other succulent plants. equally odd, and more amusing, was the behaviour of the dogs. they would make a rush ahead of the waggons; dive under a bush, tussock of grass, or anything giving shade; and there lie panting till the train got past. then, rising reluctantly, they would stand for a time contemplating the heated surface of sand, afraid to set paw upon it; whine piteously; and finally, with a plunge, start off afresh, dash past the waggons, and repeat the performance as before. thus on over the sun-parched plain moved the party of migrant boers; but not now silent as in the night. what with oxen bellowing, cows lowing in response to their bawling calves, sheep bleating, and dogs howling, there was noise enough, and a surfeit of it. and mingling with these cries of distress, at intervals came the crack of a whip, loud as the report of a pistol, and the shouts of the drivers urging their oxen on. as if to add to their difficulty, they had entered upon a tract thickly overgrown with _waaght-een-beetje_ [note ]; while those of them who were on foot, had their ankles lacerated by the "_grapple-plant_." [note .] retarded by these various obstructions, they made but slow progress; less than three miles an hour--the orthodox rate of speed made by south african travellers "on trek;" and it had come to be a struggle painful as it was perilous. fearfully dispiriting too; since they knew not when or how it was to end. their sole hope rested on a large pond or lake their guide told them of, and which he had never known to go dry. but it was still over ten miles distant, which meant at least four hours of time--an appalling prospect in their then condition; men, horses, and oxen, all athirst, all tottering in their steps. there was no help for it, no alternative, but keep on; and on they kept. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . elephants often march in single file--indeed, it is their common way--the sagacity of these animals telling them they are thus less exposed to danger. often, too, a party of hunters, especially vee-boers, well acquainted with the habits of the great pachyderms, will allow them to pass unmolested, to be pursued and attacked farther on. a charge of infuriated elephants on a camp might result in its wholesale destruction. note . "waaght-een-beetje" is the dutch synonym for "wait-a-bit." the tree or bush, so quaintly designated, is another of the many species of south african acacias having spines sharp as fish-hooks and so set as to hold on whatever they have caught, requiring skill, with an expenditure of time, to get clear of them. it is the _acacia detinens_ of the botanists. note . the "grapple-plant" (uncaria procumbens) is a creeper, with beautiful purple blossoms and a fruit beset with hooked spines that readily catch on to the clothes, or even the skin. it is very troublesome to the barefooted natives who may have occasion to pass over ground where it grows. chapter three. a battue of lions. it was well on in the afternoon when the travellers perceived a dark belt rising above the plain at a long distance off, but directly on their line of march. a glad sight to their eyes, as they could tell it to be timber, and knew they would there find the _vley_ [note ] of which their guide had fore-warned them. the prospect of water, shade, and rest, all at the same time, and all so much needed, inspired them to renewed speed; and the ponderous waggons seemed to move more lightly along, while their conductors were merrier--drivers, after jambok men, and forelopers. even the dumb animals, becoming infected with the same spirit, partook of the general rejoicing, as though they also knew that relief was near. yet was it far off as ever. the promise that cheered them was not to be fulfilled. on reaching the timber at the point where the vley was, or should have been, they found this too dried up, as all the others. in its bed were only pebbles and white sand, from which were reflected the rays of the setting sun, as from a sheet of frosted snow! so much for their hopes of water; and as for shade, the trees proved to be _mopanes_ [note ] whose leaves grow vertically on the branches, and, like the eucalypti of australia, afford no more protection from the sun than would a network of wire! nor was this the worst. scarce had they come to a stop by the wood's edge, when they heard issuing out of it a noise well-known both to themselves and their animals, and by both equally dreaded. for it was the roar of the lion; not one lion, but more like a score of them, roaring together, as if each was doing its best to outroar all the rest. the place appeared to be infested with the formidable brutes--a very lair of them; and the fearful fracas they were making caused horses, oxen, cows--in short, every four-footed creature in the train to dance affrightedly about as though no longer feeling fatigue. to ordinary travellers the noise, with its attendant dangers, would have been appalling; and even among them there was momentary alarm. but they were boers of the transvaal, of courage proverbial and historic; still more, vee-boers, who are as much hunters as graziers, and little regard to the lion's roar. it was only because of there being such a chorus of it, that they were for a time taken back. soon recovering themselves, however, there was a general rush towards the waggons, in which they habitually kept their _roers_ [note ]; when, each armed himself with one of these long guns, front was made to the foe, still giving tongue, though as yet unseen. not for long were the lions chary about putting in an appearance. soon their tawny skins were seen glistening among the trunks of the mopanes zigzagging from point to point, and at each slant drawing nigher to the spot where the waggons had drawn up. it was now seen that there were quite twenty of them, or more; while the intonation of their cries--full of fury and menace--told of the intended attack. had they made it on the moment, and simultaneously, it would have been all up with the travellers--at the very least would there have been wholesale destruction among their animals. but, luckily for them, the lion does not always attack on the instant; more often making approach progressively, and with the caution of the common cat, as most others of the _felidae_. probably had the prey they contemplated springing on been a party of naked natives, with no other defence than their skin shields, the _leeuws_ [note ] would have acted differently. but seeing before them that strange array--the waggons with their white tilts, a spectacle in all likelihood new to them--it was but natural they should feel shy about beginning the assault. it could not be actual fear, a feeling unknown to the african lion, in those districts where it is unaccustomed to meet the white man, with his death-dealing weapons; more like was it mystification at sight of the huge vehicles larger than elephants, and which, for all the lions knew, might be also living things, and far more dangerous. whether from this, or whatever cause, the great felines hesitated to make approach, though gradually drawing nigher, as the confidence became strengthened by their receiving no hurt from the singular monsters that had intruded upon their domain. this up to a certain moment; then they were saluted by a sound louder than that they were themselves making, as the vee-boers poured a volley upon them, which silenced half their number, by dropping them dead in their tracks. the rest did not retreat, but stood their ground, to all appearance more mystified than ever. they had heard thunder, and seen lightning, but never with an accompaniment of smoke, such as they now saw, wondering what it all meant. and while still unresolved, and hesitating how to act, the thick blue mist, which for a while had screened them, drifted aside, to be replaced by another and similar screen as the reloaded raw blazed forth again. after the second volley, only two or three live lions remained upon the ground; these seeming wounded, as they went limping off among the mopanes. for the vee-boers it was a victory easier than they had anticipated; and over royalty itself--a _battue_ of grandest game, the kings of beasts. on gathering up the slain, they found fifteen of the _leeuws_, young and old, male and female, six being lions, the rest lionesses. the reason for so many having congregated there was the drought. up till a late period there had been wafer in the vley, making it a rendezvous for buffaloes, antelopes, and other ruminants; many skeletons of which lay around, with bones clean picked--the work of these same lions, and other carnivora. but in time instinct had directed the cud-chewing animals to repair to other places, where the water was of surer supply; while the predatory species, more able to bear thirst, and hunger too, had stayed behind. hence such a number found crowding together; and their having been for some time without food--indeed, half-famished, as it proved on examination of their carcases--will account for their uniting to attack the travellers--an attempt so cleverly and completely foiled. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . "vley." the synonym in dutch for a lake of limited extent--a pond, or pool. note . the "mopane" is a tree belonging to the family of "banhinias," with pinnate leaves set point upwards, so that the sun glints down between, and scarce any shade is given by the tree, even when in full foliage. note . "roer." the sort of gun in common use among the south african dutch. it is a single barrel of great length and carry far. note . "leeuw." the boers' name for the "king of beasts." chapter four. the tulp. meanwhile the waggons had been left standing just as they drew up, the oxen still under yoke. and now came the question, whether to "outspann" [note ], or not. it was but of short debate, however, as all were convinced of the uselessness of remaining there. indeed more than useless; since they would only be wasting time; and, thirsting as they were, that meant everything. besides, their guide knew of another vley some miles farther on, where he had still better hopes of finding water--now their greatest want. the heat no longer discomforted them, as the sun had got low, and the atmosphere become as cool as they cared for. they might expect moonlight, too, as on the night before, which would also be in their favour. so, tired though they were, it was determined to trek on. while this resolve was being arrived at, an incident occurred which was calculated to make them thankful they had not already out-spanned. indeed, as they soon after came to know, it was rather a fortunate circumstance their finding the vley dried up. had there been water in it, they would surely have stayed there all night, to discover next morning that their horses and oxen would not be worth taking farther-- even unable to take themselves. their milch kine would also have been sacrificed, as in reality were their sheep, to the last hoof. luckily all but the sheep escaped, though with the driven cattle, milk cows, and their calves, it was the closest of shaves. in that grove--for it was a wood of only a few score acres in extent--there was a something even more dangerous than lions, at least to grass-eating animals. a plant it was which grew under the mopanes, green as a leek, and not unlike one in its leafage, covering the ground thickly, as onions in a garden bed. the vee-boers knew the plant well--too well--and, but for their attention being absorbed by the encounter with the lions, would long before have observed it. as it was, they only became aware of its presence on seeing their sheep--that had been left for a time to themselves--greedily browsing upon it. the _lanigers_ were hungry as wolves, and would have eaten anything green that chanced in their way; so the whole flock, as soon as getting up to the wood's edge, had rushed in among the trees, open-mouthed at what seemed a tempting morsel. it was the _baas_ of the travelling party--jan van dorn himself--who first perceived the danger, and sounded the alarm, crying out-- "oh, brothers! we've lost our sheep! see what they're feeding on; it's the _tulp_!" [note .] they thus addressed, needed no further explanation of a word which to the reader may be unintelligible. for there was not a man of them but knew what the _tulp_ was, and its poisonous nature--possibly not one whose herds and flocks had not some time or other been decimated by it. soon as it was seen how things stood, there was a rush in among the mopanes, a surrounding of the sheep, and a chorus of shouts, as they were driven out again to open ground. but all too late, as every one seemed to be aware; and when at length the forward movement was about being resumed, it became a subject of discussion whether it would be worth while taking these animals along. still there was a hope that, however faint, some of them might survive, and leaning upon this, along were they taken; their owners making all haste to depart from a spot alike dangerous in its _flora_ as its _fauna_. once more was there a cracking of whips, and the oxen, straightening out along the _trek-touw_ [note ], moved reluctantly on. and now the moon, as had been anticipated, giving a bright light, the travellers made good way; before midnight arriving at the second vley, where fortunately there was still a _soupcon_ of water. it was not visible above the surface of sand that formed the vley's bed; but on examination, several cavities were discovered in which appeared the much wished-for element, that had been hollowed out by the hoofs of quaggas and zebras. writers talk of instinct teaching these animals to dig their own drinking wells; but the teaching in reality comes from a process of reasoning-intelligence, as that of man himself. all naturalists know that, as indeed ought every one who owns dog or cat, and has observed either spring up to a door-handle, making attempt with manifest design to draw the door open. now, thirsting like sponges, the travellers out-spanned, and speedily. all hands that could be spared from looking after the cattle set about sinking a pit in the sand; into which, soon came water enough for all their needs. it required caution, however, with much shouting, and wielding of jamboks, to keep the animals out of it. the scent of the water had reached their nostrils, an attraction irresistible, and horses neighed, yoke-oxen bellowed, cows groaned in chorus with their bawling calves, all madly eager to wet their muzzles, and quench their thirst that had so long tortured them. but the vee-boers, accustomed to such display, knew the precautions to be taken; so kept the impatient creatures under restraint and aloof, at length giving them to drink, from the "rush-buckets" [note ], which were part of their _impedimenta_. their own thirst satisfied, then that of their stock, supper was eaten heartily, and they retired to rest and sleep. not all, however; nearly a third of their number remaining awake, and on the alert, as guards of the camp. they had no fear of their animals wandering away, fatigued as these were. even had it been otherwise, and ever so fresh, their straying would have been little apprehended. for _on trek_, horses and cattle--in short all domesticated quadrupeds--regard the great waggons as they would the houses of a homestead, and will return to them just the same. instinct--or, from what has been said above, rather reason-- admonishes them that beside these is their best place, safest from the attack of predatory beasts--above all, from the lion, the real _bete-noir_ of south african cattle. those of our travelling party had been sufficiently frightened at their last halting-place, to keep them cowed, and tame, for at least twenty-four hours after; and just so were they, starting and trembling at every cry of wild creature that reached their ears--even at that of the cowardly hyaena. and here they heard lions too, though none came near. at this vley, still affording enough water to attract fat quaggas, zebras, and gemsboks, the tawny monsters needed not whetting their teeth on tame cattle, lean and tough as those of the vee-boers had got to be. so the night passed by without further disturbance or adventure; day broke again; breakfast was eaten; the oxen invoked; and the journey over the _karoo_ continued. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . "outspann." the word has a general meaning, and refers not only to detaching the animals from the vehicles, but making halt either temporarily or for the night. note . "tulp." the dutch name for "tulip," of which it is but an abbreviated form. the plant itself is so called from its resemblance to the tulip, both in leaf and flower. it is of the iris family, and the genus _morosa_. note . "trek-touw." the long cable-like rope of raw hide continuing the "tongue," or pole, of the waggons, and to which the forward pairs of oxen are attached. they are also made fast to it at night, when there is any fear of their straying from the camp. note . the "milk-baskets" of the caffres are frequently in use among the vee-boers, when on trek, their lightness making them more convenient than vessels of a heavier kind. they are made of the stems of a species of "cyperus," a rush allied to the "paper-reed," sewed so closely together that when dry they will hold water. the caffres use them as milk pails, and, when emptied, their dogs are allowed to lick them clean. the cleaning is still further carried out by an insect--a species of cockroach (_blatta_), which eats what remains of the milk from the interstices between the rushes. so important are these roaches regarded for this purpose, that a caffre on erecting a new hut, will take his milk-baskets into an old one, and, as soon as a sufficient number of the insects have entered them, will carry the vessels back to where their services are required. the vee-boers--by captain mayne reid chapter five. under the mowana. three waggons drawn up under the shade of a gigantic _mowana_ [note ]-- the waggons of the vee-boers after their long, toilsome, and perilous journey across the _karoo_. they are again out-spanned, but now in _laager_, which tells of an intention to remain there for some little time. the vehicles are set in such fashion as to enclose a rectangular space, open at one end; while around them, at some distance off, a circular fence of thorny bushes roughly form a _chevaux-de-frise_, to hinder lions, hyaenas, and other marauders from approaching too near. seemingly, the ground has been judiciously chosen, with an eye to the three chief requisites of a camp--grass, wood, and water. it is contiguous to the bank of a clear, running stream, on each side fringed with a belt of timber, trees of many different kinds; while landward, far as eye can reach, extends an open _veldt_, [note ], grass-covered, and affording plenteous pasturage for their cattle. these are all now on it; oxen and milch-kine; the horses, too, hoppled neck-and-knee, to keep them from straying. but just now there is little fear of that, the animals not yet having recovered from the karoo journey, and all are browsing tranquilly. the sheep are not there--not one of them. if looked for, they would be found--or rather their carcases--lying here and there along the line of yesterday's trek; though, like as not, even the carcases would not be there, only the skins and bones; the flesh long since devoured by jackals, hyenas, and vultures. in addition to wood, water, and grass, the camp-ground enjoys another convenience--in tropical africa, nearly as essential as any of the three--shade. the _mowana_, [note ], with its wide extending arms, and thickly set foliage, casts shadow over a circle of full fifty yards diameter, and underneath it there is room for everybody and everything. the hour is ten o'clock in the morning; the travellers having arrived there in the afternoon of the preceding day. that they have not been idle since can be told by the work done. the laager-fence itself must have cost time and labour in its construction; while inside it are other evidences of industry. much of the lading of the waggons is out, and on the ground, to be re-packed and re-arranged for further transport; while upon lines, stretched from tree to tree, hang all sorts of _lingerie_ in the process of drying; proof that the washerwomen of the party had been up and stirring betimes. and this work, with many other kinds, is still in progress; not only the women and girls, but the men and boys being actively engaged one way or another. some of the older hands are repairing saddles, bridles, and harness-gear; others mend _vel-schoenen_ [note ]; and still others look to the waggon-wheels, whose spokes and fellies, contracted by the drought, have been for some time threatening to part company. a lapping of wet raw hide, when it dries, will bind, and hold them together, firm as any clasp or screw of iron; this every south african traveller knows, and none better than a vee-boer. some of the women are occupied with their needles, which they ply with a skill not excelled by the most accomplished parisian _coturiere_; others milk the cows, led inside the laager for this purpose, while yet others are engaged in preparing the _morgen-maal_ [note ]. it is being cooked on a kitchen-range, of quaint, primitive kind, such as may be met with only in southern africa. hand of man has had nought to do with its manufacture, nor has there been any iron employed in it. instead, it is an earthen structure; part mud, and part a gummy, glutinous substance secreted by insects, these having been its constructors. for the cooking-stove in question, is neither more nor less than an ant-hill, the home of a hive of _termites_ [note ] of which there are several near. for some reason or other abandoned by its builders, it has been easily transformed to the use now made of it. on the night before, a number of cavities had been hollowed out around its base, fires kindled therein, and tires of shelves cut into the sides above them. now, at ten am, the whole mass is at furnace heat, kettles boiling, stewpots simmering, and frying-pans hissing--in short, a complete _batterie de cuisine_ in stridulous activity. one unaccustomed to transvaalian cookery might not greatly relish the viands in preparation; the meat part of them being mostly antelope flesh, fried in lard rendered from the tails of the fat-tailed sheep. none of it, however, came from those lately poisoned by the tulp, the travellers having previously laid in a supply, sufficient to last them to the end of their contemplated journey. for the lard in question is a staple commodity among the dutch colonists of south africa, kept in stock not only in their houses, but carried with them in their waggons when on trek. it is often used as a substitute for butter, and however distasteful to the palate of strangers, by the boers it is regarded of first _gout_. and now the savoury steam, exhaling from the pots and pans, fills the air with a fragrance more agreeable to the nostrils of the travellers than all the odours of araby. so appetising is it, that all are madly impatient to partake of the _morgen-maal_. this they do as soon as culinary operations are ended, coffee being an accompaniment to the more substantial dishes. after which the white men of the party indulge in a "soupie" of _brandeywyn_ [note ] winding up with a smoke; when all return to the tasks of the day. the children alone remain idle at play; some of the most courageous boys climbing up among the branches of the mowana, for the tempting fruit seen there. but the work of none is now of long continuance, only up till about twelve noon. then it is necessarily suspended on account of the sultry heat, and all congregate under the mowana; the animals seeking shade beneath other umbrageous trees that stand by the side of their pasture ground. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . "mowana" is the south african synonym for the "baobab" (_adansonia digitata_). note . "veldt" is a tract of grassy plain or prairie. it is in part synonymous with our word "field," which we have changed from its ancient form, and partly from its signification. note . as all know, the mowana, or baobab, is one of the largest of trees; specimens being met with having a girth of nearly feet. it is not proportionately tall, however--nothing like the _sequoias_ of california. its leaves dried and pulverised are used as an antidote to various diseases, as diarrhoea, fevers, etc. its fruit is slightly acid, but well-flavoured, and is eaten by the natives of tropical africa. the mowana is essentially a tree of the tropics. note . "vel-schoenen." literally "skin shoes." they are made of untanned hide and sewed with thongs of the same. they are worn by many boers, though it is their hottentot servants who make and mend them. one of these yellow-skinned cobblers will make a pair of vel-schoenen in less than a couple of hours. note . the "morgen-maal" (morning meal) of the cape dutch is a more substantial repast than an ordinary english breakfast, being quite as much a dinner. the hour for eating it is about eleven am; but there is usually an earlier _dejeuner_ consisting of a cup of coffee, and a slice of bread, or cake. note . the "termites," or white ants as more commonly called, often make their "hills" as large as good-sized hay cocks, to which they bear a strong resemblance. it is quite a common thing for _trek_ or _vee_ boers to utilise them as above described. note . "brandeywyn." a liquor of the brandy or whisky specialty, distilled from peaches. it is the common tipple in use among the dutch colonists of the cape, and other parts of south africa. chapter six. a rush of buffaloes. it had come to be late in the afternoon, with a cooler atmosphere as the sun sank towards the horizon; but as most of the necessary jobs had been done in the morning, there was no resumption of work. milking the cows, and feeding the calves, were the only tasks that now occupied the people of the laager, and these were entrusted to the caffre attendants, well up in all matters relating to cow-kine and the dairy. indeed, all the different tribes of this race, whether of kaffirland proper, or the more northerly zululand, look upon cattle as their chief source of wealth and subsistence. some of the women had set about the evening meal; when the younger men-- nearly all sons, nephews, or other relatives of van dorn, blom, and rynwald--bethought them of spending an hour or so in shooting at a target, the sport of their preference, and encouraged by the elders. for by a people, part of whose food is obtained through the chase, and whose every-day life exposes them to its perils, being a good marksman is naturally held in high estimation. getting hold of their guns, therefore, the young boers proceeded to the open veldt; and, after making up a match, commenced practice, the shell of an ostrich's egg serving them for mark. this most of them could hit at paces distance, four times out of six; and at would not often miss it. their long roers carried still farther, and an ordinary-sized antelope, even at , would have stood but little chance with them. and now there was keen competition between these young marksmen, with a desire to excel, quite as much as among our crack-shots at wimbledon. but they had not been long thus occupied, when their ears were saluted by a sound, admonishing them they might soon expect something to shoot at very different from an egg-shell. from afar, over the plain, came a noise like the rumbling of distant thunder, growing louder as they listened; at length to be recognised as the quick trample of buffaloes-- a herd of them "on the run." and that they were running in the direction of the laager could be told by the continually increasing sound. but soon there was no doubt of it; the animals themselves being seen, as they came crashing through a tract of bush on the farther side of the veldt, and bounding on over the open. an immense herd it was, blackening the green sward to the width of a hundred yards, and thick as sheep in a flock. to the amateur british nimrod in south africa the sight of such big game, and in such plenty, would have imparted pleasure instead of begetting fear. and in the same light the young boers would have regarded it, but for a circumstance that presented the spectacle in an altogether different aspect--one of danger. alongside the great tree, under which their camp was placed, ran an open list leading down to the river, and, in all probability, the buffaloes would pass that way, making for the water. indeed, they were heading straight for it; though drink might not be their object. their maddened bounds and loud bellowing, as they came thundering on, seemed to betoken some other cause of excitement than thirst. however that might be, it soon became evident they meant to pass under the mowana, right through the laager. the enclosing fence of thorns would be no obstruction to them, any more than if it were of reeds or straw; and woe to all who should chance to be in their way! tornado or cyclone would not be more destructive. by this every one in the camp, and every living creature around it, had become aware of the threatening peril. men shouted, women shrieked, the children screaming in chorus; while the horses neighed affrightedly, dancing about in their hopples; the cattle lowed and routed; and the dogs ran to and fro, some barking, some angrily growling. in short, the place lately so tranquil, most of its occupants indulging in the _dolce-far-niente_, was suddenly transformed into what seemed a pandemonium. meanwhile, the young marksmen out in the open had not been idle. if taken by surprise, they felt no dismay, nor aught rendering them powerless to act. instead, soon as convinced that the buffaloes were bent for passing under the mowana, one and all made a rush towards their horses, calling out to those in the camp to bring saddles and bridles. they knew that the likeliest way to stem the advancing torrent was to present front to it on horseback; and there might be time, as the foremost of the buffaloes were still nearly a mile off. it would be quick work; but luckily the hoppled horses were easily and quickly caught, and in a trice bridled and saddled. then, each mounting his own--the whole party numbering nigh a dozen--they galloped out upon the veldt to meet the advancing enemy. scarce another minute elapsed before their horses' heads were within less than yards from those of the foremost buffaloes; there for an instant to be drawn up, though there was no stoppage on the part of the bovines. and had the young boers stayed silent when they halted, in all likelihood both they and their horses would in another minute have been run over, and trampled to death. but they did not stay silent; instead, all together raised gun to shoulder, and taking good aim, delivered a volley right in the faces of the black brutes that threatened them. there was a responsive crashing from some of their bullets, that only struck the great buttressed horns; but half-a-dozen of them told better, and a like number of the buffaloes, headmost of the herd, were seen to tumble over on the sward, dead as door-nails; the impetus of their rush shooting them their full body's length in advance of the rest. the reports of the roers, their blaze and smoke--sounds and sights, in all probability, new to the wild animals--had an effect upon them instantaneous and deterrent. whatever had been their worry behind, whether pursuit by lions or otherwise, it was now less a thing of fear than that they saw in front. so one and all came to a stop, quickly as they could gather up their legs. it took time, though, the masses behind forcing the front rank forward, beyond where it was inclined to go. perhaps all might have resumed their onward career and the dreaded catastrophe, occurred all the same, had not the young boers taken other precautions to prevent it. in this they succeeded, by a continuous shouting, yelling at the highest pitch of voice, while they hurriedly rammed powder and ball down the barrels of their roers; and when these were reloaded poured a second volley into the hesitating herd. it brought another half-dozen of the buffaloes to grass; but that was a thing they little cared about. far more would they have been pleased to see the animals turn tail, and make away from them. and with this very sight were they gratified in an instant after. the first fusillade, with its fire and smoke, to say nothing of the fatal effects, had caused fear among the wild bovines; the second brought dismay, and, not desiring to encounter a third, the headmost of the herd swung round, followed by the rearmost, all going off in a direction that would carry them wide of the mowana. "praise be to god, our people are saved!" was the thought of the young boers, more than one of them giving vocal expression to it. chapter seven. a buffalo chase. as the danger seemed averted, and there seemed no likelihood of its recurrence, most of the young boers drew up around the fallen buffaloes, and dismounted to _gralloch_ and skin them. three, however, who had become excited beyond restraint, kept to their saddles, and went after the retreating herd. this trio of implacable pursuers were piet van dorn, the eldest son of jari; andries blom, a nephew of hans; a son of klass rynwald; all three nearly of an age. but between the two first there had long been rivalry as to which was the more accomplished hunter, with rivalry of another sort presently to be spoken of. their horses being of lighter hoof than the heavy bovines, they were not long in again coming up with the latter; each, soon as within shot-range, singling out one, and delivering his fire. but only two of the buffaloes fell; the third, which was that aimed at by van dorn, though hit, keeping its feet and running on. not with the herd, however, for the sting of the shot seemed to drive it crazy; and, separating from the rest, it struck to the left and went scouring off alone. but it was not to escape thus, at least unpursued. rather than it should, piet van dorn would have ridden his horse to death, and almost to dying himself. his hunter pride was touched, and something more. what would katharine rynwald say--what think--on hearing that he had fired and failed to bring down the thing fired at--he alone of all the three? and she would be sure to hear of it; ay, be told of it within the hour. the cynical and satisfied smile on andries blom's face, as he saw the wounded buffalo bound away, seemingly but little hurt, was sure promise that the fair katharine would come to know all about it. so without waiting to say a word to the other two, van dorn reined round to the left, and pressed his horse to top speed, reloading his gun as he galloped. perhaps young rynwald would have followed to lend him a helping hand, but for blom. the latter did not want that buffalo killed; instead, he hoped with all his heart that it might still escape. and to give it a better chance, he cried out to the brother of katharine, who bore his father's name-- "klass! let us two follow the drove, and bring down another couple, so that the camp people may have plenty of meat--dogs and all. we mayn't have such a chance for months." thus appealed to, klass thought no more about helping van dorn, but dashed on after the other, who had already started in pursuit of the herd. they did not again come up with it, however; but that signified little to andries blom. meanwhile, piet van dorn, who inherited all his father's hunting instincts, with much of his prowess, was doing his best to overtake the wounded bull. for a bull it was, and of immense size; apparently the patriarch of the herd it had so unaccountably forsaken. this had caused the young hunter some surprise; and he was also surprised, as well as chagrined, at his first shot not having brought the bull down. for he had aimed at a vital part, with excellent opportunity, and could not account for his having missed. true, it was not altogether a miss, though not much better, the buffalo seeming but little hurt as it careered on over the veldt, tail high in air. mounted on a strong, swift horse, however, van dorn at length got again within range of it; and once more raising his roer, delivered what he believed would be its death shot. only to see, with chagrin greater than ever, that though he had made a hit, it was not a kill. indeed, so far from the bull being further disabled, he but seemed to gather fresh strength, and with a loud bellow and angry toss of the head, continued on at a heightened speed. but the pursuit was continued too; for with piet van dorn it was now do or die. not for worlds would he have allowed that buffalo to escape him; and, once more appealing to the speed of his horse, as he rammed another cartridge down the barrel of his gun, he followed at his fastest. it was a tail-on-end chase, prolonged for nearly another league, before the pursuer thought himself near enough to send another shot at the pursued. he did so at length, hearing his bullet hit with a dull thud, as it buried itself in the flesh of the great bovine. still the animal fell not, neither staggered, though it made no attempt to run on. the third shot produced an effect in it quite different from the two former, and, instead of further retreat, it stopped short, wheeled round, angrily shook its horned head, tore up the turf with its hoofs, then, with a loud bellow, charged back on its relentless pursuer. having perfect control of his horse, and trust in the animal's speed, the young hunter could have easily avoided the onset by galloping wide out of the way. and he was in the act of doing so, had half reined round, when he felt the horse sink beneath him, and himself going a "cropper" over neck and head. there was no mystery about the cause, which on the instant declared itself by a peal of unearthly laughter ringing loud in his ears, while at the same time he saw the creature that sent it up. his horse had gone knee-deep into the hole of a "laughing hyena," [note ] out of which the ugly brute now bounding ran off affrightedly over the veldt, as it went emitting its wild, weird cachinnations as the cries of a maniac fresh escaped from some lunatic asylum. all, too, as if in mockery at the hunter's mishap! the horse was in no way injured, though, perhaps, better for his rider if he had been, for, on regaining his legs, which he instantly did, the triple scare he had got, from the oncoming of the buffalo, his own tumble, and the screams of the hyena, was too much for him, and he broke off in wild stampede, leaving his master to look out for himself. for some seconds piet van dorn felt dismay, even to fearing death. the infuriated bull was fast nearing him, with head lowered, and horns set to crush or impale him. in another moment he might receive the fatal shock to know no more. for although he was also uninjured, and again upon his feet, there was no hope for him to escape by flight, and his gun was empty; nor was there aught near to afford him shield or shelter. a look cast despairingly around revealed the veldt smooth and level for miles in every direction. some bushes there were, with here and there a straggling tree, but none seemingly of sufficient size for climbing. at a last glance, however, he caught sight of one branched to the ground, and with a full, dense foliage. it might afford at least a temporary concealment, and without staying to think further, he made for it at lightning speed. luckily it was in his line of retreat, and as no time was lost, he got up to and behind it before the bull could overtake him. never was hunter more overjoyed than he, when after a quick inspection of the tree, he saw it had two trunks, either of which would bear his weight up to ten or twelve feet above the ground. but there was a _per contra_, which acted as a damper to his joy, on his perceiving that both were beset with sharp spines. for it was a _doorn-boom_ [note ] a very "monkey puzzle," to ascend which would have deterred most _quadrumana_, as for a time it did him. not long, however; it was "die dog, or eat the hatchet," a choice between horns and thorns, and piet van dorn preferred laceration by the latter, to facing certain death by the former. so throwing his arm around the largest of the twin trunks he commenced swarming up, regardless of the thorns tearing into his flesh, even undismayed by the hissing of a _boom-slang_ [note ] which with neck craned out threatened him from a branch above. but his resolution to climb had been too late. scarce were his feet well off the ground when he experienced a shock that sent him sprawling back upon it, a concussion of such violence as for a time to deprive him of his senses. on recovering them he saw that he was lying some six or seven paces from the tree, bruised and bleeding. but where was the buffalo-bull? raising himself on elbow, he looked all round; but no buffalo was in sight, nor quadruped of any kind. his own horse, with the hyena, had long since disappeared, and now also the horned bovine; he himself seemingly the only living, breathing thing over all that wilderness of veldt. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . the so-called laughing hyena (_h. crocuta_), as the other species, often make burrows, but sometimes appropriate those of the ant-eater. this species, though smaller than the striped hyena, is of a fiercer nature and more dangerous. so much so as to have earned for it among the south african colonists the title of _tiger wolf_. note . "doorn-boom." another of the thorny acacias so characteristic of south african scenery. note . "boom-slang." literally "tree snake." it is a large serpent, of yellowish brown colour, which makes its home in trees. it is not venomous, however, though of formidable aspect. chapter eight. trapped by a tree. the feelings of the young boer may be better imagined than described. for a time mystification, then changing to weird fear, as a sense of the supernatural stole over him. around the spot upon which he had been pitched were several small ant-hills; so, scrambling to the top of the nearest, and then standing erect, he had the veldt under his view for miles on every side. he could see no bush, nor other cover that would have concealed an animal so large as was the buffalo. yet buffalo there was none on it. it now recurred to him that his unconsciousness might have been of longer duration than he had supposed it; giving the buffalo time to scamper off out of sight. but this hypothesis was also untenable for more reasons than one. for an animal of such bulk to have got beyond his view on that smooth, level plain was of itself highly improbable. besides, why should the buffalo have run away from him? the last glimpse he had of it was while in mad, determined rush towards himself, and he knew it was the shock of its horns against the doorn-boom that had shot him off the tree as from a catapult. what reason would it have for retreating then, wounded as it was, and feeling itself, too, master of the situation, as it must have felt on becoming the aggressor? of all this the young hunter was conscious, and not on that account the more mystified. for he had also bethought him of his three bullets sent into the buffalo's body, recalling how carefully he had taken aim, and how their failing to bring the animal down, had surprised and puzzled him. it was then the weird fear came over him in full, almost a horror, as the mystery remained unsolved. he rubbed his eyes, and once more took a survey of the veldt; scanning it minutely all over, as he mechanically interrogated, "am i in my senses? or has it been a dream?" at this crisis his ears were saluted by a sound, seemingly in response to his questioning, and promising to end his perplexity. it was a loud snort, which he knew could only proceed from the throat of a buffalo-bull, and the same whose sudden disappearance had been puzzling him. just then reverberating all over the veldt in a long, continued roar, it seemed to rise out of the earth. but another noise in accompaniment was less misleading as to direction. this was the swish of leaves, with a snapping of twigs, as a tree tossed about by the wind. turning his eyes upon that he had late essayed to climb, he saw it was in violent agitation; oscillating to and fro, as if under the impulse of a tornado. but the bellowing which he now knew to come from among its branches told a different tale, proclaiming the buffalo still there. though thus relieved from all awe of the unearthly, piet van dorn was almost as much mystified as ever. what could the animal be doing by the doorn-boom, and why had it stayed there? as yet he saw it not, the thick foliage intervening, but its repeated routs, with the shakings of the tree, left no doubt about its presence. the thought flashed upon him that the bull supposed he had succeeded in ascending the tree, and was still up in it; so in blind fury had remained there, at intervals butting the trunk and bellowing. under this belief, both natural and probable, the first impulse of the young hunter was to take to his heels, and put space between himself and the dangerous brute, as much as the time would permit. for at any moment the bull might part from the tree, or come round it, and again catching sight of him renew the attack. so dropping down from the ant-hill, he was about to make off, when he bethought of his gun, twice shaken out of his grasp, and lying on the ground near by. but it was also dangerously near the doorn-boom, and to get hold of it would be a ticklish affair. still, to return to the camp without his gun--bad enough having to go without his horse--would be fearfully humiliating. how delighted andries blom would be, and how he would crow over it! "no! i won't go back without the gun, at all events," soliloquised piet van dorn, with returning courage, more confidently adding, "nor leave i this spot, till i can take with me a better account of what's happened than i can now." thus resolving, he stepped softly towards the roer, with his eye upon the shaking tree; and soon had the gun in hand again. of course, it was empty; as while retreating before the buffalo, he had not found an opportunity to reload. luckily, his quilted cartridge-belt was still fast buckled around his body, and a supply of percussion caps lay convenient in the pocket of his civet-skin waistcoat. down went the cartridge and rammed home, almost as quick as a partridge-shooter could have charged his patent "central fire." and now ready, the young jager set face for the doorn-boom, determined to try final conclusions with the brute that had parted him from his horse, besides giving him a scare, such as he had never before experienced. notwithstanding his restored courage, he was far from feeling reckless, and made approach with all due caution. for as yet, much of the mystery remained unsolved, and the behaviour of the buffalo as great an enigma as ever. the animal still continued its terrific routing, while the tree zig-zagged to and fro, both trunks, as though threatening to break down with a double crash. but for the thick foliage around the base, the young hunter would long before have had explanation of a thing so incomprehensible. it came at last, however, as he drew close in to the tree, and saw the buffalo with neck caught between the twin trunk, fixed and fast as if in a vice. in its furious rush it had forced its head through; the young flexible stems parting to let it pass, then reclosing; the neck was held as in a yoke, and the huge buttressed horns could not be drawn back again. so the bull had trapped himself in a tree! seeing how things stood, piet van dorn could not restrain himself from giving way to loud laughter. he did smile, a vengeful smile, as he thought of the trouble the black brute had put him to, with the chagrin it had caused him. but the better feeling of humanity soon triumphed over that of anger and revenge. he saw that the buffalo had received its death wound, from the shots he had fired at it, and its struggles in the clasp of the doorn-boom were but its last throes of life. mercy appealed to him to put an end to them; which he did by stepping close up to the animal, and sending a fourth bullet into its body; this was so aimed as to deprive it of life, with scarce a kick given after. chapter nine. belated on the veldt. for that day piet van dorn's hunting was at at an end, but with a finale far from satisfactory to him. true, he had succeeded in killing the buffalo, and would not have to return to camp trophyless. but how about his horse? the latter might be there before him--in all likelihood was there already--if not lost on the veldt. if lost, it would be no slight misfortune; his mount being of the best ever ridden by a vee-boer, and one that could not well be replaced. still he had not yet come to contemplating the matter in so serious a light; trusting to the animal's instinct to guide it back to its companions. but even this would have sinister consequences. that anything could have parted him and his pet steed, above all a tumble, and its becoming known to the fair _fraulein_, his ladye love, was aught but pleasant to contemplate. and the horse returning riderless would naturally create alarm in the camp, where, besides a sweetheart, he had an affectionate mother and sisters who would be in an agony of apprehension about him, he knew. furthermore, the thought of having to trudge it back afoot, wounded as he was--in fact a good deal disabled--was of itself sufficiently disagreeable. but just on this account was it necessary for him to start off at once. the sun was now little more than the breadth of its own disc above the horizon; and, if night caught him upon the veldt, he might have to stay in it till morning, almost certainly would. thus reflecting, he made no longer delay than the occasion called for. bleeding wounds were to be bound up; ugly scratches got in the attempt at climbing the doorn-boom, and a thorn or two that still stuck in his flesh had to be extracted. then there was the reloading of his gun, which it was not prudent to have empty in such a place. finally he cut off the buffalo's tail, to be taken along, less by way of trophy, than as evidence that, despite so many other mischances, he had not failed as a hunter. he would have preferred taking the horns, as he had never before seen so grand a pair; besides, it was to them he owed the life left him. but for their getting entangled in the tree, instead of his now, in cold blood, cutting off the buffalo's tail, the brute might have been standing over his lifeless body, trampling it into a mash. but, notwithstanding the service the horns had done him, and tempting as a trophy, it would take some time to detach them from the head, more than he had to spare, and in his disabled state they would be too much of a burden. so, shouldering his gun, with the bull's tail tied to its muzzle, he strode away from a spot so replete with incident, and what, but a short while before, seemed mystery incomprehensible. though comprehending it now, his perplexities were not over nor his troubles at an end. scarce had he commenced moving off when the hitherto unthought of question occurred to him-- "what direction am i to take?" it may seem strange his not thinking of this before; but men in his situation rarely do. the traveller on african plain or american prairie only becomes conscious of being lost when he _is_ lost. just such tardy consciousness now came to piet van dorn, but with so keen a sense of it as to bring him to an abrupt stop before he had made half-a-dozen steps. for a time he stood scanning the horizon around, but saw nothing there to give him guidance. he had hoped to descry a dark line along it; the timber skirting the stream by which they had encamped; but nothing of this was in sight. even the great mowana, with several others of its kind he knew to be near it, were below the level of the plain. [note ]. this added to his uneasiness, telling of the long distance he would have to tramp it, even with direction known. but the last was his present trouble, and he bent himself, with all the energies of his mind, to determine it. what assistance could he get from the sun? nothing else seemed to promise any, so he turned his gaze upon that. he remembered its having been before his face while he was pursuing the buffalo; well remembered this, as it had been in his eyes, and so dazzled them as to interfere with his aim. indeed, he blamed it, more than aught else, for his having failed to bring the animal down. but the sun had since changed place in the sky; true, not much, still enough to make it a blind guide, notwithstanding its brightness. it would help him in a way, however; and turning his back upon it, he was about to start off eastward, when lo! tracks on the ground before him! two sorts of hoof-marks there were; one cloven, the other whole and shod. the presence of neither surprised him, knowing, as he did, what animals had made them--of course the buffalo and his own horse. it was where he had fired his third shot, and the chase had come to an end by the bull rounding upon him. but beyond he could see the same tracks in a long line over the veldt, indicating the direction in which he had approached the place. there was no need for longer doubt or hesitation, he could not do better than take the trail of the chase backward; and back on it he went. not far, however, before again getting interrupted. out of some low scrub, through which it led, came a peal of wild hysterical laughter, that, to ears unacquainted with it, and in such a solitary place, would have been appalling. but piet van dorn knew the sort of creature that laughed; was sure of its being the same which had lately saluted him in a similar manner, as if mockingly. remembering this, recalling also, that to it he was indebted for the loss of his horse, with other resultant troubles, quick as lightning, he jerked his gun from his shoulder, and lowered it to the level. almost at the same instant he perceived the hyena making off through the bushes, as it sent back another of its unearthly cachinnations--the last it ever uttered. it did not even succeed in finishing that, being abruptly silenced by a bullet that dropped it dead in its tracks; the loud report of the roer replacing the animal's voice in prolonged reverberation over the plain. with something like a feeling of satisfied vengeance, the young hunter saw the hyena roll over dead. but for it he might still have been astride his noble steed--almost surely would--with the buffalo's grand horns carried on the croup behind him. and how different his situation--how aggravating! but there was no time to dwell on it, however; so, hastily ramming down another cartridge, and without even deigning to look at the worthless quarry killed, he continued on. so long as daylight lasted, there would be no difficulty about his taking up the trail; he could sight it going at a run. and run he did, now and then, despite his crippled condition, so anxious was he to get back to camp, though less on his own account than that of the anxious ones there. besides, to be out all night on the veldt alone and weakened as he was, were of itself a thing of danger. not only cowardly hyenas, but courageous leopards, even lions, might be prowling about and make prey of him. with such incentives to haste, he made it--all that was in his power. but despite all, he saw the sun sink down below the horizon without getting sight of the belt of timber he was looking for. nor came it in view during the short interval of twilight that succeeded, and through which he had hastened on without halt or pause, till night's darkness was almost down. then he made stop, and ascended an ant-hill, with a half-despairing hope that from its summit he might descry the wished-for beacon--perhaps see the lights of the laager fires. he saw them not, neither blaze nor spark; and, as night had now drawn its sable mantle around him, he had but the two alternatives--stay where he was, or go blindly groping onward. making choice of the former, he stayed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . as stated in a former note, the "mowana" in girth and spread of branches is perhaps the largest of all known trees, but far from being the tallest, in height rarely exceeding a hundred feet. chapter ten. a horse chased by wild hounds. that night there were sore hearts in the camp under the mowana, and eyes that closed not in sleep. a mother lay awake, thinking apprehensively about her son; sisters in like manner were in fear for the fate of a brother; while a young girl, not sister, but sweetheart, was no less uneasy about the absence of a lover. perhaps had piet van dorn, the object of this concentrated solicitude, been only sure of its being shared by katharina rynwald--for she was the waking sweetheart--the long, unhappy hours he was constrained to pass upon the veldt would have seemed shorter, and been less irksome. as it was, he too slept little, in part kept awake by the pain of his wounds, and partly by torturing thoughts. withal, he took steps for passing the night, in the best and safest way possible under the circumstances. anticipating a heavy dew,--which indeed, had already begun to fall--with that raw chilliness, as much the accompaniment of a tropical night as of one in northern climes, he had need to take precautions against it. thinly and lightly clad, just as when interrupted at target-practice, ever since hotly engaged, and all over perspiration, experience told him there was danger from this alone. so, warned by it, soon as he had made up his mind to remain there he dropped down from the ant-hill, and bethought himself of kindling a fire. but for this the luck was against him. there was no wood near, nor anywhere within sight; not a stick. all around the veldt was treeless, and alike bare of bushes; the only relief to its monotonous nakedness being some score or two ant-hills, like hayricks scattered over it. yes, there was something more, which after a time came under his eyes; some tall bunch grass growing at no great distance off, or rather had grown, for it was now withered and dead. true, it would not make a fire that could be kept up; but the young hunter saw it might be utilised in a way almost as good, by making a warm bed of it. soon as thought of, he unsheathed his hunting-knife, and set to cutting the grass, as reaper with "hook and crook." nor stayed he his hand, till several large armfuls lay along the earth. these, one after another, he carried up to the ant-hill he had first stopped at, and which, as already ascertained by him, had been abandoned by its insect builders. it was but the task of a few seconds to form the dry grass into a rough, but fairly comfortable couch; upon which he lay down, drawing the straggled selvedge over him, by way of blanket and coverlet. thus snugly ensconced, he took out his pipe, with flint, steel, and tinder, struck a light, and commenced smoking. one passing near, and seeing a red coal glowing in that heap of haylike grass, with smoke rising in curls over it, might have wondered at the grass not catching fire, and blazing up. but there was no one passing near, or likely to pass; and piet van dorn continued puffing away in solitary silence. after a time the tobacco in his pipe was burnt to the bottom; but finding it had given him some relief from the stinging of his sores, he refilled the pipe bowl, and went on smoking. at length the narcotic property of the weed produced a soporific effect; morpheus demanded his toll; and the wearied hunter, despite pain of wounds, and mental anxiety, sank into sleep, meerschaum in mouth. luckily, he lay on his back, and the pipe from habit was held tight between his teeth, till the ashes in it became cold. had it been otherwise, he might have soon and suddenly waked up, to find himself as a rat in the heart of a burning hayrick. as it chanced, he slumbered long, though how long he could not tell. dreamt also; in his dream, fancying himself still charged upon by the buffalo and that he heard its heavy tread on the firm turf as it came thundering towards him! but was it fancy? was the thing all a dream? questions he put to himself, when at length awakened by the visionary scene, he lay listening. no, not all. the trampling sound was real and recognisable; not as made by a buffalo, but the hoof strokes of a galloping horse! had there been any doubt about this, what instantly succeeded would have solved it--a neigh ringing clear and shrill on the calm night air. quick as a jack-in-the-box, piet van dorn was upon his feet; and with like alertness leaped up to the top of the ant-hill. the moon had meanwhile risen, and her light flooded the veldt all over, making objects distinguishable on it at far distance, almost as by day. but it did not need looking far for him to see the horse, nor an instant of time in recognising the animal as his own. not much longer, either, was he in learning why it galloped and screamed--for it was more scream than neigh that had waked up the echoes of the night: still waking them, in quick successive bursts, as the horse rushed affrightedly to and fro. no wonder at his fright with such a following; full a hundred other animals flecked and spotted, as seen under the clear moonlight: to all appearance a pack of hounds in pursuit of him! and hounds were they, but such as never came out of kennel; far fiercer than these, for they were the _wilde-honden_ [note ] of south africa. they were scattered over the veldt, in squads here and there, with the horse careering from point to point between them; and go in what direction he would, it was to get headed off by one group or another. at a glance the young hunter took in the situation, and trembled for his steed. the poor animal was black with sweat, and evidently far exhausted. no doubt it had been running thus pursued for hours, and at any moment now might be pulled down, and torn to pieces. how was such a fate to be averted? how could the horse be saved. the first impulse of its master, so interrogating himself, was to catch hold of his gun, and rush out to the rescue. the gun he caught hold of; but then came the thought, that instead of saving the horse, he would be himself sacrificed. well knew he the habits of the wilde-honden with their fierce, savage nature, and that, in their then excited state, man would be no more feared by them than horse, or any other animal. it would be like bearding a pack of hungry wolves; in fact, flinging away his life. but what ought he to do? what could he? nothing. "ah! yes; something!" he exclaimed, hope returning with a thought that had flashed across his brain. "there may still be a chance, if i can make him hear me." saying which, he thrust the tips of three fingers between his lips, and blew a whistle that went screeching across the veldt, repeating it several times. but much repetition was not necessary. at the first note of it reaching his ears, the horse was seen to give a start of recognition; then, as the second was sent after, the sagacious animal, trained to the signal, answered it with a joyous neigh, and came galloping up to the ant-hills. in half a minute more he was among them; and now guided by a well-known voice, soon stood by his master's side, panting, quivering in every fibre of his frame, but confidently whimpering, as if at length assured of safety. but he was not safe yet; neither he, nor his master, as the latter well knew. if he did not, it was instantly made known to him, as he saw the wilde-honden gather in from all sides trooping after. in a trice they too had entered among the ant-hills, and were still coming on for that beside which he and the horse stood. to the young hunter it was a crisis, dangerous as when being charged by the buffalo, and equally slight seemed his chance of escape. he had dropped back to the ground-- knowing he would be no safer on the ant-heap, which the clawed creatures could easily scale--and stood holding his horse in hand. the animal was still under saddle and bridle, as when it ran away from him. should he spring upon its back, and attempt to escape by flight? impossible. the horse was already tottering on his legs; another mile, perhaps half that with a rider on his back, and he would surely go to grass. piet van dorn was left no time for deliberation. what he did after was done in hottest haste, unreflectingly, almost despairingly. yet were its results of the best; could not have been better, if planned deliberately and in coolest blood. he first discharged his roer at the nearest and foremost of the honden, which went rolling over with a howl. the report of the gun--noise so unexpected--caused the rest to falter and hang back; then, before they had recovered confidence, they were saluted by a second clap of that thunder, so new to them, with its blaze of lightning, which still further cowed them. for all, they did not yet seem inclined to retreat; and piet van dorn, fancying the flash more frightened them than the crack, suddenly bethought him of a way to make it more effective. quickly striking a light, he set fire to the withered grass, on which he had lately been lying. it caught at once, flaring up with a flame that mocked the moon. and to keep it ablaze he employed the long barrel of his now empty gun, fork fashion, tossing the tufts of burning grass high in the air, all the while shouting at the loudest pitch of his voice. continuing to shout so, he would soon have been hoarse. fortunately he was spared this infliction; for the wilde-honden, at first sight of the conflagration, which they doubtless believed to be the veldt on fire, took to their heels, and scampered off in every direction; leaving the young hunter, and his newly-recovered horse, masters and sole possessors of the field. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . "wilde-honden" (_canis picta_). these wild dogs of south africa have some affinities with hyenas. they are sometimes called the hunting hyena (_hyena venatica_). they are as large as stag-hounds, and flecked and spotted in a similar manner, black and white blotches on a ground colour of reddish brown. but for their erect ears, which are large and black, they would bear a still greater resemblance to hounds. there is this also in their habit of pursuing their prey in packs, which renders them much more formidable than the hyena. they have little fear of man, and men have been often killed by them. chapter eleven. tracking back to camp. his lost steed, thus strangely, as it were miraculously, restored to him, gave piet van dorn gratification in more ways than one. the thought of his horse reaching the camp before himself, and so causing keenest alarm, had been his major trouble. but there was a minor one, far from insignificant, affecting his skill as an equestrian. of his hunter-prowess he had the proof; but who would know how the horse had got away from him, save those who might put faith in his own account of it? that there would be some to discredit him, he knew; andries blom would take care of that. but now he would ride back to camp with the buffalo's tail flouted triumphantly at the muzzle of his gun, as flag captured from an enemy; instead of sneers, or sympathy, to receive congratulations. under the excitement of this pleasant anticipation, that night he could sleep no more, nor did he try. and there was enough to keep him awake, in caring for his horse, the poor animal needing all the attention he could give it. having cut some wisps of the withered grass, he rubbed its coat dry, which greatly refreshed it; while the grass itself proved a fodder not unpalatable. but the horse suffered more from want of water than food, as he could see; and there was no water near, an added reason for making quick departure from the place. he would have started away from it at once, but the sky had become suddenly overcast, the moon obscured by thick cumulous clouds, and the night darker than ever. he could barely see the white ant-hills close around him, and of course the trail he had needs still follow would be undistinguishable. so he must wait for the morning's light. but light came sooner, and from a different source--out of the clouds themselves. they were rent by forks of lightning, and illumined by its flashes, with an accompaniment of thunder. rain followed, descending in sheets, as if emptied out of dishes--true storm of the tropics. there was water now for a hundred thousand horses, yet how was he to catch enough for one? he had no vessel, or aught else, to collect as much as a mouthful, though his animal was in a very agony of thirst, himself the same. he looked around in hopes of seeing a puddle, but there was none. soon as it fell the water filtered into the loose sandy soil, as if poured into rat-holes. what was to be done? "ha! a happy idea; the very thing itself!" so soliloquised he at sight of the rain running down the sloped sides of the ant-hills in rivulets. drawing knife again, he commenced delving into the firm tough compost, and kept at it till he had hollowed out a trough capable of containing a gallon. then making some diagonal scratches to guide the water into it, he had the satisfaction of seeing it soon fill, while he and his horse drank their fill also. the downpour was not of long continuance, though long enough to leave him without a dry rag on his body. little recked he of that now, being far more solicitous about another effect it might have produced, and which he feared it had. nor was his fear groundless; for when day at length dawned, and he rode out to get back upon the trace hitherto guiding him, not a sign of it was to be seen, neither track of horse nor buffalo. they had been all filled up by the rain wash--completely obliterated--and once more he was a lost man! this time, however, he was less dismayed, from having his horse under him. the sun had not yet risen, but the aurora, its precursor, told him which point was east; and, believing this to be the right direction, he took it. but long after the sun was up, he found himself wandering on the veldt, as much puzzled about his course as ever. the points of the compass he knew well enough, but the belt of timber was still invisible, and he may have gone too far eastward. he was about reining round to try another slant, when again tracks came under his eye--hundreds of them. all buffalo tracks these were, the hoof-prints well defined and easily recognisable. for the ground was different from that by the ant-hills, a firm, stiff clay, which had resisted the beating down of the rain. he had little doubt of their being made by the drove of yesterday's chase, and less after riding in among them, and making note of their number; the buffaloes had been close to the camp-ground, and it only needed proceeding along their trail to reach it. once more was piet van dorn full of confidence. but only for a very few seconds, when uncertainty again took possession of him. in what direction had the buffaloes been going when they passed that point? towards the camp, or from it, after being met and turned by the marksmen? he was unable to answer this question, and its answer was of absolute necessity ere he could proceed a step farther. without it he knew not which was his way, and would be as likely to take the wrong as the right one. it might be of serious consequence if he went wrong-- indeed fatal--so what he should do next needed deliberation. what he did do was, first to make more careful examination of the hoof-marks, hoping from them to draw deductions that would serve him. not as to time; in that respect there could not be any great difference between the tracks going toward the camp and those from it. even if there had, the rain would have rendered it imperceptible. but there might be a difference in the stride: animals pursued would make longer bounds than if running at will. his new inspection, however proved of no avail; nor could it, as he now bethought himself, recalling the fact that the buffaloes were in full run when first seen, and likely long before. he was about raising his eyes despairingly, when something on the ground caught his glance, and kept it rivetted. it was only a little pool of water--rain that had fallen still lying--but water dyed red, and with blood, beyond a doubt! of this he was confident; and equally sure it was blood from one of the buffaloes that had been wounded when the volleys were fired into the drove. hitherto he had been rather inclined to go as they had gone, still thinking his proper course lay eastward. now he knew better; and without further delay, wheeled his horse round, and struck along the trail backward. thenceforth it was all plain sailing, the track easily distinguishable, in places as if a steam-plough had passed along turning up the soil. he could have gone at a gallop, and would but for sparing his horse, which still showed signs of suffering from the terrible strain late put upon it. withal, he made fair way, and in another hour came upon familiar ground, where the buffalo-bull he had himself pursued separated from the herd. without seeing its tracks, or those of his horse, he could not have mistaken the place. there lay the carcases of two other buffaloes, the pair killed by rynwald and blom. they were little more than skeletons now; for as he rode up to them nigh a score of jackals went scampering off, while twice that number of vultures rose sluggishly into the air. at this point, for the first time since leaving it, piet van dorn caught sight of the timbered belt, to comprehend why he had not sooner sighted it. the reason was, the river, with some miles breadth of the adjacent terrain, being below the general level of the plain. he saw the mowana, too, under which was the laager, perceiving that he was even yet leagues from it. but distance no more troubled him; his thoughts, as his glances, being now given to two horsemen who were coming in quick gallop towards him. on their drawing nearer he recognised one of them as hendrik rynwald; the other not andries blom, but his own brother. they had come in quest of him, sent by anxious friends, themselves as anxious as any. rejoiced were they at the encounter, and not less he, though his joy in part proceeded from another and different cause. never listened he to sweeter words than those blurted out by hendrik rynwald, a generous, guileless youth, who said, grasping his hand-- "i'm so glad, piet, to see you safe! and won't sis kattie, too! i don't believe she slept a wink, all of last night." chapter twelve. a formidable obstruction. explanations having been hastily exchanged, the trio of young boers turned face toward the camp. burning to make known the joyful news, rynwald and piet's brother would have gone back at a gallop, and so piet himself. but there was something to delay them: this the horse late chased by wilde-honden. the rain, at first refreshing the animal, had afterwards produced an opposite effect, and the result of the sudden change from heat to chill was a founder, the creature being now barely able to keep on its legs. as it could not carry him further without cruelty, its merciful master, dismounting, led it along. this entailed slow progress, and thinking of those in the camp, with anxieties to be relieved, young rynwald proposed galloping on ahead. to this neither of the others objected, and he was about spurring away from them, when there arose another obstruction, of a still more formidable kind. an animal it was, seen standing right on the track he would have to take--one that could not be passed with impunity. many animals were there, for it was where several other buffaloes had been shot down, whose carcases, now mangled, were surrounded by jackals, hyaenas, and vultures. but it was not any of these that stood in hendrik rynwald's way, in an attitude of angry menace. instead, the king and master of them all--a lion; one of the largest and fiercest-looking any of the young hunters had ever seen, much less encountered. the tawny brute appeared as though he had but late arrived on the ground, coming in at the end of the feast to find only bare bones; and, being hungry, the disappointment had roused his rage to the highest pitch of fury. having caught sight of the oncoming horsemen, he evidently intended venting his spleen, as well as appeasing his hunger, on one or other of them. he stood crouched and roaring, with mane erect and tail oscillating to and fro; both the attitude and action well-known to lion-hunters as indicative of greatest danger. the two bestriding fresh horses need not have much feared the black-maned brute, and for that matter could have avoided an encounter with it by riding wide away and around. for to a man well mounted the lion is only dangerous in thicket, or jungle, hindering free action to the horse. but circumstanced as they were, the young boers saw that only two of their horses had a fair chance of escaping thus, and perhaps but two of themselves. the third must surely come to grief in any attempt at shunning the lion, and to face it boldly could not well have worse result; so facing it was instantly determined on. indeed, the resolve could not have been delayed; as at this place the veldt was overgrown with tall grass, and they were close to the danger before sighting it--so close, that in a dozen of his cat-like leaps the lion might at any moment launch himself in their midst. less from any hope of his now staggering steed helping him to escape, than the impulse of instinct--or rather habit--piet van dorn sprang back into the saddle; and the three, drawing their horses' heads together, remained at halt with their eyes fixed on the leeuw. the brute was within range of their roers, and the question was whether all three should fire together, or in succession. not much time was allowed them for determination, in fact, not any. scarce had they their guns in readiness when, with a roar loud as last night's thunder, the lion came vaulting towards them. the three pulled trigger almost simultaneously; two of them, hendrik rynwald and the younger van dorn, to miss, their frightened horses as they danced about spoiling their aim. different was it with that ridden by piet, whose forlorn condition was, possibly, as unexpectedly the saving of his own and master's life. too far gone even for affright, he stood stock still; nor budged an inch, till the roer, with muzzle projected beyond his ears, belched forth flame and smoke; a bullet at the same time, which striking the leeuw fair on the frontlet, went crashing through its skull. as a result the creature, so dreaded, tumbled instantly over like a shot rabbit, and lay in the long grass equally harmless. with all south africans, be they natives, colonists, vee-boers, or other, the killing of a lion is an event to be chronicled, and he who kills one is deemed to have performed a feat worthy of great praise; of course all the greater when one of such size as that which had fallen to piet van dorn's bullet. its skin would be a spoil indeed, and he determined taking it with him. there was no longer such need for haste on his part, as hendrik rynwald could now carry out his original intention of preceding to camp--which he did. dismounting again, the brothers set about stripping the leeuw of its pelt; an operation which cost them but a few minutes' time, both being used to such work. then with the skin thrown over the saddle, they continued on toward the timber, piet leading his horse as before. in another half-hour, or so, they were near enough the camp-ground to make out the figures of the men and animals that occupied it; to see something, moreover, which filled them with surprise, even amazement. there was commotion in the laager and around it, people rushing excitedly hither and thither; horses and oxen being caught up and led hurriedly from point to point. borne on the still air also they could hear voices, shouts, uttered in alarm as the tone testified. in wonder at what it all meant, the brothers pushed faster forward. piet, no longer so tender with his halting steed, forced the animal into a trot, himself running alongside. and when within nearer view their wonder was no less, instead greater, and now with fear added. for they saw the waggons drawn out upon the open veldt, with the oxen in long line attached to the trek-touws, while the horses were all under saddle and bridled. clearly the camp was being broken up, and about to be abandoned. but for what reason? had the matabele turned hostile, and was a party of them threatening attack? but no, it could not be that. if attacked, the laager would be the best place for resistance; far safer than with the waggons _on trek_. what then could be causing a movement so unexpected--so inexplicable? the two youths were in a very maze of mystification. but not much longer were they left in it. when within half a mile of the camp, a horseman came riding in all haste towards them--hendrik rynwald. "what is it?" hailed they, soon as he was within hearing. to receive for answer, "the _tsetse_! the _tsetse_!" chapter thirteen. attacked by "tsetse." in all likelihood few of my readers need telling what is the tsetse, dr livingstone and other travellers having given full account of this scourge of southern africa. an insect, little bigger than the common fly of england, but whose sting is deadly as the bite of rattle-snake or cobra-di-capello; fortunately not to man himself, but to man's best friends in the animal world--dogs, horses, cattle, and sheep [note ]. so when andries rynwald called out the name of the venomous creature, piet van dorn and his brother had instant and clear comprehension why the camp was being so abruptly abandoned. the tsetse had made its appearance there; in flight lay the sole chance of saving the stock, and even this might be too late. only within the hour had the danger been discovered, by the presence of the insect becoming known. on the days before, and up till nigh noon of this one, nothing had been seen of it after most careful search. as a customary precaution they had looked for it all around the mowana. had it been observed, no camp would have been established there, much less a laager; not even the shortest halt made. but confident of the place being uninfested, the wearied travellers had joyfully out-spanned with the intention of taking a long spell of rest. then, the alarm caused by the buffaloes over, they had breathed freely again, and were enjoying themselves more than ever; for that danger, so far from resulting in damage, had proved a profit to them. the daily provisioning of such a large party called for a goodly quantity of meat, more than was always obtainable by the chase. on the karoo, just crossed, wild animals were so scarce and shy, that with all the skill of their hunters the larder had run low. and no longer having their sheep to depend upon, the buffaloes coming that way, with so many killed, had been a bit of rare good luck, seeming almost providential. nor did they fail to make the best of it; these animals having been skinned and butchered; the choicest of their beef cut into thin strips, and hung over riems stretched between the trees for conversion into _bultong_ [note ]. there they were still hanging, like strings of sausages; the red meat fast becoming a mahogany colour as the hot sun shone down upon it, and drew out its juices. the _naacht-maal_ of the evening before had been a rich repast. the ant-hill kitchen-range, again called into requisition, had sent up its appetising odour, with buffalo steaks frizzling in the pans, and tongues, the tit-bits, simmering in the pots. the same for the _morgen-maal_ of this the next day, which, withal, had been far from cheerful. quite the reverse to the relatives of piet van dorn, as to most of the camp people, the missing youth being a general favourite. anxiety on his account, keen throughout all the night and morning hours, had reached its keenest when andries rynwald was seen coming back at a gallop, and alone. he seemed the bearer of bad tidings, while in reality those he brought were of the best, relieving every one on the instant of his arrival. indeed, before it, as from afar off he had shouted, to ears acutely listening, "piet's safe!" soon to follow the joy-giving announcement with account of why the brothers lagged behind. again was there gladness in the camp, greater than ever, as it always is when the lost are found. but, alas! it was not of long continuance. scarce had the returned searcher dropped down from his saddle, when those who gathered clusteringly about him and his horse became conscious of a sound, which caused one and all to start and cry out. it was but as the buzz of a blue-bottle, but with sharper intonation and intermittent. in short, they knew it to be the "tzip" of the tsetse; at the same instant catching sight of the insect itself, its brown colour, with yellow-banded abdomen, rendering it easily recognisable. with its long wings in whirring play, it was flitting about over the horse's body, as if in search of a spot to settle on. eager hands were stretched forth to seize hold of, or crush it. they supposed it to have come along with the horse, and so the only one of its kind there. but their efforts were idle; with the sun high and hot, the tsetse becomes exceedingly active, and as difficult to be caught as a _bombylins_ or dragon-fly. darting from point to point, it eluded all their attempts; in fine, retreating from its persecutors with a bizz that seemed to say, "catch me if you can." it flew off towards some of the trek oxen that chanced to be near, and several of the men followed in hopes of being able to kill it there. but their surprise was light compared with their alarm, when, on getting up to the oxen, they saw not one tsetse but a score of them; ay, there might be hundreds or thousands for aught they could tell. the pestilent insects were flitting about everywhere, and it was evident not only the trek oxen, but the milk cows and horses were being assailed by them. the dogs, too, as could be told by their rushing around and biting their own bodies; some closing their jaws with a snap, like the shutting of a snuff-box lid, in their efforts to seize the creatures that were torturing them. it was now that the camp rang with that cry which had caused consternation in many another, and broken many another up. "tsetse--tsetse!" called out half a score voices in chorus. "gott en himmel! they're swarming all around!" then followed a scene of wildest excitement; that rushing to and fro observed by piet van dorn and his brother as they came within sight, and heard the racket of shouts which had so mystified them. they understood it all now, before rynwald came up to them; who, after some hurried words of explanation little needed, reined his horse round, and the three rode together to the camp. on arrival there, piet van dorn was embraced by loving, affectionate arms, and had kisses showered on his cheeks. even a sly one got he from his sweetheart, in a shadowed spot under the trees. but not much was made of the spoils he had brought back. just then the vee-boers had other fish to fry--a great danger to get rid of--which he, as all the rest, was called upon to combat. quickly dismounting, he lent a hand of help in the lading of the waggons, which soon after-packed in a hurried, higgledy-piggledy fashion--were ready for the route. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . "the tsetse" (_glossinia morsitans_). although the sting of this insect is fatal to the domesticated quadrupeds above named, the mule and ass are not injured by it. neither are any of the wild animals that inhabit the districts infested by it--a circumstance seeming strange and inexplicable. note . the "bultong" of the south africans is meat cured in a similar fashion to the _tasaio_ of the mexicans, and _charqui_ of south america, commonly know as "jerked beef." the process is of great service in countries where salt is a scarce commodity, or does not exist. chapter fourteen. crossing a "drift." as yet the alarmed emigrants had not decided on the direction to be taken. up stream was that which led to the district of country they were _treking_ to. but to keep on the river's banks, wooded as these were, might be to continue in the infested region, and they would nothing gain by changing their place of encampment. at rest, or moving, their animals would become victims to the insects' venom all the same. so before starting, a consultation was held to determine the route. hurried it was, and without unanimity of opinion. jan van dorn, leader of the party, believed the tsetse had been brought thither by the buffaloes, and was not anywhere else than just around that spot. there was much probability in this view, regarding the behaviour of these animals in their mad rush and routing. not that they need have feared the insect; as, unlike with domesticated cattle, its sting is never fatal to them. but it annoys, and often sets them on the run. despite this likelihood, the other two _baases_, blom and rynwald, differed with van dorn. in their belief there was tsetse all along the stream, up and down, and their best way would be to trek off from it inland--anywhere. while they were still undecided, the gordian knot was cut by their guide, smutz. the nimble hottentot had climbed, monkey-like, into the highest branches of the mowana, where he commanded a far view of the surrounding country; and from this elevated position had descried a place of probable safety. it was a range of high hills running parallel with the river; a dry, rocky ridge without any sign of timber on it, and therefore unlikely to be infested with the fly so much feared. shouting down his discovery, it brought their deliberations to an abrupt end, with a resolve to make straight for the hills. in any case it would be but the loss of a day or two's time, with the toil of some twenty miles' extra travel, the ridge appearing to be about ten or twelve miles off. but what of that, so long as it saved their stock from destruction? and, without further delay, the word went round for starting; the oxen were whipped up, and the waggons moved off, leaving the laager, late full of busy life, a deserted, desolate spot. the river had still to be crossed, as they were on its southern side, and the range of hills lay north. but about this they anticipated no difficulty; having examined the _drift_ on the day before, and found it easily fordable. when the attempt came to be made, however, it did not prove so easy. the rain-deluge of the preceding night, which half drowned piet van dorn among the ant-hills, had swept all over the country, and the stream was now in freshet to full channel. there were ways of getting the people across, the animals, too. but the waggons must wait for the subsidence of the waters. luckily, this had commenced, and, as they could see, was going on rapidly. many south african rivers rise to highest flood, to fall again within a few hours, and such an one this appeared to be. with glad eyes they saw it go down by inches, as though the water were filtering into the earth underneath, as well as running off down stream. confident it would soon be at its normal level, they did not think of outspanning. instead, the oxen were kept attached to _dissel-boom_ [note ], and trek-touw; only the horsemen dismounting to make things more trim for the passage across. in an incredibly short space of time the water was low enough to attempt it; and then arose a chorus of shouts, with cracking of whips, as drivers, _achter-shambok_ men, and forelopers, urged the oxen down the sloping bank into the stream's bed. not less was the fracas while the fording was being made, every moment of it a continuance of encouraging cries, and whip-cracks loud as pistol shots, till the three huge vehicles were dragged out on the northern shore, high, but not dry; instead, dripping wet up to their boxes. the fording had been effected without serious accident, though accompanied by one of a comical character, in which andries blom was the conspicuous figure. this ill-starred youth, now more than ever jealous of piet van dorn, while crossing the drift, rode close to the waggon that carried katharina rynwald. with the hope of re-establishing himself in her good graces, he was making great show of solicitude for her safety, as also display of his horsemanship. this is a set-off against piet's late pitch out of the saddle, which had become known, and his own account of it credited by all, save andries himself. the latter, however, affected disbelief in it, insinuating that it was a simple downright "throw," no hyena-hole, nor any other having aught to do with it. while wading his horse alongside the waggon, he had sneeringly said as much to katharina, to get for his pains a look of reproachful scorn. stung by it, and the jealousy that tortured him, he became reckless, spurring his horse angrily in front. but the animal, angered too, commenced pitching about, and tripping on the loose, slippery stones in the stream's bed, went head over, not only sousing its rider, but flinging him from the saddle. as the two struggled out upon the bank, paces apart, the laughter that from all sides saluted him was bitter as though it came from the throats of fiends; all the more that a sweet silvery voice took part in it, which he knew to be katharina's. but the merriment at his discomfiture was of short duration. just then, all were oppressed with an apprehension of the tsetse having already done its deadly work, and that the fatal result would declare itself later on. it was not that, however, which brought their hilarity to an end, abrupt as though a bombshell had burst in their midst. this came from a shout sent from the opposite side of the stream--that they had just left--a cry of alarm. looking across, they saw one of the caffres, who had lingered behind at the laager to pick up odds and ends, coming at full run down to the drift, as he ran, excitedly exclaiming, "olifants! olifants!" (elephants.) what was there in this announcement to alarm them? instead, a professional hunter would have hailed it with delight, thinking of ivory and the gain to be got from it. so might they, but for a spectacle which on the instant after they had under their eyes. looking back upon the open list, late traversed by them, they beheld a band of elephants, nigh a hundred in number, in all likelihood the same met on their midnight march across the karoo. but whether they, or others, the danger was all the same and imminent. the huge pachyderms were coming over the veldt and in their usual fashion, single file, making straight for the drift, and likely to cross there. these sagacious animals know all the waters within any district frequented by them--the springs, vleys, and streams, with their fording places. the herd was advancing as if along an oft-trodden track, and the apprehension of the vee-boers--a very fear--was not without sufficient cause. should the elephants continue on over the stream, it would be sure destruction to everything that chanced in their way. the rush of the buffaloes, lately dreaded, were as nothing to it. it was now that the head _baas_, jan van dorn himself, assumed authoritative command, and gave display of his intelligence; calling to the forelopers to lead off, with the drivers and jambok men to whip up after. the waggons were instantly switched to one side, and clear of the track, which the elephants, left unmolested, would be likely to take. the driven cattle, too, were hurried out of the way, the people at the same time seeking safety in concealment. but the old jagers had no intention of leaving the olifants unmolested; instead, he meant to make slaughter among them, and from their tusks get some compensation for the loss sustained by that wholesale poisoning of sheep. he had barely time to arrange his battery--all the available guns belonging to the party--as the leading elephant, a grand old tusker, with ears big as carriage umbrellas, entered the open list in the timber, the rest still following in file. though going only in a walk, it was with a stride that carried them along fast as most other animals in full run, and in a few seconds after the tusker stood on the stream's bank; then with a flourish of trumpets, and a whirl of his flexible trunk, struck straight down into the water. but never to go out of it again alive, on his own legs. scarce had he wetted his huge hooves, when he was saluted by a fusillade from the opposite side that not only tumbled himself over, but five or six of his fellows following immediately behind, some of them wounded, some killed outright. the rest of the herd took instant affright and wheeling round, went off in wild rush, no longer aligned, but in scattered confusion, breaking through the bushes in every direction. when the waggons were again drawn back upon track, and moved off inland, in addition to their usual loading, they carried several hundred pounds weight of valuable ivory. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . the "dissel-boom" of a waggon is the pole to which the hind oxen are attached, the others in front drawing by the trek-touw. chapter fifteen. a camp full of carcasses. another encampment of the vee-boers, their three waggons as before, forming its substantial centre. in almost everything else it is different from that under the baobab, being situated in a _kloof_ [note ] between two rocky ridges, which, trending towards one another, meet and form a sort of _cul-de-sac_. the valley's bottom is of some breadth, grass--covered but treeless, save some stunted bushes scattered thinly over it, with here and there a tall camel-thorn, from which hang the purse-like pensile nests of a colony of weaver birds. the ridges are of basalt, and along their slopes lie huge boulders, some square-shaped and big as houses; other similar blocks being strewn about on the level below. just over the camp, and shadowing it from the sun, is a high _kop_ [note ], on whose ledges cling aloes, euphorbias, and other plants, characteristic of desert vegetation; for all is barrenness, above and around, the bottom land alone showing any sign of fertility. this last is due to a spring, which, issuing from the cliff's base, trickles down the valley, to be caught in a little pool, some hundred paces below. being a permanent fontein, it afforded sufficient water for all the animals when they wanted it. but few of them want it now; most being dead, whilst those that survive are in death's throes, without hope of recovery. the fatal work begun by the tulp, is being finished by the tsetse; good as finished already--and the migrating graziers will soon be without stock of any kind, horse, ox, or cow. even their dogs are dead or dying. this wholesale fatality, as they have since ascertained, was brought about by the buffaloes; some of the people, sent back to the river higher up, having there found no signs of the venomous insect. they had gone with a view to continuing the journey; but before a fresh start could be made, the too well-known symptoms of tsetse-sickness had declared themselves, and all thoughts of treking further were relinquished. for the first forty-eight hours the effect of the poison had not been perceptible, and there was a hope of the animals escaping. a hope which had to be abandoned when they began to water at the eyes, and run at the nostrils, their hair standing on end as in the midst of an arctic winter, while they were under the hottest of tropical suns. soon after came swelling of the jaws, scouring, with consequent emaciation, weakness to staggering; some actually going mad, as with hydrophobia, and having to be shot. all would have been shot ere this, but for a lingering, half-despairing belief that some might still get over it. this is now gone; many of them have been buried; and of those above ground, the dying lie mingled with the dead, groaning and moaning piteously. when at length comes the conviction that all are doomed, the fiat goes forth to put the suffering creatures out of pain. the guns are again brought into requisition; a brisk, though reluctant, fusillade follows, and the camp is left without a living quadruped. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ for a time there was silence, profound and solemn as that which succeeds the firing over a soldier's grave. every one sate despondent, or stood in listless attitude, ignorant of what was next to be done. they but knew that to remain there would be out of the question, while treking away with their waggons was no longer possible. these huge vehicles, now teamless, with their white canvas covers, were as ships becalmed in mid-ocean; all sails set, but not a breath of wind to blow them on. and the migrating boers themselves might be likened to shipwrecked sailors-- castaways on a desert shore--for not much better was their situation. around they saw the ruin of their hopes, the wreck of their fortunes, but nothing of what lay before them, or beyond. under such circumstances no wonder at their being sad and despondent. but if silent, not so was the scene around. throughout the kloof were noises enough, and more than enough, since all were disagreeable to their ears. skulking among the rocks and bushes, the jackal gave out its long--drawn, lugubrious whine, in concert with the wild, hysterical laughter of the hyena; while from the ledges above came the hoarse wah-wah of baboons, as though these quadrumana were afflicted with colds, and all the time clearing their throats. along the cliff's crest were perched vultures of various species, sunning themselves, with wings outstretched, now and then uttering harsh croaks as they contemplated the rich banquet below, soon to be ready for their beaks. [note .] eagles, soaring high in air, meant partaking of it also, as betokened by their necks craned downwards, and screams of eager concupiscence. an interval having elapsed, and the necessity for action forcing itself upon his mind, the head baas, jan van dorn, summoned his two associates into council, for deliberation on what should be done. a flat-topped stone near the centre of the camp offered a convenient seat, and, sitting down upon it--all three pipe in mouth--the leader thus delivered himself-- "brothers! we're in a bad way now; it couldn't well be worse." "ya--ya, that is true," responded the others in a breath, blom adding-- "nach mynheer jan, it couldn't possibly be worse." "then what ought we to do, think you?" to which merely formal question van dorn received no answer, the other two tacitly puffing away at their pipes in expectation that he would tell them. accustomed to this sort of deference the old jager no longer held back, but proceeded to unburden himself, saying-- "well, brothers; the first thing we must do is to look out for our lives--our very lives. and it's the only thing we can do now. to keep on to the place we were making for, even though sure of reaching it, wouldn't help us a bit. without our cattle we'd be no better off there than here; and now that our horses and dogs are gone too, there's but small chance for us subsisting by the chase. once our ammunition gave out, we'd be just as bosjesmen, have to live on roots and reptiles. that's not the life for a vee-boer, nor the diet either." "_gott der himmel_, no!" was the deprecatory exclamation of blom, sent forth between two puffs of smoke. "so," continued van dorn, "i see no hope for us but return to the transvaal." "neither i. nor i," assented the associate baases, rynwald adding interrogatively-- "but, mynheer jan, how are we to get back there?" this was just the trouble that stared all in the face, and had been in their thoughts ever since the tsetse-sickness first made its appearance among the stock. for in their thoughts, also, was the karoo they had lately crossed with so much difficulty and danger. this when they had all the means of transport, waggons to carry their women, children, provisions, and other effects, with horses to ride upon. what would be the recrossing it without these, and afoot? impossible, as van dorn well knew; and so declared, saying-- "overland, brothers, we never could get back. we are more than three hundred miles from zoutpansberg, the nearest settlement of our people, as you know. some of us might hold out to reach it, but not all; only the strongest. the weak ones, our dear ones, would many of them perish by the way. need i say more?" "no--no!" promptly responded rynwald, thinking of a wife and only daughter, the fair katharina. "that's enough, mynheer jan. we mustn't attempt to go back over the karoo; it would be our ruin, as you say." "then how are we to go?" demanded blom. "what other way?" "by _water_," answered the head baas. "we must make down the river, and on to the sea." "what river are you speaking of?" "the limpopo. the stream we've just left should run into it, not a great way below; and the limpopo itself empties somewhere to the northward of delagoa bay. i have heard there is a portugese settlement, a small port near its mouth, where whalers and coasting vessels occasionally call. if we can reach that, 'twill give us a chance to get down the coast to port natal, and then over the drakenbergs back home." "that would be a long voyage," suggested blom, "full of all sorts of dangers, too." "in time not near so long as by land, and not half as many dangers either--if we have luck." "ay, if we have luck. but suppose we haven't?" "we must take the chances, mynheer hans; all the more as there's no help for it. but i'm sure it's our best way." "so i," seconded rynwald. "but," said blom, less objecting than to get a clearer comprehension of what their chief intended, "you don't propose our descending the river afoot--tramping along the banks, do you?" "certainly not! that would be a trudge to take time, indeed; harder than crossing the kalahari [note ] itself. we'll sail down to the sea." "but what about boats? we have none." "we must do without them--build rafts, which in a way will be better than boats." "oh! that's your idea, mynheer jan. i suppose it's a good one, and for the best. well, i'm willing too. so let us make it a water journey." the other two having already pronounced in favour of this, the consultation came to a close by van dorn saying-- "and, brothers; the sooner we start the better. we can gain nothing by staying longer in this tainted spot; but may lose something--our health, likely, if not our very lives." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . "kloof," the boer's designation of a valley of the ravine order. note . the "kop" is a cliff-like promontory overhanging a valley or plain, nearly synonymous with the american "bluff." it is, doubtless, the dutch radix of our word _cape_. note . there are no less than seven distinct species of vultures inhabiting south africa; while the species of eagles are still more numerous. note . "kalahari," the name of the great south african desert, or karoo, which extends north from the orange river, and west of the transvaal, for hundreds of miles. its borders, and some parts of its interior, are inhabited by bushmen and bechuanas. chapter sixteen. a carnival of the carnivora. needless to say that van dorn's last words, pointing to the urgency of immediate departure, were convincing to his associate baases, had they stood in need of conviction. but neither did; they, as he, being but too glad to get away from a scene where they had suffered so much loss, to say nothing of the misery. the spectacle now under their eyes was itself sufficiently disagreeable, seeming a very charnel-house. scores of carcasses lay in and around the camp; and, as the hot sun continued to burn down upon them, the effluvia was every moment becoming more offensive, and would soon be unbearable. true, they could be buried as those first dying had been. but, for days past, an understanding prevailed that the encampment was to be changed, time and place alone remaining undetermined. the former had now come, and the latter been also resolved upon; no new ground, but one familiar to them--in short, that they had so lately and hurriedly abandoned. they need have no fear of re-occupying it, nor had they. tsetses might be swarming there thick as midges in midsummer; but nothing cared they now. the only hurt these insects could hereafter do was by their presence to remind them of the damage already done, recalling dissipated hopes and expectations. so far as the accursed fly was concerned, however, it was no longer thought of; and all were full of eagerness to be back under the mowana. they had pleasant remembrance of the hours spent beneath its shade, so different from that of the kop, which but gave them shadow when the sun had either not reached, or passed meridian. besides, on the river's banks grew trees of many kinds, affording edible fruits, some even delicious. no wonder, then, at the general joy, when it became known they were to move back to the river. the prospect inspired every one, as it were, with new life; and when the moving commenced, as on the instant it did, all hastened to lend hand of help. for there was much work to be done, big burdens to be carried in the transference of their effects from camp to camp. and it would take more than one trip ere completed. the women and children were marched off first, even these carrying loads proportioned to their strength. and with them went the first batch of regular carriers, to be followed by another, soon as the packages were made ready for transport; then another, and so on--all to return again. thus down the ten miles of slope between mountain range and river passed a continuous stream of men bearing burdens, like ants on return to their hills; the same men soon after going back upward, unweighted, and with light elastic step. only the downward journey was accomplished on the first day, as it was late ere they had commenced it. but on the second they made the "round trip," and more; three times traversing the space between the camps. not all were of the last party that returned to the hills, only a certain number needing to go thither now. most of the effects intended for removal had been got down on the second day, the waggons alone remaining in the kloof. of course these cumbrous vehicles, of no use now, would be left behind; but not their tilts. these, sure to prove of good service afterwards, were to be fetched away, and it was chiefly for them the carriers had come back. the party consisted of half-a-dozen young boers, with about twice the number of caffres and hottentots, piet van dorn having charge of it. the sun had set ere they re-entered the old camp; and as all were fagged out by the incessant toil of the two days, their thoughts alone dwelt upon rest and sleep. the return journey, their last, was to be made on the following morning, and there was no necessity for further work that night. so they at once betook them to their respective sleeping-places; the young white men climbing into the waggons, their native attendants, wrapped in _karosses_ [note ] laying themselves along the ground underneath. soon all were buried in a profound slumber; the dismantled camp around them silent as a cemetery. but it was a silence of short duration. scarce had they become unconscious, ere getting awakened by sounds which robbed them of the power of sleep, if not its desire. for their ears were saluted with the cries of wild beasts, coming from every side, and of so many kinds, it seemed as if all the predatory species of africa were assembled within the kloof. in point of fact, most were there, attracted from far and near by the scent of the dead animals, whose carcasses were now far gone in decomposition. on previous nights there had been something of the same, though never such a racket as now. then fires had been kept burning to frighten the beasts off; but this night being warm, and the last they were to spend on that spot--tired, too,-- the young men had neglected taking such precaution; imprudently, as all saw, when startled out of their sleep by the roar of a lion, multiplied in loud reverberation along the adjacent cliffs. it was but the prelude of a horrible chorus quick succeeding, in which could be distinguished the angry "gurr" of the leopard, the spiteful snarl of the cheetah, and the cat-like miaulling of the serval. hyenas of different species alternatively howled, chattered, and laughed, while jackals contributed their snappish bark to the fear-inspiring din. fear-inspiring it was to those freshly awakened; all the more when, after rubbing their eyes, they looked off, to see a sight which made their flesh creep, and blood run cold. no wonder. over the camp-ground were lions, leopards, and the other sorts, thick as sheep in a pen, in all attitudes, and every variety of action; some tugging and tearing at the carcasses, others in dispute about pieces already severed: still others rushing to and fro in quest of a stray morsel. the moon shining in full effulgence rendered them distinguishable, almost as by daylight; while on the still calm air within the kloof, the roaring, growling, yelping, and howling, all repeated in echo from the cliffs, combined to make a very pandemonium. fortunate for those who listened that the tilts were still upon the waggons, with end curtains of strong stuff to draw close--in part designed for just such a danger. in a trice everybody was inside them-- white, black, and yellow--the flaps pulled to, and all made safe as might be. still the situation was one of greatest peril. what if, after eating the dead animals, the devourers should turn their attention to the living men, and make a burst through the canvas? the stroke of lion's paw, or leopard's either, would tear that screen to sheds as though it were but tissue-paper, and they, concealing themselves under it, well knew this. but they knew also, that if left unmolested, more likely the fierce brutes, having filled their bellies, would retire from the ground, and give no further trouble. for a time they were so left; but not long. the position was too ticklish and irksome for continued endurance. the young boers, deprived of their rest, and kept in such a stretch of apprehension, soon began to chafe at it, till their impatience became anger, rendering them reckless. besides there was one always eager to distinguish himself as a hunter, and never might such opportunity occur again. this was piet van dorn, who at length casting all prudence aside, proposed opening fire on the enemy. being chief of the party, and with controlling power, his proposal was unanimously agreed to; and, in less than five minutes after, the brutes making such noise over the camp-ground, heard other noises that were new to them--the cracking of guns--at the same time saw puffs of smoke, with jets of flame, darting out from the white covers of the waggons. surprise, with some fear, hushed the wild beasts into a momentary silence; the cowardly _canidae_--hyenas and jackals--scampering off at the first fire. but the fiercer and more courageous felines kept their ground, till a second volley had been sent into their midst; then only moving away with sullen reluctance, some even staying to receive a third discharge from the death-dealing guns. but of those that thus stayed, not many got off afterwards. the clear moonlight afforded a fine chance for sure aim, and the young boers--all best marksmen--made deadly play with their roers, scarce missing a shot. in fine, the camp was cleared of its fierce four-footed invaders, save those that had fallen. and of these could be counted a goodly array; four lions, with two lionesses, three leopards, and a couple of cheetahs! their pelts, stripped off the next morning, added to the weight requiring transport. but the young jagers could make light of this additional lading, in anticipation of the triumph such spoils would secure them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . "kaross." a wrap of blanket size and shape, made of the skins of wild animals stitched together; they are worn by most of the uncivilised natives of south africa. various sorts of skins are used in their manufacture; those of the leopard and cheetah, or hunting-leopard, forming the distinctive garb of a chief. chapter seventeen. water-horses. over a week has elapsed, and the vee-boers are still in their old camp under the baobab. its appearance is much the same as during their former occupation of it--that is, the portion inside the laager-fence. for though the waggons are absent, their arched covers, supported on short uprights, stand just as they stood, now doing service as tents. they are the sleeping-places of the women and children, also giving shelter to such household gods as need the protection of a roof. to speak of a vee-boer having household gods may seem a misnomer, since he never has a house. still there are certain penates he carries about; the most cherished being a black-letter bible, large as a volume of the "encyclopedia britannica," in thick leather binding, with brass clasps. this ponderous tome goes with him, wander where he will; for the south african dutchman is strong in the protestation of religion, whatever his practice of it. there had been one such bible in each of the three waggons--the respective belongings of the families, van dorn, blom, and rynwald--and, it need scarce be said, that these sacred volumes were not left behind in the kloof. outside, on the veldt, all is different. the groups of grazing stock are no more seen there--not a single head; while close to the laager's edge appears a new feature, a "_hartebeest house_" [note ] late erected. it is for the young whites of the party; the native employes contenting themselves with such coigns of shelter as are afforded by the trunks of the mowanas. in these, some have ingeniously hewn out cavities, large enough to give them lodgment, others having in like manner utilised the adjacent ant-hills. all this bespeaks prolonged residence there, and not far off is a spectacle, showing the reason; telling also they have not been idle in the interval. down on the river's bank by the drift is a scene of greatest activity, where some scores of logs have been collected, and are being made ready for the timbers of rafts. they are the trunks of _koker-booms_, [note ] each about eleven feet in length, with a diameter of three. their top-knots of bayonetlike leaves having been lopped off, they are now in process of desiccation, by huge fires that have been kindled around them. when the sap is drawn out, they will be light as cork wood, just the material required for raft-building. jan van dorn himself superintends this quaint naval architecture, by good luck having skilled assistants. as it chances, among the native employes are two _macobas_ [note ] of lake ngami--fugitive from the tyranny of king letchoulatebe--who understand all about the various kinds of craft used in south african inland navigation, and under their hands the rafts will be properly constructed. nor is this the only industry in progress. on the other side of the camp, out upon the open veldt, a number of the young boers are busy too, their work being the conversion of fresh meat into bultong. strips of it hang over riems extended between the trees, where these stand thinly, so as not to shadow it from the sun. it was the same on a former occasion, but the meat is not the same. then it was buffalo-beef, which has been all lost. for at the time of their hurried abandonment of the place, it was not thought sufficiently cured to be taken along, and it was their intention to return for it. unluckily, left hanging too low, the hyenas and jackals had dragged it down, and devoured it to the last scrap. the sausage-like strings now replacing it, are the flesh of elands, and other large antelopes, the carcass of a giraffe having contributed to the stock. while the raft-builders had been busy with axe and bill-hook, the hunters were alike industrious in the chase, and have already laid in a good store of provisions for the proposed voyage. it may be a long one--how long they cannot tell--and in descending the rivers they might not easily find subsistence for such a numerous party. at all events, the precaution is a wise one, and fortune has favoured them in it, by guiding many wild animals toward the drift; some on their way to drink, others intending to cross over. they have enough meat now to last them for weeks--even months--once it becomes bultong; and, to insure its becoming this of the best, light fires are kept underneath it, whose gentle heat, with the smoke, assists in the curing process. nor are the voyagers to be dependent on an exclusively meat diet. there are yet left them several bags of meal, both of maize and caffre-corn [note ]; while, as already said, the trees standing near bear a variety of edible fruits and nuts, some of which are being added to the intended "ship's stores." collecting these is the task of the youngsters; so all, young and old, have something or other to do. and they are doing it with all their might and will. for even the youngest now know that their situation is one of uncertainty and peril; dangers on the spot, with other dangers ahead, the avoidance of which calls for every exertion. another week has passed, showing much progress made. in short, the rafts are finished, and afloat on the water. there are three of them, corresponding to the three families who make up the migrant party. it was not for this, however, that a trio was constructed; but because of the stream being too shoal and narrow to admit of a raft large enough to carry all. that is a thing to be thought of when they reach the great river below. each of the three built has a breadth of beam of some ten to twelve feet, in correspondence with the length of the koker-booms; whose trunks, laid side by side, have been firmly lashed together by lianas-- the _baavian-touw_ [note ]. lengthwise, the rafts are nearly four times as much, from stem to stern being about forty feet. on what might be called the quarter-deck of each, one of the waggon-tilts has been placed on supporting stanchions, and is the cabin. on the fore, also, is a sort of shed or round house, roofed over with reeds and palm leaves, for the accommodation of the crew. a huge pile occupies the main deck, leaving a narrow passage or gangway on either side, for the polemen and rowers. over it are spread the skins of wild animals lately killed, now utilised as tarpaulings, to give protection to a variety of effects--in short, the general cargo. amidships, on each raft, is a little platform of clay, raised some eight or ten inches above the timber's level. that is the hearth, intended for culinary purposes. in fine, upon the extreme stern, abaft the cabin of bamboos and canvas, a long broad-bladed oar, balanced on a pivot, is to do the rudder-work. at length everything being in readiness for embarking, it was begun without further delay. nor was there any in the carrying it out; for, as with the camp in the kloof, all were now eager to move away from this one. true, the place had been of some service to them; nevertheless was it fraught with most unpleasant memories. it was there the tsetse first assailed their stock to its final and total destruction, not only beggaring them, but putting their lives in peril. so, almost as hurriedly as the inhabitants of a burning house flee from the fire, did they make for the rafts when these were ready to receive them. the embarkation was accomplished in good order, and without accident. the cables, which were the old trek-touws of the abandoned waggons, being hauled in, and the huge structures, one after another, shoved out to mid-stream, they went gliding gently down. but they were not the only craft to take departure from that landing-place; a score of others accompanying them, of a quaintly curious kind--being _water-horses_. each consisted of a single trunk of koker-boom, with a peg of about fifteen inches in length fastened firmly to it, and standing upright near the fore. lying flat along the log, face downwards, rode a naked native--caffre or hottentot--with one hand holding the peg, the other acting partly as an outrigger for balance, and partly for propulsion. the legs, too, astraddle, and trailing in the water behind, helped the onward movement, as in swimming; so that the water-horses could be put to a speed far beyond that of the cumbrous rafts. around these their riders darted in high glee, laughing, shouting, and splashing one another, as a flock of ducks fresh entered upon a pond. the purpose of this aquatic cavalry was twofold; in part meant as a ready means of communication with the banks, and partly to avoid overcrowding the rafts. moreover, many of the natives, used to such navigation, rather liked it; especially that now, under a broiling sun, it enabled then to dip their bodies at will, and keep them comfortably cool. the "water-horse," as described, is often brought into requisition by the caffres and other south african natives. they are found of great service in the crossing of wide rivers, especially when cattle and sheep have to be got over. then the water-horsemen guide the animals, and swimming alongside assist the weaker ones and young calves. thus joyously the rafters began their voyage, at its outset to be treated to a laughable spectacle, as when crossing in flight from the tsetse. though they had lost all their quadrupeds, there was still a creature with them of the animal kind--if a monkey may be so classed. it was the pet of katharine rynwald, but also favoured the hottentot guide, smutz, who, for its young mistress's sake, had been accustomed to show it kindness. as the odd flotilla moved off, smutz bestrode one of the water-horses, and shooting past the foremost raft, on which sate the young girl with the monkey in her lap, the latter made a long outward leap, alighting upon his back; then fixing itself firm and square on his shoulders, there squatted composedly. the two facing in the same direction, with the round, bullet-like cranium of the hottentot, surmounted by that of the monkey, it was as if some water cerberus, or double-headed hydra, were conducting the squadron down stream. but the incident was too comical to be looked upon as an evil omen; instead, it elicited peals of laughter, with applauding shouts; all inclined to regard it as the forecast of a prosperous voyage. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . the "hartebeest-house" is a hut of rude construction, the usual materials being reeds and grass with a plastering of mud. the name is derived from a fancied resemblance to the form of the antelope so called. hartebeest-houses are common throughout southern africa, not inhabited by natives, but the poorer class of colonists, especially vee-boers when not on the move. note . the "koker-boom" is a species of aloe with a short thick trunk. when well dried the wood is even lighter than cork. note . the "macobas" are the boatmen of lake ngami. they have affinity with the bechuanas; but are of a race and class apart. they are also of darker complexion. note . both indian corn (_maize_) and caffre-corn (_sorghum caffrorum_) are cultivated in southern africa, and the meal of both is in common use among the boers of the transvaal. the caffres also grow large quantities of another species of sorghum (_s. saccharatum_) for the sake of its stem; which they chew, as the negroes of america do sugar-cane, its juice being equally as sweet. note . the "baavian-touw" (_anglice_, "_baboon-rope_") is a species of climbing plant, or liana, with long stems and heart-shaped leaves. by the boers it is employed as cordage, and for many purposes, this primitive sort of rope being often convenient, where no other is obtainable. chapter eighteen. a river run out. the stream on which the vee-boers had embarked was unknown to all of them. even their guide was unacquainted with it, though he had once accompanied a party of english hunters to a point farther north than where they now where. by its general direction it should run into the limpopo, which river they had crossed some days before, on their trek northward. but where it joined the latter, and how far below, as also the character of the stream itself, were questions undetermined. nor knew they much more of the limpopo. van dorn had been on it farther down, at the place where smutz and the hunting party passed over; but neither he nor the hottentot had followed its course for any great distance. they were acquainted with but ten or fifteen miles of its course, beyond which all was _terra incognita_ to them, or, as the baas in his dutch vernacular expressed it, "verder onbekend." thus they had entered on a voyage, whose termination hinged on many uncertainties, and might be prolonged by many delays, to say nought of the dangers. for the first day, however, all went well. the buoyant koker-booms acted admirably, keeping the decks, with all lading on them, high and dry. the current, too, while smooth, was sufficiently rapid to give them good way, without requiring the use of either pole or paddle. all that needed doing was to keep in mid-stream, on account of its narrowness, and that was of easy accomplishment with the powerful stern oars working on their pivots. large as were the rafts, and heavily laden, so light were their timbers, that when swirl or side current threatened to bring them against the bank, the weakest man on board might be safely entrusted with the steering. craft of no kind could have been more obedient to the rudder, a matter of much pride and boast to the macobas, who had the credit of their construction. but, indeed, all the people were in the most exuberant of spirits. moving on without any physical exertion--a smooth gliding motion, as on skates or in a sleigh--was of itself a pleasure, which the continuous changing of the scenery, with many sights new to them, intensified to very delight. it was as though they were out on a holiday excursion, or yachting trip, and for the time they thought not of dangers that might be before them, while alike oblivious of the perils they had late passed through. the enjoyment was general throughout all the day; the water-cavalry skirmishing around with much shouting and laughter. there was racing also, with bets made by the young boers, each laying on his favourite. in these aquatic contests the caffres were mostly victorious, though smutz ably upheld the honour of the hottentot race. the macobas took no part in them, being on board the rafts, and occupied with their navigation. as evening approached the "horse play" came to an end, for now there was work to be done: the rafts to be brought up to the bank, and made fast to moorings. to keep drifting on in the dark would be madness itself, as who could tell what was below? there might be rapids, or worse danger still--a waterfall. jan van dorn was too cautious to run any such risk; so, as the twilight began to fling its purple mantle over stream and bordering woodlands, he called out the command to draw in, pointing to the spot that appeared best for a landing-place. this was in a bend where the current was sluggish, and the banks of slight elevation; for to beach such unwieldy craft in a swift-running stream is not only a difficulty but a danger. in the present case it was accomplished without accident; and the three soon lay alongside the bank, each cabled to a tree, with a gangway plank run out, over which all swarmed ashore, women, children, and men. water-travelling was a novelty to them; and, though not yet irksome, the return to land was welcome by way of relaxation. supper was eaten on shore, though not there cooked, as the culinary arrangement on the rafts was of a superior order, better than any improvised affair of the gipsy kind. but what mattered it where the repast was prepared, so long as it was enjoyable, and enjoyed? which it was by our voyagers, one and all of them. for one and all were now hungry, having that day eaten the morgen-maal at a much earlier hour than usual. it was the last cooked in the ant-hill kitchen-range; since when long time had passed, and with the fresh, breezy air of the river their appetites were sharpened to keenness. soon as the meal was over all retired to rest, some on board, others preferring to seek repose on shore, under the trees. it was warm enough anywhere, and more than enough, the heat not only being a discomfort of itself, but subjecting them to torture from mosquitoes. these troublesome insects were in swarms--myriads--and made it all but a sleepless night to many. even the caffres, notwithstanding their greased and ochre-coated skins, suffered the same, every now and then one or other taking a plunge into the river by way of soothing the irritation. joyously all hailed the return of daylight, which chased the persecutors away. and they were merry again over the morgen-maal, which they ate before leaving the landing-place. nor was their hilarity less, after they had parted from moorings, and were once more in mid-stream, moving onwards. the delight of yesterday's downward glide, with its many pleasant incidents, led them to anticipate the same all along. a disappointment it proved, as with most other matters of too sanguine expectation. for a few miles farther the current carried them smoothly as on the day before, and they made good way. but then things began to change, the stream becoming wider with a slower flow. this, they could see, was constantly decreasing, and at length ended in complete stagnation, as though the water were dammed up below. now, for the first time, had they to take to oars and poling, the poles serving best in such shallow water. for they found it to be less than a fathom's depth, and still getting shallower as they pushed onward. but they had not much farther onward to go, nor could they. another mile or so and the rafts, all three, became grounded. just what jan van dorn had been for some time apprehending--_the river was run out_! chapter nineteen. a congregation of crocodiles. yes; the river had run out, or, to speak more correctly, run in, underground. its channel was there extending on ahead of them, a belt of silver-white sand, hollow in the centre, and with a bordering of brown, withered reeds. but no water in it; not a drop, nor the sign of such, far as they could see, though commanding a view of it to more than a mile's distance. for they were looking down an omaramba, a river's bed, in which water flows only in the season of inundation, at other times sinking into the earth, to filter away underneath. to the vee-boers the thing was neither strange nor new. in their migrations they had met the like before, and ofttimes; for a stream periodically dried up is no rare phenomenon in southern africa, nor indeed in other parts of the world. the same occurs in asia, notably in australia, as also in both divisions of the american continent. nor is it unknown in the eastern countries of europe, by the black and caspian seas. to our voyagers, then, it was less a surprise than vexation--indeed, bitter disappointment. all the time spent in the construction of the rafts, all their labour lost, to say nought of the helpless, hopeless situation they were now placed in! but was it so helpless or hopeless? that remained to be seen; fortunately so, else they might have despaired indeed. they did not yet, nor could they, till the question had answer-- "how far does the dried-up channel extend?" to determine this was, of course, the next step, with little else thought of, till it was determined. an exploring party, with smutz to conduct it, was at once landed from the rafts, and set off down the sandy strip. going in all haste they were soon lost to view among the reeds and bushes at its lower end. then their reappearance was looked for with eagerness, gradually becoming anxiety as time passed. for the longer they were out of sight, the greater should be the distance to running water again, if such were to be found at all. they were gone above two hours, which looked bad. but on return, as they drew near, an expression was visible on their faces, which betokened the contrary. the report they brought was that the stream, with abundance of water, issued forth again about five miles below. this was as favourable as jan van dorn had expected, and, in concert with the other baases, he had conceived a plan, now to be acted on. the rafts were to be taken apart, and, with their lading, transported overland piecemeal. their lading had been already put ashore, as river, or no river, they could be of no further service there. but they would be below, as much as ever, and it was only a question of portage. the work was at once set about, the huge structures dismembered, beam by beam, and dragged out on the dry strand. then a stream of carriers commenced moving along the track where water had once streamed, each with a koker-boom log on his shoulders, that seemed as though it would crush him under its weight. with their naked, bronzed bodies, they looked like so many atlases bearing worlds, though, in reality, their loads were of the lightest. down the omaramba went they, and up again, to and fro, till the last beam had been transported from water to water, with oars, poles, ropes, and all the other paraphernalia, the cargoes being conveyed in like manner. it took time though; all the remainder of that day, and the forenoon of the following, while another day and a half were consumed in the reconstruction of the rafts. an easy task it was, compared with the original building of them, the place of everything being now known, deck-timbers with their attachments, steering gear, the fixing of the cabins and sheds, even to the stowage of the goods and chattels. on the morning of the fourth day, all was ready for re-embarking, which commenced as soon as breakfast had been eaten. then off again started the flotilla, water-horses, and everything as before. but not as before carried along by the current, since there was none. nor in its absence did the rafters see anything amiss. the place of their re-embarkation was at the inner and upper end of a narrow leit, which widened abruptly below. once down there, they would find the stream flowing, and get into its current. so supposed they, while pulling and poling on. soon, however, to be undeceived, and sadly. after passing the point where the leit terminated, they still found no flow; instead, the water stagnant as in a tan-pit. it stretched before them in a sheet of smooth, unrippled surface, nearly a mile in length, with a width of two or three hundred yards, again narrowing at the lower end, where it entered among trees. on each side it was bordered by a ribbon of sandy beach, which would have been white, but for an array of dark forms that lay thickly over it, giving it a mottled or striated appearance. the sun had not yet dissipated the film which hung over the water, and, seen through this, they might have been mistaken for trunks of trees, stranded when the stream was in flood. but the vee-boers knew better; knew them to be living creatures--the most repulsive of all in the world of animated nature--for they were crocodiles. of different sizes were they: from ten or twelve feet in length to twice as long; the larger ones having bodies thick as an ordinary barrel; their bulk, too, exaggerated by the magnifying effect of the mist. there would have been nothing in that, nor their presence there, to cause surprise, but for their numbers. all along the stream, crocodiles had been observed at intervals, basking on the banks, sometimes three or four together. but here were so many hundreds, the strip of beach on both shores literally black with them. they were in all attitudes, some lying flat and at full stretch, others with heads erect and jaws wide apart; still others holding the tail high in air with a turn back towards the body, or laid in crescent curve along the surface of the sand. but all motionless, the only movement observable among them being made by birds of the insect--eating species, a number of which sate perched on their shoulders, every now and then flittering off to catch flies that swarmed around the reptiles, alighting on their foul, ill-odoured skins. although an astounding and fear-inspiring spectacle, they upon the rafts were, in a manner, prepared for it. on the nights preceding they had heard loud noises below, as the bellowing of a hundred bulls, knowing them to be caused by crocodiles, and only wondering that there were so many in one place. now seeing the reptiles themselves their wonder was undiminished, with no clearer comprehension of why they were thus congregated. nor learnt they the reason till later on, no time being then allowed them to think of it; for scarce had the rafts emerged from the narrow leit when the birds, sighting them, rose up into the air, uttering shrill cries of alarm. on the saurians the effect was instantaneous. hitherto motionless, and many of them asleep, all became at once active; their activity displayed by a quick uprising on their short, thick legs, and a hurried crawl for the water. it was their place of safety, as instinct admonished them, and the rafters supposed they were but retreating from an enemy yet unknown to them. soon to be undeceived, and find it was no retreat, but an intended attack, themselves the object of it! for although the crocodiles on plunging in, went under, and were for a time out of sight, they came to the surface again, now nearer the rafts, a line on either side of them. in threatening attitude too, heads raised on high, jaws opening and closing with a snap, grunting and roaring, while, with their powerful muscular tails in violent vibration, they whipped the water into foam. there was consternation, with quick scampering among the riders of the water-horses, who had been gaily skirmishing about, as was usual with them at the start off. never did sailors bathing beside a becalmed ship make quicker on board at the cry "shark!" than made they to get upon the rafts. with loud cries of alarm, one and all together darted towards these, and swarmed up, leaving the koker-logs to bob about below, or drift away wherever the surge might carry them. nor were the rafters themselves without fear, but rushed affrightedly about, the women and children shrieking in chorus. even some of the men felt dismay at the fierce bearing of the crocodiles, an incident altogether unexpected and new to them. its very novelty made it the more alarming, from its cause being a mystery. but there was no time to speculate upon causes; the reptiles were still advancing in menace, and steps needed taking to repel them. fire was at once opened on them, broadsides from both beams, and the firing kept up, hot and fast as the guns could be loaded again. shot after shot, and volley after volley was poured upon them, till the rafts became shrouded in smoke, and the water around red with the blood of the dead and wounded reptiles, that for a time seemed insensible to fear. but at length it got the better of them; and, seeing nigh a dozen of their number writhing in death throes, at last all turned tail, going down to the bottom and staying there. continuing to ply poles and oars, the rafters reached the lower end of the water sheet without encountering another crocodile, or even seeing one. there to get explanation of what had so puzzled them, by _finding the river again run out_! chapter twenty. the karl-kop. so was it; the water, once more gone underground, sank into the sand, just as above. even worse than above, as regarded navigation, for an exploring party sent forward, returned to report the channel dry to a distance of at least ten miles, twice as far as before. this made still more intelligible the great congregation of crocodiles. they were the denizens of nigh twenty miles of the stream's length, driven, by a long-continued drought, into such close companionship. crowded together, as frogs in a pond, they had devoured every fish, every living thing dammed up along with them in the sheet of stagnant water, and were famishing. hence their hostility and fearlessness of man, due as much to hunger, as to any natural ferocity. but the vee-boers thought no more about them now. enough was there to occupy their minds in this second obstruction that had arisen, and which vexed them more than the first, their leader far more--to him a very chagrin--as he reflected on his want of forethought. he should not have been satisfied with such a short, careless reconnaissance, but examined the omaramba to the farthest end, wherever that might be. resolved to act with more prudence in this second exploration, he had taken charge of it himself, nor turned back, till assured of the stream's re-issue and onward flow without any other interruption. this assurance had been obtained by discovering that the sandy tract they were traversing was but a belt of some ten or twelve leagues in breadth, beyond which the nature of the country was different, the surface-soil being firm and clayey. rivers running over a bed of clay do not go underground, and there was no fear of a third obstruction, at least of that special kind. these facts were not all ascertained in a few hours, nor yet in a single day. two, and part of a third, were spent in the exploration. while it was in progress, those left behind had remained inactive, as there was nothing for them to do. should there be no more stream, there could be no further navigation, and again taking the rafts to pieces would be so much labour lost. in this uncertainty, even their lading was left undisturbed; only such chattels carried on shore as were needed for a camp of temporary occupation. nor did any of the people, white or coloured, elect to sleep on land, having by this time discovered the be a better place. upon it they were less exposed to the torture of mosquitoes, to avoid which, the rafts were each night drawn out to some distance from the beach, and there brought to anchor. so shoal was it all round, they had no difficulty in communicating with the shore whenever desirable. it was an interval of great anxiety, full of doubts and apprehensions. not all dulness, however, as the monotony of their life was now and then varied by episodes of a curious kind--scenes and incidents of nature, such as may be witnessed only in her wild, untrodden domain. one which occurred on the evening after their arrival was of this character-- indeed, so strange as to test the reader's credulity. yet is it here chronicled as a fact, on the authority of trustworthy witnesses, the adventurers themselves. it had got to be near sunset; the people all on shore, and seated at the nacht-maal, when a swishing and crackling among the trees close by, admonished them of some large quadruped making its way towards the water. it might be buffalo, rhinoceros, or hippopotamus; but, judging from the volume of sound, more likely an elephant. and an elephant it was, as was soon seen; one of the largest size, and a karl-kop, in other words, a tuskless bull. alone was he, which proclaimed him an outcast from elephantine society--an ishmaelite in his own land. all this indicated danger, as they watching him well knew. for the solitary male elephant is vicious beyond conception, being absolutely insane, or _musty_ as it is termed in india. he was approaching the water, presumably to quench his thirst, and in a few more strides stood upon its edge, not fifty yards from the spot where the people were sitting, luckily behind some bushes that screened them from his sight. they were not all seated now, however, as several of the young boers had sprung upon their feet, and were hastening to get hold of their guns. some already had them in hand, but delayed opening fire, a word from baas rynwald restraining them. a caution it was in view of the risk to be run. for, should they fail to kill the bull at once, and only wound and infuriate him, then would they all be at his mercy. besides, he was only a karl-kop, an aged one, and not worth powder and ball. these admonitions were spoken in a whisper, nor was there any noise made otherwise, lest the elephant should hear and strike off in retreat, or, what was just as likely, charge into their midst. but the caution was acted upon, and not a shot fired; instead, silence preserved by one and all, so profound that the rustling of a leaf might have been heard from afar. there was not a breath of air stirring at the time, and the water was still and smooth as a mirror. by this the old bull had entered it, and they now saw that something besides thirst had brought him thither. he drank, too, till satisfied, his first performance. after which, wading a stride or two farther in, he proceeded to give himself a shower-bath, drawing the water into his trunk, and blowing it out again upwards, so that it fell over his back in spray as from a whale-spout. for some five minutes had he been thus sprinkling himself, when he was seen all at once to start, pluck his proboscis out of the water, and, uttering a cry as of rage and pain, wheel back towards the beach. what the cause of this unexpected demonstration was, the spectators could not tell. amid the eddies he had raised, with floating froth and bubbles, nothing was observable to explain it. and the karl-kop himself seemed equally ignorant of it, for, on reaching dry land, he faced round again, and stood regarding the spot he had so abruptly abandoned with a puzzled, mystified air. only for a few seconds stood he thus, when his little eyes began to sparkle with a peculiar intelligence, his ears giving indication of the same by a satisfied flap or two, as much as to say, "now i know what did it." then, as if determined to have his bath out, he strode back into the water, till nearly knee-deep, and once more plunged his proboscis underneath. but his design was all different, as the spectators were soon made aware by seeing a ripple on the surface of the water, a moving furrow as from the dorsal fin of a shark, but which they knew to be caused by a crocodile. and a crocodile it was; one of small size, not over six or seven feet in length. but surely the same that had made a snap at the elephant's trunk, inflicting a wound which, though slight, was enough to account for that angry scream, with the action accompanying. many tales have been told of the sagacity of elephants, and many instances recorded, truthful too. but, perhaps, never one affording better proof of it, and certainly none stranger, than that the vee-boers were witnesses of there and then. standing still, with trunk partly submerged, the great pachyderm kept the long, flexible feeler in constant, but gentle oscillation, playing its tip horizontally from side to side, as an angler his fly, or mock-minnow. the bait took almost instantly. scarce a minute had elapsed, ere the crocodile, drawing close up, under the surface, cautiously, made a second attempt to seize it. this time to get seized itself, and jerked out of the water, as if it had been but a sprat. then the elephant again facing shoreward, strode out, still holding it in his trunk with octopus-like clasp, more than one lap of the gristly tube being around it. high in air was the reptile raised, to be hoisted yet higher, as soon as the karl-kop set foot on land. for it was tossed up into a tree, and fell in a fork between two branches, elastic boughs, that, closing upon it, held it as in a vice, despite all its writhings and wrigglings! the spectators affirm that the elephant flung it into that particular crotch, with a foreknowledge of the result, though i myself rather think that the deposition was a thing of chance. from that high eminence the ugly creature never came down, though a bullet, afterwards sent into it in mercy, brought its struggles to an end. but before this, the karl-kop had been permitted so depart in peace, without a shot fired at him, young boers and all now desirous that he should go unscathed. recalling the scare which the crocodiles had given them, they looked upon him in the light of an ally and avenger. so that without seeing, or having any suspicion of the danger so near him, he went away back upon the same spoor, to continue his lonely life and wanderings. chapter twenty one. afloat on the limpopo. a broad river coursing eastward for the indian ocean, nearly in the latitude of the tropic of capricorn. drifting down it is a large raft, with many people upon it, and that which, seen from a distance, might be taken for three trek-waggons. on nearer view, however, these are discovered to be but waggon--tilts, supported on upright posts instead of wheels. needless to say, they are the same which have been all along sheltering our party of migrating boers, and the river the limpopo; while the large raft is a composite structure of the three small ones lashed and braced together, with some additional timbers to give it greater size and strength. the original beams of koker-boom had been carried across the second portage, put together as before, and brought on down the branch stream, without encountering any other interruption. on reaching its mouth, however, it was deemed better to continue the voyage with the three united in one, and the union has been made. in the new arrangement the waggon-tilts still hold position on the quarter-deck, side by side and parallel to one another; while only one of the steering-oars--the central one--is retained. the sheds are also re-erected on the fore-deck, with the cargo collected into one pile, and instead of three fire-hearths, a single one now serves for all. with the thermometer often at degrees in the shade it is not there for warmth, but culinary needs. there are still a half-score of the water-horses attached, but now in tow astern, and with no one bestriding them. nor have they been much ridden since that great crocodile scare; all along the branch stream, thence downward, the reptiles being in such numbers, and so fiercely disposed, as to make it unsafe. the horses, however, have been retained to meet certain emergencies, as when quick communication with the banks may be necessary or desirable. but there is now another tender attached, of quite a different kind; a canoe full twenty feet in length, with a beam's breadth of about five, capable of holding a crew of eight or ten. it is of the "dug-out" pattern, hollowed from a single trunk, the handicraft of the imacobas. all this occupied time, more than a fortnight having been spent in the work of remodelling and reconstruction, the scene of operations being inside the embouchure of the tributary. during that period the people were, of course, compelled to live on land, and there passing sleepless nights, through the torment of mosquitoes, they are glad to get out upon the bosom of the broad river, where but few of these persecutors will follow them [note ]. as the re-embarkation has been just effected, they are as yet uncertain how the new craft will behave. but with the buoyant koker-booms holding it high in the water, its gives promise of good "floating" qualities, which has put all on board into the best of spirits. besides, they are again experiencing that exquisite sense of pleasure derived from motion without toil, with the added delight of ever-changing scenes. the tract of country they are now traversing is different from any they have yet passed over; a vast level plain, with no mountain, not even a hill, visible on either side; treeless to a far distance, the only vegetation near being tall grass and reeds, with here and there on the higher stretches of bank a thin scattering of bushes, chiefly acacias. at a different period of the year, most of the land in sight would be under water--inundated. even now portions of it are marsh, though it is the season of drought, and the river at its lowest. yet is there no lack of animal life, birds especially abounding; birds of largest size and endless variety of species. standing balanced on one leg, or leisurely winging through the air, can be seen the "wattled" and "blue" cranes; while on some bit of smooth sand beach may be witnessed that curious spectacle, "caffre" cranes [note ], dancing a quadrille, with wings extended and waving about, as the gauzy skirts of ladies in a ball-room. not far off, but solitary, is the great "goliath heron," as also the white egret, two kinds of flamingoes, and storks of several species; among these the gigantic "adjutant" [note ], whose beak, like a pick-axe when pointed upward with neck at full stretch, will reach to the height of a man's head. affrighted from their watery rest, flocks of wild geese and ducks fly to and fro; while the ostriches and great "kori" bustards go stalking over the plain, or, approaching the river's bank, stand gazing at the raft, half in wonder, half alarmed. high in the heaven's above are vultures of various kinds; also eagles, kites, and others of the falcon tribe, each soaring in its own curve, with eyes on the _qui vive_ for quarry below. nor are quadrupeds scarce; instead plenteous, both in number and species. here and there a hippopotamus appears swimming about in the river, or but for a moment showing its clumsy head, with thick truncated muzzle above the surface as it rises to breathe; then going under again to leave a large eddy with floating froth and bubbles. now and then a rhinoceros comes crashing through the reeds by the river's edge on its way to drink, while troops of quaggas, zebras, and antelopes, the last varied in size and sort, roam over the veldt beyond. but the spectacle most interesting of all was one afforded by the largest of quadrupeds--the elephant itself; a sight so rare as to well deserve being called wonderful; and so the old jager, jan van dorn, pronounced it--even he never having witnessed the like before. during the time they were engaged in raft-building, they had observed elephants on the opposite side of the great river; not a single herd, but straggling bands all moving in the same direction--downward. day after day they had noticed this stream of the great pachyderms, supposing them to be the same animals that had returned up in the night, and were thus journeying to and fro for food, or water. now they had evidence to the contrary, and in less than an hour after embarking. as they passed down, with eyes scanning the plain on both sides of the river, they arrived opposite a wide expanse of wet marsh, or savanna, extending away from the right bank. on this was a herd of elephants, a multitude so vast as to seem all of the elephant kind inhabiting south africa. the ground was thick covered and black with them for miles upon miles, the whole drove certainly numbering not less than a thousand head! they were up to their bellies browsing on a green sedge--that grew luxuriantly in the wet marshy soil--no doubt the cause of their being so congregated. to the young boers it was a sight not less tantalising than strange, and their elders had a difficulty in restraining them. one and all were for bringing the raft in to the bank, landing, and making slaughter among the pachyderms. but the old jager in command would not listen to this; knowing as he did, that the first shot fired would send the herd helter-skelter, even should they stand to receive a first shot. besides, he urged another and more convincing objection. to stalk such game on that ground, bare of trees and other protecting cover, would be attended with the greatest danger. instead of retreating, just as likely might they charge upon the stalkers, and put them to flight, with scarce a chance of escape. in fine, the elephants were let alone, though not without sore reluctance on the part of the young hunters. even the baases disliked it; for it seemed almost as the leaving behind some thousands of pounds of ivory, with as many hundreds of pounds sterling. but it had to be done; the uncertainty, with peril attendant, determining the sacrifice. and there was still another factor which just then interfered. the raft, hitherto gliding smoothly on at a fair rate of speed, had been found to be gradually slowing, and was now scarce making way at all. the cause was clear enough. up to this point, or rather _down_ to it, they had been carried along on the current of the inflowing stream, which here came to an end amid the more sluggish waters of the great river. by jan van dorn this new and unexpected impediment was looked upon with something more than vexation--indeed alarm--the wiser ones sharing it. before them were long leagues of river navigation; how many they could not tell, or what time it might take to reach the sea. but they knew there was also a rainy season before them, during which the low-lying coast-land becomes a hotbed of malarial fever, almost always fatal to white men. no wonder then at their dreading delay. it seemed a poor alternative, taking to oars; but they had hopes of again getting into a current farther down, and so took to them. poling they did not think of now; as, despite the river being at its lowest, it was too deep for that. but there were oars in plenty, with men to man them; so out went they, to be worked with a will. notwithstanding, their progress was unsatisfactory, the cumbrous structure refusing to move at a speed of much more than a mile to the hour. and as still further discouragement a long reach of the river-- leagues of it--stretched before them, straight as a canal, and to all appearance as stagnant. but this, at first dispiriting, after a little became suggestive. if in directness of course the stream resembled a canal, either of its banks--smooth, firm, and level as they were--might be likened to a tow-path. why should they not try towing? just the idea that occurred to baas van dorn; to be acted upon without an instant's delay. quick as it could be done, the old waggon trek-trouws were spliced together, one end made fast to the raft, and the other carried ashore, with a score of hottentots and caffres to do the towing. which commenced amid a chorus of encouraging cries; and soon the huge, heavy craft, with constantly increasing speed, was "walking the water like a thing of life." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . if a wide river, mosquitoes are rarely found far from the bank. along the water's edge is their favourite haunt, especially where wooded. note . the "wattled" crane (_grus carunculata_). the "blue" crane of the south african colonists is that better known to naturalists as the stanley crane (_anthropoides stanleyanus_). the "caffre" crane is the beautiful species with coronetted head (_balearica regulorum_); called also "crowned" crane, and sometimes "balearic" from its being an inhabitant of the balearic isles. note . the adjutant, or, as more commonly called, "adjutant bird" (_ciconia argali)_, belongs to the family of storks, of which south africa possesses no less than seven distinct species. the species of _ardeinae_ or herons, are there even much more numerous, there being fifteen of them including true herons, egrets, and bitterns. chapter twenty two. legs easily broken. the towers had advanced but a very short way when an incident arose, illustrating a strange ornithological fact--indeed, so strange as to seem apocryphal. while pulling onward with shouts and laughter, they saw before them two large birds, which all knew to be _slangvreters_ [note ],--easily recognisable as such by their slender bodies, thick aquiline beaks, and long stilt-like legs. but still more, by the spike of plumelets growing out of their crowns with a backward slant; which, from a fancied resemblance to the old-fashioned quill-pen stuck behind the ear of clerk or scrivener, has earned for them the more common title of "secretary birds." when first observed, they were out on the open veldt serpent-hunting. one had even seized a large green snake, borne it aloft into the air, and was in the act of dashing it to the ground, where the other, with outstretched neck and vibrating wings, was waiting to pounce upon it. they were but a little out of the way of the towers, who expected to see them drop the snake, and retreat further, or carry it away. they did drop the snake, but instead of making off, drew nearer with a rush, half running, half flying; nor stopped they till close up, and direct on the path the towing party must take. not to remain at rest there, but with continued fluttering around a mimosa-bush that grew upon the bank--all the while screaming affrightedly. there was no mystery about their behaviour, strange as it appeared. its cause was declared by cries, a sort of guttural rattling, which came responsive out of the mimosa, where a nest was now descried with young in it. it was an immense cluster of sticks loosely put together, through which the long legs of the two young secretaries--for there was but a pair--hung dangling down. by this the towers were beside it, and a scramble ensued to get hold of the chicks, the old birds having at length despairingly forsaken them, though still tarrying near. but the youngsters were not to be caught so easily. nearly full-fledged and grown, before hand could be laid on either, they bolted out of the nest, and struck off in run over the veldt, flapping their wings to assist them. half a dozen of the men followed, eagerly bent on capture. for the slangvreter is a favourite pet with the south african dutch; often tamed and kept as a protector of the poultry-yard. but notwithstanding the swiftness of some of their pursuers, the young secretaries, running like ostriches, would doubtless have escaped, but for an accident depriving them of the use of their limbs. traversing the line of their retreat was a fissure in the ground, and into it both tumbled head foremost, from their eyes being all on the pursuers behind. it was a dry rain-gulch, so shallow, it seemed as though the birds might easily have got out again, and continued on. so could they, and would, had their legs but held good, which they did not. instead the young secretaries lay struggling at the bottom of the gulch; and when taken up, it was found that one had both legs broken, the other a leg and a wing! their captors thought little of this, knowing it a thing of common occurrence, and that the legs of young slangvreters are so brittle as often to snap in twain--even from a fall on level ground, if the birds be alarmed, and started suddenly into a run. the captives were taken on board the raft; but, as it was known that their broken limbs could not be set again, they were humanely killed, to save them from a lingering death. but compassion had to undergo a still greater trial, at sight and hearing of the parent birds, as they flew frantically around the now untenanted nest, uttering shrill plaintive cries. but the caffres and hottentots, callous to pity, made light of their anguished demonstrations; and, hoisting the tow-rope over the mimosa-bush, once more bent themselves along it, and treked on, mirthful and boisterous as ever. they had not proceeded much farther, however, before encountering another incident, of a less pleasant nature, as though meant to rebuke and punish them for their unfeeling behaviour. with the sun high up in a cloudless sky, the atmosphere had become hot as the inside of a glass-house; so sultry as soon to put an end to their merry caperings. instead of jumping about, and playing tricks on one another, they were now contented to move soberly and slowly along--even letting the tow-rope drag the ground. the thick hawser of raw hide was no light weight in itself, to say nothing of the huge thing that needed pulling along. jan van dorn, with others upon the raft, began to chafe at the slow progress they were making; the baas at length calling out to them to mend their pace. as he spoke commandingly, expecting obedience, what was his surprise to see them drop the tow-rope as if it had been a bar of red-hot iron, and at the same time recommence capering about! but their antics were now of a different kind, both legs and arms in violent agitation, as though one and all had become suddenly afflicted with the malady of saint vitus! their voices, moreover, had quite a different tone; no more in jest or laughter, but cries and exclamations betokening pain. so shouting, and wildly gesticulating, some ran out on the open veldt, others to and fro along the bank. but most of them made a rush down to the river, and plunging in, swam off for the raft. not till they were close up to it, did the cause of their debandade become known to those on board; then by their seeing over the head of each swimmer a swarm of insects easily recognisable as bees. each had his own escort of them; the bees infuriated, and spitefully buzzing, as at intervals they darted down to inflict their stings. all was understood now. the trailing hawser had caught upon a hive, to make wholesale ruin of it; and the incensed insects were taking revenge for the destruction of their honeyed store. as the swimmers came on, it was seen that the caffres, protected by their thick lanigerous mops, suffered least; while the hottentots, with scantier covering of wool, had to keep constantly ducking their heads under water. all this was highly provocative of mirth to the people on the raft, and most of them were now in convulsions of laughter. but not long to continue it; scarce a minute more, till they had convulsions of another and very different kind. for soon as the retreating towers climbed upon deck, the bees, forsaking them, attacked every one indiscriminately-- white, black, and yellow all the same. the shouts and gesticulations, heard and seen hitherto, were nothing to compare with the racket that arose now. women shrieked as they rushed in under the canvas tilts, tugging their children after, all in wild hullabaloo; while the young boers leaped about, arms up and buffeting the air, as so many don quixotes fighting imaginary windmills. even the trio of grave, phlegmatic baases were forced to take part in the grotesque saltatorial performance! nor was it so soon over, but kept up for nigh twenty minutes' time; till the last bee got killed, or driven from the raft. but before this could be done, scarce anybody escaped without a sting; some of the towers first attacked having eyes "bunged up," and features so swollen as to be well-nigh obliterated. neither was this the worst, or at least the whole of it. for in addition to the physical pain, there was a mental one. they had heard of a species of bee, inhabiting that very part of africa, whose sting is poisonous, resulting in certain death. no wonder at their apprehensions being keen, even to torture. nor did they get over them, with full confidence restored, for days after; not till the swelling had gone down, and all suspicious symptoms disappeared. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . the secretary bird (_serpentarius reptilivorus_) called _slangvreter_ (snake-eater) by the boers. it is held in high esteem by the south african colonists, on account of its services as a destroyer of reptiles; and there is even a heavy fine, imposed by law, for killing one of these birds. chapter twenty three. hippopotamus hunting. while the battle with the bees was progressing upon the raft, the same enemy was being fought on the bank by the towers who had stayed there; seven or eight of whom could not swim. some of these had leaped into the river, where they saw it was not of a depth to drown them, the rest running off over the veldt. equally ludicrous was the behaviour of both parties. they in the water having waded in, deep as was safe, there stopped. but as the bees followed, and were still buzzing about their heads, they had to keep ducking under water, bobbing up and down, as boys in their first essays at diving. those who remained on land rushed wildly hither and thither, at intervals bounding up like springboks, all the while sawing the air with their arms to an accompaniment of dolorous cries. it was some time before the towing could be resumed, every one busy doing his best to allay the pain from stings received. but as the raft had now nigh come to a stop, the voice of the head baas was once more raised in command; the hawser fished up out of the water, and again taken ashore; then a detail of fresh hands following to man it, the towage was continued as before. but the rope was no longer allowed to trail. heavy though it was, and still hot the sun, care was taken to keep it clear of the ground, with a sharp look-out for bees' nests; several others that were encountered being given a wide berth. fortunately for all, this toilsome trek did not need to be of long duration. at the lower end of the straight reach there was a bend in the river, rounding which they once more caught the current in strength sufficient to carry the raft briskly along. so the towers were called back on board; the hawser drawn on deck, and stowed away in a coil for future service of a similar kind, should it be required. the rafters were just beginning to congratulate themselves on the smooth, easy gliding again, with a satisfactory rate of speed, when they observed that this last was gradually increasing. but not slowly; instead, with a rapidity to give them cause for apprehension. it was a change from one extreme to the other, a revulsion of feeling sudden as complete. but an hour before they had been chafing at still water; now did they as little like it running--their minds filled with a fear of rapids below. just such there proved to be; a chain of them, one succeeding another, for the next twenty leagues of the river's course. it was where the land surface sloped down from the high plateau of the interior to the low-lying belt of the coast. but luckily by a gentle incline; had there been any abrupt escarpment, a cataract in the stream would have been the consequence, and possibly the raft gone over it, so bringing the adventures of our vee-boers, with their lives, to a termination, there and then. as it was, they encountered no waterfall, only rapids; which, by a dextrous use of the poles, with one or other of the macobas all the time at the steering oar, they succeeded in safely running. it was often a close shave though, with wreckage imminent more than once. once, indeed, the raft grounded upon a subaqueous reef, and threatened going to pieces. but what with the buoyant koker-booms, the reliable lashings of baavian-touw, and the skill of the lake figam boatmen, it was got off again without serious damage. rejoiced were all when at length assured that the last of the turbulent rushes had been run, and they were once more in a tranquil current, with the assurance of its extending to a far distance beyond them. they had this confidence from the changed character of the stream, and the scenery on its banks. it now coursed through flat, alluvial land, on both sides wooded to the water's edge; the trees of great height, and broad leaved, with that lush luxuriance of underwood only found in tropical forests. thenceforward it was all plain sailing, and easy; though the steerers had a hard enough task, and required to be continuously at it. for the stream was now winding, often nigh back upon itself like the letter s, and at times near to being as the figure . here, again, it was too deep for polling, but neither were the oars resorted to. without them the raft made way averaging a league to the hour, and with this all were contented. the boers of south africa, as their ancestors by the zuyder zee, take things easily. besides, the rainy season would not set in for another month, and in less than half that time, barring accidents, they should reach the reported portuguese settlement by the river's mouth. thence, getting out to sea, they would escape the fever danger. thus reliant, they allowed the raft to glide on, giving it no aid of oars, save the steering one, at which the two macobas took turn and turn about, having all the work to do. the rest of the people did little or nothing, though the young boers were busy enough. but with sport, not work; their activity consisting in a display of shooting skill. large birds were all the time hovering overhead, or flying past--cranes, pelicans, flamingoes, vultures, and eagles--and to bring one of these down with a bullet was the feat on which bets were made. many so fell, and doubtless more would have fallen; but before they had been long thus engaged, an order was issued for them to desist. it came from jan van dorn, who had just conceived a grand economic scheme, suggested by something he saw in the river. this was a hippopotamus, or rather several; for since leaving the foot of the rapids, numbers of these amphibia had been observed, some waddling about upon the banks, others swimming to and fro in the water, the cows with calves on their backs; still others at rest on the surface as if asleep, with white birds--a species of sea-gull--perched upon their shoulders. even those moving about had each its quota of such perchers, now and then affording an amusing spectacle, as the unwieldy quadrupeds sank under water, forcing the birds to take wing with an odd air of bewilderment. not so different was the behaviour of the quadrupeds themselves, as they saw the raft bear down upon them, and go drifting by--a sight altogether new to them. they may have seen canoes, water-horses, and other contrivances of river navigation in use among the natives, but never a craft like that--never one of such monstrous dimensions. and a monster it must have appeared to them, as at intervals it belched forth flame and smoke, accompanied by the loud reports of the roers. with heads raised on high, the hippopotami responded to all this in loud snorts, groans, and bellowing, more in astonishment than alarm. there was also a tone of defiance in it which gratified the ear of the old jager, making known to him that he was in a river where these animals had rarely, if ever, been hunted. this meant money, should the opportunity be taken advantage of, and he was not the man to let such a chance slip. hence his having ordered the young boers to cease firing at the birds, the _zeekoes_ [note ] offering a mark better worth powder and ball. so, from that moment, not one was passed within shot-range but had a bullet lodged in its body, and a second if the first failed to kill it; sometimes a whole volley, when needed to make death sure. rarely was there a call for such wholesale expenditure of ammunition. most of them had slain zeekoes before, and knew the exact spot to aim at; that most vulnerable being midway between eye and ear. with marksmen skilled as they, misses were rare; and the crack of a gun might be taken as sounding the death-knell of a hippopotamus. while engaged in this practice, they became witnesses of an odd spectacle afforded by an old bull, which had been fired at and hit just behind the ear, too far back to give him his death wound. it seemed but to drive him crazy; as he commenced spinning round and round on the water, as a sheep in a pasture field, attacked by the "turn giddies." but he was not permitted to make many gyrations, ere a volley from the raft brought his spin to an abrupt termination, along with his life. thus, day after day, was slaughter made among the zeekoes, as the rafters went on down the river. not wanton slaughter; but in pursuance of that scheme of economy the head baas had got into his head, now known, and approved of by his associates. how could they help approval, as they looked on a pile of hippopotamus teeth that lay on the raft's deck, every hour growing bigger, each fresh pair added being as so much money put into their pockets? all this was satisfactory enough, but nothing to what awaited them farther down. as they drew near the coast, they came upon an islet lying centrally in mid-stream, at a place where the river was more than a mile in width. they sighted it just before sunset; and, knowing the night would be moonless and pitch dark, it was determined to bring-to at the islet, and remain by it till morning. so the raft's head was set for it, without much change of course, as they had been already bearing nearly straight down upon it. when near, they saw it was selvedged with tall reeds, of the kind called palmit, which, standing in the water, formed a belt all round it, interrupted only at the upper end, where an open list led into the firm dry land. it was a sort of natural canal, no doubt due to the water being there too deep for the palmits to get root. it was just wide enough to admit the raft; and without further ado this was run into it, and "docked." by this it was too dark for them to make out what lay beyond the immediate proximity of their moorings, though the staging-plank was run out, and some landed to ramble about a bit. when morning came, it was seen that the islet had an area of some eight or ten acres, all grass-covered; and, strange to say, the grass all withered, though but a foot or two above the level of the river's water. its brown colour strikingly contrasted with the vivid green of the palmits forming its periphery; and suggested a gorgeous picture-frame, from which the work of the artist had been removed, leaving nought behind but the rough backing of boards. neither tree nor bush grew upon it; their absence indicating that it was subject to annual submergence in the season of rain. to all this, however, the rafters scarce gave a thought. nor would they have bestowed a second glance on it, but for what they saw on the water outside; this, an array of zeekoes, in such numbers that the surface was literally flecked with them! they were all around the islet, and over the river, far as the verge of vision--certainly hundreds of them. the spectacle recalled the vast assemblage of elephants encountered higher up; only that the great band of pachyderms were but visitors to the place where they had been seen, while these of the water seemed either to be permanent residents around the islet, or made it a sort of rendezvous. here, then, was a grand opportunity for the vee-boers to complete the scheme already in progress; in short, almost a certainty of making their fortunes. nor did they hesitate about the steps that should be taken to profit by it. instead, it was at once resolved to remain upon the islet, till the ultimate moment when the rainy season might be expected to commence, or the last zeekoe in that quarter be killed. with like promptness did they enter upon execution. ere the setting of another sun, the three waggon-tilts were again seen serving as tents, set up in the centre and highest part of the islet--with two hartebeest-houses, constructed of the palmit reeds beside them--while the naked-bodied burden-bearers streamed to and fro between raft and camp-ground, as the links of an endless chain. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . zeekoe (anglice, "sea-cow") is the name by which the hippopotamus is known to the dutch colonists of south africa. it is just as inappropriate as that of "river-horse" (hippopotamus). chapter twenty four. to sea and home. let the reader imagine a month to have elapsed since our migrant graziers--for the time turned hippopotamus hunters--pitched their camp on the river islet. they are still in occupation of it; and proof that they have chased the zeekoes to some purpose is seen all around. under a capacious shed, some hundreds of the animals' teeth lie in heaps, as horns in a tannery, and beside them many bunches of _jamboks_, manufactured from the hides; while piles of _zeekoe-speck_ [note ] and bladders of fat rendered into lard, are heaped up everywhere. during all the month they have had a busy time of it; the young hunters killing hippopotami, while the hottentots and caffres did the skinning, whip-making, curing, and "trying out." tempted by a chase so profitable in results, and still yielding, they had lingered till the last moment it might be safe. perhaps too long, was the apprehensive thought of jan van dorn, as one morning he waked up to behold the sky overcast with inky clouds, at the same time hearing the rumble of distant thunder. it was the very morning they had fixed upon for breaking up camp, and moving everything on board the raft. but as yet nothing had been stirred; waggon-tilts, hartebeest-houses, sheds--with all the paraphernalia--standing or piled up as ever. neither was hand laid upon them that day, nor on the five days following. for before breakfast could be eaten, the far-off thunder had come near, and was no longer heard in low muttering, but loud reverberation; peal succeeding peal, as if all heaven's artillery had opened fire over their heads. lightning flashed and forked athwart the clouded firmament, from which fell rain, not in drops, but sheets--a very swill of it. five days, and part of a sixth, did the downpour continue without intermission, save in the nights. but these being dark as erebus, nothing could be done in the way of transferring effects to the raft; while during daylight so thick and blinding was the rain, that to keep under shelter was the only thing thought of. on the morning of the seventh day, the sky cleared again, and there was a suspension of the storm. but jan van dorn and smutz knew it would be only temporary; since now, sure enough, the dreadful periodical rains had set in. so much the more reason for hastening departure from that perilous spot. as yet, however, their only fear was the fatal malarious fever, likely to ensue. but ere twenty minutes more had passed, they were made aware of another danger hitherto unthought of. preliminary to moving their _impedimenta_ on board the raft, the three baases had gone down to inspect it, with a view to the storage of the cargo, now so much augmented. never was visit of inspection shorter, or more perfunctory, nor one with more abrupt ending. in fact they could not get upon the raft at all, as the inner end of the plank, that had rested on dry land, was now several yards out in the water--bobbing up and down like a float-stick. there was no obscurity about the cause. the river had risen several feet; and, as they stood regarding it, they could see it was still on the rise. in another hour or two--possibly less--the whole islet would be under water. whatever the reason for haste before, it was now more than doubled. and, needless to say, all possible haste was made; a scene of activity following, with hurrying to and fro. down came the waggon covers-- canvass, bamboos and all--to be rushed on board the raft, and there dropped without waiting to set them up again; goods and chattels, all the old effects with the new, getting transferred from camp to craft in like expeditious manner. everything was on board by noon; and, as luckily no rain fell during the rest of that day, they had all stowed snug before night, and were ready to resume navigation; their last spell of it on that bottom of koker-booms--so hoped they, and believed. by earliest dawn of the next day the raft was cast loose from moorings, and rowed out into the river clear of the islet. then went it floating down, though with deck nearer the water-line than ever before. but this, instead of troubling those on board, only gave them gratification; as might be gathered from the words of jan van dorn, spoken after they had got well under way. seated beside his two associates on sheaves of jamboks, all three pipe in mouth, and eyes bent on the heaps of ivory, zeekoe-speck, and lard, the head baas thus unburdened himself:-- "after all, brothers, it's not likely to turn out so bad for us. look at these!" with a nod towards the varied spoils. "if we can only get them safe into the durban market, they'll sell for enough to make good all our losses. ay," he added, with a knowing wink, and a circular flourish of his meerschaum, "with a trifle of profit besides; sufficient to give us all a fresh start, and a good one, once we've treked back to the transvaal." "ya--ya!" was the laconic response of blom and rynwald; after which the three sate smoking on in silence; only now and then interchanging grunts of congratulation, as their eyes rested on the valuable commodities heaped up around them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ it is pleasant having to record, that their hopeful anticipations were realised, and to the letter. on the third day after putting off from the islet, the raft was tossing about in tidal water, where the river's current met the inflowing surge of the sea. and here again the koker-booms behaved splendidly, bearing them well up and safe through the conflict of waters--at length to lie cabled to a staunchion on the wharf of the little seaport they had heard of, and which proved to be in existence. nor did fortune forsake them there. instead, favoured them in their finding a vessel at anchor in the port--a coast-trader bound down for natal. overjoyed was her skipper to take them on board; so many passengers, who could well pay the passage-money, to say nothing of the large amount of freight, giving him a full cargo. it was just as if they had chartered his vessel beforehand, and he had been awaiting them. in fine, the wanderers by land and water got safe back to their point of departure in the transvaal, richer than they had ever been before. nor did they leave it again, having no longer cause for expatriation. for soon after their return, ensued that strife usually called the "transvaal rebellion," but by the transvaalians themselves, the "war of independence." how they won it at laing's nek, and the spitz-kop, is well-known; and among those who took part in that fierce, sanguinary fight, none bore them more gallantly, or did greater execution with their long guns, than the young vee-boers, whose travels and adventures are herein recorded. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ note . the thick layer of fat immediately under the skin of the hippopotamus is esteemed a delicacy by the boers, who call it, when salted and cured, zeekoe-speck, or bacon. the jelly made from the feet is also much prized, while the best kind of whips (jamboks) are those of hippopotamus hide. as is well-known, the teeth furnish an ivory of the finest quality. the end. images generously made available by the internet archive/american libraries.) bridge disasters in america _the cause and the remedy_ by george l. vose author of "manual for railroad engineers and engineering students," "life and works of george w. whistler, civil engineer," etc. _"eternal vigilance is the price of liberty"_ boston lee and shepard publishers milk street next old south meeting house note. the substance of the following pages appeared originally in "the railroad gazette." it was afterwards reproduced in pamphlet form, and has since been several times delivered as an address to various bodies, the last occasion being before the legislature of massachusetts, . it is now re-published, with some new matter added, in the hope that the public attention may be called to a subject which has so important a bearing upon the public safety. copyright, , by lee and shepard. _all rights reserved._ bridge disasters in america. nearly all of the disasters which occur from the breaking down of bridges are caused by defects which would be easily detected by an efficient system of inspection. not less than forty bridges fall in the united states every year. no system of public inspection or control at present existing has been able to detect in advance the defects in these structures, or to prevent the disasters. after a defective bridge falls, it is in nearly every case easy to see why it did so. it would be just about as easy, in most cases, to tell in advance that such a structure would fall if it ever happened to be heavily loaded. hundreds of bridges are to-day standing in this country simply because they never happen to have received the load which is at any time liable to come upon them. a few years ago an iron highway bridge at dixon, ill., fell, while a crowd was upon it, and killed sixty persons. the briefest inspection of that bridge by any competent engineer would have been sure to condemn it. a few years later the ashtabula bridge upon the lake shore railroad broke down under an express train, and killed over eighty passengers. the report of the committee of the ohio legislature appointed to investigate that disaster concluded, first, that the bridge went down under an ordinary load by reason of defects in its original construction; and, secondly, that the defects in the original construction of the bridge could have been discovered at any time after its erection by careful examination. hardly had the public recovered from the shock of this terrible disaster when the tariffville calamity added its list of dead and wounded to the long roll already charged to the ignorance and recklessness which characterize so much of the management of the public works in this country. there are many bridges now in use upon our railroads in no way better than those at ashtabula and tariffville, and which await only the right combination of circumstances to tumble down. there are, by the laws of chance, just so many persons who are going to be killed on those bridges. there are hundreds of highway bridges now in daily use which are in no way safer than the bridge at dixon was, and which would certainly be condemned by five minutes of competent and honest inspection. more than that, many of them have already been condemned as unfit for public use, but yet are allowed to remain, and invite the disaster which is sure to come. can nothing be done to prevent this reckless and wicked waste of human life? can we not have some system of public control of public works which shall secure the public safety? the answer to this question will be, not until the public is a good deal more enlightened upon these matters than it is now. it has been very correctly remarked, that, in order to bring a disaster to the public notice, it must be emphasized by loss of life. the ashtabula bridge fell, and killed over eighty persons; and a storm of indignation swept over the country, from one end to the other. no language was severe enough to apply to the managers of the lake shore railroad; but if that very bridge had fallen under a freight-train, and no one had been injured, the occurrence would have been dismissed with a paragraph, if, indeed, it had received even that recognition. in february, , a span one hundred and ten feet long of an iron bridge on the chicago and alton railroad at wilmington fell as a train of empty coal-cars was passing over it, and three cars were precipitated into the river, a distance of over thirty feet. no one was injured. not a word of comment was ever made in regard to this occurrence. suppose, that, in place of empty coal-cars, the train had consisted of loaded passenger-cars, and that one hundred persons had been killed. we know very well what the result would have been. is not the company just as much to blame in one case as the other? on the night of the th of november, , one span of the large bridge over the missouri at st. charles gave way as a freight-train was crossing it, and seventeen loaded stock-cars fell a distance of eighty feet into the river. two brakemen and two drovers were killed. this bridge, says the only account that appeared in the papers, did not break apparently, for the whole span "went down" with the cars upon it. it could hardly make much difference to the four men who were killed, whether the bridge broke down, or "went" down. not a word of comment was ever made in the papers outside of missouri in regard to this disaster. suppose, that, in place of seventeen stock-cars, half a dozen passenger-cars had fallen from a height of eighty feet into the river, and that, in place of killing two brakemen and two drovers, two or three hundred passengers had been killed. is not the public just as much concerned in one case as in the other? suppose that a bridge now standing is exactly as unsafe as the ashtabula bridge was the day before it fell, would it be possible to awaken public attention enough to have it examined? probably not. about two years ago an attempt was made to induce one of the leading dailies in this country to expose a wretchedly unsafe bridge in new england. the editor declined, on the ground that the matter was not of sufficient interest for his readers; but less than a month afterwards he devoted three columns of his paper to a detailed account of a bridge disaster in scotland, and asked why it was that such things must happen, and if there was no way of determining in advance whether a bridge was safe, or not? this editor certainly would not maintain, that, in itself, it was more important to describe a disaster after it had occurred than to endeavor to prevent the occurrence; but, as a business man, he knew perfectly well that his patrons would read an account giving all of the sickening detail of a terrible catastrophe, while few, if any, would wade through a dry discussion of the means for protecting the public from just such disasters. the public is always very indignant with the effect, but does not care to trouble itself with the cause; but the effect never will be prevented until the cause is controlled; and the sooner the public understands that the cause is in its own hands, to be controlled, or not, as it chooses, the sooner we shall have a remedy for the fearful disasters which are altogether too common in the united states. in a country where government controls all matters on which the public safety depends, and where no bridge over which the public is to pass is allowed to be built except after the plans have been approved by competent authority, where no work can be executed except under the rigid inspection of the best experts, nor opened to the public until it has been officially tested and accepted, it makes little or no difference whether the public is informed, or not, upon these matters; but in a country like the united states, where any man may at any time open a shop for the manufacture of bridges, whether he knows any thing about the business, or not, and is at liberty to use cheap and insufficient material, and where public officers are always to be found ready to buy such bridges, simply because the first cost is low, and to place them in the public ways, it makes a good deal of difference. there is at present in this country absolutely no law, no control, no inspection, which can prevent the building and the use of unsafe bridges; and there never will be until the people who make the laws see the need of such control. there is no one thing more important in this matter than that we should be able to fix precisely the blame in case of disaster upon some person to whom the proper punishment may be applied. if every railway director, or town or county officer, knew that he was held personally accountable for the failure of any bridge in his charge, we should soon have a decided improvement in these structures. if we could show that a certain bridge in a large town had been for a long time old, rotten, worn out, and liable at any moment to tumble down, and could show in addition, that the public officers having charge of such a bridge knew this to be the case, and still allowed the public to pass over it, we can see at once, that, in case of disaster, the blame would be clearly located, and the action for damages would be short and decisive. once let a town have heavy damages to pay, and let it know at the same time that the town officers are clearly accountable for the loss, and it is possible that it would be willing to adopt some system that should prevent the recurrence of such an outlay. to see what may be accomplished by an efficient system of public inspection, it is necessary to know something in regard to the structures to be inspected. we have now in common use in this country, both upon our roads and our railroads, bridges made entirely of iron, bridges of wood and iron combined, and occasionally, though not often nowadays, a bridge entirely of wood; and these structures are to be seen of a great variety of patterns, of all sizes, and in every stage of preservation. of late so great has been the demand for bridge-work, that this branch of engineering has become a trade by itself; and we find immense works fitted up with an endless variety of the most admirably adapted machine-tools devoted exclusively to the making of bridges of wood, iron, steel, or all combined. as in all division of labor, the result of this specialization has been to improve the quality of the product, to lessen the cost, and to increase the demand, until many of our large firms reckon the length of bridging which they have erected by miles instead of feet. as usual, however, in such cases, unprincipled adventurers are not wanting, who, taking advantage of a great demand, do not hesitate to fit up cheap shops, to buy poor material, and to flood the market with a class of bridges made with a single object in view, viz., to sell, relying upon the ignorance--or something worse--of public officials for custom. not a year passes in which some of these wretched traps do not tumble down, and cause a greater or less loss of life, and at the same time, with uninformed people, throw discredit on the whole modern system of bridge-building. this evil affects particularly highway bridges. the ordinary county commissioner or selectman considers himself amply competent to contract for a bridge of wood or iron, though he may never have given a single day of thought to the matter before his appointment to office. the result is, that we see all over the country a great number of highway bridges which have been sold by dishonest builders to ignorant officials, and which are on the eve of falling, and await only an extra large crowd of people, a company of soldiers, a procession, or something of the sort, to break down. not many years ago, a new highway bridge of iron was to be made over one of the principal rivers in new england. the county commissioners desired a well-known engineer, especially noted as a bridge-builder, to superintend the work, in order to see that it was properly executed. the engineer, after inspection of the plans, told the commissioners plainly that the design was defective, and would not make a safe bridge; and that, unless it was materially changed, he would have nothing to do with it. the bridge, however, was a cheap one, and, as such, commended itself to the commissioners, who proceeded to have it erected according to the original plan; and these same commissioners now point to that bridge, which has not yet fallen, but which is liable to do so at any time, as a complete vindication of their judgment, so called, as opposed to that of the engineer who had spent his life in building bridges. an impression exists in the minds of many persons, that it is purely a matter of opinion whether a bridge is safe, or not. in very many cases, however,--perhaps in most,--it is not at all a matter of opinion, but a matter of fact and of arithmetic. the whole question always comes to this: is the material in this bridge of good quality? is there enough of it? is it correctly disposed, and properly put together? with given dimensions, and knowing the load to be carried, it is a matter of the very simplest computation to fix the size of each member. we know what one square inch of iron will hold, and we know, also, the total number of pounds to be sustained; and it is no matter of opinion, but one of simple division, how many times one will go into the other. but it may be asked, can the precise load which is coming upon any structure be exactly fixed? are not the circumstances under which bridges are loaded very different? bridges in different localities are certainly subjected to very different loads, and under very different conditions; but the proper loads to be provided for have been fixed by the best authority for all cases within narrow enough limits for all practical purposes. few persons are aware of the weight of a closely packed crowd of people. mr. stoney of dublin, one of the best authorities, packed persons upon an area of a little less than square feet; and at another time he placed persons upon an area of square feet, the resulting load in the two cases being very nearly pounds to the square foot. "such cramming," says mr. stoney, "could scarcely occur in practice, except in portions of a strongly excited crowd; but i have no doubt that it does occasionally so occur." "in my own practice," he continues, "i adopt pounds per square foot as the standard working-load distributed uniformly over the whole surface of a public bridge, and pounds per square foot for certain portions of the structure, such, for example, as the foot-paths of a bridge crossing a navigable river in a city, which are liable to be severely tried by an excited crowd during a boat-race, or some similar occasion." tredgold and rankine estimate the weight of a dense crowd at pounds per square foot. mr. brunel used pounds in his calculations for the hungerford suspension bridge. mr. drewry, an old but excellent authority, observes that any body of men marching in step at from to - / miles an hour will strain a bridge at least as much as double the same weight at rest; and he adds, "in prudence, not more than one-sixth the number of infantry that would fill a bridge should be permitted to march over it in step." mr. roebling says, in speaking of the niagara falls suspension bridge, "in my opinion, a heavy train, running at a speed of miles an hour, does less injury to the structure than is caused by heavy cattle under full trot. public processions marching to the sound of music, or bodies of soldiers keeping regular step, will produce a still more injurious effect." evidently a difference should be made in determining the load for london bridge and the load for a highway bridge upon a new-england country road in a thinly settled district. a bridge that is strong enough is just as good and just as safe as one that is ten times stronger, and even better; for in a large bridge, if we make it too strong, we make it at the same time too heavy. the weight of the structure itself has to be sustained, and this part of the load is a perpetual drag on the material. in the american society of civil engineers, in view of the repeated bridge disasters in this country, appointed a committee to report upon the means of averting bridge accidents. we might expect, when a society composed of some hundreds of our best engineers selects an expert committee of half a dozen men, that the best authority would be pretty well represented; and such was eminently the case. it would be impossible to have combined a greater amount of acknowledged talent, both theoretical and practical, with a wider and more valuable experience than this committee possessed. the first point taken up in the report is the determination of the loads for which both railroad and highway bridges should be proportioned. in regard to highway bridges, a majority of the committee reported that for such structures the standard loads should not be less than as shown in the following table:-- +-------------------+----------+----------+----------+ | | pounds per square foot. | | span. +----------+----------+----------+ | | class a. | class b. | class c. | +-------------------+----------+----------+----------+ | feet and less | | | | | to feet | | | | | to feet | | | | | to feet | | | | +-------------------+----------+----------+----------+ class a includes city and suburban bridges, and those over large rivers, where great concentration of weight is possible. class b denotes highway bridges in manufacturing districts having well-ballasted roads. class c refers to ordinary country-road bridges, where travel is less frequent and lighter. a minority of the committee modified the table above by making the loads a little larger. the whole committee agreed in making the load per square foot less as the span is greater, which is, of course, correct. it would seem eminently proper to make a difference between a bridge which carries the continuous and heavy traffic of a large city, and one which is subjected only to the comparatively light and infrequent traffic of a country road. at the same time it should not be forgotten, that, in a large part of the united states, a bridge may be loaded by ten, fifteen, or even twenty pounds per square foot by snow and ice alone, and that the very bridges which from their location we should be apt to make the lightest, are those which would be most likely to be neglected, and not relieved from a heavy accumulation of snow. in view of the above, and remembering that a moving load produces a much greater strain upon a bridge than one which is at rest, we may be sure, that, as the committee above referred to recommend, the loads should not be less than those given in the table. we can easily see that in special cases they should be more. there is another point in regard to loading a highway bridge, which is to be considered. it often happens that a very heavy load is carried over such bridges upon a single truck, thus throwing a heavy and concentrated load upon each point as it passes. mr. stoney states that a wagon with a crank-shaft of the british ship "hercules," weighing about forty-five tons, was refused a passage over westminster iron bridge, for fear of damage to the structure, and had to be carried over waterloo bridge, which is of stone; and he says that in many cases large boilers, heavy forgings, or castings reach as high as twelve tons upon a single wheel. the report of the american society of civil engineers, above referred to, advises that the floor system be strong enough to carry the following loads upon four wheels: class a, tons; class b, tons; class c, tons; though it is stated that these do not include the extraordinary loads sometimes taken over highways. "this provision for local loads," says mr. boller, one of the committee, "may seem extreme; but the jar and jolt of heavy, spring-less loads come directly on all parts of the flooring at successive intervals, and admonish us that any errors should be on the safe side." to pass now to railroad bridges, we find here a very heavy load coming upon the structure in a sudden, and often very violent, manner. experiment and observation both indicate that a rapidly moving load produces an effect equal to double the same load at rest. this effect is seen much more upon short bridges, where the moving load is large in proportion to the weight of the bridge, than upon long spans, where the weight of the bridge itself is considerable. the actual load upon a short bridge is also more per foot than upon a long one, because the locomotive, which is much heavier than an equal length of cars, may cover the whole of a short span, but only a part of a longer one. the largest engines in use upon our railroads weigh from , to , pounds on a wheel-base of not over twelve feet in length, or , pounds per foot for the whole length of the engine, and from , to , pounds on a single pair of wheels. the heaviest coal-trains will weigh nearly a ton to the foot, ordinary freight-trains from , to , pounds, and passenger-trains from , to , pounds per foot. any bridge is liable to be traversed by two heavy freight-engines followed by a load of three-quarters of a ton to the foot; so that if we proportion a bridge to carry , pounds per foot for the total engine length, and one ton per foot for the rest of the bridge, bearing in mind that any one point may be called upon to sustain , pounds, and regarding the increase of strain upon short spans due to high speeds, we have the following loads for different spans exclusive of the weight of the bridge:-- +---------+-----------------+ | span. | lbs. per foot. | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ | | , | +---------+-----------------+ the above does not vary essentially from the english practice, and is substantially the same as given by the committee of the american society of civil engineers. the load which any bridge will be required to carry being determined, and the general plan and dimensions fixed, the several strains upon the different members follow by a simple process of arithmetic, leaving to be determined the actual dimensions of the various parts, a matter which depends upon the power of different kinds of material to resist different strains. this brings us to the exceedingly important subject of the nature and strength of materials. it has been said that we know what one square inch of iron will hold. like the question of loads above examined, this is a matter which has been settled, at any rate within very narrow limits, by the experience of many years of both european and american engineers. a bar of the best wrought-iron an inch square will not break under a tensile strain of less than sixty thousand pounds. only a small part of this, however, is to be used in practice. a bar or beam may be loaded with a greater weight applied as a permanent or dead-load than would be safe as a rolling or moving weight. a load may be brought upon any material in an easy and gradual manner, so as not to damage it; while the same load could not be suddenly and violently applied without injury. the margin for safety should be greater with a material liable to contain hidden defects, than with one which is not so; and it should be greater with any member of a bridge which is subjected to several different kinds of strain, than for one which has to resist only a single form of strain. respect, also, should be had to the frequency with which any part is subjected to strain from a moving load, as this will influence its power of endurance. the rule in structures having so important an office to perform as railroad or highway bridges, should be, in all cases, absolute safety under all conditions. the british board of trade fixes the greatest strain that shall come upon the material in a wrought-iron bridge, from the combined weight of the bridge and load, at tons per square inch of the net section of the metal. the french practice allows - / tons per square inch of the cross section of the metal, which, considering the amount taken out by rivet-holes, is substantially the same as the english allowance. the report of the american society of civil engineers, above referred to, recommends , pounds per inch as the maximum for wrought-iron in tension in railroad bridges. for highway bridges a unit strain of , pounds per square inch is often allowed. a very common clause in a specification is that the _factor of safety_ shall be four, five, or six, as the case may be, meaning by this that the actual load shall not exceed one-fourth, one-fifth, or one-sixth part of the breaking-load. it is a little unfortunate that this term, factor of safety, has found its way into use just as it has; for it by no means indicates what is intended, or what it is supposed to. the true margin for safety is not the difference between the working-strain and the breaking-strain, but between the working-strain and that strain which will in any way unfit the material for use. now, any material is unfitted for use when it is so far distorted by overstraining that it cannot recover, or, technically speaking, when its elastic limit has been exceeded. the elastic limit of the best grades of iron is just about half the breaking-weight, or from , to , pounds per inch. a poor iron will often show a very fair breaking-strength, but, at the same time, will have a very low elastic limit, and be entirely unfit for use in a bridge. a piece of iron of very inferior quality will often sustain a greater load before breaking than a piece of the best and toughest material, for the reason that a tough but ductile iron will stretch before giving way, thus reducing the area of section, while a hard but poor iron will keep nearly its full size until it breaks. a tough and ductile iron should bend double, when cold, without showing any signs of fracture, and should stretch fifteen per cent of its length before breaking; but much of the iron used in bridges, although it may hold , or , pounds per inch before failing, will not bend over degrees without cracking, and has an elastic limit as low as , pounds. it is thus full as important to specify that an iron should have a high elastic limit as that it should have a high breaking-weight. a specification which allowed no material to be strained by more than , pounds per inch, and no iron to be used with a less elastic limit than , pounds, would, at the same time, agree with the standard requirement, both in england and in the united states, and would also secure a good quality of iron. two documents published some time since illustrate the preceding remarks. the first is the account of the tests of the iron taken from the tariffville bridge after its failure, and the second is the specification for bridges on the cincinnati southern railroad. the tariffville bridge, though nominally a wooden one, like most structures of the kind relied entirely upon iron rods to keep the wood-work together. although the rods were too small, and seriously defective in manufacture, the bridge ought not to have fallen from that cause. the ultimate strength of the iron was not what it should have been, but yet it was not low enough to explain the disaster; but when we look at the _quality_ of the iron, we have the cause of the fall. the rods taken from the bridge show an ultimate tensile strength of , pounds per inch, but an elastic limit of only , pounds; while the strain which was at any time liable to come on them was , pounds per inch, or , pounds more than the elastic limit. the fracture of the tested rods, which, it is stated, broke with a single blow of the hammer very much in the manner of cast-iron, showed a very inferior quality of metal. the rods broke in the bridge exactly where we should look for the failure; viz., in the screw at the end. no ordinary inspection would have detected this weakness. no inspection _did_ detect it, but a proper specification faithfully carried out would have prevented the disaster. look now at an extract from the specification for bridges upon the cincinnati southern railway:-- "all parts of the bridges and trestleworks must be proportioned to sustain the passage of the following rolling-load at a speed of not less than miles an hour: viz., two locomotives coupled, each weighing tons on the drivers in a space of feet, the total weight of each engine and tender loaded being tons in a space of feet, and followed by loaded cars weighing tons each in a space of feet. an addition of per cent will be made to the strains produced by the rolling-load considered as static in all parts which are liable to be thrown suddenly under strain by the passage of a rapidly moving load. a similar addition of per cent will be made to the strain on suspension links and riveted connections of stringers with floor-beams, and floor-beams with trusses. the iron-work shall be so proportioned that the weight of the structure, together with the above specified rolling-load, shall in no part cause a tensile strain of more than , pounds per square inch of sectional area. iron used under tensile strain shall be tough, ductile, of uniform quality, and capable of sustaining not less than , pounds per square inch of sectional area without fracture, and , pounds per square inch without taking a permanent set. the reduction of area at the breaking-point shall average per cent, and the elongation per cent. when cold, the iron must bend, without sign of fracture, from to degrees." a specification like this, properly carried out, would put an absolute stop to the building of such structures as the tariffville bridge, and would prevent a very large part of the catastrophes which so often shock the community, and shake the public faith in iron bridges. reference has been made above to the proper loads to be placed upon wrought-iron when under a tensile strain. similar loads have been determined for other materials, and for other kinds of strain. the preceding remarks in regard to the loads for which bridges should be designed, and the safe weight to be put upon the material, are given to show how far the safety of a bridge is a matter of fact, and how far a matter of opinion. it will be seen that the limits within which we are at liberty to vary, are quite narrow, so that bridge-building may correctly be called a science; and there is no excuse for the person who guesses, either at the load which a bridge should be designed to bear, or at the size of the different members of the structure. still less can we excuse the man who not only guesses, but who, in order to build cheaply, persistently guesses on the wrong side. it will, of course, be understood, when it is said that bridge-building may be called a science, that it can only be so when in the hands of an engineer whose judgment has been matured by wide experience, and who understands that no mechanical philosophy can be applied to practice which is not subject to the contingencies of workmanship. there are many bridges which will stand the test of figures very well, and which are nevertheless very poor structures. the general plan of a bridge may be good, the computations all right, and yet it may break down under the first train that passes over it. there are many practical considerations that cannot be, at any rate have not yet been, reduced to figures. it is not enough that the strains upon each member of a bridge should be correctly estimated, and fall within the safe limits: the different members of the bridge must be so connected, and the mechanical details such, as to insure, under all conditions, the assumed action of the several parts. in fine, while we can say that a bridge that does not stand the test of arithmetic is a bad bridge, we cannot always say that a structure which does stand such a test is a good one. we often hear it argued that a bridge must be safe, since it has been submitted to a heavy load, and did not break down. such a test means absolutely nothing. it does not even show that the bridge will bear the same load again, much less does it show that it has the proper margin for safety. it simply shows that it did not break down at that time. every rotten, worn-out, and defective bridge that ever fell has been submitted to exactly that test. more than this, it has repeatedly happened that a heavy train has passed over a bridge in apparent safety, while a much lighter one passing directly afterwards has gone through. in almost all such cases, the structure has been weak and defective; and finally some heavy load passes over, and cripples the bridge, so that the next load produces a disaster. for the test of a bridge to be in any way satisfactory, we must know just what effect such test has had upon the structure. we do not find this out by simply standing near, and noting that the bridge did not break down. we must satisfy ourselves beyond all question that no part has been overstrained. a short time ago the builders of a wretchedly cheap and unsafe highway bridge, in order to quiet a fear which had arisen that the structure was not altogether sound, tested a span feet long with a load of , pounds; and inasmuch as the bridge did not break down under this load, which was less than a quarter part of what it was warranted to carry safely, the county commissioners considered the result eminently satisfactory, and remarked that the test was made merely to satisfy the public that the bridge was abundantly safe for all practical uses. the public would, no doubt, have been satisfied that the ashtabula bridge was abundantly safe for all practical uses had it stood on that bridge in the morning and seen a heavy freight-train go over it, and yet that very bridge broke down directly afterwards under a passenger-train. now, according to the common notion, that was a good bridge in the morning, and a very bad bridge, or rather, no bridge at all, in the evening. the question for the public is, when did it cease to be a good bridge, and begin to be a bad one? a test like the one referred to above can do no more than illustrate the ignorance or lack of honesty of those who make it, or those who are satisfied with it. such a test might come within a dozen pounds of breaking the bridge down, and no one be the wiser. the entire absurdity of such testing has recently been illustrated in the most decided manner. the very same company that built the bridge above referred to, made also another one on exactly the same plan, and of almost precisely the same size, and tested it when done by placing almost exactly the same load upon it. the bridge did not break down; and the county commissioners, for whom the work was done, were satisfied that it was "abundantly safe for all practical uses," accepted it, paid for it; and in less than ten years it broke down under a single team and a little snow, weighing in all not over one-tenth part of the load the bridge was warranted to carry, and not over one-half the load with which it had been previously tested. if this bridge had been "tested" by five minutes of honest arithmetic, it would have been promptly condemned the very day it was finished. in view of the preceding, what shall we say of a bridge company that deliberately builds a bridge in the middle of a large town, where it will be subjected to heavy teaming, and, owing to its peculiar location, to heavy crowds, and warrants to the town that it shall safely hold a ton per running-foot, when the very simplest computation shows beyond chance of dispute that such a load will strain the iron to , pounds per square inch? we are to say, either that such a company is so ignorant that it does not know the difference between a good bridge and a bad one, or else so wicked as to knowingly subject the public to a wretchedly unsafe bridge. the case referred to is not an imaginary one, but existed recently in the main street of a large new-england town. the joints in that bridge, which could safely hold but , pounds, were required to hold , pounds under the load which the builders had warranted the bridge to carry safely. the case was so bad, that, after a lengthy controversy, the town officers had a thorough expert examination of the bridge, which promptly condemned it as in imminent danger of falling, and as having a factor of safety of only - / , which is practically no factor at all. notwithstanding all this, and in the face of the report, the president of the bridge company came out with a letter in the papers, in which he pronounced the bridge "perfectly safe." thus we actually have the president of a bridge company in this country stating openly that a factor of safety of - / makes a bridge perfectly safe, or, in other words, that a bridge can safely bear the load that will break it down, for he very wisely made not the slightest attempt to disprove any of the conclusions of the commission; and this company has built hundreds of highway bridges all over the united states, and is building them to-day wherever it can find town or county officers ignorant enough to buy them. it might be supposed, that, under the above condemnation, the authorities controlling the bridge would have taken some steps to prevent the coming disaster. they did, however, nothing of the kind, but allowed the public to travel over it for more than a year, at the most fearful risk, until public indignation became so strong that a special town-meeting was called, and a committee appointed to remove the old bridge, and to build a new one. one of the worst cases of utterly dishonest bridge-building that we have had of late years in massachusetts, was that of the iron highway bridge across the merrimac river at groveland, a few miles below haverhill, one span of which broke down in january, . this bridge was built in - , and consisted of spans, each about feet long. the whole cost of the structure was $ , , and the contract price for the iron-work was $ , . the company which made that bridge, agreed in their contract to give the county a structure that should carry safely , pounds per running-foot besides its own weight; but they built a bridge, which, if they knew enough to compute its strength at all, they knew perfectly well could not safely carry over one-quarter part of that load. in fact, the weight of the bridge alone is more than it ever ought to have borne. the company warranted each span of that bridge to carry safely a net or moving load of tons, and it broke down under a single team and a small amount of snow. the company warranted that bridge to carry safely a load which would strain the iron to , pounds per inch, when it knew perfectly well that , pounds per inch was the most that could safely be borne. there are several concerns in the united states which make a specialty of highway bridges, and which, taking advantage of the ignorance of public officials, are flooding the country with bridges no better than that at groveland. on an average, at least twenty of these miserable traps tumble down every year, and nothing is done to bring the guilty parties to punishment. dishonest builders cheat ignorant officials, and the public suffers the damage and pays the bills. is human life worth enough to pay for having these structures inspected, and, if found unsafe, strengthened or removed? can we do any thing to prevent towns and counties from being imposed upon by dishonest builders? we certainly can, if those who control these matters care enough about it to do it. there are two ways of buying a bridge,--a good way and a bad one; and these two ways are so plain that no one can misunderstand. to buy a bad bridge, just as soon as your town or county votes money for a new bridge, certain agents--and they are as numerous as the agents for sewing-machines or lightning-rods--will call on, or write to, the town or county officers, and will offer to build any thing under heavens you want of any size, shape, or material, and for almost any price. they will produce testimonials from all the town and county officers in the country for the excellence of their bridges, and would not hesitate to give reference, even, for their moral character, if you should ask it. if they find that you don't know any thing about bridges, they will, to save you the trouble, furnish a printed specification; which document will commit you to pay the money, but will not commit the bridge company to any thing at all. when the bridge is put up, you never will know whether the iron is good or bad, nor whether the dimensions and proportions are such as to be safe or not. you will know that you have paid your money away, but you never will know what you have got for it until some day when your bridge gets a crowd upon it, and breaks down, and you have the damage to pay. this mode of buying a bridge is very common. to buy a good bridge, first determine precisely what you want; and if you don't know any thing in regard to bridge-building yourself, employ an engineer who does, to make a specification stating exactly what you want, and what you mean to have. then advertise for bridge-builders to send in plans and proposals. let the contractors understand that all plans and computations are to be submitted to your engineer, that all materials and workmanship will be submitted to your inspectors, and that the whole structure is to be made subject to the supervision of a competent engineer, and accepted by him for you. you will find at once, that, under such conditions, all travelling agents and builders of cheap bridges will avoid you as a thief does the light of day. you will have genuine proposals from responsible companies, and their bids should be submitted to your engineer. when you have made your choice, let the contract be written by your lawyer, and have the plans and specifications attached. employ a competent engineer to inspect the work as it goes on; and when it is done, you will have a bridge which will be warranted absolutely sound by the best authority. this mode of buying a bridge is very uncommon. the ashtabula bridge, it is stated in the report of the committee of the ohio legislature appointed to investigate that disaster, had factors,--we can hardly call them factors of safety,--in some parts as low as - / and - / , such factors referring to the breaking-weight; and even these factors were obtained by assuming the load as at rest, and making no allowance for the jar and shock from a railroad train in motion. well may the commissioners say, as they do at the end of their report, "the bridge was liable to go down at any time during the last ten years under the loads that might at any time be brought upon it in the ordinary course of the company's business, and it is most remarkable that it did not sooner occur." one point always brought forward when an iron bridge breaks down, is the supposed deterioration of iron under repeated straining; and we are gravely told that after a while all iron loses its fibre, and becomes crystalline. this is one of the "mysteries" which some persons conjure up at tolerably regular intervals to cover their ignorance. it is perfectly well known by engineers the world over, that with good iron properly used, nothing of the kind ever takes place. this matter used to be a favorite bone of contention among engineers, but it has long since been laid upon the shelf. no engineer at the present day ever thinks of it. we have only to allow the proper margin for safety, as our first-class builders all do, and this antiquated objection at once vanishes. the examples of the long duration of iron in large bridges are numerous and conclusive. the niagara-falls railroad suspension bridge was carefully inspected after twenty-five years of continued use under frequent and heavy trains, and not only was it impossible to detect by the severest tests any defect in the wire of the cables, but a piece of it, being thrown upon the floor, curled up, showing the old "kink" which the iron had when it was first made, and wound on the reel. the menai suspension bridge, in which , tons of iron have hung suspended across an opening of feet for sixty years, shows no depreciation that the most rigid inspection could detect. iron rods, recently taken from an old bridge in this country, have been carefully tested after sixty years of use, and found to have lost nothing, either of the original breaking-strength, or of the original elasticity. the question is frequently asked, does not extreme cold weaken iron bridges? to this, it may be replied, that no iron bridge, made by a reliable company, has ever shown the slightest indication of any thing of the kind, though they have been used for many years in russia, norway, sweden, and canada, and nothing that we know in regard to iron gives us any reason to suppose that any thing of the kind ever will happen. but here, again, every thing turns upon the quality of the iron. iron containing phosphorus is "cold-short," or brittle when cold, and will break quicker under repeated and sudden shocks in cold weather than when it is warm. with good iron, properly used, we need have no fear on this point. the securing such iron is a matter to which the utmost attention is paid by our first-class bridge-building firms, but it is a matter to which no attention is paid by the builders of cheap bridges. we might suppose that a person, in putting an insufficient amount of iron into a bridge, would be careful to get the best quality; but exactly the reverse seems to be the case, on the ground, perhaps, that the less of a bad thing we have, the better. many persons, in building wooden bridges, take no pains to get iron rods which are suitable for such work, but purchase what is easiest to be had in the market, and in many cases never find that the iron was bad until a bridge tumbles down. there are, without the slightest question, hundreds of bridges now in use in this country, which, as far as mere proportions and dimensions go, would appear to be entirely safe, but which, on account of the quality of the iron with which they are made, are entirely unsafe; and there always will be, as long as public officials purchase iron which they know nothing about, to put into bridges. when a bridge is finished, the ordinary examinations never detect the quality of the iron; so that the wise remarks of many inspectors, or the opinions of those in charge of these structures, as to the exact condition of a bridge, are of little or no value. we often hear iron bridges condemned, while wooden ones, so called, are supposed to be free from defects. it does not seem to occur to persons holding such ideas, that wooden bridges rely just as much upon the strength of the iron rods that tie the timbers together, as upon the timber. as a matter of fact, where one iron bridge falls, a dozen wooden ones do the same thing. one very decided advantage which an iron bridge has over a wooden one, is that we can make sure of good iron in the beginning, and that we can also be sure that it does not decay; while, however good our timber may be in the beginning, we never can be entirely sure of its condition afterwards. there are wooden bridges now standing in this country, all the way from sixty to eighty years old, which are apparently as good as ever; while there are others, not ten years old, which are so rotten as to be unfit for use. it will not do to assume, that, because no defects are very evident in a wooden bridge, therefore it has none. when a wooden bridge, originally made of only fair material, has been in use under railroad trains for twenty-five or thirty years, and in a position where timber would naturally decay, we are bound to suspect that bridge. to assume such a bridge to be all right until we can prove it to be all wrong, is not safe. to assume a bridge to be all wrong until we can prove it to be all right, is a safe method, though not a popular one. any person who has had occasion to remove old wooden bridges, will recall how often they look very much worse than was anticipated. there is one defect in railway bridges which has often led to the most fearful disasters, and which, without the slightest question, can be almost entirely, if not entirely, removed, and at a moderate cost. at least half the most disastrous failures of railroad bridges in the united states have been due to a defective system of flooring. with a very large proportion of our bridges, the failure of a rail, the breaking of an axle, or any thing which shall throw the train from the track, is almost sure to be followed by the breaking down of the bridge. the cross-ties are in many cases very short, and the floor is proportioned for a train _on_ and not _off_ the rails. when an engine on such a floor leaves the track, it plunges off the ends of the cross-ties into the open space between the stringers and the chords, and generally wrecks the bridge. to prevent this, the cross-ties should be long and well supported, and placed so close that a derailed engine cannot cut through them. the track should also be provided with guard-timbers well fastened, and the width between the trusses should be so great that the wheels of a derailed train will be stopped by the guard-rail before the side of the widest car can strike the truss. the importance of a substantial floor system has been very fully recognized by the railroad commissioners of massachusetts, who have recently issued a very suggestive circular, accompanied by numerous examples of track construction for railway bridges. if this circular receives proper attention, it is sure to produce good results. another point which has often been neglected, is making sufficient provision to resist the force of the wind. a tornado, such as is not uncommon in this country, will exert a force of pounds per square foot, which upon the side of a wooden bridge, say of feet span, and feet high, and boarded up as many bridges are, would amount to a lateral thrust of no less than tons; and this load would be applied in the worst possible manner, i.e., in a series of shocks. there have been many cases in this country where bridges have been blown down; and a case recently occurred where an iron railroad bridge of feet span, and feet high, and presenting apparently almost no surface to the wind, was blown so much out of line that the track had to be shifted. the recent terrible disaster at the firth of tay was, no doubt, due to this cause. at the time of the tariffville catastrophe, it was gravely stated at the coroner's inquest, and by railroad officers who claimed to know about such things, that the disaster was caused by the tremendous weight of two locomotives which were coupled together, and it was stated that one engine would have passed in safety; and directly afterwards the superintendent of a prominent railroad in new england issued an order forbidding two engines connected to pass over any iron bridges. it is all very well for a company to issue such an order, so far as it may give the public to understand that it is determined to use every precaution against disaster; but such an order may have the effect of creating a distrust which really ought not to exist. if a railway bridge is not entirely safe for two engines, it is certainly entirely unsafe for one engine and the train following; the only saving in weight by taking off one engine being the difference between the weight of that engine and the weight of the cars that would occupy the same room. for example, a bridge of feet span will weigh , pounds per lineal foot. an engine and its tender will weigh tons in a length of feet, and a loaded freight-train may easily weigh / of a ton per lineal foot. the total weight of the span, with two engines, and the rest of the bridge covered with loaded freight-cars, would thus be tons. if we take off one engine, and fill its place with cars, we take off tons, and put in its place tons; i.e., we remove tons, or just about / of the working-load. taking off a large part of the working-load, however, is taking off a very small part of the breaking-load; with a factor of safety of six, for example, taking off / of the working-load is taking off less than / of the breaking-load. an order, therefore, like that above, can only be of use when the working-load and the breaking-load are so nearly alike that the actual load is a dangerous one: that is when the bridge is unfit for any traffic whatever; so that, if such an order was really needed, it would, in itself, be, in the eyes of an engineer, a condemnation of the bridge. having seen something of the structures which require inspecting, let us now see what kind of inspection we have in this country, and the result of it; and let us also see the inspection which we might have, and the results that might be produced. looking first at railroad bridges, it might be supposed that no one could be so much interested in keeping such structures in good order as the companies which own those bridges, and which have the bills to pay in case of disaster. this is, of course, so; but, in spite of the fact, the ashtabula bridge broke down, on one of the best managed lines in the country, and cost the company over half a million dollars in damages. no railroad bridge ever broke down, which the owners were not interested in keeping safe; but there is always a desire to put off incurring large expenses until the last moment, and thus weak bridges are very often let go too long. a short time since, the superintendent of a large railroad stated plainly before a legislative committee, that many of the smaller roads were not safe to run over, but that such roads were having a hard time, and could not afford to keep their track and bridges in a safe condition. during the past ten years over two hundred railroad bridges in the united states have broken down. these bridges were all kept under such inspection as the railroad companies owning them considered sufficient, or such as they could afford; but either the supervision was defective, or the companies knowingly continued the use of unsafe bridges, and this fault has by no means been confined to the smaller and poorer roads. it would seem, therefore, that inspection by the companies themselves has not been sufficient. it certainly has not been enough to prevent two hundred disasters in ten years. it is the custom in several of the united states to maintain what is termed a railroad commission. the original intention seems to have been for these commissions to keep the railroads under some kind of inspection, and in some way to assist in settling any questions that might arise between different companies, and between railroad companies and the public. as far as we can judge by the results produced, in the states where these commissions have been established, we can hardly pronounce them of any very great importance. in many states, it is very certain, that, in regard to matters of inspection, the work of these boards has been simply a farce; and it could hardly be otherwise in a state which pays its commissioners only $ , salary, or, worse yet, as in some cases, only $ . add to this, that in many cases the appointments have been purely political ones, and we can see the absurdity of expecting any results of value. we should hardly suppose that three men, in many cases entirely unacquainted with mechanical matters, could by riding over a railroad once or twice a year, occasionally getting out to examine the paint on the outside of the boards, which conceal a truss from view, judge very correctly of the elastic limit of the iron rods which they have never seen, and of which they do not even know the existence. for ample proof of the utter inefficiency of the present system, we have only to compare the reports of the railroad commissioners in almost any state, with the actual condition of the structures described. in one state a late annual report covers a whole railroad with the remark, "all of the bridges on this line are in excellent order;" and yet there were at that very time, and are now, on that road, several large wooden bridges with a factor of safety referred to the breaking-weight of not over _two_ under a fair load, assuming the iron rods to be of the very best material,--a point upon which there is no evidence whatever. there is, in fact, no difference which any ordinary inspection would detect between these bridges as they stand to-day, and the tariffville bridge as it stood the day before it fell. in another state, an iron bridge is in use under heavy trains, which has a factor of only - / instead of , and yet the state report pronounces it an excellent structure and a credit to the railroad company, which recklessly allows its trains to pass over it. in yet another state, the commissioners in reported that a certain bridge should be removed; and this was quite correct, as it was an eminently unsafe bridge. in they suggested the same thing again. in they say, "this bridge must be rebuilt the coming spring." in they again reported, "this bridge must be rebuilt before the spring opens. it is old, and will not be safe for the passage of trains over it, if the ice or freshet should take away the temporary trestles, which now in a great measure support the truss." a year later than that, in , a public protest was made against the further use of that bridge, as the lower chords were rotten, broken, pulled apart, and the only thing that held it up was a trestle, liable at any time to be knocked out by the ice; and yet, after all this, in reply to the protest, the commissioners replied that they had just "tested" the bridge by running an engine over it, and pronounced it "safe for the present," whatever that may mean. now, just how it was that this bridge, which was old, rotten, and worn out, which the commissioners themselves had condemned for four successive years, which they had said two years before must be rebuilt the coming spring, and which relied entirely upon a trestle liable at any time to be carried away, had suddenly become "safe for the present," is not plain to see. evidently such inspection as this is of no value. it is exactly this utterly incompetent and dishonest inspection, this guessing that a bridge will stand until it falls, that lies at the bottom of half the disasters in the country. it is under exactly such inspection that those wretched traps, the ashtabula and tariffville bridges, fell, and killed over one hundred people. no wonder that railroad officials have an undisguised contempt for state inspection. while in a few states the inspection is not quite so bad as that referred to, as a general thing it is no better; and we have no right to expect any thing better under the present system. the state inspection which we have had throughout this country has not prevented the breaking down of one hundred bridges in the past ten years. twenty-five states have railroad commissions; but in nine of them the commission consists of only a single man, who, in some cases, is paid only $ a year. a state can pay $ a year for having its bridges inspected, and it will get such service as never did and never will prevent a disaster; or it can pay a good price for competent inspection, which will be worth ten times the money to the state. the money which the lake shore railroad paid in damages for the ashtabula disaster alone, would have employed permanently six men at $ , a year each, and a hundred lives would have been saved besides. with regard to highway bridges, we are, if possible, even worse off than in regard to railway bridges; for in the case of such structures, neither the owners nor the state make any pretence at inspection. it is impossible to say how many highway bridges have broken down during the past ten years, but it is estimated by bridge-builders that the number cannot be less than two hundred. this is, no doubt, far within the truth; and by far the larger part of these structures are not old wooden bridges, but are new bridges of iron. if we knew positively that in just six months a terrible disaster would occur under the present system of bridge inspection, and knew also, that, by a better system, such disaster would certainly be prevented, it is possible that a change might be made. we know that a proper method of building and inspecting bridges would certainly have prevented the disasters at ashtabula, tariffville, and dixon. we know that the inspection which those bridges received, did not prevent three of the most fearful disasters the country has ever seen. admitting, now, that structures so important to the public safety as bridges, both upon roads and railroads, ought to be kept under rigid inspection and control, and that no system at present existing has been able to prevent the most fearful catastrophes, what shall we do? directly after the ashtabula disaster, the ohio legislative committee, appointed to investigate that affair, presented to the legislature a bill, "to secure greater safety for public travel over bridges," in which was plainly specified the loads for which all bridges should be proportioned, the maximum strains to which the iron should be subjected, and a method for inspecting the plans of all bridges before building, and the bridges themselves during and after construction. the governor, with the consent of the senate, was to appoint the inspector for a term of five years at a salary not exceeding $ , a year, such inspector to pass a satisfactory examination before a committee of the american society of civil engineers, themselves practical experts in bridge construction, and he was also to take a suitable oath for the faithful performance of his duty. this bill never became a law. an appropriation was made for a short time to pay for certain examinations, and there the matter stopped. the committee of the american society of engineers were not agreed upon this matter. messrs. james b. eads and charles shaler smith suggested the appointment in each state of an expert, to whom all plans should be submitted, and by whom all work should be inspected,--such expert to have been examined and approved by the american society of civil engineers. the inspector was also to visit the scene of every accident, so called, and to ascertain, as far as possible, the cause. messrs. t. c. clarke and julius w. adams believed, that, in the present state of public opinion, the above method would be impracticable, and feared, that, if inspectors were appointed, it would be by political influence, and that the result would be worse than at present, as the inspectors would be inefficient, and yet, to a great extent, would relieve the owners of bad bridges from legal responsibility. they held that the best that could be done would be to provide means, in case of disaster, to fix plainly the responsibility, and recommended, first, that the standard for strength fixed by the society should be the legal standard; and, in case it should be found that any bridge was of less strength than this, it should be taken as _prima facie_ evidence of neglect on the part of the owners. second, that no bridge should be opened to the public until a plan giving all dimensions, strains, and loads, sworn to by the designers and makers, and attested by the corporation having control of it, had been deposited with the american society; and further, that the principal pieces of iron in the bridge should be stamped with the name of the maker, place of manufacture, and date. messrs. a. p. boller and charles macdonald looked rather toward effecting the desired result by so directing public sentiment by keeping the correct standard for bridges before it, that it would eventually compel the passage of the necessary laws. whether it is possible, in this country, to make an appointment dependent purely upon honesty and capacity, and free from political influence, may well be doubted. no competent engineer would be willing to accept a position which would place upon him so great a responsibility, except under a very carefully devised plan. a very considerable force of inspectors would be required to carry out a system which should produce the desired result. the amount of work to be done at the commencement would be very great, as no proper inspection has ever been made of the greater part of the bridges in the country, of which the number is very large. if any such plan as above suggested should be found feasible, the inspectors should have in their possession a complete set of plans of every bridge of importance in the state, with all the computations of its strength, and as complete a history of each structure from its commencement as can be made up, all this to be supplemented by periodic examinations. if, from such records, we find that a bridge was made of ordinary green timber twenty-five years ago, and that it has been getting rotten ever since; that it has rods of common merchant iron that were bought by some person, not specially acquainted with the business, from an unknown firm,--we had better pull it down before it falls. if, from such records, we find an iron bridge built twenty-five years ago by an unknown company, with iron, at best, of a doubtful quality, and having a factor of three or four for the rolling-stock and speeds of twenty years ago, instead of a factor of six for the rolling-stock and speeds of to-day, we had better remove that bridge before it removes itself. such a record would be the property of the state, always accessible to any one, and would be handed down, so that the knowledge of one person would not expire with his term of office. no bridge should be erected in any state without first submitting the plans to the inspector, and receiving his approval, and depositing with him a complete set of the plans and computations for the work. by this approval is not meant that the inspector is merely to give a favorable opinion as to the plan, but that he is to find, as a matter of fact, whether the proposed dimensions and proportions are such as will make a safe bridge--and just what a safe bridge is, can be plainly defined by law, as it is in europe, and as it has been proposed by the american society of civil engineers. for example, if the law says that an iron railway bridge of feet span shall be proportioned to carry a load of , pounds per lineal foot besides its own weight, and that, with such a load, no part shall be strained by more than , pounds per inch, all the inspector has to do is to go over the figures, and see that the dimensions given on the plan are such as will enable the bridge to carry the load without exceeding the specified strains. when the work is erected, the inspection must show that the plan has been exactly carried out, that the details are good, and proper evidence of the quality of the material used should also be given. such inspection as this would at once prevent the erection of bridges like those at ashtabula and tariffville, and would save the public from such traps as those that fell at dixon and at groveland. perhaps the most difficult thing to do will be to get satisfactory evidence in regard to the bridges that have been for a considerable time in use, and of which we do not know the history. this will be especially true in regard to the wooden bridges, of which there are so many about the country. not only is it very difficult to be sure of the exact condition of the timber, but it is equally hard to tell any thing about the iron. the tariffville bridge fell on account of defective iron, and the defect was of such a nature as to defy any ordinary inspection. what do we know to-day of the quality of the iron rods in any wooden bridge in massachusetts? it is very doubtful if the best inspection we have in the united states at the present time would have found any defect so evident in the tariffville bridge as to condemn it as unfit for the passage of trains. there are hundreds of exactly such bridges all over new england, as far as we can tell by the best inspection we now have, made on the same plan, with no more material, and of which we know just as little of the quality of the iron as we did in the tariffville bridge. of course we cannot expect to get a perfect system all at once. any plan which might be proposed would, no doubt, be found more or less defective at first. we can hardly get a system worse than the one we now have, which allows forty bridges to break down every year. we may get a better one. to make the public see the need of such a system is the first step to be taken. * * * * * lee and shepard's popular handbooks. price, each, in cloth, cents, except when other price is given. forgotten meanings; 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for they will be the future industrial workers and the representatives of public opinion; their interest must be aroused to practice and preach "safety first" everywhere. children can be taught to become alert to their own safety, and can influence their parents to a deeper realization of their responsibilities. the national safety council has directed the preparation of this book and hopes that through its pages children will be brought to realize the manliness of caution, the importance of courtesy and consideration; that, in short, the safety way is simply the right way of doing things; and that the efficiency, comfort, and happiness of many individuals will be increased by the practicing day in and day out of "safety first." r. w. campbell _president national safety council_ _you have no right to take a chance; some one else may have to take the consequences._ --colonel sure pop sure pop and the safety scouts [illustration] adventure number one bob thirsts for adventure and gets it "bully for uncle jack!" cried bob, a stalwart lad just on the edge of twelve, excitedly waving a letter with a south american postmark. "what wouldn't i give to be with him on his exploring trips! here, betty, listen to this part about their fight with the natives!" "oh, don't, please!" said his twin, clapping both hands over her ears, but listening just the same. "i'm always so afraid uncle jack will get killed." "uncle jack get killed? hardly! just listen to what he says: "'this last scrimmage was one of the liveliest i've ever been up against. the warlike up-river tribes, it seems, mistook our native scouts for a war party and lay in ambush for us. might have been worse, though. our losses were two men killed and seven wounded--but of course that's only a fraction of what you wound and kill every day back there in the states.'" "why, what does he mean by that?" wondered betty. "there's no war going on in this country, is there?" "not that i know of." even brother bob looked puzzled for a moment. "no indians left to fight! but say, betty, uncle jack's life is just fairly dripping with adventure! think of it--every day chock-full of thrills and narrow escapes--and adventures every time he turns around! well, it won't be many years now before i can be a scout and explorer myself." a yell from their playmates outside brought the twins to the street in a hurry. bob's legs were longer, but betty, quick as a cat, got there first. "you're it, bob!" "bob's last, so he's it!" like a band of savages the screeching boys and girls scuttled across the car tracks and around the corners, while bob counted up to five hundred "by fives." "four hundr' nine' five, five hundred!" yelled bob, and started to dash across the tracks, for he had caught a glimpse of jimmy west's new red boots disappearing under his grandmother's porch across the street. the sound of the wind in his ears as he ran drowned out the roar of the coming street car, and of course he had eyes only for those tell-tale red boots. another jump and bob would have been under the wheels--but a strong little hand on his shoulder stopped him. the street car roared by with a startled clang of its gong, for the motorman had seen bob too late to throw off the power. bob gasped in relief--then whirled around to see what had stopped him. and what do you think he saw, right there beside him in the street? was it a scout--or a pygmy--or what? he was old and snowy haired, but as fresh as a daisy and as spry as a cricket. his cheeks were as ruddy as spitzenberg apples and his only wrinkles were the laughter wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. and such eyes! they were big and clear, and so bright that bob could only look at them a moment and then turn away. it was like trying to stare at the sun. he was tiny, but straight as a ramrod in his natty khaki uniform. and he was holding up his right hand just like the big policeman on the corner downtown. as he dropped it to shake hands with bob, there was a sudden flash of green. "why, hello there!" bob could scarcely believe his eyes. "where on earth did _you_ come from? and who--who _are_ you, anyway?" "my name is sure pop!" answered the scout in a clear voice, like the note of a bugle. "i've dropped in on the united states on my second tour of scouting duty, and i hear you are thirsting for adventure. well, you've had _one_, at any rate; if i hadn't grabbed you just in the nick of time--" he shuddered and hustled bob back to the sidewalk. "thanks, old scout!" stammered bob. "i didn't know there was a car coming, and you see i was in such a hurry--" "i see!" said sure pop, dryly. "_i_ see, bob, but _you_ didn't. how do you suppose a wee chap like me ever gets across the busy streets downtown?" "give it up!" said bob, "unless you can fly!" and he gave a sly glance at the scout's square little shoulders, half expecting to see wings. sure pop grinned. "no more than you," he chuckled. "so i keep my eyes and ears open. folks who have no wings must use their wits." bob felt a bit uncomfortable to have his mind read so easily, and promptly changed the subject. "what a funny name you have--'sure pop'!" "well, 'tis a funny one, sure pop! that name was wished on me by a crowd of borderland folk, and then his majesty gave it to me for keeps." "his majesty--do you mean your king?" "right--the king of the borderland." the two had been walking toward the dalton house as they talked. now sure pop followed bob up the steps and curled up in the big porch chair to tell him all about it. "once upon a time, some years ago, when i was a younger man than i am now," began sure pop, "i was standing on a corner in the largest city in the borderland. it was noontime, and crowds of horsemen and chariots were dashing up and down the street. "suddenly i saw a youngster start over to my side of the street without looking either way. there was a chariot almost upon him when i held up my hand, as i did to you now, and yelled, 'look sharp!' he stopped short--and those thundering wheels missed him by about an inch. "he picked his way across the street, then, and held out his hand. 'that was a close shave,' he said. 'you've saved my life, mr.--mr.--' for of course he didn't know _my_ name from captain kidd's. "'that's all right!' i said. 'but you should always look before you cross.' "'do _you_?' he asked, with a sudden sharp glance. "'sure pop!' i told him. 'safety first!' "by this time quite a crowd of borderland folk had gathered around us, and they all laughed and cheered and called me 'sure pop.' and one bold-eyed rascal threw up his pointed cap and shouted, 'bully for sure pop!' and ran off to tell the king. at that all the rest of the crowd clapped their hands, for though they laughed at the name they knew i had the right idea." "ha!" said bob. "so that's how you came by that comical name of yours?" "sure pop!" answered the safety scout with a twinkle. _folks who have no wings must use their wits._ --sure pop [illustration] adventure number two the royal signet ring sure pop paused in his story as betty came dashing around the house. like a shot the stranger jumped to his feet, and again bob caught that sudden flash of green as he raised his hand in salute. "hello, betty, glad to see you!" "why, goodness me!" exclaimed betty. "you seem to know me, but i don't know who you are--unless you are one of those boy scouts bob is so crazy to join?" "not exactly _boy_ scouts," chuckled sure pop with a wink at bob, "unless you count us boys till we're ninety-nine years old! girls are scouts, too, in _my_ regiment." "now, betty," warned bob, "sit down here and don't you dare interrupt, for sure pop's right in the middle of a story--and i think he's come to stay a while, haven't you, sure pop?" "sure pop! i'll stay as long as the king will let me," laughed the merry little scout. "well, after i got away from the crowd," he went on, "my eyes must suddenly have been opened to the thousand-and-one things that might happen even in borderland to folks who didn't look sharp on the street, for on my way home i saved several others from getting hurt. "the first was a careless little cabin boy, who went along whistling with his hands in his pockets. he slipped and fell plump in front of a chariot, and of course he couldn't jerk his hands out of his pockets in time to save himself. i grabbed him up in the very nick of time, or he'd have been smashed flatter than a pancake. "and only a block farther on, i met a carpenter hurrying through the crowd with a ladder on his shoulder. some one shouted to him, and he whirled around with never a thought of his ladder. the end of it would have hit a fat old banker squarely between the eyes if i hadn't been watching for that very thing and caught it as it swung. i went home and thought no more about all this, till that night, at midnight, i was summoned before the king." "the king!" cried betty. "my, weren't you scared?" "i was, sure pop! when i marched into the throne room it was crowded with richly dressed people. the king and queen sat on their thrones, and as i went toward them i had to pass between two long lines of trumpeters. "suddenly up went the silver trumpets, and the trumpeters blew a mighty blast. let me tell you, it was enough to send the shivers down your spine, that trumpet call was! it seemed as if i never had climbed a longer flight of steps. but at last i found myself bowing before the king and queen. the king, who wore a brand new uniform, just like this one i have on, beckoned a herald to his side. "'now hark to his words,' he said to me, 'and say if he speaks the truth.' and then the herald read aloud from a long white scroll, with scarlet seals on it, the story of how i had saved the young chap from the chariot that noon, and all about the cabin boy and the fat old banker i'd helped on my way home! "'does the herald speak truly?' asked the borderland king. and all the rest strained their ears for my answer. "'sure pop, your majesty!' i replied before i knew what i was saying. at that he pulled from his finger a new signet ring, inked it with some magic ink, and motioned for me to hold out my right hand. how do i know it was magic ink? why, it must have been, for the print it made has never faded. look!" bob and betty looked at the little scout's right hand, which he held up again like the crossing policeman downtown. and this is what they saw: [illustration: universal safety] "'hold it up,' commanded the king, 'where all can see!' and then the trumpets sounded again. "'long live colonel sure pop, the safety scout!' cried the herald. the court wizard stepped forward, waved his hand and mumbled a few magic words over me, and--what do you think!--i found myself dressed in a brand new scouting uniform, the only one just like the king's!" _long live the safety scouts!_ --sure pop [illustration] adventure number three the woman and the wizard sure pop, the safety scout, drew a long breath and watched the automobiles whirling recklessly down the busy street. "but say, haven't you twins had enough stories for one day?" "not much we haven't! what did the king do next?" no doubt about the twins' being thirsty for adventure! sure pop smiled. "well, a single wave of the king's hand dismissed his people. looking very sorrowful, he opened the great book in which he keeps the record of everything that happens over here in the new world. "i looked where he pointed, and trembled. for this was what i read: "'united states of america 'fathers and mothers and boys and girls killed by accidents last year.... 'injured, blinded, crippled, and maimed...' "he ran his finger across the page to the totals, and i saw that the first total ran clear up into the thousands--and the second one into the millions! "'colonel sure pop,' said the king, 'if only the thought you put into the mind of that lad you saved this noon, might be put into the mind of all america!' "'your majesty means--safety first?' i asked. "the king nodded. 'all the lives lost in all our battles,' he said grimly, 'are but a drop in the sea as compared with the slaughter of a single year in a single land!' "'oh, your majesty, let me go and teach them safety first--now, before another life is thrown away!' "'no, colonel. not yet. the time is not yet ripe. but--perhaps we can make a beginning. come to me again tomorrow night, at midnight, and we shall see.' "the next night i went to the throne room and found the king studying a big map. he had a red pencil and a blue one in his hand, and he pointed to a lot of red rings he had drawn on the map. "'those,' he told me, 'are america's great mills. in them and the other factories, thousands upon thousands of workmen are killed by accident every year--by accident, colonel, not in battle. "'and that is not all,' the king went on. 'these blue lines mark the trails of the great iron horses--the railroads. last year these iron horses trampled out thousands of lives in america alone. and all because the americans haven't learned to _think_ safety!' "that was too much for me. i pleaded with him to let me come straight to america and help end that awful suffering. but the king shook his head. "'the more haste, the less speed, colonel. before you can help america, you must help yourself; and the quickest way to do that is first to teach safety to our own people. let me see you win your spurs here in the borderland, and then--to america you go!' "'teach safety to our own people?' i repeated, a bit puzzled. 'how ought i to go about it, sire?' "'go through all the borderland,' said the king, 'and muster an army of safety scouts. train them to know signs that spell danger, as an indian scout reads the signs of the trail. teach them to report every danger signal they see--and they will teach their neighbors, and so the knowledge will spread. but above all, be sure your safety scouts are well chosen.' "'but how?' i asked. 'shall i pick out wise people?' "'colonel of the scouts,' said the king, shrewdly, 'the wisest are not always the safest. have you never thought why it is "bad luck to go under a ladder"?' "'never,' i owned up. 'i've always thought of it as just a proverb.' "'true. but proverbs without reason would be like trees without roots. stop and think: sometimes a ladder breaks or slips, which is bad for the climber--and bad for any one who happens to be under that ladder just then. and sometimes a painter's heavy paintpot falls--and woe to him who walks under the ladder then, be he the wisest man in the kingdom. now go, and one moon from tonight bring me a full regiment of safety scouts.' "so out through the borderland i went, saying over and over to myself, 'it is bad luck to go under a ladder,' and waiting for the king's meaning to be made plain. "first i went to the home of a great wizard, the wisest man in the borderland. as i neared the house, the door opened and the wizard came out, a heavy book of wisdom under his arm. "he had a long black pipe in his mouth. pulling out a match, he lighted his pipe, threw the burning match over his shoulder, and hurried on toward the city. "i started to run after him, when a flicker of light caught my eye. there in the straw that littered the roots of the ivy vines by the steps, a little tongue of flame was lapping up the tangle of leaves!" bob jumped to his feet as if he had heard the clang of a fire bell. "good enough for him, the old fossil! did it burn his house down?" "came mighty near it," said sure pop, looking at the scars on his hands. "he had a sick wife in there all alone, and if i hadn't happened along just then-- "well, anyway," he went on cheerfully, "i got the fire out at last. and the king's meaning was made plain--it is one thing to have wisdom and another thing to use it. so i didn't ask the wizard to join the safety scouts, after all." "i should say not!" cried bob and betty with one voice. "but where _did_ you find your scouts?" added bob. "well, the next idea i had was to ask mothers, for mothers give up much of their time, anyhow, to keeping children out of harm's way. i found one whose house looked so trim and neat, and her children so clean and happy, that i had almost made up my mind to invite her to join--when my eye fell on a shining butcher knife hanging beside the kitchen table, where even the baby could reach it without half trying. "and that wasn't all i saw. there was a saucer of fly poison on the window sill! then i saw the mother starting to carry out a pail of water to scrub the steps, when the brass knocker on the door gave a thump, and she left that hot water right there in the middle of the floor while she talked to a peddler! "just then the baby came toddling across the room. he got safely past the scalding water and the fly poison, but the next moment i saw him climb up on a chair, open the medicine chest, and grab a bottle from the bottom shelf--the bottom shelf, betty, of _all_ shelves in the house! out came the cork, and up went the bottle to his lips, just as i saw to my horror a skull and crossbones on its label. like a flash i--" "what's a skull and crossbones, sure pop?" broke in betty. "poison sign!" explained bob, shortly. "don't interrupt! go on, sure pop!" "like a flash," said sure pop, "i bounded to the baby's side and snatched the bottle away. i tell you, i did some earnest thinking as i left that house. i realized that it would never do to ask that mother to join our army of safety scouts, for until she herself had formed the safety habit, she could hardly be expected to teach safety to others. the adventure of the baby and the poison bottle had opened my eyes to the real meaning of the king's words about finding scouts who could read the little signs that spell danger. "by the way, i told the poison bottle story to a great doctor the other day, and now he's doing his best to get a law passed requiring that all poison bottles be of some special shape, different from any other bottles. that will make them much safer, even in the dark." "but how can they be made different in shape?" asked betty. "what shape, sure pop?" "three-cornered, probably. that certainly would be a life-saving law, if he could only get it passed. just think! there were several thousand deaths in the united states last year from that one cause alone--just from mistaking bottles of poison for other medicine." "but what i can't see," said bob, "is how anybody _could_ mistake a poison bottle. they all have skulls and crossbones on them, haven't they?" "stop and think a moment," said the safety scout. "suppose baby has croup in the night, and mother is roused out of a sound sleep and rushes to the medicine chest; she's only half awake--the light is dim--poor baby is gasping and choking--not a moment to lose. she isn't likely to stop and read labels very carefully, is she? but if she felt her hand close over a _three-cornered_ bottle, it would wake her up in a hurry. even in the darkness and in the excitement--if she had been trained to think of a three-cornered bottle as meaning danger, perhaps death--it would stay her hand as surely as a red light stops an engine." "i suppose," said betty, "that when folks are badly hurt, or awfully, awfully sick, other folks lose their heads and don't know what they really _are_ doing." "betty, you've hit the nail right on the head. now that's why we must fix things so safety won't depend on level heads or time to think. the danger signal must pop right into our heads from force of habit. the sooner american boys and girls--yes, and the grown-ups, too--get the safety habit, the sooner 'safety first' will change from phrase into fact. "the first day i ever spent in america opened my eyes to the price your country is paying for the word 'guess.' the more i studied the situation, the oftener i noticed folks saying 'i guess' where they should have said '_i know_.' in nearly all of america's accidents, guesswork is the real cause. "the moment i realized that, i said to myself, 'it's high time america dropped guesswork out of its daily life.' my work was cut out for me: i began right then and there to study out ways of getting folks to stop guessing, once for all, _and be sure_--sure pop!" _stop guessing, once for all, and be sure._ --sure pop [illustration] adventure number four the persistent pigmy "say, sure pop!" burst out bob, as the safety scout paused in his story. "a whole regiment--did you realize that was a lot of scouts to get together in one month?" "did i?" echoed sure pop with a chuckle. "_did_ i? well, if i didn't when i set out on my search, i did before the first day was over. i had lost out on the wisest man in the borderland--_he_ wouldn't do, for all his wisdom. he only served to remind me of what the king had said, that the wisest are not always the safest." "sure--sure pop!" bob broke in again. "but how did you ever get a whole regiment together in one month? you simply couldn't disappoint the king, you know." "you're right, bob, i simply couldn't. so as fast as i did find one that would do for the army, i set him to work finding others--passing the good work along. i soon saw i could never make good with the king by trying to do it all myself, and i do believe the king knew all along that there was only one way a really big work could be done--by getting _everybody_ stirred up and enthusiastic. so i turned each new scout loose to hunt for more. "you'd laugh to know who was the first scout enrolled. as i slipped out of the poison-bottle house, i saw a funny little pigmy hurry out of a cottage across the lane and go z-z-zam! down the front steps. we'd had a nip of frost the night before, and the slippery steps took him by surprise. for a moment he stood rubbing his head, with his merry little face puckered up into a comical sort of bowknot. then he picked his way slowly up the steps into the house. "a minute or two and out he came again with a bag of salt and sprinkled the steps with it. though he was in just as big a hurry as our friend the wizard, the safety first idea had got him, and he plainly had made up his mind to begin right then and there. "'well, i declare!' i said to myself. 'i've a notion to muster him into the scouting service--but what would the king say to my enrolling a pigmy?' just as i was wondering about it, down he went again, flat on his little back! "this time it was on the sidewalk in front of his house. some careless youngster had thrown a banana skin on the walk. poor little pigmy, what a bump he did get that time! but again he picked himself up, and this time he didn't wait a moment--just poked the banana skin off into the gutter where it could do no more harm. "such persistence was too much for me! i told him the king wanted him for the royal army of safety scouts, and that he was to have the honor of being the first one enrolled. his eyes fairly popped out of his head as he listened, and before you could say 'jack robinson,' he had scampered off to help me raise an army--with one of these buttons in the lapel of his leather jerkin." [illustration: universal safety] sure pop pulled a sparkling button out of his pocket and laid it before the twins. "there, that's the safety scouts' badge of honor, and no scout can wear one till he earns the right. the king himself designed it." "my! i wish--!" the twins remembered their manners and stopped short, but sure pop understood. he threw back that wise little head and how he did laugh! "you wish--eh? that's what they all say, the minute they lay eyes on that button! you see, that's a magic button, so it's no wonder everybody wants one. friends, that button can _talk_!" bob stared at the button as if he couldn't believe his ears. betty, taking sure pop at his word, grabbed the button and laid it to her ear. she gave a squeal of delight. "it does! it does talk--doesn't it?" she cried. "sure pop it does!" laughed the safety scout. "that's all it can say, just four words at a time--but those four are enough to save thousands of lives every year." "what four words?" yelled bob, clapping the magic button to his ear. how his jaw dropped when he heard--or seemed to hear--the magic button's words, four words he will never, never forget, even if he lives to be a hundred years old! "_safety first_," whispered the magic button in his ear. "_get busy!_" bob sprang to his feet, so startled that he nearly dropped the button. "get busy?" he echoed. "well, let's!" "and let's be quick about it," chimed in betty. "i want to earn one of those magic buttons myself." "here too!" bob whirled around to sure pop. "but we'll have to get the soil ready first, won't we, just as the king told you? so the seed won't be wasted, you know." "that's the first move, bob. waste is something no scout can bear to see. waste of life, waste of health, waste of time, waste of food--even waste of money seems a crime to a safety scout." betty was thinking hard. "then before we can plant the safety first idea in other people's minds, shan't we have to start it growing in our own, sure pop?" "sure pop, we shall! and now listen, friends. when i first came to america, after years of safety training among my own people, i took up the task of planting the safety first idea among the great american mills and factories. some day i'll tell you about those years of safety work among the mill hands, but just now what i want to explain is this: when i had got the work well established among the mills, i thought at first that my work in america was finished; but the more i thought it over, the plainer it became that my most important work still lay before me." "your most important work," echoed betty. "what do you mean, sure pop--teaching safety to the president of the united states?" "no, betty. a far more important work than that--teaching safety to children. i saw that by making safety scouts out of the boys and girls, i should be solving the whole problem of the years to come--for workmen, presidents, and all. so i drew a long breath and started in again, this time in america's homes. "now how do you suppose i came to choose your home to begin on? just as i was wondering which house to tackle first, i overheard bob wishing he had uncle jack's life of adventure--though the united states has more real adventure to the square mile than all south america put together!" "you don't mean it? why, this is a civilized country!" "you americans think so, bob. and you're trying to bring about world-wide peace, because you feel that war is out of place in civilized life. but what about the thousands you kill and the millions you wound every year? more than you killed and wounded, remember, in the whole civil war. what about that? does that sound so very civilized? "you want adventure. good! you shall have it--early and often. and you won't have to go to any other country to find it, either." "well," said bob, "here's hoping. what comes first?" "first, we must get our eyes and ears open. that's the first thing for any scout to learn, and he isn't good for much until he gets the habit of noticing things. scout-craft means reading signs in everything you come across and acting on little silent hints that most folks wouldn't notice. "now, to begin with, here are three practical rules for you to bear in mind--three things we found out in our first year of borderland safety scouting: first, a true scout is always on the alert. second, a scout always keeps cool. third, a scout does one thing at a time. do you suppose you can remember these three things?" "that's easy," said betty. "easy as anything," said bob. "keep wide awake, keep cool, and keep your mind on one thing at a time. three 'keeps'--anybody can remember them!" "think so?" sure pop's voice sounded surprisingly far away. "all right, we'll see!" and before the twins' very eyes he faded away into thin air! _a true scout is always on the alert._--sure pop [illustration] adventure number five the magic button's warning "he's gone!" bob and betty stared at each other. for a moment the whole thing seemed like a dream, and they hated to think of waking up. "but it _was_ real!" bob turned the magic button over and over in his hand, glad to have something left to prove the reality of their new friend, something they could still see and touch. "we can't wear that button, though," betty reminded him. "we've got to earn it first. what shall we do with it?" bob stuck it into his deepest pocket. "i'll hang on to it till sure pop comes back--if he does come back. oh, hello, joe!" joe schmidt, a wiry boy of bob's own age, but fully half a head shorter, turned around and gazed up at the daltons' porch. "why, hello, bob! what are you doing?" "nothing." bob ran down the steps and began talking with joe. in fact, the two lads were so busy talking that they did not see george gibson till he purposely bumped into joe's back with a sudden "hey, there! get off the walk!" joe bristled like a ruffled sparrow. "let's see you throw me off!" when george good-naturedly took him at his word, joe clinched with him and managed to get a half-nelson hold on him. joe always went at things in dead earnest, anyway. bob and betty, laughing and shouting, hopped gleefully around the swaying wrestlers, bob yelling encouragement to george, and betty yelling just as hard for joe. suddenly--was it just bob's imagination?--something seemed to give a wiggle in his pocket--then a warning flop. it must be that magic button! bob jumped, gave a snort of surprise, and jammed his hand into his pocket. what had got into the button anyway? then an idea flashed across his mind--perhaps the safety button was trying to warn him. to be sure, if the wrestlers went down hard on the cement sidewalk, it might mean a broken skull! in his hurry to get them off the walk and over on the grass, bob lost his head. he made the mistake of trying to do it by force; he caught hold of george's elbow, and got a sharp dig in the pit of his stomach for his pains. "hey, fellows--danger!" he yelled, when he could catch his breath. "get over on the grass--look out!" his warnings came too late. george, much the bigger of the two, got a hip-lock on joe, and, forgetting everything else in his struggle to "lay him out," gave a sudden heave that sent joe sprawling on his back. his head struck the sidewalk with a thud. that was all. joe lay like a lump of lead. "he's _dead_!" screamed betty wildly. she threw herself at the gasping george. "you--you've _killed_ him!" george, puffing and blowing from his struggle, held her at arm's length. a big policeman suddenly came around the corner. "here, what's all this?" he asked sternly, bending over the fallen wrestler. "he struck on the back of his head," spoke up bob. "they were wrestling--just in fun, you know--and joe struck his head on the sidewalk. is--is he dead?" "small thanks to you young rascals if he isn't," growled the officer. "crazy indians, wrestling on a cement walk! where does he live?" he lifted the limp body in his arms and hurried to the widow schmidt's modest little cottage with the green blinds and the neatly scrubbed doorstep. george and bob, feeling very sick, trailed sadly along after him; they hated to think of the look that would come into the widow schmidt's motherly face. joe was all she had in the world. betty, womanlike, was first to think of the doctor. almost before the policeman had reached joe's side, she was running to the corner drug store as fast as her feet would carry her. the druggist would know where to reach a doctor with the least delay--she could telephone. it seemed ages before the fluttering lids opened and joe's black eyes looked out on the world again. "no bones broken," said the doctor at last. "half an inch farther to the right or left, though--" he stopped, but the twins understood. silently they gripped joe's hand as it lay helpless on the bed, nodded to george, and the three tip-toed out of the hushed little room. that night, before bob and betty went to bed, sure pop came back. he found the twins sitting with their heads together, studying bob's _handbook of scout-craft_ as if their lives depended on learning it by heart in one evening. bob still lacked a few months of being old enough to join the boy scouts; he had long looked forward to his coming birthday, but it had never meant so much to him as now. sure pop nodded and smiled as he saw the familiar handbook. "good work!" he said. "all true scouts are brothers, you know. well, how about the 'three keeps' of the scout law? did you find them as easy as you thought?" bob and betty grew very red. they did not know what to say. the safety scout saved them the trouble. "joe's better tonight," he told them, comfortingly. "i've just come from there, and the doctor says he'll be up again in a day or so. what shall we do tomorrow, friends--begin hunting for adventure and planting safety first ideas?" bob looked at betty and swallowed hard at a lump in his throat. somehow this wise little sure pop knew everything that happened! "i think," said bob, frankly, "we really planted one today!" _all true scouts are brothers._ --sure pop [illustration] [illustration] adventure number six the live wire sure pop saw, the moment he laid eyes on bob and betty next morning, that they had made up their minds to earn a magic button apiece that day. "where shall we go for today's adventure?" was the first question. the safety scout laughed. "we probably shan't have to go far. once a scout's eyes are really open, so that danger signs other folks wouldn't notice begin to mean something to him, why, adventure walks right up to him. it walked right up to you two yesterday, but you didn't read the signs till too late. being a scout, remember, means doing the right thing at the right moment. now let's start out and walk a few blocks, and see what danger signals we come across that other folks are overlooking." just as they opened the gate, mrs. dalton came to the door. "bob! come here a moment, please. i want you to take a note over to mrs. hoffman's for me. their telephone is out of order." she lowered her voice as she handed him the letter, and added, "who is that out there with betty?" "oh, that's one of the scouts. we're going out for a little practice scouting." mrs. dalton knew how eagerly bob had been awaiting the day when he could become a boy scout. she trusted the scouts and was glad to have bob and betty spend their vacation time in scouting. she little guessed that the three friends were to start an order of safety scouts which even fathers and mothers would join. bob hurried back to betty and sure pop. "can you wait while i run over to mrs. hoffman's with this? all right, i'll be back in no time!" hurrying though he was, he looked both ways before he crossed the car tracks, for already the habit of "thinking safety" was growing on him. he reached mrs. hoffman's in record time, delivered the note, and raced back toward home. as he slowed down to catch his breath, he met a crowd of yelling youngsters "playing indians." several of them wore indian suits. one, dressed as a cowboy, tried to rope him as he passed. this gave the indians an idea, and they came howling after bob, waving their tomahawks and promising to scalp him. two yelping dogs joined in the chase. bob grinned and broke into a long, easy run which soon shook the redskins off his trail. but at a sudden delighted whoop from the enemy he stopped and looked back. "hi-yi!" yelled the biggest indian. "look at that telephone wire on the ground! come on, let's chop it off and use it to bind the palefaces to the stake." pellmell across the street swarmed the little fellows, each bound to get there first. but bob was too quick for them. hatless, breathless, he threw himself between the indians and the swaying wire. "get back!" he roared. "that's no telephone wire--it's alive! keep back, i say! you'll be killed!" it was no easy thing to stand between the youngsters and the deadly wire. they were laughing and yelling so hard, and the dogs were barking so wildly, that at first bob couldn't get the idea of danger into their heads. he fairly had to knock two or three of them down to keep them from hacking at the wire with their hatchets. would they never understand? "i won't forget this time, anyway!" muttered the boy, gritting his teeth as he remembered the "three keeps" of the scout law. up ran one of the dogs, capering around with sharp, ear-splitting barks, and tried to get his teeth into bob's ankle. when bob tried to kick him away, of course the indians and cowboys yelled harder than ever. the dog stumbled and fell across the electric wire--gave one wild yelp of pain--and lay there kicking and struggling, unable to jerk himself loose. worst of all, he had landed in a puddle of water, so that the electric current was pouring straight through his twitching body into the wet earth. at last bob managed to drive all the boys back out of harm's way, only to see one of the cowboys rush for the dog with a cry that tore at bob's heartstrings. "it's tige! oh, tige!--poor old tige! let me go! i've _got_ to save my dog!" bob had grabbed the little fellow and held him tight. "too late, old scout," he said, with tears in his own eyes as he saw the dog kicking his last. "tige's done for, i'm afraid. keep back, there--that wire will get you too!" for the boys were crowding nearer again. "who has a telephone at home?" asked bob. "we have," said one of the larger boys. "then run home quick, call up the electric light company, and have them send their repair crew. tell them a live wire has killed tige and may kill the boys if they don't hurry. tell 'em it's at the corner of broad street and center avenue. run!" while he waited for the repair wagon, bob managed to get the boys lined up in all directions, where they could mount guard over the danger zone. then he stood guard with the rest, and they succeeded in keeping all teams and passers-by from running into danger till the repair men came. it seemed a long while before the clatter of hoofs and the rumble of heavy wheels told him the rescue party was coming at last. he jumped with surprise when the repair wagon dashed around the corner and pulled up beside the curb, for there beside the driver sat sure pop, the safety scout! puzzled by bob's long stay and hearing the gong as the wagon hurried up, he had decided to come along. ten minutes later the live wire was back in place, the repair crew had clattered off again, and a little band of mourning indians and cowboys had carried poor tige's body over to his master's back yard, where they buried him after a solemn funeral service. only a dog--but the tears they dropped on his little grave were very real and sincere, for he had been a jolly playmate and a loyal friend. bob was very sober as he walked home with sure pop. "wish i could have saved tige, somehow!" the safety scout laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. "bob, you did just right. you remembered the 'three keeps' this time--you kept wide awake, kept cool, and kept your mind on one thing at a time. no scout could have done more. if you had risked touching that wire, it would have cost a good deal more than the life of a dog, i fear. it's important to know what _not_ to do, sometimes. robert dalton, i'm proud of you! here--you've earned it this time, sure pop!" he reached down into his pocket, pulled out the safety button, and fastened it in bob's coat lapel. the boy flushed with pride as he lifted the magic button to his ear. and never had words thrilled him more than those which greeted him now--for two of them were new words which his own quick wits had earned: "_safety first!_" whispered the button, clear and sweet as a far-away bugle call. "_good work!_" _safety first--not part of the time, but all the time._--sure pop [illustration] [illustration] adventure number seven betty evens the score all through supper time betty schemed and plotted. "i certainly am proud of the way bob won his," she said to herself. "but i've never been behind bob _yet_, and that magic button's going to be twins before tomorrow night, _somehow_!" the hot summer sun woke her early next morning, and she hurried downstairs to be through breakfast before sure pop came for the day's adventures. "where do we go today?" she asked sure pop an hour later, dancing up and down and looking wistfully at bob's new safety button. "sorry, friends," said the safety scout, "but i can't be with you today. i'm due for a little outside scouting duty--something you twins aren't quite ready for yet." "oh, say!" bob's face fell. "what are we going to _do_ then, all day alone?" "do?" laughed the merry colonel, waving them goodby. "why, you'll be out scouring the neighborhood for new adventures, i fancy. and as for betty, if i'm any mind reader, she has something up her sleeve sure enough!" sure pop was right, as usual. bob fussed around the yard awhile, managed to open a box of crockery out on the back steps for mother, and soon rambled off to see what new adventures he could find in the name of safety first. betty spent most of the morning in the kitchen, helping mother. as soon as bob was off again after lunch, she began to roam about the yard, eyeing everything like a hawk. soon mother saw her picking up the boards bob had pried loose from the box and scowling at the ugly nails that stuck up where little feet might so easily be stabbed by their rusty points. these she carefully bent down with a big stone. "that's one on bob, anyway," said betty to herself, and went on looking around the yard. her eye roved upward to the bright geraniums on the sill of mother's window upstairs. "mother," she called, "have you ever read _ben hur_?" "why, yes, betty--a long time ago. why?" "don't you remember how that loose tile from ben hur's roof--the one he tried to snatch back as he saw it fall--struck the roman soldier on the head, and how ben hur went to prison for it? well, what about those flower pots up there?" "why, betty!" cried her mother, more puzzled than ever. "ben hur--flower pots--what is the dear child talking about?" betty laughed. "i read in the paper last night that one of the big hotels has put up signs in every room, and they say: =patrons--attention= =please do not place articles of any kind on window sill (bottles and chinaware most dangerous). they may fall or be blown into the street, causing serious if not fatal accidents.= "that's because a flower pot fell from an upper window on a woman's head. baby's sand pile is right below your window, and one of the flower pots might fall while she was out there playing. a sudden draft could do it, or a door slammed hard. do you mind if i fasten them on with wire so they can't fall? then i'll do it right now before anything happens!" she had just finished the job to her satisfaction, and was looking about for something else, when mother called softly: "betty, if you'll keep a lookout and let me know if anybody comes, or if baby wakes up, i'll take a nap." betty was pleased. here was a fine chance to play housekeeper. mother left a soup bone simmering over one burner of the gas stove, and a steam pudding bubbling away over another, and went upstairs for her nap. betty tiptoed to the little sewing-room, next to the kitchen, and looked in. baby was sleeping. then she softly shut the kitchen door and sat down in the dining-room to read. suddenly a shower came up, and out she ran to close the windows in the kitchen and the sewing-room, where the rain was pouring in. she had hardly begun reading again when she heard bob clatter up the back steps, tear through the kitchen in search of his raincoat, and hurry out again. the wind was blowing hard and swept through the open kitchen, banging the dustpan against the wall like a fire alarm gong. betty read on. presently she looked at the clock and sprang to her feet. "why, how long baby is sleeping today! 'most three hours and never a peep. i wonder--" a faint whiff of gas from the kitchen made her turn pale with dread. then it flashed into her mind what must have happened--that sudden gust of wind had blown out the gas! as she ran to the kitchen, she realized that she had caught the same faint smell several times before. "oh!" she sobbed, "what if baby--" mother, sound asleep upstairs, was roused by a crash from the kitchen, a shriek from betty, and the sound of a shattered window-pane; for betty, finding that the outside door stuck fast, had hurled a frying-pan through the window. then she ran to the sewing-room as the life-giving breeze poured in through the broken pane. startled, bewildered, still only half awake, mother stumbled to the kitchen and found betty, with the unconscious baby in her arms, groping her way toward the dining-room. snatching them both up and rushing toward the open air, mother landed in a heap on the front porch, betty and the baby on top of her. and then--oh, glorious sound!--came a feeble little cry from baby, and they knew she was safe after all! there father and bob found them a few minutes later, laughing and crying and hugging each other by turns. betty's quick wits had saved the day. mother was telling the whole story that evening, not forgetting the rusty nails and the flower pots--two risks which neither father nor mother had ever thought of before--when a sturdy little figure in a safety scout uniform paused at the door and listened with a shrewd twinkle in his eye. it was sure pop, who had looked in to say good night to the twins. he caught betty's eye, beckoned her into the hall--and when she came back to the supper table, bob's sharp eye caught the gleam of a safety first button over _her_ heart, too. betty had evened the score! _safety scouting begins at home._ --sure pop [illustration] adventure number eight little schneider's fire alarm ever since the twins had earned their safety first buttons, they had been looking forward to the fourth of july, and on the eve of the fourth came an adventure far more exciting than any they had expected. the lights were out in bob's and betty's rooms, and bob had just dropped off to sleep when the clang of the fire bell brought him out of bed in a hurry. as his feet struck the floor, his ear caught the rattle of gravel on the window. the room was half lighted by a ruddy glow, and looking out he saw sure pop standing below his window. "come on to the fire!" the safety scout called up to him. "perhaps we can do somebody a good turn. bring betty along, if your mother doesn't mind." bob got dressed first and hurried in to help betty. her teeth were chattering with excitement, and she could hardly button her clothes. "where is the fire, bob?" "i don't know exactly--a mile or two north of here, i think. come on--mother says you may go, if you'll stick close to me." the two clattered down the back stairs and joined sure pop. "bother that shoe string, anyhow!" panted bob as they scampered off to the fire. "better stop and tie it up," advised the safety scout. "it'll trip you the first thing you know." bob thought otherwise. a couple of blocks farther on, however, he stepped on the dragging string, caught his toe on a loose board in the sidewalk, and sprawled headlong. but bob was game. up he jumped, gave sure pop the scout salute, and said, with a grin, "sir, i stand corrected." then he tied the shoe string by the light of a street lamp, winked at betty, and the three ran on. the fire was farther away than it looked, and not till they had reached the hilltop did the size of the blaze fully show itself. "goodness!" cried betty. "the german church is gone, and turner hall will be next. and look at all those little houses in a row--they won't last long at that rate!" then she stopped and coughed, for the air was full of smoke and soot, both from the burning buildings and from the fire engines. everywhere was noise and confusion. half-dressed men and women stumbled over the fire hose as they hurried along with their arms full of household articles, trying to save everything they could. a frightened sob fell on betty's ears. she turned to see a chubby little baby boy, toddling along barefooted in his nightie, the tears rolling down his fat cheeks. "mama!" he sobbed. "i want my mama!" "oh, poor little thing!" cried betty. "he's lost!" she caught the scared little fellow up in her arms and wrapped him snugly in the folds of her loose cloak. "don't cry, honey. betty'll find mama for you!" and she cuddled and petted him till he stopped crying and lay still in her arms, peering out at the spreading flames with wondering eyes. "i'm going to find his mother for him," said betty. "he's scared half to death!" but sure pop caught her arm as she started away. "wait, she'll find him." sure enough, before long a young woman came running wildly from house to house calling out, "karlchen! my little karlchen! where are you?" the little fellow popped his head out from under betty's cloak with a squeal of delight. "mama!" he cried in his soft baby voice. "mama!"--just that one happy word, over and over, as his mother pressed him to her breast. the look on her face was thanks enough for betty. somehow the fire did not seem so dreadful to her after that. "how'd it start?" bob asked a fireman who was binding up a split in the bulging canvas hose. "fellow dropped a lighted match in a coat closet--house next to the church," puffed the fireman, who was breathing as if he had run a mile. he gave the hose a parting kick and hurried to join his comrades down the street, where the flames were fiercest. "the same old story," said sure pop, soberly. "hold on! what's that?" bob and betty looked up at the little old-fashioned window in the cottage across the street. a small black-and-tan dog was standing on his hind legs inside the room, pawing and scratching at the window pane. sure pop put two fingers to his lips and gave a piercing whistle. the dog answered him, barking wildly and running back into the smoke-filled room, then to the window again, as if trying to call their attention to something or somebody in the room with him. "there's somebody in there!" cried bob. "come on, sure pop--wait here for us, betty!" as they ran, the two splashed into a pool of water in a hollow of the sidewalk. sure pop dipped his handkerchief in this and tied it over his nose and mouth. bob did the same. then the smoke of the burning cottage swallowed them up. remembering the dangers of a draft, sure pop carefully closed the door after them, and stopped bob from kicking a hole in the window at the head of the stairs. they knew which room it was--the farthest window from the front door--and flung themselves against the door so hard that it burst open and they fell headlong into the room. the little black-and-tan dog, barking more wildly than ever, had heard them coming and was dragging with all his might at something on the bed. bob and sure pop, half choked with smoke, ran to the bedside. there lay a little girl only five or six years old. yes, she was breathing! just then the hungry flames burst in through the flimsy closet door and came licking along the ceiling. bob's eyes smarted and burned, and his lungs felt as if they would burst. he remembered his boy scout studies in first aid, though, and threw himself beside sure pop on the floor, where the smoke was not so thick. together they dragged the little girl to the window. bob put his lips close to sure pop's ear. "shall we jump?" sure pop shook his head. "too risky. we'll try the stairs." with the little girl held close between them, their bodies shielding her from the flames, the two groped and stumbled down the short flight of stairs, fairly falling through the whirlwind of flame that swirled upward from the first floor. scorched, singed, with their clothing afire in places, they fought their way back to the street--safe! betty ran forward with a glad cry and flung her arms around her twin. "bob! oh, bob, i thought you were _gone_!" just then they heard a shout as a frightened little family group came running up, and a roughly dressed laborer snatched the little girl and kissed her till her eyes opened and she smiled. "good schneider! nice schneider!" said her small brother, patting the dog, who was wagging his tail almost off for joy. "nice little schneider--he took--care--of--me!" exclaimed the little girl between kisses. and the father gathered up the little dog in his arms and kissed him, too! as the tired safety scouts opened the front gate half an hour later, the boom of a cannon roared out, somewhere on the other side of town, and the twelve o'clock bells and whistles joined in an echoing chorus. sure pop raised his hand with a tired smile. "midnight!" he cried. "hurrah for the glorious fourth!" _don't let a careless match cost a dozen homes._ --sure pop [illustration] adventure number nine "chance carter's way" boom! it was the distant roar of some fourth of july cannon which had escaped the watchful eye of the police. bob dalton stirred uneasily and flopped over in bed. the morning sun was shining straight into his eyes. by the time the twins were dressed and downstairs, sure pop was waiting for them in the back yard. he, too, had slept late after the excitement of the fire. "i had hoped for a holiday today," he said, "but i can see there's going to be plenty of scouting for me to do, even on a 'sane fourth,' so i'm off on my rounds. how are you two going to spend the day?" "going over to where the fire was, as soon as we've had our breakfast," said bob. "looks from here as if turner hall's still smoking." betty was fingering the safety button in sure pop's lapel. "what are you doing, betty?" asked the safety scout, with a twinkle. "turning your button right side up," betty told him. the merry little colonel laughed and explained: "i have to wear it wrong side up each day till i've done my one day's boost for safety." "oh," said bob. "same as the boy scouts wear their neckties outside their vests till they've done the day's good turn to somebody?" sure pop nodded. "that one little rule is the biggest thing in the whole scout law," he said. "the scout who lives up to that test--doing a good turn to somebody every day, quietly and without boasting--will be classed alongside the greatest scouts the world has ever known. bring me your _handbook of scout-craft_ a moment, please, bob. listen to this from page , now: * * * * * "'another way to remind himself is to wear his scout badge reversed until he has done his good turn. the good turn may not be a very big thing--help an old lady across the street; remove a banana skin from the pavement so that people may not fall; remove from streets or roads broken glass, dangerous to automobile or bicycle tires'--to say nothing," added sure pop, "of the danger to barefooted boys and girls, or to folks with thin shoes! don't you see, bob and betty, how every one of those good turns happens to be a good turn for safety as well? i told you a few days ago that all true scouts are brothers; aren't we all working toward the same end, after all?" bob and betty saw the point. they turned their safety buttons upside down as sure pop waved them goodby, resolving to get them right side up at the very first chance that offered. they found their father on the front porch reading the paper, taking solid comfort in the fact that bruce's mills were closed for the day. "i want you to help me with a little work out in the yard," he said, "as soon as you've had your breakfast." so it was almost one o'clock before bob and betty set out for the scene of last night's fire. just across the river they met chance carter and george gibson, bound in the same direction. the german church still raised its steepled head toward the sky, but its roof had fallen in, and turner hall was a mass of blackened ruins. parts of the walls were still standing, swaying as if ready to topple over any moment. off in one corner the blackened timbers and jumbled bits of furniture were stubbornly smoldering. the four stood and looked. "just think!" said betty softly. "all that from just one little careless match! guess _that_ man won't light a match in a coat closet again." "pshaw!" scoffed chance carter. "that wouldn't happen once in a thousand times." "how many matches do you suppose are scratched in the united states every second?" asked bob, shortly. "oh, a couple of hundred, i suppose." "ten thousand, chance, _every second_. and every match is a possible fire. sure pop told me last night that one third of the fire losses are due to carelessness in handling matches. and the fires in this country cost us over a million dollars every day--twice that, counting the cost of fire departments." "whew!" even reckless chance looked impressed. "when you get into the boy scouts," bob reminded him, "you'll find out what _they_ think about fooling with fire. a real scout never leaves his camp fire till he's dead sure it's out. even after there's no fire left that he can see, he pours water on it and all around it to guard against its rekindling. a scout who isn't careful about such things is looked down on by the others as not of much account." "well, i don't care; there's such a thing as being too careful. i wish we had the old-fashioned fourth of july back again. this sane fourth business is too tame for me!" chance strolled off to the far corner of the smoking ruins and began climbing around in the half-filled basement. george winked at betty. "can't teach _him_ anything," he chuckled. "he was born careless and he'll die careless, i guess. look at him, now--poking around where those loose bricks may cave in on him any minute. we can't say anything, though, or he'll get mad. chance carter always has to have his own way." "it's a wonder the police aren't guarding this place," said bob, anxiously. "guess they've got their hands full elsewhere." he scowled as he watched his reckless friend jumping from one charred timber to another, never noticing how the crumbling walls tottered with each jump. "whether he likes it or not," he said finally, "i'm going to get him out of there. it's too risky. hey, chance! look out--that wall's coming over!" his voice rose in a startled shout. "aw, i guess not--" chance got no further. the overhanging wall, swaying on its wobbly base and loosened by his sudden backward jump, toppled over on him in a shower of bricks and mortar. "chance carter's way" had come to grief again! "too late--again!" muttered bob, grimly, diving into the cloud of dust that hung over the spot where chance had disappeared. for a picture had flashed into his mind--the memory of how he had failed to warn the wrestlers in time only a few days before, the picture of joe's terrified face as his head crashed on the cement sidewalk. why hadn't he warned chance in time? a groan from the wreckage told where the boy lay half buried under the fallen wall. "got me that time!" he muttered, through his set teeth. "guess my leg's broken." a shadow fell on the two and bob looked up to see george's white face gazing down at him. "what can i do, bob?" "have betty run for a doctor, or telephone. chance is badly hurt. help me lift this rubbish from on top of him." the boys worked fast but carefully, lifting one brick at a time, till chance was free. to their dismay he could not move. "it's this leg." he touched his left, just below the knee. "i felt something break when the wall hit me. perhaps the other's broken, too--i don't know." very carefully bob ripped the clothing from the injured leg. then he put one hand gently on the spot chance touched, and the other hand just below it, and lifted the leg slightly. there was enough movement at the broken point so that there could be no doubt. the other leg proved to be badly bruised, but not broken. bob carefully moved the broken leg back into the same position as the right one and piled his coat and george's around it so it would stay in shape. he brought the suffering boy some water in his hat, and the three waited for the doctor. "he said he'd come right away," reported betty, hurrying back from the telephone. "but, bob, it isn't safe to stay down there--no telling when that other chunk of the wall may fall on all three of you. shall i try to push it over from the inside?" "goodness, no, betty! keep as far away from it as you can. well, we'll have to get him out of here, some way. you run back to that first store, please, and get half a dozen good strong strips of cloth about a foot wide and two or three feet long--anything that will do to tie his leg up to the splints. george, you bring over a few of those pieces of flooring that are not too badly charred to use for splints. there!" he laid a long piece of flooring along chance's left side, from below his foot clear to his armpit, and chose a shorter board for the inside splint. he arranged the two coats so that they would pad the broken leg where the boards came up against it, and tied the splints firmly, but not tightly, in place. then bob slowly gathered his groaning friend in his arms. "sorry to hurt you, old fellow, but we've got to get you out of here. you take his legs, george,--gently, now. so! we can climb out along that cave-in on the street side if we take it easy. up we go!" _better be safe than sorry._ --sure pop [illustration] [illustration] adventure number ten the twins meet bruce chance carter, lying helpless on the stone steps of turner hall, was wondering if the doctor would ever come. bob and george did their best to ease his pain, while betty gazed anxiously down the street. "why doesn't that doctor come?" "surely he knows where we are, betty?" "yes, i told him turner hall, and he said, 'why, turner hall burned down last night, little girl.' and i told him i knew it, and that we were waiting right beside what was left of it." "hm-m-m! something must have happened to him then; he could have walked it in less time than this. if he doesn't come pretty soon, we'd better call up the police department and have them send the ambulance. we can't wait here much longer." while they waited, an idea popped into bob's head. "look here," he said, "somebody else is likely enough to get hurt here, just the way chance did. i believe we'd better put up a sign. i'll get some paper from that store." so bob hurried around to the store and got some wrapping paper and nails and borrowed a pencil and hammer. he worked fast, the shopkeeper looking curiously over his shoulder while he lettered this sign: danger! these walls may fall on you any moment. one leg already broken here today. keep out. safety first! bob had just finished the lettering when a big automobile came purring along in front of the ruined building. the chauffeur was in uniform. the big man inside looked almost lost among the cushions, so roomy was the machine. at a word from him, the car slowed down, and he scanned the ruins sharply. bob knew him in a moment for bruce, the great mill owner, one of the richest men in the city. "hello, what's this? what's this?" bruce stood up in the car when the little group on the steps caught his eye. in a twinkling he was out of the automobile and bending over the groaning boy, while bob and george and betty told him what had happened. "tut, tut!" snapped the great man whose mills gave work to thousands of men, the twins' father among them. "this won't do at all! if the doctor won't come to him, we must get him to the doctor." pushing aside the chauffeur, he lifted chance into the car and on to the deep, comfortable cushions as easily as if he had been a child of two instead of a lad of twelve and big for his age. "now, jump in, the rest of you," he said, "and we'll take him over to doctor macarthur's." betty climbed in and george followed. the chauffeur took his seat and looked around at bob, waiting. "what's the matter now?" asked bruce, impatiently, as bob lingered on the step. "it's those walls," answered the boy. "i hate to leave them in that shape--somebody else will be getting hurt just as chance did. i'd better put up the sign. you folks go on, please, and i'll follow on foot." the mill owner shook his head. "put up your sign and come along. we'll wait." bruce looked sharply at bob's sign as the boy nailed it up in place, but said nothing. bob climbed into the waiting automobile, and the big machine rolled smoothly, silently to the doctor's office. doctor macarthur, surgeon's case in hand, came out. he was a little gray man--gray-haired, dressed in a gray suit, with keen gray eyes that seemed to take in everything at once. "who put those splints on?" he jerked out the words like a pistol shot. "i did," said bob, reddening; for the doctor's tone made him feel that he must have bungled his work. swiftly the doctor bared the leg and laid a deft finger on the exact spot of the break. "simple fracture," was his verdict. "bone badly splintered, though--would have come through the skin in short order if you hadn't got the splints on when you did. where does he live?" he took george's seat and george climbed over beside the chauffeur. on the way to chance's house, he insisted on knowing how bob had learned to give first aid to the injured. "so you're a boy scout, eh?" another keen glance from those sharp gray eyes. "n-no, sir--but i'm going to be." "eh? how's that?" "he isn't quite old enough yet," explained george. "you have to be twelve or over to join the boy scouts. i'm one--but bob knows a heap more about it already than i do," he added frankly. "ha! well, i'll have to change my opinion of the boy scouts, young man. i always took it for granted they were a sort of feeder to our regular army--playing soldier, you know. but if this is the kind of work they turn out, i don't know but i'll join myself." george got out when they reached chance's house, and helped the doctor carry the injured lad up the steps. "you needn't wait for me," he told the twins, "i'm going to stay a while." "come in and see me some time," doctor macarthur called back to bob. "i want you to tell me more about your first aid work! see you later, mr. bruce." "home, jennings," said bruce. "and be quick about it--i'm late." bob leaned back against the cushions and studied the grim, square-jawed face of the great man whom everybody was so anxious to please. so this was the way he looked at close range, this self-made, stubborn man of millions who always managed to bend every other man in his line of business to his own iron will! as he looked, bob felt it was no wonder they all feared him--feared and followed. for bruce was the man who, more than all the others put together, was responsible for keeping safety first work out of the mills in his line of business. hundreds of men were killed and thousands injured every year in the great string of mills of which bruce's was the head. over and over it had been pointed out to him that the same safety first work which had saved thousands of lives in other lines would save them in his line as well. but he was stubborn, iron-willed. "you're wasting your time," was all he would say. "no theories or new-fangled notions in _my_ mills." because bruce said this, all the other mills hung back, too. there were reasons. they knew bruce. all this bob knew from talks he had had with his father about the risks of working in bruce's mills. he understood it better, now that he was face to face with bruce himself. all too soon, to the twins' way of thinking, the automobile drew up in front of bruce's big stone house. the mill owner wasted no words. jumping out, he waved his hand to the three, said to jennings, "take them wherever they want to go," and hurried up the walk. the eager face pressed against the big bay window disappeared, the front door flew open, and a sweet little fair-haired girl threw herself into bruce's outstretched arms. "daddy! what made you so late? here i've been waiting and waiting--" "bonnie!" that was all the twins heard as the big automobile bore them away toward home. but the way he said it, and the way he caught his little daughter to his big, broad chest, told bob and betty all they needed to know about the soft spot in the millionaire's heart. what did his great house and his mills and all his money amount to, after all? he would gladly have thrown them all aside rather than have the slightest harm come to his bonnie; for her mother had died when bonnie was only a baby, and the little girl was all bruce had left in the world. [illustration] adventure number eleven "just for fun" the twins missed chance carter during the next few weeks. the boy had been a regular nuisance in some ways, for he was always getting into scrapes; but he was a clever lad and had a way of making up games that nobody else seemed able to think of. "it does seem lonesome without chance," bob told sure pop when the broken leg had kept their friend tied up indoors for a week or more. "and yet we don't get into half as much trouble when he isn't round." sure pop looked wise. "perhaps it's because chance hasn't learned that he must play according to the rules," he said. "the fellow who is always taking chances isn't playing up to the rules of the game." "anyhow," said betty, "chance has had his lesson now. by the time he's able to run around again, he will be ready to quit taking chances." sure pop changed the subject, though a shrewd twinkle seemed to say that it would take more than one lesson to teach chance how to play life's game according to the rules. "how'd you like to take a trip with me today?" "fine!" exclaimed bob and betty. "where?" "to a kind of moving picture show," answered colonel sure pop. "let's start right away, then. and be sure you wear your safety first buttons." the twins couldn't help smiling at the idea of going anywhere without their magic buttons. they boarded the crowded street car with sure pop and stood beside the motorman all the way to the railroad yards. it seemed as if somebody tried to get run over every block or two, and the way people crossed the crowded streets in the middle of blocks was enough to turn a motorman's hair gray. "how'd you like to be the motorman, bob?" "well, i tell _you_, sure pop, i don't believe it's as much fun as it looks from the outside. if fellows like chance and george would ride beside the motorman for just one day, seeing what he has to see right along, they'd be safety workers forever after. look at that, now! those chaps have no business to cross in the middle of the block." "nobody has," agreed sure pop, with a keen glance at bob. the boy flushed as he remembered what he himself had been doing when he first felt the warning touch of the safety scout's hand. he and betty noticed, too, how carefully sure pop looked all around him before leaving the car, and they did likewise. two short blocks more and they were in sight of the railroad roundhouse. the safety scout stuck his head inside the great doorway and peered around at the smoking engines that impatiently awaited their turn. "there she is!" he exclaimed. "there's old seven-double-seven!" and he waved his hand at the engineer up in the cab. the three climbed into the engine cab, where the fireman stood waiting with his eye on the steam gauge. from the way the engineer shook hands with sure pop, the twins decided they must be old friends. "got my orders?" asked the engineer. he ripped open the envelope sure pop handed him, glanced at the message, nodded to the fireman, and gently pulled open the throttle. the big, powerful engine answered his touch like a race horse. with a warning clang of the bell, they slipped down the shining track, through the crowded yards, and toward the city limits. "bob, what are you looking for?" asked sure pop. bob went on looking in all the corners of the cab as if greatly puzzled. "looking for the moving picture machine," he said with a grin. "i thought i heard you promise us a moving picture show." "you just wait. be ready to rub your magic buttons when i say the word, both of you, and you'll see some moving pictures you'll never forget--pictures of what _might_ happen to boys and girls like yourselves. the pity of it is, it does happen, every day of the year." sure pop paused to call their attention to some little blurry patches of blue scattered along the track. "wild flowers," he said. "pretty things, aren't they? if we weren't going so fast, we'd stop and get some." the engineer scowled. "pretty? they don't look pretty to me any more. look there, now!" the brakes jarred as he spoke, and the shriek of the whistle scattered a group ahead. several young couples, going home from town by way of the railroad track, had stopped to gather wild flowers. one couple were walking hand in hand over the railroad bridge, deaf at first to whistle and bell and everything else. suddenly they heard, looked up, and turned first one way and then another, uncertain whether to jump off the bridge or stand their ground. "is it any wonder that i don't like the flower season?" grunted the engineer in disgust. "it's the worst time of all, seems to me. now you'd think those young fellows and girls were old enough and would have sense enough to keep off the railroad's right of way, wouldn't you? but look at 'em!" he mopped his forehead and glared ahead at the frightened couple, holding the panting engine at a standstill till they could scramble off the bridge. "they act as if we had nothing to do but just watch out for 'em," he went on, getting under way again. "they got off scot-free this time, but imagine what old seven-double-seven would have done to 'em if this had been my regular run! forty miles an hour on schedule--and where would they be now? "it's the same old story, day after day--boys riding bicycles down the tracks, when the road's ten times smoother and a million times as safe! boys playing on the turntables and getting crippled for life, one by one! "they'll run like mad to get across the track ahead of a fast train--and then stand and watch it go through! i ought to know--i did it myself when i was a boy, but little i knew then of the way it wrecks an engineer's nerves! "they flip the cars and try to imitate the brakemen without the least idea of how many thousands of brakemen have lost their lives just that way. they crawl under cars, instead of waiting or going around. why, colonel, the railroads kill thousands and thousands of people every year--you know the figures--dozens every day, week in and week out. and somebody's badly hurt on the railroads every three minutes or less--_and a third of them are boys and girls and little children_! that's what i can't stand--the little folks getting hurt and getting killed, when just a bit of common sense would save them! oh, if their fathers and mothers had any idea--" the big engineer choked up for a moment. "even on the trains," he added, "when they're safe inside the cars, they get hurt. i'm not the only one that worries on my run--ask the conductor. he'll tell you how they run up and down the aisle, till a sudden jar of the brakes throws 'em against a seat iron or into the other passengers. they get out into the vestibules, which is against the rules, and when the train takes a sudden curve they get smashed up." three minutes later he slowed down for the twins to watch the fast mail thunder past. it was near a village crossing, and a little group of boys stood waiting. as no. came to a stop, the twins saw that most of the boys had stones in their hands. on came the fast mail, tearing past the little village as if it were not even on the map. the mail cars--the smoker--the long rows of glass windows, a head beside each-- smash! the flying splinters of glass told of one stone that had found its mark. the boys ran like scared cats around the corner into a lumber yard. "little cowards!" the fireman glared angrily after them. "they may have killed somebody on that train--_they_ don't know!" "rub your buttons!" whispered sure pop, whose eyes were still fixed on the fast mail, now disappearing in a cloud of smoke and dust. bob and betty rubbed. at their first touch of the magic buttons the disappearing train took on a queer, unreal look, like a film at the "movies." they seemed to be inside one of the cars. they seemed to be watching a sweet-faced old lady--somebody's grandmother--snowy haired, kind, gentle, not used to traveling, as even the twins could see. she kept looking first at the time-table and then at an old key-winding silver watch she wore on a quaint little chain around her neck. her lips were moving, smiling. "only two stops more," she seemed to be saying, "and then i shall see little jim." she took a kodak picture out of her handbag and looked at it long and lovingly. she glanced out of the window and saw a group of boys standing by the village crossing "to watch the fast mail go through." she liked boys. she smiled at them--she did not see the stones in their hands. smash! the other passengers sprang to their feet as one of the stones, thrown at random, shivered the car window into bits and struck the kind old face, full between the eyes. a quick, startled cry--a pitiful fumbling of kind old hands before shattered spectacles and eyes suddenly blinded--and the moving picture seemed to fade away. the twins were left with the sickening fear that perhaps little jim's grandmother might never see him after all. "oh! oh!" gasped betty, rubbing her eyes. "how terrible!" bob caught sure pop by the arm. "did we imagine it, sure pop--or was it true?" "too true," said sure pop, sadly. "it happens almost every day somewhere--where boys throw stones at the cars 'just for fun'!" [illustration] adventure number twelve getting down to business "and just to think," said bob, as the three sat on the home steps talking over their exciting trip on old no. , "just to think of how many boys and girls are killed on the railroad tracks every day!" "every day," echoed the little safety scout, "and all over the world. go into any village graveyard along any railroad, and you'll find the grave of some boy or girl who has been killed trespassing on the railroad tracks. no way to save them, i'm afraid, till folks wake up to the fact that it's not so much the tramps who are being killed this way--it's the children!" "it's just awful," said betty, puckering up her brow in a thoughtful scowl. "i think we ought to do something about it." "what, for instance?" sure pop was watching her sharply. "well, something to put a stop to it. surely we could find _some_ way of teaching the boys and girls how to play safely; and then when they grew up they'd be in the habit of _thinking_ safety. then they'd teach _their_ boys and girls--and all this awful killing and crippling, or most of it, would be ended." "the trouble is," said bob, "in going at the thing in too much of a hit-or-miss style. we could do some good by talking to the few boys and girls we could reach, but not enough. why can't we organize?" sure pop's eager face lighted up, overjoyed at the turn bob's thoughts were taking. "you can," he said quietly. "why, sure!" went on bob, getting more and more excited as the idea took hold. "let's get busy and organize an army of safety scouts right here. we've already got the biggest thing in the safety scout law at work--don't you see?--our 'one boost for safety' every day. we can get some more safety scout buttons made, and as fast as a boy earns his--" "--or a girl earns hers!"--interrupted betty, so seriously that bob couldn't help smiling. "yes, of course--girls too--why, as fast as boys and girls earn the right to wear safety scout buttons, we can form them into patrols. it wouldn't be long before we could have several troops hard at it. i tell you, sure pop, if we go at it that way we can do big things for safety just as sure as you're a foot high!" sure pop gave betty a droll little wink. "it's a go, then," he said cheerfully. "well, where are you going to begin?" bob looked up at him with a sudden idea shining in his eyes. "why not begin by organizing in patrols and then in troops, just about like the boy scouts? first, we can get a few of our friends interested, and let each one of them get eleven others interested--that will make a patrol of twelve, commanded by the one who got them together." "spoken like a scout and a gentleman!" cried the little colonel, giving him a sounding thump on the shoulder. "go on, bob--what next?" "well, just as fast as we get four new patrols, we can form them into a troop, with a scout master for their leader." "good," said sure pop. "it will take some lively work to pick your scout masters and get them trained in time, but the difference in their efficiency will be worth your while." "i suppose," said betty, "we'll have to choose only boys and girls who have good records for safety?" bob looked doubtful. "what do you think about that, sure pop?" "i think it would be a mistake, bob. you'll find too few who have even learned to think safety. a better plan will be to take in those who seem most in earnest over the idea, especially those who have been taught a hard lesson through accidents which care would have avoided." "go on, please. tell us more--how would you work out the details?" "bob, i would--but i believe i've told you enough. you and betty go ahead in your own way and work out the details yourselves. let me see you get your safety scouts together, if you really do mean business, and i'll show you about the work that's already been done among the factory hands and mill-workers of america. "let me tell you this much, though: you'll find, when you get your safety scouts of america organized, that the good work will go ahead by leaps and bounds. all this talk about 'efficiency' is really part of the same movement, though very few realize it; it's nothing more or less than cutting out guess work and waste--and what else, after all, is our safety work?" "that's so. it really is all working in the same direction, isn't it?" agreed bob. "chance carter's oldest brother is studying to be an efficiency engineer--perhaps he can give us some ideas." "then--you really do mean to get busy and organize the safety scouts of america?" "mean it!" bob and betty fairly shouted the words in their eagerness to get to work. and as sure pop said good night to them, there was a joyous light in his eye which showed his plan was working out just as he had thought it would. he smiled a satisfied smile as the door closed on the excited dalton twins. "and now," said colonel sure pop to himself, "_now_, we're getting down to business!" _enlist now! we fight to save life, not to take it._ --sure pop [illustration] [illustration] adventure number thirteen dalton patrol the next few weeks were busy ones for bob and betty dalton. the plan was a big one--the safety scouts of america. growing out of an idea planted by colonel sure pop, it sprouted and grew surprisingly fast. already the news was spreading like wildfire among the boys and girls all over the city. joe schmidt was out again, his head as good as ever. george gibson, always brim full of energy and enthusiasm, had set his heart on becoming a safety scout master and heading a troop of his own. even chance carter, hobbling about on crutches, had caught the fever of safety scouting and was making all sorts of plans as to what he would do when his broken leg got well. chance really had changed, somehow. the twins supposed it was all due to his accident, but the real reason was colonel sure pop. chance seemed almost magnetized by the little colonel and never lost a chance to be near him. "honestly now, colonel," he owned up to sure pop one day, "i'd read so many stories about reckless heroes and all that, i got in the habit of thinking i had to be reckless. story books seem to make out that it's a brave thing to risk your life--and wasn't that exactly what bob did when he found that live wire?" sure pop laid an understanding hand on chance's shoulder. "listen, chance! you've caught only half the point, that's your main trouble. it _is_ a manly thing to take a risk--_when it's necessary_. when somebody's life is in danger, it's the manliest thing on earth to take a risk for the sake of saving it. that's why bob's act in patrolling the live wire earned him a safety scout button--the lives of those smaller boys were in danger, to say nothing of anybody else who might blunder across the wire just then--that's where the difference comes in." "that's so. i never thought of it in just that way." "i know you haven't. when you stop to think it over, you see it's a fellow's plain duty to take a chance when it's necessary, but it's downright foolish to do it on a dare. one thing about bob's live-wire adventure i don't believe even he realizes," added sure pop. "it was that hurry-up patrol of small boys that he threw out around the live wire which really gave him the idea of how to organize the safety scouts of america. i knew the idea would strike him and betty sooner or later." chance looked admiringly at the little colonel. what a wise scout he was, sure enough, as keen and clever at reading signs of the trail as any indian fighter that ever stepped in deerskin! the boy looked longingly after the safety scout patrol, which was just starting off on an "observation hike," as bob called it. part of the training bob had laid out for his men was an hour's brisk walk, after which each safety scout wrote out a list of the unsafe things he had noticed while "on the trail." "there's one thing that stumps me, though," said chance. "how did bob _know_ that was a live wire?" "he didn't. he simply had sense enough to treat _all_ fallen wires as if they _were_ alive. see? better safe than sorry. just the same in turning on an electric light: it _may_ not harm you to touch an iron bedstead with one hand while you turn the light on with the other--but it's taking a chance. same's the fellow who turns an electric bulb on or off while standing in a bathtub: he _may_ go on with his bath in safety--and then again he may drop lifeless in the water. "it's a good deal like the gun that isn't loaded, chauncey. there _was_ a lad, you know, who found a gun was dangerous without lock, stock, or barrel--his father whipped him with the ramrod! a real scout knows how to take care of himself--and of others. and that's especially true of safety scouts." "well, colonel," said chance, reaching for his crutches and rising painfully to his feet, "i'm _for_ it! perhaps if i make good, the fellows will quit calling me chance and call me either chauncey or carter, i don't care which--but chance makes me sick!" "here's _to_ you, carter!" said sure pop, with a hearty handshake. again came that smile of satisfaction as he watched the boy hobble off on a slow "observation hike" of his own. in carter's mind, too, the big idea was taking root. ten days later, colonel sure pop was reviewing dalton patrol. "safety scouts," he said, saluting the even ranks drawn up before him, "your colonel is proud of the work you're doing. these 'observation hikes,' as your scout master calls them, show better than anything else how much more alert you are to danger signs than you were a month ago. "now, i've been sizing up these risks as covered by your patrol reports. they seem to be of three kinds--home, street, and railroad risks. "nobody can study these reports without seeing that our work is plainly cut out for us for the next few months. charity and every other good work begin at home--though they end there only with the weak-minded! so our work in safety patrolling will naturally begin in our homes and with ourselves, and will begin with the risks which these reports show to be most common. let me read you a few of the common risks reported by the scouts of this patrol: matches: left on floor where they may be stepped on; or where mice may nibble them; or next the stovepipe or chimney; or thrown down before the last spark is out. celluloid things: brushes and combs handled near the gas jet, where they may burst into flame. kerosene: poured on the fire to make it burn faster (three bad cases of burns reported from this cause alone). gasoline: left near a flame, or anywhere except clear outside the house. gas: lighting oven of gas stove without first opening oven door; leaving gas jet burning near window, where breeze may blow curtains across (five fires started that way during last month). electric wires: loose wires crossing, which often cause fires. bathers: venturing too far out in deep water. in nearly every case, it is the rescuer who drowns. never take a chance that may cost another's life. safety pins: left open within baby's reach. you all know what happened to mrs. fuller's baby girl two weeks ago, all through an open safety pin. hot water and grease: left standing where children may get into them. dogs: left unmuzzled and running loose. "these are only a few of the common dangers shown in your scouting reports. so far, our work has been hunting out these risks and listing them. from now on, we'll fall to with a will and set them right as fast as we can, in our own homes first and next among our neighbors. "just one word of caution before we take up this new patrol duty. let's be careful how we go about setting these things right. remember, we can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, so let's not give people the idea we are criticizing them--just suggesting. "for instance: if a safety scout sees a mop and a pail of scalding water on mrs. muldoon's back steps and one of her babies in danger of pitching into it headfirst, he'd better not walk up and begin to scold about it. mrs. muldoon may have done that for years without scalding any one yet. more likely than not she'd just order you off the place--and go right on as before. but if, instead, a scout steps up and begins playing with the baby, he can first get baby out of harm's way and _then_ watch his chance to say, 'baby seems to have his eyes on that pail of hot water, mrs. muldoon. two babies over on the west side were scalded to death last week; did you hear about it?' chances are mrs. muldoon will be around warning all her neighbors before you've been gone ten minutes. get the idea?--honey instead of vinegar." "honey works better down in south america, anyhow!" said a deep voice, and a tall, handsome man stepped forward, saluted, and shook hands cordially with colonel sure pop. he was brown as a berry from the tropical sun and he carried his left arm in a sling. "uncle--uncle jack!" the dalton twins forgot that the troop was on review, forgot mrs. muldoon's babies, forgot everything and everybody but uncle jack. what a surprise! and he knew sure pop, too! "sure pop, i do!" laughed the explorer, kissing betty warmly before the whole admiring troop. "here, look out for that lame arm, you rascals! our surgeon told me it would be well in a month, but he was too optimistic, for once!" for bob and betty were fairly swarming over their favorite uncle, home at last from the jungle. "nellie," said uncle jack to mrs. dalton that night, when the safety scouts were off to bed at last, "those twins of yours are making history--do you realize that?" "well," said his sister, "they have their faults, like all the rest, but they're pretty fine youngsters at that. but, oh, jack, they're growing up so fast!" "they are, sure enough, like weeds; but their harvest isn't going to be any weed crop, now mark my words. i heard most of what was said at their patrol review this afternoon before anybody saw me; and on my word, nell, those youngsters have started something bigger than they have any idea of, something that no power on earth is going to be able to stop. after all, i'm just as pleased that the old chief's spear thrust sent me home in time to see the safety scouts of america in the making!" _a real scout knows how to take care of himself--and of others._--sure pop [illustration] [illustration] adventure number fourteen six timely tips sure pop and uncle jack were sprawled out side by side on the green river bank, talking over old times. bob and betty were hanging on every word. "my first few months of safety work among american factories and mills," sure pop was saying, "was largely planting. i planted the safety first idea and gave it time to grow. i began with the steel mills; then i turned to the railroads, then to the wood-working shops, and so on." uncle jack gazed thoughtfully at the sparkling river. "well," he said at last to sure pop, "what results and how?" "how?" repeated the little colonel. "first, by putting the idea, safety first, into the mind of every workman we met. second, by whispering in his ear new ways of cutting out accidents--_after_ the safety first idea had had a chance to sink in. results? three fourths of the deaths and injuries in the steel mills were cut out entirely in six years' time; in the railroads, the number of accidents was cut squarely in two in three years' time; in other kinds of work--all except one--big reductions all along the line." "great!" there was no mistaking the admiration in uncle jack's voice. "what about the one exception--what line was that?" "it's a certain class of mills that is practically controlled by one man, a very able man, but exceedingly self-willed and stubborn. he owns a chain of mills from coast to coast, and the rest of the manufacturers in his line follow his lead in everything. he has fought the safety first idea from the start--calls it 'one of these new-fangled notions'--will have nothing at all to do with it--and he has held back the safety movement in his whole line of work." "hm-m-m! hard nut to crack, eh? what's the old codger's name?" "bruce. he's done more to handicap safety work than any other man in the country--and i do believe he's proud of it," said sure pop, grimly. "bruce--isn't that the man your father works for, bob?" bob nodded. "he has a heart, though"--and he told them how the mill owner had come to chance carter's aid, and how like a different man he had seemed when little bonnie threw her happy arms around him. "queer mixture, isn't he?" said uncle jack. "yes, he is. but don't you suppose our patrol could do something to change his mind?" uncle jack waved the idea aside. "forget it, bob, forget it! don't lose sight of what the colonel told you scouts yesterday about the right way to go at things. well, the right way to go at bruce is to leave him alone for a while. if he's as prejudiced as all that, interfering would only make him worse. he'll come around by and by, won't he, colonel?" "all in good time," said sure pop. "your work is cut out for you, bob, as i told you yesterday. get the safety first idea well rooted in the homes, and then we'll begin on the streets, and get folks in the habit of thinking safety every time they cross the street." uncle jack yawned and stretched himself. "can you spare these twins of ours for the day, colonel? i've a frolic of my own i want to borrow them for, if i may." "sure pop! go ahead, sir." uncle jack stepped across the street to a telephone, and the first thing bob and betty knew, a big red automobile drew up beside them. "jump in, folks--look out for my arm, please. now--we're off! goodby, colonel." "my, but isn't this glorious!" betty nestled closer to her uncle as they sped along toward the shopping district. "is this your car, uncle jack?" "for today it is," laughed her uncle. "today we'll just make believe i own the mint. careful there, driver!" forgetful of his lame arm, he jumped to his feet and waved his hand in warning. they had been running smoothly along the car tracks, and another automobile had cut in ahead of them from around the corner. a tow-headed lad of about bob's age, who was stealing a ride on it, holding himself on by main strength as the automobile jounced along over the crossing, had just made up his mind he would ride no farther and was getting ready to jump. down he came, kerflop, in the street, stubbing his toe as he tried to catch his balance. uncle jack's chauffeur, warned by his shout, gave the steering wheel a quick turn--and cleared the boy by a hand's breadth! uncle jack sank back on the cushions, his eyes flashing. "reckless young rascal! trying to make murderers of us, is he? what are you safety scouts going to do about the boys' hitching on like that, bob?" bob pulled a notebook out of his pocket. "here's how sure pop has summed up our patrol reports on street accidents. he calls it-- six timely tips on street safety tip : make the street car stop before you step on or off--the car can wait. but step lively! tip : face forward in getting off. hold the grip iron with your left hand--it's a friend in need. left foot to the step, right foot to the ground, eyes front! tip : before leaving the car, look both ways for automobiles, wagons, and motor cycles. tip : in passing behind a car, first peek around to see what's coming. when carrying an umbrella, peek around that, too. tip : before you hitch on or steal rides on street cars, automobiles, or wagons, better make your will. tip : keep wide awake in getting on and off cars and in crossing streets. walk fast, _but don't run_. use all the sense you have; you're likely to need it and to need it quick! "those six tips are not guess work either, uncle jack. they're boiled down from weeks of street scouting by every boy and girl in our patrol." "those are good, sensible tips," said his uncle. "what use are you going to make of them?" "well, by the time vacation's over, we will have a special school safety patrol drilled and ready to get down to business on this particular work among the youngsters--to get them out of the habit of hitching on, and that sort of thing. our idea is to begin with the smaller school children; there have been a good many bad accidents to them, you see, going to and from school. most of them have to cross the tracks; it's altogether too easy for them to get confused and run down by a street car or engine or auto." "that's right, bob. how are you going to stop it?" "why, each scout in the school patrol takes charge of the school children in his block for one month. it's his job to get them together at a convenient corner in the morning, then herd them across the tracks and through the crowded streets to school; to do the same thing on their way home; and to keep an eye on their games during recess, reporting any risky condition to their teachers. we've planned it so this team work will not only keep the youngsters from being run over and all that, but will also be training them to take care of themselves and keep out of danger just like any safety scout. how does the idea strike you?" "fine! it's a good, practical plan! makes me wish i were a boy again myself. hello, here we are--out we go!" "why, where are we?" "i'll soon show you." uncle jack led the way to the elevator and they shot up, up, clear to the roof. "hungry?" he asked, as a white-clad waiter showed them to a table. he enjoyed the surprise of bob and betty; they had never had luncheon downtown before. mr. dalton's hard-earned wages left no room for such celebrations as this. and a roof garden--! no wonder it seemed very strange and very grand to the dalton twins. they must have spent a good half-hour ordering that meal: it was fun to study the big bill of fare and pick out delicious things which they "never had at home." uncle jack seemed to find it just as much fun as they did, and he understood pretty well how they felt as they ate and ate, while they gazed out on the roofs of the city spread out below them. it wasn't so _very_ many years, you see, since he had been a youngster himself! _plant the safety first idea and watch it grow._ --sure pop [illustration] adventure number fifteen twin uniforms "how nice and cool it is up here!" betty, looking very grown-up and quite as if she were used to taking luncheon in a roof garden every day, smiled contentedly at uncle jack over her glass of lemonade. "cool as a cucumber," said her uncle. "hard to realize how sweltering hot it is down there in the street, isn't it? betty, what's _your_ safety work going to be when school begins?" betty glanced at bob; she had not yet told even him about her plan. "first, i suppose, i'll serve my month on the school safety patrol; and then--then, i'm going to talk to my teacher about starting safety games in the lower grades." "safety games!" bob's tone showed his surprise. "yes, bob. funny sounding idea, isn't it? but i've thought out a lot of games that the kindergarten children can play, games that will be brand new to them, and lots of fun, and at the same time will get them into the habit of thinking safety and looking out for themselves on the street." "tell us one," demanded bob. "well," said betty, "one of them i call 'little safety scout.' we can begin by asking the little folks in one grade what things they ought to keep in mind when crossing a busy street. the one that gives the best answer is made 'little safety scout.' one of the biggest boys plays he's the crossing policeman, other children play street cars, others make believe they're automobiles, and so on. the rest are just people trying to get across the street, and they have trouble trying to understand what the policeman's whistle signals mean, and some get run over, and some are saved by the 'little safety scout,' and others show the right way to get on and off a car, and all that." "well, betty dalton," cried uncle jack, "you're a regular little witch! why, that's a dandy plan. the first thing you know, you'll have the little folks able to take care of themselves on the streets better than the grown-ups do!" "fine!" chimed in bob. "and we can give them sure pop buttons, too!" "that's right, we can," said betty. "we can give buttons to the children who pass an easy little safety first examination after we've played the safety games a few weeks. and perhaps we might make some safety posters to hang on the schoolroom walls; just big posters in colored crayons, with a picture of sure pop and one of his safety mottoes below it in big letters,--like, 'folks that have no wings must use their wits,'--something that would make the children remember the point of the story longer. don't you think that would help along?" thus the three friends went on planning, till the jolly head waiter asked them for the ninth time if they wouldn't have something more, and uncle jack looked at his watch with a start of surprise. "four o'clock! whew! we must get out of this. we have lots to do yet before we go home, and i told the chauffeur to be back here at five. let's stop in the cold-storage room below." "is that what makes the roof so cool?" asked betty, as they looked around on the floor below. "ha, ha! not a bad idea--perhaps it does have something to do with it. no, this is where the store keeps its furs during the summer months. moths can't stand the cold, you know. come on, we'll go on down now." the elevator car was nearly full of people from the roof garden. betty started to step in, hesitated, then turned back. uncle jack motioned her and bob in, stepped in after them, and carefully turned so that he faced the elevator door. "that was a risky thing you did just then," he whispered to betty. "three quarters of all the elevator accidents are due to stepping in or out in the wrong way. never do the thing halfway, you know. always wait till the elevator man stops the car at the floor level and throws the door wide open." next to them in the elevator stood two boys--cash boys in the store--who were fooling and scuffling so close to the door that the elevator man cautioned them twice as the car dropped swiftly downward. finally one of them brought his heel down on the other's foot so hard that the other jumped backward, forgetting everything else for the pain. forward went his head--bang went his face against the iron grating of the door they were just passing. the elevator stopped with a jerk. they carried the boy out and sent for the store doctor. bob and betty never had to be reminded, in all the years to come, to look sharp when riding in elevators. the memory of that bruised and battered face was warning enough. "it's a dangerous machine," said uncle jack as they left the store. "a fellow who will scuffle in an elevator is foolish enough for almost anything. here's our next stop," and he showed them into a shop with a big sign over the double door: uniforms--ready made or to order "uncle jack must be going to have a new uniform," whispered betty to her twin as the tailor came up with his tape over his shoulders. but it was not around their uncle that the tape measure went, it was around bob! "yes, the regulation khaki," uncle jack was saying. "cut and finish it just like this one," and he handed the tailor a photograph of sure pop. "your turn next, betty," said uncle jack, and to betty's great delight and the tailor's surprise, _she_ was measured for a special safety scout uniform too! uncle jack did not stop there. he bought the twins safety scout hats of fine, light felt, made for hard service, and he was on the point of buying them leather puttees or leggings, but bob stopped him. "canvas leggings are plenty good enough," he said. "the fellows couldn't afford leather, most of them, and we want them all to match." "canvas it is, then," nodded his uncle, and went on making up the outfits. betty sighed happily as they followed him into another store. it all seemed too good to be true! the first thing she knew, they were sitting at a glass-topped table. uncle jack mopped his steaming forehead again. "that tailor shop beats the jungle all hollow for heat!" he exclaimed. "what kind of ice cream do you want, scouts?" betty thought it was time to object. "oh, uncle jack, we've had enough! you've done too much for us already!" all the same, she enjoyed the ice cream just as much as the others did, and when uncle jack tucked a box of chocolates under her arm, her cup of joy was full. "what are you thinking about, betty?" asked uncle jack as the big red automobile bore them merrily homeward; for betty had not said a word for blocks and blocks. she patted uncle jack's arm--the well one--with a grateful smile. "i was thinking what a perfectly, perfectly _lovely_ day we've had! and wishing," she murmured, wistfully, "that mother had been along too." "now that part's all taken care of," said uncle jack. "your mother's going out for a spin with me tonight after baby's asleep; she couldn't leave today, she said. she and i will have a good long ride down the river front in the moonlight. be sure you get a good sleep tonight, now, you two; i want you to be in good trim for a little exploring party i'm planning for tomorrow." "we'll be up bright and early, ready for anything," bob told him. "whew! but this has been a whirlwind of a day! glad you're going to take mother out--that's the only way she'd get a cool breeze tonight, all right!" "but it can't be as nice as the roof garden, even then!" cried his happy twin, as she lifted out her big box of candy and skipped up the front steps two at a time. [illustration] adventure number sixteen where safety was a stranger true to their word, bob and betty were up bright and early, ready for uncle jack's exploring trip. "we're going to visit one of the big wood-working mills," he explained as they left the house after breakfast. "i'm curious to see the result of colonel sure pop's safety patrolling, and it seems to me that will be about as interesting a shop as we can begin on. it will be fun to see what they're doing to make it safer for the men--perhaps we can get some ideas for your outside patrols, bob." the twins looked around them sharply as they went into the mill by way of its lumber yard. "i don't see anything here that looks dangerous," was bob's first remark. "hold on, though--what about those piles of lumber? don't you think they're piled too high to be safe?" "i can tell you this much," said uncle jack, who had been reading up on the year's long list of accidents. "the danger of being hit by falling or flying objects in mills and factories is the biggest risk in the whole country today." he walked around to the laborers who were piling lumber and began talking with the foreman. the twins stepped nearer so that they could hear what he was saying. "they're getting that pile rather high," said uncle jack, as if he had only just noticed it. "it's beginning to look a bit wobbly on its pins. isn't there danger of its toppling over and hurting somebody?" "oh, i don't know," was the foreman's answer. "we do have a few men smashed up that way, off and on; it's all in the day's work, though." hardly were the words out of his mouth when a heavily loaded wagon in passing beside the lumber piles swayed and came squarely up against the one the men were working on. with a crash and a clatter the whole thing went over. one man jumped clear of the wreck, another slid down with the lumber, bruised but not much hurt--and two disappeared under the huge mass of falling boards. the three safety scouts stood watching the ambulance, fifteen minutes later, as it carried off the two men to the hospital, one with a broken arm and a gash over one eye, the other hurt inside so badly that he died that night. both of them had boys and girls of their own--families whose living depended on their daily wages at the mill! "hard luck for their folks," said uncle jack, as the ambulance rumbled away. "the colonel told me yesterday his men had done a lot of successful safety scouting among the wood-working mills. i can't understand it. by the way, bob, that ambulance reminds me: what drill are you giving your safety scouts on how to call the fire department, and the police and the ambulance and so on?" "we've got that well covered in our saturday reports, uncle jack. once a week each scout adds to his report the telephone number of the police and the fire department--it's usually a number that's easy to remember, like 'main ' for fire and 'main ' for police--as well as the street address of the nearest station." "bob, how did they happen to choose those numbers?" wondered betty. her brother grinned. "i suppose because after a bad fire there's nothing left, and because it's unlucky to fall into the hands of the police!" and he cleverly ducked the box betty aimed at his ear. uncle jack's twinkle didn't last long, though. he was too much puzzled over the carelessness he was noticing in this mill, carelessness where he had expected to find up-to-date safety methods. he poked with his foot at a board with several ugly nails sticking up in it and jammed them carefully down into the ground. "that's the fourth bad case of upturned nails i've found here already," he said quietly. "there's no end of broken bottles and such trash under foot, and just look at that overloaded truck, will you? one sharp curve in the track and that load will spill all over the place. why, these chaps don't realize the first thing about safety, bob." they moved on into the engine room. one of the engineer's helpers, a boy who looked hardly older than bob, stood beside a swiftly moving belt, pouring something on it out of a tin can. his sleeve was dangling, and every time the belt lacing whirled past, it flipped the sleeve like a clutching finger trying to jerk his arm into the cruel wheel. uncle jack walked over for a word with the engineer, a fat, jolly looking man who seemed well satisfied with life. "do your helpers often put belt dressing on while the belt is running?" he asked. the jolly engineer was plainly surprised. "why, they never do it any other time!" he exclaimed. "why do you ask?" "only," said the explorer, dryly, "because there are several hundred men killed in just that way every year--and most of them have families. don't you put guards around any of your belts in this mill, either?" again that puzzled look in the engineer's eyes. "no, not here," he answered slowly. "there was some talk about putting them on, but nothing came of it. it wouldn't be a bad idea, either; every now and then some poor fellow loses a hand or an arm. last spring a new man from out in the yards was walking through here, and the wind blew his sleeve too near the belt. it yanked him clear in between the belt and pulley--smashed him up so he didn't live more'n a couple of hours. that certainly was hard luck." "luck!" snorted uncle jack, when the three were out of hearing. "a moving belt is almost as dangerous as a can of gunpowder! yet these men call it luck when it takes off an arm or snuffs out a life. it's disgusting." all through the plant they found the same state of affairs--careless men, unguarded machinery, guesswork everywhere. in the machine shop they found men and boys cleaning machines that were running at top speed. any one could see how easily the rags and soft cotton waste they were using could catch in the moving parts and draw a hand or an arm into the flying wheels. "i noticed in the accident reports of one single state," uncle jack told betty, "that more than five hundred people were hurt in that very way, by cleaning machines that were moving. half of them lost fingers and many lost their hands or arms. no sensible workman, these days, treats his machine as anything but downright dangerous as long as it's running." the buzz saws fascinated the twins. they felt as if they could stand all day long and listen to the drone of the saw as it ate its way into the clean white boards, snarling like an angry dog when its teeth struck a knot in the wood. there were a good many of these saws in the big, long room; now and then they would get to singing together like a music class at school and then they would drop out of tune again. "not a saw guard in the place," shouted bob in uncle jack's ear, for the saws drowned out his ordinary tone. but uncle jack's keen eyes had already caught sight of some metal guards hung up on the wall here and there. "they've got them," he corrected, "but they are not making any use of them." he stepped up to one of the saws and spoke to the man who was running it. "why don't you keep the guard on your saw?" "aw, those things are a nuisance," said the man. "yes, we're supposed to keep 'em on, but they'd be in the way--we couldn't get the work out so fast with them." "that's queer," said uncle jack. "in a good many mills like this they've found that a man using a good saw guard turns out more work than ever--because he's so much more free in using his hands, i suppose." the man grunted, but did not answer. on their way to the door, the safety scouts spied, clear back in one corner, a man who really did have his saw guard in use. "and a rattling lot of work he's turning out, too," said bob, after the three had watched him a while from a distance. the neat metal guard came clear down over the murderous saw teeth, so that no matter how much his fingers happened to be in the way, they were safe. "let's ask him why he uses his saw guard when the others won't," said uncle jack. he stepped nearer the silent workman and then--he saw the reason. turning to bob and betty, he tapped his left hand with his right and jerked his head toward the man beside the saw. the twins walked around to where they could get a look at the workman's left hand. then they understood. there was nothing left of the fingers but the stub of one, and the thumb! "easy enough to see why that one man was using his saw guard, eh?" said uncle jack to sure pop that night. "nothing easier," said the little colonel. "a burnt child dreads the fire, you know. not much safety first idea noticeable in that mill, was there?" "colonel, that's just what i don't understand. i thought you said yesterday your safety scouts had done good work among the wood-working mills, but if that's a sample--" "it isn't," was the quiet answer. "do you happen to know who's the biggest stockholder in that mill?" uncle jack stared. "surely not--not bruce?" "you've guessed it." uncle jack gave a long, low whistle of surprise. "but i had no idea he owned wood-working mills too." "this is the only one. it's out of his line, i'll admit--but it goes to show his bitter prejudice against the safety first movement, doesn't it? he'll come around by and by, never fear. all in good time, my friend, all in good time." [illustration] adventure number seventeen giving the other fellow a square deal the dalton twins had something on their minds. mother felt it. uncle jack felt it. every now and then they forgot to go on eating their breakfast; and when a dalton went that far, as their uncle remarked, things were getting very bad indeed. betty sat and fidgeted. bob looked as if he would like to pop one question at his uncle, but he managed to hold it in. finally betty slid down from her chair, went boldly around to uncle jack, and whispered something in his ear. how he threw back his handsome head and laughed! "betty, you're a regular mind reader! why, we're going down to try them on this very morning, and i was just going to tell you to get ready, but you were too quick for me!" two hours later betty, looking very spruce in her new safety scout uniform, was dancing up and down before the mirrors while bob's blouse was having the buttons set over a bit. "that boy," said the tailor, looking at him with bulging eyes, "has grown smaller since this uniform was measured!" "if you'd seen the luncheon he tucked away, just before we came over that day to be measured," laughed uncle jack, "you'd only wonder that those buttons won't have to be set back at least a foot! now, where are the trousers?" "they are up in the shop. wait, i'll get them. what? you'd like to come along? up this way, then." on the second floor they found themselves in a big room that looked like a forest of sewing machines, humming and clicking so fast that at first the twins were fairly bewildered. girls who, it seemed, could hardly be older than betty were bending over their machines, sewing away as if for dear life. most of them did not even look up from their work as the visitors came through. "the young man's trousers are in this next room," said the tailor, leading the way to a heavy iron door which separated the two rooms on that floor. "what's the idea of this iron door?" asked uncle jack. "to keep a fire from spreading from one department into the other?" "exactly so. that big, thick fire wall goes straight through the building from top to bottom--cuts it in two. suppose a fire breaks out here on the piecework side: the foreman just opens this fire door and shoos the boys and girls right through, like a lot of chickens. then he shuts the fire door tight, and they are safe. that big fire we had here four years ago taught us something. so when the owner rebuilt it for us, he built it right." the big room on the other side of the fire wall was crowded almost as full of workers as the first one. the main difference was that there were more boys and men, and that more sewing was being done by hand. bob's khaki trousers were quickly found and tried on--a perfect fit. "we'll give bob a patrol leader's arm badge--two white bars of braid below his left shoulder," said uncle jack. "betty will get one bar for the present, i understand. there are some badges yet to come, colonel sure pop says." bob and betty looked at each other, too pleased to talk. the four were walking downstairs for a look at the other floors of the big tailor shop when the noon whistle blew. r-r-rip--slam--bang! a torrent of rattle-brained boys came tearing pell mell down the stairs like a waterfall over a dam. most of them came pelting down three steps at a jump, but on one of the landings somebody stumbled, and the yelling boys piled up in a squirming, kicking heap. "hey! wait!" no one would ever have suspected the mild-mannered tailor of having such a foghorn of a voice! the rush from the upper floors slowed up at once, and uncle jack and bob helped the fallen lads pick themselves up. but the boy at the bottom, a little fellow with a thin, pinched face that looked as if he had never had half enough to eat, nor even enough fresh air, lay there moaning softly. bob knew that queer, unnatural angle of the boy's right arm, which lay awkwardly stretched out beside him, as if it had never quite matched his left. the arm was broken. "here, here!" roared the tailor, gently picking the little fellow up and carrying him to the elevator. "will you crazy fellows never learn? only last week, somebody hollered 'fire!' just to see the other fellows jump up and run, and broke that poor little levinski's collar bone! and now look at this!" "the old fellow's right on that score," was uncle jack's remark as the twins followed him to the street car, each hugging tight a big pasteboard box with a brand new safety scout uniform inside it. "those lads meant no particular harm, but that certainly was about as far from a square deal as one fellow can give another. these 'practical jokers' who will yell 'fire!' or run over a boy smaller than themselves--well, if a boy scout had no more sense than that, he'd be drummed out of the service!" once on the way home, when the car stopped at the corner, he pointed up to a fire escape on a big flat building. "there's your flower-pot risk over again, betty. even worse, for this time they're on the fire escape steps where folks would fall over head first in case of fire. and see that girl leaning against that rickety old porch railing on the third floor! certainly there's plenty in sight for a safety scout to do!" that afternoon they visited a large machine shop across the river. to their great delight, bob and betty were allowed to wear their new safety scout uniforms, leggings and all. they stood very straight as they waited for their companion to get a permit at the company's office. "those new uniforms are going to be about as good an 'ad' for safety first as anything we could have," remarked uncle jack, leading the way into the big machine shop. he had caught the admiring glances that had followed them from the older people and the longing looks that the boys and girls had sent after them all the way over. "we haven't done our 'day's boost for safety' yet, though," said betty. "i don't know but we ought to do our good turn every morning before we start out on any trip--i just hate not to get my button right side up till so late in the day!" "those girls have pretty neat looking uniforms of their own, haven't they?" said bob, a little later, as they gazed down a long row of punch presses which were pouring out shining streams of aluminum pin trays. "what do they wear them for--just to look pretty?" "you wouldn't have thought so," laughed the forewoman, "if you could have seen how they fought the first caps and aprons we tried to get them to wear. they _were_ homely things, even if they were life savers. so we kept at it till we got something so trim and pretty that the girls would rather wear it than not." "life savers?" repeated betty. "how could caps and aprons save lives? oh--by not catching in the machinery?" "just so. it's easy for a girl's hair to be blown into the machines, or for a braid to swing against a whirling shaft, you see. oh yes, we had several girls killed that way, before we tried this uniform. they used to wear dresses with baggy sleeves,--ragged ones, sometimes. rings and bracelets are bad, too; and even these aprons, you'll notice, are buttoned back so they can't fly out against the wheels. yes, the girls all like the idea now. the caps keep their hair from getting dusty or mussed up. besides, we find it saves a good many girls' feelings, too, having them all dressed so much alike." the same good sense was shown in the other departments, in the working clothes worn by the men and boys. "you won't find a man in this room with a necktie on," the foreman told them. "these are the biggest punch presses in our whole shop. a while ago one of the men got his necktie caught between the cogwheels and he was drawn into the machine head first. that was the end of that sort of thing in _this_ shop! "now, as you'll see, long sleeves and ragged or baggy overalls are things of the past. if a man does wear a long sleeve, he keeps it rolled up where it can't catch and cost him a hand or an arm. "watch the men and boys, and you'll see how careful they are not to look around while their machines are running. before they start their machines, you'll find them looking all around to see there's nobody near who might get caught in the wheels or belt. these workmen are just as anxious to give the other fellow a square deal as anybody could be, once they catch the safety first idea. it took some of them a long while to learn never to fool with the other fellow's machine--that's always dangerous, you know, just like a machine that's out of order. our pressmen wouldn't think of starting up a machine which was out of order, or which they didn't understand--they'd report it to me at once." "what has been the result of all this safety training--has it got the men to 'thinking safety,' so you don't have so many accidents?" asked uncle jack. the foreman's face glowed with pride. "why, it's got so now, sir, that even the youngsters are too wise to scuffle or play jokes on each other here in the shop. they've come to see how easy it is to fall against dangerous machinery or down a shaft or stairway. and as for throwing things at each other, the way they used to during the noon hour--nothing doing any more in that line. "would you believe it, we haven't had a bad accident in this shop since a year ago last july. that was when one of the boys on a punch press got the die clogged and tried to dig it out with his fingers instead of using a hook. that's about the last set of fingers this shop has lost; yes, sir. before that, there was hardly a week went by but we had several hands crippled, and often somebody killed. oh, this safety first work is wonderful,--it's making things a lot safer for the working man!" uncle jack told the kindly foreman what the twins were doing in safety patrol work. bob and betty could see how proud the man was of the splendid safety showing his shop was making. "and it's a fine pair of scout uniforms you and the little lady have," he called after them. "more power to you both--and to the safety scouts of america!" "you seem very much interested in everything in these shops, bob," said his uncle, who could hardly drag him away. "you'd better believe i am!" cried the boy, warmly. "as soon as i get through school, i'm going to get a job in one of these factories and--well, i'm trying to make up my mind which shop it shall be!" _one thing you always owe the other fellow--a square deal._--sure pop [illustration] adventure number eighteen an adventure in safety betty told sure pop what bob had said about getting a job in one of the big mills by and by, and the little colonel remembered it a few weeks later when he was showing several of the safety scouts through the steel mills. "do you think it will be one of these mills you'll pick out for your first job?" "well, i don't know, now. it's a pretty big, lonesome sort of place for a fellow like me, sure pop, and there don't seem to be so many fellows of my own age here as in some of the other factories." betty and joe and chance followed bob's eyes around the big steel mill yards. they knew how he felt. it was a lonesome looking place till you got used to it, in spite of the thousands of men who swarmed around them. the queer, raw smell of the reddish iron ore added to the feeling, too. away down in the big ore boats along the docks, gangs of big, brawny workmen strained and sweated, filling the iron buckets that traveled up the wire cables to the ore dumps. others were trucking the ore to the furnaces, while a swarm of little switch engines panted and puffed back and forth over the network of steel rails. the steel works covered many acres of ground, and, shut off as they were by high fences, seemed almost like another world. the roar of the furnaces and the din of steel on steel made betty and the boys feel rather confused at first. "i should think all these men just over from the old country would get mixed up, so many of them not understanding a single word of english," said betty to their guide. "yes, we have to be mighty careful," said the man, who was one of the safety men who gave all his time to making the steel mills safer for the thousands of workmen. "we print this little book of safety rules in all the different languages, so that each new man can study it and find out how to do his day's work without getting into danger." "wow! what's that?" joe's black eyes opened very wide as he pointed to a great ball of fire that rose from one of the furnace stacks, floated a little way like a balloon, and then burst into a sheet of flame. "just the gas from the blast furnace--regular fourth of july fireworks, isn't it? i remember how queer those gas bubbles used to look to me when i first came to work here." he waited while his visitors stared for a few minutes at the fiery clouds, then led the way to the blast furnaces. they went through two or three big buildings, all of them fairly alive with hurrying, sweating laborers. but in spite of the seeming confusion all around them, bob noticed how carefully the aisles and passageways were kept free and clear of anything the hurrying men might stumble over. "we simply have to do it," explained the steel man. "before we woke up to the importance of never leaving anything in the way where it might be stumbled over, we had more broken arms and legs every month than you could shake a stick at. now it's different; it's as much as a man's job is worth to leave anything lying in the passageways for his fellow workmen to stumble and fall over." "i saw some white lines painted on the floor of that last room we came through, the one where all those castings were stacked up in rows," said chance. "was that what they were for? great scheme, isn't it? and as simple as falling off a log!" "simple? sure--most of these things are simple enough, once you think of them," agreed their guide. "it took perhaps an hour of one man's time and a gallon or two of white paint to paint those dead-lines along the sides--and many's the man who has been saved weeks in the hospital by those same white lines." the five friends followed him into the foundry department. hardly had they stepped through the doorway, when the clang of a big gong overhead scattered a group of laborers who were piling heavy castings on flat cars. five pairs of eyes looked up as the five safety scouts turned to see where the gong was. away up above them on a track that went from one end of the long room to the other, they saw something like an oddly shaped freight engine running along with a heavy wire cable dangling toward the floor. the big, strong cable was carrying a load of several tons of steel castings as easily as a boy carries in an armful of wood. "and with a whole lot less fuss and bother!" said betty, with a sly look at brother bob. "when a man hears that gong overhead," said the guide, "he knows what it means even before he looks up. that's what is called a traveling crane. it runs back and forth on those overhead tracks, wherever the crane driver wants to pick up or drop his load. he kicks that gong with his heel, just like the motorman on the street car, and it gives warning to the workmen below just as plainly as if it yelled out, 'look out, below! here comes a load that might spill on your heads!'" "sounds exactly like a street-car gong," said betty. the steel man smiled. "it ought to--it was made for use on a street car. watch sharp when the crane comes back this way and you'll see the gong fastened right up under the cab floor. see? we tried whistles for a while, and automobile horns, too; but this plain, everyday street-car gong beats 'em all. a man doesn't have to understand english to know what _that_ sound means!" "it must have made a good deal of difference in the number of accidents," said sure pop, "with so many men working underneath those cranes right along." "did it? well, i should say so! that's another little thing that's as simple as a b c, but it saves lives and broken bones just the same. sometimes i think we get to thinking too much about the big things, colonel, and not enough about these little, everyday ideas that spell safety to all these thousands of men who look to us for a square deal." sure pop reached up to say something in bob's ear as they went on to the chipping yard, where long rows of men were trimming down the rough steel castings with chisels driven by compressed-air hammers. "did you ever see anything like it, bob, the way this 'square deal' and 'fair play' idea gets into their systems, once they wake up to the possibilities of safety first?" "it certainly does," said bob. "i thought of that, too. it's what that tailor told the boys in the clothing factory, the day we got our uniforms, and it's just what the foreman in that machine shop told us, too." "yes, sir," said sure pop, "the spirit of fair play means everything to a fellow who's any good at all--it's the very life of the boy scout law, you know." joe was looking hard at the chippers. "every one of those men wear glasses! isn't that queer!" "it's all the difference between a blind man and a wage earner," was the way the steel man looked at it. "when those steel chips fly into a man's eyes it's all over but the sick money." he turned to little sure pop again. "there it is again, colonel--another of the simplest ideas a man could imagine--just putting goggles on our chippers and emery wheel workers--but it has saved hundreds and hundreds of eyes, and every eye or pair of eyes means some man's living--and the living of a family." "splendid idea," nodded the little colonel--just as if he, the spirit of safety, had not thought it all out years before, and put it into the minds of men! "do you ever have any trouble getting the men to wear them?" "plenty! most of the men treated it as a joke at first. then, gradually, they began to notice that the men who wore theirs on their _hats_ (the rule is that they must wear goggles while at this work or lose their jobs), those were the men who lost their eyes. several of the first men to be blinded after the new rule was posted were those very ones, the chaps that had made the most fun of the goggles. then the others began to wake up. "over in my office, i've several hundred pairs of goggles that have had one or both lenses smashed by flying bits of steel--and every pair has saved an eye, in some cases both eyes. seems sort of worth while, eh, colonel?" it was an enthusiastic group of safety scouts that passed out through the big steel mill gates and started home in the mellow september twilight. "oh, i think it's wonderful," cried betty, as they talked over what they had seen, "perfectly wonderful, sure pop, that such little things can save so many lives!" "but i don't see why you call a trip like this 'an adventure,'" broke in chance, who had never been along on any of the twins' safety scouting trips before. "we didn't see an accident or an explosion or anything!" colonel sure pop gave chance one of his wise smiles. "that's the best part of the whole trip, as you'll see when you've been at it as long as i have. the most delightful adventure a lover of fair play can possibly have to look back on, my boy, is one just like what we've had today--a real, live adventure in safety!" _the spirit of fair play is the very life of the scout law._--sure pop [illustration] adventure number nineteen one day's boost for safety october had come and gone in busy school days and even busier safety scouting trips, all but the last day. for it was the morning of hallowe'en,--and the dalton twins' birthday. "twelve years old, eh?" said father, at the breakfast table. "well, well, how time flies, nell! stand up here, you safety scouts, and let's have a look at you. i declare, no one would suspect bob of being a day under fifteen, would he, jack?" "i'd hate to have him haul off and hit me with that fist of his!" laughed uncle jack. "how are you going to celebrate the day, scouts?" "as if any one need ask!" smiled mother. "today's the day bob takes his entering test and joins the boy scouts, and betty joins the camp fire girls. just think--big enough for that! good thing it's saturday, betty." "what are you going to do--start out to capture all the honor medals?" "well, i hope to get a few, by and by," admitted bob, modestly, but with a determined gleam in his eye. "i'll be just a tenderfoot to start with, you know. but i'm hoping it won't be so terribly long before i can qualify as a first-class scout." "hm-m-m!" muttered their uncle, winking at mr. dalton over the twins' heads. for he realized what bob and betty did not, that the practical, everyday safety scouting the twins had done had already gone far toward qualifying them, not only for boy scout and camp fire girl honors, but for practical safety work all the rest of their lives. there is no age limit in the safety scouts of america. they were wearing their handsome new uniforms when chance carter came over to get some scouting tips from bob. chance was going around without his crutches now, for the broken leg seemed to be as strong and well as ever. chance had his heart set on a safety scout uniform like bob's. "dad says he'll get me one as soon as i do something to earn it," he told the twins. "i'm going to put in all day today scouting for something that will earn me that uniform--and i want you two to think up some stunt that will win it, _sure_!" the twins were eager to get ready for their entrance tests, but it seemed only fair to give their friend his chance, too. so they sat and thought hard, while the golden minutes flew past. "i can't seem to think of anything worth while today," said betty. "why not hunt for a live wire and report it, the way bob did?" "not much use on a day like this," objected bob. "that was the morning after the big windstorm, when wires were down all over town. i'll tell you what you might do, chance: you might patrol the roads on the edge of town. you may run across a broken culvert, or a shaky bridge, or something." "and you might patrol the river bank and watch for a chance to fish somebody out of the river," added betty. "there are lots of children playing down by the river every saturday, you know." "now," said bob, when to their great relief chance carter had hurried off to begin his day's scouting for safety, "now, we've got to hustle, or we'll be late for those examinations. come along, betty." "wait till i turn my safety button upside down," was his sister's answer. "it seems a shame to go to the boy scout and camp fire girls tests with our safety buttons wrong side up, doesn't it? i feel almost like waiting till we've managed to do our 'one day's boost for safety,' bob. don't you suppose we'd better, after all?" "oh, now, betty, come _on_! if we can't do any better, we can count our patrolling hints to chance as our work for safety this time--certainly that took enough longer than our day's boost usually does!" though betty scoffed at the idea of their talk with chance being work for safety, bob had spoken more truly than they knew. all forenoon long chance carter patrolled the different roads leading into town. by noon he was so hot and tired that he plodded on till he came to red bridge, as the boys all called the old bridge that spanned the river where it crossed bruce's road, the short cut to bruce's mills. here he managed to find a shady spot on the grassy river bank and sat down to eat the lunch he had brought along. "what luck!" he grumbled to himself. "everything's so dis-_gust_-ing-ly safe!" the way he bit off the syllables showed how tired and disappointed he was. he threw the crumbs from his luncheon into the water, hoping the fish would rise for them; but even the fish were not at all accommodating, this sunny hallowe'en. for a while he amused himself by shying stones at the weather-beaten danger sign which was bruce's only reply to the city council's action condemning red bridge as unsafe. the bridge was really on bruce's land, and nobody knew it better than the great mill owner himself. so, while the public wondered why the city did not build a newer and stronger bridge, bruce had stubbornly insisted to the road commissioner, "oh, that bridge'll hold a while longer," and was putting off spending the money for a new bridge just as long as he could. meanwhile the farmers from that part of the country had kept on using the shaky bridge as a short cut to town by way of bruce's mills. one of them was driving up to the bridge now. lying on his elbow by the river's edge, chance idly watched the old bridge quiver and quake as the light horse and buggy dragged lazily across. suddenly something went kerflop into the water, like a big fish jumping. chance sat bolt upright, staring at the dark shadows under the bridge. there it was again! and this time he saw it was no fish, but a second brick which had rotted away from the bridge supports underneath the farther end. "phew!" whistled chance to himself, now fully aroused. "if a light rig like that shakes the bricks loose, the old thing must be rottener than it looks! what would a loaded wagon do, i wonder?" he carefully climbed up under the bridge to see just how bad it really was, and then climbed out again in a hurry. the whole middle support had crumbled away. red bridge was barely hanging on the weakened brickwork at the far end, ready to plunge into the river with the next heavy load that came along! bruce, in the meanwhile, was getting impatient. he sat at his desk in the little office, signing papers as fast as he could shove his pen across the pages. he glanced again at his watch and gave his call button a savage punch with his big, blunt forefinger. a buzzer snarled in the outer office, and a nervous looking secretary jumped for the private office as suddenly as if the buzzer had stung him. "why isn't that car here?" snapped the great man. "i--i don't understand it, sir. it should have been here half an hour ago. jennings is always so punctual," stammered the clerk. "humph! call up the house and see if they've gone back for any reason. bonnie told me she'd call for me with the car at five o'clock." the clerk hurried to the telephone, while bruce paced his office. "if that chauffeur has let anything happen to bonnie, i'll--" if bruce had not cared more for his little golden-haired daughter than for anything else in the world, he never would have thought such a thing, much less said it; for he had had jennings for years, and knew him for the safest, steadiest of drivers. but he scowled when the clerk hurried back to report that jennings, with bonnie in the biggest automobile, had left for the office almost an hour before. throwing his light coat over his arm, the big mill owner slammed down his rolltop desk and dashed out to the sidewalk, straining his eyes for a glimpse of the big automobile and bonnie's flying curls. as he stood waiting on the curb, fuming at the delay, suddenly he heard a voice that sent his heart up into his throat. "daddy! oh, daddy, here we are!" the big automobile swept swiftly up to him--from the opposite direction! "my bonnie!" the big man snatched the dimpled, smiling girl into his strong arms and held her there. in the excitement of the moment, jennings interrupted his employer as the mill owner started to question him sternly as to the cause of the delay. bonnie, too, broke in with her version of the story, and together they told him how a punctured tire had held them up fifteen minutes just as they were leaving the house in plenty of time. they told him how, to avoid being late at the office, jennings had taken the old short cut across to the mills, by the way of red bridge, only to be halted by a lad of fourteen who waved a red handkerchief at them and barred the way across the bridge in spite of the chauffeur's argument and threats. they told him how a heavy lumber wagon, in which three farm hands were rattling home from the city, had come bouncing along to the other side of the river and how the men had howled down the boy's wild warnings and entreaties as they bowled on to red bridge as fast as their horses could go. bruce's stern face went white as his little daughter, shuddering at the awful memory of it, told how the bridge had gone crashing down into the river--men, horses, and all; how the boy who had tried so hard to warn them had almost given his own life trying to drag the drunken farm hands from the swift-running current; how two of the men had never come up again; and how the third, towed to shore by the half-drowned boy a quarter mile below, had been laid face down on the river bank as soon as the boy could catch his own breath long enough to get the water out of the man's lungs and start him to breathing again. still clasping bonnie tightly to him, her father got into the automobile. "home, jennings. why, what makes these cushions so wet?" "oh," said bonnie, "that's where that nice boy sat while we were taking the almost drowned man to the doctor's. then we took the nice boy home--he was so wet and shivery." "take us there first, jennings, then home." the big car whirled swiftly back to chance carter's house. bruce found chance with his hair still wet, but triumphant. he was telling his father exactly how he wanted his new safety scout uniform made, patch pockets and all! from him bruce got the whole story, clear down to the scouting hints from bob and betty that had started him off that morning. the mill owner took mr. carter aside and made him promise to send the bill for that uniform to bruce's mills. "where do this other boy and the girl live?" he asked, as he and bonnie got back into the machine. "all right, jennings, we'll stop there next." "i think, sir," suggested jennings, "that must be the same boy and girl we took home from turner hall last fourth--the boy who put the splint on this other lad's broken leg, sir. it's the same house, anyway." sure enough, when they drew up at the curb, there were bob and betty in their safety scout uniforms, just going in to their birthday supper. they were going to have a big double cake, with lots of frosting and with twenty-four green candles on it--green for safety, betty explained--and they were so excited over having passed their examinations with such high marks, that it was some time before the big man could make them understand what he was getting at. "what i want to know," persisted bruce, "is how you ever came to put that carter boy up to such a stunt as that. what difference did it make to _you_?" "why," betty told him, "we simply had to help him get a start for his uniform and his safety first button. but we couldn't do much because we didn't have time. you see this is our birthday, and we had to go for our examinations." before bruce left they had given him _their_ whole story, too, and a good deal more than they had intended telling him, forgetting what colonel sure pop had told uncle jack about the way bruce had been holding back the safety first work from maine to california. bruce said little as he listened to their story, but he did some quick thinking. so this was the sort of thing he had fought so long and so stubbornly--this "boost for safety" talk which he had called "new-fangled theory," but to which he owed the life of his own little girl! as they talked, two scouts came into the front hall to remind the twins that their birthday supper was waiting, but bruce was too interested to see them. quick at reading signs, as all good scouts are, colonel sure pop and uncle jack watched and listened for a moment, then smilingly went back to the supper table. "you were right, colonel, as usual," said uncle jack, heartily. "bruce is coming around. he'll be the biggest safety booster in the whole united states before morning!" "sure pop!" exulted the dapper little colonel. "i'll have to wire my king about this day's work!" * * * * * it was long after bonnie's bedtime, and the nurse waiting in the hallway was beginning to wonder if her little mistress was never coming upstairs. on the avenue outside, in the soft, mellow hallowe'en breeze, jack o' lanterns and soot bags were still being paraded up and down, horns blowing, rattles clattering. two street urchins, bolder than the rest, crept up to the great iron gate in front of the bruce mansion and vainly struggled to lift it off its hinges. still the mill owner sat before the fire, bonnie on his knee. he could not bear to let her go tonight, even to bed. in the flames dancing on the hearth, the big man was seeing visions--visions of the safety first work that would be started tomorrow morning in every mill in the whole bruce chain. "i'll telegraph every manager to get busy on safety work at once if he wants to hold his job," he thought to himself. "i won't lose another day!" for after hearing from the dalton twins and from chance carter the way _their_ spare time was spent, his own work in the world seemed suddenly very small and mean. here he--bruce the rich, bruce the powerful, with the safety of thousands of lives in the hollow of his hand--had been holding back the great work which these striplings had been steadily, patiently--yes, and successfully--building up! "i'll send those three youngsters each a copy of my telegram in the morning," he muttered, looking more eager and enthusiastic than he had looked for many a day. "i'll write across the bottom of each telegram, '_the safety scouts of america did this!_' and the wonderful part of it is," he added, "that it's only what any boy and girl could do, every day of their lives. i wonder why somebody didn't start this safety scout idea long, long ago!" * * * * * over in the dalton cottage, only a few blocks away, bob and betty were going upstairs to bed. "many, many happy returns of the day!" whispered betty to her brother as she kissed him good night. "same to you, and many of 'em! but our 'one day's boost for safety' didn't amount to much today, did it, betty?" for bob and betty had yet to hear of chance carter's adventures, and bruce had given them no hint. "no, it didn't--not unless what we told chance gave him a start toward a safety scout uniform," said betty, sleepily. "never mind, though, bob," she added. "we'll try to do better tomorrow, if we didn't get much done today." * * * * * but over in the big stone house on the avenue, the silent man with the little golden-haired girl in his arms thought differently of their day's work. [illustration] how can you tell a good scout? _in school_ _he keeps to the right on walks, in halls, going up and down stairs._ _he goes up and down stairs one step at a time._ _he looks where he runs._ _he doesn't jostle in a crowd._ _he doesn't bully the little fellows._ _he sees that the little chaps have a fair chance on the playground and that they don't get hurt._ _out of school_ _he does not walk on railroad bridges or tracks._ _he does not walk around lowered gates or crawl under them._ _he does not jump off moving trains, cars, or engines._ _he does not crawl over, under, or between cars._ _he does not loiter around railroad stations or cars or play on or around turn tables._ _he does not cross tracks without remembering to stop, look, and listen._ _he looks where he goes and keeps to the right._ _he crosses at regular crossings, not in the middle of the block._ _he looks out for automobiles turning corners._ _he looks and listens for danger signals and heeds them._ _he plays safe, as much for the other fellow's sake as his own._ the best of gifts--a book for the many occasions when a present is to be given, there is nothing of more permanent value than an interesting book. it may also be an inexpensive gift. read the following selected list of world book company books which make acceptable gifts, and note the range of prices. all these books are well suited for gifts. they are interesting; the pictures are the work of excellent illustrators; the type is large and plain; the paper is good; the printing is clear; the binding is both strong and attractive. for younger children chadwick-freeman: chain stories and playlets. . the cat that was lonesome. . the woman and her pig. . the mouse that lost her tail. each, cents. chancellor: easy road to reading. . a book of animals. . a book of children. . a book of fun and fancy. . a book of letters and numbers. each, cents. thompson-cooper: making faces with pencil and brush. book i. book ii. each, cents. for boys and girls bailey: sure pop and the safety scouts. cents. burks: barbara's philippine journey. cents. brown: nature and industry readers. . stories of woods and fields. . stories of childhood and nature. . when the world was young. each, cents. curtis: indian days of the long ago. gift edition, $ . . curtis: in the land of the head-hunters. gift edition, $ . . mcgovney: stories of long ago in the philippines. cents. sims-harry: dramatic myths and legends. book one: norse legends. book two: greek and roman legends. each, cents. a post card to the publishers will bring you more detailed information with regard to any or all of these books. the books will be sent postpaid at the prices given above. it is requested that payment in stamps, by registered letter, or by money order accompany all orders. * * * * * world book company yonkers-on-hudson, new york * * * * * transcriber's note: both "tiptoe" and "tip-toe" were used in this text. this text also uses "pellmell" and "pell mell." the big otter, by r.m. ballantyne. chapter one. sleeping in snow. cold comfort is naturally suggested by a bed of snow, yet i have enjoyed great comfort and much warmth in such a bed. my friend lumley was particularly fond of warmth and of physical ease, yet he often expressed the opinion, with much emphasis, that there was nothing he enjoyed so much as a night in a snow-bed. jack lumley was my chum--a fine manly fellow with a vigorous will, a hardy frame, and a kindly heart. we had a natural leaning towards each other--a sort of undefinable sympathy--which inclined us to seek each other's company in a quiet unobtrusive way. we were neither of us demonstrative; we did not express regard for each other; we made no protestations of undying friendship, but we drew together, somehow, especially in our hunting expeditions which were numerous. on holidays--we had two in the week at the outpost in the american backwoods where we dwelt--when the other young fellows were cleaning gulls or arranging snow-shoes for the day's work, lumley was wont to say to me:-- "where d'you intend to shoot to-day, max?" (max was an abbreviation; my real name is george maxby.) "i think i'll go up by the willows and round by beaver creek." "i've half a mind to go that way too." "come along then." and so we would go off together for the day. one morning lumley said to me, "i'm off to north river; will you come?" "with pleasure, but we'll have to camp out." "well, it won't be the first time." "d'you know that the thermometer stood at forty below zero this morning before breakfast?" "i know it; what then? mercurial fellows like you don't freeze easily." i did not condescend to reply, but set about preparing for our expedition, resolving to carry my largest blanket with me, for camping out implied sleeping in the snow. of course i must guard my readers--especially my juvenile readers--from supposing that it was our purpose that night to undress and calmly lie down in, or on, the pure white winding-sheet in which the frozen world of the great nor'-west had been at that time wrapped for more than four months. our snow-bed, like other beds, required making, but i will postpone the making of it till bed-time. meanwhile, let us follow the steps of lumley, who, being taller and stronger than i, _always_ led the way. this leading of the way through the trackless wilderness in snow averaging four feet deep is harder work than one might suppose. it could not be done at all without the aid of snow-shoes, which, varying from three to five feet in length, enable the traveller to walk on the surface of the snow, into which he would otherwise sink, more or less, according to its condition. if it be newly fallen and very soft, he sinks six, eight, or more inches. if it be somewhat compressed by time or wind he sinks only an inch or two. on the hard surface of exposed lakes and rivers, where it is beaten to the appearance of marble, he dispenses with snow-shoes altogether, slings them on his gun, and carries them over his shoulder. our first mile lay through a clump of pine-wood, where snow had recently fallen. when i looked at my comrade's broad back, and observed the vigour of his action as he trod deep into the virgin snow at every stride, scattering it aside like fine white powder as he lifted each foot, i thought how admirably he was fitted for a pioneer in the wilderness, or for the work of those dauntless, persevering men who go forth to add to the world's geographical knowledge, and to lead the expeditions sent out in search of such lost heroes as franklin and livingstone. my own work was comparatively light. i had merely to tread in the beaten path. i was not, however, thereby secured from disaster, as i found when, having advanced about half a mile, my right shoe caught a twig to which it held for a moment, and then, breaking loose, allowed me to pitch head down with such violence that i almost reached mother earth four feet below the surface. this kind of plunge is always awkward owing to the difficulty of rising, and usually disagreeable, owing to the manner in which snow stuffs itself into neck, ears, nose, eyes, mouth--if open--and any convenient crevice of person or garments. the snow-shoes, too, which are so serviceable when you are above them, become exasperatingly obstructive when you are below them. after a struggle of two minutes i got my head clear, winked the snow out of my eyes, blew it from my mouth and nostrils, and looked up. lumley was standing there with a bland smile on his amiable face; he seldom laughed, though he sometimes chuckled! "what do you mean by grinning there like a cheshire cat?" i exclaimed, "why don't you lend a hand?" "what do you mean by tumbling there like a christmas goose?" he retorted, "why don't you look out for stumps and twigs as i do?" he made some amends for this reply by extending his hand and helping me to rise. in a few minutes we were clear of the pine-wood, and came out upon a piece of swampland, where the stunted willow bushes just showed their tops above the surface of the snow. this led us to a bend of the broad river, near to which, further down, stood our outpost--fort dunregan. for four months there had been neither sight nor sound of water in that river. it was frozen to the bottom, except in the middle where its dark unseen waters flowed silently under six feet or more of solid ice through many a river-channel and lake to the distant sea. in fact, save for the suggestive form of its banks, the river might have been mistaken for an elongated plain or piece of open land. the surface of the snow here was, from exposure to wind and sun, as hard as pavement. we therefore took off our snow-shoes, and, the necessity for maintaining the indian-file position being removed, we walked abreast. "the air is keen here," remarked lumley, pulling the thick shawl that was round his neck as far up over his mouth as his well-developed nose would permit. "it is," said i, following his example with greater success, my own nose being a snub. there was no wind; not even a breeze--there seldom is at such temperature--but there was a very slight movement of the air, caused by our own advance, which was just sufficient to make one appreciate the intensity of the cold. it became necessary now to pay frequent attention to our noses and cheek-bones and toes, to prevent frostbite. but the sun was brilliant and the air invigorating. so was the aspect of nature, for although there was no grandeur in the character of the scenery, there was extreme beauty in the snow lacework of the trees and leafless shrubs; in the sky, whose bright blue was intensified by the white drapery of earth; and in the myriads of snow-crystals which reflected the dazzling sun with prismatic splendour. indeed, the scene was too dazzling, and as there was a tendency in it to produce snow-blindness, we soon returned to the friendly shelter of the woods. "tracks!" exclaimed lumley, in a low voice, pointing to the ground, where footmarks were clearly visible, "and fresh," he added, turning up the snow under the track with the butt of his gun. "ptarmigan!" said i in a whisper, pointing towards a little knoll, not quite a gunshot ahead of us, where some dozens of the beautiful snow-white creatures stood gazing at us in motionless surprise. their plumage was so white that we had not observed them at first, almost the only black specks about them being their sparkling eyes, and the tips of their wings and tails. our guns were pointed instantly. i am ashamed to say that we were guilty of shooting them as they stood! in that land we shot for food as much as for amusement, and, some of us being poor shots, we were glad to take our game sitting! nay, more, we tried to get as many of the birds in line as possible, so as to make the most of our ammunition. we were not sportsmen in the civilised sense of that term. the extreme stillness of the woods was broken by the report of our guns in quick succession. a very cloud of pure white birds arose, as if nature had taken to snowing upwards in rather large flakes, and seven victims remained behind. "a good supper," remarked lumley, as we bagged the game and re-loaded. it is not my intention here to describe a day's shooting. let it suffice to say that a little before nightfall we arrived at a place where was a snowy mound capped by a clump of spruce firs of small size but picturesque appearance. "behold our camp!" said lumley. "not inviting at present," said i, as we slowly toiled up the mound, for we were weary, having walked about twenty miles, weighted with heavy flannel-lined deerskin-coats, blankets, and cooking utensils, besides a small quantity of pemmican, sugar, tea, and ship's biscuit, axes and firebags. it is true, the cooking utensils were few and simple, consisting of only two tin kettles and two tin mugs. dreary indeed--lonesome, desolate, and eerie was our mound when we got to the top of it. by that time the sun had set, and a universal ghostly grey, fast deepening into night, banished every sensation of joy aroused by the previous lightness. although the scene and circumstances were nothing new to us we could not shake off the depressing influence, but we did not allow that to interfere with our action. silently, but vigorously--for the cold was increasing--we felled several small dead trees, which we afterwards cut into lengths of about four feet. then we cleared a space in the snow of about ten or twelve feet in diameter until we reached the solid earth, using our snow-shoes as shovels. what we threw out of the hole formed an embankment round it, and as the snow lay at that spot full four feet deep, we thus raised the surrounding wall of our chamber to a height of six feet, if not more. standing on the edge of it in the ever-deepening twilight, and looking down into the abyss, which was further darkened by the overspreading pines, this hole in the snow suggested a tomb rather than a bed. at one end of it we piled up the firewood. extending from that towards the other end, we spread a carpet of pine-branches, full six inches thick. to do all this took a considerable amount of time and labour, and when lumley stood up at last to strike a light with flint, steel, and tinder, we felt pretty well exhausted. the night had by that time become profoundly dark, insomuch that we had to grope for the various articles we required. "we've been rather late of beginning to make the camp," said i, as i watched the sparks. "never mind, max, my boy, we shall soon be all right," replied my friend, as one of the sparks at last caught on the tinder. in a few seconds the spark was blown into a blaze, and placed in the midst of a handful of dry moss and thin chips. this was applied to some dry twigs under our piled-up logs, and a vivid tongue of flame shot upward. blessed fire! marvellous light! it is a glorious, wonder-working influence, well chosen by the almighty as one of his titles. there is no change in nature so intense as that from darkness to light as well in physical as in spiritual things. no sudden change from heat to cold, or from calm to storm; no transformation ever achieved in the most gorgeous of pantomimes, could have the startling effect, or produce the splendid contrast that resulted from the upward flash of that first tongue of fire. it was a vivid tongue, for the materials had been well laid; a few seconds later it was a roaring tongue, with a host of lesser tongues around it--all dancing, leaping, cheering, flashing, as if with ineffable joy at their sudden liberation, and the resulting destruction of dismal darkness. our snow-abyss was no longer black and tomb-like. its walls sparkled as though encrusted with diamonds; its carpet of pine-branches shone vividly green; the tree-stems around rose up like red-hot pillars, more or less intense in colour, according to distance; the branching canopy overhead appeared to become solid with light, and the distance around equally solid with ebony blackness, while we, who had caused the transformation, stood in the midst of the ruddy blaze like jovial red-hot men! "there's nothing like a fire," i remarked with some enthusiasm. "except supper," said lumley. "gross creature!" i responded, as he went about the preparation of supper with a degree of zest which caused me to feel that my epithet was well deserved. "gross creature!" he repeated some time afterwards with a pleasant smile of intense enjoyment, as he sat in front of the blaze sipping a can of hot tea, and devouring pemmican and biscuit with avidity. "no, max, i am not a gross creature. your intellects are probably benumbed by the cold. if phrenologists are right in dividing the human brain into compartments, wherein the different intellectual powers are said to be located, i should think that some of those chambers lying nearest to the top of the skull are apt to freeze at a temperature of forty below zero, in which case the perfect working of the half-paralysed machine can scarcely be looked for. hold your head to the fire, and thaw it while i expound this to you." "stay," said i, holding out my tin pannikin for more tea; "inward heat as well as outward is necessary to my thorough comprehension of _your_ expositions." "true, max, all the faculties of such mind as you possess, in their most active condition, are required to enable you to take in the simplest proposition. just give my bird a turn, like a good fellow." he referred to a ptarmigan which, plucked, split open, roughly cleaned, and impaled on a stick, was roasting in front of the fire. i turned his bird and my own, while he continued:-- "to gratify the appetite with thorough and hearty appreciation after working hard for your food, or walking far to find it, is not gross. grossness consists in eating heavily when you have not toiled, and stimulating with fire-water, pepper, or mustard, your sluggish appetite. to call me a gross creature, then--" he stopped short, and, looking up, performed that operation with the nose which is styled sniffing. "what do i smell?" "my bird--burnt!" i shouted, snatching at the stick on which it was impaled. in doing so i capsized our can of tea. lumley looked at it with a sigh, while i regarded with a groan the breast of my bird burnt to a cinder. "max, you should remember that a fire strong enough to subdue forty degrees below zero is intense--also, that our supply of tea is limited. all this comes of your unwisely calling me a gross creature." "no, it comes of the intense application of my unthawed intellect to your absurd expositions." "whatever it comes of," returned lumley, "we must remedy the evil. here, fall upon my ptarmigan. i'm not quite ready for it, being still engaged with the pemmican. meanwhile, i'll replenish the kettle." so saying, he took up the kettle, went to the margin of our hole, and filled it with fresh snow well pressed down. this being put on the fire, soon melted; more snow was added, till water enough was procured, and then fresh tea was put in to boil. we were not particular, you see, as to the mode of infusion. while my friend was thus engaged, i had plucked, split, cleansed and impaled another bird. in a marvellously short time--for our fire was truly intense--the tea and ptarmigan were ready, and we proceeded with supper as comfortably as before. "now i shall continue," said lumley, with a satisfied clearing of the throat, "the exposition of grossness,--" "oh, pray spare me that," said i, quickly, "but tell me, if you can, why it is that such a tremendous fire as that does not melt our snow walls." "put your head nearer to it, max, for some of the phrenological chambers must still be frozen, else it would be clear to you that the intensity of the cold is the reason. you see that only a small part of the snow quite close to the fire is a little softened. if the fire were hotter it would melt more of it--melt the whole hole and us too. but the cold is so great that it keeps the walls cool and us also--too cool indeed, for while my face and knees are roasting my back is freezing, so i shall rise and give _it_ a turn. now," he continued, rising and turning his back to the blaze as he spoke, "i will resume my remarks on gross--" "you've no objection to my making our bed while you lecture?" said i, also rising. lumley had not the least objection, so, while he held forth, i spread a large green blanket over our carpet of pine-brush. a bundle of the same under the blanket formed a pretty good pillow. wrapping myself tightly round in another blanket (for physical heat evaporates quickly in the frozen regions) i lay down. my friend lay down beside me, our feet being towards the fire. after a silent interval, while lying thus, gazing up through the overhanging branches at the stars that twinkled in the clear frosty sky, our thoughts became more serious. the grandeur of creation led us to think and speak of the creator--for we were like-minded friends, and no subject was tabooed. we conversed freely about whatever chanced to enter our minds--of things past, present, and to come. we spoke of god the saviour, of redemption and of sin. then, with that discursive tendency to which most minds are prone, we diverged to home and civilised lands, contrasting these with life in the wild-woods of the great nor'-west. after that we became sleepy, and our converse was more discursive--at times even incoherent--in the midst of which lumley reverted to his unfinished exposition of grossness, and, in the enthusiasm of his nature, was slowly working himself back into a wakeful condition, when i put an abrupt end to the discourse by drawing a prolonged snore. it was a deceptive snore, unworthy of success, yet it succeeded. my friend turned round and, with a contented sigh, went to sleep. after a brief space the snore which had been a fiction became a reality, and thus, on our bed of snow, in the depths of an arctic night, in the heart of the frozen wilderness, and while the mighty fire burned slowly down, we unitedly took our departure for the land of nod. chapter two. the winter packet. on returning next morning towards the outpost from our encampment in the woods, lumley and i made a discovery which excited us greatly. it was nothing more than a track in the snow, but there was a revelation in the track which sent the blood tingling through our veins. it was not the track of a polar bear. we should have been somewhat surprised, no doubt, but not greatly excited by that. neither was it the track of a deer or an arctic fox. it was only the track of a sledge! "is that all?" exclaims the reader. no, that is not all. but, in order that you may understand it better, let me explain. fort dunregan, in which we dwelt, stood more than a thousand miles distant from the utmost verge of civilised life in canada. we were buried, so to speak, in the heart of the great northern wilderness. our nearest neighbour lived in an outpost between one and two hundred miles distant, similar to our own in all respects but even more lonely, being in charge of a certain scotsman named macnab, whose army of occupation consisted of only six men and two indian women! the forests around us were not peopled. those vast solitudes were indeed here and there broken in upon, as it were, by a few families of wandering red-indians, who dwelt in movable tents--were here to-day and away to-morrow--but they could not be said to be peopled, except by deer and bears and foxes and kindred spirits. of course, therefore, we were far beyond the every day influences of civilised life. we had no newspapers, no mails; no communication whatever, in short, with the outer world except twice in the year. the one occasion was in summer, when a brigade of boats arrived with our outfit of goods for the year's trade with the few scattered indians above referred to; the other occasion was in the depth of our apparently interminable winter, when a packet of letters was forwarded from outpost to outpost throughout the land by the agents of the hudson's bay company which we served. this half-yearly interval between mails had a double effect on our minds. in the first place, it induced a strange feeling that the great world and all its affairs were things of the past, with which we had little or nothing to do--a sort of dream--and that the little world of our outpost, with its eight or ten men and three or four indian women, its hunting, and trapping, and firewood-cutting, and fishing, and trading, and small domestic arrangements and dissensions, was the one place of vital importance and interest, before which empires and dynasties and the trifling matter of politics sank into mere insignificance! in the second place, it created an intense longing--a hungering and thirsting--for news of our kindred "at home." our chief, mr strang, and our two selves, with another fellow-clerk who was named spooner, as well as most of our men, were from "the old country," where we had left fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters--in some cases sweethearts--behind us. it may be conceived then with what anxiety and yearning we looked forward to the periodical break in the weary six months of total silence that had enveloped us. men in civilised, or even semi-civilised communities, cannot understand this. convicts on penal servitude for long periods may have some faint notion of it, but even these have periods of literary intercourse more frequently than we had. the reader must just take the statement on trust therefore, that our anxious yearnings were remarkably powerful. what might not have occurred in these six months of dark silence! who might not have been married, born, laid low by sickness, banished to the ends of the earth like ourselves, or even removed by death! is it surprising, then, that we caught our breath and flushed, and that our hearts leaped when we came unexpectedly upon the track of the two men who had dragged news from home for hundreds of miles over the snow? we knew the tracks well. our intimate acquaintance with every species of track that was possible in that particular region, rendered a mistake out of the question. there was the step of the leader, who wore a snow-shoe the shape of which, although not unknown, was somewhat unfamiliar to us. there was the print of the sled, or toboggan, which was different in pattern from those used at dunregan, and there was the footprint of the man in rear, whose snow-shoe also made an unfamiliar impression. "the packet!" exclaimed lumley, opening his solemn grey eyes to their widest as he looked up from the track to me. "at last!" i returned, unconsciously betraying the prolonged state of suspense with which my mind had been afflicted. "come along!" said my companion, starting off homeward at a pace that was almost too much for me. we soon reached the outpost, and there stood the makers of the track which had roused in us so much excitement. two strong men, chosen expressly for a duty which required mental endurance and perseverance as well as physical vigour. they stood at the door of the entrance-hall, talking with mr strang, the one with his snow-shoes slung over his shoulder on the butt of his gun, the other using the same implements as a rest for his hands, while spooner, in a state of great excitement, was hastily undoing the lashings of the sled, to get at the precious box which contained "the packet." "well, gentlemen, here it is at last," said our chief, with a genial smile as we came up. "yes, we followed the track immediately we struck it," said lumley, stooping to assist spooner in his work. we soon had the box carried to our chief's private room, while the two strangers were had off by our men to their own house, there to be feasted on venison, ptarmigan, salt-pork, fish, and pease-pudding to satiety, and afterwards "pumped" to a state of exhaustion. i followed our chief, who had a provokingly deliberate way of opening the packet and examining its contents, while my feverish agitation and expectancy increased. there was a humorous twinkle in his eye, i thought, which told of mischievous purpose, while he kept up a murmuring commentary. "hm! as i expected--no news from macnab. what's this?--ah! the governor! a voluminous epistle, and--hallo! lumley's friends must be fond of him. his packet is the biggest in the box. and spooner too, not so bad for him. here, take these to them. stay--here is a bundle of letters for the men. you'd better deliver these yourself." i hesitated, while a mist of great darkness began to descend on my soul. "nothing for me, sir?" i asked faintly. "there seems to be--nothing--stay! what's this?--why, i thought it was a big book, but, yes, it _is_ a packet for you, mr maxby--there!" my heart leaped into my mouth--almost out of it--as i received a thick packet wrapped in newspaper. hastening to what was called the clerk's winter house with these treasures i distributed them, and handed the men's packet to one of themselves, who was eagerly awaiting it. then i went to my room and barricaded the door to prevent interruption. in bachelors' hall, as we styled our apartments, we had an inveterate habit of practical joking, which, however interesting and agreeable it might be at most times, was in some circumstances rather inconvenient. to guard against it at such times we were in the habit of retiring to our respective dens and barricading the doors, the locks being sometimes incapable of standing the strain brought to bear on them. on this particular occasion i made my barricade stronger than usual; sat down on my bed and opened the packet from home. but here i must let the curtain fall. i cannot suppose that the reader, however amiable, will sympathise with the joys and sorrows of an unknown family, interesting though they were to me. i may state, however, that before i got through the budget it was so late that i turned into bed and read the remainder there. then, as the fire in the hall-stove sank low, the cold obliged me to put on above my voluminous blankets (we dared not sleep in sheets out there) a thick buffalo robe, which, besides having on the outside the shaggy hair of the animal, to which it had belonged, was lined with flannel. thus nestled into a warm hole, i read on until a shout arrested me and brought me suddenly back from the hills of bonny scotland to the frozen wilderness. "i say," shouted lumley at the back of the door, which he saluted with a kick, "my sister is married!" "poor thing!" said i. "who to?" "open the door." "i can't. i'm in bed." "you must." "i won't." "no! then here goes." he retired as he spoke, and, making a rush, launched himself against my door, which, however, withstood the shock. "here, spooner," i then heard him say, "lend a hand; let us go at it together." they went at it together. the lock gave way; the chest of drawers went spinning to the other side of the room, and lumley tumbled over spooner as both fell headlong to the floor. as this was by no means an unfamiliar mode of entering each other's rooms, i took no notice of it, but proceeded to inquire about the married sister; and lumley, sitting down on my bed with spooner, for neither of them had yet undressed, began to tell me of home and friends with as much eagerness as if i had been a member of both families. young spooner interrupted lumley now and then when a touch of coincidence struck him with reference to his own family affairs, and i could not resist the pleasure of occasionally making some such remark as, "how odd! that's very like what happened to my little brother bob," etcetera, whereupon spooner would immediately become excited and draw a parallel more or less striking in regard to his own kindred and so we went on far into the night, until we got our several families mixed up to such an extent that it became almost impossible to disentangle them; for, being three families, you know, we became inextricably confused as to which was which, though each was perfectly clear in regard to his own! thus, to me, jane lumley became confused with janet spooner, so that janet lumley and jane spooner were always tripping over each other in my brain, while my dear cousin maggie maxby became a maggie spooner to lumley, and a maggie lumley to spooner, and to each sometimes a janet or a jane respectively. if the reader will multiply into this question two mothers and three fathers, four brothers and six sisters, besides numberless aunts, uncles, and cousins, male and female, he will easily perceive how between mental perplexity and a tendency to slumber, we at last gave the matter up in a sort of jovial despair. we were startled suddenly from this condition by a crash and an exceedingly sharp and bitter cry. it must be remarked here, that, in order to subdue king frost in those northern strongholds of his, we had, besides double doors and double windows and porches, an enormous cast-iron stove from the famous carron foundry. it stood in the centre of our hall, so that its genial favours might be distributed with equal justice to the various sleeping-rooms that opened out of the hall all round. from this stove an iron pipe arose, and, turning at a right angle when within a couple of feet of the ceiling, proceeded to the chimney at the upper end of the hall. when the thermometer stood much below zero, we were accustomed to raise the stove and part of its pipe to a dull-red heat, which had the effect of partially melting the contents of the water-jugs in our bedrooms, and of partially roasting the knees of our trousers. to keep this stove up to its work was the duty of an indian youth, whom we styled salamander, because he seemed to be impervious to heat. he was equally so to cold. when i first went to dunregan i used to pity salamander, on hearing him every morning enter our hall with a gust of air that seemed cold enough to freeze a walrus, and proceed to strike a light and kindle our fire. my own nose, and sometimes an eye, was all that protruded from the buffalo robe at such times. but salamander never shivered, and always grinned, from which i came to understand that my pity was misplaced. about nine o'clock each night he left us to look after the great carron stove ourselves, and we were all pretty good stokers. self-interest kept us up to duty. sometimes we overdid it, raising the dull-red to brightness now and then. on this particular occasion, in the exuberance of his feelings, lumley, before bursting into my room, had heaped on as much dry wood as the stove could hold. it chanced to be exceedingly resinous wood. he also opened the blow-hole to its utmost extent. being congregated in my bedroom, as i have described, deeply engaged in eager comments and family reminiscences, we failed to observe that the great carron stove roared like a wrathful furnace, that it changed from a dull to a bright red in its anger, and eventually became white with passion. as "evil communications" have a tendency to corrupt, the usually innocent pipe became inflamed. it communicated the evil to the chimney, which straightway caught fire, belched forth smoke and flames, and cast a ruddy glare over the usually pallid snow. this chanced to meet the eye of salamander as he gazed from his "bunk" in the men's house; caused him to bounce up and rush out--for, having a taste for sleeping in his clothes, he was always ready for action--burst open our door with a crash, and rudely dispel our confusedly pleasant intercourse with the exceedingly sharp and bitter cry before mentioned. "hallo!" shouted lumley and spooner simultaneously, as they bounded rather than rose from my bed. before they had crossed the threshold i was out of bed and into my trousers. there is nothing like the cry of "fire!" for producing prompt action--or paralysis! also for inducing imbecile stupidity. i could not find my moccasins! thought is quick--quicker than words. amputation at the knee joints stared me in the face for a certainty if i went out with naked feet. in desperation i seized my capote and thrust both feet into the sleeves, with some hazy intention of tying a knot on each wrist to protect the toes. happily i espied my moccasins at the moment, pulled them on--left shoe on right foot, of course--and put the coat to its proper use. by this time salamander, contrary to all traditions of indian stoicism, was yelling about the fort with his eyes a flame and his hair on end. the men were out in a few seconds with a ladder, and swarmed up to the roof of our house, without any definite notion as to what they meant to do. mr strang was also out, smothered in winter garments, and with an enormous makinaw blanket over all. he was greatly excited, though the most self-possessed among us--as most chiefs are, or ought to be. "water! water!" shouted the men from the roof. a keen breeze was blowing from what seemed the very heart of king frost's dominion, and snow-drift fine as dust and penetrating as needles, was swirling about in the night-air. water! where was water to come from? the river was frozen almost to the bottom. ice six feet thick covered the lakes and ponds. the sound of trickling water had not been heard for months. it had become an ancient memory. water! why, it cost our cook's assistant a full hour every day to cut through the result of one night's frost in the water-hole before he could reach the water required for daily use, and what he did obtain had to be slowly dragged to the fort by that slowest of creatures, an ox. nevertheless there _was_ water. in the warmest corner of the kitchen--at that hour about zero--there stood a water-barrel. "run, cook--fetch a bucketful!" cried our chief. cook, who had "lost his head," obediently ran, seized a big earthenware jug, dipped it into the barrel, and smashed it to atoms on a cake of thick ice! this had the effect of partially recovering his head for him. he seized an axe, shattered the cake, caught up a bucket, dipped it full and rushed out spilling half its contents as he ran. the spillings became icicles before they reached the flaming chimney, but the frost, keen as it was, could not quite solidify the liquid in so short a space of time. blondin, the principal bearer of the winter packet who was a heroic man and chief actor in this scene, received the half-empty bucket. "bah!" he exclaimed, tossing bucket as well as water contemptuously down the wide chimney. "bring shuvill, an' blunkits." blondin was a french-canadian half-caste, and not a good linguist. a shovel was thrown up to him. he seized it and shovelled volumes of snow from the house-top into the chimney. a moment later and two blankets were thrown up. blondin spread one over the flames. it was shrivelled up instantly. he stuffed down the remains and spread the second blanket over them, while he shouted for a third. the third came, and, another bucket of water arriving at the same moment, with a large mass of snow detached from the roof, the whole were thrust down the chimney _en masse_, the flames were quenched and the house was saved. during this exciting scene, i had begun to realise the great danger of fire in the chimney of a wooden house, and, with the aid of my comrades, had been throwing the contents of bachelors' hall out into the snow. we now ceased this process, and began to carry them back again, while the men crowded round the iron author of all the mischief to warm their half-frozen bodies. i now observed for the first time that blondin had a black patch on the end of his nose. it was a handsome feature usually, but at that time it was red, swelled, and what may be termed blobby. "what's the matter with it, blondin?" i asked. "my noz was froz," he replied curtly. "you'd better have it looked to, or it'll be worse than froz, my man," said lumley. blondin laughed and went off to attend to his nose in the men's house, accompanied by the others, while we set to work to clean ourselves and our abode. thereafter, with moderated fire, we again got under our buffalo robes, where we spent the remainder of a disturbed night in thinking and dreaming about the thrilling contents of the winter packet. chapter three. deeper desolation. eight months of winter! those who have read and entered into the spirit of arctic voyagers, may have some idea of what that means, but none save he or she who has had experience of it can fully understand it. to us who dwelt at the little outpost in the great nor'-west, snow and ice had become so familiar--such matter-of-course conditions of existence--that green fields and flowers were a mere reminiscence of the remote past. the scent of a rose was a faded memory--indeed the scent of anything belonging to the vegetable kingdom had not once saluted our nostrils during those eight months. pure white became one of the chief and most impressive facts of our existence in regard to colour, if we may so call it--white, varying in tone, of course, to pearly grey. cold, of varied intensity, was the chief modifier of our sensations. happily light was also a potent factor in our experiences--bright, glowing sunshine and blue skies contrasted well with the white and grey, and helped to counteract the cold; while pure air invigorated our frames and cheered our spirits. "i tell you what, boys," said lumley, one afternoon as he entered the hall with gun and snow-shoes on shoulder, and flung down a bag full of ptarmigan, "winter is drawing to a close at last. i felt my deerskin coat quite oppressive to-day; does any one know what the thermometer stood at this morning?" "yes, it was twenty-two above zero," answered spooner, who was attempting to smoke a pipe beside the stove; "i went to register it just after breakfast." "i thought so--only ten below freezing point; why, it feels quite summery, and the snow has a softness that i have not noticed since last autumn. i hope dinner will soon be ready, for i'm very sharp set. why, spooner, what are you making such faces for?" "am i making faces?" said spooner, blushing and trying to look unconcerned. "of course you are, a marmozette monkey with the toothache could scarcely make worse." spooner attempted to laugh, and i felt it difficult to refrain from joining him, for i knew well the cause of his faces. he was the youngest of us three and exceedingly anxious to imitate lumley, who was unfortunately a great smoker; but spooner, like myself, had been born with a dislike to smoke--especially tobacco smoke--and a liability to become sick when he indulged in the pipe. hence, whilst foolish ambition induced him to smoke, outraged nature protested; and between the two the poor fellow had a bad time of it. he had a good deal of determination about him, however, and persevered. the dinner-bell rang at the moment, and put an end to further badinage. lumley was right. spring was in truth at hand, and a host of new anticipations began from that day to crowd upon our minds. about the same time there came another break in the monotony of outpost life which had, if possible, a more powerful and exciting influence on us than the arrival of the winter packet. now at this point i must beg the reader's pardon for asking him to go with me to a still more desolate and remote outpost than our own. between one and two hundred miles nearer to the pole the little post of muskrat house lay under a beetling cliff, near the banks of an affluent of the great saskatchewan river. it was in charge of peter macnab, before mentioned, who, in command of his army of six men and two women, held the post against all comers--the chief comers there being the north wind and jack frost. poor macnab was a jovial and sociable scottish highlander, who had been condemned to worse than siberian banishment because of being one of the most active, enterprising, and pushing fellows in the service of the fur-traders. his ability to manage men and indians, and to establish new trading-posts, excelled that of his fellows. he regarded it as a complimentary though trying circumstance when mr strang sent him to establish the post which was named by him muskrat house, but he faced the duty--as he faced everything--like a man; did his best for his employers, and made the most of the situation. but it is not easy for even the strongest mind and lightest heart to be jovial when buried for eight months in snow more than twelve hundred miles beyond the influences of civilised life; and it is hard to be sociable with six uneducated men and two indian women for one's companions. macnab tried it, however, and was in a measure successful. he had his bible with him--the one given him long ago by his mother--and a bound volume of chambers's edinburgh journal, and three copies of the _times_ newspaper nearly two years old, and a few numbers of an american paper called the _picayune_. with these materials he set to work--after each day's labour of water-drawing, firewood-cutting, and trapping was done--to educate his army in religion, politics, political economy, and the varied ramifications of social life. he had intelligent and grateful scholars. if they had not been so, macnab would at all events have made them obedient pupils, for he was a physically large and powerful man--and might was unavoidably right in those regions! still, with all his energy and resources, the genial highlander began, towards the end of winter, to feel an intense longing for a little intercourse with his equals. returning one night to the solitude of his little room, as was his wont, after a couple of hours' intercourse with his men in their own house, he sat down before his stove and addressed it thus:-- "it won't last long, i fear. my brain is gradually turning into something like mashed potatoes, and my heart into a tinder-box, ready enough to catch fire, but with neither flint nor steel to light it! the indians won't be here for many weeks, and when they do come what good can i get from or do to them? wow! wow! it's terribly slow work. oh! jessie, jessie, my dear, what would i not give if i only had _you_ here!" lest the reader should suppose macnab to be a love-sick swain, i may remark here that jessie was a sister whom he had left on the shores of loch ness, and with whom he kept up a vigorous biennial correspondence. as the stove made no reply, he continued his address. "if i only had a few books now, it wouldn't be so hard to bear. to be sure, the bible is a great resource--a blessed resource; but you see i want something light now and then. a laugh, you know, seems to be absolutely needful at times. why, now i think of it, we wouldn't have been given the power to laugh if it hadn't been necessary, and the last hearty laugh i had was, let me see--that time three months ago, when my long-nosed interpreter mistook a dead mouse in the soup--ha! ha!--for a bit of pemmican, and only found out his mistake when the tail got between his teeth!" the solitary man burst into peals of laughter at the reminiscence, and then, becoming suddenly grave, looked slowly round the room. "if i could only have an echo of that," he resumed, "from somebody else! well, well, i'll just go and have another chat with jessie." so saying, macnab rose, drew a small table near to the stove, laid upon it a very large desk made by himself of pine-wood, and, placing a sheet of paper thereon, began to write. the sheet of paper merits notice. like the man who wrote, it was extremely large, being several sizes bigger than foolscap, and very loosely ruled. as i have said, communication with the outer world being possible only twice in the year, our highlander resolved, as usual, to make the most of his opportunities. hence he not only used the largest paper which the company provided, but filled up several such sheets with the smallest possible writing, so that jessie might ultimately get something worth having. it is but justice to add that macnab wrote not only a very small but a remarkably clear and legible hand--a virtue which i earnestly commend to correspondents in general, to those of them at least who wish their epistles to meet with thorough appreciation. it was late when our solitaire completed that evening's addition to his already voluminous letter, and he was thinking about going to bed when a stamping in the porch outside announced that a visitor was clearing the snow from his moccasins. "one o' the men forgot something, i fancy," muttered macnab to himself. the latch was lifted, for locks were not deemed necessary in those regions, and the door opening slowly disclosed the copper-hued visage and tall bony figure of a very powerful and handsome native of the soil--perhaps i should rather say--of the snow! "hallo! hey! come in," shouted macnab, giving way to a gush of his pent-up social feelings; "why it's good for sore eyes to see a new face, even a red one. what cheer? what cheer? where d'ye hail from? come in, come in, and welcome!" the hearty highlander spoke the indian tongue fluently, but in the excitement of his feelings mingled it with a good deal of english and an occasional growl of expressive gaelic. the indian, whose horned cap and person were well powdered with snow, stepped slowly over the threshold, extending his hand to the highlander's grasp, and looking cautiously round with rolling black eyes, as if he half expected a dynamite explosion to follow his entrance. his garments bore evidence of rough usage. holes in his moccasins permitted portions of the duffle socks underneath to wander out. knots on his snow-shoe lines and netting told of a long rough journey, and the soiled, greasy condition of his leathern capote spoke of its having been much used not only as a garment by day but as a shirt by night. placing his gun and snow-shoes in a corner, after solemnly responding "watchee, watchee," to macnab's "what cheer," the red-man seated himself on the floor beside the stove, with silent disregard of the chair that his host politely offered. it is the custom of north american indians--on arriving at an establishment--to withhold the most interesting portion of what they may have to communicate until after they have had a pipe, or a feed, and have answered the questions put on the less interesting objects of their visits. being well aware of this trait of character, macnab forebore to question too closely this fine-looking indian until he had well thawed and smoked himself. ultimately, however, he brought him to the point. to the north-westward of muskrat house, many long days' march, he said (of course in his native tongue) there was a grand country full of fine furs and fine people, who found it a very long journey indeed to come all the way to muskrat house to trade their furs. would his white father go and build a house there, near lake wichikagan, and shoot and fish, and trade?--waugh! to which macnab replied that he was glad to hear about the plenty of furs and the friendly natives and the fine country, and that he would take the matter into his consideration--waugh! to this the red-man responded "ho!" and then "how!"--not interrogatively but interjectionally--with much gravity. that night macnab took the matter into consideration with his wonted vigour, and came to the conclusion that it was of sufficient importance to warrant a visit on his part to headquarters--dunregan being headquarters to muskrat house. accordingly, he went to the men's house and introduced the stranger, whose name in the indian tongue signified big otter. the men received him with as much joy as if he had been an angel of light. "get a sled and four of the best dogs ready to start by daybreak to-morrow," said macnab to one of his men, "and have breakfast sharp," he added, turning to the cook. "you'll go with me to dunregan, won't you, big otter?" big otter was ready for anything at a moment's notice! when daylight glimmered faintly in the east the following morning, macnab sat at his table devouring venison steaks, pancakes, and tea. big otter sat opposite to him, having condescended to use a chair in order to be on a level with the table. the chair gave him much anxiety, however. he evidently feared to fall off or upset it, for, on rising to reach some food opposite, he had tilted it back, and received a tremendous though unacknowledged start from the crash that followed. half an hour later, macnab, having left his interpreter in charge of the establishment, was beating the track on snow-shoes through the forest, his four wolfish-looking dogs following with a sled-load of provisions and bedding, and big otter bringing up the rear. the day turned out to be bright calm, and frosty. it was in thorough unison with macnab's feelings, for the near prospect of soon meeting with men somewhat like himself produced a calm and bright condition of mind which he had not experienced for many a day. it is true that the frost can scarcely be said to have represented the highlander's temperament; but if there be truth in the saying that extremes meet, it may be admissible to say that intense cold, which had the effect of expanding water into ice so that it rent the very rocks, might be appropriately compared with that intense warmth of macnab's feelings which had the effect of all but bursting his very bosom! there was not a breath of air stirring when the two men passed from the forest, and struck out upon the marble surface of the great lake which lay at the distance of about two miles from their establishment. the sun was rising at the time on the horizon of the ocean-like lake, gloriously bright and cheering, though with no appreciable warmth in its beams. diamonds innumerable glittered on the frosted willow-boughs; the snow under the travellers' tread gave forth that peculiar squeak, or chirping sound, which is indicative of extreme arctic frost, and the breath from their mouths came out like the white puffs of a locomotive, settling on their breasts in thick hoar-frost, and silvering such of their locks as straggled out beyond the margin of their caps. there was no life at first in the quiet scene, but, just as they passed through the last clump of bushes on the margin of the lake, a battalion of ptarmigan, seemingly a thousand strong, burst with startling whirr from under their very feet, and skimmed away like a snow-cloud close to the ground, while an arctic fox, aroused from his lair by the noise, slank quietly off under the false belief that he had not been seen. the rise of the ptarmigan had another effect, on which the travellers had not counted. the four wolfish dogs were so startled by the whirr, that their spirits were roused to the mischievous point. up to that moment they had been toiling and panting through the soft snow in the woods. they had now emerged upon the hard, wind-beaten snow of the open ground and the lake. the sudden freedom in the action of their limbs, coupled with the impulse to their spirits, caused the team to bound forward with one accord. the sled swung round against macnab's legs, and overturned him; and the tail-line was jerked out of big otter's grasp. in a vain effort to recover it, that solemn savage trod, with his right, on his own left snow-shoe, and plunged into a willow bush. thus freed altogether, the dogs went away with railway speed over the hard snow, ever urged to more and more frantic exertions by the wild boundings of the comparatively light sled behind them. "after them, lad!" shouted macnab, as he cast off his snow-shoes and gave chase. the indian followed suit in desperate haste, for his receptive mind at once perceived the all but hopeless nature of a chase after four long-legged dogs, little removed from genuine wolves, over a hard level course that extended away to the very horizon. happily, there was a small island not far from the shore of the lake, on which grew a few willow bushes whose tops protruded above the overwhelming snow, and whose buds formed the food of the ptarmigan before mentioned. towards this island the dogs headed in their blind race just as the white man and the red began to regret the comparative slowness of human legs. "good luck!" exclaimed macnab. "waugh!" responded his companion. there was ground for both remarks, for, a few minutes later, the dogs plunged into the bushes and the sled stuck fast and held them. this was a trifling incident in itself, but it shook out of the travellers any remains of lethargy that might have clung to them from the slumbers of the previous night, and caused them to face the tramp that lay before them with energy. "oh, you _ras_cals!" growled macnab, as he went down on his knees beside the leading dog to disentangle the traces which had been twisted up in the abrupt stoppage. i know not whether those dogs, being intellectually as well as physically powerful beyond their fellows, understood the uncomplimentary term and lost their tempers, but certain it is that the words were no sooner uttered than the hindmost dog made an unprovoked assault on the dog in front of it. of course the latter defended itself. the dog next to that, being probably pugnacious, could not resist the temptation to join in, and the leader, feeling no doubt that it was "better to be out of the world than out of the fashion," fell upon the rest with remarkable fury. thus the sled, traces, and dogs, instantly became a tumultuous mass of yelling, gasping, heaving, and twisting confusion. big otter carried a short, heavy whip. without uttering a word, he quietly proceeded to flog the mass into subjection. it was a difficult duty to perform, but big otter was strong and persevering. he prevailed after some time. the mass was disentangled; the subdued dogs went humbly forward, and the journey, having been thus auspiciously begun, was continued until nightfall. they had left the lake and muskrat house some thirty miles behind them, and had got into a thick and profoundly still part of the great wilderness, when the waning light warned them to encamp. chapter four. the winter journey. it was not long before our travellers had a large space cleared of snow, its floor spread with pine-branches, a roaring fire kindled, a couple of ptarmigan roasting and the tea-kettle bubbling, while the dogs in the background solaced themselves with raw birds to their heart's content. then the red-man and the white man smoked a friendly pipe. they would probably have smoked even if it had been an unfriendly pipe! "i wonder," said macnab, who was apt to become speculative and philosophical over his pipe after supper, "i wonder if dogs ever envy us our pipes? you look so comfortable, big otter, as you sit there with half-shut eyes letting the smoke trickle from your mouth and nose, that i can't help thinking they must feel envious. i'm sure that i should if i were not smoking!" the indian, who was neither a speculator nor a philosopher--though solemn enough for either or both--replied, "waugh!" "very true," returned the highlander, "i have no doubt your opinion is quite correct, though not as clearly put as might be wished. have you ever been at fort dunregan?" "once when big otter was a little boy, he stood beside the great river," answered the indian, gravely; "but the white man had no tent there at that time." "the white man has got some pretty big tents there now--made of wood most of 'em," returned macnab. "in a few days you shall judge for yourself, if all goes well." the red-man smoked over this remark in silence for a considerable time, evidently engaged in profound thought. he was one of those children of nature whose brains admit ideas slowly, and who, when they are admitted, turn them round and round and inside out without much apparent advantage. at last he looked earnestly at his companion and asked--"is there fire-water at fort dunregan?" "well, no--i believe not. at least there is none for red-men. why do you ask? did you ever taste fire-water?" the indian's dark eyes seem to gleam with unwonted light as he replied in tones more solemn than usual:-- "yes. once--only once--a white brother gave some fire-water to big otter." "humph!" ejaculated macnab, "and what did you think of it!" "waugh!" exclaimed the red-man, sending a cloud out of his mouth with such energy that it seemed like a little cannon-shot, while he glared at his friend like a superannuated owl. "big otter thought that he was in the happy hunting-grounds with his fathers; his heart was so light and his limbs were so strong, but that was only a dream--he was still in this world. then he took a little more fire-water, and the dream became a reality! he was away with his fathers on the shining plains; he chased the deer with the lightness of a boy and the strength of a bear. he fought, and his foes fell before his strong arm like snowflakes on the river, but he scalped them not. he could not find them--they were gone. big otter was so strong that he had knocked both their lives and bodies into the unknown! he saw his father and his mother--and--his wife and the little one who--died. but he could not speak to them, for the foes came back again, and he fought and took some more fire-water to make him fight better; then the world went on fire, the stars came down from the sky like snow when the wind is high. the big otter flew up into the air, and then--forgot--" "forgot what?" asked macnab, much interested in his red friend's idea of intoxication. "forgot everything," replied the indian, with a look of solemn perplexity. "well, i don't wonder; you must have had a good swig, apparently. how did ye feel next morning?" if the indian's looks were serious before, they became indescribably solemn now. "big otter felt," he replied with bated breath, "like bags of shot-- heavy like the great stones. he could scarcely move; all his joints were stiff. food was no longer pleasant to his tongue. when he tried to swallow, it would not remain, but came forth again. he felt a wish to drink up the river. his head had an evil spirit inside which squeezed the brain and tried to burst open the skull. his eyes, also, were swelled up so that he could hardly see, and his nose was two times more big than the day before." "that must have been an awful size, big otter, considering the size of it by nature! and what d'ye think was the cause of it all?" as this question involved thought, the indian smoked his pipe in silence for some time, staring for inspiration into the fire. "it must have been," he at length replied, "hunting with his fathers before the right time had come. big otter was not dead, and he chased the deer too much, perhaps, or fought too much. it may be that, having only his earth-body, he ate too much." "don't ye think it's just possible," suggested macnab, "that, having only your earth-body, you _drank_ too much?" "waugh!" replied the red-man. then, after a few minutes' devotion to the pipe, he added, "big otter would like very much to taste the fire-water again." "it's well for you, my boy," returned the other, "that you can't get it in these regions, for if you could you'd soon be in the happy hunting-grounds (or the other place) without your earth-body." at this point the highlander became more earnest, and treated his companion to what would have passed in civilised lands for a fair temperance lecture, in which he sought to describe graphically the evils of strong drink. to this the indian listened with the most intense attention and an owlish expression, making no audible comment whatever-- with the exception, now and then, of an emphatic "waugh!" but indicating his interest by the working of his features and the glittering of his great eyes. whether the reasoning of macnab had much influence at that time could not be ascertained, for he was yet in the middle of one of his most graphic anecdotes when the indian's owlish eyes shut with a suddenness that was quite startling, and he roused himself just in time to prevent his chin from dropping on his chest. "waugh!" he exclaimed with a slightly-confused look. "just so," replied macnab with a laugh, "and now, boy, we'll turn in, for it strikes me we're going to have warmish weather, and if so, we shall have to make the most of our time." soon the blankets were spread; the fire was replenished with mighty logs; the travellers lay down side by side and in a few minutes snored in concert; the flames leaped upwards, and the sparks, entangling themselves on the snow-encrusted branches of bush and tree, gleamed there for an instant, or, escaping, flew gaily away into the wintry sky. while the two men were sleeping, a change came over the scene--a slow, gentle, scarce perceptible change, which, however, had a powerful influence on the prospects of the sleepers. the sky became overcast; the temperature, which had been down at arctic depth for many months, suddenly rose to that of temperate climes, and snow began to fall--not in the small sharp particles to which the fur-traders of the great northern wilderness are accustomed, but in the broad, heavy flakes that one often sees in england. softly, silently, gently they fell, like the descent of a sweet influence--but steadily, persistently, continuously, until every object in nature became smothered in the soft white garment. among other objects the two sleepers were buried. the snow began by powdering them over. had any one been there to observe the process, he would have seen by the bright light of the camp-fire that the green blankets in which they were wrapt became piebald first; then assumed a greyish-green colour, which speedily changed into a greenish-grey, and finally into a pure white. the two sleepers might thus have represented those figures in chiselled marble on the tombs of crusaders, had it not been that they lay doubled up, for warmth--perhaps also for comfort--with their knees at their chins, instead of flat on their backs with their hands pressed together. by degrees the correct outline of their forms became an incorrect outline, and gradually more and more rotund--suggesting the idea that the buried ones were fat. as the night wore on the snow accumulated on them until it lay several inches deep. still they moved not. strong, tired and healthy men are not easily moved. the fire of course sank by degrees until it reached that point where it failed to melt the snow; then it was quickly smothered out and covered over. the entire camp was also buried; the tin kettle being capped with a knob peculiarly its own, and the snow-shoes and other implements having each their appropriate outline, while some hundredweights, if not tons, of the white drapery gathered on the branches overhead. it was altogether an overwhelming state of things, and the only evidence of life in all the scene was the little hole in front of each slumberer's nose, out of which issued intermittent pufflets of white vapour. so the night passed by and the morning dawned, and the wintry sun arose like a red-hot cannon ball. then macnab awoke with a start and sat up with an effort. "hallo!" was his first exclamation, as he tried to clear his eyes, then he muttered something in gaelic which, being incomprehensible, i cannot translate, although the worthy man has many a time, since the day of which i write, tried to explain it to me! it may have been his action, or it may have been indignant northern fairies, i know not, but certain it is that the gaelic was instantly followed by an avalanche of snow from the branch over the highlander's head, which knocked him down and reburied him. it also knocked big otter up and drew forth the inevitable "waugh!" "humph!" said macnab, on clearing himself a second time, "i was half afraid of this. we've got our work cut out for us." the indian replied not, but proceeded to light the fire and prepare breakfast, while his companion cleared the camp of some of its snow. the wolfish dogs took a lively interest in these proceedings, but lent no assistance beyond wagging their tails, either in approval or in anticipation of breakfast. of course breakfast was a repetition of the previous supper, and was soon disposed of both by men and dogs. then the latter were harnessed to their sledge, the snow-shoes were put on, and the journey was resumed--macnab manfully leading the way. and let not the reader imagine that this leadership involved little or no manhood. northern snow-shoes are about five feet long, and twelve or fifteen inches broad. the netting with which the frames are filled up-- somewhat like the bottom of a cane chair--allows fine well-frozen snow to fall through it like dust and the traveller, sinking it may be only a few inches in old well-settled-down snow, progresses with ease. but when a heavy fall such as i have described takes place, especially in spring, and the weather grows comparatively warm, the traveller's circumstances change greatly for the worse. the new snow being light permits him to sink deep into it--perhaps eight or ten inches--at every step; being also soft, that which falls upon the shoes cannot pass through the netting, but sticks there, giving him many extra pounds weight to lift as he goes heavily along. add to this that his thick winter garb becomes oppressive in mild weather, and you will perceive that macnab's duties as beater of the track were severe. at first their progress was very slow, for it was through the thick woods, where fallen trees and bushes obstructed them as well as deep snow, but towards noon they came out on a more open country--in summer a swamp; at that time a frozen plain--and the travelling improved, for a slight breeze had already begun to make an impression on the new snow in exposed places. "now, big otter," said macnab, coming to a halt, "we'll have some grub here, and then you will take a turn in front." the indian was ready for anything. so were the dogs--especially for "grub." indeed it was obvious that they understood the meaning of that word, for when macnab uttered it they wagged their tails and cocked their ears. it was a cold dinner, if i may describe the meal by that name. the work was too hard, and the daylight in which to do it too brief, to admit of needless delay. a frozen bird thrown to each of the dogs, and a junk of equally frozen pemmican cut out of the bag with a hatchet for the travellers, formed the repast. the latter ate it sitting on a snow-wreath. they, however, had the advantage of their canine friends in the matter of hard biscuits, of which they each consumed two as a sort of cold pudding. then they resumed the march and plodded heavily on till near sunset, when they again selected a suitable spot in the woods, cleared away the snow, and encamped as before. "it's hard work," exclaimed macnab with a celtic sigh, as he sipped his tea that night in the mellow light of the log fire. "waugh! big otter has seen harder work," returned the indian. "no doubt ye have, an' so have i," returned macnab; "i mind, once, when away on a snow-shoe trip on the st. lawrence gulf, bein' caught by a regular thaw when the snow turned into slush, an' liftin' the snow-shoes was like to tear one's legs out o' their sockets, not to mention the skinning of your toes wi' the snow-shoe lines, an' the wet turning your moccasins into something like tripe. yes, it might be worse, as you say. now, boy, i'll turn in." the next day travelling was no better, and on the next again it became worse, for although the temperature was still below the freezing point, snow continued to fall all day as well as all night, so that our travellers and their dogs became like animated snowballs, and beating the track became an exhausting labour. but difficulties cannot finally stop, though they may retard, a "nor'-wester." on the sixth day, however, they met with a foe who had power to lay a temporary check on their advance. on the night of the fifth day out, another change of temperature took place. a thermometer, had they carried one, would probably have registered from ten to twenty below zero of fahrenheit. this, however, was so familiar to them that they rather liked the change, and heaped up fresh logs on the roaring fire to counteract the cold; but when a breeze sprang up and began to blow hard, they did not enjoy it so much, and when the breeze increased to a gale, it became serious; for one cannot face intense cold during a gale without the risk of being frost-bitten. in the shelter of the woods it was all right, but when, towards noon, they came out on an extended plain where the wild winds were whirling the wilder snow in blinding drifts, they halted and looked inquiringly at each other. "shall we try it?" asked macnab. the indian shook his head and looked solemn. "it's a pity to give in without--" a snow-drift caught the highlander full in the mouth and literally shut him up! the effect was not to subdue, but to arouse. "yes," he said in a species of calm ferocity, when the gale allowed him the power of utterance, "we'll go on." he went on, followed by the obedient native and the unhappy dogs, but he had not taken half a dozen steps when he tripped over a concealed rock and broke a snow-shoe. to walk with a broken snow-shoe is impossible. to repair one is somewhat difficult and takes time. they were compelled, therefore, to re-enter the sheltering woods and encamp. "you're better at mending than i am," said macnab to the indian. "set to work on the shoe when the camp is dug out, an' i'll go cut some firewood." cutting firewood is not only laborious, but attended with danger, and that day ill-fortune seemed to have beset the highlander; for he had barely cut half a dozen logs, when his axe glanced off a knot and struck deep into the calf of his left leg. a shout brought big otter to his side. the indian was well used to such accidents. he bound up the wound securely, and carried his comrade into camp on his back. but now macnab was helpless. he not only could not walk, but there was no hope of his being able to do so for weeks to come. "lucky for us we brought the dogs," he remarked when the operation was completed. "waugh!" exclaimed the indian by way of assent, while he busied himself in preparing food. it was indeed lucky, for if they had dragged the provision-sled themselves, as macnab had once thought of doing, it would have fallen to big otter's lot to haul his comrade during the remainder of the journey. as it was, the dogs did it, and in the doing of it, despite the red-man's anxious and constant care, many a severe shake, and bump, and capsize in the snow did the unfortunate man receive before that journey came to a close. he bore it all, however, with the quiet stoicism characteristic of the race from which he sprang. chapter five. the wounded man. it is needful now to return to fort dunregan. the long winter is not yet past, but there are symptoms, as i have said, that it is coming to a close. snow and ice are still indeed the prevailing characteristic of the region, but the air is no longer intensely cold. on the contrary, a genial warmth prevails, inducing the inhabitants to discard flannel-lined leathern capotes and fur caps for lighter garments. there is a honeycombed look about the snow-drifts, which gives them an aged appearance; and, above all, there is an occasional dropping of water--yes, actual water--from the points of huge icicles! this is such an ancient memory that we can scarce believe our senses. we sniff, too, as we walk about; for there are scents in the air--old familiar smells of earth and vegetation--which we had begun to fancy we had almost forgotten. the excitement caused by the arrival of the winter packet had also by that time passed almost out of memory, and we had sunk back into that calm state of patient waiting which may probably be familiar to the convict who knows that some months of monotonous existence still lie before him; for, not until the snow and ice should completely clear away and the summer be pretty well advanced could we hope for the blessed sight of a new face and the cheering sound of a fresh human voice. of course we had the agreeable prospect of hearing ere long the voices of wild-fowl in their noisy northern flight, but such a prospect was not sufficient to satisfy poor secluded humanity. "oh that i were a bird!" exclaimed spooner, one morning as we were seated round the carron stove in our hall. "no need to wish that," said lumley, "for you're a goose already!" "well, i'd even consent to be a real goose," continued spooner, "if i could only thereby use my wings to fly away over the snowy wilderness and alight in my old home." "what a surprise you'd give them if you did!" said lumley, "especially if you came down with your ruffled feathers as clumsily as you tumbled into the saw-pit the other day when--" he stopped, for at that moment i said "hush!" and held up a finger. "sleigh-bells!" exclaimed spooner, with a catch of his breath. "nothing new in that," said lumley: "we hear them every day." "nothing new," i retorted, "to your unmusical ear, but these bells are not _our_ bells--listen!" i started up as i spoke, flung open the outer door, and we all listened intently. clear and pleasant they rang, like the music of a sweet new song. we all gave a shout, clapped on our caps, and ran out to the fort gate. there an almost new sensation thrilled us, for we beheld a team of dogs coming up weary and worn out of the wilderness, preceded by a gaunt yet majestic indian, whose whole aspect--haggard expression of countenance, soiled and somewhat tattered garments, and weary gait--betokened severe exhaustion. on the sled, drawn by four lanky dogs, we could see the figure of a man wrapped in blankets and strapped to the conveyance. "who _can_ it be?" exclaimed lumley, as he hastened out to meet the new arrivals. "a sick man from somewhere," suggested spooner. "perhaps the governor," said i, "on an unexpected tour of inspection." as we drew near we could see that the recumbent figure waved a hand and cheered. "macnab," said i, as the familiar voice struck my ear. "ill--dying!" gasped the anxious spooner. "no dying man ever cheered like that!" cried lumley, "except a hero of romance in the hour of death and victory!" a few seconds more and the matter was put at rest, while we warmly shook the hearty and genial highlander by both hands. "help me out, boys," he said; "i'm tired o' this sled, and think i can do the little remaining bit o' the journey on foot with your help." we disentangled him from the sledge and set him on his feet. "hold on, lumley," he said, with a smile on his haggard and unshaven face, "i want to embrace you, like the frenchmen. there--my arm round your neck--so. now, max, i want to embrace you likewise wi' the other arm. i've grown awful affectionate in my old age. you are rather short, max, for a good crutch, but you're better than nothing. you see, i've only got one good leg." "but what has happened to the other--when, how, and where?" we exclaimed in chorus. macnab answered the questions to our chief, who came forward at the moment with welcome in his visage and extended hands. "it's only a cut, sir, stupidly done with my own hatchet when we had been but a few days out. but rest will soon put me to rights. my poor man, big otter, is more to be pitied than i. but for him i should have perished in the snow." "what cheer? what cheer?" said our chief, grasping the indian's hand on hearing this. "what cheer?" we all exclaimed, following his example. "watchee! watchee!" echoed big otter, returning the hearty salutation as well as his tongue could manage it, and giving us each a powerful squeeze with his huge bony hand, which temporary exhaustion had not appreciably reduced in strength. the native was obviously a sociable, well-disposed man, for his eyes glittered and his white teeth gleamed and his bronzed visage shone with pleasure when macnab explained the cause of our sudden burst of affection for him. thus chatting and limping we got the highlander slowly up to the hall, set him down in our only armchair--a wooden one without stuffing--and fetched him a basin of hot soup, that being a liquid which our cook had always more or less frequently on hand. "ha! boys!" cried macnab, smacking his lips, "that's the thing to put life into a man! i've not had anything like it for many a day. you see, we had a small misfortune soon after my accident, which cost us our kettle, and rendered soup or tea impossible." "how was that?" inquired our chief, sitting down, while we gathered round the stove to listen. "well, you see, sir, not long after my accident, there came a sharp frost which made the surface of the snow hard after the thaw, so the dogs could run on the top of the crust without breaking it, but big otter, bein' heavy, broke through--by the way, i hope he's bein' looked after." "you may be sure of that," said spooner. "i saw him safely placed in the men's house, and salamander, who, it turns out, is a sort of relation of his, set to work to stuff him with the same sort of soup you think so much of. i only hope they've enough to keep him going, for before i left the house he had drunk off two bowls of it almost without taking breath, though it was scalding hot." "good. he'll do it ample justice," returned macnab, taking another pull at his own bowl. "i hope you're well provisioned, for big otter's an awful consumer of victuals. well, as i was saying, the surface of the snow got frozen thinly, and the work o' tramping after the sled and holding on to the tail-line was uncommonly hard, as i could see, for i lay with my head to the front, looping back on the poor man. but it was on the exposed places and going down the slopes that the greatest difficulty lay, for there the dogs were keen to run away. once or twice they did fairly get off, and gave me some rough as well as long runs before my man could catch them up. at last we came one afternoon to an open plain where the snow had felt the thaw and been frozen again pretty hard. the moment we got on it away went the dogs. big otter tried to run, but one of his shoes went through the crust and the other didn't, so down he came, and had to let go the line. i felt easy enough at first, for the plain was level, but after a time it became lumpy, and i got some ugly bumps. `never mind,' thought i, `they'll be sure to come to some bushes, and that'll pull them up.' just as i thought so, we came to a slope, and the team went slap over a bank. the sled and i threw a complete somersault. fortunately we came down on the dogs, which broke our fall, though it half killed them! "when big otter came and turned me right side up, i found that i had sustained no damage whatever, but, woe's me! our tin kettle was almost knocked flat. the worst of it was that in trying to put it right we drove a big hole in the bottom of it, so we had to bid farewell to hot food, except what we roasted. we could also melt snow by plastering up the hole so as to get enough to drink, but boiling water was quite out of the question." "well, macnab," said our chief, rising, "since you have got the soup over at last, come along with me and let's hear about your indian friend's proposals." we assisted our visitor into the mess-room, which was also our principal council-chamber, and there left him to talk business with mr strang while we returned to bachelors' hall to let off our effervescing spirits by indulging in a running commentary on the unexpected visit, and a minute analysis of the characters of macnab and big otter, which, i must add, was decidedly favourable. "it seems to me a piece of good luck that he has got here at all," said lumley, after we had finished the analysis. "why so?" asked spooner. "because there are some unmistakable symptoms that winter is about over, and that snow-shoe and dog-sleigh travelling will soon be impossible." that lumley was right, the change of weather during the next few days clearly proved, for a thaw set in with steady power. the sun became at last warm enough to melt ice and snow visibly. we no longer listened with interest to the sounds of dropping water from eaves and trees, for these had become once more familiar, and soon our ears were greeted with the gurgling of rills away in mysterious depths beneath the snow. the gurgling ere long gave place to gushing, and it seemed as if all nature were dissolving into liquid. while this pleasant change was going on we awoke with song and laugh and story the echoes of bachelors' hall--at no time very restful echoes, save perhaps in the dead hours of early morning; and even then they were more or less disturbed by snoring. for our sociable highlander, besides having roused our spirits by his mere presence to the effervescing point, was himself much elated by the mighty change from prolonged solitude to joyous companionship. "my spirit feels inclined," he remarked one day, "to jump clean out of my body." "you'd better not let it then," said lumley, "for you know it might catch cold or freeze." "not in this weather, surely," retorted macnab, "and if i did feel coldish in the circumstances, couldn't i borrow spooner's blanket-capote? it might fit me then, for i'd probably be a few sizes smaller." "come, mac," said i, "give us a song. you know i'm wildly fond of music; and, most unfortunately, not one of us three can sing a note." our visitor was quite willing, and began at once to sing a wild ditty, in the wilder language of his native land. he had a sweet, tuneful, sympathetic voice, which was at the same time powerful, so that we listened to him, sometimes with enthusiasm swelling our hearts, at other times with tears dimming our eyes. no one, save he who has been banished to a wilderness and long bereft of music, can understand the nature of our feelings--of mine, at least. one evening, after our wounded man had charmed us with several songs, and we all of us had done what we could, despite our incapacity, to pay him back in kind, he pulled a sheet of crumpled paper out of his pocket. "come," said he, unfolding it, "i've got a poet among the men of muskrat house, who has produced a song, which, if not marked by sublimity, is at least distinguished by much truth. he said he composed it at the rate of about one line a week during the winter, and his comrades said that it was quite a picture to see him agonising over the rhymes. before they found out what was the matter with him they thought he was becoming subject to fits of some sort. now, then, let's have a good chorus. it's to the tune of `the british grenadiers.'" the world of ice and snow. come listen all good people who dwell at home at ease, i'll tell you of the sorrows of them that cross the seas and penetrate the wilderness, where arctic tempests blow-- where your toes are froze, an' the pint o' your nose, in the world of ice and snow. you've eight long months of winter an' solitude profound, the snow at your feet is ten feet deep and frozen hard the ground. and all the lakes are solid cakes, and the rivers all cease to flow-- where your toes are froze, an' the pint o' your nose, in the world of ice and snow. no comrade to enliven; no friendly foe to fight; no female near to love or cheer with pure domestic light; no books to read; no cause to plead; no music, fun, nor go-- ne'er a shillin', nor a stiver, nor nothin' whatsomediver, in the world of ice and snow. your feelin's take to freezin', so likewise takes your brain; you go about grump-and-wheezin', like a wretched dog in pain; you long for wings, or some such things, but they're not to be had--oh! no-- for there you are, like a _fixed_ star, in the world of ice and snow. if you wished you could--you would not, for the very wish would die. if you thought you would--you could not, for you wouldn't have heart to try. confusion worse confounded, would aggravate you so-- that you'd tumble down on the frozen ground in the world of ice and snow. but "never-give-in" our part is--let british pluck have sway and "never-say-die," my hearties--it's that what wins the day. to face our fate in every state, is what we've got to do, an' laugh at our trouble till we're all bent double-- in the world of ice and snow. now all ye sympathisers, and all ye tender souls; ye kind philanthropisers, who dwell between the poles, embrace in your affections those merry merry men who go-- where your toes are froze, an' the pint o' your nose, in the world of ice and snow. it almost seemed as though the world of ice and snow itself had taken umbrage at macnab's song, for, while we were yet in the act of enthusiastically prolonging the last "sno-o-ow," there sounded in our ears a loud report, as if of heavy artillery close at hand. we all leaped up in excitement, as if an enemy were at our doors. "there it goes at last!" cried lumley, rushing out of the house followed by spooner. i was about to follow when macnab stopped me. "don't get excited, max, there's no hurry!" "it's the river going to break up," said i, looking back impatiently. "yes, i know that, but it won't break up to-night, depend on it." i was too eager to wait for more, but ran to the banks of the river, which at that place was fully a mile wide. the moon was bright, and we could see the familiar sheet of ice as still and cold as we had seen it every day for many months past. "macnab's right," said i, "there will be no breakup to-night." "not so sure of that," returned lumley; "the weather has been very warm of late; melting snow has been gushing into it in thousands of streams, and the strain on the ice--six feet thick though it is--must be tremendous." he was checked by another crashing report; but again silence ensued, and we heard no more till next morning. of course we were all up and away to the river bank long before breakfast, but it was not till after that meal that the final burst-up occurred. it was preceded by many reports--towards the end by what seemed quite a smart artillery fire. the whole sheet of ice on the great river seemed to be rising bodily upwards from the tremendous hydraulic pressure underneath. but though the thaws of spring had converted much snow into floods of water, they had not greatly affected the surface of the ice, which still lay hard and solid in all its wintry strength. a greater power, however, was present. if the ice had been made of cast-iron six feet in thickness, it must have succumbed sooner or later. at last, as macnab said, "she went!" but who shall describe _how_ she went? it seemed as if the mighty cake had been suddenly struck from below and shattered. then the turmoil that ensued was grand and terrible beyond conception. it was but an insignificant portion of god's waters at which we gazed, but how overwhelming it seemed to us! mass rose upon mass of ice, the cold grey water bursting through and over all, hurling morsels as large as the side of a house violently on each other, till a mighty pile was raised which next moment fell with a crash into the boiling foam. then, in one direction there was a rush which seemed about to carry all before it, but instead of being piled upwards, some of the masses were driven below, were thrust deep into the mud, and a jam took place. in a few minutes the ice burst upwards again, and the masses were swept on to join the battalions that were already on their way towards the distant lake amid noise and crash and devastation. it seemed as if ice and snow and water had combined to revive the picture if not the reality of ancient chaos! thus the drapery of winter was rudely swept away, and next morning we had the joy of seeing our river sweeping grandly on in all the liquid beauty of early and welcome spring. chapter six. an express and its results. some weeks after the breaking up of the ice, as we were standing at the front gate of fort dunregan, we experienced a pleasant surprise at the sight of an indian canoe sweeping round the point above the fort. two men paddled the canoe, one in the bow and one in the stern. it conveyed a message from headquarters directing that two of the clerks should be sent to establish an outpost in the regions of the far north, the very region from which macnab's friend big otter had come. one of the two canoe-men was a clerk sent to undertake, at dunregan, the work of those who should be selected for the expedition, and he said that another clerk was to follow in the spring-brigade of boats. "that's marching orders for _you_, lumley," said macnab, who was beside us when the canoe arrived. "you cannot tell that," returned lumley. "it may be that our chief will select max or spooner. did you hear any mention of names?" he asked of the new clerk, as we all walked up to the house. "no, our governor does not tell us much of his intentions. perhaps your chief may be the man." "he's too useful where he is," suggested macnab. "but we shall know when the letters are opened." having delivered his despatches, the new arrival returned to us in batchelors' hall, where we soon began to make the most of him, and were engaged in a brisk fire of question and reply, when a message came for mr lumley to go to the mess-room. "i've sent for you, lumley," said our chief, "to say that you have been appointed to fill an honourable and responsible post. it seems that the governor, with his wonted sagacity, has perceived that it would be advantageous to the service to have an outpost established in the lands lying to the westward of muskrat house, on the borders of lake wichikagan. as you are aware, the indian, big otter, has come from that very place, with a request from his people that such a post should be established, and you have been selected by the governor to conduct the expedition." as our chief paused, lumley, with a modest air, expressed his sense of the honour that the appointment conferred on him, and his willingness to do his best for the service. "i know you will, lumley," returned mr strang, "and i must do you the justice to say that i think the governor has shown his usual wisdom in the selection. without wishing to flatter you, i think you are steady and self-reliant. you are also strong and big, qualities which are of some value among rough men and indians, not because they enable you to rule with a strong hand, but because they enable you to rule without the necessity of showing the strength of your hand. bullies, if you should meet with any, will recognise your ability to knock them down without requiring proof thereof. to say truth, if you were one of those fellows who are fond of ruling by the mere strength of their arms, i should not think you fit for the command of an expedition like this, which will require much tact in its leader. at the same time, a large and powerful frame--especially if united to a peaceable spirit--is exceedingly useful in a wild country. without the peaceable spirit it only renders its possessor a bully and a nuisance. i am further directed to furnish you with the needful supplies and men. i will see to the former being prepared, and the latter you may select--of course within certain limits. now go and make arrangements for a start. the lakes will soon be sufficiently free of ice, and you are aware that you will need all your time to reach your ground and get well established before next winter sets in." "excuse me, sir," said lumley, turning back as he was about to depart. "am i permitted to select the clerk who is to go with me as well as the men?" "certainly." "then i should like to have mr maxby." our chief smiled as he replied, "i thought so. i have observed your mutual friendship. well, you may tell him of the prospect before him." need i say that i was overjoyed at this prospect? i have always felt something of that disposition which animates, i suppose, the breast of every explorer. to visit unknown lands has always been with me almost a passion, and this desire has extended even to trivial localities, insomuch that i was in the habit, while at fort dunregan, of traversing all the surrounding country--on snow-shoes in winter and in my hunting canoe in summer--until i became familiar with all the out-of-the-way and the seldom-visited nooks and corners of that neighbourhood. to be appointed, therefore, as second in command of an expedition to establish a new trading-post in a little-known region, was of itself a matter of much self-gratulation; but to have my friend and chum jack lumley as my chief, was a piece of good fortune so great that on hearing of it i executed an extravagant pirouette, knocked spooner off his chair by accident--though he thought it was done on purpose--and spent five or ten minutes thereafter in running round the stove to escape his wrath. as to my fitness for this appointment, i must turn aside for a few moments to pay a tribute of respect to my dear father, as well as to tell the youthful reader one or two things that have made a considerable impression on me. "punch," said my father to me one day--he called me punch because in early life i had a squeaky voice and a jerky manner--"punch, my boy, get into a habit of looking up, if you can, as you trot along through this world. if you keep your head down and your eyes on the ground, you'll see nothing of what's going on around you--consequently you'll know nothing; moreover, you'll get a bad habit of turning your eyes inward and always thinking only about yourself and your own affairs, which means being selfish. besides, you'll run a chance of growing absent-minded, and won't see danger approaching; so that you'll tumble over things and damage your shins, and tumble into things and damage your clothes, and tumble off things and damage your carcase, and get run over by wheels, and poked in the back by carriage-poles, and killed by trains, and spiflicated in various ways--all of which evils are to be avoided by looking up and looking round, and taking note of what you see, as you go along the track of life--d'ye see?" "yes, father." "and this," continued my father, "is the only mode that i know of getting near to that most blessed state of human felicity, self-oblivion. you won't be able to manage that altogether, punch, but you'll come nearest to it by looking up. of course there are times when it is good for a man to look inside and take stock--self-examination, you know--but looking _out_ and _up_ is more difficult, to my mind. and there is a kind of looking up, too, for guidance and blessing, which is the most important of all, but i'm not talking to you on that subject just now. i'm trying to warn you against that habit which so many people have of staring at the ground, and seeing and knowing nothing as they go along through life. i've suffered from it myself, punch, more than i care to tell, and that's why i speak feelingly, and wish to warn you in time, my boy. "now, there's another thing," continued my father. "you're fond of rambling, punch, and of reading books of travel and adventure, and i have no doubt you think it would be a grand thing to go some day and try to discover the north pole, or the south pole, or to explore the unknown interior of australia." "yes, father," i replied, in a tone which made him laugh. "well, then, punch, i won't discourage you. go and discover these places by all means, if you can; but mark me, you'll never discover them if you get into the habit of keeping your eyes on the ground, and thinking about yourself and your own affairs. and i would further advise you to brush up your mathematics, and study navigation, and learn well how to take an observation for longitude and latitude, for if you don't know how to find out exactly where you are in unknown regions, you'll never be a discoverer. also, punch, get into a habit of taking notes, and learn to write a good hand, for editors and publishers won't care to be bothered with you if you don't, and maybe the time will come when you won't be able to make out your own writing. i've known men of that stamp, whose penmanship suggested the idea that a drunk fly had dipped its legs in the ink-pud an' straggled across his paper." these weighty words of my dear father i laid to heart at the time, and, as a consequence i believe, have been selected on more than one occasion to accompany exploring parties in various parts of the world. one very important accomplishment which my father did not think of, but which, nevertheless, i have been so fortunate as to acquire, is, sketching from nature, and marking the course of rivers and trend of coasts. i have thus been able not only to make accurate maps of the wild regions i have visited, but have brought home many sketches of interesting scenes of adventure, which words alone could not have sufficed to pourtray. but to return from this long digression. i set about my preparations without delay, and was soon ready with a small but very select amount of baggage. you may be sure also that lumley was active in his preparations, and the result was that, on a fine afternoon in the early spring, we--that is, lumley, macnab, big otter, and i--set out on our expedition in a strong new boat which was manned by two indians, two scotchmen, and a number of canadian half-breeds--all picked men. i must not however, drag my readers through the details of our arduous voyage, not because those details are devoid of interest or romance, far from it, but because i have other matters more interesting and romantic to relate. i will, therefore, pass them over in silence, and at once proceed to the remote region where our lot at that time was to be cast. one beautiful evening we encamped on the margin of one of those innumerable lakelets which gleam like diamonds on the breast of the great wilderness, through which for many weeks we had been voyaging. the vast solitudes into which we had penetrated, although nearly destitute of human inhabitants, were by no means devoid of life, for aquatic birds of varied form and voice made sweet music in the air, as they swept over their grand domains on whirring wing, or chattered happily in their rich feeding-grounds. those pleasant sounds were augmented by the axes of our men as they busied themselves in cutting firewood, and preparing our encampment. the spot chosen was a piece of level sward overhung by trees and surrounded by bushes, except on the side next the little lake where an opening permitted us to see the sheet of water gleaming like fire as the sun sank behind the opposite trees. by that time we had traversed hundreds of miles of wilderness, stemming many rivers and rivulets; crossing or skirting hundreds of lakes which varied from two hundred miles to two hundred yards in length; dragging our boat and carrying our baggage over innumerable portages, and making our beds each night, in fair weather and foul, under the trees of the primeval forest, until we had at last plunged into regions almost unknown--where, probably, the foot of a white man had never before rested. on the way we had passed muskrat house. there, with feelings of profound regret, we parted from our genial highlander, promising, however, to send him an unusually long account of all our doings by the packet, which we purposed sending to headquarters sometime during the winter. the particular duty which lumley and i undertook on the evening in question was the lighting of the fire, and putting on of the kettles for supper. we were aided by our guide, big otter, who cut down and cut up the nearest dead trees, and by salamander, who carried them to the camp. "three days more, and we shall reach the scene of our operations," said lumley to me, as we watched the slowly-rising flame which had just been kindled; "is it not so?" he asked of big otter, who came up at the moment with a stupendous log on his shoulders and flung it down. "waugh?" said the indian, interrogatively. "ask him," said lumley to salamander, who was interpreter to the expedition, "if we are far now from the lodges of his people." "three times," replied the red-man, pointing to the sun, "will the great light go down, and then the smoke of big otter's wigwam shall be seen rising above the trees." "good; i shall be glad when i see it," returned lumley, arranging a rustic tripod over the fire, "for i long to begin the building of our house, and getting a supply of fish and meat for winter use. now then, salamander, fetch the big kettle." "yis, sar," replied our little servant, with gleeful activity (he was only sixteen and an enthusiast) as he ran down to the lake for water. "cut the pemmican up small, max. i've a notion it mixes better, though some fellows laugh at the idea and say that hungry men are not particular." "that is true," said i, attacking the pemmican with a small hatchet; "yet have i seen these same scoffers at careful cookery doing ample and appreciative justice to the mess when cooked." "just so. i have observed the same thing--but, i say, what is big otter looking so earnestly at over there?" "perhaps he sees a bear," said i; "or a moose-deer." "no, he never pays so much attention to the lower animals, except when he wants to shoot them. he shakes his head, too. let's go see. come, salamander, and interpret." "big otter sees something," said lumley through salamander as we approached. "yes, big otter sees signs," was the reply. "and what may the signs be?" "signs of wind and rain and thunder." "well, i suppose you know best but no such signs are visible to me. ask him, salamander, if we may expect the storm soon." to this the indian replied that he could not tell, but advised that preparation should be made for the worst. it may be well here to remark that although lumley and i, as well as some of our men, had acquired a smattering of the indian tongue, our chief deemed it expedient to give us a regular interpreter whose knowledge of both languages was sufficiently extensive. such an interpreter had been found in the youth whom we had styled salamander, and whose real name i have now forgotten. this lad's knowledge of indian was perfect. he also understood french well, and spoke it badly, while his comprehension of english was quite equal to any emergency, though his power of speaking it was exceedingly limited. what he spoke could scarcely be styled a broken tongue; it was rather what we may call thoroughly smashed-up english! such as it was, however, it served our purpose well enough, and as the lad was a willing, cheery, somewhat humorous fellow, he was justly deemed an acquisition to our party. while on this subject i may add that blondin, who brought the winter packet to dunregan, was one of our number--also, that both our scotsmen were highlanders, one being named donald bane, the other james dougall. why the first called the second shames tougall, and the second styled the first tonal' pane is a circumstance which i cannot explain. among the french-canadian half-breeds our blacksmith, marcelle dumont and our carpenter, henri coppet, were the most noteworthy; the first being a short but herculean man with a jovial temperament, the latter a thin, lanky, lugubrious fellow, with a grave disposition. both were first-rate workmen, but indeed the same may be said of nearly all our men, who had been chosen very much because of their readiness and ability to turn their hands to anything. soon the kettles boiled. in one we infused tea. in another we prepared that thick soup so familiar to the nor'-wester, composed of pemmican and flour, which is known by the name of _robbiboo_. from a frying-pan the same substances, much thicker, sent up a savoury steam under the name of _richeau_. there was not much conversation among us at the commencement of the meal, as we sat round the camp-fire, but when appetite was appeased muttered remarks were interchanged, and when tobacco-pipes came out, our tongues, set free from food, began to wag apace. "dere is noting like a good _souper_," remarked marcelle dumont, the blacksmith, extending his burly form on the grass the more thoroughly to enjoy his pipe. "shames tougall," said donald bane, in an undertone, and with the deliberate slowness of his race, "what does he mean by soopy?" "tonal'," replied dougall with equal deliberation, "ye'd petter ask his nainsel'." "it be de french for _supper_," said salamander, who overheard the question. "humph!" ejaculated dougall and bane in unison; but they vouchsafed no further indication of the state of their minds. "you're a true prophet, big otter," said lumley, as a low rumbling of distant thunder broke the silence of the night, which would have been profound but for our voices, the crackling of the fire, and the tinkle of a neighbouring rill. soon afterwards we observed a faint flash of lightning, which was followed by another and deeper rumble of heaven's artillery. looking up through the branches we perceived that the sky had become overcast with heavy clouds. suddenly there came a blinding flash of lightning, as if the sun in noonday strength had burst through the black sky. it was followed instantly by thick, almost palpable darkness, and by a crash so tremendous that i sprang up with a sort of idea that the end of the world had come. the crash was prolonged in a series of rolling, bumping thunders, as though giants were playing bowls with worlds on the floor of heaven. gradually the echoing peals subsided into sullen mutterings and finally died away. chapter seven. a tremendous storm and other experiences. it need hardly be said that we all sprang up when the thunder-clap shook the earth, and began hastily to make preparation for the coming storm. the broad flat branches of a majestic pine formed a roof to our encampment. dragging our provisions and blankets as near as possible to the stem of the tree, we covered them up with one of our oiled-cloths, which were somewhat similar in appearance and texture to the tarpaulings of seafaring men, though light in colour. then we ran down to the lake, carried all our goods hastily to the same spot, covered them up in like manner, and finally dragged our boat as far up on the beach as possible. several blinding flashes and deafening peals saluted us while we were thus employed, but as yet not a drop of rain or sigh of wind disturbed us, and we were congratulating ourselves on having managed the matter so promptly, when several huge drops warned us to seek shelter. "that will do, boys," cried lumley, referring to the boat, "she's safe." "_voila! vite_!" shouted marcelle, our volatile son of vulcan, as the first big drops of rain descended on him. he sprang towards the sheltering tree with wild activity. so, indeed, did we all, but the rain was too quick for us. down it came with the suddenness and fury of a shower-bath, and most of us were nearly drenched before we reached our pine. there was a good deal of shouting and laughter at first, but the tremendous forces of nature that had been let loose were too overwhelming to permit of continued levity. in a few minutes the ground near our tree became seamed with little glancing rivulets, while the rain continued to descend like straight heavy rods of crystal which beat on the earth with a dull persistent roar. ere long the saturated soil refused to drink in the superabundance, and the crystal rods, descending into innumerable pools, changed the roar into the plash of many waters. we stood close together for some time, gazing at this scene in silent solemnity, when a few trickling streams began to fall upon us, showing that our leafy canopy, thick though it was, could not protect us altogether from such a downpour. "we'd better rig up one of the oiled-cloths, and get under it," i suggested. "do so," said our chief. scarcely had he spoken when a flash of lightning, brighter than any that had gone before, revealed to us the fact that the distant part of the hitherto placid lake was seething with foam. "a squall! look out!" shouted lumley, grasping the oiled-cloth we were about to spread. every one shouted and seized hold of something under the strong conviction that action of some sort was necessary to avert danger. but all our voices were silenced in a dreadful roar of thunder which, as donald bane afterwards remarked, seemed to split the universe from stem to stern. this was instantly followed by a powerful whirlwind which caught our oiled-cloth, tore it out of our hands, and whisked it up into the tree-tops, where it stuck fast and flapped furiously, while some of our party were thrown down, and others seemed blown away altogether as they ran into the thick bush for shelter. for myself, without any definite intentions, and scarce knowing what i was about, i seized and clung to the branches of a small tree with the tenacity of a drowning man--unable to open my eyes while sticks and leaves, huge limbs of trees and deluges of water flew madly past, filling my mind with a vague impression that the besom of destruction had become a veritable reality, and that we were all about to be swept off the face of the earth together. strange to say, in this crisis i felt no fear. i suppose i had not time or power to think at all, and i have since that day thought that god perhaps thus mercifully sends relief to his creatures in their direst extremity--just as he sends relief to poor human beings, when suffering intolerable pain, by causing stupor. the outburst was as short-lived as it was furious. suddenly the wind ceased; the floods of rain changed to slight droppings, and finally stopped altogether, while the thunder growled itself into sullen repose in the far distance. but what a scene of wreck was left behind! we could not of course, see the full extent of the mischief, for the night still remained intensely dark, but enough was revealed in the numerous uprooted trees which lay all round us within the light of our rekindled camp-fire. from most of these we had been protected by the great pine, under which we had taken shelter, though one or two had fallen perilously near to us--in one case falling on and slightly damaging our baggage. our first anxiety, of course, was our boat, towards which we ran as if by one impulse, the instant the wind had subsided. to our horror it was gone! only those who know what it is to traverse hundreds of leagues of an almost tenantless wilderness, and have tried to push a few miles through roadless forests that have grown and fallen age after age in undisturbed entanglement since the morning of creation, can imagine the state of our minds at this discovery. "search towards the woods, men," said lumley, who, whatever he might have felt, was the only one amongst us who seemed unexcited. we could trace no sign of anxiety in the deep tones of his steady voice. it was this quality--i may remark in passing--this calm, equable flow of self-possession in all circumstances, no matter how trying, that rendered our young leader so fit for the work, with which he had been entrusted, and which caused us all to rely on him with unquestioning confidence. he never seemed uncertain how to act even in the most desperate circumstances, and he never gave way to discontent or depression. a gentle, good-humoured expression usually played on his countenance, yet he could look stern enough at times, and even fierce, as we all knew. while we were stumbling in the dark in the direction indicated, we heard the voice of salamander shouting:-- "here it am! de bot--busted on de bank!" and "busted" it certainly was, as we could feel, for it was too dark to see. "fetch a blazing stick, one of you," cried lumley. a light revealed the fact that our boat, in being rolled bodily up the bank by the gale, had got several of her planks damaged and two of her ribs broken. "let's be thankful," i said, on further examination, "that no damage has been done to keel or gun'le." "nor to stem or stern-post," added lumley. "come, we shan't be delayed more than a day after all." he was right. the whole of the day that followed the storm we spent in repairing the boat, and drying such portions of the goods as had got wet, as well as our own garments. the weather turned out to be bright and warm, so that when we lay down to rest, everything was ready for a start at the earliest gleam of dawn. "lumley," said i, next day, as we rested after a good spell at the oars, "what would have become of us if our boat had been smashed to pieces, or bodily blown away?" "nothing very serious would have become of us, i think," he replied with an amused look. "but consider," i said; "we are now hundreds of miles away from muskrat house--our nearest neighbour--with a dense wilderness and no roads between. without a boat we could neither advance nor retreat. we might, of course, try to crawl along river banks and lake shores, which would involve the wading or swimming of hundreds of rivulets and rivers, with provisions and blankets on our backs, and even then winter would be down on us, and we should all be frozen to death before the end of the journey. besides, even if we were to escape, how could we ever show face after leaving all our supply of goods and stores to rot in the wilderness?" "truly," replied my friend with a short laugh, "the picture you paint is not a lively one, but it is i who ought to ask _you_ to consider. there are many ways in which we might overcome our supposed difficulties. i will explain; and let me begin by pointing out that your first error lies in conceiving an improbability and an impossibility. in the first place it is improbable that our boat should get `smashed to pieces.' such an event seldom occurs in river navigation, except in the case of going over something like niagara. in the second place it is impossible that a boat should be blown bodily away. but let us suppose that, for the sake of argument, something of the kind had happened, and that our boat was damaged beyond repair, or lost; could we not, think you, fabricate a couple of birch-bark canoes in a country where such splendid birch-trees grow, and with these proceed to our destination?" "very true," said i, "that did not occur to me; but," i continued, waxing argumentative, "what if there had been no birch-trees in this part of the country?" "why then, max, there would be nothing to prevent our placing most of our goods _en cache_, construct a small portable raft for crossing streams, and start off each man with a small load for big otter's home, at which we should arrive in a week or two, and there set about the erection of huts to shelter us, begin a fishery, and remain until winter should set fast the lakes and rivers, cover the land with snow, and thus enable us to go back for our goods, and bring them forward on sledges, with aid, perhaps, from the red-men." "true, true, lumley, that might be done." "or," continued my friend, "we might stay where the disaster overtook us, remain till winter, and send big otter on to tell his people that we were coming. when one plan fails, you know, all you've got to do is to try another. there is only one sort of accident that might cause us a deal of trouble, and some loss--and that is, our boat getting smashed and upset in a rapid, and our goods scattered. even in that case we might recover much of what could swim, but lead and iron would be lost, and powder damaged. however we won't anticipate evil. look! there is a sight that ought to banish all forebodings from our minds." he pointed as he spoke to an opening ahead of us, which revealed a beautiful little lake, whose unruffled surface was studded with picturesque bush-clad islets. water-fowl of many kinds were swimming about on its surface, or skimming swiftly over it. it seemed so peaceful that i was led to think of it as a miniature paradise. "come, henri, chante, sing," cried lumley, with a touch of enthusiasm in eye and tone. our carpenter, coppet, was by general consent our leading singer. he possessed a sweet tenor voice, and always responded to a call with a willingness that went far to counteract the lugubrious aspect of his visage. on this occasion he at once struck up the canoe-song, "_a la claire fontaine_," which, besides being plaintive and beautiful, seemed to me exceedingly appropriate, for we were at that time crossing a height of land, and the clear, crystal waters over which we skimmed formed indeed the fountain-head of some of the great northern rivers. the sudden burst of song had a wonderful effect upon the denizens of clear lake, as we named the sheet of water; for, after a brief momentary pause in their chatter--as if of incredulity and blazing surprise--they all arose at once in such myriads that the noise of their wings was not unlike what i may style muffled thunder. before the song was well finished we had reached the other end of the lakelet, and found that a deep river ran out of it in a nor'easterly direction. the current of the river was powerful, and we had not proceeded many miles down its course when we came to a series of turbulent rapids. as we entered them i could not help recalling lumley's remarks about the risks we ran in descending rapids; but no thought of actual danger occurred to me until i saw blondin, who was our bowman, draw in his oar, grasp a long pole with which he had provided himself, and stand up in the bow, the better to look out inquiringly ahead. now, it must be explained that the bowman's is the most important post in river navigation in the nor'-west--equal, at all events, to that of steersman. in fact the two act in concert; the bowman, whose position commands the best view of rocks and dangers ahead, giving direction, and the watchful steersman acting sympathetically with his long oar or sweep, so that should the bowman with his pole thrust the head of the boat violently to the right the steersman sweeps its stern sharply to the left, thus causing the craft to spin round and shoot aside from the danger, whatever it may be. of course the general flow and turmoil of a rapid indicates pretty clearly to skilled eyes where the deepest water lies; nevertheless, in spite of knowledge, skill, and experience, disasters will happen at times. "monsieur," said blondin in french to lumley, as we gained a smooth piece of water at the foot of a short rapid, "i know not the rocks ahead. it may be well to land and look." "do so, blondin." we ran the boat's head on shore, and while the bowman and our leader went to look at the rapids in advance, most of our men got out their pipes and began to chat quietly. our scouts quickly returned, saying that the rapids, though rough, were practicable. soon we were among them, darting down with what would have seemed, to any inexperienced eye, perilous velocity. the river at the place was about a hundred yards wide, with an unusually rugged channel, but with a distinctly marked run--deep and tortuous--in the middle. on both sides of the run, sweeping and curling surges told of rocks close to the surface, and in many places these showed black edges above water, which broke the stream into dazzling foam. "have a care, blondin," said our chief, in a warning voice, as the bowman made a sudden and desperate shove with his pole. a side current had swept us too far in the direction of a forbidding ledge, to touch on which might have been fatal. but henri coppet, who acted as steersman as well as carpenter, was equal to the occasion. he bent his lanky form almost double, took a magnificent sweep with the oar, and seconded blondin's shove so ably that we passed the danger like an arrow, with nothing but a slight graze. that danger past we were on the brink of another, almost before we had time to think. at the time i remember being deeply impressed, in a confused way, with the fact that, whatever might await us below, there was now no possibility of our returning up stream. we were emphatically "in for it," and our only hope lay in the judgment, boldness, and capacity of the two men who guided our frail bark--doubly frail, it seemed to me, when contrasted with the waters that surged around, and the solid rocks that appeared to bar our way in all directions. even some of our men at the oars, whose only duty was to obey orders promptly, began to show symptoms of anxiety, if not of fear. "smooth water ahead," muttered lumley, pointing to a small lake into which the turbulent river ran about a quarter of a mile further down. "all right soon," i said, but just as i spoke the boat lightly touched a rock. blondin saw that there was not sufficient depth in a passage which he had intended to traverse. with a shout to the steersman he thrust his pole over the side with all his might. the obedient craft turned as if on a pivot, and would have gone straight into a safe stream in another second, if blondin's pole had not stuck fast either in mud or between two rocks. in a moment our bowman was whisked over the side as if he had been a feather. letting go the pole he caught the gunwale and held on. the boat was carried broadside on the rocks, and the gushing water raised her upper side so high that she was on the point of rolling over when all of us--i think instinctively--sprang to that side and bore her down. "over the side, some of you," cried lumley, leaping into the water on the lower side, followed by six of us, including myself. some of us were breast deep; others, on rocks, stood higher. "now--together--shove!--and hold on!" there was no need to give us the latter caution. our boat shot into deep water and we all held on for life. fortunately the more open part of the rapid had been gained. the steersman without aid could keep us in deep water, and, before we had fairly scrambled back into our places, we were floating safely on the quiet lake into which the river ran. you may be sure that we had matter not only for gratulation but for conversation that night at supper; for, after discussing our recent adventure in all its phases, nearly every one of our party had numerous similar incidents to tell of--either as having occurred to himself, or to his friends. but the pleasure of that night's intercourse and repose was materially diminished by a pest, with which for some time previously we had not been much afflicted. who has not heard of mosquitoes? we may inform those who have never seen or felt them that they are peculiarly virulent and numerous and vicious and bloodthirsty in the swampy lands of north america, and that night we had got into a region of swamps. it may also, perhaps, be unknown to some people that mosquitoes do not slumber--unless, indeed, they do it on a preconcerted plan of relieving guard. either there is a "day and night shift" or they do not rest at all. as a consequence _we_ did not rest. groans and maledictions were the order of the night. we spent much time in slapping our own faces, and immolated hundreds of the foe at each slap, but thousands came on to refill the ranks. we buried our heads under our blankets, but could not sleep for suffocation. some of the men left their faces exposed, went to sleep in desperate exhaustion, after hours of fruitless warfare, and awoke with eyes all but shut up, and cheeks like dumplings. others lay down to leeward of the fire and spent the night in a compound experience of blood-sucking and choking. one ingenious man--i think it was salamander--wrapped his visage in a kerchief, leaving nothing exposed save the point of his nose for breathing purposes. in the morning he arose with something like a huge strawberry on the end of his prominent feature. indeed, it was a wearing night to follow such a trying day! chapter eight. deep in the wilderness we find our home which is shared with the wild beast, the wild bird, and the savage. availing myself now of that wonderful power which we possess of projecting the mind instantaneously through space and time, i will leave our adventurous fur-traders, and, conveying my reader still deeper into the heart of the great wilderness, set him down on the margin of one of those lesser sheets of water which lie some distance in a south-westerly direction from that mighty fresh-water ocean called athabasca. this lake, although small when compared with the vast reservoirs which stud those northern wilds, is, nevertheless, of goodly dimensions, being about six miles in diameter, and studded here and there with numerous islets, some of which are almost bare rocks of a few yards in extent, while others are not less than a quarter of a mile in circumference, and thickly wooded to the edge. it is a somewhat peculiar lake. it does not lie, as many lakes do, in the bottom of a valley, from which the spectator lifts his eye to surrounding heights, but rests in a little hollow on a height of land, from many points of which the eye looks down on the surrounding low country. it is true, that in one direction, westward, a line of distant blue hills is seen, which are obviously higher than our lake, for the land rises gently towards them; but when you ascend a wooded knoll close by, the summit of which is free from underwood, it is seen at a glance that on all other sides the land is below you, and your eye takes in at one grand sweep all round the compass a view of woodland and plain, mound and morass, lake, river, and rivulet, such as is probably unequalled--certainly unsurpassed--in any other part of the known world. solitude profound--as far as men and their works are concerned--marked this lovely region at the time of our arrival, though there was the most telling evidence of exuberant animal life everywhere, to the ear as well as to the eye; for the air was vocal with the plaintive cries and whistling wings of wild-fowl which sported about in blissful enjoyment of their existence, while occasional breaks in the glassy surface of the water, and numerous widening circles, told that fish were not less jovial in the realms below. this was at last the longed-for lake wichikagan. man, however, was not altogether absent, though less obviously present, at that time. at the extreme western end of the lake, where the view of the regions beyond was most extensive as well as most beautiful, there was a bright green patch of land, free from underwood as well as trees-- a sort of natural lawn--which extended with a gentle slope towards the lake; ending in a pebbly beach on which the waters rested so calm and pure that it was difficult to distinguish the line where dry land and water met. a little to the right of this beautiful spot there grew a small clump of bushes, and in the midst of these there crouched two indians. one was middle-aged, the other was entering on the period of early manhood, and a strongly marked resemblance in feature and form indicated plainly that they stood to each other in the relation of father and son. both were clothed in leather, with the usual ornamentation of beads, scalp-locks, and feathers. their faces, however, were not disfigured with war-paint--a sign that at that time they were at peace with all mankind. it might have struck an observer, however, that for men of peace they were in suspiciously warlike attitudes. the elder savage stooped low to conceal himself behind the foliage, and held a long single-barrelled gun in readiness for instant action, while the youth, also stooping low, held an arrow ready fitted to his short bow. the eyes of both glared with expressions that might have been indicative of joy, hope, hate, revenge, expectation, or anything else you please--for a glare is unquestionably an ambiguous expression at the best, needing a context to expound it. "let two die," muttered the elder redskin--of course in his own tongue. (i had the details from his own lips afterwards, and translate them as literally as may be.) "ho!" replied the son, without moving his glare from the direction from which the two doomed ones were expected to emerge. presently a flock of grey wild-geese came majestically along, close to the margin of the lake--flying low, as well as slow, and following the curvings of the shore as if in search of a suitable feeding-place at which to alight. the green of the natural lawn had evidently attracted these birds, for they skimmed over the bushes behind which our indians crouched almost within pistol-shot. like statues the red-men stood until the geese were over them; then an arrow from the son's bow quivered in the heart of one bird, and brought it fluttering heavily to the ground. at the same instant the echoes around answered to the father's gun, and another goose lay dead upon the sward. "waugh!" exclaimed both indians as they stepped forth and picked up their game. these sons of the wilderness were not, however, very communicative, for they spake never a word more. perhaps they were hungry, and it is well-known that hungry men are not sociable. at all events they maintained a profound silence while they cut down a small decayed tree, made a good fire, and prepared dinner, or--as the sun was beginning to decline at the time--i may call it supper. the mode of preparation was simple. of course they plucked the geese; an operation which revealed the fact that both birds were plump and fat. next they split them open with their scalping-knives, and, going down to the lake, cleaned them out with the same weapons. then, transfixing them on two pieces of stick, after the manner of red-men, they stuck them up before the fire to roast. the roasting did not take long, for they were either partial to underdone food or impatient, and began at once upon such portions of the birds as were first ready, by cutting them off and chewing away without removing the remainder of the roasts from the fire. by degrees the solid parts were devoured. then the drumsticks and other extremities were picked; after that the merry-thoughts and smaller bones were cleaned, and not until every fragment of edible matter was consumed did father or son cease his toil or utter a word. "waugh!" exclaimed the father at last, regarding the skeleton of his meal with a sad look, as if grieved that all was over. "hough!" responded the son with a sigh of satisfaction, as he wiped his fingers on the grass and sheathed his scalping-knife. then, searching in their little pouches, which contained flint steel, tinder, etcetera, they drew forth two little stone pipes with wooden stems, which they filled and began to smoke. the first whiff seemed to break the magic spell which had hitherto kept them silent. with another emphatic "waugh!" the elder savage declared that the goose was good; that it distended him pleasantly, and that it warmed the cockles of his heart--or words to that effect. to which the son replied with a not less emphatic "hough!" that he was entirely of the same opinion. thus, whiffing gently, letting the smoke slowly out of their mouths and trickling it through their nostrils, so as to get the full benefit--or or damage!--of the tobacco, those sons of the wilderness continued for some time to enjoy themselves, while the sun sank slowly towards the western horizon, converting every lake and pond, and every river and streamlet, into a sheet, or band, or thread of burnished gold. at last the elder savage removed his pipe and sent a final shot of smoke towards the sky with some vigour as he said, rather abruptly,--"mozwa, my brother must be dead!" "i hope not, father," returned the youth, whose name, mozwa, signifies in the cree language "moose-deer," and had been given to the lad because he possessed an unusual power of running great distances, and for long periods, at a sort of swinging trot that left all competitors of his tribe far behind. "i also hope not," said his father, whose name was maqua, or "bear," "but i am forced to think so, for when big otter promises he is sure to perform. he said to waboose that he would be home before the berries were ripe. the berries are ripe and he is not home. without doubt he is now chasing the deer in the happy hunting-grounds with his fathers." waboose, to whom this promise had been made, was a favourite niece of big otter, and had been named waboose, or "rabbit," because she was pretty innocent, soft, and tender. "my father," said mozwa, rather solemnly, "big otter has not broken his word, for _all_ the berries are not yet ripe." he plucked a berry which chanced to be growing near his hand, as he spoke, and held it up to view. "waugh!" exclaimed the elder savage. "hough!" returned the younger. what more might have been said at that time no one can tell, for the conversation was cut short by a sound which caused both indians to listen with intense earnestness. their eyes glittered like the eyes of serpents, and their nostrils dilated like those of the wild-horse, while each man gently moved his right hand towards his weapon. and if the too inquisitive reader should ask me how i could possibly come to know all this, seeing that i was not there at the time, i reply that the whole matter was related to me with minute and dramatic power by young mozwa himself not long afterwards. there was indeed ground for the excitement and earnest attention of those red-men, for the sweet and distant notes of a canadian canoe-song had at that moment, for the first time, awakened the echoes of that part of the great nor'-west. the two men were not indeed ignorant of the fact that such songs were sung by canadian voyageurs--maqua had even heard some of them hummed once by the men of muskrat house, when, a good while before, he had paid a visit to that remote trading-post--but never before had father or son listened to the songs sung in full chorus as they now heard them. spell-bound they waited until the sound of oars mingled with the gradually strengthening song. then their fingers closed convulsively upon their weapons and they sprang up. "what does my son think?" "he thinks that the white man may be on the war-path, and it behoves the red-man like the serpent to creep into the grass and lie still." the elder savage shook his head. "no, mozwa. the white man never goes on the war-path, except to track down murderers. when he goes through the land he travels as the red-man's friend. nevertheless, it is well to be on our guard." as he spoke, the song, which had been increasing in strength every moment, suddenly burst forth with great power in consequence of the boat which bore the singers rounding a rocky point and coming into full view. to sink into the grass, imitate the serpent and vanish from the scene, was the work of a few seconds on the part of maqua and his son. meanwhile the boat, which i need scarcely say was ours, came sweeping grandly on, for the fineness of the evening, the calmness of the lake, the splendour of the scene, and the prospect of a good supper, to be followed by a good night's rest lent fresh vigour to the arms as well as to the voices of our men. "hold on a bit, boys," cried jack lumley, standing up in the stern and looking shoreward, "this seems a pretty good place to camp." "there is a better place a few yards further on," said big otter, who pulled the stroke oar. "i know every foot of the country here. it is a soft--" "what does big otter see?" asked lumley, for the indian had come to a sudden stop, and was gazing earnestly ahead. "he sees the smoke of a fire." "is it likely to be the fire of an enemy?" "no--more like to be the camp of some of my people, but their wigwams are two days beyond this lake. perhaps hunters are out in this direction." "we shall soon see--give way, lads!" said lumley, sitting down. in a few minutes the boat was on the beach. we sprang ashore, and hastened to the spot where a thin wreath of smoke indicated the remains of a camp-fire. of course we carried our arms, not knowing whom we should meet with. after examining the spot carefully, big otter stood up and was about to speak to our chief, when a slight peculiar chirp was heard in the bushes. it is probable that we should have deemed it that of some small bird and paid no attention to it if our indian had not suddenly bent his head on one side as if to listen. at the same time he replied to the chirp. again the sound was heard, and big otter, turning round quickly, without uttering a word, entered the bushes and disappeared. "stand ready, lads!" said lumley in a quiet voice, bringing forward the muzzle of his gun, "there's no saying what may come of this." scarcely had he spoken when a rustling was heard in the bushes. next moment they were thrust aside and big otter reissued from them, followed by two indians, whom he introduced to us as his brother and nephew. at the same time he gave us the gratifying information that his tribe had moved up from the region in which they usually dwelt for the purpose of hunting and fishing in the neighbourhood of the lake, and that the camp was not more than six or seven miles distant, from the spot on which we stood. to this lumley replied by expressing his gratification at the news, and shaking hands with the two indians, who, however, received the shake with some distrust and much surprise, until big otter explained the nature and meaning of the white man's salutation. he also explained the meaning of "what cheer." on hearing which maqua, not to be outdone in politeness, extended his hand for another shake, and exclaimed "watchee!" with profound gravity. mozwa, with some hesitation, imitated his father's example. while we were thus pleasantly engaged, a sonorous trumpet sound was heard behind the clump of small trees near us. a moment later and two magnificent wild swans sailed over the tree-tops and above our heads. they made a tumultuously wild swoop to one side on discovering the near proximity of their enemy man but were too late. almost before any of the party had time to move a muscle, two sharp cracks were heard, and both swans fell stone dead, with a heavy splash, at the margin of the lake. it was our chief, jack lumley, who had brought them down with his double-barrelled fowling-piece. i have omitted to mention that lumley was one of the noted crack-shots of the country at that time--noted not only for the deadly precision, but also for the lightning-like rapidity of his aim. the indians, albeit themselves pretty fair marksmen, were deeply impressed with this evidence of skill, and it went far to strengthen the influence which our chief's manly proportions and genial countenance had already begun to exercise. "that's a good beginning, lumley," said i, "for it not only impresses our new friends favourably, but provides excellent fresh meat for supper." "yonder comes better meat for supper," he replied, pointing towards a neighbouring height, where we could see the forms of two men approaching, with the carcase of a deer between them. it was donald bane and james dougall who had been thus successful. these sons of the scottish highlands, being ardent sportsmen as well as good marksmen, had been appointed to the post of hunters to our party, and were frequently sent ashore to procure fresh meat. "the country is swarmin' wi' game, muster lumley," said bane, as they came up, and flung down the deer. "not only teer an' rabbits, but tucks an' geese, an' all sorts o' pirds. moreover, tougall, she got into a bog after wan o' the peasts, an' i thought i wass goin' to lose him altogither. `shames tougall,' says i, `don't you go anither step till i come to you, or you're a lost man,' but shames went on--he was always an obstinate loon--" "dat is true," remarked salamander. "hold yer noise!" said bane. "well, sur, tougall went on, an' sure enough the very next step down he went up to the neck--" "no, tonald," interrupted dougall, "it wass not up to the neck; it wass only to the waist. the nixt after that it wass up to the neck, but _then_ i wass soomin'." "ye would hey bin soomin' yet, shames, if i had not pulled ye oot," said his friend. "oo ay, tonald pane. that iss true, but--" "well, dougall," interrupted lumley at this point, "it will be better to dry your garments than discuss the question just now. we will encamp here, so go to work, boys." there was no need for more. during our long journey into these far-off wilds each man had fallen into his allotted place and work, and the force of habit had made us so like machines that i think if we had suddenly become a party of somnambulists we would have gone through the same actions each evening on landing. accordingly, lumley and i gathered small branches and rekindled the indians' fire, which had by that time almost gone out. marcelle dumont being professionally a forger of axes, and henri coppet, being an artificer in wood, went off to cut down trees for firewood; and donald bane with his friend set about cutting up and preparing the venison, while blondin superintended and assisted salamander and the others in landing the cargo, and hauling up the boat. "max," said lumley to me that evening during an interval in our devotion to steaks and marrow-bones, "look around for a moment if you can tear your gross mind from the contemplation of food, and tell me what you see?" he made a sweep with his arm to indicate the surrounding scenery, which was at the moment irradiated by the after-glow of the setting sun, as well as the brightening beams of the full moon. "i see," said i, looking up, "a lovely lake, dotted with islets of varied shape and size, with the pale moon reflected almost unbroken in its glassy waters." "what else do you see?" asked lumley. "i see around and beyond a prospect of boundless woodland, of plain, mound, hill, lake, and river, extending with a grand sweep that suggests ideas which can only be defined by the word immensity. i see altogether a scene the like of which i never looked upon before--a scene of beauty, peacefulness, and grandeur which gladdens the eye to behold and fills the heart with gratitude to its maker." "you say well, max," returned my friend, "and it seems to me that we may regard this lake wichikagan which we now look upon as our inheritance in the wilderness, and that the spot on which we now sit shall be, for some time at least, our future home." chapter nine. a bright apparition--followed by rumours of war. while we were thus feasting and chatting on the green sward of the region which seemed destined to be our future home, an object suddenly appeared among the bushes, near the edge of the circle of light cast by our camp-fire. this object was by no means a frightful one, yet it caused a sensation in the camp which could hardly have been intensified if we had suddenly discovered a buffalo with the nose of an elephant and the tail of a rattlesnake. for one moment we were all struck dumb; then we all sprang to our feet, but we did not seize our firearms--oh no!--for there, half concealed by the bushes, and gazing at us in timid wonder, stood a pretty young girl, with a skin much fairer than usually falls to the lot of indian women, and with light brown hair as well as bright blue eyes. in all other respects--in costume, and humble bearing--she resembled the women of the soil. i would not willingly inflict on the reader too much of my private feelings and opinions, but perhaps i may be excused for saying that i fell over head and ears in love with this creature at once! i make no apology for being thus candid. on the contrary, i am prepared rather to plume myself on the quick perception which enabled me not only to observe the beauty of the girl's countenance, but, what is of far more importance, the inherent goodness which welled from her loving eyes. yes, reader, call me an ass if you will, but i unblushingly repeat that i fell--tumbled--plunged headlong in love with her. so did every other man in the camp! there is this to be said in excuse for us, that we had not seen any members of the fair sex for many months, and that the sight of this brilliant specimen naturally aroused many pleasant recollections of cousins, sisters, nieces, aunts, mothers, grandmothers--well, perhaps i am going too far; though, after all, the tender, loving-kindness in this girl's eyes might well have suggested grandmothers! before any of us could recover the use of our limbs, big otter had glided rapidly towards the girl. grasping her by the hand, he led her towards lumley, and introduced her as his sister's daughter, waboose. the red-man was evidently proud as well as fond of his fair niece, and equally clear did it become in a short time that the girl was as fond and proud of him. "your relative is very fair," said lumley. "she might almost have been the daughter of a white man." "she _is_ the daughter of a white man." "indeed!" "yes; her father was a white hunter who left his people and came to dwell with us and married my sister. he was much loved and respected by us. he lived and hunted and went on the war-path with us for many years--then he was killed." "in war?" i asked, beginning to feel sympathetic regard for the father of one who had stirred my heart to--but, i forget. it is not my intention to bore the reader with my personal feelings. "no," answered the indian. "he perished in attempting to save his wife from a dangerous rapid. he brought her to the bank close to the head of a great waterfall, and many hands were stretched out to grasp her. she was saved, but the strength of the brave pale-face was gone, and we knew it not. before we could lay hold of his hand the current swept him away and carried him over the falls." "how sad!" said lumley. "what was the name of this white man?" "he told us that his name was weeum--but," said the indian, turning abruptly to waboose, whose countenance betrayed feelings which were obviously aroused by other matters than this reference to her lost father, "my child has news of some sort. let her speak." thus permitted, waboose opened her lips for the first time--disclosing a double row of bright little teeth in the act--and said that she had been sent by her mother in search of maqua and his son, as she had reason to believe that the camp was in danger of being attacked by dogrib indians. on hearing this, maqua and mozwa rose, picked up their weapons, and without a word of explanation entered the bushes swiftly and disappeared. big otter looked after them for a moment or two in grave silence. "you had better follow them," suggested lumley. "if you should require help, send a swift messenger back and we will come to you." the indian received this with a quiet inclination of the head, but made no reply. then, taking his niece by the hand, he led her into the bushes where his relatives had entered and, like them, disappeared. "it seems like a dream," said i to lumley, as we all sat down again to our steaks and marrow-bones. "what seems like a dream, max--the grub?" "no, the girl." "truly, yes. and a very pleasant dream too. almost as good as this bone." "oh! you unsentimental, unsympathetic monster. does not the sight of a pretty young creature like that remind you of home, and all the sweet refining influences shed around it by woman?" "i cannot say that it does--hand me another; no, not a little thing like that, a big one full of marrow, so--. you see, old boy, a band of beads round the head, a sky-blue cloth bodice, a skirt of green flannel reaching only to the knees, cloth leggings ornamented with porcupine quills and moccasined feet, do not naturally suggest my respected mother or sisters." for the first time in our acquaintance i felt somewhat disgusted with my friend's levity, and made no rejoinder. he looked at me quickly, with slightly raised eyebrows, and gave a little laugh. with a strong effort i crushed down my feelings, and said in a tone of forced gaiety:-- "well, well, things strike people in strangely different lights. i thought not of the girl's costume but her countenance." "come, then, max," returned my friend, with that considerate good nature which attracted men so powerfully to him, "i admit that the girl's face might well suggest the thought of dearer faces in distant lands--and especially her eyes, so different from the piercing black orbs of indian squaws. did you note the--the softness, i was going to say truthfulness, of her strangely blue eyes?" did i note them! the question seemed to me so ridiculous that i laughed, by way of reply. i observed that lumley cast on me for the second time a sharp inquiring glance, then he said:-- "but i say, max, we must have our arms looked to, and be ready for a sudden call. you know that i don't love fighting. especially at the commencement of our sojourn would i avoid mixing myself up with indians' quarrels; but if our guide comes back saying that their camp is in danger, we must help him. it would never do, you know, to leave women and children to the mercy of ruthless savages." "leave woman and children!" i exclaimed vehemently, thinking of only one woman at the moment, "i should _think_ not!" the tone of indignation in which i said this caused my friend to laugh outright. "well, well," he said, in a low tone, "it's a curious complaint, and not easily cured." what he meant was at the time a mystery to me. i have since come to understand. "i suppose you'll all agree with me, lads," said lumley to the men who sat eating their supper on the opposite side of the fire, and raising his voice, for we had hitherto been conversing in a low tone, "if big otter's friends need help we'll be ready to give it?" of course a hearty assent was given, and several of the men, having finished supper, rose to examine their weapons. the guns used by travellers in the great nor'-west in those days were long single-barrels with flint-locks, the powder in which was very apt to get wet through priming-pans and touch-holes, so that frequent inspection was absolutely necessary. as our party consisted of twelve men, including ourselves, and each was armed--lumley and myself with double-barrelled fowling-pieces--we were able, if need be, to fire a volley of fourteen shots. besides this, my chief and i carried revolvers, which weapons had only just been introduced into that part of the country. we were therefore prepared to lend effective aid to any whom we thought it right to succour. scarcely had our arrangements been made when the lithe agile form of mozwa glided into the camp and stood before lumley. the lad tried hard to look calm, grave, and collected, as became a young indian brave, but the perspiration on his brow and his labouring chest told that he had been running far at the utmost speed, while a wild glitter in his dark eye betrayed strong emotion. pointing in the direction whence he had come, he uttered the name--"big otter." "all right. i understand you," said lumley, springing up. "now, boys, sharp's the word; we will go to the help of our guide. but two of you must stay behind to guard our camp. do you, donald bane and james dougall, remain and keep a bright look-out." "is it to stop here, we are?" asked bane, with a mutinous look. "yes," exclaimed our leader so sharply that the mutinous look faded. "an' are we to be left behind," growled dougall, "when there's fightin' to be done?" "i have no time for words, dougall," said lumley in a low voice, "but if you don't at once set about preparation to defend the camp, i'll give you some fighting to do that you won't relish." dougall had no difficulty in understanding his leader's meaning. he and his friend at once set about the required preparations. "now then, mozwa," said lumley. the young indian, who had remained erect and apparently unobservant, with his arms crossed on his still heaving chest, turned at once and went off at a swift trot, followed by all our party with the exception of the ill-pleased highlanders, who, in their eagerness for the fray, did not perceive that theirs might be a post of the greatest danger, as it certainly was one of trust. "tonald," said dougall, sitting down and lighting his pipe after we were gone, "i wass vera near givin' muster lumley a cood threshin'." "hum! it's well ye didn't try, shames." "an' what for no?" "because he's more nor a match for ye." "i don't know that tonald. i'm as stout a man as he is, whatever." "oo ay, so ye are, shames; but ye're no a match for him. he's been to school among thae englishers, an' can use his fists, let me tell you." at this dougall held up a clenched hand, hard and knuckly from honest toil, that was nearly as big as a small ham. regarding it with much complacency he said, slowly:-- "an' don't you think, tonald, that i could use my fist too?" "maybe you could, in a kind o' way," returned the other, also filling his pipe and sitting down; "but i'll tell ye what muster lumley would do to you, shames, if ye offered to fight him. he would dance round you like a cooper round a cask; then, first of all, he would flatten your nose--which is flat enough already, whatever--wi' wan hand, an' he'd drive in your stummick wi' the other. then he would give you one between the two eyes an' raise a bridge there to make up for the wan he'd destroyed on your nose, an' before you had time to sneeze he would put a rainbow under your left eye. or ever you had time to wink he would put another under your right eye, and if that didn't settle you he would give you a finishin' dig in the ribs, shames, trip up your heels, an' lay you on the ground, where i make no doubt you would lie an' meditate whether it wass worth while to rise up for more." "all that would be verra unpleasant, tonald," said dougall, with a humorous glance from the corners of his small grey eyes, "but i duffer with ye in opeenion." "you would duffer in opeenion with the apostle paul if he wass here," said the other, rising, as his pipe was by that time well alight, and resuming his work, "but we'll better obey muster lumley's orders than argufy about him." "i'll agree with you there, tonald, just to convince you that i don't always duffer," said the argumentative highlander, rising to assist his not less argumentative friend. the two men pursued their labour in silence, and in the course of an hour or so had piled all the baggage in a circle in the middle of the open lawn, so as to form a little fortress, into which they might spring and keep almost any number of savages at bay for some time; because savages, unlike most white men, have no belief in that "glory" which consists in rushing on certain death, in order to form a bridge of dead bodies over which comrades may march to victory. each savage is, for the most part, keenly alive to the importance of guarding his own life, so that a band of savages seldom makes a rush where certain death awaits the leaders. hence our two highlanders felt quite confident of being able to hold their little fort with two guns each and a large supply of ammunition. meanwhile mozwa continued his rapid trot through wood and brake; over swamp, and plain, and grassy mound. being all of us by that time strong in wind and limb, we followed him without difficulty. "lads, be careful," said lumley, as we went along, "that no shot is fired, whatever happens, until i give the word. you see, max," he continued in a lower tone, "nothing but the sternest necessity will induce me to shed human blood. i am here to open up trade with the natives, not to fight them, or mix myself up in their quarrels. at the same time it would be bad policy to stand aloof while the tribes we have come to benefit, and of which our guide is a member, are assailed by enemies. we must try what we can do to make peace, and risk something in the attempt." arrived at the indian camp, we found a band of braves just on the point of leaving it, although by that time it was quite dark. the tribe--or rather that portion of it which was encamped in leathern wigwams, on one of the grassy mounds with which the country abounded--consisted of some hundred families, and the women and children were moving about in great excitement, while the warriors were preparing to leave. i was struck, however, by the calm and dignified bearing of one white-haired patriarch, who stood in the opening of his wigwam, talking to a number of the elder men and women who crowded round him. he was the old chief of the tribe; and, being no longer able to go on the war-path, remained with the aged men and the youths, whose duty it was to guard the camp. "my children," he said, as we came up, "fear not. the great spirit is with us, for our cause is just. he has sent big otter back to us in good time, and, see, has he not also sent white men to help us?" the war-party was detained on our arrival until we should hold a palaver with the old chief and principal braves. we soon ascertained that the cause of disagreement between the two tribes, and of the declaration of war, was a mere trifle, strongly resembling in that respect the causes of most wars among civilised nations! a brave of the one tribe had insultingly remarked that a warrior of the other tribe had claimed the carcase of a moose-deer which had been mortally wounded, and tracked, and slain by him, the insulter. the insulted one vowed that he shot the deer dead--he would scorn to wound a deer at all--and had left it in hiding until he could obtain assistance to fetch the meat. young hotheads on both sides fomented the quarrel until older heads were forced to take the matter up; they became sympathetically inflamed, and, finally, war to the knife was declared. no blood had yet been shed, but it was understood by big otter's friends--who were really the injured party--that their foes had sent away their women and children, preparatory to a descent on them. "now, salamander," said lumley, who, although he had considerably increased his knowledge of the indian language by conversing with the guide during our voyage, preferred to speak through an interpreter when he had anything important to say, "tell the old chief that this war-party must not go forth. tell him that the great white chief who guides the affairs of the traders, has sent me to trade furs in this region, and that i will not permit fighting." this was such a bold--almost presumptuous, way of putting the matter that the old red chief looked at the young white chief in surprise; but as there was neither bluster nor presumption in the calm countenance of lumley--only firmness coupled with extreme good humour--he felt somewhat disconcerted. "how will my white brother prevent war?" asked the old chief, whose name was muskrat. "by packing up my goods, and going elsewhere," replied lumley directly, without an instant's hesitation, in the indian tongue. at this, there was an elongation of the faces of the men who heard it, and something like a soft groan from the squaws who listened in the background. "that would be a sad calamity," said old muskrat, "and i have no wish to fight; but how will the young white chief prevent our foes from attacking us?" "tell him, salamander, that i will do so by going to see them." "my young braves will be happy to go out under the guidance of so strong a warrior," returned muskrat, quite delighted with the proposal. "nay, old chief, you mistake me, i will take no braves with me." "no matter," returned muskrat; "doubtless the white men and their guns will be more than a match for our red foes." "still you misunderstand," said lumley. "i am no warrior, but a man of peace. i shall go without guns or knives--and alone, except that i will ask young mozwa to guide me." "alone! unarmed!" murmured the old man, in astonishment almost too great for expression. "what can one do against a hundred with weapons?" "you shall see," said lumley, with a light laugh as he turned to me. "now, max, don't speak or remonstrate, like a good fellow; we have no time to discuss, only to act. i find that muskrat's foes speak the same dialect as himself, so that an interpreter is needless. i carry two revolvers in the breast of my coat. you have a clasp-knife in your pocket; make me a present of it, will you? thanks. now, have our men in readiness for instant action. don't let them go to rest, but let them eat as much, and as long, as they choose. keep the old chief and his men amused with long yarns, about what we mean to do in these regions, and don't let any one follow me. keep your mind easy. if i don't return in three hours, you may set off to look for me, though it will i fear be of no use by that time; and, stay, if you should hear a pistol-shot, run out with all our men towards it. now, mozwa, lead on to the enemy's camp." the young indian, who was evidently proud of the trust reposed in him, and cared nothing for danger, stalked into the forest with the look and bearing of a dauntless warrior. chapter ten. salamander gives and receives a surprise, and war is averted by wise diplomacy. it has been already said that our interpreter, salamander, possessed a spirit of humour slightly tinged with mischief, which, while it unquestionably added to the amusement of our sojourn in those lands, helped not a little to rouse our anxieties. on returning to our men, after parting from lumley, for the purpose of giving them their instructions, i found that salamander was missing, and that no one could tell where he had gone. i caused a search to be made for him, which was unsuccessful, and would have persevered with it if there had not pressed upon me the necessity of obeying my chief's orders to keep the savages amused. this i set about doing without delay, and having, like my friend, been a diligent student of the language on the journey, found that i succeeded, more than i had ventured to hope for, in communicating my ideas. as the disappearance of salamander, however, was the subject which exercised my mind most severely at the time, and as he afterwards gave me a full account of the cause in detail, i shall set it down here. being possessed that evening, as he confessed, with a spirit of restlessness, and remembering that our two highlanders had been left to guard the camp at lake wichikagan, he resolved to pay them a visit. the distance, as i have said elsewhere, was not much more than six miles--a mere trifle to one who was as fleet as a young deer and strong as an old bear. he soon traversed the ground and came up to the camp. at first he meant merely to give the men a surprise, but the spirit to which i have already referred induced him to determine on giving them a fright. approaching very cautiously, therefore, with this end in view, he found that things were admirably arranged for his purpose. donald bane and james dougall, having finished their fortress in the centre of the open lawn, as already described, returned to their fire, which, it may be remembered, was kindled close to the edge of the bushes. there they cooked some food and devoured it with the gusto of men who had well earned their supper. thereafter, as a matter of course, they proceeded to enjoy a pipe. the night, besides being fine and calm, was unusually warm, thereby inducing a feeling of drowsiness, which gradually checked the flow of conversation previously evoked by the pipes. "it is not likely the redskins will come up here to give us a chance when there's such a lot of our lads gone to meet them," said bane, with a yawn. "i agree with you, tonald," answered dougall grumpily. "it is quite new to hev you agreein' with me so much, shames," returned bane with another yawn. "you are right. an' it is more lively to disagree, whatever," rejoined dougall, with an irresistible, because sympathetic, yawn. "oo ay, that's true, shames. yie-a-ou!" this yawn was so effusive that dougall, refusing to be led even by sympathy, yawned internally with his lips closed and swallowed it. the conversation dropped at this point, though the puffs went on languidly. as the men were extended at full-length, one on his side, the other on his back, it was not unnatural that, being fatigued, they should both pass from the meditative to the dreamy state, and from that to the unconscious. it was in this condition that salamander discovered them. "asleep at their posts!" he said mentally. "that deserves punishment." he had crept on hands and knees to the edge of the bushes, and paused to contemplate the wide-open mouth of bane, who lay on his back, and the prominent right ear of dougall, whose head rested on his left arm. the debris of supper lay around them--scraps of pemmican, pannikins, spoons, knives, and the broken shells of teal-duck eggs which, having been picked up some time before, had gone bad. suddenly an inspiration--doubtless from the spirit of mischief--came over salamander. there was one small unbroken egg on the ground near to bane's elbow. just over his head the branch of a bush extended. to genius everything comes handy and nothing amiss. salamander tied the egg to a piece of small twine and suspended it to the twig in such fashion that the egg hung directly over bane's wide-open mouth. at a glance he had seen that it was possible to lay a light hand on the inner end of the branch, and at the same time bend his mouth over dougall's ear. he drew a long breath, for it was a somewhat delicate and difficult, being a duplicate, manoeuvre! pressing down the branch very slowly and with exceeding care, he guided the egg into bane's mouth. he observed the precise moment when it touched the sleeper's tongue, and then exploded a yell into dougall's ear that nearly burst the tympanum. bane's jaws shut with a snap instantly. need we--no, we need not! dougall leaped up with a cry that almost equalled that of salamander. both men rushed to the fortress and bounded into it, the one spurting out gaelic expletives, the other rotten egg and bits of shell. they seized their guns and crouched, glaring through the various loopholes all round with finger on trigger, ready to sacrifice at a moment's notice anything with life that should appear. indeed they found it difficult, in their excited condition, to refrain from blazing at nothing! their friendly foe meanwhile had retired, highly delighted with his success. he had not done with them however. by no means! the spirit of mischief was still strong upon him, and he crept into the bushes to meditate. "it wass an evil speerut, shames," gasped donald bane, when he had nearly got rid of the egg. "did you smell his preath?" "no, tonald, it wass not. spirits are not corporeal, and cannot handle eggs, much less cram them down a man's throat. it wass the egg you did smell." "that may be so, shames, but it could not be a redskin, for he would be more likely to cram a scalpin' knife into my heart than an egg into my mouth." "iss it not dreamin' ye wass, an' tryin' to eat some more in your sleep? you wass always fond of overeatin' yourself--whativer--tonald." before this question could be answered, another yell of the most appalling and complex nature rang out upon the night-air, struck them dumb, and seemed to crumple up their very hearts. salamander had been born with a natural gift for shrieking, and being of a sprightly disposition, had cultivated the gift in boyhood. afterwards, being also a good mimic, he had made the subject a special study, with a view to attract geese and other game towards him. that he sometimes prostituted the talent was due to the touch of genius, to which i have already referred. when the crumpled-up organs began to recover, bane said to dougall, "shames, this iss a bad business." dougall, having been caught twice that evening, was on his guard. he would not absolutely agree with his friend, but admitted that he was not far wrong. again the yell burst forth with intensified volume and complicated variation. salamander was young; he did not yet know that it is possible to over-act. "shames!" whispered bane, "i hev got a notion in my hid." "i hope it's a coot w'an, tonald, for the notions that usually git into it might stop there with advantage. they are not much to boast of." "you shall see. just you keep talkin' out now an' then as if i wass beside you, an' don't, whativer ye do, fire into the bushes." "ferry coot," answered dougall. another moment, and donald bane glided over the parapet of their fort at the side nearest the lake; and, creeping serpent-fashion for a considerable distance round, gained the bushes, where he waited for a repetition of the cry. he had not long to wait. with that boldness, not to say presumption, which is the child of success, salamander now began to make too many drafts on genius, and invented a series of howls so preposterously improbable that it was impossible for even the most credulous to believe them the natural cries of man, beast, demon, or monster. following up the sound, donald bane soon came to a little hollow where, in the dim light, he perceived salamander's visage peering over a ridge in the direction of the fortress, his eyes glittering with glee and his mouth wide-open in the act of giving vent to the hideous cries. the highlander had lived long in the wilderness, and was an adept in its ways. with the noiseless motion of a redskin he wormed his way through the underwood until close alongside of the nocturnal visitor, and then suddenly stopped a howl of more than demoniac ferocity by clapping a hand on salamander's mouth. with a convulsive wriggle the youth freed his mouth, and uttered a shriek of genuine alarm, but bane's strong arm pinned him to the earth. "ye dirty loon," growled the man in great wrath, "wass you thinkin' to get the better of a heelandman? come along with ye. i'll give you a lesson that you'll not forget--whatever." despite his struggles, bane held salamander fast until he ceased to resist, when he grasped him by the collar, and led him towards the little fort. at first, salamander had been on the point of confessing the practical joke, but the darkness of the night induced him to hope for another escape from his position. he had not yet uttered a word; and, as he could not distinguish the features of the highlander, it was possible, he thought, that the latter might have failed to recognise him. if he could give him the slip, he might afterwards deny having had anything to do with the affair. but it was not easy to give the slip to a man whose knuckly hand held him like a vice. "shames," said bane as he came near the fortress, "i've cot the peast! come oot, man, an' fetch a stick wi' you. i'll ha'd 'im while you lay on." salamander, who understood well enough what he might expect, no sooner heard dougall clambering over the barricade than he gathered himself up for a tremendous wriggle, but received such a fearful squeeze on the neck from the vice-like hand of his captor that he was nearly choked. at the moment a new idea flashed into his fertile brain. his head dropped suddenly to one side; his whole frame became limp, and he fell, as it were, in a heap on the ground, almost bringing the highlander on the top of him. "oh! the miserable cratur," exclaimed bane, relaxing his grasp with a feeling of self-reproach, for he had a strong suspicion that his captive really was salamander. "i do believe i've killed him. wow! shames, man, lend a hand to carry him to the fire, and plow up a bit flame that we may see what we've gotten." "iss he tead, tonald?" asked dougall, in a pitiful tone, as he came forward. "no, shames, he's no tead yet. take up his feet, man, an' i'll tak' his shouthers." dougall went to salamander's feet, turned his back to them, and stooped to take them up as a man takes a wheelbarrow. he instantly received a kick, or rather a drive, from salamander's soles that sent him sprawling on his hands and knees. donald bane, stooping to grasp the shoulder, received a buffet on the cheek, which, being unexpected, sent him staggering to the left, while the sly youth, springing to his feet bounded into the bushes on the right with a deep-toned roar ending in a laugh that threw all his previous efforts quite into the shade. the highlanders rose, but made no attempt to pursue. "my friend," said bane, softly, "if that wass not an evil speerut, i will be fery much surprised." "no, tonald, it wass _not_ a speerut," replied the other, as they returned to their fortress. "speeruts will not be kickin' an' slappin' like that; they are not corporeal." while these scenes were enacting on the margin of lake wichikagan, lumley and mozwa arrived at the enemy's camp. it was a war-camp. all the women and children had been sent away, none but armed and painted braves remained. they were holding a palaver at the time. the spot was the top of an open eminence which was so clear of underwood that the approach of a foe without being seen was an impossibility. although the night was rather dark, lumley and his guide had been observed the instant they came within the range of vision. no stir, however, took place in the camp, for it was instantly perceived that the strangers were alone. with the grave solemnity of redskin warriors, they silently awaited their coming. a small fire burned in their midst, for they made no attempt at concealment. they were prepared to fight at a moment's notice. the red flames gleamed on their dusky faces, and glittered in their glancing eyes, as lumley and mozwa strode boldly into the circle, and stood before the chief. intense surprise filled the hearts of the warriors at this unexpected apparition of a white man, but not an eye or muscle betrayed the smallest symptom of the feeling. "the pale-face is welcome," said the chief, after a short pause. "the pale-face is glad to meet with his dark-skinned brother, and thanks him," returned lumley. if the surprise at the sudden appearance of the pale-face was great, the astonishment to find that he spoke the indian tongue was greater; but still the feeling was not betrayed. after a few short complimentary speeches, our hero came at once to the point. "my brothers," he said, looking round on the dusky warriors, who remained sitting all the time, "the white chief of the fur-traders has sent me into this country to trade with you." this statement was received with a "waugh" of satisfaction from several of the warriors. "and," continued lumley, "i have brought men--strong men, who can work well--to help me to build a house, so that we may live among you and hunt together." he paused here to let the statement have its full effect. then he continued:-- "i have also brought plenty of guns, and powder, and lead." again he paused, and an emphatic "waugh" proved that the remark was fully appreciated. "the white man knows," continued lumley, in a more flowing style, "that his red brothers have need of many things which they do not possess, while the white man is in need of furs, and does not possess them. it is for the good of each that we should exchange. the great spirit, who is all-wise, as well as all-good, has seen fit to scatter his children over a wide world, and he has given some of them too much of one thing, some of them too much of another. why has he done so? may we not think that it is for the purpose of causing his children to move about the world, and mingle, and help each other, and so increase love? some of the bad children prefer to move about and steal. but there is no need. it is easier to do good than to do evil. if all men would help and none would steal, there would be more than enough for all." again a pause. some of the savages, who were thoughtful men, were greatly tickled in their minds by the arguments set forth. others, who could not understand, were deeply impressed. "now," continued lumley, coming to the marrow of his discourse, "the red-men have more than enough of furs." "waugh!" in a tone of emphasis, that implied "that's true." "and the pale-faces have few furs, but want some very much." "waugh?" interrogatively, in a tone that implied "what then?" "well, but the pale-faces are not poor. they are rich, and have far too much of many things. they have far too much of those pleasant sweet things called sugar and molasses (the indians involuntarily licked their lips). too much cloth as bright as the sun at setting, and as blue as the sky at noon (the indian eyes glistened). too many guns, and too much powder and shot (the savage eyes glared). they have more beads, and blankets, and hatchets, and tobacco, than they know what to do with, so they have sent some of these things here to be given to you in exchange for furs, and food, and leather." the waughs! and hows! and hos! with which these remarks were followed up were so hearty, that lumley thought it best to make a considerable pause at this point; then he resumed:-- "but, my brothers,"--he stopped for a considerable time, and looked so grave, that the hearts of the red-men sank, lest the glorious vision which had been suddenly revealed to them, should be as suddenly withdrawn in some way. "but," repeated lumley, again, with a sort of awful emphasis, "the pale-faces detest war. they can fight--yes, and when they _must_ fight, they _will_ fight, but they do not love fighting, and if they are to stay here and open up trade with their guns, and their powder, and their blankets, and beads, and cloth (he wisely went all over it again for the sake of effect), there must be peace in the land. if there is war the pale-faces will take all their good things and go away--waugh!" finishing off in the true red-man style, lumley sat down with decision, as though to say, "now, the ball is at your own feet, kick it which way you please." then the chief of the savages rose with dignity, but with a tinge of eagerness which he could not altogether conceal, and said:-- "let not my white brother talk of going away. war shall cease at his bidding. let him and his pale-faced warriors fell trees, and build wigwams, and hunt. we have plenty furs--the black fox, the red fox, the beaver, the marten, the minks, the bear, and many other animals are plentiful. we will exchange them for the goods of the white man. we will bury the hatchet, and smoke the calumet of peace, and the sound of the war-whoop shall no more be heard in the land--waugh!" "are my brothers ready to go to the camp of big otter, and make friends at once?" asked lumley. this was a testing question, and for some time remained unanswered, while the chiefs and braves looked preposterously solemn. at last, however, they seemed to make up their minds, and the chief replied, "we are ready." that night the hostile savages met on the shores of lake wichikagan, and encamped with the fur-traders. fires were lighted, and kettles put on, a royal feast was prepared; and the reunited tribes of red-men finally buried the war-hatchet there, and smoked the pipe of peace. chapter eleven. lumley on duty--fort wichikagan begins to grow. the bold and prompt manner in which peace was established among the contending savages of lake wichikagan did more to raise my friend jack lumley in their estimation than if he had fought a hundred successful battles, and subdued a nation of foes. it seemed to be felt on all hands that he was a man who could be trusted, and his pointed reference to the great spirit conveyed an impression that truth and justice must be his guiding principles. and on this point these children of nature read his character correctly, for, as i have had frequent occasion to observe, my friend was strictly truthful, and, i might almost say, sternly just. duty indeed was his pole-star--duty to god and man. "max," he once said to me when we had got into a confidential chat beside our camp-fire, "let me advise you to take a sound view, and a good grasp, of what men call duty. there is a right and a wrong in everything that the mind or hand of man can be brought to bear upon. it is our duty to discover and do the right if we can--to recognise and avoid the wrong. true success in life depends upon this principle being acted on at all times, and in all things. even what worldly men deem success--the acquisition of wealth, fame, etcetera--is largely dependent on strict regard to duty." of course i heartily agreed with him in this matter, but i am free to confess that i feel woefully far short of the standard to which he attained. perhaps a soft and somewhat undecided nature had something to do with my failure. i say not this by way of excuse but explanation. whatever the cause, i felt so very far below my friend that i looked up to him as a sort of demigod. strange to say, his affection for me was also very strong. he never seemed to perceive my weak points--but, then, he was of a large-hearted, generous disposition, and he came to be loved not only by me and the indians, but by the men of the expedition, some of whom, although good workers, were rather turbulent fellows. all things having been satisfactorily arranged, as detailed in the last chapter, we now set about preparation for wintering. the first point to settle was the site for our establishment, and a council of the whole party was called to settle it on the lawn-like spot on the margin of our lake where the first fire had been kindled. "no spot could be better, i think," said our chief, as we stood in a picturesque group around him, with masqua, mozwa, and several other indians looking on. "the little rising ground and clump of wood at the back will shelter us from the north winds; the underwood on the east and west is sufficiently high to form a slight protection in those directions, and to the south the island-studded bosom of lake wichikagan lies spread out before us, to supply us with fish and water, and a cheering prospect." "and to remind donald bane and james dougall," said i, "of loch lomond or loch ness." "i rather think," said lumley, "that it strikes dougall as having more resemblance to loch awe, if we may judge from the awesome expression of his face." "weel, muster lumley," returned dougall with a slight smile, "not to spoil your choke, sir, it wass thinkin' o' the fush i wass, an' wonderin' if they wass goot fush." "big otter says they are good," returned our chief, "and i think we may rely on his opinion. there's a little stretch of rock over there, jutting out from the shore, which could be made into a capital pier for our boats and canoes without much labour. what say you, henri coppet; could not a few trees and some planks be easily fitted to these rocks?" "oui, monsieur--yes, sir--very easily," answered the carpenter, in french. "ay, an' wan or two big stones on the other pint o' rocks there," observed donald bane, "would make a goot breakwater, an' a fine harbour, whatever." "and i'm sure nothing could be finer than the view," said i, with feelings of enthusiasm. "well, then, since we all seem agreed on that point--here shall our house be raised," rejoined lumley, driving the point of a stick he carried into the ground. "come now, boys, go to work. max, you will superintend the placing of the goods in a secure position and cover them with tarpaulin in the meantime. we'll soon have a hut ready. dumont, set up your forge under yon pine-tree and get your tools ready. overhaul your nets, blondin, and take salamander to help you--especially the seine-net; i'll try a sweep this afternoon or to-morrow. come here, max, i want to speak with you." "now, max," he said, when we had gone aside some distance, "see that you arrange the goods so that they may be easily guarded, and don't let the redskins come too near. they may be honest enough, but we won't throw temptation in their way. we shall want one of them, by the bye, to keep house for us. what say you to hiring waboose?" "out of the question," said i, quickly. "why so, max?" "why, because--don't you see--she's far above that sort o' thing, she's quite a kind of princess in the tribe. haven't you noticed how respectful they all are to her? and, besides, she is so--what one might almost call ladylike. i am convinced that her father must have been a gentleman." "perhaps so," returned lumley, with a quiet laugh; "well, we won't insult her by asking her to fill such a position. away to work now. i will sketch out the plan of our establishment. when the goods are all safe, send your men to fell heavy timber for the houses, and let them also cut some firewood. off you go." in a few minutes we were all at work, busy as bees--carrying, hauling, cutting, hammering and chopping; while some of the indians looked on, intensely interested, others assisted under the direction of big otter, and the woods resounded with the noise of the new-born activity. soon blondin had a net down, and before evening we had caught enough of that splendid staple of the north american lakes, the whitefish, to supply us with a good meal and leave something over for our red friends. i observed during these operations that, after planning, sketching, and measuring, our chief took his axe into the wood and felled a tall pine, from which he proceeded to remove the branches and bark. towards evening he took a spade, and dug a deep hole in the ground on the most prominent part of the lawn, in front of what was to be our future home. "come now, four of you," he said, "and help me to set up our flag-staff." i ran with three others to assist, and in another minute or two the end of the tall taper stick was dropped into the hole and fixed there. a hole had been already bored in the top and a rope rove through it, to which lumley soon attached the corners of a small red bundle. "ho! lads," he shouted, when all was ready, in a voice that rang out full and strong, "fall in!" we had previously been trained to obey this order with the utmost alacrity, by running towards our leader, carrying our loaded guns with us, and forming into line, so as to be ready for any emergency. it was a fancy of lumley to drill us thus, and we fell in with his humour, most of us counting it a piece of fun, to break off from what we chanced to be doing at the moment the order was given, and trying who should be first to reach the spot where he stood. as our guns were always loaded and primed, we never had to lose time in charging them. on the occasion of which i write, we amazed and somewhat alarmed the indians by our prompt action, for we stood together in a silent row in less than half a minute after the summons was shouted. "i have called you up, lads," said lumley, "to take part in a little ceremony. through the goodness of the almighty we have been brought in safety and health to our new home. it is already part of the queen of england's dominions, and i now take possession of it in the name of the hudson's bay company. may god prosper and bless us while we stay here!" he hoisted, as he spoke, the small red bundle, which when shaken out proved to be a flag on which were the letters hbc in white. "now, boys, send a volley at the new moon up there. ready--present-- fire! hoorah!" the crash of the united volley and the wild huzza which followed caused many a redskin's heart to leap, and would doubtless have caused many a foot to run, but for the fact that their own redskin brother--big otter--was one of the firing party, and, perhaps, the wildest cheerer of the band! the ceremony ended, orders were given to knock off work for the day, and set about the preparation oh supper. the food was sweet that night, sweeter than usual, for we were very hungry; the stars were bright that night, brighter than usual, for we were very happy at the auspicious commencement of our sojourn; and our sleep was unusually sound, for we felt safer than ever under the guidance of a chief who had proved himself so capable of turning threatened war into peace. this being the condition of things, it was not surprising that we indulged in a longer rest than usual, and continued to slumber long after the sun had risen and converted lake wichikagan into a glorious sheet of silver. it is true that our guide, with that sense of responsibility which seems to weigh heavy on guides even when asleep, had awakened at the usual hour of starting--daybreak--and, from the mere force of habit, had given forth his accustomed and sonorous "leve! leve!"--rise, rise. from the mere force of habit, too, we all turned round to have a few seconds repose on our other sides before obeying the order, but suddenly light flashed into our minds, and various growls in varied keys saluted our guide. "go to sleep, men," said our chief, with a half laugh, which ended in a sigh of contentment. french growls of doubtful meaning issued from the lips of dumont and coppet, but blondin condescended on no remark at all, unless "pooh!" may be considered such. "hoots! man--heigh-ho!" remonstrated donald bane, while his comrade dougall merely said, "wow!" and followed it with a prolonged snore. for myself, i felt inclined to laugh, but, being much too lazy to do so, turned over, and was instantly lost again in oblivion. the whole camp was immediately in the same condition, and thus, as i have said, we remained till the sun was high. soon after daybreak, however, the indians began to stir in their camp-- which lay a little apart from ours--and, ascending a slight eminence, whence they could look down on our slumbering forms at their leisure, squatted there and continued to gaze--perhaps to wonder how long we meant to rest. they were soon joined by others--men, women, and children--from the neighbouring camp. self-restraint, at least in some matters, is a characteristic of the red-men, and they remained very patiently and silently there; even the children spoke in whispers, and gazed in solemn earnestness at our slumbering camp. when we rose and began active preparations for breakfast, the little ones melted away--influenced either by fear or by the orders of their parents. they returned, however, in greater force than ever when we began the labours of the day. being all more or less naked, they resembled a band of brown monkeys without tails, whose great eyes were capable of expressing only one powerful sentiment--that of surprise! thus, watched with deep interest by a large portion of the tribe, we proceeded to the erection of the first house. "the hall will stand here, max," said lumley to me, as i approached him, bearing one end of a long squared log on my shoulder, the other end of which was carried by big otter, while bane and one of the canadians supported the centre of it. "set it down there, lads--a little more this way--so." we laid the timber on the green sward facing the lake, in such a way that it corresponded with the front line of a large square which had been traced on the turf by lumley. "stay with me, max, i want your help and advice." the men went back to the bush, from which, at the same moment, four others of our party issued, bearing a similar log. it was laid at the other side of the square, parallel to the first one. in a few minutes the two end logs were carried up and deposited in their places. these logs had all been cut, squared, mortised at their ends, and fitted together in the woods before being brought to the lawn. "now, the question is," said lumley, as he stood with coat off, shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and pencil and plan in hand, "shall we turn the front of the house a little more to the south or a little more to the east? we must decide that now, before fixing the framework together." "we should get more of the rising sun," said i, "if we turned it more towards the east. and you know we shall not have too much of its beams in winter to gladden our hearts and eyes." "right, max, but then we might have too much of the east winds to trouble our toes and noses." "still the view eastward," said i, "is so extensive and varied--so full of sublimity." "while that to the southward," urged lumley, "is so soft and beautiful-- so full of poetry and romance." "come, jack, don't laugh at me. you know that i am not jesting; i mean what i say." "i know it, max, but though i may seem to be half jesting, is it not possible that i, too, may thoroughly mean what i say?" he pointed as he spoke to the southward, where certain combinations of light and shade thrown on the numerous islets as well as on the clouds-- all of which were reflected in the clear water--presented a scene which it is easier to imagine than describe. i at once admitted the justice of his remark, and it was finally settled that the house should face due south. "fix the frame together now, coppet," said lumley to our carpenter, who came forward with a load of small timbers, "and let it face as it now lies. the ground is fortunately so flat that we won't require much levelling of foundations. now, the next thing, max," he added, turning to me and consulting the plan, "is this--have we made the best possible arrangement of our space? you see i am not much of an architect, but luckily we have not to contend with the civilised difficulties of lobbies and staircases." "you intend our palace to have only one storey, i suppose?" said i. "just so, max. arctic gales, you see, might carry a top storey off. we shall have no lobby at all--only a front door and a back door entering direct upon our hall. of course i shall have a porch and door outside of each, to keep wind and snow out. now, see here. there, you observe, is the foundation frame now being laid down. well, one-third of the space in the middle is to be the hall--our drawing-room, dining-room, library, snuggery, smokery, public-room, etcetera, all in one. it will extend from front to rear of the building; but at the back, you see, i have marked a little oblong space which is to be boarded off as a sort of larder, and gun-room, and place for rubbish in general. it will extend along the width of the hall, leaving only space for the back door." "what a capital contrivance!" said i; "it will, besides being so useful, break in on the oblong shape of the hall and give variety of form." "just so, max; then the space left on each side of the hall shall be partitioned off into four rooms--two on either side--with the doors opening into the hall. no passages, you see, anywhere, and no wasted space. one room for me, one for you, one for salamander, who is to be our man-servant as well as interpreter, and one for blondin, whom i intend to make a sort of overseer of the men. we shan't want a spare room, for we won't be troubled much, i fear, with guests; but if such a blessing should ever descend on us, we can turn blondin or salamander out. they will have to mess with the men at any rate; and, by the way, we must start the men's house and the store immediately, for i intend to carry on all three at the same time, so that we and the men and the goods may all get housed together." "are you to have attics?" i asked. "no; but there will be a space under the sloping roof, which can be turned into a garret, and may be reached through a trap-door by a movable ladder. as to windows, the hall is to have two--one on each side of the door, which will give the house the lively aspect of appearing to have two eyes and a nose. the bedrooms will each have one window in its side, and you may take the one looking eastward if you choose, max. in winter these windows shall have double frames and glass to keep the cold out. go now, my boy, and see to the foundation of the men's house." need i say that we all toiled with hearty good-will; for, although the weather was pleasantly warm at the time, we knew that the short-lived autumn would quickly pass and render a good roof over our heads most desirable. soon a pit-saw which we had brought with us was set to work, and planks began to multiply. henri coppet and his men swung their great axes, and trees began to fall around, and to take unwonted shapes. the ring of marcelle dumont's anvil was heard from morn till eve, echoing through the wild-woods; and powerful bands, and nuts, and screws, of varied size and form, were evolved from our bundle of iron bars. thus the whole party wrought with untiring energy, and our future abode began to grow. at all this our red friends gazed with countenances expressive of inconceivable surprise and profound admiration. chapter twelve. a narrow escape--a strange meeting, and a half-revealed mystery. one afternoon, not very long after our arrival at lake wichikagan, lumley and i found ourselves on the summit of a rising ground which was scantily clothed with trees, and from the top of which we could see the region all round like a map spread at our feet. we were out after a black bear whose footprints had led us to the spot. "bruin has escaped us this time," said lumley, "and i don't feel disposed to go after him any further. you see, max, i must be up early to-morrow to superintend coppet at his water-mill, so i would advise resting here a bit to refresh ourselves at this spring, and then make tracks for home." he descended as he spoke towards a small basin in the rocks, into which fell a rivulet formed by the spring referred to, and flung himself down beside it. seating myself at his side i said:-- "coppet needs superintendence, i suspect, for although he is an excellent carpenter and reliable workman, i'm not sure that he understands complicated or large works--except, indeed, the building of houses; but then he has been taught that since he was a boy." "that's just it, max," returned lumley, filling the hollow of his hand with clear water for want of a better drinking-cup, "he can do anything which he has been taught, but i find that he cannot originate, and suspect that he has not a very deep knowledge of the strength of materials or the power of forces. the worst of it is that neither you nor i are very profound in such matters. however, we must do our best and make everything ten times stronger than there is any occasion for, and thus make up for the lack of engineering knowledge." "shall you want my help to-morrow earlier than usual?" i asked. "no--not till after breakfast." "well then, as there is no necessity for my going to bed before my ordinary time, i'll let you return alone, for i don't feel at all disposed to give up this bear after tracking him so many hours. he's only a small one, to judge from his footprints, and i am a pretty sure shot, you know." "be it so, max--but don't be late, else i'll have to send men to look for you!" lumley got up and left me--making a straight line for fort wichikagan, as we had named our outpost, and leaving me in a dreamy state of mind beside the spring. it was a delightful afternoon in that most charming period of the american season which is styled the indian summer; when mosquitoes, sand-flies, and all other insect-tormentors disappear, and the weather seems to take a last enjoyable fortnight of sunny repose before breaking into winter. i fell into a pleasant reverie. the backwoods of the great nor'-west vanished from my mental view, and, with eyes half closed, i indulged in memories of home and all its sweet associations. bethinking me suddenly of my reason for remaining where i was, i sprang up, seized my gun, and began to follow the trail of the bear. before descending from the eminence, however, i took a look round the landscape, and saw the figure of an indian woman in the distance, proceeding towards our fort. although too far-off to be distinguished by feature, i could clearly perceive the light-blue cotton kerchief which formed part of the dress of waboose. at once my interest in the bear vanished, and i began to follow the indian girl instead. i had not seen her since the evening of our arrival at the lake, and i felt a strong desire to make further inquiries as to the circumstances of her father's life among the indians and his unfortunate death. waboose had not seen me. by making a wide and rapid detour i got in front of her and sat down on a fallen tree at a spot where she was sure to pass. as she drew near, i could not fail to observe how graceful her port was, and how different from that of the other girls with whom her lot had been cast. "assuredly," muttered i to myself, "her father was a gentleman!" leaving my gun on the bank on which i had been seated, i advanced to meet her. she showed a very slight symptom of surprise, and, i thought, of uneasiness, on seeing me, but made no remark until i had spoken. at first i was about to adopt the indian style of address, and begin with "my red sister," but the phrase, besides being false, appeared to me ridiculous; still, the ice had to be broken somehow, so i made a bungling plunge. "blue-eyes wanders far to-day from the wigwams of her--her--people?" a gleam of surprise mingled with pleasure rippled over her pretty face when she found that i could speak to her in the native tongue. "yes," she replied in the same language. "i have wandered far. i was the bearer of a message." as she volunteered no more i continued: "if waboose goes to her wigwam, will she object to the pale-face bearing her company?" with something like a graceful inclination of the head, the indian girl gave me to understand that she had no objection. "an _indian_!" thought i, "she's a _lady_ in disguise, as sure as i am a fur-trader!" of course i was careful not to give her, either by tone or look, the slightest hint of what was passing in my mind, and was about to continue my remarks, when a rustling in the bushes caused us both to look round quickly. the foliage parted next moment close to us, and before i had time to think a large brown bear bounded into the open space. it seemed to be taken as much by surprise as we were, and i have no doubt would have turned and fled if it had not been so near. it rose on its hind legs, however, to attack us, and then i perceived that it was not the small bear which lumley and i had been tracking. the blood rushed to my head when i remembered that the monster stood between me and the bank on which my gun was lying! then the feeling that the helpless indian girl was at its mercy filled me with feelings which are indescribable. thought is swifter than the lightning-flash. much more than i have written flashed through my brain during those two or three seconds, but one overmastering idea filled me--i would save _her_, or perish! i glanced sharply round. to my surprise she had fled! so much the better. i could at least keep the creature engaged till she had got well away. drawing the small hatchet which like all nor'westers i carried in my belt, i rushed at the bear and made a cut at its head with all the force that lay in my arm. where the blow fell i know not, but apparently it was ineffective, for, with a quick vicious turn of its paw, the bear struck my weapon from my hand with such violence that it flew over the tree-tops as if shot from a catapult, and i stood unarmed--helpless--at the creature's mercy! the terrible feeling that death was so near almost unnerved me, but the thought of waboose caused me to utter a roar of mingled rage and despair as i doubled my fist and launched it full against the monster's nose! at that moment a loud report at my ear deafened and almost stunned me. next instant the bear lay dead at my feet. i looked round and beheld waboose standing close to me with my gun in her hands! "noble heroine!" i exclaimed, but as i exclaimed it in english she did not understand. she had, indeed, a very slight smattering of that language--of which more hereafter--but "noble heroine" was not at that time in her vocabulary! instead of trembling or looking pale, as i might have expected to see her, waboose looked at me in the most composed manner, and with something on her lip that seemed to me like a smile of amusement. in some confusion, i thanked her for having saved my life. she did not object to the thanks, but replied by asking me if it was the usual practice of white men to attack bears with their fists. i could not help laughing at this. "no, waboose," i replied, as i recharged my gun, "it is by no means usual; but when a man has no other weapon at hand, he is compelled to use his fists. and let me tell you," i added, for i was somewhat nettled by the obvious laugh that nestled in the girl's blue eyes,--"let me tell you that we english are pretty good at using our fists." "i know that," she replied, becoming suddenly very grave as we walked on. "you know that?" i repeated in surprise; "how came you to know that?" "my dear father was english," she answered in a low sad tone that smote me to the heart for having felt nettled--though i believe i did not show the feeling on my face or in my tone. "ah! big otter told me that," said i, in an earnest tone of sympathy. "if it does not hurt her feelings too much to recall the past, i should like waboose to tell me about her father." the girl looked at me in surprise. i had a fancy, at the time, that this was the result of the novel sensation of a man having any consideration for her feelings, for indian braves are not, as a rule, much given to think about the feelings of their women. indeed, from the way in which many of them behave, it is probable that some red-men think their women have no feelings at all. in a low, melodious voice, and with some of that poetic imagery which marks the language, more or less, of all north american indians, the girl began to speak--raising her eyes wistfully the while to the sky, as if she were communing with her own thoughts rather than speaking to me. "my father was good--oh! _so_ good and kind," she said. "when i was small, like the foolish rabbit when it is a baby, he used to take me on his shoulders and run with me over the prairie like the wild mustang. sometimes he put me in his bark canoe and skimmed with me over lake wichikagan till i fancied i was a grey-goose or a swan. ah! those were happy days! no one can ever understand how much my father loved me. my mother loves me much, but she is not like my father. perhaps it is the nature of the pale-faces to love more deeply than the red-men." waboose uttered this last sentence as if she were questioning the sky on the point. i felt at the time that there was at least one pale-face who loved her better than all the red-men or women on earth, but a sense of justice caused me to repudiate the general idea. "no, waboose," said i, firmly, "that is a mistake. rough surroundings and a harsh life will indeed modify the heart's affections, but the mere colour of the skin has nothing to do with it. the heart of the redskin can love as deeply as that of the white man--both were made by the same great master of life." the girl cast her eyes meditatively on the ground and murmured simply, "it may be so." the reader must not suppose that i expressed my meaning in the indian tongue during this conversation as clearly as i have set it down in english. no doubt i mangled the sentences and confused the ideas sadly, nevertheless waboose seemed to have no difficulty in understanding me. i had certainly none in comprehending her. i was about to ask waboose to relate the circumstances of her father's death while in the act of rescuing her mother, but feeling that it might cause her needless pain, and that i could get the details as easily from some of the indians, i asked her instead where her father came from. she looked at me sadly as she replied-- "i cannot tell. my dear father had nothing to conceal from me but that. on all other things his heart was open. he spoke to me of all the wonders of this world, and of other places that my people know nothing of, and of the great master of life, and of his son jesus, who came to save us from evil, and of the countries where his white brothers live; but when i asked him where he came from, he used to pat my head and smile, and say that he would perhaps tell me one day, but not just then. i shall never know it now." "at all events you must know his name, waboose?" "his name was weeum," replied the girl quickly. "was that all?" "all," she replied with a quick look, "was not that enough?" "well, perhaps it was," i replied, scarce knowing what to say. "and why did he give you the name of waboose?" i asked. "because when i was small i was round and soft," replied the girl, with a slight smile, "like the little animal of that name. he told me that in his own language the animal is called rubbit." "rabbit, not rubbit," said i, with a laugh. "my father taught me rubbit," returned waboose, with a simple look, "and he was _always_ right." i felt that it would be useless to press my correction, and therefore changed the subject by asking if her father had never tried to teach her english. immediately she answered, with a somewhat bashful air-- "yes, a leetil." "why, you can _speak_ english, waboose," i exclaimed, stopping and looking down at her with increasing interest. "no--note mush, but me un'erstan' good--deal," she returned, with a hearty laugh at my expression. i found on trial, however, that the girl's knowledge of english was so slight that we could not readily converse in it. we therefore fell back on the indian tongue. "i wish i had known your father, waboose," i said earnestly. "he must have been a very good man." she looked at me gratefully. "yes," she returned, "he was _very_ good." as she said this waboose cast on me a look which i could not understand; it was so intense, as if she were trying to read my thoughts, and at the same time seemed mingled with doubt. then, with some hesitation, she said-- "my father left a secret with me. he told me never to show it to my tribe, as they could not understand it--not even to my mother." "what is the secret, waboose?" i asked, seeing that she hesitated again and looked at me with another of her searching glances. "i do not know," she replied. "it must indeed be a secret, if none of your people know it, and you don't know it yourself," i returned with a peculiar smile. "it is a written secret, i believe, but i--i--do not know. he told me never to show it to any but a white man--to one whom i felt that i could trust. may i trust _you_?" she asked, looking me full in the face. the question naturally surprised as well as flattered me. "you may trust me, waboose," i said earnestly, laying my hand involuntarily on my heart, "i would die rather than deceive or injure you." she seemed satisfied and resumed in a low tone-- "not long before my dear father died he took me into the woods to walk in a place that we were both fond of. we had long sweet talks in that wood; sometimes walking under the trees, sometimes sitting on the hill-tops, and always happy--very happy! one day he looked sad. he took my hand as we sat together on a bank. he said, `i have sometimes longed to open up all my heart to you, my rubbit,' (he was fond of calling me by the english name), `but i cannot do so yet.'" "`why not, my father?' i asked. "`because--because--' he answered, `it could do no good, and it might do harm. no, my rubbit, the time may come, but not now--not yet. listen; for your mother's sake i left the home of the pale-faces and came to live with your tribe. for her sake i shall remain. but you know that life is uncertain. we cannot tell when the great master of life may call us away. sometimes he calls us suddenly and we are forced to leave our works unfinished. i may be called away thus, before the time comes when i may tell you what i want you to know. if so, you will find it all here.' "my father took from the breast of his coat a small bundle wrapped in birch-bark and placed it in my hands. "`do not open it,' he said. `do not show it to man or woman in the tribe. they could not understand, but if ever a white man comes here, _whom you feel that you can trust_, show it to him.' "my father rose as he said this, and as he seemed to wish not to speak more about it, i did not trouble him, but i went and hid the parcel with care. it was almost immediately afterwards that my dear father was taken from me." we were suddenly interrupted at this point by the appearance of a man in the distance walking smartly towards us. i could perceive, as he drew near, that it was james dougall. "well, well, muster maxby," he said on coming up, "it's gled i am to find you. i've been seekin' you far an' near." "nothing wrong, i hope, dougall," said i with some anxiety, on observing that the man was perspiring and panting vehemently. "no, no, nothin' wrong, muster maxby, only it's runnin' aboot the wuds i've been, lookin' for ye an' skirlin' like a pair o' pipes. we're aboot to draw the seine-net, ye see, an' tonald pane said it would be a peety, says he, to begin when ye wur awa', an' muster lumley agreet wi' um, an' sent me oot to seek for 'ee--that's a'." "come along then, dougall, we won't keep them waiting." nodding adieu to waboose, i hurried away towards fort wichikagan, followed by the sturdy highlander. chapter thirteen. fishing and its results--engineering and its consequences. i found on reaching wichikagan that the fun was about to begin. blondin, who was our chief fisherman, had let down a long seine-net, which was being drawn slowly in by a band of natives, whose interest in a process which they had never before seen was deepening into excitement, as they observed here and there a symptom of something shooting below the surface of the still water, or beheld a large fish leap frantically into the air. at first, when the net was being prepared, those children of the forest had merely stood by and looked on with curiosity. when blondin and his men rowed out from the shore, letting the net drop off the stern of our boat as they went, they indulged in a few guesses and undertoned remarks. when the boat gradually swept round and turned shoreward again, having left a long line of floats in its wake, they perceived that a large sheet of water had been enclosed, and a feeling of wonder, combined with a half guess as to what all this portended caused their black orbs to enlarge, and the whites thereof to glisten. but when they were requested to lay hold of a rope attached to the other end of the net and haul, the true state of the case burst upon their awakened minds and proportionate excitement followed. as the circle of the net diminished and the evidences, above referred to, of life in the water became more frequent, gleeful expectation took the place of wonder, and a disposition to chatter manifested itself, especially among the women and children, who by that time had eagerly laid hold of the drag-rope. soon it became apparent that a mighty mass of fish had been enclosed, and the creatures seemed themselves to become suddenly alive to their danger, for the crowded condition of their element--which, no doubt, caused only surprise at first--became so inconvenient that with one accord they made a terrified rush to the right. failing to obtain relief they turned and rushed to the left. discomfited again, they dashed lakeward. each rush was followed by a howl of anxiety from the natives; each failure was hailed with a yell of joy. three birch-bark canoes followed the net to send the more obstreperous of the fish shoreward. finding that they could not escape, the finny prisoners seemed to lose their wits and took to rushing skyward, with splashing consequences that almost drove the red-men mad! "hold on! not so hard! you'll break it!" shouted lumley to the men and women at the rope. "what a tremendous haul!" said i, as i joined my friend, who stood at the outer end of our little wharf, enjoying the scene. "i hope the net won't break," he replied. "if it does we shall lose them all, and the disappointment to the indians might be almost too much to bear. see, they prepare for action!" this was very obvious. the men of the tribe, who might be described as glaring maniacs, had dropped their robes, and, almost naked, ran waist-deep into the water in a vain attempt to catch some of the larger fish as they were slowly forced towards the beach. even some of the women lost self-control and, regardless of petticoats, floundered after the men. as for the children, big and little, they developed into imps of darkness gone deranged. suddenly a very wave of fish was sent upon the shore, where, of course, they began to leap about wildly. not less wildly did the indians leap among them, throttling the big ones and hurling armfuls of the lesser ones high up on the sward. by that time the net was close in shore. the whole of the enclosed space became a sweltering mass. treading on the fish at last, many of both men and boys slipped in the water, and fell down over head and ears, so that the spectacle was presented of human beings bounding out of the water in apparent emulation of their prey. the excitement was almost too much for them. several of the boys were seen to rush up into the woods and dash back again, with no apparent reason except the desire to get rid of superabundant energy. one brave, in particular, so far forgot the characteristic dignity of the red-man, that he rushed up on the bank, bent forward, clapped a hand on each knee, threw back his head, shut his eyes, opened wide his mouth, and sought to relieve his feelings in one stupendous roar. but it would not do. he became suddenly solemn, glared again, and went at the fish more furiously than ever. our men in the canoes landed, and rendered assistance. salamander was in one of the canoes which ran alongside of the wharf. the only other occupant was donald bane, who sat in the stern and steered. salamander was greatly excited. as the canoe ran up to the wharf, the bow was thrust over the net-rope, and he gazed at the struggling creatures below with intense delight on his brown visage. "you had petter take care," said donald bane, as he grasped the edge of the wharf, and cautiously rose up, "for canoes are easily overturned." but salamander was too much engrossed to hear or reply. the highlander, who had not forgotten the trick formerly played on him and his countryman by the interpreter, stepped carefully out on the wharf. as he did so, he gave the canoe a little tilt with his foot, and salamander went head-foremost down among the fish! a simulated cry of consternation broke from donald bane. "wow--wow!" he exclaimed, as salamander's head appeared with a number of little fish struggling in his hair, and a pike or jack-fish holding on to the lobe of his left ear, "the poor cratur! tak a grup o' my hand, man. here! wow! but it seems a fery frundly jack-fush that--whatever." amid much spluttering, salamander was hauled out, and, regardless of his mishap, both he and donald immediately joined the others in securing their prey. "it wass a grand haul, man, tonald," said dougall that night at supper. "oo ay, shames. it was no that paad," replied donald. and, truly, it _was_ a grand haul; for, not only did we obtain enough of every species of fish that swarmed in lake wichikagan, to provide a right royal feast to ourselves and our red friends, but a good many were left over and above to form the commencement of a store for the future. by that time we had fairly commenced the fishery with a view to a winter supply. the weather was still delicious, and had begun to grow cool at nights, but as there was yet no frost, all the fish we took had to be hung up by the tail, and thus partially dried. afterwards, when the frost fairly set in, this hanging process was dispensed with, for fish, once frozen in those regions, remain perfectly fresh during the entire winter, so that those eaten in spring are quite as good as those consumed in autumn. lumley now set me to superintend the digging and constructing of an ice-house, which should be ready to receive in spring the ice that would be required to keep our provisions fresh during the following summer. it consisted merely of a shallow square pit or hole in the ground, over which a log hut was constructed. the pit we intended to floor with solid cubes of ice measuring about a yard on each side. this lowest foundation, in those northern ice-houses, never melts, but a fresh stratum is laid above it which is cleared out and renewed every spring, and it is amongst this that the meat or fish to be preserved is laid in summer. another piece of work that lumley gave me to superintend at this time was the construction of a water-wheel and dam to drive our pit-saw. you see, i had a turn for mechanics, and was under the impression that my powers in that way were greater than they afterwards turned out to be. we were sitting at tea alone in our hall at the time the subject was mooted. "where have you sent the carpenter?" i asked, as i pushed in my pannikin for more of the refreshing beverage. i must interrupt the thread of my narrative here for a moment to say that we took no crockery with us on that expedition. our cups were tin pannikins, our plates were made of tin; our pots and kettles were either tin or copper. we had no sugar basins, or butter-dishes, or table-cloths, or any of the other amenities of civilised life. but everything we had was strong and serviceable, and the same may be said of the things we constructed. the deal tables and chairs made for us by coppet were very strong if not elegant, and the plank walls and ceiling of our rooms were cheerful, though neither papered nor whitewashed. it has often struck me, while sojourning in the great nor'-west, that civilised man surrounds himself with a great many needless luxuries which do not by any means add to his comfort, though the removal of them might add considerably to his distress. but to return. "coppet is off," said lumley in reply to my question, "to get some timber for oars, as well as birch-bark to make a canoe or two; we must also set about making a new boat some day or other." "lumley," said i, "it has often occurred to me that it takes a terrible deal of time to cut trees into planks with our pit-saws, and occupies far too much of the time of two men who might be much more profitably employed." "true, max--what then?" "why then," said i, "what would you say if i were to construct a saw-mill!" "i'd say you were a clever fellow," replied my friend, with one of his knowing looks. "but what say you to my making the attempt?" "do so, by all means, my boy--only don't use up too many pit-saws in the attempt!" i saw that he did not believe in my powers, and became all the more determined to succeed. accordingly, i went next day with coppet and dumont, on whom of course i depended for the carrying out of my designs, to examine the ground where the mill-dam was to be made. "you see," i explained, "we have a superabundance of water in the rivulet at the back of the fort, and by collecting it we may get any amount of power we please, which is of importance, because it will enable us to simplify the machinery." "oui, oui, monsieur," said coppet, who either was, or wished to appear, very knowing on such matters. "now," continued i, "here is a natural basin formed by rocks, which only wants a small dam at its lower end to enable us to collect water enough to drive the biggest mill in the world. by making our opening at the very bottom of the basin, the pressure of water, when it is full, will be so great that a very small water-wheel, without any multiplying gear, will suffice to drive our saw--don't you see?" "oui, monsieur, oui," answered dumont, whose knitted brows showed that the worthy blacksmith was at least doing his best to understand me. "well, then," i continued, "you see that we shall have no difficulty as to the dam. then, as to the wheel, it will be a simple one of not more than four feet diameter, presented vertically to what i may term the water-spout, so that its axle, which will have a crank in it, will work the saw direct; thus, avoiding toothed wheels and cogs, we shall avoid friction, and, if need be, increase the speed easily, d'you see?" "bon, monsieur--good, good," exclaimed coppet, becoming quite enthusiastic in his appreciation of my plans. "of course," i continued, "the saw can easily be fitted to a frame, and a very simple contrivance can be made to drive along the larger frame that will carry the logs to be sawn; but these are trifling matters of detail which you and i will work out at our leisure, dumont." "oui, monsieur, oui," replied the blacksmith, with tighter knitted brows, and with a readiness of assent which i do believe the good fellow would have accorded if i had proposed to fit a new axis to the world. "there is only one thing that troubles me," said i: "how are we to gauge or estimate the force of our water-spout so as to regulate our mill when made? do you understand such matters--the measurement of force-- coppet?" the carpenter shook his head. "that's unfortunate. do you, dumont?" "non, monsieur." "h'm! i'm sadly ignorant on the point myself," i continued. "of course i know that so many cubic feet of water will exert a certain pressure, but then i don't know what that certain pressure is, nor how to find out how many cubic feet our somewhat irregular dam will contain. nor do i know precisely the strength of the material required in the dam to resist the water." dumont humbly suggested here that we could at all events act on the principle that guided adam and eve in the formation of their first water-mill, and find out by experiment. and coppet said that we could get over the difficulty about the strength of materials by making everything ten times stronger than was required. "you are right lads," said i, much amused with the earnest manner in which they gave the advice. "now let us go at it without delay, so that we may get into working order before the frost stops us." we set to with enthusiasm, and progressed with our labour much faster than i had expected. the natural basin, to which i have referred, lay just below a ledge of rock over which the rivulet flowed into it, forming a pretty deep pool about ten feet in diameter. flowing out of this pool, it ran about twelve feet further through a narrow gorge, where it dropped over another ledge. now, all that we had to do was to shut up the outlet of the narrow gorge with a strong dam, and so cause the pool to swell and rise into a small but very deep pond. our first step was to divert the channel of the brook so as to leave us free to construct the dam. the nature of the ground rendered this easy enough. then, before going further, we made the trough which was to conduct the water out of the dam. it was made of four strong planks about ten feet long and eight inches wide, forming, so to speak, a square pipe. this we laid firmly in the bottom of the basin with its end projecting over the lower ledge. to the inner end we attached a perpendicular piece of wooden piping which rose several feet from the ground. this was meant to prevent mud and stones from getting into, and choking, the pipe. this done, we laid some very large timbers over the pipe and across the opening of the gorge, above and between which we put heavy stones and large quantities of gravel--also turf and twigs, and all sorts of rubbish. thus was the dam begun, and we continued the process until we raised it to a height of some twenty feet or so. "what a magnificent pool it will be to dive in!" said lumley, one day, when he came to see us at work. "won't it," said i; "especially in winter!" "whatever happens to your works, the dam, i think, will never give way," continued lumley; "it seems to me unnecessarily strong." not to try the reader's patience, i may say at once that we advanced with our labour without a hitch until it was nearly finished. to the opening in the pipe or spout we attached a powerful sluice, by which to stop the flow desired, and, all being ready, broke down the dyke that had turned aside our stream, and let the water in. of course we had constructed an overflow part of the basin, by which to conduct the surplus water back to its proper channel below our works. it was a trying moment when we first let the water in. would it leak?-- would it break down?--was in everyone's mind. i had no fear as to the latter point, but felt uncertain as to the former. we had much longer to wait, however, for the filling than i had expected; but when at last it was full up to the brim, and the trees around were reflected on its surface, and no leak appeared anywhere, i could not resist giving a cheer, which was heartily taken up and echoed by our whole party--for we had all assembled to watch the result. "now, coppet, lend a hand at the winch. we'll open the sluice and observe the force." after a few turns our winch refused to move, and only a small part of the opening had been uncovered, from which the water was squirting furiously. "something wrong," said i, looking down at the men below. "just take a look, salamander, and see what it is." our lively interpreter went down on hands and knees and made an earnest examination, despite the squirting water. "oh! i sees. all right now," he shouted, "heave away!" "get out of the way, then," we cried, as we once more applied all our force to the winch. it turned with unexpected suddenness, the sluice flew up, and out came a straight column of water with extreme violence. it hit salamander full in the stomach, lifted him off his legs, and swept him right down the gully, pitching him headlong over another ledge, where he fell with such force that his mortal career had certainly been ended then and there but for a thick juniper bush, which fortunately broke his fall. as it was, he was little the worse of his adventure, but he had learned a lesson of prompt obedience to orders which he did not soon forget. i now planned a sort of movable buffer by which the force of the water-spout could be diminished or even turned aside altogether. it acted very well, and, under its protection, we set up the saw and started it. we were all assembled again, of course, at the first starting of the saw, along with a good many of our red friends, whose curiosity in our various proceedings knew no bounds. opening the sluice slowly, and fixing the buffer so as to turn at least three-quarters of the furious water-spout aside, i had the extreme satisfaction of seeing the saw begin to rip up a large log. it went on splendidly, though still with somewhat greater force than i desired. but, alas! my want of critical knowledge of engineering told heavily against us, for, all of a sudden, the sluice broke. the buffer still acted, however, and being needlessly strong, was, i thought, safe, but the hinges of the thing were far too weak. they gave way. the violent spout thus set free dashed against the wheel with its full force, turning it round with a whirr-r-r! that sent the saw up and down so fast as to render it almost invisible. we stood aghast! what fearful termination to the machine impended we could not guess. a moment later and the crank broke, entangled itself with the wheel and stopped it. as if maddened by this additional resistance, the water-spout then swept the whole concern away, after which, like a wild-horse set free, it took a leap of full thirty feet--a straight column of solid water--before it burst itself on the ground, and rushed wildly down to the lake! it was a humiliating termination-- and showed how terrible it is to create a power which one cannot control. i draw a veil over the story here. my feelings forbid me to write more! chapter fourteen. arrival of strange indians. about this time a band of strange indians came in with a large supply of valuable furs. they had heard, they said, of the establishment of the new post, and had gladly come to trade there, instead of making their customary long journey to muskrat house. the change to these indians was, in truth, of the utmost importance, for so distant were some of their hunting-grounds from macnab's establishment, that nearly all the ammunition obtained there--the procuring of which was one of the chief desires of their hearts--was expended in shooting for mere subsistence on the way back to their hunting-grounds. it will be easily understood, then, that they received us with open arms. by this time we were quite prepared for their visit. the two dwelling-houses for ourselves and the men were completed, so also was the store for our goods. there only remained unfinished one or two outhouses and our back kitchen, the latter a detached building, afterwards to be connected with the main dwelling by a passage. the store was an unusually strong log-house of one storey with a very solid door. it was attached to the side of our dwelling, with which it was connected by an inner door, so that we could, if necessary, enter it without having to go outside--a matter of some importance in case we should ever be forced to defend the fort. i had just returned, much dispirited, from a visit to the camp of our own indians, when this band of strangers arrived. remembering my last conversation with waboose, and being very curious to know what were the contents of the mysterious packet she had mentioned, i had gone to the camp to visit her, but, to my extreme regret, found that big otter and several of the indians had struck their tents and gone off on a long hunting expedition, taking their families with them-- waboose among the rest. on finding, however, that strange indians had arrived with a goodly supply of furs to trade, thoughts of all other matters were driven out of my mind, the depression of spirits fled, and a burst of enthusiasm supervened as the thought occurred to me that now, at last, the great object of our expedition was about to begin in earnest. i verily believe that the same spirit of enthusiasm, or satisfaction--call it what you will--animated more or less every man at the fort. indeed, i believe that it is always so in every condition of life; that men who lay claim to even the smallest amount of spirit or self-respect, experience a thrill of justifiable pride in performing their duty well, and earning the approval of their official superiors. my own thoughts, if defined, would probably have amounted to this-- "now then, here's a chance at last of driving a good trade, and we will soon show the governor and council of the fur-traders that they were well advised when they selected john lumley as the chief of this trading expedition into the remote wilderness!" "come, max," cried my friend, whom i met hastening to the store as i arrived, "you're just in time. here's a big band of redskins with splendid packs of furs. i fear, however, that what is our gain will to some extent be poor macnab's loss, for they say they used to take their furs to him in former years." "but, then," said i, "will not the company gain the furs which used to be damaged, and therefore lost, on the long voyage to muskrat? besides, the indians will now be enabled to devote the time thus saved to hunting and trapping, and that will also be clear gain." we reached the store as i said this, followed by a dozen indians with large packs on their shoulders. these were the chief men of the tribe, who were to be attended to first. the others, who had to await their turn with what patience they could command, followed behind in a body to gaze at least upon the outside of the store--that mysterious temple of unknown wealth of which all of them had heard, though many of them had never seen or entered one. putting a large key into the lock, lumley turned it with all due solemnity, for it was his plan among savages to make all acts of importance as impressive as possible in their eyes. and this act of visiting for the first time the stores--the palace of wealth--the abode of bliss--the red-man's haven of rest--was a very important act. it may not seem so to the reader, but it was so to the savage. the very smell of the place was to him delicious--and no wonder, for even to more cultivated nostrils there is an odour about the contents of a miscellaneous store--such as tea, molasses, grindstones, coffee, brown paper, woollen cloths, sugar, fish-hooks, raisins, scalping-knives, and soap--which is pleasantly suggestive. entering, then, with the dozen indians, this important place, of which i was the chief and only clerk, lumley salesman and trader, and salamander warehouseman, the door was shut. becoming instantly aware of a sudden diminution in the light, i looked at the windows and observed a flattened brown nose, a painted face and glaring eyes in the centre of nearly every pane! when i looked at this band of powerful, lithe, wiry, covetous savages, and thought of the hundreds of others whom they could summon by a single war-whoop to their side, and of the smallness of our own party, i could not help feeling that moral influence was a powerful factor in the affairs of man. no doubt they were restrained to some extent by the certain knowledge that, if they attacked and killed us, and appropriated our goods without the preliminary ceremony of barter, the white men would not only decline to send them goods in future, but would organise a force to hunt down and slay the murderers: nevertheless, savages are not much given to prudential reasoning when their cupidity or passions are roused, and i cannot help thinking that we owed our safety, under god, to the belief in the savage mind that men who put themselves so completely in their power, as we did, and who looked so unsuspicious of evil, _must_ somehow be invulnerable. be that as it may, we calmly acted as if there could be no question at all about our being their masters. lumley conveyed that impression, however, without the slightest assumption of dignity. he was all kindness, gentleness, and urbanity, yet treated them with that unassertive firmness which a father exercises--or ought to exercise-- towards a child. "now then, salamander," said lumley, when he was inside the counter, and the indians stood in a group on the other side, "tell the principal chief to open his pack." lumley, i may remark, made use of salamander as an interpreter, until he found that the dialect of those indians was not very different from that to which he had been accustomed. then he dispensed with his services, and took up the conversation himself, to the obvious astonishment as well as respect of the indians, who seemed to think the white chief had actually picked up a new language after listening to it for only half an hour! the principal chief opened his pack slowly and spread its contents on the counter with care. he did not hurry himself, being a very dignified man. there were beavers, martens, otters, silver-foxes, and many other valuable furs, for which large sums are given in the european markets. to obtain these, however, the company of traders had to expend very large sums in transporting goods into those northern wilds, and still larger sums would have to be paid to voyageurs, clerks, and employes generally, as well as risks run and time spent before these furs could be conveyed to market and turned into gold--hence our red chief had to content himself with moderate prices. these prices, moreover, he did not himself put on his furs. lumley did that for him, according to the tariff used by the fur-traders all over the country, every article being rated at a standard unit of value, styled a "made-beaver" in some parts of the country--a "castore" in other parts. on the counter was marked, with a piece of chalk, the value of each fur--a beaver was valued at so many castores, according to its quality, a fox at so many--and when the sum was added up, the total was made known by a number of goose-quills being presented to the chief, each quill representing a castore. the indians, being acquainted with this process, did not require to have it explained. profoundly did that chief gaze at his bundle of quills on receiving them from lumley after salamander had swept his furs into a corner. he was studying, as it were, the credit balance of his bank-account before investing. "now then, chief," asked lumley, with an urbane expression of countenance, "what shall i give you?" the chief gazed solemnly round the store with his piercing black eyes, while all the other piercing black eyes around gazed at him expectantly! at last his gaze became riveted on a particular spot. the surrounding black eyes turned to that spot intently, and the chief said: "_baskisigan_." "ah, i thought so--a gun?" said lumley; "hand one over, salamander." the interpreter went to a box which contained half a dozen of the common cheap articles which were supplied for the trade. long, single-barrelled affairs they were, the barrels of blue metal, stocks extending to the muzzles and stained red, brass mountings of toy-like flimsiness, and flint-locks; the entire gun being worth something less than a pound sterling. these weapons were capable, nevertheless, of shooting pretty straight, though uncomfortably apt to burst. one having been handed to the chief he received it with a grasp of almost reverential affection, while lumley extracted from his funds the requisite number of quills in payment. "what next?" asked salamander, and again the solemn gaze went slowly round the store, on the shelves of which our goods were displayed most temptingly. black eyes riveted once more! what is it? "a green blanket." "just so. fetch a four-point one, max, he's a big man." i took up one of our largest-sized thick green blankets, handed it to the chief, and lumley abstracted a few more quills from the bundle. at this point the red-man seemed to get into the swing of the thing, for a white blanket of medium size, and another of very small dimensions, were demanded. these represented wife and infant. after this a tin kettle and a roll of tobacco were purchased. the chief paused here, however, to ponder and count his quills. "do you observe," said lumley to me, in a low voice, "what a well-balanced mind he has?" "i can't say that i do, lumley." "no? don't you see; first a gun--self-and-family-preservation being the first law of nature; then, after thus providing for war and hunting, comes repose, d'you see? a big blanket, which immediately suggests similar comfort to the squaw, a smaller blanket; then comes comfort to the baby, a miniature blanket; then, how naturally the squaw and the squawker conduct his mind to food--a tin kettle! after which he feels justified in refreshing himself with a slight luxury--tobacco! but you'll see that he will soon repress self, with indian stoicism, and return to essentials." lumley was right for he had barely ceased to speak, when the chief turned and demanded an axe; then fish-hooks; then twine for lines; then awls for boring holes in the bark with which he made his canoes; then powder and shot and pipes. after this, another fit of tenderness came over him, and he bought some bright scarlet and blue cloth--doubtless for the squaw or the baby--and some brilliantly coloured silk thread with needles and variegated beads to ornament the same. soon his quills dwindled away till at last they disappeared; yet his wants were not fully supplied--would the pale-face chief advance him some goods on credit? oh yes--he seemed a good and trustworthy brave--the pale-face chief had no objection to do that! accordingly i opened a ledger and inserted the man's name. it was almost welsh-like in difficulty of pronunciation, but, unlike a welshman, i spelt it as pronounced, and set down in order the additional goods he required. when lumley thought he had given him enough on credit, he firmly closed the account, gave the man a small gratuity of tobacco, powder and shot, etcetera, and bade another chief come forward. it was slow but interesting work, for, as the indians grew familiar with the place and our ways, those of them who were loquacious, or possessed of humour, began to chat and comment on the goods, and on the white man's doings in a way that was very diverting. after the chief men had traded their furs, the rank and file of the band came on, and, as is the case with all rank and file, there were some indifferent, and a few bad characters among them. it was now that i observed and admired the tact, combined with firmness, of lumley. he spoke to these indians with exactly the same respect and suavity that had characterised him when trading with the chiefs. when he saw any one become puzzled or undecided, he suggested or quietly advised. if a man's eye appeared to twinkle he cut a mild joke with him. if one became too familiar, or seemed disposed to be insolent he took no notice, but turned aside and busied himself in arranging the goods. at last, however, an incident occurred which called for different treatment. there was among the indians a long-legged, wiry fellow who had been named attick, or reindeer, because he was a celebrated runner. those who disliked him--and they were numerous--said he was good at running away from his foes. however that might be, he was undoubtedly dexterous in the use of his fingers--and it was through this propensity that we were first introduced to him. it happened thus: lumley, whose powers of observation often surprised me, had noticed that attick looked often and with longing eyes at a very small roll of tobacco which belonged to one of his comrades, and lay on the counter temptingly near at hand. slowly, and, as it were, inadvertently, he advanced his hand until it touched the tobacco, then, laying hold on it, when the owner was busy with something else, he carried it towards the bosom of his leather hunting-shirt. before it reached that place of concealment, however, lumley quickly, yet so quietly that the act was scarce perceived, seized the elbow of the chief and gave him a look. attick promptly put the tobacco down and looked at lumley with a scowl, but the pale-face chief was smilingly giving some advice to the man, with whom he was trading. he thought that the man would not attempt anything more of a similar kind, at least at that time, but he was mistaken. he under-estimated the force of covetousness and the power of temptation in a savage. soon afterwards he saw attick deftly pass a packet of bright beads, belonging to another comrade, from the counter to his breast, where he let it remain, grasped in his hand. immediately afterwards the owner of the beads missed them. he turned over his goods hastily, but could not find the packet and looked suspiciously at salamander, who had been standing near all the time, besides fingering the things occasionally. "a comrade has stolen it," said lumley, in a quiet voice and without looking at any one save the robbed man. this was received with scowls and strong marks of disapprobation. "not so! the interpreter, the pale-face, has stolen it," returned the indian fiercely. instead of replying, lumley vaulted lightly over the counter, stood before the astonished attick, thrust his hand into the bosom of that savage, and, by main force, dragged forth the thieving fist still closed over the missing packet. the indians were too much taken by surprise at the promptness of the act to speak--they could only glare. "my friends," said lumley, still maintaining, however, something of kindliness in his look of stern gravity, "the great master of life does not love thieving, and no thief will be permitted to enter this store." what more he would have said i know not for, swift as lightning, attick drew his knife and made a plunge at my friend's heart. expecting a scuffle, i had also leaped the counter. lumley caught the wrist of the savage; at the same time he exclaimed, "open the door, max." i obeyed, expecting to see the indian kicked out, but i was wrong, for my friend, with a sharp twist turned attick's back to his own breast, then, seizing him by both elbows, he lifted him off his feet as if he had been a mere infant, carried him forward a few paces, and set him gently down outside. then, stepping back, he shut the door. a roar of laughter from those without showed the light in which they viewed the incident, and the amused looks of some of those in the store told that at least they did not disapprove of the act. without paying any regard to these things, however, lumley returned to his place, and with his usual air of good humour continued to barter with the red-men. thus the work of trading went on for three days, and, during that time, there was much fraternising of what i may call our home--indians with the newcomers, and a great deal, i regret to say, of gambling. we found that this evil prevailed to a great extent among them, insomuch that one or two of them gambled away all that they possessed, and came to us with very penitent looks, asking for a small quantity of goods on credit to enable them to face the winter! i need scarcely say that our amiable chief complied with these requests, but only on the solemn promise that the goods so advanced should not be risked in gambling, and i have reason to believe that these men were faithful to their promises. this gambling was of the simplest kind, consisting of the method which is known by the name of "odd or even?" in the evenings the chiefs were encouraged to come into our hall and palaver. they availed themselves of the invitation to come, and sometimes palavered, but more frequently smoked, with owlish solemnity, squatting on the floor with their backs against the wall. nevertheless, on these occasions we gained a good deal of information, and lumley availed himself of the opportunities sometimes to lecture them on the sin of gambling. he always, i observed, laid much more stress on the idea that the great master of life was grieved with his children when they did evil, than that he visited the sin with disagreeable consequences. on one of these occasions an elderly chief surprised us by suddenly putting the question, "do the pale-faces trade fire-water?" every pipe was removed from every lip, and the glittering eyes of expectancy, coupled with the all but total cessation of breathing, told of the intense interest with which they awaited the answer. "no," replied lumley, "we sell none. we do not love fire-water." a deep but quiet sigh followed, and the pipes were resumed in silent resignation. and, i must add, i felt devoutly thankful that we did _not_ sell fire-water, when i looked at the strong features and powerful frames of the red-men around me. chapter fifteen. a catastrophe, a letter, and a surprise. autumn at length gradually drew to a close, and we began to make preparations for the long winter that lay before us. our saw-mill, having been repaired and improved, had worked so well that we had cut a considerable quantity of planks, as well for the boats which we intended to build as for the houses. it was fortunate that this had been accomplished before the occurrence of an event which put an effectual stop to that branch of our industries. it happened thus: one afternoon the fine weather which we had been enjoying so long gave place to boisterous winds and deluges of rain, confining us all to the fort and making us feel slightly miserable. "but we mustn't grumble, max," said lumley to me, as we looked out of our small windows. "we must take the evil with the good as it comes, and be thankful." "please, i wasn't grumbling," said i, sharply. "no? i thought you were." "no, i was not. it must have been internal grumbling by yourself that you heard," i retorted, sauntering back to the fire, which by that time we had begun to light daily. "i daresay you're right, max; it has often struck me as a curious fact that, when one is cross or grumpy, he is apt to think all the rest of the world is also cross or grumpy. by the way, that reminds me--though i don't see why it should remind me, seeing that the two things have no connection--that coppet came to me last night saying he had discovered a slight leak in the dam. we'd better look to it now, as the rain seems to have moderated a little." we went out forthwith, and found coppet already on the spot, gazing at a small rill of water which bubbled up from behind a mass of rock that jutted out from the cliff and formed a support for the beams of our dam. "something wrong there, coppet," said lumley, inspecting the place carefully. "oui, monsieur--it is true." "can you guess where it comes through?" i asked. "vraiment, monsieur, i know not, but surely the dam it is quite strong." "strong!--of course it is, unnecessarily strong," said i, looking up at its edge, over which the water, rendered muddy by the rains, flowed in a considerable volume. "what think you, lumley?" i asked my friend's opinion somewhat anxiously, because i observed that he seemed to examine the place with unusually grave looks. "max," he said at last, "your engineering is defective. it is true that the beams and stuffs of which the dam is composed could resist all the weight or force of water that can be brought to bear on them--even an untrained eye like mine can see that--but you had not observed that this mass of rock, against which the whole affair rests, has got a crack in it, so that it is partially, if not altogether, detached from the cliff. no doubt it is a large heavy mass, but the strain upon it must be very severe, and its stability depends on its foundations." "the foundations seem secure enough," said i, looking down. "true, but natural foundations are sometimes deceptive, and that bubbling spring may be quietly washing these away. we must use a little art here. go, coppet," he added, turning to the carpenter, "fetch all the men, and your tools, and as many heavy timbers as you can readily lay hands on. come, max, help me to lift this one." the decision of lumley's manner and the energetic way in which he threw off his coat and set to work, convinced me that he thought danger of some sort was impending. i therefore followed his example, and set to with a will. we fixed a heavy log in front of the suspected mass of rock, placing its end against the centre of the mass, and sinking the other end into the ground--having previously, however, sunk a strong crossbeam into the ground to bear the pressure of that end. "this of itself," said my chief, "will go far to avert evil, but we will adopt your tactics, max, and, by giving it superabundance of strength, make assurance doubly sure." in pursuance of this plan, he ordered the men to plant several ponderous logs in the same position as the first beam, over which other logs were thrown crosswise, and the whole was weighted with heavy stones. during our operations, which occupied us all till evening, the rain increased tenfold, and at last came down in absolute sheets, flooding our dam to such an extent that it overflowed nearly all round the brim in pretty solid cataracts of dirty water, which brought down branches and leaves and other debris from the higher parts of the stream. i was gratified to see, however, that our embankment showed no symptoms of weakness, and felt assured that the powerful structure we had just set up was more than sufficient to prevent any rupture in the rock itself. comforted by these thoughts, lumley and i returned to the hall in a burst of thunder, lightning, and rain--thoroughly saturated, and in a condition to do ample justice to the sea-biscuit, fried salt-pork, hung whitefish and tea, which salamander had prepared for supper. blondin, being a polite, intelligent fellow as well as our foreman, was privileged to take his meals with us, besides occupying one of our four rooms. in consequence of this we conversed chiefly in the patois french of the country, for the worthy man was not deeply learned in english. salamander messed with the men in their own house, after preparing and spreading our meals. "what say you to a game of chess?" said lumley to me, after the tea-things had been carried away by blondin. "by all means," i replied, going to a corner cupboard, in which we kept miscellaneous articles, and bringing out the chess-board. this board and its men, by the way, merit passing remark, for they were fashioned by our chief entirely, and very neatly, out of the pith of a bush, the name of which i forget; and, on the voyage, many an hour that might otherwise have been tedious we whiled away with this interesting game. i knew nothing of it when we began, but lumley taught me the moves, and i soon picked up enough of the game to enable me to fight a fairish battle before being beaten. at first lumley always won, and was wont to signalise his victory by the expression of a modest hope that the tables would be turned ere long. that hope--whether genuine or pretended--was not long of being gratified, for as my mind by degrees began to grasp the mysteries of chess, i succeeded in winning a game now and then. on this particular night, however, the tables were turned literally, and in a way that we little expected. blondin, being left to himself, had sought the companionship of his pipe, and was dozing over the fire, more than half asleep--at least not more awake than was consistent with the keeping of his pipe between his lips. ever and anon he was startled into a more wakeful condition by the tremendous blasts which frequently shook the house; but these did not disturb him much, for he had helped to build the house, and knew that it was strong. we were all indeed pretty well tired by our recent exertions, and rather sleepy, so that the game languished a little. salamander, having obtained permission to retire, was in bed in his own corner-room, entertaining us with a duet through the nose--if i may call that a duet in which both nostrils played the same air. "check!" said lumley, rousing himself a little, and placing a knight in such a position as to endanger my king. "mate!" i exclaimed ruefully. "hallo!" cried blondin, waking up at the familiar word. "no--not that sort of mate," said i, with a laugh, "but the--" i stopped abruptly, for at that moment we heard a sound that sent a thrill to our hearts. it was something between a rend and a crash. we looked at each other in consternation. "the dam's going," exclaimed lumley. another crash, that there was no misunderstanding, proved that it was gone. we ran towards the back door, but before reaching it, we had an additional proof that was even more convincing than the last. a rush of tumultuous water was heard outside. next moment the back door was burst inward, and a deluge of water met us. lumley, who was nearest the door, was swept off his legs, and came against me with such violence that i fell over him. blondin, who was furthest off, tried to stop us, but also went down, and all three were swept into the lower side of the hall amid a jumble of tables, chairs, billets of wood, stray garments, and chessmen. the fire had been put out; so had the candle, and we were thus in nearly pitch darkness, when we heard a yell from salamander. it was followed by a great splash, and we dimly perceived something like a half-naked ghost floundering towards us. it was salamander! "hold on!" shouted lumley. "dere's noting to hold on to, monsieur," cried the interpreter in desperation, as he tripped over something and rose again--gasping. the rush was over in half a minute, but the great weight of water that had entered held the front door, which opened inwards, so tight, that our hall was converted into a water-tank about three feet deep, while a huge mass of logs and debris outside blocked the opening of the back door. "stay, don't move till i get a light," cried lumley, wading to the corner cupboard, where, on an upper shelf, we kept our candles, with flint, steel, and tinder. while he was striking a light we all stood silent and shivering, but when a candle was with difficulty lighted, i burst into an irresistible fit of laughter for the scene we presented was ludicrous in the extreme. it was not our woe-begone looks which tickled me, so much as the helpless, drowned-rat-like aspect we had all assumed--all except our chief, whose tall, strong figure holding a candle over his dishevelled head looked like the spirit of destruction presiding over a scene of desolation. a rapping at the front door was the first thing that recalled us to the necessity for action. "is it drownded ye all are, muster lumley?" it was the voice of donald bane. "not quite," cried lumley, with a laugh and a shiver. "come in, donald." "ay, ay, sur, i would come in if i could, but the door won't open." "shove hard, donald." "i wull, sur. here, shames, lend a hand." we heard both the highlanders put their broad backs against the door and groan in gaelic as they heaved, but they might as well have tried to lift the house. they caused the door to crack, however. "wheesht! what's that shames?" "we've splut the toor, tonald." "never mind; heave again, boys," cried lumley. at that moment poor salamander, who was groping about with nothing but his shirt on, stumbled over something, and, in trying to recover himself, pitched head first against the door with considerable violence. this was a climax. the door, although it had withstood the pressure from without, could not resist this additional pressure within. it collapsed and burst outwards suddenly. the great mass of water went forth with the gushing hilarity of a prisoner set free, and, with something like a roar of triumph, carried salamander like a chip on its crest. he was launched into the bosom of the amazed james dougall, who incontinently went with the stream, laying hold of and carrying off donald bane as he passed. after a few turns over on the lawn, the three men regained their footing, and made their way back to the house, while the stream, subsiding almost immediately, left us in peace to make the best of what james dougall called a paad chob! what had actually occurred was this: the rock that held the main supports of our dam, being detached from the cliff as lumley had surmised, had been undermined by the unusual floods of the previous week. even in that condition it might have remained fast, so strong was our artificial buttress, but as the foundation wore away the rock heeled over to one side a little; this deranged the direct action of the buttresses, and in an instant they flew aside. the rock was hurled over, and the whole of our dam was dashed in dire confusion into the bed of the stream. it was this choking of the natural channel which sent the great flood over our lawn, and, as we have seen, created such a hubbub in the hall. of course all danger was now past. the roaring torrent soon forced its way into its own bed again, and all we had to do was to repair damages as well as we could, and make ourselves as comfortable for the night as circumstances would admit of. fortunately the next day was fine and warm, with brilliant sunshine. being sunday we let everything remain just as it was, for lumley and i were of the same mind in regard to the sabbath-day, and, from the commencement of our expedition, had as far as possible rested from all week-day labour on that day. both of us had been trained to do so from infancy. well do i remember my dear old father's last advice to me on this subject. "punch," said he, "wherever you go, my boy, `remember the sabbath-day to keep it holy.' you'll be tempted to do ordinary work, and to go in for ordinary amusement on that day, but don't do it, my boy--don't do it. depend upon it, a blessing always attends the respecter of the sabbath." "but, father," said i, venturing for the first time in my life to echo what i had often heard said, "is it true, as some people assert, that the sabbath is a jewish institution, and no longer binding on christians? pardon my venturing to repeat this objection--" "objection!" interrupted my father, "why, dear boy, there's nothing i like better than to hear fair, honest objections, because then i can meet them. how can the sabbath be a jewish institution when the commandment begins with `remember'? the day to be remembered was instituted at creation, given to man as a blessed day of rest from toil, and recognised as binding by our saviour, when he sanctioned works of necessity and mercy on that day." i never forgot my father's advice on this subject, and have experienced mental, physical, and spiritual benefit as the result. owing to our belief in the sabbath, then, we invariably, while travelling, remained in camp on that clay, and found that we not only did not lose, but actually had gained in speed at the end of each week-- comparing our rate of progress with that of those who did not rest on sundays. and i now recall to mind a certain bishop of the church of england who, while travelling in the great nor'-west between two well-known stations, made the fastest journey on record, although he regularly remained in camp on the sabbath-day. on that day, also, after our arrival at lake wichikagan, and all through the winter, lumley made a regular practice of assembling the men and reading a sermon from a book which he had brought for the purpose. and he did not neglect instruction of another kind, to which i shall refer as well as to our winter amusements, in the proper place. during all this time our larder had been well supplied by blondin with fresh fish from the lake, and by the indians with haunches of reindeer and moose, or elk, venison. they also brought us beaver-meat, the tails of which were considered the best portions. bear's-meat was offered us, but we did not relish it much, possibly from prejudice; but we would have been glad of it, doubtless, if reduced to short allowance. of course wild-fowl of all kinds were plentiful, and many of these were shot by lumley and myself, as well as by our men. some of the geese we had at first salted, but, the frost having come, we were by that time able to preserve fish and meat quite fresh for winter use--so that both net and gun were in constant occupation. one day, while lumley and i were sitting at dinner--which we usually took about noon--we were agreeably surprised by the appearance of a strange indian, and still more agreeably surprised by his entering the hall and holding out a packet to lumley. having delivered it, the man, who looked wayworn, strode to the fire, sat quietly down and began to smoke a pipe which i had handed to him ready charged. "why, what's this?" exclaimed lumley, unwrapping the covering of the packet, "not a letter, surely!--yes, i declare it is--and from macnab too. come, this _is_ an unlooked-for treat." i was quite excited--indeed we both were--for a letter in those regions was about as rare as snow in july. lumley opened it hastily and read as follows:-- "my dear lumley, you will be surprised to get a letter from me, and dated, too, from an unknown post. yes, my boy, like yourself, i have been transferred from my old home, to this region, which is not more than two hundred miles from your present residence. the governor sent me to establish it soon after you left. i have named it the _mountain house_, because there's a thing the shape and size of a sugar-loaf behind it. so, i'll hope to look you up during the winter. before going further let me give you a piece of news--i've got my sister out here to stay with me! just think of that!" at this point lumley laid down the letter and stared at me. "why, max, such a thing was never heard of before! if he had got a wife, now, i could have understood it, but a sister!" "well, whatever she is to him, she's a civilised white woman, and that's a sight worth seeing in those regions. i wonder what she's like?" said i. "like himself, of course. tall, raw-boned, square-shouldered, red-haired (you know he told us she was red-haired), square-jawed, roman-nosed--a macnab female could be nothing else." "come," said i, "don't be impolite to highland females, but go on with the letter." lumley obeyed, but the letter contained little more of interest. we cared not for that, however. we had now a subject capable of keeping us in speculative talk for a week--the mere fact that there was actually a civilised woman--a _lady_ perhaps--at all events a macnab--within two hundred miles of us! "no doubt she's a rugged specimen of the sex," said lumley, as we sat beside the fire that night, "no other kind of white female would venture to face this wilderness for the sake of a brother; but she _is_ a white woman, and she _is_ only two hundred miles off--unless our friend is joking--and she's macnab's sister--jessie, if i remember rightly-- "`stalwart young jessie, the flower of--'" "come, lumley, that will do--good-night!" chapter sixteen. the joys of camping out--important additions to the establishment-- serious matters and winter amusements. at last winter came upon us in earnest. it had been threatening for a considerable time. sharp frosts had occurred during the nights, and more than once we had on rising found thin ice forming on the lake, though the motion of the running water had as yet prevented our stream from freezing; but towards the end of october there came a day which completely changed the condition and appearance of things. every one knows the peculiar, i may say the exhilarating, sensations that are experienced when one looks out from one's window and beholds the landscape covered completely with the first snows of winter. well, those sensations were experienced on the occasion of which i write in somewhat peculiar circumstances. lumley and i were out hunting at the time: we had been successful; and, having wandered far from the fort, resolved to encamp in the woods, and return home early in the morning. "i do love to bivouac in the forest," i said, as we busied ourselves spreading brush-wood on the ground, preparing the kettle, plucking our game, and kindling the fire, "especially at this season of the year, when the sharp nights render the fire so agreeable." "yes," said lumley, "and the sharp appetites render food so delightful." "to say nothing," i added, "of the sharp wits that render intercourse so pleasant." "ah, and not to mention," retorted lumley, "the dull wits, stirred into unwonted activity, which tone down that intercourse with flashes of weakly humour. now then, max, clap on more wood. don't spare the firing--there's plenty of it, so--isn't it grand to see the thick smoke towering upwards straight and solid like a pillar!" "seldom that one experiences a calm so perfect," said i, glancing upward at the slowly-rising smoke. "don't you think it is the proverbial calm before the storm?" "don't know, max. i'm not weather-wise. can't say that i understand much about calms or storms, proverbial or otherwise, and don't much care." "that's not like your usual philosophical character, lumley," said i--"see, the column is still quite perpendicular--" "come, max," interrupted my friend, "don't get sentimental till after supper. go to work, and pluck that bird while i fill the kettle." "if anything can drive away sentiment," i replied, taking up one of the birds which we had shot that day, "the plucking and cleaning of this will do it." "on the contrary, man," returned lumley, taking up the tin kettle as he spoke, "true sentiment, if you had it, would induce you to moralise on that bird as you plucked it--on the romantic commencement of its career amid the reeds and sedges of the swamps in the great nor'-west; on the bold flights of its maturer years over the northern wilderness into those mysterious regions round the pole, which man, with all his vaunted power and wisdom, has failed to fathom, and on the sad--i may even say inglorious--termination of its course in a hunter's pot, to say nothing of a hunter's stom--" "lumley," said i, interrupting, "do try to hold your tongue, if you can, and go fill your kettle." with a laugh he swung off to a spring that bubbled at the foot of a rock hard by, and when he returned i had my bird plucked, singed, split open, and cleaned out. you must understand, reader, that we were not particular. we were wont to grasp the feathers in large handfuls, and such as would not come off easily we singed off. "you see, lumley," said i, when he came back, "i don't intend that this bird shall end his career in the pot. i'll roast him." "'tis well, most noble max, for i wouldn't let you pot him, even if you wished to. we have only one kettle, and that must be devoted to tea." it was not long before the supper was ready. while it was preparing lumley and i sat chatting by the fire, and gazing in a sort of dreamy delight at the glorious view of land and water which we could see through an opening among the trees in front of us; for, not only was there the rich colouring of autumn everywhere--the greens, yellows, browns, and reds of mosses, grasses, and variegated foliage--but there was a bright golden glow cast over all by the beams of the setting sun. ere long all this was forgotten as we lay under the starry sky in profound slumber. while we slept, the creator was preparing that wonderful and beautiful change to which i have referred. clouds gradually overspread the sky--i observed this when, in a half-sleeping state i rose to mend our fire, but thought nothing of it. i did not, however, observe what followed, for sleep had overpowered me again the instant i lay down. softly, silently, persistently, and in large flakes, the snow must have fallen during the entire night, for, when we awoke it lay half a foot deep upon us, and when we shook ourselves free and looked forth we found that the whole landscape, far and near, was covered with the same pure white drapery. the uniformity of the scene was broken by the knolls of trees and shrubs and belts of forest which showed powerfully against the white ground, and by the water of the numerous ponds and lakes and streams which, where calm, reflected the bright blue sky, and, where rough, sparkled in the rising sun; while every twig and leaf of bush and tree bore its little fringe or patch of snow, so that we were surrounded by the most beautiful and complicated forms of lacework conceivable of nature's own making. "it is glorious to look at," said lumley, after our first burst of enthusiasm, "but it will be troublesome to walk through, i fear." we did not, however, find it as troublesome as we had expected; for, although nearly a foot deep, the snow was quite dry, owing to the frost which had set in, and we could drive it aside with comparative ease when we started on our journey homeward. arrived at the fort we found our men and the few indians who had not left us for their hunting-grounds, busy at the nets, or finishing the buildings that were yet incomplete. we also found that big otter had come in, bringing with him his wife, and his niece waboose, with her mother. the health of the latter had broken down, and big otter had brought her to the fort in the hope that the white chief could do something for her. "i'll do what i can," said lumley, on hearing her case stated, "though i make no pretence to being a medicine-man, but i will do this for you and her:--i will engage you, if you choose, to help blondin at his fishery, and your wife to make moccasins for us. i'll also let you have that little hut beside our kitchen to live in. you'll find it better and warmer than a wigwam, and as there are two rooms in it you won't be overcrowded." big otter was delighted with this arrangement, and i took him away at once to show him the hut he was to occupy. as this was the first time i had met with the unknown englishman's widow, and the mother of waboose, it was with no little interest and curiosity that i regarded her. she was evidently in very bad health, but i could easily see that when young she must have been a very handsome woman. besides being tall and well-formed, she had a most expressive countenance and a dignified air, coupled with a look of tender kindness in it, which drew me to her at once. she seemed in many respects much superior--in manners and habits--to the other indian women of the tribe, though still far below her daughter in that respect, and i could easily perceive that the latter owed her great superiority and refinement of manner to her father, though she might well have derived her gentleness from her mother. what the illness was that broke that mother down i cannot tell. it resembled consumption in some respects, though without the cough, but she improved in health decidedly at first on getting into her new house, and set to work with zeal to assist in the making of moccasins and other garments. of course waboose helped her; and, very soon after this arrival, i began to give her lessons in the english language. lumley quizzed me a good deal about this at first, but afterwards he became more serious. "now, max, my boy," he said to me, one evening when we were alone, in that kindly-serious manner which seemed to come over him whenever he had occasion to find fault with any one, "it is all very well your giving lessons in english to that indian girl, but what i want to know is, what do you expect to be the upshot of it?" "marriage," said i with prompt decision, "if--if she will have me," i added with a more modest air. my friend did not laugh or banter me, as i had expected, but in an earnest tone said:-- "but think, max, you are only just entering on manhood; you can't be said to know your own mind yet. suppose, now, that you were to express an intention to marry waboose, the hudson's bay company might object till you had at least finished your apprenticeship." "but i would not think of it before that," said i. "and then," continued lumley, not noticing the interruption, "if you do marry her you can never more return to the civilised world, for she is utterly ignorant of its ways, and would feel so ill at ease there, and look so much out of place, that you would be obliged to take to the woods again, and live and die there--and--what would your father say to that?" i confess that this reference to my dear father shook me. "but, lumley," said i, "she is _not_ a mere indian girl, and would _not_ look out of place anywhere. her father was obviously a gentleman, and has tried, with much success i find, to cultivate a naturally gentle and delicate mind and disposition in his child. surely, very little is required to make a lady of her--i mean in the sense that society understands by that term--and even if that were not possible, is mere polish to be weighed in the balance against gentleness, sweetness, unselfishness, tenderness, truthfulness, modesty, loving-kindness--to say nothing of beauty--" a hearty laugh interrupted me here. "oh! max, i admit that polish must go down before such a splendid array of virtues. but," added my friend, becoming grave again, "is waboose a christian?" "yes," i replied, stoutly, "a far, far better christian than i am, for i find that her father has taught her the truths of the bible--and you-- you see that _fruit_ in her which i fear you don't see much of in me." "well, we have not had much time to see the fruit yet, but now i must speak to you as your chief. you say you have no thought of marriage till your apprenticeship is up. that is a good while yet. you may change your mind." "never!" said i, with emphasis. "well, i respect your honourable feelings, my boy, but it is just possible that even if she were willing (which has yet to be proved) she may change _her_ mind, therefore you must promise me faithfully that in all this teaching of english there shall be no lovemaking. you are bound _in honour_, max, to avoid trying to win her affections, or in any way to influence her till--till time, a considerable time--shall have passed." "i promise you, lumley, with all my heart. i think it is ennobling to a man to love a girl because of her pure and sterling qualities irrespective of her looks, and i would count it foul disgrace to do anything to win her unless i saw my way quite clearly to wed her." "which you do not at present, max?" "which i do not at present, lumley, so i will continue the lessons with the air and manner of a heartless pedagogue!" this having been arranged between us, the subject was dropped, and not again referred to for many months. meanwhile winter advanced with rapid strides. one night an intense frost set in and covered the entire lake, as far at least as we could see, with a sheet of pure ice. it had set fast in a profound calm, and the surface was so smooth that every tree and bush on the outlying islets was reflected as if in water. indeed, it could scarcely be told that the ice was not water except by going on it. being a somewhat expert skater, and having brought my skates with me, i put them on, resolved to enjoy a few hours of what used to be a favourite amusement when i was a boy. lumley could not skate, to my regret; besides, he had no skates, and none of the men had ever learned the art, so that i was forced to skate alone. and at this time i learned a lesson about solitary amusement which i never afterwards forgot. "max," said lumley, as i went down to the lake, skates in hand, "while you're off amusing yourself i'll go finish the track on the hillside-- that will afford amusement enough for me and the men. i'll give them a holiday, as it is such a splendid day." "that's a new kind of holiday," said i with a laugh, as i fixed on my skates, "to set them to the finishing of a track!" the track referred to was a straight wide cutting up the face of the hill at the side of the fort. lumley had ordered the men to clear it of trees and shrubs, from the hill-top--which extended far behind as well as high above the fort--down to the edge of the lake. it had remained in this unfinished state for some time, and now, being covered with snow, formed a long white-floored avenue to the hill-top. "i'm sorry you can't join me," said i, making a few circles before starting. "it feels _so_ selfish to go off alone." "never mind, old boy, off you go, and see that you don't get upon weak ice." lumley waved his hand as he spoke, and i shot swiftly away over the glassy lake. oh! it was a glorious burst, that first dash over an apparently illimitable sheet of water, for, although small for an american lake, the opposite shore of wichikagan was so far-off as to appear dim and low, while, in one direction, the sky and water met at the horizon, so that i enjoyed the romantic feeling of, as it were, skating out to sea! the strength of youth thrilled in every nerve and muscle; the vigour of health and life coursed in every vein. i felt, just then, as if exhaustion were impossible. the ice was so smooth that there was no sensation of roughness under foot to tell of a solid support. the swift gliding motion was more like the skimming of the swallow than the skating of a man. the smallest impulse sent me shooting ahead with an ease that almost surprised me. in sensation, as well as in appearance, i was rushing over a surface of water in which the sun was reflected with a brilliancy that quite dazzled me. i became almost wild with delight. indeed i grew reckless, and gave a sort of leap--with what intent i know not--which caused the back of my head to smite the ice and my body to proceed fifty yards or more on its back, with the legs in the air and a starry constellation corruscating in the brain! considerably sobered by this, i arose and cut the figure of eight thoughtfully for five minutes. after this i resumed my rapid pace, which i kept up until the necessity of pausing to recover breath impressed me. making a wide circle outwards with my left leg in the air and my right hand pointed to the sky in the most approved manner, i gradually caused the circle to diminish until i came to a stand. looking back, i saw fort wichikagan like a mere speck on the horizon. in the opposite direction the lake still presented a limitless horizon. on either side the distant shores marked, but could hardly be said to bound, the view, while, closer at hand, the islets were reflected in the ice as clearly as if it had been water. i felt as if standing on a liquid ocean. once more a bounding sense of joyous freedom and strength filled me. the starry corruscations had vanished. the bump on the back of my head had ceased to grieve me. away i went again like--but words fail me. imagery and description avail nothing when the indescribable is reached! after an hour of this enjoyment i took to circling, and, in the exuberance of my feelings, attempted some quite new and complex performances, which resulted in a few more corruscations and bumps. but these were trifles. i heeded them not. at last, however, i stood still and became thoughtful. we must all become thoughtful sooner or later. a sense of loneliness began to oppress me, and i longed for companionship in my joy. knowing that this was a useless longing, i cast it aside and resumed my evolutions, rushes, bumps, and corruscations. but it would not do. the longing returned with redoubled violence. after another hour i turned to skate homeward, very much toned down in spirits, and deeply convinced of the truth--in more senses than one--of the words, "it is not good that man should be alone." before leaving this subject i may add that i tried skating again the next day, but again grew weary of it in less than an hour for want of companionship; that i made up my mind, in disgust to try no more; and that, on the day following, sympathetic nature aided me in my resolve by covering the entire lake with eighteen inches of snow--thus rendering my once favourite exercise impossible. but, to return. when i drew near to the fort, i observed that several black specks were gliding with lightning speed down the white track on the hillside which lumley had undertaken to finish. these specks, after descending the steep hill, slid over the level shore and shot far out upon the lake, where some of them seemed to roll over and over. wondering what this could be, i put on a spurt. suddenly the truth dawned upon me. my friend lumley had cleared the slope for the purpose of sledging down it! "max," he had remarked to me, long before, when talking about our men and our plans, "`all work and no play,' you know, `makes jack a dull boy;' so i'll get up some kind of winter amusement for the lads which will keep them in health and spirits." need i say that my recent cogitations and experience led me to join this riotous crew with redoubled ardour? taking off my skates hurriedly and climbing up the hill, i leaped on the tail of big otter's toboggan, without invitation, just as he was starting at the top of the snow-slope to follow lumley. i gave the sled such an impetus that we overtook our chief, and upset him just as he reached the lake, causing him to collide with donald bane and james dougall, who, seated on the same toboggan, were anxiously striving to keep their balance. the result was, that we all resolved ourselves into a conglomerate of toboggans and men, which went shooting and struggling over the smooth lake for fifty yards or upwards at the rate of twelve miles an hour, if not more. this, of course, afforded unutterable delight to the rest of our men, and to waboose and her mother; as well as to several indians, who had just arrived. among these last were attick and maqua with his son mozwa. it was rough but health-giving, as well as enjoyable, work, and sent us to our respective beds that night in a condition of readiness to fall promptly into a state of absolute oblivion. chapter seventeen. describes a tremendous visitation--a feast--a surprise--and an attempt at murder. i must beg the reader now to leap with me into the middle of winter. it is new year's day. that festive season of the year is not less marked and honoured in the great nor'-west than it is in civilised lands, though there are comparatively few to honour it, and their resources are somewhat meagre. these facts do not however, diminish the hearty zeal of the few--perchance they tend rather to increase it. be that as it may, i now convey the reader to an ice-bound forest. deep snow has buried the frozen ground. masses of snow weigh down the branches of the leafless trees; and evergreens, which are not leafless, are literally overwhelmed, almost obliterated, by the universal covering. but the scene is by no means dismal. a blue sky overhead and a bright sun and calm frosty air render it pre-eminently cheerful. the ground is undulating, and among these undulations you may see two men and a couple of sledges slowly making their way along. the sledge in rear is the ordinary provision-sled used by winter travellers in that land; it is hauled by an indian. the one in front is styled a cariole. it resembles a slipper-bath in form, is covered with yellow parchment, gaily painted, and drawn by four fine wolf-like dogs. the rider in that cariole is so whelmed in furs as to be absolutely invisible. the man who beats the track has a straight, stalwart frame, and from what of his countenance is left exposed by his fur cap and whiskers, one may judge that he is a white man. slowly and silently they plod along through the deep snow--the sleigh-bells on the dog's harness tinkling pleasantly. ere long they come out upon a lake, where, the snow being beaten pretty hard, they proceed rapidly--the dogs trotting, and the leader, having changed to the rear, holding on to the cariole-line to restrain them. towards the afternoon the travellers draw towards the end of the lake, and then a spirit of mischief seems to enter into the wolf-like dogs, for, on turning round a point which reveals a wide reach of hard snow stretching away towards a distant group of buildings more than half buried in drift, they make a sudden bound, overturn the stalwart white man, jerk the tail-line from his grasp, and career away joyously over the ice, causing their bells to send up an exceeding merry and melodious peal. from certain incomprehensible growls that escape the stalwart white man as he picks himself up, it might be conjectured that he had taken to the chipewyan tongue; perhaps a scotsman might have been led by them to recall the regions that lie north of the grampians. lumley and i were sitting in the hall of fort wichikagan, awaiting the advent of dinner, when the sound of the sleigh-bells just referred to broke upon our ears. we bounded from our seats as if galvanised, seized our caps and rushed out. "a cariole!" shouted lumley. "run away!" said i. as i spoke, the figure of a man was seen rushing round the point in pursuit. "macnab!" cried lumley, with blazing eyes, "i'd know his figure at twenty miles off. i say, max, the runaway cariole must certainly contain the sister--the carroty-haired jessie! hurrah! we must stop it, my boy, else the dogs will run slap into the fort, and dash the fair six-footer against one o' the houses. look out, man!" but lumley was wrong. either the dogs had run as much as they desired, or the decided manner in which we faced them caused them to swerve aside, and stop when they came close to us. the swerve had the effect of overturning the cariole gently, and emptying its contents at our feet, and out from the mass of wraps and furs there arose--not a red-headed six-footer, but a young and sprightly girl, with clear dark complexion, a neat, rounded little figure, and a pair of magnificent black eyes, which, at the moment, were opened to their utmost with an expression of intense amazement. lumley gazed at this apparition open-mouthed, with a look of blank surprise. i believe that my own visage must also have worn some remarkable expression, for suddenly the girl's gorgeous eyes half closed, and she burst into a hearty fit of laughter. "well, this _is_ a surprise!" exclaimed lumley, on recovering some of his usual self-possession. "so it would seem," replied the apparition, still laughing, "for it has robbed you of common politeness. why don't you introduce yourself and welcome me? no doubt you are my brother's friend, mr lumley!" she drew a very small white hand from a very large leather mitten, and held it out. "forgive me, miss macnab--for of course you can be no other," said lumley, advancing promptly and grasping the hand, "but your--your-- sudden, and i may almost say magical, appearance has so taken me by surprise, that--that--" "yes, yes, i understand, mr lumley--that you find it difficult to recover yourself,--why, your friend mr maxby has not yet recovered," said the fair jessie, turning and holding out her hand to me. she was right. i had not recovered, but stood there open-mouthed and eyed, bereft of speech, until the necessity for action was thrust upon me. my apologies were, however, cut short by the coming up of her brother, who, while yet a long way off, began to shout in his stentorian tones:-- "hallo! lumley, my boy, how are ye? here we are at last. a happy new year, max. glad to see you once more--all alive and hearty? eh? more than i expected to find _you_, jess, after such a run with these rascally dogs--absolute wolves! but it might have been worse. give us a shake o' your fists, my boys, on this happy new year's day." by this time our hearty friend was beside us, shaking us both vigorously by the hands, wishing us all manner of good luck, and compliments of the season, and otherwise letting off the steam of his exuberant feelings. "you've introduced yourselves, i see," he continued; "come, lumley, give your arm to jessie, and show us the way to the fort." "if miss macnab," began lumley, advancing, but his speech was here cut short. "miss macnab!" echoed the explosive peter in a sarcastic shout, "call her jessie, man! who ever heard of a `_miss_ macnab' in the backwoods? when men take to living in the wilderness, it's time to cast off all the humbuggin' politenesses o' civilised life." "pardon me, macnab," returned my friend, with more than his usual urbanity, "i differ from you there." "oh, ay, i daresay ye do," interrupted the other. "it's been said of scotsmen that `they can aye objec',' and i think it's equally true of englishmen that they can always differ!" "men who live in the wilderness," continued lumley, merely answering the interruption with a smile, "ought to be unusually particular about keeping up all the politenesses of civilised life, instead of dropping them, and ought to be inexpressibly thankful when a soft and civilising influence, like miss macnab, condescends to visit them with a ray of sunshine from the old country." "bravo, lumley," cried macnab, with a boisterous laugh, "that speech was worthy of an irishman! call her what you like, my good fellow, so long as you never call her too late for meals; but come along now and let's have something to eat, for i'm famishing." by this time the indian with the sled had joined us, so we all went off to the fort in a state of boisterous joy, of which those unfortunates who have never been banished from their fellows for months--or for years--can form no conception. as dinner was opportunely smoking on the table when we entered the hall, our visitor's hilarity was, if possible, increased. moreover, we had company that new year's day, for a knife and fork had been laid in the hall for every man at the fort. you see, lumley was a strict disciplinarian, and, therefore, could afford at special times to relax without loss of dignity and with a great increase of good-will on the part of all under him. at all other times we and the men--excepting our guide--messed apart; but on christmas and new year's days all distinctions were laid aside, discipline was relaxed, and we acted on the principle of that brotherhood which is based upon the assumption that all men have the same objects in life and the same hopes after death. that morning we had all played football on the ice together, had slidden and tumbled down the snow-slope together, and now we were about to mess together in the hall. still further, our company was to be increased, and our festive board to be graced, by the presence of waboose and her mother. little had we imagined, when all this was planned, that we were to have the addition of our old friend macnab, and that glorious beam from the sun of civilisation, his sister jessie! i will, however, make but brief reference to this festive occasion, and proceed to tell of an event which created an unexpected sensation in our little community, and might have closed our new year's day amusements with a terrible tragedy. after dinner we circled round the blazing fire and enjoyed ourselves listening to macnab, who had a happy facility in giving a graphic account of his sledge journey from the mountain fort--his recently built trading-post--to fort wichikagan, and i observed particularly that the presence of a lady among us had a most wonderful and irresistible influence in softening the tones and the manners of all. as the evening advanced tea was introduced--we had nothing stronger, and did not, indeed, feel any desire for fire-water. under the inspiriting influence of this beverage, several of our men were induced to tell stories, which were more or less humorous. during the meal--at which lumley insisted that "miss macnab" should preside, to the immense disgust of salamander--i observed that the dark-haired white girl and the fair-haired indian, drew very closely together. it appeared to me that they had fallen in love with each other at first sight, a fact which afforded me lively satisfaction, though i had no very clear perception as to why it should do so. songs naturally followed the cheering cup, and at this point lumley became unusually bold. "i wonder," he said, with a peculiar air of modesty which somewhat puzzled me, "if i may venture to ask miss macnab for a song." "ha! ha!" shouted her brother, before she could reply, "you _may_ venture to ask, my boy, but you'll find it difficult to draw a song out of jessie. why, she never could sing a note!" "i've a good mind to sing now, peter," said the girl with a laugh, "just to prove that you are a false man." "no, no, jessie, spare me," returned the highlander, "but get out your accordion, and--" "accordion!" almost shouted lumley, "do you play the accordion? have you really got one here?" it is but right to say, in justification of lumley's enthusiasm, that music of any kind was so seldom heard in those wilds, that the mere prospect of hearing good music excited us, for of course our natural thought was that a girl like jessie macnab could not perform anything but good music. as she rose to go for the instrument to salamander's room--which had been made over to her--a growling gaelic exclamation made me aware of the fact that the faces of donald bane and james dougall were beaming with hope, mingled with admiration of their countrywoman. she had naturally paid these men a good deal of attention, and, in addition to her other good qualities, spoke their native tongue fluently. as dougall afterwards said, "she hes the gaelic!" on returning to the hall with the once familiar and well-remembered instrument, i believe every man there felt a tendency to worship her. but who shall describe the effect produced when she began to play, with the utmost facility and with deep feeling, one of the most beautiful of the plaintive scottish melodies? bane and dougall shaded their rugged faces with their rugged hands to hide the tears that could not be restrained. lumley, whose mind, although untouched by associations, was peculiarly susceptible to sweet sounds, sat entranced. so did big otter, who could only glare; because instrument, tune, and performer, were alike new and magical to him. even salamander forgot his jealousy and almost collapsed with wonder. as for dumont, coppet, and the others--they clasped their hands, opened their eyes and mouths, and simply drank it in. there was no applause when the air ceased, but a deep sigh from every one seemed to be the indication of a return to ordinary consciousness. waboose and her mother did not sigh, however. they sat still and gazed in silent wonder. jessie macnab, with a slight blush at the unexpected effect, ran her fingers lightly over the keys of her instrument, and then suddenly began to play a highland reel with tremendous vigour! if an electric shock had traversed the marrow or our backbones, the result could not have been more surprising. "wow! tougall, man!" exclaimed bane, starting up and flinging away his chair. dougall said nothing, but he uttered a celtic yell suggestive of war and all its horrors to big otter, and, starting up, began the highland fling opposite to his friend in the most violent manner. as i was not a bad dancer of scots' reels myself, and the music had caused me also to boil over, i started up likewise and faced macnab, who, being equally affected, stood up to me in a moment, and away we went, hammer and tongs, with stamp and whoop and snap of finger--oh! the scene is indescribable. indeed, i may say that to an ordinary civilised man who never saw it, the scene is inconceivable, so--we will pass on. while these stirring events were taking place inside the hall, a black-faced, red-painted savage was flattening his ugly nose against a pane of glass outside one of the windows. it was attick, whom our chief had convicted of stealing about the time of our arrival. that unpleasant savage had never forgiven lumley, and, being exceedingly vindictive, had resolved to murder him! with this end in view, he had been prowling about the place for several days, having arrived with a band of his tribe who had assembled at christmas-time to enjoy some of the good cheer which they understood to be going at that season among the pale-faces. on new year's night unknown to his comrades--for it was his intention to do the deed secretly, and leave the imputation upon all--he watched his opportunity, and thought he had found it when, after the dance was over and the guests had retired, he saw lumley seated by the fire in conversation with the newly-arrived pale-face girl. macnab and i had gone with the men to their house for some purpose--i forget what--so that the two were left alone. attick might easily have opened the door and shot his victim, but the report, he knew, would have roused every one; besides, his absence at the moment and his dirty gun would have betrayed him to his comrades; so, being a strong man, he preferred the scalping-knife, with the use of which he was of course familiar. now, it chanced that there hung a small looking-glass over the hall fireplace. in that glass lumley could see not only himself, but the door and windows of the room behind him, as he sat chatting with jessie macnab. happening to glance into the glass, he observed the flattened nose of attick on the window-pane with the glaring eyes above it. a _tete-a-tete_ with the fair jessie was too pleasant, however, to be interrupted by such a trifle; he therefore continued the conversation, though he kept a sharp look-out behind him. presently he saw the door open--open so gently that it gave forth no sound. immediately after, a blackened and savage head appeared with a diabolical expression on the countenance. it was followed slowly by a hand in which a gleaming knife was clutched. lumley now fully understood what was meditated, for he recognised attick through his war-paint. he did not move, however, for he felt that if he sprang up too soon the savage could easily leap back through the doorway and escape into the dark woods. he therefore laid strong constraint on himself and waited. miss macnab's back was turned to the savage, but not having the advantage of the glass, she could not see him, and continued her pleasant prattle. like a dark, noiseless shadow, the indian advanced, and raised his knife. "then you like this wilderness life?" asked jessie, at that moment. "yes, i confess, miss macnab, that it has its charms as well as its disagreeables--the utter want of society being the worst of the latter." "i should have thought," said the girl, looking up, "that you--but-- but--why do you gaze and frown so fiercely at that--" she was promptly answered, for lumley sprang up at the moment with panther-like agility, wheeled round, seized the uplifted arm, and, with a wrench so violent as to break it, he hurled the savage to the ground. jessie macnab sprang up in consternation, but did not give way to that supposed female-in-alarm necessity--a scream. at the same moment macnab and i entered. "hallo! lumley. what's all this?" cried macnab. "nobody hurt, i hope?" "i fear the indian is hurt somewhat," said our chief, looking down at his enemy, who lay stunned upon the floor. "go, max, assemble our men and fetch all the indians." in a few minutes all were assembled in the hall, when lumley, in a low, stern voice, related what had occurred, appealing to jessie to corroborate what he said. "now," he added in conclusion, turning to the indians, "i have no quarrel with you. there lies your comrade. he has forfeited his life to me, but i forgive him. take him away." lumley said no more, as, in solemn surprise and silence, the indians lifted up their comrade and bore him out of the hall; but he took good care to make no reference whatever to the looking-glass, and i verily believe that to this day it is believed by the red-men of that region that lumley has eyes in the back of his head. chapter eighteen. the mysterious packet--friends depart, and lumley is caught singing. the uncertainty of all sublunary things is a truism so trite that i do not mean to insult the reader's understanding by attempting to prove it. i merely refer to it in order to say that the great nor'-west is not exempt from that general rule of uncertainty. at first peace and prosperity attended us, at least in all the main lines of life, with only trivial variations, and we felt disposed to believe that the sunshine would continue to gladden us throughout the whole winter. but such was not to be the case. soon after the events narrated in the last chapter, clouds began to gather, the peaceful flow of our life was interrupted, and at last a storm burst which filled the inhabitants of our little fort with consternation. after the attempted murder by attick on new year's day, the indians left the fort, taking their wounded friend along with them. no doubt they felt that it would be scarcely reasonable in them to expect to be entertained with the good things of the pale-faces after the dastardly attempt that had been made on our chief's life. but attick, who had been wounded more deeply in his feelings than in his body, resolved to be revenged. he was the more urged to this because his savage affections had been fixed on, and no doubt he had been sharp enough to perceive my own regard for the girl, and was jealous enough to believe that i would take advantage of my position and of her residence at the fort to supplant him. bad men invariably find like-minded spirits ready to help them in their dark designs. among the redskins of his tribe attick found no difficulty in securing the allegiance of one or two men, who were in the habit of looking up to him as their leader, and it was not very long before he found his opportunity--as shall soon be told. when the macnabs had spent three weeks with us, they set off on the return journey to the mountain fort, taking waboose along with them--for jessie macnab had taken so strong a fancy to the fair-haired half-caste that she had prevailed on her to agree to visit the mountain fort in company with her mother, from whom she refused to be separated even for a few days. before their departure, however, i had a conversation with waboose, in which i reminded her of the packet about which she had spoken to me on a memorable occasion in the woods. i may remark here in passing that i had conscientiously held to my promise to lumley, and had carefully abstained from making the slightest effort to gain the girl's affections, or to show her the state of my own feelings. indeed, i had rather avoided her as much as possible without appearing rude or unkind. of course i could not however, help showing my pity for, and sympathy with, her poor invalid mother, and as i was the only one in our little community who possessed the smallest knowledge of medicine or surgery i was forced to visit their hut daily in the capacity of doctor. "waboose," said i, during the conversation above referred to, "you need not be anxious about your mother. i feel assured that her complaint is of such a nature that her general health will be benefited by a trip over the snow--provided she is kept warm and does not travel too far each day. of course there is no fear of that, with you and miss macnab to look after her, and i have given careful directions to mr macnab how to treat her." "you are very kind," replied the girl with much earnestness of tone and manner. "and now, waboose," i continued, "you remember saying long ago you would show me the packet that--" "yes, it is here," she said, quickly, taking it out of the folds of a light shawl which covered her shoulders--the gift of jessie--and handing it to me. "thank you. well, i will examine it carefully this afternoon and give it back to you to-morrow before you start." "no, keep it. i can trust you," she said, with a simple look that somehow depressed me, for it was almost too simple and sisterly to my mind. "besides," she added, "it is safer in your hands than mine, and when i come again you will explain to me what it contains." next day the party left us. it consisted of macnab, who, with his wonted energy of nature, was leader and beater of the track; the sprightly jessie in a cariole drawn by four dogs; waboose's mother in a similar cariole, and the fair waboose herself, on snow-shoes, for she preferred the mode of travelling to which she had been most accustomed. two indians dragging provision-sleds brought up the rear. it had been arranged that i should convoy the party to their first bivouac in the snow, spend the night with them, and continue to journey with them the second day as far as was consistent with the possibility of returning to the fort that night. jack lumley accompanied us at first, but another small party of indians had come in to stay at the fort at that time, and although he had, i am certain, a very strong desire to go further, with his usual self-sacrificing spirit when duty pointed another way, he turned and left us at the end of a few miles. i spent the night in the snow-bivouac as arranged, and continued to journey onward with the party next day, until macnab refused to let me go another step. "now, max," he said, laughingly, "you must turn here. why, man, it will be midnight before you get in, good walker though you be. come, good-bye." "well, well, i suppose it's better to turn since you seem tired of my company," said i, turning to jessie, who stood up in her sleigh to shake hands. "good-bye, miss macnab." "jessie, man, jessie--none of your miss macnabs here, else i'll tumble you into the snow by way of farewell," shouted the irrepressible highlander. "very well, good-bye, jessie," said i, with a laugh, though my heart was heavy enough. "good-bye, waboose--farewell all." with a wave of his hand macnab tramped on ahead, the sleigh-bells rang out merrily and the rest of the party followed. after they had gone a few yards waboose turned and waved her hand again. as i looked on her fair face, glowing with health and exercise, her upright, graceful figure in its picturesque costume and her modest mien, i felt that two beams of light had shot from her bright blue eyes and pierced my heart right through and through. it was a double shot--both barrels, if i may say so--well aimed at the centre of the bull's-eye! next moment she was gone--the whole party having dipped over the brow of a snow-drift. "an indian! a half-caste!" i exclaimed in a burst of contempt, going off over the plain at five miles an hour, "nothing of the sort. a lady--one of nature's ladies--born and br---no, not bred; no need for breeding where genuine purity, gentleness, tenderness, simplicity, modesty--" i stuck at this point partly for want of words and partly because my snow-shoes, catching on a twig, sent my feet into the air and stuck my head and shoulders deep into a drift of snow. though my words were stopped, however, the gush of my enthusiasm flowed steadily on. "and what can be more worthy of man's admiration and respectful affection?" i argued, as i recovered my perpendicular, coughed the snow out of my mouth and nose, and rubbed it out of my eyes; "what more worthy of true-hearted devotion than this--this--creature of--of light; this noble child of nature--this _queen of the wilderness_?" i repeated "this queen of the wilderness" for a considerable time afterwards. it seemed to me a happy expression, and i dwelt upon it with much satisfaction as i sped along, sending the fine snow in clouds of white dust from my snow-shoes, and striding over the ground at such a pace that i reached fort wichikagan considerably before midnight in spite of macnab's prophecy. i am not naturally prone thus to lay bare the secret workings of my spirit. you will, therefore, i trust, good reader, regard the revelation of these things as a special mark of confidence. on reaching the fort i observed that a bright light streamed from the hall windows, casting a ruddy glow on the snow-heaps which had been shovelled up on each side of the footpath in front, and giving, if possible, a paler and more ghostly aspect to the surrounding scenery. i went to one of the windows and, imitating attick, flattened my nose against a pane. a pain was the immediate result, for, the glass being intensely cold, i was obliged to draw back promptly. lumley was seated alone at one side of the fire, in the familiar attitude of a man who meditates profoundly--or sleepily; namely, with his legs stretched straight out in front of him, his hands deep in his trousers-pockets, and his chin sunk on his breast, while his eyes stared fixedly at the flames. i was about to quit my post of observation when a sudden action of my friend arrested me. drawing up his legs, grasping his knees with his hands, turning his eyes to the ceiling with that gaze which implies that planks and roof count for nothing in the way of intercepting the flight of mind to the realms of inspiration, lumley opened his handsome mouth and broke forth into song. he had a magnificently harsh voice. i could distinguish both air and words through the double windows. the song was that which i have already quoted elsewhere--"lovely young jessie, the flower of dunblane." the deep pathos of his tone was thrilling! it flashed a new thought into my brain. then i became amazed at my own blind stupidity. i now understood the meaning of that restless activity which had struck me recently as being so uncharacteristic of my sedate friend; that anxiety to have all our food well cooked and nicely served, in one who habitually took food just as it came, and cared nothing for quality or appearance; that unusual effort to keep our hall neat and in order; those sharp reproofs to the astonished salamander for failure in punctuality at meal-hours; that very slight indication of a more frequent use of the brush and comb, in one whose crisp curls required little aid from such implements. under the excitement of my discovery i burst into the room with, "oh! lumley, you deceiver!" cutting him short in the very middle of those repeated "lovely young jessies" which constitute the very pith and marrow of the song. "why, max! back already?" cried my friend, starting up with a slightly-confused look, which confirmed my suspicion, and rattling on at a pace which was plainly meant to carry me past the subject. "how you must have walked, to be sure, unless, indeed, you convoyed them only a short part of the way; but that could not have been the case. it would have been so unlike your gallant nature, max--eh? well, and how did they get on? snow not too soft, i hope? encampment comfortable? but no fear of that of course, with peter macnab as leader. no capsizes?" "none," said i, seizing advantage of a slight pause; "everything went as well as possible, and the carioles went admirably--especially jessie's." i looked at him pointedly as i said this, but he coolly stooped to lift a billet and put it on the fire as he rattled on again. "yes? that's just what i hoped for, though i could not be quite sure of it for she has the old one which i had patched up as well as possible. you see, as macnab said--and of course i agreed with him--it was only fair that the invalid should have the strongest and easiest-going conveyance. by the way, max, i've heard some news. do you know that that scoundrel attick is stirring up the tribes against us?" "no--is he?" said i, quite forgetting the fair jessie, at this piece of information. "yes, and the rascal, i fear, may do us irreparable damage before we can tame him, for he has considerable influence with the young and fiery spirits among the savages--so big otter says. fortunately his power lies only in the tongue, at present, for it seems i broke his arm the night he tried to murder me; but that will mend in time." "very unfortunate," said i, "that this should happen at the beginning of our career in this region. we must thwart his plans if we can." "moreover," continued lumley, with a sly look, "i am told that he has the presumption to aspire to the hand of waboose!" "indeed!" i exclaimed, as a flame of indignation seemed to shoot through my whole frame; "we must thwart his plans in _that_ direction emphatically." "of course, of course," said my friend, gravely; "it would never do to let such a sweet girl throw herself away on a savage; besides, she's such a favourite with jessie macnab, you know. it would never do-- never." i looked at him quickly, but he was gazing abstractedly at the fire. i felt that i was no match for my friend at badinage, and gave it up! "but what do you think he could do!" i asked with some anxiety, after a few minutes' thought. "you know that waboose would as soon think of marrying that bloodthirsty savage as she would think of marrying a--a--" "a pine-tree or a grizzly bear. yes, i know," interrupted lumley, "he will never get her with her own consent; but you know that savages have a knack of marrying women without their consent and then there is the possibility of his attempting to carry her off--and various other possibilities." i saw that my friend was jestingly attempting to test my feelings, but i made no reply at first, though i felt strongly on the subject. "well, lumley," said i, at length, "your first suggestion i meet with the reply that the consent of parents is not ignored among indians, and that waboose's mother is an indian of so high-minded and refined a nature--partly acquired, no doubt, from her husband--that _she_ will never consent to give her daughter to such a man; such a brute, i might say, considering what he attempted. as to waboose herself, her father's gentle nature in her secures her from such a misfortune; and as to her being carried off--well, i don't think any savages would be bold enough to try to carry off anything from the grip of peter macnab, and when we get her back here we will know how to look after her." "it may be so," said lumley, with a sigh; "and now, my boy, to change the subject, we must buckle to our winter's work in right good earnest; i mean what may be styled our philanthropic work; for the other work-- firewood-cutting, hunting, store arranging, preparation for the return of indians in spring, with their furs, and all the other odds and ends of duty--is going along swimmingly; but our classes must be resumed, now that the holidays are over, for we have higher interests to consider than the mere eating that we may live, and living that we may eat." "all right," said i heartily, for i was very glad to help in a species of work which, i felt gave dignity to all our other labours. "i'll get the slates out and start the men at arithmetic to-morrow evening, from the place where we left off. what will you do? give them `robinson crusoe' over again?" "no, max, i won't do that, not just now at all events. i'll only finish the story and then begin the `pilgrim's progress.' you observed, no doubt that i had been extending my commentaries on `robinson,' especially towards the last chapters." "yes--what of that?" "well, i am free to confess that that was intentionally done. it was a dodge, my boy, to get them into the habit of expecting, and submitting to, commentary, for i intend to come out strong in that line in my exposition of the pilgrim--as you shall see. i brought the book with this very end, and the long winter nights, in view. and i mean to take it easy too--spin it out. i won't bore them with too much at a time." "good, but don't spin it out too long, lumley," said i; "you know when men set their hearts on some magnificent plan or scheme they are apt to become prosy. i suppose you'll also take the writing class, as before?" "i suppose i must," returned my friend, with a sigh, "though it goes against the grain, for i was never very good at penmanship, and we have lost our best scholars too, now that waboose and her mother are gone." "by the way, that reminds me," said i, "that waboose gave me the packet which she received from her father not long before he was drowned. here it is." i drew it from my breast-pocket and held it up. "she told me her father had said it was no use her opening it, as she could not read it, but that she was to give it to the first white man whom she could trust; you remember my mentioning that to you? she gave it to me only yesterday, and i have not yet found time to read it." "did she say she could trust _you_, max!" "of course she did. why not?" "oh, certainly, why not?" repeated my friend, with a peculiar look. "did she say you might communicate its contents to _me_?" "well, no, she did not," i replied, feeling rather perplexed. "but i am quite sure that, if she meant to trust me at all, she meant to trust to my discretion in the whole matter; and--jack lumley," i added, getting up and grasping my friend's hand, "if i cannot trust _you_ i can trust nobody." "that will do," he said, returning the squeeze. "you are safe. go ahead." the packet was wrapped in a piece of birch-bark, and tied with a bit of fibrous root. this covering removed, i found a white cambric handkerchief, inside of which was something hard. it turned out to be the miniature of a handsome man, somewhere between forty and fifty. beside it was a manuscript in english. on one corner of the kerchief was marked in faded ink the name "eve." holding out the portrait i said,--"you see. i knew he was a gentleman. this must be her father." "no doubt," replied lumley--"but what says this letter?" unfolding the manuscript i spread it carefully on my knee and began to read. chapter nineteen. opening of the mysterious packet. the manuscript was without date or preface, and its contents interested as well as surprised us not a little. it began at once as follows:-- "whoever receives this packet and letter from my daughter receives a sacred trust which he dare not shake off, and which i solemnly charge him in the sight of god to take up and fulfil. at the moment while i write i am well and strong, and not old. it is my firm intention, if god spares me, to pursue the course which is herein detailed, but i know too well the risk and dangers of the wilderness to feel assured that i shall live to act out my part. i therefore write down here, as briefly as i can, my story and my wishes, and shall give the letter with my miniature to my darling waboose--whose christian name is eve, though she knows it not--with directions not to open it, or let it out of her hands, until she meets with a white man _whom_ _she_ _can_ _trust_, for well assured am i that the man whom my innocent and wise-hearted eve can _trust_--be he old or young--will be a man who cannot and will not refuse the responsibility laid on him. why i prefer to leave this packet with my daughter, instead of my dear wife, is a matter with which strangers have nothing to do. "i begin by saying that i have been a great sinner, but thank god, i have found jesus a great saviour. let this suffice. i was never given to open up my mind much, and i won't begin now--at least, not more than i can help. it is right to say, at the outset, that i have been regularly married by a travelling wesleyan minister to my dear wife, by whom also eve and her mother were baptized. "my fall began in disobedience to my mother. probably this is the case with most ne'er-do-wells. my name is william liston. my father was a farmer in a wild part of colorado. he died when i was a little boy, leaving my beloved mother to carry on the farm. i am their only child. my mother loved and served the lord christ. and well do i know that my salvation from an ungovernable temper and persistent self-will is the direct answer to her unceasing prayers. "i left home, against her will, with a party of backwoodsmen, my heart being set on what i once thought would be the free and jolly life of a hunter in the great american wilderness. i have lived to find the truth of that proverb, `all is not gold that glitters,' and of that word, `there is no rest, saith my god, to the wicked.' "i was eighteen when i left home. since then i have been a homeless wanderer--unless a shifting tent may be considered home! long after my quitting home, and while staying with a tribe of indians at the head waters of the saskatchewan river, i met an indian girl, whose gentle, loving nature, and pretty face, were so attractive to me that i married her and joined her tribe. the marriage ceremony was, as i have said, confirmed by a wesleyan minister, whose faithful words made such an impression on me that i resolved to give up my wild life, and return with my wife and child to my old home. my character, however--which is extremely resolute and decided when following the bent of my inclinations, and exceedingly weak and vacillating when running counter to the same--interfered with my good intentions. the removal of the tribe to a more distant part of the land also tended to delay me, and a still more potent hindrance lay in the objection of my wife--who has been faithful and true to me throughout; god bless her! she could not for a long time, see her way to forsake her people. "ever since my meeting with the wesleyan, my mind has been running more or less on the subject of religion, and i have tried to explain it as far as i could to my wife and child, but have found myself woefully ignorant as well as sinful. at last, not long ago, i procured a new testament from a trapper, and god in mercy opened my eyes to see and my heart to receive the truth as it is in jesus. since then i have had less difficulty in speaking to my wife and child, and have been attempting to teach the latter to read english. the former, whose mother and father died lately, has now no objection to go with me to the land of the pale-faces, and it is my present intention to go to my old home on the return of spring. i have not heard of my poor mother since i left her, though at various times i have written to her. it may be that she is dead. i hope not--i even think not, for she was very young when she married my father, and her constitution was strong. but her hair was beginning to silver even before i forsook her--with sorrow, i fear, on my account. oh! mother! mother! how unavailing is my bitter regret! what would i not give to kneel once more at your feet and confess my sin! this may perhaps be permitted--but come weal, come woe, blessed be god we shall meet again. "if my prayer is granted, this paper will never be seen by human eyes. if god sees fit to deny me this, and i should die in the wilderness, then i charge the man to whom my packet is given, to take my wife and daughter to colorado; and if my mother--mrs william liston, of sunny creek--be still alive, to present them to her with this written paper and miniature. if, on the other hand, she be dead, then let him buy for them an annuity, or otherwise invest four thousand pounds for their benefit, according to the best of his judgment. how to come by the four thousand pounds i will now explain. "away in the beautiful and sequestered valley at the head of lake wichikagan there stands a stunted pine, near a rock fallen from the cliff above. the spot is not easily found, but my eve knows it well. it was a favourite resort of ours when we went picnicking together. there is a small hole or dry cave in the cliff just behind the fallen rock. two feet underneath the soil there will be found a bag containing a set of diamonds worth the sum i have named, with a smaller bag containing five hundred pounds in gold. it may not be amiss to say that both jewels and money have been honestly come by. the money i dug out of the californian mines, and bought the jewels in a drunken frolic when in canada--`for my future wife,' as i then boasted. my dear wife has never seen them, nor has eve. they do not know of their existence. the five hundred pounds in gold is to be retained for himself by the man who accepts this trust to enable him to pay his way and carry it out. "william liston." it is difficult to express the conflict of feelings that assailed me when i had finished reading this remarkable manuscript. for some time lumley and i gazed at each other in silence. "you accept the trust, i suppose?" said my friend at last. "of course. how could i do otherwise?" "but you cannot remain in the service of the hudson's bay company if you do. they would never give you leave of absence for such a purpose." "no matter. i will not ask leave of absence. i will resign. my time was up, you know, this year. i will write to the governor by the spring-brigade, and start away for colorado in summer." "but this poor man may have been slightly deranged," suggested lumley. "he says that at one time he led a wild life. it is possible that his brain may have been affected, and he only dreams of these jewels and the gold." "i think not," said i, decidedly; "the letter is so calm and simple in style that the idea is absurd; besides, we can soon test it by visiting the valley and the spot referred to. moreover, even if there were no money, and the poor man were really deranged, he could never have imagined or invented all that about his mother and colorado if it were not true. even if we fail to find the jewels and cash i will accept the trust and fulfil it." "what! without money?" "ay, without money," said i firmly, though i am bound to confess that i did not at the moment see clearly how the thing was in that case to be done. but i was--and, indeed, still am--of an ardent disposition, and felt sanguine that i should manage to fulfil the obligations of this remarkable trust somehow. "well, max, you and i will visit this valley to-morrow," said lumley, rising; "meanwhile we will go to bed." accordingly, next morning, after breakfast lumley and i slung our snow-shoes over our shoulders on the barrels of our guns,--for the lake was as hard as a sheet of white marble,--and started off to pay a visit to the spot indicated, in what i may style poor liston's will. it was a bright bracing day--quite calm, but with keen frost, which tended to increase the feelings of excitement already roused by the object we had in view. as we passed through the lake's fringe of willows, the tops of which just rose a foot or two above the drifted snow, a great covey of ptarmigan rose with a mighty whirr, and swept along the shore; but we took no heed of these--our minds being bent on other game! the distance to the upper end of the lake was considerable, and the day was far advanced when we reached it. as we took to the land the covey of ptarmigan, which had preceded us to the place, again rose. this time, however, we were prepared for them. lumley shot a brace right and left, taking the two last that rose with sportsman-like precision. i confess that i am not a particularly good shot--never was--and have not much of the sportsman's pride about me. i fired straight into the centre of the dense mass of birds, six of which immediately fell upon the snow. "what a lot of flukes!" exclaimed my companion, with a laugh, as he recharged. "luck before precision, any day!" said i, following his example. "ay, max, but there is this difference, that luck is rather uncertain, whereas precision is always sure." "well, be that as it may," said i putting on my snow-shoes, for the snow in the wood we were about to enter was deep and soft, "we have enough for a good supper at all events." "true, and we shall need a good supper, for we must camp out. there is no chance of our finding this treasure--even if it exists--until we have had a good search, and then it will be too late to return home with comfort, or even safety, for it is difficult on a dark night to distinguish tracks on the hard snow of a lake, as i've sometimes found to my cost." we set up several other coveys of ptarmigan as we traversed the belt of willows lying between the lake and the woods, and when we entered the latter, several grouse, of a species that takes to trees, fluttered away from us; but we did not molest them, having already more than we could consume swinging at our belts. we went straight up the valley to what we deemed the most sequestered part of it, and then paused. "this looks somewhat like the spot, doesn't it?" said lumley, glancing round. "yonder is a cliff with rocks at the base of it." "yes, but too many rocks," said i; "the paper mentions only one; besides, it refers to a stunted pine, and i see nothing of that sort here." "true, it must be higher up the valley. come along." on we plodded, hour after hour, halting often, and examining with care many a secluded spot that seemed to answer, more or less, the description of the spot for which we searched, but all in vain. sunset found us as far from our object as ever, and as hungry as hawks. darkness of course put an end to the search, and, with a feeling of disappointment and weariness that i had not experienced since arriving in that region, i set to work to fell and cut up a tree for fire wood, while lumley shovelled a hole in the snow at the foot of a pine, and otherwise prepared our encampment. but youth is remarkably elastic in spirit! no sooner was the fire crackling, the kettle singing, and the delicious odour of roasted ptarmigan tickling our nostrils, than disappointment gave way to hope and weariness to jollity. "come, we shall have at it again to-morrow," said lumley. "so we shall," said i--"mind that kettle. you have an unfortunate capacity for kicking things over." "one of the disadvantages of long legs, max. they're always in the way. get out the biscuit now. my ptarmigan is ready. at least, if it isn't, i can't wait." "neither can i, jack. i sometimes wish that it were natural to us to eat things raw. it would be so very convenient and save sh---a--lot-- of--time." hunger and a wrenched-off drumstick checked further utterance! that night we lay in our snow camp, gazing up at the stars, with our feet to the fire, talking of gold and diamonds with all the eagerness of veritable misers--though it is but justice to myself to add that eve's blue eyes outshone, in my imagination, all the diamonds that ever decked the brow of wealth or beauty! when at last we slept, our dreams partook of the same glittering ideas--coupled, of course, with much of the monstrous absurdity to which dreams are liable. i had just discovered a gem which was so large that i experienced the utmost difficulty in thrusting it into my coat-pocket, and was busy shovelling small diamonds of the purest water into a wheelbarrow, when a tremendous whack on my nose awoke me. starting up with an indignant gasp i found that it was a lump of snow, which had been detached by the heat of our fire from a branch overhead. "what's wrong, max?" growled my companion, who lay curled up in his buffalo robe, like a huge newfoundland dog. "bin dreamin'?" "yes," said i, with a loud yawn, "i was dreaming of shovelling up diamonds by the thousand when a lump of snow fell and hit my nose!" "str'nge," sighed lumley, in the sleepiest voice i ever heard, "so's i-- dr'm'n 'f g'ld'n sass-gs an' dm'nd rupple-ply." "what nonsense are you talking, man? what were you dreaming of?" "'f gold'n saus'ges an' dim'nd rolly-p'ly. i say--'s fire out?" "nearly." "'s very cold. g't up--mend it, l'ke good f'llow. i'll help you, d'rectly." he finished off with a prolonged snore, so i rose with a slight laugh, mended the fire, warmed myself well, observed in a sleepy way that the night was still bright and calm, and then lay down in a state of semi-consciousness to drop at once into a nest made of golden filigree filled with diamond eggs! next morning we rose at daybreak, relighted the fire and had breakfast, after which we resumed our search, but still--without success. "i fear that my surmise as to the state of poor liston's mind is correct," said lumley. "we have searched the whole valley, i believe." "nay, not quite," i returned, "it is much varied in form, and full of out-o'-the-way nooks. besides, we have not yet discovered the stunted pine, and you know the paper says the spot is difficult to find. as to liston's mind i feel quite sure that it was all right, and that the man was a good and true one. the father of waboose could not have been otherwise." i said this somewhat decidedly, for i felt sorely disappointed at our failure, and slightly annoyed at my friend's unbelief in one whose last writing proved him--at least to my mind--to be genuine and sincere. "well, max," returned lumley, with his wonted pleasant look and tone, "it may be that you are right. we will continue our search as long as there seems any chance of success." accordingly, we ranged the valley round, high and low, until we had visited, as we thought, every nook and cranny in it and then, much dispirited, returned home. one morning, about three months after these events, lumley came into my bedroom where i was drawing a plan for a new store. "max," said he, sitting down on the bed beside me, "i mean to start this afternoon on a visit to the mountain fort. you know i promised macnab that i would look him up about this time and fetch waboose and her mother back." "indeed. when do you start!" "this afternoon." i was not surprised at the suddenness of this announcement. our chief was eminently a man of action. he seldom talked much about plans, but thought them well out, and when his mind was made up acted without delay. "you'll take my letter to the governor and tell mac to forward it with his spring packet?" said i. "yes, that is just what i came to see you about. is it ready--and are you quite decided about retiring?" "quite decided. see, here is the letter. and don't forget your promise to say nothing to waboose or anyone else about liston's packet." "not a word, my boy." that afternoon my friend set off on snow-shoes accompanied by two men. "any message, max?" he said, at parting. "of course. my kind regards to everybody." "nothing warmer to _anybody_?" "oh, yes," i returned quickly, "i forgot you may, if you choose, say something a little more affectionate to miss macnab!" "i will, max, i will," he replied, with a loud ringing laugh and a cheery good-bye. some time after that an indian came to the fort bearing a letter from lumley. it was written, he said, merely because the indian chanced to be travelling towards wichikagan, and contained nothing of importance. to my surprise and disappointment it contained no reference whatever to waboose. on turning over the last page, however, i found a postscript. it ran thus: "p.s.--by the way, i had almost omitted to mention eve. my dear boy, i believe you are right. she is one of nature's ladies. jessie has prevailed on her to put on one of her dresses and be her companion, and when they are walking together with their backs towards me, upon my word i have difficulty in deciding which is the more ladylike of the two! and that you will admit, is no small compliment from me. jessie has been giving her lessons in english, and music and drawing too. just think of that! she says she is doing it with an end in view. i wonder what that end can be! jessie is sometimes difficult to understand. she is also remarkably wise and far-sighted. i expect to be home soon-- farewell." chapter twenty. i come out in a new light, and have a very narrow escape. during the absence of my friend everything went on at the fort in the usual quiet way, with this difference, that part of our educational course had to be given up, and i had to read the pilgrim's progress instead of my friend, for the men had become so deeply interested in the adventures of christian that they begged of me to continue the readings. this i agreed to do, but confined myself simply to reading. i observed, however, that my audience did not seem to appreciate the story as much as before, and was getting somewhat disheartened about it, when one evening, as i was about to begin, donald bane said to me-- "if ye please, sur, the other laads an' me's been talking over this matter, an' they want me to say that they would pe fery much obleeged if ye would expound the story as you go along, the same as muster lumley did." this speech both surprised and embarrassed me, for i had never before attempted anything in the way of exposition. i felt, however, that it would never do for a man in charge of an outpost in the great nor'-west to exhibit weakness on any point, whatever he might feel; i therefore resolved to comply. "well, donald bane," i said, "it had been my intention to leave the exposition of the allegory to mr lumley, but as you all wish me to carry on that part of the reading i will do my best." so saying, i plunged at once into the story, and got on much more easily than i had expected; ideas and words flowing into my mind copiously, insomuch that i found it difficult to stop, and on more than one occasion was awakened by a snore from one of the audience, to the fact that i had sent some of them to sleep. in the midst of this pleasant, and i hope not unprofitable, work, an event occurred which had well-nigh stopped my commentaries on the pilgrim's progress, and put an end to my career altogether. i had gone out one morning with my gun to procure a few fresh ptarmigan, accompanied by big otter. our trusty indian was beginning by that time to understand the english language, but he would not condescend to speak it. this, however, was of slight importance, as i had learned to jabber fluently in the native tongue. we speedily half-filled the large game-bag which the indian carried. "i think we'll go into the thicker woods now," said i, "and try for some tree grouse by way of variety." big otter gave a mild grunt of assent. he was not naturally given to much talking, and, being amiable, was always ready to conform to any plan without discussion, unless expressly asked. indeed, even when expressly asked, it was not always possible to get a satisfactory answer out of him. "do you think we should go up the dark valley, or over the rocky knoll," said i, referring to two well-known spots a considerable distance from the fort. "the pale-face chief knows best." "yes, but the pale-face asks what the red-face thinks," said i, somewhat amused by the answer. "he thinks that there are grouse in the dark valley, and also in the lands towards the setting sun over the rocky knoll." "if i were to ask you, big otter, which of the two directions you would like to take, what would you reply?" "i would reply, `the direction that best pleases the pale-face chief.'" "now, big otter," said i, firmly, for i was determined to get an answer out of him, "in which of the two paths are we most likely to find the greatest number of birds?" "assuredly in the path which shall be chosen by the pale-face. is he not a great hunter? does he not know the land?" i gave in with a short laugh, and, turning, led the way over the rocky knoll into the dense forest at the back of the fort. passing through a belt of this, we came upon more open ground, where the trees grew in clumps, with willow-covered spaces between. beyond that we re-entered the thick woods, and at once set up a covey of the birds we were in search of. there were six of them, and they all perched on a neighbouring tree. now it is sometimes the case that the birds of which i write are so tame that they will sit still on a tree till they are all shot, one by one, if only the hunter is careful to fire at the lowest bird first, and so proceed upwards. if he should kill the top bird first, its fluttering fall disturbs the rest, causing them to take wing. fully aware of this fact, big otter and i fired alternate shots, and in a few seconds brought down the whole covey. this quite filled one of our bags. "you may take it home, big otter," said i, "and tell them not to be alarmed if i don't return till to-morrow. perhaps i shall camp out." with his usual quiet grunt of acquiescence my red-skinned companion shouldered the full bag, and left me. i then struck into the thick woods, with the general bearings of which i was well acquainted, and soon after came across the fresh tracks of a deer, which i followed up hotly. i am naturally a keen sportsman, and apt to forget both time and distance when pursuing game. as to distance, however, a backwoods hunter who intends to encamp on the spot where night finds him, does not need to concern himself much about that. i therefore plodded on, hour after hour, until the waning light told of the approach of darkness, and convinced me that further pursuit would be useless. looking round me then, for a suitable spot on which to make my encampment, i experienced almost a shock of surprise, not unmingled with alarm, on making the discovery that i had forgotten to bring my fire-bag! to some people the serious nature of this may not at first be apparent. but they may appreciate the situation in some degree when i tell them that on that occasion i suddenly found myself about twenty miles from home, fatigued, hungry, with the night descending over the wilderness, the thermometer about thirty-five below zero, of fahrenheit's scale, with the snow for my bed, and without that all important flint, steel and tinder, wherewith to procure fire for the cooking of my food and the warming of my frame! it is true i had my gun, which was a flint one, so that by rubbing some slightly moistened gunpowder on a piece of rag, which i tore from my shirt for the purpose, and snapping the lock over it there was a possibility of a spark catching, but unfortunately the flint was a much worn one which i had chipped away to such an extent during the day, to improve its fire-producing powers, that only the merest glimmer of a spark was evolved after many snappings, and it was so feeble as to be quite unable to catch hold of my extemporised tinder. after prolonged and fruitless efforts the intense cold began to chill me, and being well aware of the great danger of getting benumbed, or of falling into that torpid state of indifference to life, coupled with intense desire for rest which precedes death from cold, i made up my mind at once, tired and hungry though i was, to turn round and walk straight back to the fort. i knew myself to be quite capable of walking forty miles on snow-shoes in ordinary circumstances. my being tired and the darkness of night, were against me, but what of that? it would only require me to brace myself to a severer task than usual! i had not gone many miles, however, on the return journey, when a doubt occurred as to whether i was taking the right direction. in the confidence of my knowledge of the country i had carelessly left my old track, which was indeed rather a devious one, and had struck what i believed to be a straight line for the fort. it was by that time too late to retrace my steps and too dark to distinguish the features of the landscape. i stopped for a minute to think, and as i did so the profound oppressive silence of the night, the weird pallid aspect of the scarce visible snow, and the dark pines around me, which were only a shade or two darker than the black sky above, together with the ever-increasing cold, made such an impression on my mind that the prayer, "god help me!" burst almost involuntarily from my lips. feeling that delay surely meant death, i started off again with redoubled energy, and this impulse of determination, along with the exercise, increased my temperature somewhat, so that hope became strong again, and with it muscular energy. suddenly i came upon a snow-shoe track. i went down on my knees to examine it, but the light was insufficient to make it out clearly. what would i not have given for a match at that moment! however, as the size of the shoe-print seemed to my _feeling_ the same with that of the shoe i wore, i concluded that it must certainly be my own track out from home--all the more that it ran almost parallel with the line i was following. getting upon it then, i stepped out with much greater ease and with a lighter heart. after a time the track led me to a slightly open space where the light was better. i thought that objects seemed familiar to me as i looked round. advancing, i came on a spot where the snow was much trodden down. there was a bank of snow near. i went towards it while a terrible suspicion flashed into my mind. yes, it was the very spot on which i had been sitting hours before, while i was making fruitless efforts to obtain a light from the flint of my gun! i had been doing that of which i had often read and heard, walking unwittingly in a circle, and had actually come back to the spot from which i set out. what my feelings were on making this discovery it is scarcely possible to describe. my first act was to look up and exclaim as before, "god help me!" but there was nothing impulsive or involuntary in the prayer this time. i fully realised the extent of my danger, and, believing that the hour had come when nothing could save my life but the direct interposition of my creator, i turned to him with all the fervour of my heart. at the same time i am bound to confess that my faith was very weak, and my soul felt that solemn alarm which probably the bravest feel at the approach of death, when that approach is sudden and very unexpected. nevertheless, i am thankful to say that my powers of judgment and of action did not forsake me. i knew that it would be folly to attempt to follow my track back again through the intricacies of the forest in so dark a night, especially now that the track was partly mingled and confused with that which i had made in joining it. i also knew that to give way to despair, and lie down without a fire or food, would be to seal my own doom. only one course remained, and that was to keep constantly moving until the return of day should enable me to distinguish surrounding objects more clearly. i went to work therefore without delay, but before doing so once again solemnly and earnestly committed my soul and body to the care of god. and, truly, the circumstances of my case intensified that prayer. i felt as if i had never really prayed in earnest in my life before that night. then, laying aside my gun, blanket and cooking utensils, so as to commence my task as light as possible, i went to the most open space of ground i could find, and there described a large circle with my snow-shoes on. this was the track on which i resolved to perform a feat of endurance. to walk all night without intermission, without rest, so as to keep up my animal heat was the effort, on the success of which depended the issue of life or death. i began with that vigour which is born of hopeful determination to succeed or die. but, as time wore on, the increasing weakness and exhaustion began to render me less capable of enduring the intense cold. having my wallet on my back i took out some biscuit and pemmican and ate it as i walked. this revived me a good deal, nevertheless i restrained myself, feeling convinced that nothing but steady, quiet perseverance would carry me through. soon thirst began to torment me, yet i did not dare to eat snow, as that would have merely injured the inside of my mouth, and frozen the skin of my lips. this feeling did not however last long. it was followed by a powerful sense of drowsiness. this i knew to be the fatal premonitory symptom, and strove against it with all my power. the better to resist it i began to talk aloud to myself. "come now, my boy, you mustn't give way to _that_. it is death, you know. hold up! be a man! act as lumley would have acted in similar circumstances. dear lumley! how he would run to help me if he only knew!" suddenly the words, "in me is thy help," seemed to sound in my very ears. i stopped to listen, and was partly roused, but soon hurried on again. "yes, yes," i exclaimed aloud, "i know the text well," but the words had scarcely left my lips when i stumbled and fell. owing to my sinking powers i had failed to keep the centre of the track; my right snow-shoe had caught on the edge of it and tumbled me into the soft snow. how shall i describe the delicious feeling of profound rest that ensued when i found myself prone and motionless? equally impossible is it to describe the agonising struggles that i made to induce my unwilling spirit to rouse my listless body. those who have striven in semi-consciousness to throw off the awful lethargy of nightmare may have some conception of my feelings. i knew, even then, that it was the critical moment--the beginning of the end. in a burst of anxiety i began to pray--to shout with all my strength--for deliverance. the effort and the strange sound of my own voice roused me. i staggered to my feet and was able to continue my walk. being somewhat brighter than i had been before the tumble, i perceived that the circular track was by that time beaten hard enough to bear me up without snow-shoes, so i put them off and walked with much more ease. from this point however my mind became so confused that i can give no reliable account of what followed. i was conscious at various periods during that dreadful night of becoming alive to several incidents and states of mind. i recollect falling more than once, as i had fallen before, and of experiencing, more than once, that painful struggle against what i may style mental and physical inertia. i remember breaking out frequently into loud importunate prayer, and being impressed with a feeling of reviving energy at such times. sometimes a text of scripture seemed to flash before my eyes and disappear. on these occasions i made terrible efforts to grasp the text, and have an indistinct sensation of increased strength resulting from the mere efforts, but most of the texts faded as quickly as they came, with the exception of one--"god is our hope." somehow i seemed to lay firm hold of that, and to feel conscious of holding it, even when sense was slipping away, but of the blanks between those conditions i know nothing. they may have been long or they may have been short--i cannot tell. all remains on my memory now like the unsubstantial fragments of a hideous dream. the first thing after that which impressed itself on me with anything like the distinctness of reality was the sound of a crackling fire, accompanied with the sensation of warmth in my throat. slowly opening my eyes i became aware of the fact that i was lying in front of a blazing fire, surrounded by big otter, blondin, and dougall, who stood gazing at me with anxious looks, while henri coppet knelt at my side, attempting to pour some warm tea down my throat. "dere now, monsieur," said coppet, who was rather fond of airing his english, especially when excited, "yoos kom too ver queek. ony drink. ha! dere be noting like tea." "wow! man, mind what yer aboot. ye'll scald him," said dougall, anxiously. "you hole yoos tongue," replied the carpenter contemptuously, "me knows w'at mees do. don' wants no scoshmans for tell me. _voila_! monsieur have swaller _un peu_!" this was true. i had not only swallowed, but nearly choked with a tendency to laugh at the lugubrious expression of my friends' faces. "where am i?" said i, on recovering a little, "what has happened?" "oo ay, muster maxby," answered dougall, with his wonted nasal drawl; "somethin' _hess_ happened, but it's no sae pad as what _might_ hev happened, whatever." as this did not tend to clear my mind much, and as i knew from experience that the worthy celt refused to be hurried in his communications, i turned an inquiring look on blondin, who at once said in french-- "monsieur has been lost and nearly frozen, and monsieur would surely have been quite frozen if james dougall had not discovered that monsieur had left his fire-bag at home, by mistake no doubt; we at once set out to search for monsieur, and we found him with his head in the snow and his feet in the air. at first we thought that monsieur was dead, but happily he was not, so we kindled a fire and rubbed monsieur, and gave him hot tea, which has revived him. _voila_! perhaps monsieur will take a little more hot tea?" while blondin was speaking, the whole scene of the previous day and of the terrible night rushed in upon my brain like a flood, and i thanked god fervently for my deliverance, while i complied with the man's suggestion and sipped some more tea. it revived me much, but on attempting to rise i found myself so weak that i fell back helplessly with a deep sigh. "ye've no need to trouble yoursel', muster maxby," said dougall, "we've brought the new dowg-sleigh for 'ee." looking in the direction in which he pointed, i observed not far-off the splendid new dog-sleigh which we had spent much time in making and painting that winter. our fine team of four semi-wolf dogs, gay with embroidered harness as they lay curled up on the snow, were attached to it. "i suspect i should have died but for your thoughtful care, dougall," i said, gratefully, as the good fellow assisted to place me in the vehicle and wrap the buffalo robes around me. "hoots! muster maxby," was the remonstrative reply. big otter placed himself in front of the _cortege_ to beat the track. the dogs followed him with the sleigh-bells ringing merrily. blondin took hold of the tail-line, and the others brought up the rear. thus comfortably, with a bright sun shining in the blue sky, i returned to fort wichikagan. chapter twenty one. a buffalo hunt followed by a palaver, an arrival, and a traitor-chase. we must turn away now, for a short time, to another, though not far distant, part of the great nor'-west. it is a more open country than that immediately around fort wichikagan, and lies to the south of it. here and there long stretches of prairie cut up the wilderness, giving to the landscape a soft and park-like appearance. the scenery is further diversified by various lakelets which swarm with water-fowl, for the season has changed, early spring having already swept away the white mantle of winter, and spread the green robes of nature over the land. it is such a region as a millionaire might select, in which to build a palace, but no millionaire has yet beheld the lovely spot. with unlimited wealth at his command he still confines himself to the smoke and dust of civilisation, leaving the free air and the brilliant beauty of the wilderness to the wild-fowl and the penniless hunter, and the wandering savage! in the midst of one of the stretches of rolling prairie-land, great herds of buffalo are scattered in groups, browsing with all the air of security peculiar to domestic cattle. happily their memories are short. they seem prone to enjoy the present, forgetful of the past and regardless of the future--happily, i say, for those humpy and hairy creatures are not unacquainted with man's devices--the sudden surprise, the twang of the red-man's bow and the crack of the hunter's rifle. it was the forenoon of a splendid day, when this peaceful scene was broken in upon by obstreperous, fighting, peace-destroying man. a little cloud of dust on the horizon was the first indication of his approach, and a very antique buffalo-bull was first among the thousands of innocents to observe the cloud. it stirred the memory of other days, no doubt within his capacious bosom, and probably sent a thrill through his huge frame, which, terminating naturally in his tail, caused that appendage to vibrate and curl slightly upwards. at the same time he emitted softly a low rumble, which might have served for the bass of a cathedral organ. most of the cows near the patriarch looked up in evident surprise, as though to say, "what in all the world do you mean by _that_?" but the patriarch took no notice of them. he kept his wicked little eyes fixed intently on the cloud of dust, twitching his tail nervously, and rumbling cathedral-organically. if i might venture to guess at the mental operations of that patriarch, i should say that he was growling to himself, "is that you again, you galloping, spitfiring, two-legged, yelling monsters?" or some such bovine expression. by degrees the cloud came nearer and enlarged. simultaneously the groups of buffaloes drew together and began to gaze--perchance to remember! the patriarch became excited, wriggled his tail, which was ridiculously small for his body, pawed the ground, trotted hither and thither, and commenced playing on all the deeper notes of his organ. at last there could be no doubt. the two-legged monsters came on, mounted on four-legged brutes, which began to trot as the distance between them diminished. this was enough. the patriarch tossed his haunches to the sky, all but wriggled off his tail, gave utterance to a bursting bellow, and went scouring over the plains like a gigantic wild pig. the entire buffalo host performing a similar toss and wriggle, followed close on his heels. at this the redskins put their steeds to the gallop, but did not at once overtake their prey. clumsy though their gait was, the buffaloes were swift and strong, causing the whole plain to resound under their mighty tread. indian steeds, however, are wiry and enduring. by slow degrees they lessened the distance between them--both pursued and pursuers lengthening out their ranks as the "fittest" came to the front. thundering on, they approached one of the large clumps of woodland, with which the plain was covered, as with islets. the patriarch led to the left of it. the savages, sweeping aside, took to the right. the sudden disappearance of the pursuers seemed to surprise the patriarch, who slackened his pace a little, and, lifting his shaggy head, looked right and left inquiringly. "was it all a dream!" he thought--no doubt. if he thought it was, he received in a few minutes a rude awakening, for the redskins came sweeping round the other end of the clump of trees, yelling like fiends, brandishing their weapons and urging their steeds to the uttermost. to snort, bellow, turn off at a tangent, and scurry along faster than ever, was the work of a moment, but it was too late! the savages were in the midst of the snorting host. bows were bent and guns were levelled. the latter were smooth-bores, cheap, and more or less inaccurate, but that mattered not. where the range was only two or three yards, guns and bows were true enough for the end in view. at such work even bad shots met their reward. arrows sank to the feathers; bullets penetrated to the heart or shattered the bones. ere long numerous black lumps on the prairie told of death to the quadrupeds and success to the bipeds. but i do not drag the reader here merely to tell of savage sport and butchery. the indian was only following his vocation--working for his food. that same evening two of the indians stood on a hillock, a little apart from their camp where smoking fires and roasting meat and marrow-bones, and ravenously-feeding men and women, and gorging little boys and girls, formed a scene that was interesting though not refined. one of the indians referred to was big otter. the other was muskrat, the old chief of his tribe. "does my father not know?" said big otter, deferentially, "that attick plans mischief against the pale-faces of wichikagan?" "no, big otter," returned the old chief with a scowl; "muskrat does not know that, but he hears, and if it is true he will have attick flayed alive, and his skin dressed to make moccasins for our young squaws." "it is true," rejoined big otter, sternly. "his plan is to attack the fort by night, kill the pale-faces, and carry off the goods." "attick is a fool!" said muskrat, contemptuously. "does he not know that no more goods would evermore be sent into our lands if we did that, and also that the pale-faces always hunt murderers to death? no; if that had been possible, or wise, muskrat would have done it himself long ago." after this candid statement he stared solemnly at his companion, as though to say, "what think ye of that, my brave?" apparently my brave did not think much of it one way or other, for he only looked indifferent and said, "waugh!" "big otter's ears are sharp," continued muskrat. "how did he come to hear of attick's intentions?" the younger indian paused thoughtfully before replying. "waboose told me," he said. "does the daughter of weeum the good hold communion with evil spirits?" asked the old chief, with a slight elevation of the eyebrows. "not willingly, but evil spirits force themselves upon the daughter of weeum the good. my father knows that attick is presumptuous. he wishes to mate waboose." "yes, i knew he was presumptuous, but i did not know he was so great a fool," replied the old chief scornfully. "my father knows," continued big otter, "that when the pale-face chief went and brought waboose back to fort wichikagan, attick was staying there in his wigwam by the lake. the big chief of the pale-faces, who fears nothing, had forgiven him. attick went to waboose, and offered to take her to his wigwam; but the daughter of weeum the good turned away from him. attick is proud, and he is fierce. he told waboose that he would kill all the pale-faces. although a fool, he does not boast. waboose knew that he was in earnest. she went to the pale-face muxbee (by which name big otter styled my humble self), and told him all, for she has set her heart on muxbee." "did she tell you so?" asked muskrat, sharply. "no; but the blue eyes of waboose tell tales. they are like a kettle with holes in the bottom--they cannot hold secrets. they spoke to attick as well as to me, and he became jealous. he swore he would take the scalp of muxbee. one day, soon after the lake opened, muxbee asked waboose to go with him in a canoe to the valley at the head of lake wichikagan. attick followed in another canoe, but kept far behind. they did not know it was attick. waboose found it out afterwards. muxbee did not talk to waboose of love. the ways of the pale-faces are strange. once i thought that muxbee liked waboose, and that, perhaps, he might wed with her, and stay with us as the good weeum did, but i doubt it now. he only asked her to take him to the stunted pine where her father was so fond of going with her. when there he went looking here and there about the rocks, and found a splendid thing--i know not what--but waboose told me it shone and sparkled like the stars. beside it was a bag of the yellow round things that the pale-faces love so much. he told her he had expected to find these things, but she must not ask him questions just then--he would tell her afterwards. i suppose he is a great medicine-man, and holds intercourse with the spirit-world." big otter paused thoughtfully a few seconds, and then continued:-- "when he was putting these things in his breast, waboose caught sight of attick among the bushes, and pointed him out. muxbee sprang up and levelled his gun with the two pipes at him, but did not fire. attick fled and they saw him no more." "did waboose tell big otter all this?" asked the old chief. "yes. waboose has no secrets from her mother's brother." "and why has big otter left the pale-faces, and brought waboose away from them?" asked muskrat. "because he fears for the pale-faces, that attick will kill them and carry off waboose. by bringing waboose here with us we draw attick along with us away from the pale-faces, and as long as waboose is in our camp she is safe. attick dare not harm her." a gleam of intelligence lit up the swarthy features of the old chief as he said "waugh!" with much satisfaction. but both he and big otter were wrong in their calculations. so far, indeed, the latter was right. the presence of waboose in the camp effectually drew attick after them, and thus removed danger from the inhabitants of fort wichikagan, but they were wrong when they thought their camp a place of safety for the poor girl. "did muxbee not care when big otter carried waboose away?" asked the old man. "he did not know she was going, and i did not tell her she was not to return. i took her away with her mother when muxbee was out hunting. i told the big pale-face chief that i must go with my tribe to hunt the buffalo in the south, and that they must go with me. he was very unwilling to let them go at first but i was resolved, and waboose is a good obedient girl." that night two events occurred in the redskin camp which caused a good deal of surprise and commotion. the first was the sudden disappearance of waboose and her mother. they had been gone some time, of course, before any one thought of suspecting flight. the moment that suspicion was aroused, however, big otter went straight to the wigwam of attick. it was deserted! he knew well the bad and weak men of the tribe who were led or swayed by attick. hurrying to their tents he found that these also had fled. this was enough. "masqua," he said to the first indian he chanced to meet at the moment of quitting the last wigwam, "attick has carried off waboose. assemble some of the young men. choose only the strong, and those whose horses are swift. go yourself with your son mozwa--gallop round the camp till you find in which direction they have gone--then return to me at the council tent and wait." masqua understood the value of prompt obedience. without a word of reply he turned and bounded away. big otter hurried to the council tent, where old muskrat was already surrounded by his chiefs. there was less than usual of the grave deliberation of north american indians in that meeting, for the case was urgent. nevertheless, there was no bustle, for each bronzed warrior knew that the young men would require a little time to hunt up the trail of the fugitives, mingled as it must be with the innumerable footprints of man and beast in the neighbourhood of a camp; and, until that trail was found, they might as well deliberate calmly--especially as all the men met at the council armed, and ready to vault on the steeds which were already pawing the earth outside. these horses were restrained by youths who longed for the time when they too might be styled braves, and meet in council. "is all prepared?" asked the old chief, as big otter entered the tent. "the young men are out," was the curt reply. "good. the night is dark, but my warriors have sharp eyes, and the moon will rise soon. no effort must be spared. the daughter of weeum the good must be brought back. it is not necessary to bring back attick or his men. their scalps will do as well." "waugh!" pronounced with much emphasis showed that the old man's words were not only understood, but thoroughly appreciated. at this moment occurred the second event which i have said was the cause of surprise in the camp that night, if not of commotion. while the old chief was yet speaking, his words were checked by the sound of horses' hoofs beating heavily on the prairie. "the young men," said muskrat; "they have been swift to find the trail." "young men in haste bringing news do not trot," said big otter. "waugh!" assented the council. "there are but two riders," murmured the chief, listening intently to the pattering sounds, which rapidly grew louder. he was right, for, a few seconds later, two horsemen were seen to trot into the camp, and make straight for the council fire. some of the indians had turned out with arms ready as they approached, but on hearing a word or two from one of the riders, they quietly let them pass. pulling up sharply, one of the strangers leaped to the ground, flung his reins to the other, and entered the council tent where he was received with looks of surprise, and with the ejaculation from big otter of the single word "muxbee!" yes, good reader, that stranger was none other than myself, and my companion was salamander. to account for our sudden appearance i must explain. on returning to fort wichikagan four days after big otter had left, and hearing what had occurred, i told lumley i would follow in pursuit and fetch waboose back. he remonstrated, of course, but in vain. "you know that a sacred trust has been imposed upon me," said i, earnestly, "and i have resolved to fulfil it. the manner in which i should set about it has perplexed me sorely, i confess, but this sudden departure relieves me, at all events, from uncertainty as to my present course of duty. if waboose goes off with the tribe to no one knows where, she may never be found again. you are aware that she is still ignorant of the contents of the packet, and the value of the found treasure. i have kept her so, temporarily, by your advice. if i had told her and her kindred, she would not probably have gone away, but it is too late to regret that, now. by going off at once i may overtake the tribe. three days' journey on foot will bring me to indians who are rich in horses. once well mounted i can push on, and will easily overtake them if you will lend me salamander to aid in following up the trail." "but what of the service?" asked lumley, with a sad smile, for he saw i was resolved. "you are not yet free." "true, but you know that spooner is already on his way here to replace me, my resignation having been accepted. in a week, or two at farthest, he will arrive, when i shall be absolutely free to go where i please. meanwhile, to prevent even a shadow of impropriety, i ask your majesty for a fortnight's leave of absence to go a-hunting. surely you won't refuse so small a favour? i will be sure to find waboose, and bring her back by that time." "well, max, my boy, i won't refuse. go, and god go with you. i shall expect to see you again in two weeks, if not sooner." "unless, of course, circumstances render my return so soon impossible." "of course, of course," said lumley. thus we parted, and thus it was that salamander and i found ourselves at last in the indian camp. the pursuit, however, had been much longer than i had expected. more than the stipulated fortnight had already passed. but to return from this digression. after we had looked at each other silently for a few seconds in the council tent, as already described, i advanced to big otter and held out my hand. i then shook hands with the old chief, sat down beside him, and expressed a hope that i did not intrude. "we palaver about the disappearance of waboose," said the old chief. "disappearance! waboose!" i exclaimed, turning abruptly to big otter. "attick has fled," said the indian, sternly, "carrying waboose and her mother along with him." "and you sit here idly talking," i exclaimed, almost fiercely, as i sprang up. before i could take action of any kind, the young indian, mozwa, entered the tent abruptly, and said a few words to muskrat. at the same moment the councillors rose. "we go in pursuit," whispered big otter in my ear. "mount, and join us." almost bewildered, but feeling perfect confidence in my indian friend, i ran out, and vaulted into the saddle. eager and quick though i was, the redskins were mounted as soon as myself. no one seemed to give orders, but with one accord they put their horses to the gallop, and swept out of the camp. the last words of the old chief as we darted off, were-- "bring her back, my braves, and don't forget the scalps of attick and his men!" chapter twenty two. the chase, the capture, and the revelation. a stern chase is usually a long one. there are not many proverbs the truth of which comes more powerfully home than this--at least to those who have had the misfortune to engage in many such chases. to make a slant at a fugitive, so as to cut him off, or to make a short cut and head him, is pleasant if you be strong in wind and limb, but to creep up right astern, inch by inch, foot by foot, yard by yard, and to overcome him at last by sheer superiority and perseverance, is a disheartening task. that was the task we undertook the night we left the indian camp, and went off at full gallop over the rolling prairie in pursuit of the scoundrel attick and his crew. but indians are by nature persevering, and, for myself, i was roused to the highest pitch of indignation and anxiety. salamander and i had ridden far and fast that day, besides which we had eaten only a mouthful of pemmican and biscuit since breakfast; nevertheless, under the excitement of the moment our weariness vanished, our hunger fled, and we engaged in the pursuit with all the ardour of the youngest brave among them. fortunately i had secured two exceptionally fine horses, so that they were quite able to compete with the inferior, though fresher, horses of the indians. "how long is it since you discovered that they were gone?" said i, as i galloped alongside of big otter. "not more than an hour," he replied. "do you think they had a long start before that?" "i cannot tell. perhaps two hours, perhaps four. certainly not five, for they were seen in camp when the sun was high." i was greatly relieved to learn that they had not got a longer start of us, and very thankful that i had come up in time to join the pursuers. i was calming down somewhat under the influence of these thoughts, when i had a sudden feeling of being shot from a cannon into the air. this was succeeded by a sensation of having my nose converted into a ploughshare, and that was instantly followed by oblivion! in the uncertain light my steed had put his foot in a badger hole--that was all, but it sufficed to check the pace of the whole party! on recovering i found my head on salamander's knee. i felt dreamy and indifferent. "what has happened?" i asked, in english. our interpreter, who had a tendency to answer in whatever language he was addressed--whether english, french, or indian--replied-- "yoos bin a-most busted, sar!" suddenly the true state of the case flashed upon me. langour fled. i leaped up, and scrambled somehow into the saddle. "have i been long insensible, salamander?" i asked, as we resumed our headlong pace. "on'y what time i kin count twinty, sar." rejoiced to find that no longer time had been lost, i galloped along contentedly, and in silence, though with a rather confused feeling in my brain, and a sensation of being possessed of six noses rolled into one. although no one, as i have said, seemed to lead the party when we started, i soon found that big otter was really our chief. he rode ahead of us, and more than once pulled up to dismount and examine the trail. on these occasions the rest of the party halted without orders, and awaited his decision. once we were completely thrown off the scent. the fugitives had taken to a wooded tract of country, and it required our utmost caution not to lose the trail. presently we came to a small stream and crossed it, but the trail ended abruptly here. we were not surprised, being well aware of the common indian device of wading in a stream, which holds no footprints, so as to throw pursuers out. dividing our force, one party went up stream, the other down, but although eager, sharp, and practised eyes examined the banks, they could not discover the spot where the fugitives had again taken to dry land. returning to the place where we had divided, big otter again examined the trail with minute care, going down on his knees to turn over the blades of grass and examine the footprints. "strange," said i, impatiently, "that so simple a device should baffle us." as i spoke, the chief arose, and, dark though it was, i could see a gleam of intelligence on his swarthy visage. "attick thinks he is wise," he said, in a low voice, "but he has no more brains than a rabbit. he was from childhood an idiot." having paid his tribesman this compliment, he remounted, and, to my surprise, went straight back the way we had come. "what means this!" i asked, unable to restrain my impatience. "attick has doubled back, that is all. if there had been more light we should easily have seen that. we shall soon find the place where the trail breaks off again." the indian was right. on clearing the wooded land we found that the moon was up, and we followed the trail easily. coming to a hillock in the open ground, the top of which was covered with thick and stunted bushes, we rode into them and there experienced much difficulty in picking our way. suddenly big otter turned at a right angle from the line we had been hitherto pursuing, and, putting his horse to the gallop, held on with the decision of one who knows he is on the right road. as the prairie was open, and the moon growing brighter, we had now no difficulty in following up the fugitives, and pressed on as fast as our horses could go. daylight came and found us still galloping; but as there was no sign of those whom we pursued, and as our horses were getting tired, we halted at a small stream for a short rest and breakfast. "they must be well mounted," said i, as we sat on the banks of the stream appeasing our hunger with masses of dried buffalo meat, while the horses munched the grass near us. "attick is always well mounted," replied big otter; "but his men may not be so well off, and women are difficult to urge on when they are unwilling." "then you have no doubt that we shall overtake them?" i asked. "we _must_ overtake them," was the laconic reply. i felt somewhat comforted by the decision of the indian's tone, and a good deal more so by his ordering his warriors to remount before half an hour had passed. he did not however, press on as hard as before, fearing, no doubt that the horses would break down. i felt assured that attick would not dare to halt until he believed himself almost beyond pursuit; and, as the chase therefore bade fair to be a very long one, it seemed wise thus to spare the horses. about noon, however, we passed through a strip of woodland, and, on coming out at the other side, observed a party of horsemen on the distant horizon. "waugh!" exclaimed big otter, shaking the reins of his steed and going off at racing speed. we soon began to overhaul the cavalcade, and then perceived that they were doing their utmost to get away from us. "it is attick and his party--is it not?" i asked, excitedly. "it is attick," was the brief reply. another belt of woodland lay a little to the right on the horizon. the fugitives headed for it. we urged our horses to their utmost speed and soon dashed through the belt of wood, expecting to see the fugitives on the plain beyond. what was our surprise, then, to find them assembled in a group, calmly tying up their horses, and kindling a fire as if for the purpose of cooking their mid-day meal. as most of the men had laid aside their guns, and we outnumbered them by two to one, we checked our headlong course, and trotted quietly up to them. to my great joy i saw, as we approached, that the girl who stooped to kindle the fire was waboose. her mother sat on a bank near her, looking very pale and worn. attick, who still carried his gun in the hollow of his left arm, expressed well-feigned surprise at seeing us. "big otter seems to be on the war-path," he said, "but i have seen no enemies." "big otter's enemy stands before him," returned our leader, sternly. "attick has been very foolish. why did he run away with the daughter of weeum the good?" "attick scorns to run away with a squaw. waboose agreed to go with him on the hunt. there she is: ask her." this was a bold stroke of the wily savage. instead of flying from us, he pretended to have been merely hurrying after a band of buffalo, which was said to be moving southward, and that he had halted in the chase for a short rest and food. this plan he had hastily adopted, on perceiving that it was impossible to escape us, having previously warned waboose that he would shoot her dead if she did not corroborate what he said. but attick was incapable of believing that fearless heroism could dwell in the breast of a woman, and little knew the courage of the daughter of weeum the good. he mistook her silence and her downcast eyes for indications of submission, and did not doubt that the delicate-looking and shrinking girl was of much the same spirit as the other women of his tribe. great, then, was his astonishment when he saw the saxon blood in her veins rush to her fair brow, while she gazed at him steadily with her large blue eyes, and said-- "the tongue of attick is forked. he lies when he says that the daughter of weeum agreed to follow him. he knows that he carried her from the camp by force against her will." attick had thrown forward and cocked his gun, but happily the unexpected nature of the girl's reply, and the indignant gaze of her eyes, caused an involuntary hesitation. this did not afford time for any one to seize the intending murderer, but it enabled me hastily to point my rifle at the villain's head and fire. i have elsewhere said that my shooting powers were not remarkable; i missed the man altogether, but fortunately the bullet which was meant for his brain found its billet in the stock of his gun, and blew the lock to atoms, thus rendering the weapon useless. with a fierce shout he dropped the gun, drew his scalping-knife, and sprang towards waboose, or--as i had by that time found a pleasure in mentally styling her--eve liston. of course every man of our party sprang forward, but it fell to salamander to effect the rescue, for that light-hearted and light-limbed individual chanced to be nearest to the savage when i fired at him, and, ere the knife was well drawn, had leaped upon his back with the agility of a panther. at the same moment big otter flung his tomahawk at him. the weapon was well, though hastily, aimed. it struck the savage full on the forehead, and felled him to the earth. the rest of attick's party made no attempt to rescue him. like all bad men, they were false to each other in the hour of need. they quietly submitted to be disarmed and led away. we had to encamp early that evening, because the unwonted and severe exercise to which waboose's mother had been exposed had rendered her quite unfit to travel further without rest. attick, who had soon recovered sufficiently to be able to walk, was bound, along with his men, and put under a guard. then the encampment was made and the fires kindled. while this was being done i led waboose aside to a little knoll, from which we could see a beautiful country of mingled woodland and prairie, stretching far away to the westward, where the sun had just descended amid clouds of amber and crimson. "is it not glorious!" i exclaimed. "should we not be grateful to the great spirit who has given us such a splendid home?" waboose looked at me. "yes, it is glorious," she said--"and i am grateful; but it is strange that you should use the very same words that were so often on the lips of my father just before he--" she stopped abruptly. "just before he went home, eve," i interposed; "no need to say died. your father is not dead, but sleepeth. you shall meet him again. but it is not very strange that men should use the same words when they are animated by the same love to the great spirit." the girl raised her large eyes with a perplexed, inquiring look. "what troubles you, eve?" i asked. "eve!" she repeated, almost anxiously. "twice you have called me by a name that father sometimes used, though not often, and when he used it he always spoke low and _very_ tenderly." i felt somewhat perplexed as to how i should reply, and finally took refuge in another question. "tell me, waboose," said i, "did your father ever tell you his own name?" "of course he did," she answered, with a look of surprise--"you know well it was weeum." "yes, william," said i; "but--" "no--weeum," she said, correcting me. "once or twice i have heard him say willum, but all our people call him weeum." "had he no other name?" i asked. "no. why should he have another? is not one enough?" "you never heard of liston?" "liston?--no, never." "waboose," said i, with sudden earnestness, "i am going to tell you something that will probably surprise you, and i will show you something that may give you pleasure--or pain--i know not which. you remember, that when i found the curious ornaments near to the stunted pine-tree, i asked you not to question me at that time about the packet you gave to me long ago. well, the time has come when i ought to tell you all about it. but, first, look at this." i had taken from my pocket, while speaking to her, the miniature of her father, which i now handed to her. she fixed her eyes on it with a startled look, then sprang up with an exclamation, at the same time drawing one hand across her eyes, as if to clear away some mists that dimmed them. eagerly she gazed again, with parted lips and heaving bosom, then burst into a passionate flood of tears, pressing the miniature alternately to her lips and to her heart. i stood helplessly gazing at her--anxious to comfort but unable. "oh! why, why," she cried, suddenly dropping the miniature, "why do you mock me with this? it is so little, yet so like. it looks alive, but it is dead. it is nothing--a mockery!" the poor girl caught it up, however, and began to kiss and caress it again. some time elapsed before her passionate grief was sufficiently subdued to permit of her listening to me. when it was nearly exhausted, and found vent only in an occasional sob, i took her hand gently and said-- "give me the picture now, waboose. i will wrap it up again, for i have much to say." then, unfolding the last writing of the poor fellow whom the indians had styled weeum the good, i slowly translated it into the indian language. it was not an easy task; for, besides feeling that it stirred the heart of the listener with powerful emotions, i had great difficulty in taking my eyes off her changeful face, so as to read the manuscript. "now, eve liston--for that is your real name," said i, when i had finished, "what do you think ought to be done?" the girl did not reply at once, but sat so long with her hands clasped tightly on her lap, and her eyes fixed wistfully on the ground, that i had to repeat the question. "what is to be done?" she replied, simply; "of course, what father wished to be done." "and are you ready to go with me to the far south to see your father's mother? can you trust me to protect you?" "oh, yes," she replied, with a straightforward look that almost disconcerted me; "have you not protected me well already?" "and are you willing, eve, to leave your tribe and go off alone with me?" "alone!" she repeated, with a look of surprise; "oh! no--not alone. mother must go too, and also big otter." once more i felt somewhat confused, for, to say truth, i had totally forgotten her mother and big otter for the moment. "well now, eve--for i intend to call you by that name in future, except when in the presence of your people--i must talk this matter over with your mother and big otter. i have some fear that the latter may object to go with us." "he will not object," said waboose, quietly. "he loved my father, and always obeyed him." "very good. so much the better. now, as to the valuable jewels--the ornaments, i mean." "have you got them here!" asked eve. "yes. knowing the risk i shall run of losing them or having them stolen from me, i have had a belt made which fits round my waist under my clothes, in which the jewels and the money are placed. if i can manage to get them and you safely conveyed to colorado, all will be well, but it is a long, long journey, eve, and--" i was interrupted at this point by big otter, who came to tell us that supper was ready, and that, as the region in which they were encamped was sometimes visited by hostile indians, as well as by white trappers-- many of whom were great scoundrels--it would be prudent to keep within the circle of sentinels after dark. chapter twenty three. attacked by bandits--a sad death and a sudden rescue. it was well that we had been warned not to go beyond the camp, for there happened at that time to be abroad on the prairies a band of miscreants who would certainly have shot whoever they had caught straying. the band was composed of white men--that class of white men who, throwing off all moral and social restraints, give themselves up to the practice of every species of iniquity, fearing neither god nor man. they were, in short, a band of robbers and cut-throats, whose special business at that time was hunting buffalo, but who were not averse to sell their services to any nation that chanced to be at war, or to practice simple robbery when opportunity offered. these men held the opinion that indians were "vermin," to exterminate which was commendable. when, therefore, they discovered our camp by the light of the fires, they rode towards it with the utmost caution, taking advantage of every bush and knoll until our sentinels observed them. then they rushed upon us like a hurricane, sending a volley of bullets before them. several of our men fell, mortally wounded. our sentinels ran in, and a wild attempt at defence was made; but it was in vain, we had been taken completely by surprise, and, as the only chance of safety, our party scattered in all directions, each man making for the nearest woods. only big otter, salamander, and i remained beside the camp-fires, resolved to defend our helpless females or die with them. this brought about a most unexpected turn of affairs, for the villains were so eager to hunt and kill the flying indians, that every man went in hot pursuit of a fugitive, leaving us for the moment absolutely alone! we were not slow in taking advantage of this. although at the onset some of our terrified horses broke their fastenings and galloped away, others remained quiet. among these last i observed, were my own horse and that of salamander, which i have already said were splendid animals. scarcely believing our good fortune, we all bounded towards these. in a moment i had mounted. eve seized my hand, put her foot on my toe, and, with a light spring, seated herself behind me. big otter, vaulting on salamander's steed, swung eve's mother up behind him. "catch another horse--there are plenty good enough for a light weight like you, salamander," said i, as i put my horse to its utmost speed. salamander was not slow to obey, but had scarcely mounted when a loud halloo told that our action had been observed. i did not look back. one consuming idea filled my mind, and that was to save eve liston. that the miscreants who now thundered after us would show us no mercy i felt well assured, and plied the heavy thong i carried with all my might. the noble steed did not require that. it strained every muscle to the uttermost. i felt cheered to observe that big otter kept well up with me, and could hear that salamander was not far behind. we now felt that our only hope, under god, lay in the superiority of our horses, and for some time we listened to the pattering of the hoofs behind us with intense anxiety. soon i began to fancy that we were distancing them, and ere long we became sure of this, at least as to the most of our pursuers, but there was one who kept drawing closer and closer. presently a shot was fired and a bullet whizzed close past my head. at that moment big otter reined up so violently as to throw his horse almost on its haunches. i checked my speed but did not rein up. looking back, i saw my indian friend wheel round, raise his gun to his shoulder and fire. the moon was bright, and i could see that the man who had been closing with us dropped to the ground. whether he was killed or only wounded we did not wait to ascertain, but dashed on again as fast as ever. we soon drew rein, however, on observing that the fall of our pursuer had checked his companions. on reaching him they halted, dismounted, and finally gave up the chase. we soon left them out of sight behind us, but still we held on at a hand-gallop, resolved to put as much distance as possible between us before encamping. during all this exciting chase waboose's mother had clung to her stalwart support with the uncomplaining patience of indian women; but we were deeply concerned to find on halting that she was too much exhausted to dismount and that blood was trickling from her lips. indeed, she would have fallen to the ground if big otter had not caught her in his arms. "are you wounded, mother?" exclaimed eve, going down on her knees, seizing one of the poor woman's hands and kissing it tenderly. "no, waboose, but i think there is something wrong here." she pressed her breast gently and coughed up some blood. "she is quite worn out," said i. "come, big otter, let us carry her to a more comfortable place, and make a fire. a cup of tea will soon revive her." i spoke cheerily, with a view to comfort eve, but i confess that great anxiety filled me when i looked at the poor woman's wan face and emaciated frame. the blood, too, appeared to me a fatal symptom, though i had but a hazy idea of everything relating to disease. the place we had selected for our encampment was a dense mass of forest which covered the prairie in that part to an extent of about two square miles. near the outer margin of this patch there was a curious steep mound which rose so high that from the top of it one could see over the surrounding trees. it rose somewhat in the form of a cone with a flat space at the apex of not more than twenty feet in diameter. on the outer rim of this apex was a fringe of rocks and low bushes. it was, in fact, a natural fortress, which seemed so suitable for us in our circumstances that we at once set about making our camp on the top of it. we took care, however, to kindle our fire in the lowest-lying and densest thicket we could find at the foot of the mound. we also made the fire as small and free from smoke as possible, for fear of attracting any one to the spot. while i was busy down in the dell preparing the tea, salamander having been left to take care of the camp on the mound, big otter came to me. i was alarmed by the solemn expression of his face. "nothing wrong, i hope?" said i, anxiously. "the wife of weeum the good is dying," said the indian, mournfully. "oh! say not so," i exclaimed, "how dreadful to poor waboose if this were to happen just now! you must be mistaken." "big otter may be mistaken. he is not a medicine-man, but he saw a young girl of his tribe with the same look and the same flow of blood from the mouth, and she died." "god forbid!" i exclaimed, as i took up the kettle in which the tea was being made. "see, it is ready, i will take it to her. it may at least revive her." i hurried to the top of the mound, where poor eve sat by the couch of brush we had spread, holding her mother's hand and gazing into her face with painful anxiety. she looked up hastily as i approached, and held up a finger. "does she sleep?" i asked, in a low voice, as i seated myself beside the couch and set down the kettle. "yes--i think so--but--" she stopped, for at the moment her mother opened her eyes, and looked wistfully round. "weeum!" she murmured, in a faint voice. "i thought i heard him speak." "no, dear mother," said eve, beginning to weep silently. "your spirit was in the land of dreams." "see," said i, pouring some hot tea into a cup and stirring it. "i have brought you some of the pale-faces' sweet-water. i always carry a little of it about with me when i go hunting, and had some in my wallet when we started on this wild race. was it not fortunate? come, take a little, it will strengthen you, mother." it was the first time i had called her mother, and i did so from a feeling of tenderness, for she seemed to me at the time certainly to be dying; but she misunderstood my meaning, for she looked at me with pleased surprise, and then laughed very softly as she glanced at eve. i perceived, however, from the innocent look of inquiry returned by the latter, that she did not understand her. after taking some of the tea, the poor woman revived, and i whispered to her daughter,--"don't you think it might please her to see the little picture?" "perhaps. i am not sure. yes, give it to me. i will show it, but say nothing about my father's writing or wishes. i have not yet been able to speak to her." to our disappointment she could make nothing of the portrait. perhaps the moonlight was insufficient, though very bright, but it is more probable that her sight was even then failing. "what is that?" said eve, with a startled look, pointing at something behind me. i turned sharply round, and beheld a column of bright flame shooting high up into the night-air. an exclamation of bitter chagrin escaped me, for i knew well what it was. after i had got the fire kindled down in the thicket on our arrival, i had noticed that i had laid it close to the roots of a dead fir-tree, the branches of which were covered to the top with a species of dried moss. at the time i knew that there was danger in this, but as our fire was to be very small, and to be extinguished the moment we were done with it, i had allowed it to remain rather than be at the trouble of shifting and rekindling it. i afterwards found that big otter had left the fire in charge of salamander, and gone to shift the position of the horses; and salamander had left it to fetch water from a neighbouring spring. thus left to itself, the fire took advantage of the chance to blaze up; the moss on the dead tree had caught fire, and the instantaneous result was a blaze that told of our whereabouts to whoever might be on the look-out within ten or fifteen miles of us in every direction. immediately afterwards big otter and salamander came leaping into our fortress. "what is to be done now?" i asked, in a tone of deep mortification. "i would say mount and fly," replied the indian, "if it were not for _her_." he pointed to the dying woman as he spoke. "it is quite out of the question," said i. "she cannot be moved." "the pale-face talks wisdom," said big otter. "we must put the place in a state of defence, and watch instead of sleep." a deep sigh from salamander told that the proposed mode of spending the night was most unsatisfactory. having no other resource left, however, we at once set about our task. a number of large loose stones lay about on the little plateau that crowned our mound. these we rolled close to the edge of it, and ranging them in line with those that were already there, formed a sort of breastwork all round. our three guns we had of course brought with us, as well as ammunition, and as mine was a double-barrelled fowling-piece we had thus four shots at command at any moment. the weapons being already charged, we placed ourselves at three points of our circle and prepared for a weary watch. the blaze of the burning fir-tree soon went out, and there were fortunately no other dead trees at hand to be kindled by it. the moon had also become obscured with clouds, so that we were left in comparative darkness. the dead silence which it was needful to maintain, and the occasional murmur of the dying woman rendered our position eerie and sad in the extreme. at such times, when danger threatens and everything that is calculated to solemnise surrounds one, thought is apt to be very busy; and often, in such circumstances, the mind is more prone to be occupied with distant scenes and persons than with those near at hand. ere long the sick woman appeared to have fallen asleep, and her daughter was seated in perfect silence by her side. no sound whatever fell upon my listening ear, for the night was intensely calm, and in spite of my efforts to resist it, my thoughts strayed away to the home in "the old country"; to scenes of boyhood, and to the kind old father, who used, as a term of endearment, to call me "punch." a slight motion on the part of salamander recalled me, and, by way of rousing myself to the necessity of present watchfulness, i examined the priming of my gun. then it occurred to me that a bullet, if fired at a foe in the dark, would be very unlikely to hit; i, therefore, drew both charges, and loaded with buckshot instead. you see, thought i, there is no absolute necessity to kill any one. all i can possibly wish to do is to disable, and big shot is more likely to do that without killing, than bullets. while thus engaged the clouds rolled off the moon, and i saw my companions clearly, sitting like statues at their posts. in a few minutes i heard the sweet, low voice of eve. she was speaking to her mother. as i sat there and observed her fair hair and skin, and recalled (for i could not just then see) her blue eyes, i found it difficult to believe that there was even a drop of indian blood in her veins. "not that i object to indian blood," i said to myself, mentally, in self-justification, "by no means. indians are god's creatures as well as white men, and many of them are a great deal better creatures than many white men, but--" at this point my mental remarks ceased, for i observed, to my surprise, that eve opened a small book, and from the continuous tone of her voice, i knew that she was reading. "it must be the testament," thought i, "which poor liston mentioned in his manuscript as having been obtained from a hunter." the voice became more distinct as she proceeded, and i could make out that she read the english slowly and with great difficulty, and then translated it into indian to her mother. "god so loved the world," she read with peculiar emphasis, and paused, as if wishing to impress the blessed truth, "that he gave his only-begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life." she closed the book at this point and i observed that she bent over the sick woman a long time. suddenly there arose on the still night-air a low wail, so deep--so suggestive of a breaking heart, that i sprang up and leaped to the girl's side. there was no occasion to ask what had occurred. the mother lay there dead, with the jaw dropped and the glazing eyes staring at the sky. kneeling down i gently closed the eyes, and with a napkin bound up the face. big otter glided towards us, followed by salamander. one glance sufficed. they cast a look of pity at the orphan, who, with her face on her knees, sobbed as if her heart would break. then, without a word, they glided back to their posts. i turned to eve and took her hand. "dear girl," i began--but she checked me. "go," she said, "danger may be near; your post is unguarded." raising her hand to my lips i left her without a word, and resumed my watch. again profound silence reigned around, broken only now and then by an irrepressible sob from eve. some hours afterwards--i knew not how many, for i had been half asleep-- big otter came to me. "we may not stay here," he said. "come, i need your help." without reply i rose and followed. it was still very dark. he went to where the body of the indian woman lay. it was cold and stiff by that time. in passing i noticed that poor eve acted as sentinel for big otter--occupied his post and held his gun. i found that a shallow grave had been hollowed out close to where the corpse lay. understanding at once the purpose for which i had been called, i kneeled at the head while the indian kneeled at the feet. grasping the shoulders carefully i waited for a word or look from big otter, but instead he turned his head to one side and uttered the single word,--"come!" eve glided instantly towards us, went down on her knees, and printed a long passionate kiss on the cold forehead. then the indian looked at me, and we lifted the body into the grave. eve spread a blanket carefully over it, and at once left us to resume her post at the breastwork, while we covered in the grave with earth and dead leaves. we had barely accomplished this duty when a loud report rudely broke the silence of the night, and a rushing of feet was heard at the foot of the mound. leaping to my post, i instantly fired one of the barrels of my gun. several fierce cries followed, showing that the buckshot had taken effect, and from the nature of the cries we at once perceived that our assailants were white men. i purposely reserved my second barrel, for my comrades, having also fired, were swiftly reloading, and, therefore, defenceless. it was well that i did so, for two men, who had not been in the first rush, now came up the mound at a run. aiming right between them, i fired and shot them both. they fell with hideous cries, and, rolling head over heels down the steep ascent, went crashing into the bushes. "they are the men from whom we have just escaped," said i to big otter; but my indian friend was so elated by the success of my shot and withal so excited by the fray, that instead of answering, he gave vent to a terrific war-whoop in true indian style. the attacking party had come on in front from the direction of the plains. to my consternation, big otter's war cry was replied to in our rear. turning quickly, i saw the dark forms of several savages running up the slope of our fortress. these, like the white men, had been attracted to us by our column of fire. i was going to send a charge of buckshot amongst them, when my indian friend stopped me. "let them come," he said, quickly. "they and the white men are sworn foes. be ready to follow me." this last was said to all of us, for we had instinctively drawn to the centre of our plateau with the idea of fighting back to back with the foes who surrounded us. again we heard the white men charging up the front of our little hill, but, before they reached the top, a dozen savages had leaped into our enclosure. "help! against the pale-face dogs," cried big otter, pointing his gun, and firing at them as they came up. a wild war-whoop rang out from the indians, who were only too ready to accept the invitation to fight the pale-faces. a defiant cheer burst in reply from the white men, who were equally eager for the fray. "come!" whispered big otter at this point. we had no difficulty in slipping away at the rear unperceived amid the din and smoke, and ran to where our horses had been tied. mounting, like squirrels, we went off like the wind in the direction of the open prairie, and soon left our little fortress far behind us, with the redskins and the pale-faces fighting on the top of it like wild cats! chapter twenty four. the power of sleep--plans discussed and a far journey resolved on. it was broad daylight when we once again drew rein, and then we were all so overcome with sleep and exhaustion, after the prolonged watching and excitement of the night, that we could scarcely sit on our horses. eve, who sat behind me, grasping my waist with both arms, swayed so heavily once or twice, as nearly to throw me down. "we _must_ stop," said i to big otter, who was close beside me. "yes," replied the indian; but his tone told that he was barely awake. "if you doosn't me _drop_," said salamander. the worthy interpreter seemed to think english the easiest language in the circumstances. "oh! i'm _so_ sleepy," said poor eve, whose grief helped to increase her exhaustion. "come, we will camp in this thicket!" said big otter, turning his horse in the direction of a long strip of bush that lay a few hundred yards to our right. on reaching it, we penetrated, almost mechanically, to the thickest part of it, dismounted, and fastened our horses to the trees. turning instantly, to assist eve in making a couch of leaves, i found that she had lain down where she had dismounted, and was already fast asleep. "here, salamander, lend a hand to lift her," i said, looking round; but salamander was also in the land of nod, flat on his back, with his eyes shut, and his mouth open. turning to big otter, i found that he was standing staring at me with an expression of such awful solemnity that i was partially roused with a feeling of alarm. "hallo!" i exclaimed, "what has happened?--speak, man!" but big otter only gazed more intensely than ever, swayed slightly to and fro, and gave a sort of wink, or rather a slap together of both eyes. then i understood that the wretched man was only glaring like an owl in the sunshine, in his tremendous efforts to keep awake. he assisted me, however, to lift eve to a more comfortable position, and while he was in the act of laying her fair head gently on a pillow of moss, i observed that he sank down and instantly fell into a profound slumber; but even in that hour of mingled danger and exhaustion, the indian did not neglect to hold his gun to his breast with a firm grasp. i also had enough wit left to keep my double-barrel in my hand, and was in the act of examining the locks, seated at eve's feet, where my own senses forsook me. we lay there, perfectly silent and motionless, during the whole of that day, for it was not until the sun was descending towards the western horizon that we awoke. i happened to be the first to move. rising softly, so as not to disturb the others, i went to search for water, and was fortunate enough to find a small pool, which, though not very clear, was nevertheless sufficiently good to slake our thirst. sitting down beside the pool, i lifted my heart and voice in thanksgiving to god for having thus far delivered and guided us. while thus engaged a slight rustling in the bushes caused me to spring up. it was caused by big otter, who had followed me. "what does the pale-face think?" he asked, sitting down beside me. "he thinks that the great master of life has delivered us from our enemies. he is good," said i, being still influenced by the devotional feeling which had been broken in upon. for a few moments the indian did not reply, but continued to look thoughtfully at the ground. at length he spoke. "was the great master of life good when he let waboose's mother die in the midst of war and weakness? was he good to waboose when he left her fatherless and motherless?" "yes, he was good," i answered, confidently. "he took the mother of waboose home to dwell with himself and with her father weeum. and men and women, you know, cannot be taken to the happy land without leaving their children behind them--fatherless and motherless." big otter did not reply, but i saw by his grave look that he was not satisfied. after a brief pause he resumed,--"was the great master of life good to the wicked pale-faces, when he allowed the red-men to slay them in their sins?" "yes," i returned, "he was good, because the great master of life cannot be otherwise than good. he has made our brains capable of understanding that, and our hearts capable of resting on it. but he is our father. children do not understand all that a father does. big otter has touched on a great mystery. but what we know not now we shall know hereafter. only let the red-man be sure of this, that whatever we come to know in the hereafter will tend more and more to prove that the great master of life is good." for a long time the indian remained silent, and i could not tell by the expression of his grave face whether my reasoning weighed with him or not; i therefore offered up a brief prayer that the spirit of god might open his eyes--as well as my own--to see, and our hearts to receive, the _truth_, whatever that might be. then i said,--"the thoughts of big otter are deep, what do they lead to?" "no," he replied, "his thoughts are not deep, but they are confused, for he has heard his pale-face brother call waboose, eve. how did he come to know that name? it was only used by weeum, and seldom by him--never by any one else." it struck me that now was as suitable a time as might present itself to let the indian know about the contents of the packet, so i said,--"listen, big otter, i have something important to tell." from this point i went on, and, in as few words as possible, related all that the reader knows about the packet, and the wishes of poor william liston. i also showed him the miniature, at which he gazed with visible but suppressed emotion. "now," said i, in conclusion, "what do you think we should do?" "what weeum wished must be done," he replied simply but firmly. "you were fond of weeum?" i said. "yes, big otter loved him like a brother." "don't you think," said i, after some minutes' thought, "that it is our duty first to return to the camp of your tribe, and also that i should send salamander back to fort wichikagan to tell where i have gone, and for what purpose? for salamander is not free like myself. he is still a servant of the fur-traders." "no, that is not your duty," said the indian decidedly. "your duty is to obey the commands of weeum! my tribe will not die of grief because waboose does not return. as for salamander--send him where you please. he is nobody--nothing!" although not quite agreeing with big otter in his contemptuous estimate of the value of salamander, i believed that i could get along quite well without him; and therefore resolved to send him back--first to the indian camp to tell of our safety and intentions, and then to the fort with an explanatory letter to lumley, who, i knew full well, would be filled with great anxiety on my account, as well as with uncertainty as to how he should act, destitute as he was of the slightest clue to my fate or my whereabouts. "and you, my friend," i said, "what will your movements be?" "big otter will go and help you to obey the commands of weeum," he replied. "there is no wife, no child, waiting for him to return. he must be a father to waboose. muxbee will _be_ her brother. the trail to colorado is long. big otter has been there. he has been a solitary wanderer all his life, and knows the wilderness well. he has crossed the great mountains where the snow lies deep even in summer. he can be a guide, and knows many of the mountain tribes as well as the tribes of the prairie--waugh!" "well, my friend," said i, grasping the indian's strong hand, "i need not tell you that your decision gives me joy, and i shall be only too glad to travel with you in the capacity of a son; for, you know, if you are to be a father to waboose, and i am to be her brother, that makes you my father--don't you see?" the grave indian smiled faintly at this touch of pleasantry, and then rose. "we have nothing to eat," he said, as we returned to the place where we had slept, "and we cannot hunt in the night. is your bag empty?" "no," said i, glancing at the contents of my wallet, "there is enough of biscuit and pemmican to give us a light meal." "that will do," he returned; "we need rest more than food just now." this was indeed true; for, notwithstanding that i had slept so soundly during that day, i still felt a strong disinclination to rouse myself to action, and an intense desire to lie down again. these feelings being shared by my companions, it was resolved to spend the night where we were, but we took good care to kindle no fire to betray us a second time. we roused eve and salamander to take some food, after which we all lay down, and, ere long, were again sound asleep. this double allowance of rest had the most beneficial effect upon our frames. we did not awake till an early hour the following morning, and felt so much refreshed as to be ready and anxious to set off on our journey, without the delay of breakfasting. this was fortunate, for the scraps that remained in my wallet would only have sufficed for one meal to a man of ordinary appetite; and, as it was important to expedite salamander on his return journey, these had to be given to him. poor fellow! he was much cast down on hearing of my decision in regard to him. "but, sar," he said, with a sorrowful countenance, "w'at for i no go vith you?" "because you are still a servant of the fur company, and not entitled to break your engagement. besides, it is desirable that big otter's people should know why he and waboose have left them, and where they have gone; and if you explain matters correctly they will be quite satisfied, for they all respect the memory of weeum the good. moreover, it is important that mr lumley should know what has prevented my return, both to relieve his mind, and prevent his sending out to search for me." "but sar," objected salamander, "w'at if me meets vid de vite scoundrils?" "you must fight them, or run away from them." "vell, me kin fight but me kin more joyfulerly run avay. but," he continued, still objecting, "me got no grub." "here is enough for one day," i said, giving him all i possessed, "if you spin it out. to-morrow you can roast and eat your moccasins, and the third day you can starve. surely that's not hard on a strong young fellow like you; and if you push on fast enough you'll reach the camp of the redskins early on the third day." salamander sighed, but made no further objection, and half an hour later he left us. as we now possessed only two horses, it naturally fell to my lot, being a light weight compared with big otter, to take eve up behind me. "we must get a horse for waboose," said the indian, as we galloped over the prairie that day. "there is a tribe of blackfoot indians not far from here who have good horses, and understand the value of gold, for some of them have been to the settlements of the pale-faces. you tell me that you have gold?" "yes, i found a bag of five hundred gold pieces with the diamonds in weeum's packet." big otter looked at me inquiringly, but did not speak, yet i guessed his thoughts; for, though i had shown him liston's letter and the miniature, i had not shown him the gold or the jewels, and he must have wondered where i carried them; for he knew, of course, that they were necessarily somewhat bulky and were not in my wallet, which i had emptied more than once in his presence. i therefore explained to him:-- "you know, perhaps, that gold is heavy, and five hundred pieces are bulky and troublesome to carry; so i have had a piece of cloth made with a hole in the middle of it for my head to go through; one end of it hangs over my breast under my shirt, like a breastplate, and one end hangs over my back, and on each of these plates there are rows of little pockets, each pocket the size of a gold piece. thus, you see, the gold does not feel heavy, being equally distributed, and it does not show, as it would if carried in a heap--besides, it forms a sort of armour-- though i fear it would not resist a rifle-bullet!" "waugh!" exclaimed big otter, with an intelligent look. "as to the diamonds, they are not bulky. i have concealed them in an under-belt round my waist." as big otter had predicted, we came to a large village of blackfoot indians two days afterwards, and were received with cordial friendship by the inhabitants, who knew my indian well. he had visited them during his wanderings many a time, and once, at a very critical period in their history, had rendered important service to the tribe, besides saving the life of their chief. a new tent was set aside for our use, and a small one pitched close to it for waboose, whose dignified yet modest bearing made a profound impression on those children of the wilderness. they recognised, no doubt that indian blood flowed in her veins, but that rather increased their respect for her, as it gave them, so to speak, a right to claim kinship with a girl who was obviously one of nature's aristocracy, besides possessing much of that refinement which the red-men had come to recognise as a characteristic of some of the best of the pale-faces. indeed, i myself found, now that i had frequent opportunities of conversing with eve liston, that the man who had been affectionately styled weeum the good by the indians, had stored his child's mind with much varied secular knowledge, such as indians never possess, besides instilling into her the elevating and refining precepts of christianity. being of a poetical turn of mind, he had also repeated to eve many long and beautiful pieces from our best poets, so that on more than one occasion the girl had aptly quoted several well-known passages--to my inexpressible amazement. "i wonder," said i, when we three were seated in our tent that night, refreshing ourselves with a choice morsel of baked buffalo-hump, with which the hospitable blackfeet had supplied us, "how it comes to pass that indians, who are usually rather fond of gifts, absolutely refuse to accept anything for the fine horse they have given to waboose?" "perhaps," said eve, with a little smile, in which the extreme corners of her pretty mouth had the peculiar tendency to turn down instead of up--"perhaps it is because they are grateful. indians are not altogether destitute of that feeling." "true, eve, true; it must be that. will you tell us, big otter, how you managed to make these fellows so grateful?" "i saved the chief's life," returned the indian, curtly. "yes; but how, and when?" "four summers have passed since then. i was returning from a trip to the rocky mountains when it happened. many bad pale-faces were in the mountains at that time. they were idle bad men from many lands, who hated work and loved to fight. one of them had been killed by a sioux indian. they all banded together and swore that they would shoot every indian they came across. they killed many--some even who were friendly to the white men. they did not ask to what tribe they belonged. they were `redskin varmints,' that was enough! "the strong elk, whose hospitality we enjoy to-night, was chief of the blackfeet. i was on my way to visit him, when, one evening, i came upon the camp of the pale-faces. i knew that sometimes they were not friendly to the red-man, so i waited till dark, and then crept forward and listened. their chief was loud-voiced and boastful. he boasted of how many indians he had killed. i could have shot him where i lay and then escaped easily, but i spared him, for i wished to listen. they talked much of the strong elk. i understood very little. the language of the pale-face is difficult to understand, but i came to know that in two hours, when the moon should sink, they would attack him. "i waited to hear no more. i ran like the hunted buffalo. i came to strong elk and told him. it was too late to move the camp, but we put it in a state of defence. when the pale-faces came, we were ready. arrows, thick as the snowflakes in winter, met them when they came on, and many of them bit the dust. some ran away. some, who were brave, still came on and leaped our barricades. they fought like fiends. their boastful chief saw strong elk and rushed at him. they grappled and fell. the pale-face had a keen knife. it was raised to strike. one moment more, and the blackfoot chief had been in the happy hunting-grounds with his fathers, when the gun of big otter came down on the skull of the boastful one. it was enough. strong elk was saved-- and he is grateful; waugh!" "well, he has reason to be!" said i, much impressed by the modest way in which the story was told. "and now," i added, "since we have got a capital horse, and the journey before us is long, don't you think we should start to-morrow!" "yes, to-morrow--and it is time for waboose to rest. she is strong, but she has had much to weary her, and her grief is deep." with a kindly acknowledgment of the indian's thoughtful care of her, eve rose and went to her tent. big otter lighted his pipe, and i lay down to meditate; but almost before i had time to think, my head drooped and i was in the land of forgetfulness. it is not my purpose, good reader, to carry you step by step over the long, varied, and somewhat painful journey that intervened between us and colorado at that time. it was interesting--deeply so--for we passed through some of the most beautiful as well as wildest scenery of the north american wilderness. we kept far to the westward, near the base of the rocky mountains, so as to avoid the haunts of civilised men. but space will not permit of more than a brief reference to this long journey. i can only say that on arriving at a village belonging to a remote tribe of indians, who were well-known to my guide, it was arranged that big otter and waboose should stay with them, while i should go to the cities of the pale-faces and endeavour to convert my diamonds into cash. happening to have a friend in chicago i went there, and through his agency effected the sale of the diamonds, which produced a little over the sum mentioned by william liston in his paper. this i took with me in the convenient form of bills on well-known mercantile firms, in the region to which i was bound, and, having wrapped them in a piece of oiled silk and sewed them inside of the breastplate that contained my gold, i set off with a light heart, though somewhat weighted shoulders, to return to my friends in the far west. chapter twenty five. tells of a wonderful meeting and a frustrated foe. i must change the scene now, and advance the courteous reader considerably in regard to time as well as place on the journey which we have pursued so long together. it is one of those scenes of romantic beauty on the extreme frontiers of civilisation, where the rifle has not even yet given place to the plough; where the pioneer husbandman and the painted warrior often meet--the one to look with patronising superiority on the savage, whom he means to benefit; the other to gaze curiously at the pale-face, and to wonder, somewhat indignantly, when and where his encroachments are to cease. woodlands and prairies, breezy uplands and grassy bottoms, alternate in such picturesque confusion, and such lovely colours co-mingle, that a painter--had one been there--must have deemed the place at all events the vestibule of paradise. there is a small hamlet on the slope of a hill, with a broad river winding in front, a few hundred yards from the hamlet, which opens out into a lake. on the margin of this lake lie a few boats. on the surface of it float a few more boats, with one or two birch-bark canoes. some of these are moving to and fro; the occupants of others, which appear to be stationary, are engaged in fishing. there is the sound of an anvil somewhere, and the lowing of cattle, and the voices of children, and the barking of dogs at play, and the occasional crack of a gun. it is an eminently peaceful as well as beautiful backwood scene. to a particular spot in this landscape we would direct attention. it is a frame-house, or cottage, which, if not built according to the most approved rules of architecture, is at least neat, clean, comfortable-looking, and what one might style pretty. it is a "clap-boarded" house, painted white, with an edging of brown which harmonises well with the green shrubbery around. there is a verandah in front, a door in the middle, two windows on either side, and no upper storey; but there are attics with dormer windows, which are suggestive of snug sleeping-rooms of irregular shape, with low ceilings and hat-crushing doorways. this cottage stands on the apex of a little hill which overlooks the hamlet, commands the river and the lake, as well as an extensive view of a sparsely settled district beyond, where the frontier farmer and the primeval forest are evidently having a lively time of it together. in short the cottage on the hill has a decidedly comfortable come-up-quick-and-enjoy-yourself air which is quite charming. on a certain fine afternoon in autumn eve liston, _alias_ waboose, big otter and i, rode slowly up the winding path which led to this cottage. we had been directed to it by the postmaster of the hamlet,--a man who, if he had been condemned to subsist solely on the proceeds of the village post-office, would have been compelled to give up the ghost, or the post, in a week. "we must be careful, eve, how we break it to her," said i, as we neared the top. arrived at the summit of the hill we found a rustic table, also a rustic seat on which was seated a comely matron engaged in the very commonplace work of darning socks. she cast on us a sharp and remarkably penetrating glance as we approached. doubtless our appearance was peculiar, for a pretty maiden in savage costume, a somewhat ragged white man, and a gigantic savage, all mounted on magnificent steeds and looking travel-stained and worn after a journey of many weeks, was not probably an everyday sight, even in those regions. dismounting and advancing to act as spokesman, while my companions sat motionless and silent in their saddles, i pulled off my cap. "i have been directed to this house as the abode of mrs liston," said i with a tremor of anxiety, for i knew that the comely matron before me could not be she whom i sought, and feared there might be some mistake. "you have been directed aright, sir. may i ask who it is that desires to see her?" "my name is maxby," said i, quickly, for i was becoming nervously impatient. "i am quite a stranger to mrs liston, but i would see her, because i bring her news--news of importance--in fact a message from her long-lost son." "from willie liston?" exclaimed the lady, starting up, and seizing my arm, while she gazed into my face with a look of wild surprise. "is he--but it cannot be--impossible--he must be--" "he is dead," said i, in a low, sad voice, as she hesitated. "yes," she returned, clasping her hands but without any of the wild look in her eyes now. "we have mourned him as dead for many, many years. stay, i will call his--but--perhaps--sometimes it is kindness to conceal. if there is anything sad to tell, might it not be well to leave his poor mother in ignorance? she is old and--" "no, madam," i interrupted, "that may not be. i have a message from him to his mother." "a message! then you knew him?" "no; i never saw him." "strange! you have a message from him, yet never saw him. can you not give me the message, to convey it to her? she is getting frail and a shock might be serious. i am william liston's cousin, and have come to take care of my aunt, and manage her farm." "the message, by mr liston's wish," said i, "was to be delivered by me to his mother. i will be very careful to deliver it gently." "well, i will bring her to you. she usually comes out about this time to enjoy the sunset. i will trust to your discretion; but bear in remembrance that she is not strong. forgive me," she added, turning to my companions, "this surprise has made me forget my duty. will your friends dismount?" eve at once dismounted, and shook the hand which the lady extended; but big otter sat quite still, like a grand equestrian statue, while the lady entered the house. i saw that the poor girl was much agitated, but, true to her indian training, she laid powerful constraint on herself. in a few minutes an old lady with the sweetest face and most benignant aspect i ever saw, came out of the cottage and advanced to the rustic seat. before sitting down she looked at us with a pleasant smile, and said,--"you are heartily welcome. we are always glad to see strangers in these distant parts." while speaking she tremblingly pulled out, and put on, a pair of spectacles to enable her to have a clearer view of her visitors. the scene that immediately followed took me very much by surprise, and completely frustrated all my wise plans of caution. she looked at me first and nodded pleasantly. then she looked at eve, who was gazing at her with an intense and indescribable expression. suddenly the old lady's eyes opened to their widest. a death-like pallor overspread her old face. she opened her arms wide, bent forward a little towards eve, and gasped,--"come to me--willie!" never was invitation more swiftly accepted. eve bounded towards her and caught her in her arms just in time to prevent her falling. the poor old mother! for years she had prayed and longed for her lost willie, though she never once regarded him as "lost." "is not the promise _sure_?" she was wont to say, "ask and ye shall receive." even when she believed that the erring son was dead she did not cease to pray for him--because he _might_ be alive. latterly, however, her tone of resignation proved that she had nearly, if not quite, given up all hope of seeing him again in this life, yet she never ceased to think of him as "not lost, but gone before." and now, when at last his very image came back to her in the form of a woman, she had no more doubt as to who stood before her than she had of her own identity. she knew it was willie's child--one glance sufficed to convince her of that--but it was only willie--the long-lost willie--that she thought of, as she pressed the weeping girl with feeble fervour to her old and loving heart. during the time that this scene was enacting, big otter remained still motionless on his horse, without moving a muscle of his grave countenance. was he heartless, or was his heart a stone? an observer might readily have thought so, but his conduct when the old lady at last relaxed her hold of eve, proved that, indian like, he was only putting stern restraint on himself. dismounting with something of the deliberate and stately air of one who is resolved not to commit himself, the indian strode towards mrs liston, and, tenderly grasping one of her hands in both of his, said,--"weeum!" truly there is but a step from the sublime to the ridiculous, and in some cases that step is an exceeding short one. it seemed so to me now, as i beheld the tall indian stooping to gaze with intense earnestness into the tear-besprinkled face of the little old lady, who gazed with equally intense amazement into his huge, dark visage. "what _does_ he mean by weeum?" she asked, with an appealing look at me. "weeum," i replied, "is the indian way of pronouncing william. your late son, dear madam, was much beloved and respected by the tribe of indians, with whom he dwelt, and was known to them only by the name of william, or weeum. this man was his most intimate and loving friend and brother-in-law." the poor old lady was deeply affected while i spoke, for of course my words confirmed at last, her long resisted fear that willie was indeed no longer of this world. big otter waited a few seconds, still holding her hand, and then, turning to me, said in his native tongue,--"tell the pale-face mother that the sister of big otter was the wife of weeum; that big otter loved weeum better than a brother, and that weeum loved big otter more than any man of his tribe. every one loved weeum the good. he was so kind, and so brave! at first he was very fierce, but afterwards that passed away, and when waboose began to grow tall and wise, weeum turned soft like a woman. he spoke often to the red-men about the great master of life, and he taught big otter to love the great master of life and the name of jesus. often weeum talked of going to the far south to see one whom he called a _dear old one_. we did not understand him then. big otter understands him now. so shall it be in the great hereafter-- things that are dark now shall be light then. but weeum could not leave his wife and child, and we would not let him take them away. sometimes weeum spoke mysteries. one day he said to me, `brother, i _must_ go to the far south to see the dear old one. i will take my wife and child, and will return to you again--if the great master of life allows. if, however, i die or am killed, waboose will reveal all that is in weeum's heart. she cannot reveal it now. she will not even understand until a _good_ pale-face visits your tribe.' weeum said no more. he left the mind of big otter dark. it is no longer dark. it is now clear as the sun at noon. the `good pale-face' is here (pointing to me as he spoke), and the `dear old one' is before me." he paused a moment at this point, and then, with an evident effort to suppress emotion, added,--"weeum was drowned, soon after the day he spoke to me, while trying to save life. since then there has been no sun in the sky for big otter." the poor old mother listened to this speech with intense interest and deepening emotion, but i could see that the tears which flowed over the wrinkled cheeks were tears of gladness rather than of sorrow. it could scarcely at that time come as news to her that her son was dead, but it did come as a gladsome surprise that her wilful willie had not only found the saviour himself--or, rather, been found of him--but that he had spent his latter days in striving to bring others to that great source of blessedness. being too much overcome to speak, she submitted to be led away into the cottage by the comely matron, who had been a keen and sympathetic observer of all that passed. of course eve accompanied them, for weeum's mother refused to let go her hand, even for a moment, and big otter and i were left outside alone. "come," said i, vaulting into my saddle, "you and i will go and have a gallop, my friend, and see the land, for i mean to dwell here and would strongly advise you to do the same." "waugh!" exclaimed the indian, as he leaped on the back of his steed, and followed me. "you see," said i, as we rode along, followed by the admiring gaze of the village children--for, accustomed though they were to savages, they had never seen so grand an indian as big otter on so magnificent a horse--"you see, they will require some time to clear up matters in the cottage, for eve's english, good though it be, is not perfect, and all their minds will naturally be a little confused at first. you did me good service to-day, my friend." "how? the speech of muxbee is mysterious." "don't you see," i replied, "that the speech you made to old mrs liston, broke the ice as it were, and told her nearly all that i had to tell. and if you knew how many anxious hours i have spent in thinking how i should best break the sad news to the poor old mother, you would better understand how grateful i am to you." "the speech of muxbee is still full of mystery. what does he mean by breaking news? when big otter has got news to tell, he tells it. when people have got something to hear, why should they not hear it at once?" i felt that there are some things which some minds cannot understand; so, instead of answering, changed the subject. "see," said i, pointing to a part of the uncleared bush into which we had ridden, "there are two redskins. one is about to let fly an arrow. hold on--we may disturb his aim!" my companion looked, and with a start threw forward the muzzle of his gun. little did i think, riding as we then were in a semi-civilised region-- what the aim was that i was so anxious not to disturb. i was suddenly and rudely enlightened when i heard the twang of the bow, and saw the arrow flying straight towards me. it was too late to leap aside, or dodge it. full on the centre of my chest the shaft struck me. i experienced something of the shock that one feels when death is suddenly and very unexpectedly brought near. i have a distinct recollection of the solemn impression made by the belief that my last hour had come, yet i did not fall. i saw that the savage was hastily fitting another arrow to the bow, but was so stunned by surprise that i made no effort to save myself. happily big otter had his wits about him. he fired before the arrow winged its flight, and shot the indian dead. the other savage at once turned and fled, but my companion gave chase and overtook him in a few seconds. seeing that he could not escape he turned round, flung down his weapons in token of submission, and stood sullenly before his captor. big otter at once leaped off his steed, seized the man, bound his arms behind him with a thong, and led him to the spot where the dead man was lying on his face. meanwhile, i had discovered that the arrow which should have pierced my heart had been stopped by one of the gold pieces which formed my breastplate! it had, indeed, pierced the coin, but had only entered my flesh about a quarter of an inch! thanking god for the wonderful deliverance, i plucked it out, and, casting it away, rode up to the place where the dead man lay. my companion had turned him over, and to my great surprise, revealed the face of my old foe, attick! "waugh!" exclaimed big otter, turning to the captured savage. "are there not deer enough in the woods, and buffalo enough on the plains, that the red-man should take to testing his arrows on pale-faces?" "i did not shoot," was the stern reply. "true, but you were the companion, perhaps the friend, of the dead man." "i was _not_ his friend," replied the savage, more sullenly than ever. "then how came you to be with him when making this cowardly attack?" i asked, in a tone which was meant to conciliate. the tone had the desired effect. the savage explained that about three weeks previously he had, while in danger of being killed by a grizzly bear which he had wounded, been rescued by attick, who told him that he was in pursuit of a foe who had injured him deeply, and whom he meant to hunt to death. out of gratitude the indian had consented to follow him--believing his story to be true. attick explained that he had followed his foe from the far north, day by day, week by week, month by month, seeking an opportunity to slay him; but so careful a watch had been kept by his foe and the indian and woman who travelled with him that he had not up to that time found an opportunity. attick and his new ally had then dogged us to sunny creek--the village at which we had arrived--and, finding that we no longer feared danger from hostile indians, and had relaxed our vigilance, they had made up their minds to stay there patiently till the deed could be accomplished. that day, while consulting about the matter in the woods, we had suddenly and unexpectedly appeared before them, and attick had discharged his arrow. "but" concluded the savage, with a perplexed look, "the pale-face cannot be killed. arrows cannot pierce him." "you are right," said i, suddenly coming to a decision in regard to the man. "neither bullet nor arrow can kill me till my work is done, and the great master of life permits me to die. go--and be more careful whom you follow in future." i cut the thong that bound him, as i spoke, and set him free. without a word, though with an irresistible look of surprise, the savage turned, picked up his weapons and strode majestically into the bush. "my brother is not wise," remarked big otter. "that may be so," said i, "but it grieves me that the blood of one indian has been shed on my account, and i don't want to let the authorities here have the chance of shedding that of another. come, we must let them know what has happened." so saying i turned and rode off. we went direct to the authorities above-mentioned, told who we were and what we had done, guided a party of men to the scene of the intended murder; and then, while the stars were beginning to twinkle in the darkening sky, returned to see what was going on in the little cottage on the hill at sunny creek. chapter twenty six. one of the difficulties of correspondence enlarged on--coming events, etcetera. about six weeks after the events narrated in the last chapter, i seated myself before a desk in a charming attic-room in the cottage--no need to say what cottage--and began to pen a letter. i was in an exceedingly happy frame of mind. the weather was agreeable; neither too hot nor too cold; circumstances around me were conducive to quiet contemplation, and my brain was quite clear, nevertheless i experienced unusual difficulty in the composition of that letter. i began it at least half-a-dozen times, and as many times threw my pen down, tore it up and began another. at last i received a summons to dinner, and had then got only half-way through my letter. our dinner-party consisted of old mrs liston, her comely niece, mrs temple, who by the way was a widow, eve liston, and myself. big otter, unable to endure the restraints of civilisation, had gone on a hunting expedition for a few days, by way of relief! "you is very stupid, surely, to take three hours to write one letter," remarked eve, with that peculiar smile to which i have before referred. "eve," said i, somewhat sternly, "you will never learn english properly if you do not attend to my instructions. _you_ is plural, though _i_ am singular, and if you address me thus you must say you _are_ not you _is_." "you _are_ right in saying you are singular," interposed aunt temple, who was rather sharp witted, and had intensely black eyes. eve had called her "aunt" by mistake at first, and now stuck to it. "i don't think there is another man in the district," continued the matron, "who would take so long to write a short letter. you said it was going to be short didn't you?" "yes--short and sweet; though i doubt if the dear old man will think it so at first. but he'll change his mind when he gets here." "no doubt we will convert him," said aunt temple. "eve will, at all events," said i. there was not much more said at that dinner which calls for record. i will therefore return to the attic-room and the letter. after at least another hour of effort, i succeeded in finishing my task, though not entirely to my satisfaction. as the letter was of considerable importance and interest--at least to those concerned--i now lay it before the reader. it ran thus:-- "my dear father, "i scarcely know how to tell you--or how to begin, for i fear that you will not only be very much surprised, but perhaps, displeased by what i have to write. but let me assure you, dear father, that i cannot help it! it almost seems as if the thing had been arranged for me, and as if i had had no say in the matter. the fact is that i have left the service of the fur-traders, and am engaged to be married to a dear beautiful half-caste girl (quite a lady, however, i assure you), and have made up my mind to become a farmer in one of the wildest parts of colorado! there--i've made a clean breast of it, and if that does not take away your breath, nothing will! but i write in all humility, dearest father. do not fancy that, having taken the bit in my teeth, i tell you all this defiantly. very far from it. had it been possible, nothing would have gratified me more than to have consulted you, and asked your approval and blessing, but with three thousand miles of ocean, and i know not how many hundred miles of land between us, that you know, was out of the question; besides, it could not have altered matters, for the thing is fixed. "my eve's mother was an indian. a very superior woman, indeed, let me hasten to say, and an exceptionally amiable one. her father was an english gentleman named william liston--son of a clergyman, and a highly educated man. he was wild and wilful in his youth, and married an indian, but afterwards became a really good man, and, being naturally refined and with amiable feelings, spent his life in doing good to the people with whom he had cast his lot, and perished in saving the life of his wife. eve evidently takes after him. "as to my eve herself--" i will spare the reader what i said about eve herself! suffice it to say that after an enthusiastic account of her mental and physical qualities, in which, however, i carefully refrained from exaggeration, and giving a brief outline of my recent experiences, i wound up with,--"and now, dear father, forgive me if i have done wrong in all this, and make up your mind to come out here and live with us, or take a farm of your own near to us. you know there is nothing to tie you to the old country; you were always fond of the idea of emigrating to the backwoods; your small income will go twice as far here as there, if properly laid out, and you'll live twice as long. come, dear dad, if you love me. i can't get married till you come. ever believe me, your affectionate son--george maxby." reader, shall we visit the dear old man in his dingy little house in old england while he peruses the foregoing letter? yes, let us go. it is worth while travelling between four and five thousand miles to see him read it. perhaps, if you are a critical reader, you may ask, "but how came _you_ to know how the old gentleman received the letter?" well, although the question is impertinent, i will answer it. i have a small cousin of about ten years of age. she dwells with my father, and is an exceedingly sharp and precocious little girl. she chanced to be in the parlour waiting for my father--who was rather given to being late for breakfast--when my letter arrived. the familiar domestic cat was also waiting for him. it had mounted the table and sat glaring at the butter and cream, but, being aware that stealing was wrong, or that the presence of cousin maggie was prohibitive, it practised self-denial. finding a story-book, my cousin sat down on the window seat behind the curtain and became absorbed--so much absorbed that she failed to notice the entrance of my father; failed to hear his--"ha! a letter from punch at last!"--and was only roused to outward events by the crash which ensued when my father smote the table with his fist and exclaimed, "im-possible!" the cups and saucers almost sprang into the air. the cat did so completely, and retired in horror to the furthest corner of the room. recovering itself, however, it soon returned to its familiar post of observation on the table. not so cousin maggie, who, observing that she was unperceived, and feeling somewhat shocked as well as curious, sat quite still, with her mouth, eyes, and especially her ears, wide-open. from maggie then--long afterwards--i learned the details. my father sat down after smiting the table, gasped once or twice; pulled off and wiped his spectacles; put them on again, and, laying strong constraint on himself, read the whole through, aloud, and without a word of comment till he reached the end, when he ejaculated--"in-con-ceivable!" laid the letter down, and, looking up, glared at the cat. as that creature took no notice of him he incontinently flung his napkin at it, and swept it off the table. then he gave vent to a prolonged "wh-sh!" burst into a fiendish laugh, and gave a slap to his thigh that shattered the cat's peace of mind for the remainder of that morning, after which he re-opened the letter, spread it carefully out on the table, and, in the most intensely cynical tones, began a disjointed commentary on it as follows:-- "your `dear father,' indeed! that's the first piece of humbug in your precious letter. very `dear' i am to you, no doubt. and _you_--you--a chit--a mere boy (he forgot that several years had elapsed since i left him). oh! no--i'm neither surprised nor displeased--not at all. the state of my mind is not to be expressed by such phraseology--by no means! and you were always such a smooth-faced, quiet little beggar that--well--no matter. `couldn't help it!' indeed. h'm. `quite a lady!' oh! of _course_. necessarily so, when you condescended to fall in love with her! `humility!' well! `given up the service,' too! `colorado!' `one of the wildest parts'--as if a tame part wouldn't have done just as well! a `farmer!' much _you_ know about farming! you don't tell all this `defiantly.' oh! no, certainly not, but if you don't _do_ it defiantly, i have misunderstood the meaning of the word self-will till i am bald. why didn't you `consult' me, then? much _you_ care for my blessing--and `the thing is fixed!'" exasperation was too much developed at this point to permit of blowing off steam in the form of sarcastic remark. my poor father hit the table with such force that the cream spurted out of its pot over the cloth-- and my father didn't care! the cat cared, however, when, at a later period, it had the cleaning up of that little matter all to itself! this last explosion caused so much noise--my cousin told me--as to attract the attention of my father's only domestic, who bounced into the room and asked, "did 'e ring." to which my father returned such a thundering "no!" that the domestic fled precipitately, followed by the cat--rampant. "_your_ `eve!' indeed," said my father, resuming the sarcastic vein. "`mother an indian'--a hottentot, i suppose, or something of that sort-- short skirt of peacock feathers; no upper part worth mentioning, flat nose and lips, and smeared all over with fat, i dare say. charming mother-in-law. calculated to create some impression on english society. no wonder you've chosen the _wilds_ of colorado! ah, now, as to `my eve herself'--just let us have it strong, my boy--h'm, `sweet'--yes, yes--`amiable,' exactly, `fair hair and blue eyes'--ha, you expect me to swallow _that_! oh, `graceful,' ha! `perfection,' undoubtedly. `forgive' you! no--boy, i'll _never_ forgive you. you're the most arrant ass--idiot--but this caps all--`come out here and live with us!' they'll give me one quarter of the wigwam, i suppose--curtained off with birch-bark, _perhaps_, or deerskin. `your affectionate'--dolt! wh-why-- what do you glare like _that_ for?" this last question was put to my small cousin, who, in the horror of her belief that my father had gone mad, had agitated the window-curtain and revealed herself! my poor dear father! i can imagine the scene well, and would not have detailed it so minutely here if--but enough. i must not forecast. the afternoon on which this letter was despatched big otter returned to sunny creek cottage with a haunch of fat venison on his lusty shoulders. he found us all grouped round the rustic table in front of the door, enjoying a cup of fragrant tea, and admiring the view. eve was sitting on a low stool at the feet of mrs liston, engaged in ornamenting a bright blue fire-bag with bead and quill work of the most gorgeous colouring and elegant design. the design, of course, was her own. mrs liston was knitting small squares of open cotton-work, of a stitch so large that wooden needles about the size of a goose-quill were necessary. it was the only work that the poor old lady's weak eyesight and trembling hands could accomplish, and the simple stitch required little exercise of mind or muscle. when mrs liston completed a square she rolled it away. when sixteen squares were finished, she sewed them together and formed a strip about eight feet long and six inches broad. when sixteen such strips were completed, she sewed them all together and thus produced a bed-quilt. quilts of this sort she presented periodically, with much ceremony and demonstration of regard, to her most intimate friends. in that region the old lady had not many intimate friends, but then it luckily took much time to produce a quilt. the quilt then in hand--at that time near its completion--was for eve. "thank you _so_ much for your venison," said mrs liston, as the hunter, with an air of native dignity, laid the haunch at her feet. "take it to the kitchen, dear," she added to mrs temple, who was pouring out the tea. "it has just come in time," said mrs temple, with a pleasant nod to big otter; "we had quite run out of fresh meat, and your friend muxbee is such a lazy boy that he never touches a gun. in fact i don't know how to get him out of the house even for an hour." as this was said in english, big otter did not understand it, but when he saw the speaker stoop to pick up the venison, he stepped quickly forward and anticipated her. "thank you, carry it this way," said aunt temple (as i had begun to style her), leading the indian to the pantry in rear of the cottage. "well, big otter," said i, when they returned, "now do you find the country round here in regard to game?" "there is much game," he answered. "then you'll make up your mind to pitch your wigwam here, i hope, and make it your home." "no, big otter's heart is in his own land in the far north. he will go back to it." "what! and forsake waboose?" said eve, looking up from her work with an expression of real concern. with a gratified air the indian replied, "big otter will return." "soon!" i asked. "not very long." "when do you start?" "before yon sun rises again," said big otter, pointing to the westward, where the heavens above, and the heavens reflected in the lake below, were suffused with a golden glow. "then i shall have to spend the most of the night writing," said i, "for i cannot let you go without a long letter to my friend lumley, and a shorter one to macnab. i have set my heart on getting them both to leave the service, and come here to settle alongside of me." "you see, your friend muxbee," said aunt temple, using the indian's pronunciation of my name, "is like the fox which lost his tail. he wishes all other foxes to cut off _their_ tails so as to resemble him." "am i to translate that?" i asked. "if you can and will." having done so, i continued,--"but seriously, big otter, i hope you will try to persuade them to come here. give them a glowing account of the country and the climate, and say i'll not marry till they come to dance at my wedding. i would not wait for that however, if it were not that eve thinks she is a little too young yet, and besides, she has set her heart on my father being present. i'll explain all that in my letters, of course, but do you press it on them." "and be sure you tell the dark-haired pale-face," said eve, "that waboose expects her to come. give these from her friend fairhair--she was fond of calling me fairhair." eve rose as she spoke, and produced a pair of beautiful moccasins, which had been made and richly ornamented by her own hands. at the same time she presented the fire-bag to the indian, adding that she was glad to have had it so nearly ready when he arrived. "for whom are these pretty things, my dear?" asked mrs liston. "the fire-bag, mother, is for big otter, and the moccasins is--" "are, eve--are--plural you know." "_is_," replied eve, with emphasis, "for my dear friend, jessie, the black-haired pale-face." "well done, waboose!" exclaimed aunt temple. "i'm glad to see that you improve under my tuition." "you _can't_ spoil her," i retorted, quietly. "well, my dear," said mrs liston, "send a message from me to your dark-haired pale-face that i shall begin a quilt for her next week." "i hope she will come to receive it," said aunt temple. "tell her that, muxbee, with my love, and add that i hope we shall be good friends when we meet. though i doubt it, for i can't bear highlanders--they're so dreadfully enthusiastic." "how much of that message am i to send?" i asked. "as much as you please. i can trust to your discretion." that evening i retired to my snug little attic-room earlier than usual, and, spreading out a large sheet of narrow-ruled foolscap paper before me, began a letter to my old chum on the banks of lake wichikagan. i had much to relate, for much had happened since i had sent off the brief note by salamander, and i found it difficult to check my pen when once it had got into the flow of description and the rush of reminiscence and the gush of reiterative affection. i had covered the whole of the first sheet of narrow-ruled foolscap, and got well into the second sheet-- which i had selected unruled, that i might write still more narrowly-- when i heard a gentle tap at the door. i knew the tap well--sprang up and opened the door. eve stood there, looking as modest and beautiful and elegant as ever--which is saying a good deal, for, in deference to mrs liston's prejudices, she had exchanged her old graceful tunic reaching to a little below the knee, and her pretty bead-wrought leggings, and other picturesque accompaniments of indian life, for the long dress of civilisation. however, i consoled myself with the fact that _nothing_ could spoil her, and recalled with satisfaction the words (i don't quite remember them), which refer to a rose smelling equally sweet under any other name. "prayers," said eve. lest any one should feel perplexed by the brevity of her announcement, i may mention that dear old mrs liston's habit was to recognise her "best benefactor" night and morning by having worship in the household, and invariably conducted it herself in her soft, slightly tremulous, but still musical voice. as we descended the stairs, eve said,--"you must sit beside me to-night, geo'ge. when you sit opposite you gaze too much and make me uncomfortable." "certainly, dear one," said i. "but pray don't call me geo'ge--say geo-r-ge. there's an r in it, you know." "yes, geo-o-o-r-r-r-r-ge!" "eve," i whispered, as we sat on the sofa together, while mrs liston was wiping her spectacles, "i've been earnestly considering that last attempt of yours, and i think upon the whole, that `geo'ge' is better." chapter twenty seven. a peculiar wedding and a wonderful walk. turn we once again to the great wilderness, and if we do so with half the zest felt by big otter when he set forth on his journey, we will certainly enjoy the trip, you and i, whoever you be. but we must take the journey at a bound. it is christmas-time once more. lake wichikagan has put on its top-coat of the purest carrara marble. the roof of the little fort once again resembles a french cake overloaded with creamy sugar. the pines are black by contrast. the willows are smothered, all save the tops where the snow-flakey ptarmigan find food and shelter. smoke rises from the various chimneys, showing that the dwellers in that remote outpost are enjoying themselves as of old. the volumes of smoke also suggest christmas puddings. let us look in upon our old friends. in the men's house great preparation for something or other is going on, for each man is doing his best with soap, water, razor, brush, and garments, to make himself spruce. salamander is there, before a circular looking-glass three inches in diameter in the lid of a soap-box, making a complicated mess of a neck-tie in futile attempts to produce the sailor's knot. blondin is there, before a similar glass, carefully scraping the bristles round a frostbite on his chin with a blunt razor. henri coppet, having already dressed, is smoking his pipe and quizzing marcelle dumont--who is also shaving--one of his chief jokes being an offer to give dumont's razor a turn on the grindstone. donald bane is stooping over a tin basin on a chair, with his hair and face soap-sudded and his eyes tight shut, which fact being observed by his friend dougall, induces that worthy to cry,--"tonal', man--look here. did iver man or wuman see the likes o' _that_!" the invitation is so irresistible to donald that he half involuntarily exclaims, "wow, man, shames--what is't?" and opens his eyes to find that shames is laughing at him, and that soap does not improve sight. the old chief, muskrat, is also there, having been invited along with masqua and his son mozwa, with their respective squaws, to the great event that is pending, and, to judge from the intense gravity--not to say owlish solemnity--of these redskins, they are much edified by the proceedings of the men. in the hall preparations are also being carried on for something of some sort. macnab is there, with his coat off, mounted on a chair, which he had previously set upon a rickety table, hammering away at a festoon of pine-branches with which one end of the room is being decorated. spooner is also there, weaving boughs into rude garlands of gigantic size. the dark-haired pale-face, jessie, is there too, helping spooner--who might almost be called spooney, he looks so imbecile and sweet. jack lumley is likewise there. he is calm, collected, suave, as usual, and is aiding macnab. it was a doubly auspicious day, for it was not only christmas, but, a wedding-day. "it seems like a dream," cried macnab, stopping his noisy hammer in order to look round and comment with his noisy voice, "to think, jessie, that you should refuse at least a dozen sturdy highlanders north o' the grampians, and come out to the backwoods at last to marry an englishman." "i wish you would attend to what you are doing, brother," said jessie, blushing very much. "she might have done worse," remarked spooner, who happened to be an englishman. lumley said nothing, but a pleased smile flickered for a minute on his lips, while macnab resumed his hammering with redoubled zest to a chuckling accompaniment. "it would be nothing," he resumed, turning round again and lowering his hammer, "if you hadn't always protested that you would _never_ marry, but--oh, jessie, i wonder at a girl who has always been so firm in sticking to her resolves, turning out so fickle. i really never thought that the family of macnab could be brought so low through one of its female members." "i know one of its male members," said lumley, in a warning voice, "who will be brought still lower if he keeps dancing about so on that rickety--there--i told you so!" as he spoke, peter macnab missed his footing and came down on the table with a crash so tremendous that the crazy article of furniture became something like what easterns style a split-camel--its feeble legs spread outwards, and its body came flat to the ground. sprawling for a moment macnab rose dishevelled from a mass of pine-branches and looked surprised. "not hurt, i hope," said lumley, laughing, while jessie looked anxious for a moment. "i--i think not. no--evidently not. yes, jessie, my dear, you may regard this as a sort of practical illustration of the value of submission. if that table had resisted me i had been hurt, probably. giving way as it did--i'm all right." "your illustration is not a happy one," said lumley, "for your own safety was purchased at the cost of the table. if you had taken the lesson home, and said that `pride goes before a fall,' it would have been more to the purpose." "perhaps so," returned macnab, assisting to clear away the split table: "my pride is at its lowest ebb now, anyhow, for not only does jessie macnab become mrs lumley within an hour, but i am constrained to perform the marriage ceremony myself, as well as give her away." the highlander here referred to the fact that, for the convenience of those numerous individuals whose lives were spent in the great nor'-west, far removed at that time from clergymen, churches, and other civilised institutions, the commissioned gentlemen in the service of the hudson's bay company were legally empowered to perform the marriage ceremony. of course jessie regretted much the impossibility of procuring a minister of any denomination to officiate in that remote corner of the earth, and had pleaded for delay in order that they might go home and get married there; but lumley pointed out firstly, that there was not the remotest chance of his obtaining leave of absence for years to come; secondly, that the marriage tie, as tied by her brothers would be as legally binding as if managed by an archbishop of canterbury or a moderator of the scottish general assembly; and thirdly, that as he was filled with as deep a reverence for the church as herself, he would have the rite re-performed, ("_ceremonially_, observe, jessie, not _really_, for that will be done to-day,") on the first possible opportunity. if jessie had been hard to convince, lumley would not have ended that little discourse with "thirdly." as it was, jessie gave in, and the marriage was celebrated in the decorated hall, with voyageurs, and hunters, and fur-traders as witnesses. macnab proved himself a worthy minister, for he read the marriage-service from the church of england prayer-book with an earnest and slightly tremulous tone which betrayed the emotion of his heart. and if ever a true prayer, by churchman or layman, mounted to the throne, that prayer was the fervent, "god bless you, jessie!" to which the highlander gave vent, as he pressed the bride to his heart when the ceremony was over. there were some peculiarities about this wedding in the wilderness which call for special notice. in the first place, the wedding-feast, though held shortly after mid-day, was regarded as a dinner--not as a breakfast. it was rather more real, too, than civilised feasts of the kind. those who sat down to it were hungry. they meant feeding, as was remarked by salamander when more "venison steaks" were called for. then there was no champagne or strong drink of any kind. teetotalism--with or without principle--was the order of the day, but they had gallons of tea, and they consumed them, too; and these stalwart nor'westers afterwards became as uproarious on that inspiring beverage as if they had all been drunk. there was this peculiarity, however, in their uproar, that it was reasonable, hearty, good-humoured; did not degenerate into shameful imbecility, or shameless impropriety, nor did it end in stupid incapacity. it subsided gradually into pleasant exhaustion, and terminated in profound refreshing slumber. before that point was reached, however, much had to be done. games had to be undertaken as long as the daylight lasted--chief among which were tobogganing down the snow-slope, and football on the ice. then, after dark, the hall was lighted up with an extra supply of candles round the room--though the powerful blaze of the mighty wood fire in the open chimney rendered these almost unnecessary, and another feast was instituted under the name of supper, though it commenced at the early hour of six o'clock. at this feast there was some speechifying--partly humorous and partly touching--and it remains a disputed point to this day whether the touching was more humorous or the humorous more touching. i therefore refrain from perplexing the reader with the speeches in detail. only part of one speech will i refer to, as it may be said to have had a sort of prophetic bearing on our tale. it fell from the lips of lumley. "my friends," he said, with that grave yet pleasant urbanity which i have before said was so natural to him, "there is only one regret which i will venture to express on this happy day, and it is this, that some of those who were wont to enliven us with their presence at fort wichikagan, are not with us to-night. i really do not think there would be a single element wanting in the joy which it has pleased a loving god to send me, if i could only have had my dear young friend, george maxby, to be my best man--" he had to pause a few moments at this point, because of noisy demonstrations of assent. "and i am quite sure," he continued, "that it would have afforded as much satisfaction to you as it would to my dear wife and me, if we could only have had our sedate friend, big otter--" again he had to pause, for the shouting with which this name was received not only made the rafters ring, but caused the very candles on the walls to wink. "if we could only have had big otter," repeated lumley, "to dance at our wedding. but it is of no use to sigh after the impossible. the days of miracles are over, and--" as he spoke the hall door slowly opened, and a sight appeared which not only bereft the speaker of speech, but for a few minutes absolutely petrified all the rest of the company. it was the face and figure of a man--tall, gaunt and worn. now, good reader, as lumley said (without very good authority!) the days of miracles are over, yet i venture to think that many events in this life do so much resemble miracles that we could not distinguish them from such unless the keys to their solution were given to us. i give you the key to the supposed miracle now in hand, by asking you to accompany me deep into the wild-woods, and backward in time to about an hour before noon of the day preceding christmas. it is a tangled shady spot to which i draw attention, the snow-floor of which is over-arched by dark pine-branches and surrounded by walls of willows and other shrubs. there is a somewhat open circular space in the centre of the spot, into which an indian on snow-shoes strode at the hour mentioned. even his most intimate friends might have failed at a first glance to recognise big otter, for he was at the time very near the close of a long, hard, wearisome journey, during the course of which he had experienced both danger and privation. latterly he had conceived an idea, which he had striven with all his powers--and they were not small--to carry out. it was neither more nor less than to arrive in time to spend christmas day with his friends at fort wichikagan. but to accomplish this feat, commencing at the time he conceived it, required that the indian should travel without fail upwards of forty miles every day. this, on snow-shoes, could only be done by a very hercules, and that only for a few days at a stretch. big otter knew his powers of endurance, and had carried out his resolve nearly to completion, when a storm arose so fierce, with temperature so bitterly cold, that he could not force against it, and thus lost the greater part of a day. still, the thing was not impossible, and, as the difficulties multiplied, our indian's resolve to conquer increased. in this state of mind, and much worn and fagged in body, with soiled and rent garments that told of weeks upon weeks of toil, he entered the circle, or open space before referred to, and, coming to a stand, rested the butt of his gun on one of his snowshoes, heaved a deep sigh, and looked round, as if undecided how to act. but big otter's periods of indecision never lasted long. being naturally of a sociable turn of mind he partially revealed his mental condition by low mutterings which i take leave to translate. "yes, i can do it. the pale-faces are pleasant men; pleasanter at christmas-time than at other times. they love song, and big otter loves to hear song, though he does not love to do it. men do not love to try what they cannot do. the pale-faces have much food, too, on christmas day, and much good-will. big otter loves both the good-will and the food, especially that round thing they are so fond of--plum-puddinn they call it. they dance much also. dancing gives not much joy, though big otter can do some of it--but plum-puddinn is glorious! waugh! i will do it!" having communed with himself thus far, the indian leaned his gun against a tree, flung down his provision-bag, took off his snow-shoes, cleared away the snow, kindled a fire, spread his bed of pine-brush and his blanket above it--and, in short went through the usual process of encamping. it was early in the day to encamp, but there was only one way in which our indian could hope to partake of the plum-puddinn, and that was to walk a little over fifty miles at one stretch. that distance still lay between him and fort wichikagan, and it had to be traversed within fourteen and fifteen hours--including rests and food. to prepare himself for the feat big otter drew from his wallet an enormous mass of venison which he roasted and consumed. then he filled a small portable kettle with snow, which, with the aid of a fierce fire, he soon converted into tea. you see our indian was becoming civilised by intercourse with pale-faces, and rather luxurious, for he carried tea and sugar on this journey. he did not deem butter a necessity, but could afford to dispense with that, because of having the remains of a rogan, or birch basket, of bear's grease (unscented, of course!) which he had reserved at the end of his fall hunt. the meal, or rather the gorging, over, big otter rolled himself head and feet in a blanket, pillowed his head on the provision-wallet, and suddenly went to sleep. hour after hour passed, but not the slightest motion was perceptible in that recumbent figure save the slow regular rise and fall of the deep chest. the short-lived sun of winter soon passed its zenith and began to decline towards its early couch in the west, but still the sleeper lay motionless like a log. at last the shades of early evening began to fall, and then big otter awoke. he rose at once, stretched himself with a sort of awful energy, rolled up his blanket, put on his snow-shoes, caught up wallet and gun, and set off on his journey. to see a strong man stride over the land on snowshoes is a grand sight at any time, but to see big otter do it on this occasion would have been worth a long journey. with his huge and weighty frame and his mighty stride he made nothing of small obstacles, and was but little affected by things that might have retarded ordinary mortals. small bushes went down before him like grass, larger ones he turned aside, and thick ones he went crashing through like an african elephant through jungle, while the fine frosted snow went flying from his snow-shoes right and left. there was no hesitancy or wavering as to direction or pace. the land he was acquainted with, every inch. reserve force, he knew, lay stored in every muscle, and he was prepared to draw it all out when fatigue should tell him that revenue was expended and only capital remained. as the sun went down the moon rose up. he had counted on this and on the fact that the land was comparatively open. yet it was not monotonous. now he was crossing a stretch of prairie at top speed, anon driving through a patch of woodland. here he went striding over the surface of a frozen river, or breasting the slope of a small hill. as the night wore on he tightened his belt but did not halt to do so. once or twice he came to a good-sized lake where all impediments vanished. off went the snowshoes and away he went over the marble surface at a slow trot--slow in appearance, though in reality quicker than the fastest walk. then the moon went down and the grey light of morning--christmas morning--dawned. still the red-man held on his way unchanged-- apparently unchangeable. when the sun was high, he stopped suddenly beside a fallen tree, cleared the snow off it, and sat down to eat. he did not sit long, and the breakfast was a cold one. in a few minutes the journey was resumed. the indian was drawing largely on his capital now, but, looking at him, you could not have told it. by a little after six o'clock that evening the feat was accomplished, and, as i have said, big otter presented himself at a critical moment to the wonder-stricken eyes of the wedding guests. "did they make much of him?" you ask. i should think they did! "did they feed him?" of course they did--stuffed him to repletion--set him down before the massive ruins of the plum-puddinn, and would not let him rise till the last morsel was gone! moreover, when big otter discovered that he had arrived at fort wichikagan, not only on christmas day, but on chief lumley's wedding-day, his spirit was so rejoiced that his strength came back again unimpaired, like sampson's, and he danced that night with the pale-faces, till the small hours of the morning, to the strains of a pig-in-its-agonies fiddle, during which process he consumed several buckets of hot tea. he went to rest at last on a buffalo robe in a corner of the hall in a state of complete exhaustion and perfect felicity. chapter twenty eight. the wilderness again--new plans mooted--treacherous ice, and a brave rescue. the well-known disinclination of time and tide to wait for any man holds good in the wilderness of the great nor'-west, as elsewhere. notwithstanding the momentous events which took place at fort wichikagan and in colorado, as detailed in preceding chapters, the winter passed away as usual, spring returned, and the voice of the grey-goose and plover began once more to gladden the heart of exiled man. jack lumley sat on a rustic chair in front of the hall, gazing with wistful eyes at the still ice-covered lake, and occasionally consulting an open letter in his hand with frowning looks of meditation. the sweet voice of jessie lumley came from the interior of the hall, trilling a tuneful highland air, which, sweeping over the lawn and lake, mingled with the discords of the plover and geese, thus producing a species of wild-wood harmony. peter macnab--who, since the memorable day when the table became a split-camel under his weight, had been to the mountain fort and got back again to wichikagan--came up, sat down on a bench beside his brother-in-law, and said,--"shall i become a prophet?" "perhaps you'd better not, macnab. it is not safe to sail under false colours, or pretend to powers which one does not possess." "but what if i feel a sort of inspiration which convinces me that i do possess prophetic powers, at least to some extent?" "then explode and relieve yourself by all means," said lumley. "you have read that letter," resumed macnab, "at least fifty times, if you have read it once." "if you had said that i had read it a hundred and fifty times," returned lumley, "you would have been still under the mark." "just so. and you have meditated over it, and dreamed about it, and talked it over with your wife at least as many times--if not more." "your claim to rank among the prophets is indisputable, macnab--at least as regards the past. what have you got to say about the future?" "the future is as clear to me, my boy, as yonder sun, which gleams in the pools that stud the ice on lake wichikagan." "i am afraid, brother-in-law," returned lumley, with a pitiful smile, "that your intellects are sinking to a par with those of the geese which fly over the pools referred to." "listen!" resumed the highlander, with a serious air that was unusual in him. "i read the future thus. you have already, as i am aware, sent in your resignation. well, you will not only quit the service of the hbc, but you will go and join your friend maxby in colorado; you will become a farmer; and, worst of all, you will take my dear sister with you." "in some respects," said lumley, also becoming serious, "you are right. i have made up my mind that, god willing, i shall quit the service--not that i find fault with it, very much the reverse; but it is too much of a life of exile and solitude to my dear jessie. i will also go to colorado and join maxby, but i won't take your sister from you. i will take you with me, brother-in-law, if you will consent to go, and we shall all live together. what say you?" macnab shook his head, sadly. "you forget my boy, that your case is very different from mine. you have only just reached the end of your second term of service, and are still a youth. whereas, i am a commissioned officer of the fur trade, with a fairish income, besides being an elderly man, and not very keen to throw all up and begin life over again." there was much in what macnab said, yet not so much but that lumley set himself, with all his powers of suasion and suavity, to induce his brother-in-law to change his mind. but lumley had yet to learn that no power of saxon logic, or personal influence, can move the will of a man from beyond the grampian range who has once made up his mind. when all was said, macnab still shook his head, and smiled regretfully. "it's of no use wasting your breath, my boy,--but tell me, is jessie anxious for this change?" "she is anxious. she naturally pines for female society--though she did not say so until i urged her solemnly to tell me all her mind. and she is right. it is not good for woman, any more than for man, to be alone, and when i am away on these long expeditions--taking the furs to the depot, searching out the indians, hunting, etcetera,--she is left unavoidably alone. i have felt this very strongly, and that was why, as you know, i had made up my mind during the winter, and written to the governor and council that, as my time had expired, i meant to retire this spring." "yes, boy, i know," returned macnab. "i foresaw all this even long before you began to move in the matter, and i also took steps with a view to contingencies. you know that i am entitled to a year's furlough this spring. well, i wrote during the winter to say that i intended to avail myself of it. now, then, this is what i intend to do. when you retire, and go off to the states, i will go with you on leave of absence. we won't lose time by the way, for you may depend on it that maxby will not delay his wedding longer than he can help. fortunately, his old father won't be able to wind up his affairs in england, and set off to colorado quite as quickly as the son expects, so that will help to delay matters; and thus, though we can hardly expect to be in time for the wedding, we will at least be time enough to claim a revival and extension of the festivities. then, you know, big otter--" "aye, what of him?" asked lumley, seeing that macnab paused. "well, i think we may prevail on him to go with us, as our guide, till we reach the civilised world, after which, we can take him in charge-- turn the tables as it were--and guide him to sunny creek." "yes--or send him on in advance of us, through the wood in a straight line, like the swallow, to announce our approach." at this point, jessie, who had been busy with the household bread, came to the door with a face radiant from the combined effect of hard work and happiness. "what is the subject of all this earnest conversation, jack?" she asked, pulling down the sleeves that had been tucked up above her elbows. "ask your brother, jess," said lumley, rising. "i shall have time before supper to pay a visit to big otter on a matter of some importance." he passed into the house to take up his gun and powder-horn, while jessie sat down on the rustic chair, and her brother returned to the subject that had been interrupted. now there occurred that afternoon an event which might have put a final and fatal termination to the plans which had just been so eagerly discussed. i have said that spring was so far advanced at that time, that pools of water were formed on the ice of lake wichikagan. the heat which caused these had also the effect of softening the snow in the woods, so as to render walking in snow-shoes very laborious. as walking without them, however, was impossible, lumley had no other course left than to put them on and plod away heavily through the deep and pasty snow. big otter at that time occupied the important position of hunter to the establishment. he supplied it with fresh meat and dwelt in a small wigwam, about six miles distant from the fort, on the borders of a little lake--little at least for that region, but measuring somewhat over three miles in diameter. he also, for his own advantage and recreation, carried on the business of a trapper, and had that winter supplied many a silver fox and marten to the fur-stores at wichikagan. when lumley set out to visit the chief he knew that there was a possibility of his being out after deer, but in that case he meant to await his arrival, at least until nightfall, and then he could leave a hieroglyphic message, which the indian would understand, requiring his immediate presence at the fort. in any case lumley thought nothing of a twelve-mile walk, even though the snow _was_ soft and deep. nothing worthy of notice occurred until he reached the lake above-mentioned, on the borders of which he halted. looking across the bay, on the other side of which the hunter's wigwam stood, he could discern among the pines and willows, the orange-coloured birch-bark of which it was made, but no wreath of blue smoke told of the presence of the hunter. "h'm! not at home!" muttered lumley, who then proceeded to debate with himself the propriety of venturing to cross the bay on the ice. now, it must be told that ice on the north american lakes becomes exceedingly dangerous at a certain period of spring, for, retaining much of its winter solidity of appearance, and, indeed, much of its winter thickness, it tempts men to venture on it when, in reality, it has become honeycombed and "rotten." ice of this kind--no matter how thick it be,--is prone to give way without any of those friendly cracks and rends and other warnings peculiar to the new ice of autumn, and, instead of giving way in angular cakes, it suddenly slides down, letting a man through to the water, by opening a hole not much larger than himself. of course lumley was well aware of this danger--hence the debate with himself, or rather with his judgment. "it looks solid enough," said lumley. "looks are deceptive," said his judgment. "then, it's rather early yet for the ice to have become quite rotten," said lumley. "so everyone goes on saying, every spring, till some unfortunate loses his life, and teaches others wisdom," said judgment; "besides, you're a heavy man." "and it is a tremendous long way round by the shore--nearly four times the distance," murmured lumley. "what of that in comparison with the risk you run," remarked judgment, growing impatient. "i'll venture it!" said the man, sternly. "you're a fool!" cried the other, getting angry. it is surprising with what equanimity a man will stand insulting language from himself! with something like a contemptuous smile on his lips, lumley took off his snow-shoes and set off to cross the bay. as he had anticipated, he found it as firm as a rock. the surface, indeed, had a dark wet look about it, and there were various pools here and there which he carefully avoided; but there was no other indication of danger until he had got three-quarters of the way across. then, without an instant's warning, the mass of ice on which he stood dropped below him like a trap-door and left him struggling in a compound of ice and water! the first shock of the cold water on his robust frame was to give it a feeling of unusual strength. with a sharp shout, caused by the cold rather than alarm, he laid both hands on the edge of the ice, and, springing like an acrobat out of the water to his waist, fell with his chest on the still sound ice; but it was not long sound. his convulsive grip and heavy weight broke it off, and down he sank again, over head and ears. it is not easy to convince a very powerful man that he may become helpless. lumley rose, and, with another herculean grip, laid hold of the edge of the ice. his mind had not yet fully admitted that he was in absolute danger. he had only been recklessly vigorous at the first attempt to get out--that was all--now, he would exercise caution. with the coolness that was natural to him--increased, perhaps, by the coolness of the water--he again laid his hands on the edge of the ice, but he did not try to scramble upon it. he had been a practised gymnast at school. many a time had he got into a boat from deep water while bathing, and he knew that in such an effort one is hampered by the tendency one's legs have to get under the boat and prevent action--even as, at that moment, his legs were attempting to go under the ice. adopting, therefore, his old plan and keeping his hands on the edge of the ice, he first of all paddled backwards with his legs until he got himself into a quite perpendicular position, so that when he should make the spring there would be no fear of retarding his action by scraping against the ice with his chest. while in this position he let himself sink to the very lips--nay, even lower--and then, acting with arms and legs at the same moment, he shot himself full half his length out of the water. the whole process was well calculated, for, by sinking so deeply before the spring, he thus made use of the buoyancy of water, and rendered less pressure with his hands on the ice needful. but, although he thus avoided breaking the ice at first he could not by any device lessen the weight of his fall upon it. again the treacherous mass gave way, and once more he sank into the cold lake. cold, far more than exertion, tells on a man in such circumstances. a feeling of exhaustion, such as poor lumley had never felt before, came over him. "god help me!" he gasped, with the fervour that comes over men when in the hour of their extremity. death seemed at last evidently to confront him, and with the energy of a brave man he grappled and fought him. again and again he tried the faithless ice, each time trying to recall some device in athletics which might help him, but always with the same result. then, still clinging to life convulsively, he prayed fervently and tried to meet his fate like a man. this effort is probably more easy on the battle-field, with the vital powers unexhausted, and the passions strong. it was not so easy in the lone wilderness, with no comrade's voice to cheer, with the cold gradually benumbing all the vital powers, and with life slipping slowly away like an unbelievable dream! the desire to live came over him so strongly at times, that again and yet again, he struggled back from the gates of the dark valley by the mere power of his will and renewed his fruitless efforts; and when at last despair took possession of him, from the depths of his capacious chest he gave vent to that:-- "bubbling cry of some strong swimmer in his agony!" sleeping soundly in his wigwam, big otter heard the cry. our indian was not the man to start up and stare, and wonder, and wait for a repetition of any cry. like the deer which he had so often roused, he leaped up, bounded through the doorway of his tent, and grasped gun and snow-shoes. one glance sufficed to show him the not far distant hole in the ice. dropping the gun he thrust his feet into the snowshoes, and went off over the ice at racing speed. the snow-shoes did not impede him much, and they rendered the run over the ice less dangerous. probably lumley would not have broken through if he had used his snow-shoes, because of the larger surface of ice which they would have covered. to come within a few yards of the hole, slide to the edge of it on his chest, with both snow-shoes spread out under that, by way of diffusing his weight over as much surface as possible, was the work of only a few minutes. but by that time the perishing man was almost incapable of helping himself. the great difficulty that the rescuer experienced was to rouse lumley once more to action, for the torpor that precedes death had already set in, and to get on his knees on the edge of the ice, so as to have power to raise his friend, would only have resulted in the loss of his own life as well. to make sure that he should not let go his hold and slip, big otter tied the end of his long worsted belt round his friend's right wrist. "now," he said, earnestly, "try once more." "too late--too late! god bless you, big--" he stopped, and his eyes closed! "no!" cried the indian, vehemently, giving the perishing man's head a violent shake--then, putting his mouth close to his ear, added in a deep tone--"not too late for the master of life to save. think! the dark-haired pale-face waits for you." this was a judicious touch. the energy which could not be aroused by any consideration of self was electrified by the thought of the waiting wife. lumley made one more desperate effort and once again cried to god for help. both acts contributed to the desired end, and were themselves an answer to the prayer of faith. mysterious connection! hope revived, and the vital fluid received a fresh impulse. in the strength of it lumley raised himself so far out of the water that the indian was able to drag half his body on the ice, but the legs still hung down. creeping back a few feet, the indian, still lying flat on his face, cut a hole in the ice with his hatchet into which he stuck his toe, and seized hold of the end of his worsted belt. "that's right," said his friend, faintly--"wait." big otter knew that full consciousness had returned. he waited while lumley, gently paddling with his legs, got them into a horizontal position. "now!" cried lumley. the indian pulled--softly at first, then vigorously, and lumley slid fairly on the ice. the rest, though still dangerous, was easy. in a few minutes more the red-man had the pale-face stripped beside a rousing fire in the wigwam--and thus he brought him back to life from the very gates of death. "you have saved me, my good friend," said lumley, when he began to recover. "the great master of life saved you," returned the indian. "he made use of me--for which i thank him." it was not until late on the following day that lumley felt strong enough to return to the fort, and relate what had occurred. then the plans for the future were laid before big otter, and, to the satisfaction of all parties, he agreed at once to fall in with them. "but," said he, "big otter will not stay. he loves the great wilderness too well to be content to live among the wooden wigwams of the pale-faces." "well, we won't bother ourselves on that point just now," said macnab, "and so, as that's comfortably settled, i'll pack up and away back to my mountain fort to get ready for a trip, with you and lumley and jessie, to colorado." chapter twenty nine. the last. once more i change the scene, from the wild regions of the north to the little less wild lands of colorado. on a certain bright forenoon in autumn i stood in the doorway of sunny creek cottage watching a clumsy vehicle as it laboured slowly up the hill. i was alone that day, old mrs liston, eve, and "aunt temple" having gone off in the waggon for a long drive to visit a relative with hunting proclivities, who had built himself a log-hut in a ravine of the neighbouring mountains, that he might be in closer proximity to the bears and deer. with some curiosity i approached the lumbering machine to assist the occupant, who seemed unable, or too impatient, to open the door. it was a stiff door, and swung open with a jerk which caused the occupant's hat to fall off, and reveal a bald head. "father!" i gasped. "punch, my boy!" the dear old man tripped in his haste to get down, plunged into my bosom, threw his arms round my neck to save himself, and almost bore me to the ground. neither of us being demonstrative in our affections, this unpremeditated, not to say unintentional, embrace i felt to be quite touching. my father obviously resolved to make the most of his opportunities, for he gave me a thoroughly exhaustive hug before releasing me. "i--i--didn't m-mean," said my father, blazing with excitement, and gasping with a mingled tendency to laugh and weep, "didn't mean to come it quite so strong, p-punch, my boy, b-but you'll make allowance for a momentary weakness. i'm getting an old man, punch. what makes you grin so, you backwoods koonisquat?" the last sentence, with its opprobrious epithet (coined on the spot), was addressed with sudden asperity to the driver of the clumsy vehicle, who was seated on his box, with mouth expanded from ear to ear. "wall, stranger, if you will insist on knowin'," said he, "it's sympathy that makes me grin. i _do_ like to see human natur' out of its go-to-meetin' togs, with its saddle off, an' no bridal on, spurtin' around in gushin' simplicity. but you're wrong, stranger," continued the driver, with a grave look, "quite wrong in callin' me a koonisquat. i _have_ dropt in the social scale, but i ain't got quite so low as that, i guess, by a long chalk." "well, you compound of welshman and yankee, be off and refresh yourself," returned my father, putting an extra dollar, over and above his fare, into the man's hand, "but don't consume it on your filthy fire-water cock-tails, or gin-slings, or any other kind of sling-tails. if you must drink, take it out in strong hot coffee." the man drove off, still grinning, and i hurried my father into the cottage where, while i set before him a good luncheon, he gave me a wildly rambling and interjectional account of his proceedings since the date of his last letter to me. "but why did you take me by surprise in this way, dear daddy; why didn't you let me know you were coming?" "because i like to take people by surprise, especially ill-doing scapegraces like--by the way," said my father, suddenly laying down his knife and fork, "where is she?" "where is who?" "she--her, of course; the--the girl, the hottentot, the savage. oh! george, what an ass you are!" "if you mean eve, sir," said i, "she is away from home--and everybody else along with her. that comes of your taking people by surprise, you see. nobody prepared to receive you; nothing ready. no sheets aired even." "well, well, punch, my boy, don't be sharp with your old father. i won't offend again. by the way," he added, quickly, "you're not married _yet_? eh?" "no, not yet." "ah!" said my father with a sigh of relief, as he resumed his knife and fork, "then there's the barest chance of a possibility that if--but you've asked her to marry you, eh?" "yes, i have asked her." "and she has accepted you?" "yes, she has accepted me. i wrote all that to you long ago." "ah!" said my father, with a profound sigh of resignation, "then there is _no_ chance of a possibility, for if a man tries to win the affections of a girl and succeeds, he is bound in honour to marry her-- even though he were the emperor of china, and she a--a hottentot. now, punch, i have made up my mind to like the girl, even though she painted scarlet circles round her eyes, and smeared her nose with sky-blue--but you _must_ let your poor old father blow off the steam, for you have been such a--a donkey!--such a hasty, impatient, sentimental, romantic idiot, that--another glass of that milk, my boy. thank'ee, where do you get it? beats english milk hollow." "got it from one of our numerous cows, daddy," said i, with a short laugh at this violent change of the subject, "and my eve made the butter." "did she, indeed? well, i'm glad she's fit for even that small amount of civilised labour; but you have not told me yet when i shall see her?" "that is a question i cannot exactly answer," said i, "but you will at all events be introduced to-night to her father's mother, and her cousin (whom we call aunt), as well as to a young lady--a miss waboose--who is staying with us at present. and now, father," i added, "come, and we'll have a stroll round the farm. i don't expect the ladies back till evening. meanwhile, i want you to do me a favour; to humour what i may call a whim." "if it's not a very silly one, punch, i'll do it, though i have not much confidence in your wisdom _now_." "it is simply that you should agree, for this night only, to pass yourself off for a very old friend of mine. you need not tell fibs, or give a false name. you are a namesake, you know. there are lots of maxbys in the world!" "weak, my boy; decidedly weak. they'll be sure to see through it and i won't be able to recollect not to call you punch." "no matter. call me punch. i'll tell them you are a very familiar old friend--a sort of relation, too, which will account for the name." "well, well," said my father, with a smile of pity, "i'll not object to humour your whim, but it's weak--worthy of a man who could engage himself to a miserable red-indian hottentot!" this being finally settled, and my father having been pretty well exhausted by his ramble round the farm, i set him down on the rustic chair with a newspaper and left him, saying that i should be back in an hour or so. i knew the road by which the waggon was to return, walked along it several miles, and then waited. soon it drove up to the spot where i stood. they were surprised to see me, but more surprised when i ordered the ladies to get out, and walk with me, while the coachman drove on slowly in advance. then i hurriedly told of my father's arrival, and explained more fully than i had yet ventured to do his misconceptions and prejudices as to eve. "now, i want you all," said i, "to help me to remove these prejudices and misconceptions as quickly as possible by falling in with my little plans." hereupon i explained that my father was to be introduced as an old friend and namesake, while eve was to be presented to him as a visitor at the cottage named miss waboose. i had feared that old mrs liston would not enter into my plan, but found that, on the contrary, having a strong sense of humour, she quite enjoyed the notion of it. so did aunt temple, but eve herself felt doubtful of her ability to act out her part. i had no doubt on that point, for she had undertaken it, and well did i know that whatever eve undertook she could, and would, accomplish. it might be tedious to recount in detail the scenes that followed. the dear old man was charmed with miss waboose--as i had fully expected--and miss waboose was more than charmed with the dear old man! so that when we bade the ladies good-night, he kissed her fair forehead with quite fatherly tenderness. when i conducted the old man to his room i was struck, and made quite anxious, by the disconsolate expression of his face, and asked earnestly what was wrong. "wrong!" he exclaimed, almost petulantly. "everything's wrong. more particularly, _you_ are wrong. oh, george, i _can't_ get over it. to think that you are tied hard and fast--_irrevocably_--to--a red-indian-- a painted savage--a hottentot. it is too--too bad!" he kicked off one of his shoes so viciously at this point, that it went straight into, and smashed, a looking-glass; but he didn't seem to care a straw for that. he did not even condescend to notice it. "and to think, too," he continued, "that you might have had that adorable young lady, miss waboose, who--in spite of her heathenish name--is the most charming, artless, modest young creature i ever saw. oh! punch, punch, what a consummate idiot you have been." it was impossible to help laughing at my poor father's comical expression of chagrin, as he sat on the edge of his bed, slapped his hands down on both knees and looked up in my face. "excuse me, daddy, but what ground have you for supposing that miss waboose would accept me, even if i were free to ask her hand?" "ground? why the ground that she is fond of you. any man with half an eye could see that, by the way she looks at and speaks to you. of course you have not observed that. i trust, my boy, you are too honourable to have encouraged it. nevertheless, it is a fact--a miserable, tantalising, exasperating fact--a maddening fact, now that that hideous red-indian--hottentot stands in the way." "that red-indian--hottentot," said i, unable any longer to cause my dear father so much pain, "does _not_ stand in the way, for i am happy to tell you that miss waboose and eve are one and the same person." "come, come, punch," returned my parent, testily, "i'm in no humour for jesting. go away, and let me get to bed and pillow my head on oblivion if possible." i do assure you, reader, that i had no slight difficulty in persuading my father that eve liston and waboose were really the same person. "but the girl's _fair_," objected my father, when the truth began to force an entrance. "yes--`passing fair,'" said i. "and with blue eyes and golden hair!" said he. "even so," said i. "no more like a savage than i am?" said my father. "much less so," said i. when at length he did take in the fact, he flung his arms round my neck for the second time that day, and did his best to strangle me. then, under a sudden impulse, he thrust me out into the passage and shut and locked the door. "you won't pillow your head on oblivion now, will you, daddy?" i asked through the keyhole. "get away, you deceiver!" was the curt reply. but surprises did not come singly at that time. call it a miracle, or a coincidence, or what you will, it is a singular fact that, on the very next day, there arrived at sunny creek cottage four travellers--namely, jack lumley, the black-haired pale-face, peter macnab, and big otter. on beholding each other, jessie lumley and eve liston, uttering each a little shriek, rushed into each other's arms, and straightway, for the space of five minutes, became a human amalgam. "not too late, i hope?" said lumley, after the first excitement of meeting was over. "too late for what?" said i. "for the wedding, of course," said he. "by no means. it is fixed for this day three weeks." "good--jessie and i will have the knot tightened a little on the same day by the same man." "wind and weather permitting," said macnab, with his wonted irreverence. "now, maxby, my boy, take us into the house, and introduce us to old mrs liston. but what splendid creature is this coming towards us?" "why that's aunt temple," i whispered, as she came forward. "let me introduce you, aunt, to mr macnab--the jolly fur-trader of whom you have heard me speak so often and so much." macnab made a profound obeisance, and aunt temple returned a dignified bow, expressing herself, "much pleased to make the acquaintance," etcetera, and saying that mrs liston, being unable to come out to greet them, was anxious that we should enter. "particularly big otter," said aunt temple, turning to the grave chief, "for whom she has a very great regard." thus invited and specially complimented, our tall indian stooped to enter the cottage door, but not being accustomed to the wooden wigwams of the pale-faces, he did not stoop low enough, struck his head against the top, and rather damaged an eagle's feather, with which his hair was decorated. nothing, almost, could upset the dignity and imperturbable gravity of big otter. he stooped lower to conquer the difficulty, and when inside drew himself up to his full height, so that the eagle's feather touched the ceiling, and tickled up some flies that were reposing in fancied security there. glancing round till his black eyes caught sight of old mrs liston in a darkish corner on a sofa, he stepped forward, and, stooping to grasp one of her small hands in both of his, said tenderly--"watchee." "what cheer--what cheer?" said the accommodating old lady, responding to the salutation in kind. "tell him, george, that i'm _so_ happy to see once again the friend of my beloved william." "big otter rejoices to meet again the mother of weeum," replied the indian. "and tell him," said mrs listen, "that i hope he has now come to stay with us altogether." the indian smiled gravely, and shook his head, intimating that the question required consideration. when the other members of the party were introduced--jessie and eve having been separated for the purpose--we all adjourned to the verandah to interchange news. need it be said that we had much to hear and tell? i think not. neither need the fact be enlarged on, that we all retired late that night, in a state of supreme felicity and mental exhaustion. there was one exception, however, as regards the felicity, for mrs liston, out of regard for the friend of her darling william, insisted that big otter should occupy the best bedroom on the ground floor. the result was eminently unsatisfactory, for big otter was not accustomed to best bedrooms. eve conducted the indian to his room. he cared nothing for his comfort, and was prepared humbly to do whatever he was bid. he silently followed her and looked round the room with open-mouthed wonder as she pointed to his bed and, with a pleasant nod, left him. resting his gun in a corner--for he never parted with that weapon night or day--and laying his powder-horn and shot-pouch on the ground, he drew his tomahawk and scalping-knife, and was about to deposit them beside the horn, when his eye suddenly fell on a gigantic indian crouching, as if on the point of springing on him. like lightning he sprang erect. then an expression of intense humility and shame covered his grave features on discovering that a large mirror had presented him with a full-length portrait of himself! a sort of pitiful smile curled his lip as he took off his hunting coat. being now in his ordinary sleeping costume he approached the bed, but did not like the look of it. no wonder! besides being obviously too short, it had white curtains with frills or flounces of some sort, with various tags and tassels around, and it did not look strong. he sat cautiously down on the side of it, however, and put one leg in. the sheets felt unpleasant to his naked foot, but not being particular, he shoved it in, and was slowly letting himself down on one elbow, when the bed creaked! this was enough. big otter was brave to rashness in facing known danger, but he was too wise to risk his body on the unknown! drawing forth his leg he stood up again, and glanced round the room. there was a small dressing-table opposite the bed; beside it was the large glass which had given him such a surprise. further on a washhand-stand with a towel-rack beside it, but there was no spot on which he could stretch his bulky frame save the middle of the floor. calmly he lay down on that, having previously pulled off all the bedclothes in a heap and selected therefrom a single blanket. pillowing his head on a footstool, he tried to sleep, but the effort was vain. there was a want of air--a dreadful silence, as if he had been buried alive--no tinkling of water, or rustling of leaves, or roar of cataract. it was insupportable. he got up and tried to open the door, but the handle was a mystery which he could not unriddle. there was a window behind the dressing-table. he examined that, overturning and extinguishing the candle in the act. but that was nothing. the stars gave enough of light. fortunately the window was a simple cottage one, which opened inwards with a pull. he put on his coat and belt, resumed his arms, and, putting his long leg over the sill, once more stood on his native soil and breathed the pure air! quietly gliding round the house, he found a clump of bushes with a footpath leading through it. there he laid him down, enveloped in one of mrs liston's best blankets, and there he was found next morning in tranquil slumber by our domestic when she went to milk the cows! before the three weeks were over peter macnab almost paralysed aunt temple by a cool proposal that she should exchange the civilised settlements for the wilderness, and go back with him, as mrs macnab, to the mountain fort! the lady, recovering from her semi-paralytic affection, agreed to the suggestion, and thus peter macnab was, according to his own statement, "set up for life." shall i dwell on the triple wedding? no. why worry the indulgent reader, or irritate the irascible one, by recounting what is so universally understood. there were circumstances peculiar, no doubt to the special occasion. to eve and myself, of course, it was the most important day of our lives--a day never to be forgotten; and for which we could never be too thankful, and my dear father pronounced it the happiest day of _his_ life; but i think he forgot himself a little when he said that! then old mrs liston saw but one face the whole evening, and it was the face of willie--she saw it by faith, through the medium of eve's sweet countenance. but i must cut matters short. when all was over, macnab said to his wife:-- "now, my dear, we must be off at the end of one week. you see, i have just one year's furlough, and part of it is gone already. the rest of it, you and i must spend partly in the states, partly in england, and partly on the continent of europe, so that we may return to the great nor'-west with our brains well stored with material for small talk during an eight or nine months' winter." aunt macnab had no objection. accordingly, that day week he and she bade us all good-bye and left us. big otter was to go with them part of the way, and then diverge into the wilderness. he remained a few minutes behind the others to say farewell. "you will come and settle beside us at last, i hope," said mrs liston, squeezing the red-man's hand. the indian stood gently stroking the arched neck of his magnificent horse in silence for a few moments. then he said, in a low voice:-- "big otter's heart is with the pale-faces, but he cannot change the nature which has been given to him by the great master of life. he cannot live with the pale-faces. he will dwell where his fathers have dwelt, and live as his fathers have lived, for he loves the great free wilderness. yet in the memory of his heart the mother of weeum will live, and waboose and muxbee, and the tall pale-face chief, who won the hearts of the red-men by his justice and his love. the dark-haired pale-face, too, will never be forgotten. each year, as it goes and comes, big otter will come again to sunny creek about the time that the plovers whistle in the air. he will come and go, till his blood grows cold and his limbs are frail. after that he will meet you all, with weeum, in the bright land of joy, where the great master of life dwells for evermore. farewell!" he vaulted on his steed at the last word, and, putting it to the gallop, returned to his beloved wilderness in the great nor'-west. the end. scanned images of public domain material from the internet archive. transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). [illustration: book cover] the oriel window [illustration: title page the oriel window by mrs. molesworth illvstrated by l. leslie brooke macmillan co. new york ] copyright, , by the macmillan company. to amy and arthur my much-esteemed opposite neighbours sumner place, s.w., june, . contents page chapter i a happy waking chapter ii the peacock's cry chapter iii a strange birthday chapter iv what the swallows thought of it chapter v jesse piggot chapter vi a fairy tale--and thoughts chapter vii an unexpected pig's head chapter viii welcome visitors chapter ix "my pupils" chapter x taking refuge chapter xi under the sofa chapter xii another birthday illustrations page off ferdy went again, a little bit faster this time "what is it, dear? did you call me?" took her back to court in her own chariot "i've done 'em before from one of the old squeakers up at the farm" watching the sweet summer sunset "we works in a shed there, in a field by the smithy ... and we're as jolly as sand-boys" "step downstairs, if you please, and then i'll hear what you've got to say" chapter i a happy waking i do not think you could anywhere have found a happier little boy than ferdy ross when he woke on the morning of his ninth birthday. he was always--at least almost always--happy, and he had good reason for being so. he had everything that children need to make life bright and joyous: kind parents, a dear sister, a pretty home, and, best of all, a loving, trusting, sunshiny nature, which made it easy for him to be very happy and loving, and made it easy too for others to love him in return and to feel pleasure in being with him. but to-day, his birthday, the fourteenth of may, he was very particularly, delightfully happy. what a very long time it seemed that he and chrissie had been looking forward to it! ever since christmas, or new year at least. that was how he and chrissie had settled to do about their lookings-forwards. chrissie's birthday was in september. she was a year and four months older than ferdy, so it fitted in very well. as soon as her birthday was over they began the christmas counting, and this in one way was the biggest of all the year, for their father's and mother's birthdays both came in christmas week, and it had been found very convenient to "keep" them and christmas day together. so christmas day at evercombe watch house, which was ferdy's home, was a very important day for more reasons than the great christmas reasons which we all join in. and then when christmas time was over and ferdy and christine began to feel a little dull and unsettled, as children are pretty sure to do after a great deal of pleasure and fun, there was ferdy's birthday to think of and prepare for; for it was not only just looking forward and counting the days, or rather the months first, and then the weeks and then the days to their "treat" times, that they divided the seasons into; there were separate and different things to do, according to which of the three parts of the year it was. for christmas, of course, there was the most to do--all the little things to get ready for the christmas tree as well as the presents for papa and mamma and lots of other people. and for ferdy's birthday chrissie had always to make something which had to be done in secret, so that he should not know what it was; and for chrissie's birthday it was ferdy's turn to prepare some delightful surprise for her. he was very clever at making things, even though he was a boy! he was what is called "neat-handed," and as this little story goes on, you will see what a good thing it was that he had got into the way of amusing himself and using part of his playtime in carrying out some of his inventions and ideas. "i don't know how i should bear it, ferdy," christine used to say sometimes, "if you were one of those tiresome boys that do nothing but fidget and tease their sisters when they want to sit still and work quietly for their dolls. just think of marcia payne now. these two _horrible_ boys, ted and eustace, think there is nothing so nice as to snatch away her work and throw it into the fire or out of the window, or to nearly _kill_ her poor dolls with their cruel tricks. i really don't know how poor marcia ever gets their clothes made, for it takes _all_ my time to keep my children tidy, even though you never worry me," and chrissie sighed, for she was a very anxious-minded doll-mother. ferdy's presents to his sister were very often for her dolls, rather than for herself, though, like most mothers, it pleased her much more, she used to say, for her dear pets to be kindly treated than any attention to their little mamma could do. she was very amusing about her dolls. she used to talk about them in such an "old-fashioned" way that if any grown-up person had overheard her, i think they would have laughed heartily. but chrissie took care to keep all private conversation about her four girls and two sons for herself and ferdy only. besides these _big_ dolls, she had a large party of tiny ones who lived in the doll house, and i think ferdy's prettiest presents were for this miniature family. these small people really were almost as much his as chrissie's, for he took the greatest interest in them, especially in their house and their carriages and horses and in all kinds of wonderful things he had made for them. several of the doll-house rooms were entirely furnished by him, and he was builder and paper-hanger and cabinet-maker and upholsterer for doll hall, all in one. but now i think i must return to the history of his ninth birthday. the fourteenth of may--just about the middle of the month which is the best loved, i almost think, of all the twelve. and oh it was such a lovely day! ferdy woke early--though not quite as early as he had meant to do, for when he bade his sister good-night he told her he would be _sure_ to knock at her door not later than five. but the sun was a good way up in the sky when he did wake--so far up indeed that ferdy got quite a fright that he had overslept himself altogether, and it was a relief to see by the old clock which stood on the landing just outside his door that it was only half-past six. "and after all," he said to himself, "now i come to think of it, i don't believe mamma would have liked me to wake chris so very early. i remember last year, on _her_ birthday, she had a headache and was quite tired by the afternoon with having got up so soon." he rubbed his eyes,--to tell the truth he was still rather sleepy himself, though it _was_ his birthday,--and downstairs he heard the servants moving about and brushing the carpets. the schoolroom would certainly not be in order just yet; it never took him very long to have his bath and dress, and he knew by experience that housemaids are not the most amiable of human beings when little boys get in their way in the middle of their cleanings and dustings. so on the whole ferdy decided that the best thing to do was to go back to bed again and not get up till flowers--flowers was chrissie's maid, and she looked after ferdy too, since nurse had left to be married--came to wake him at his usual time, for he could hear no sound of any kind in his sister's room, though he listened well, outside the door. it was very comfortable in bed, for may mornings, however lovely, are often chilly. and as ferdy lay there he could see out of the window, and enjoy the sight of the clear bright sunshine and the trees moving softly in the wind, their leaves glittering green and gold, and even silver, as the gentle breeze fluttered them about. the birds too, they were up and about of course; now and then there came quite a flight of them, and then one solitary soarer would cross the blue sky up at the very top of the window--he would see it for half a moment, and then it disappeared again. on the whole, he had more view of sky than of anything else from his bed, though when standing by the window he could see a good long way down the road, and, by craning his neck a little, some way across the fields past the church. for the watch house stood at the very end of the village, near the church, so that strangers often thought it must be the vicarage, and envied the vicar for having such a charming home, whereas the real vicarage was a pretty but small cottage-like house, quite at the other side of the church, and not nearly as old as it was, or as the watch house was. _it_, ferdy's home, was very, very old. and the story went that long ago some part of it had really been a kind of watch tower, though there was nothing remaining to show this except the name and the fact that you could, from the upper windows especially, see a very long way. the nicest window of all was one in mrs. ross's own sitting-room, or "boudoir," as it was sometimes called. this was a corner room on the floor just below the children's, and the beauty of it was this window,--an oriel window,--projecting beyond the wall, as such windows do, and so exactly at the corner that you could see, so to say, three ways at once when you were standing in it: right down the village street to begin with, and down the short cross-road which led to the church, and then over the fields between the two, to where farmer meare's duckpond jutted out into the lane--"the primrose lane"--as not only ferdy and christine but all the children of the neighbourhood had long ago named it. for here the first primroses were _always_ to be found, year after year; they never forgot to smile up punctually with their little bright pale faces before you could see them anywhere else. chrissie sometimes suspected that the fairies had a hand in it. everybody knows that the good people "favour" certain spots more than others, and perhaps chrissie's idea was right. any way this oriel window was a charming watch tower. ferdy always said that when he grew to be a man he would build a house with an oriel window at each corner. but again i am wandering from the morning of ferdy's birthday, when he lay in bed wide awake and gazed at as much as he could see of the outside world, that lovely may morning. it _was_ lovely, and everything alive seemed to be thinking so, as well as the little hero of the day--birds, trees, blossoms--even the insects that were beginning to find out that the warm days were coming, for a great fat blue-bottle was humming away with the loud summery hum which is the only nice thing about blue-bottles, i think. and not always nice either perhaps, to tell the truth. if one is busy learning some difficult lesson, or adding up long columns of figures, a blue-bottle's buzz is rather distracting. but this morning it was all right, seeming to give just the touch of summer _sound_ which was wanting to the perfection of ferdy's happiness as he lay there, rather lazily, i am afraid we must confess--a little sleepy still perhaps. what a nice beautiful place the world is, he thought to himself! how can people grumble at anything when the sun shines and everything seems so happy! in winter perhaps--well, yes, in winter, when it is very cold and grey, there _might_ be something to be said on the other side, even though winter to such as ferdy brings its own delights too. but in summer even the poor people should be happy; their cottages do look so pretty, almost prettier than big houses, with the nice little gardens in front, and roses and honeysuckle and traveller's joy climbing all over the walls and peeping in at the windows. ferdy did not think he would at all mind living in a cottage, for evercombe was a remarkably pretty village, and to all outside appearance the cottages were very neat and often picturesque, and the children had never been _inside_ any, except a few of the clean and nicely kept ones where their mother knew that the people were good and respectable. so they had little idea as yet of the discomfort and misery that may be found in some cottage homes even in the prettiest villages, though their father and mother knew this well, and meant that ferdy and christine should take their part before long in trying to help those in need of comfort or advice. "i suppose," ferdy went on thinking to himself--for once he got an idea in his head he had rather a trick of working it out--"i _suppose_ there are some people who are really unhappy--poor people, who live in ugly dirty towns perhaps," and then his memory strayed to a day last year when he had driven with his father through the grim-looking streets of a mining village some distance from evercombe. "that must be horrid. i wonder any one lives there! or very old people who can't run about or scarcely walk, and who are quite deaf and nearly blind. yes, they can't feel very happy. and yet they do sometimes. there's papa's old, old aunt; she seems as happy as anything, and yet i should _think_ she's nearly a hundred, for she's grandpapa's aunt. she's not blind though; her eyes are quite bright and smily, and she's not so very deaf. and then she's not poor. perhaps if she was very poor--" but no, another aged friend came into his mind--old barley, who lived with his already old daughter in the smallest and poorest cottage ferdy had ever been in. "and he's quite happy too," thought the little boy, "and so's poor betsey, though she can't scarcely walk, 'cos of her rheumatism. it is rather funny that they are happy. the worst of all would be to be lame, _i_ think--'cept p'r'aps being blind. oh dear! i _am_ glad i'm not old, or lame, or blind, or things like that. but i say, i do believe the clock's striking seven, and--oh, there's flowers! i might have run in to see chrissie just for a minute or two first if i hadn't got thinking. i--" but then came an interruption. an eager tap at the door,--not flowers's tap he knew at once,--and in reply to his as eager "come in" a rush of little bare feet across the floor, and chrissie's arms round his neck in a real birthday hug. "flowers is just coming. i meant to wake _so_ early. i've brought your present--mine's always the first, isn't it, darling?" and chrissie settled herself at the foot of the bed, curling up her cold toes, and drawing her pink flannel dressing-gown more closely round her that she might sit there in comfort and regale her eyes on her brother's delight as he carefully undid the many papers in which her present to him was enfolded. it was a very pretty present, and ferdy's natural good taste knew how to admire it, as his affectionate heart knew how to feel grateful to chrissie for the real labour she had bestowed upon it. "it" was a writing-case, embroidered in silks of many lovely shades, and with a twisted monogram of ferdy's initials--"f. w. r."--"ferdinand walter ross"--worked in gold threads in the centre of the cover. it was a very good piece of work indeed for a little girl of chrissie's age, and promised well for her skill and perseverance in days to come. ferdy's eyes sparkled with pleasure. "oh, chrissie," he said, "you've never made me anything quite as pretty as this! how clever you are getting, and how did you manage to work it all without my seeing?" "it _was_ rather difficult," said chrissie, with satisfaction in her tone. "ever so many times i had to bundle it away just as i heard you coming. and do you know, ferdy, it's a very ancient pattern--no, pattern isn't the word i mean." "design?" said ferdy. he knew some words of this kind better than chrissie, as he was so often planning and copying carved wood and brasswork and such things. "yes, that's what i mean--it's a very ancient design. miss lilly drew it for me from an old book-cover somebody lent her, and she helped me to arrange the colours. i _am_ so pleased you like it, ferdy, darling. i liked doing it because it was such pretty work, but if it hadn't been a present for you, i think i would have got tired of it--it _was_ rather fiddly sometimes. and after working ever, ever so long, i didn't seem to have done hardly any." "i know," said ferdy thoughtfully. "i think that's always the way with any really nice work. you can't scurry it up. and it wouldn't be worth anything if you could." but just then there came a tap at the door, and flowers's voice sounding rather reproachful. "miss chrissie," she said, "i couldn't think where you'd gone to. i do hope you've got your dressing-gown and slippers on, or you will be sure to catch cold." "all right, flowers," said chrissie, "i'm _quite_ warm;" and as the maid caught sight of the little pink-flannelled figure her face cleared, for, fortunately for her peace of mind, the pink _toes_ were discreetly curled up out of sight. who could expect a little girl to remember to put on her slippers on her brother's birthday morning, when she had been dreaming all night of the lovely present she had got for him? "many happy returns of the day, master ferdy, my dear," flowers went on, growing rather red, "and will you please accept a very trifling present from me?" she held out a little parcel as she spoke. it contained a _boy's_ "housewife," if you ever saw such a thing. it was neatly made of leather, and held needles of different sizes, strong sewing cotton and thread, various kinds of useful buttons, a sturdy little pair of scissors, pins, black and white, small and large, and several other things such as a school-boy might be glad to find handy now and then. "mother always gives one to my brothers when they leave home," said the maid, "and i thought as no doubt master ferdy will be going to school some day--" "it's capital, flowers," ferdy interrupted; "thank you ever so much; it's first-rate. i needn't wait till i go to school to use it. it's just the very thing i'm sure to want when i go yachting with papa next summer--this summer--in uncle's yacht. it's _capital_!" and flowers, who had not been very long at the watch house, and had felt rather uncertain as to how her gift would suit the young gentleman's taste, smiled all over with pleasure. master ferdy had certainly a very nice way with him, she thought to herself. "miss christine," she said aloud, "you really must come and get dressed, or instead of being ready earlier than usual, you'll be ever so much later." and chrissie jumped down from the bed and went off to her own quarters. chapter ii the peacock's cry half an hour or so later the children met again, and together made their way downstairs to the dining-room, ferdy carefully carrying his presents, which had been increased by that of a nice big home-made cake from cook, and a smart little riding-whip from two or three of the other servants. papa and mamma had not yet made their appearance; it was barely half-past eight. ferdy's eyes and chrissie's too wandered inquiringly round the room. neither knew or had any sort of idea what _the_ present of the day--their parents'--was to be. many wonderings had there been about it, for mrs. ross had smiled in a very mysterious way once or twice lately, when something had been said about ferdy's birthday, and the children had half expected to see some veiled package on the sideboard or in a corner of the room, ready for the right moment. but everything looked much as usual, except that there was a lovely bouquet of flowers--hot-house flowers, the gardener's best--beside ferdy's plate. "oh, i say!" he exclaimed, as he took it up and sniffed it approvingly, "what a good humour ferguson must be in to have given me these very best flowers. why, he doesn't even like mamma herself to cut these big begonias. they _are_ splendiferous, aren't they, chris? i shall take one out for a button-hole, and wear it all day. but oh, chrissie, i _do_ wonder what papa's and mamma's present is going to be--don't you?" "i should just think i did," his sister replied. "i haven't the very least inch of an idea this time, and generally, before, i have had _some_. it isn't in this room, any way." "no, i expect it's some little thing, something mamma has kept safe in a drawer, a pair of gold sleeve-links, or, or--no, not a writing-case, for she'd know about yours. p'r'aps a pocket microscope or some book." "would you like any of those?" asked chrissie. "i'd like anything, i think. at least i mean papa and mamma'd be sure to give me something nice. of course, _the_ present of presents would be--" "we fixed not to speak about it, don't you remember?" said his sister quickly. "it's a bad habit to get into, that of fancying too much about impossible things you'd like to have." "but this wouldn't be quite an impossible thing," said ferdy. "i may get it some day, and one reason i want it so is that it would be just as nice for you as for me, you see, chris." "i know," said christine. "well no, it's not a couldn't-possibly-ever-be thing, like the magic carpet we planned so about once, or the table with lovely things to eat on it, that there's the fairy story about, though i always think that's rather a greedy sort of story--don't you?" "not if you were awfully hungry, and the boy in that story was, you know," said ferdy. "but i didn't mean quite impossible in a fairy magic way. i mean that papa and mamma _might_ do it some day, and it's rather been put into my head this morning by this," and he touched the riding-whip. "it's far too good for jerry, or for any donkey, isn't it? i shall put it away till i have a--" chrissie placed her hand on his mouth. "don't say it," she said. "it's much better not, after we fixed we wouldn't." "very well," said ferdy resignedly. "i won't if you'd rather i didn't. now let us think over what it really _will_ be, most likely. a--" but no other guess was to be put in words, for just then came the well-known voices. "ferdy, my boy"--"dear little man," as his father and mother came in. "many, many happy returns of your birthday," they both said together, stooping to kiss him. "and see what chrissie has given me, and flowers, and cook, and the others!" exclaimed the boy, holding out his gifts for admiration. mr. and mrs. ross looked at each other and smiled. neither of them had anything in the shape of a parcel big or little. ferdy and christine felt more and more puzzled. "they are charming presents, dear," said mrs. ross, "and ours--papa's and mine--is quite ready. how are you going to do about it, walter?" "we had better have prayers first," ferdy's father replied. "and--yes, breakfast too, i think, and then--" in their own minds both ferdy and christine thought they would not be able to eat much breakfast while on the tenter-hooks of curiosity. but kind as their father was, he had a way of meaning what he said, and they had learned not to make objections. and, after all, they did manage to get through a very respectable meal, partly perhaps because the breakfast was particularly tempting that morning, and mamma was particularly anxious that the children should do justice to it. nice as it was, however, it came to an end in due time, and then, though they said nothing, the children's faces showed what was in their minds, chrissie looking nearly as eager as her brother. "now," said mr. ross, taking out his watch, "i have just half an hour before i must start. leila,"--"leila" was mamma's "girl name" as chrissie called it,--"leila, you keep these two young people quietly in here for five minutes by the clock. then all three of you come round to the porch, but ferdy must shut his eyes--tight, do you hear, young man? mother and chrissie will lead you, and i will meet you at the front door." did ever five minutes pass so slowly? more than once the children thought that the clock must really have stopped, or that something extraordinary had happened to its hands, in spite of the ticking going on all right. but at last-- "we may go now," said mamma. "shut your eyes, my boy. now, chris, you take one hand and i'll take the other. you won't open your eyes till papa tells you, will you, ferdy?" "no, no, i promise," said ferdy. but his mother looked at him a little anxiously. his little face was pale with excitement and his breath came fast. yet he was not at all a delicate child, and he had never been ill in his life. "dear ferdy," she said gently, "don't work yourself up so." ferdy smiled. "no, mamma," he replied, though his voice trembled a little. "it is only--something we've tried not to think about, haven't we, chrissie? oh," he went on, turning to his sister, and speaking almost in a whisper, "_do_ you think it can be--you know what?" christine squeezed the hand she held; that was all she could reply. though her face had got pink instead of pale like ferdy's, she was almost as "worked up" as he was. there was not long to wait, however. another moment and they were all three standing in the porch, and though ferdy's eyes were still most tightly and honourably shut, there scarcely needed papa's "now," or the "_oh!_" which in spite of herself escaped his sister, to reveal the delightful secret. for his ears had caught certain tell-tale sounds: a sort of "champing," and a rustle or scraping of the gravel on the drive which fitted in wonderfully with the idea which his brain was full of, though he had honestly tried to follow his sister's advice and not "think about it." what was the "it"? a pony--the most beautiful pony, or so he seemed to ferdy and christine at any rate--that ever was seen. there he stood, his bright brown coat gleaming in the may sunshine, his eager but kindly eyes looking as if they took it all in as he rubbed his nose on mr. ross's coat-sleeve and twisted about a little, as if impatient to be introduced to his new master. "papa, mamma!" gasped ferdy, with a sort of choke in his throat, and for a moment--what with the delight, and the sudden opening of his eyes in the strong clear sunshine--he felt half dazed. "papa, mamma, a pony of my very own! and chrissie can ride him too. he is a pony a girl can ride too, isn't he?" with a touch of anxiety. "he is very gentle, and he has no vices at all," said his father. "i am quite sure chrissie will be able to ride him too. but you must get to know him well in the first place." ferdy was out on the drive by this time, his face rosy with delight, as he stood by his father patting and petting the pretty creature. the pony was all saddled and bridled, ready for ferdy to mount and ride "over the hills and far away." the boy glanced up at mr. ross, an unspoken request trembling on his lips. "yes," said his father, seeing it there and smiling. "yes, you may mount him and ride up and down a little. he'll be all right," he added, turning to the coachman, who had been standing by and enjoying the whole as much as any of them. "oh yes, sir. he's a bit eager, but as gentle as a lamb," the man replied. "and this afternoon," ferdy's father continued, "if i can get home between four and five, i'll take you a good long ride--round by durnham and past by mellway sight, where you have so often wanted to go." "oh, papa," was all ferdy could get out. merton meanwhile had been examining the stirrup straps. "they're about the right length for you, i think, sir," he said, and then in a moment ferdy was mounted. pony pranced about a little, just a very little,--he would not have seemed a real live pony if he had not,--but nothing to mind. indeed, ferdy, to tell the truth, would have enjoyed a little more. the coachman led him a short way along the drive, but then let go, and ferdy trotted to the gates in grand style and back again. "isn't he _perfect_, chris?" he exclaimed as he came up to the group in front of the porch. "mayn't i gallop him, papa, this afternoon when we go out? round by mellway there's beautiful grass, you know." "all right," mr. ross replied. "we shall see how you get on outside on the road. i don't know that he has any tricks, but every pony has _some_ fad, so for a few days we must just be a little cautious. now trot back to the gates once more, and then i think you had better dismount for the present. you may go round to the stable with him. it's always a good thing for your horse to know you in the stable as well as outside." [illustration: off ferdy went again, a little bit faster this time.] off ferdy went again, a little bit faster this time, his spirits rising higher and higher. then he turned to come back to the house, and his mother was just stepping indoors, her face still lighted up with pleasure, when there came a sudden cry,--a curious hoarse cry,--but for a moment she was not startled. "it is the peacocks," she thought, for there were a couple of beautiful peacocks at the watch house. "i hope they won't frighten the pony." for the peacocks were allowed to stalk all about the grounds, and they were well-behaved on the whole; though, as is always the case with these birds, their harsh cry was not pleasant, and even startling to those not accustomed to it. was it the cry, or was it the sudden sight of them as they came all at once into view on a side-path which met the drive just where ferdy was passing? nobody ever knew,--probably pony himself could not have told which it was,--but as mrs. ross instinctively stopped a moment on her way into the house, another sound seemed to mingle with the peacock's scream, or rather to grow out from it--a sort of stifled shriek of terror and rushing alarm. then came voices, trampling feet, a kind of wail from chrissie, and in an instant--an instant that seemed a lifetime--ferdy's mother saw what it was. he had been thrown, and one foot had caught in the stirrup, and the startled pony was dragging him along. a moment or two of sickening horror, then a sort of silence. one of the men was holding the pony, mr. ross and the coachman were stooping over something that lay on the ground a little way up the drive--something--what was it? it did not move. was it only a heap of clothes that had dropped there somehow? it couldn't, oh no, it _couldn't_ be ferdy! _ferdy_ was alive and well. he had just been laughing and shouting in his exceeding happiness. where had he run to? "ferdy, ferdy!" his mother exclaimed, scarcely knowing that she spoke; "ferdy dear, come quick, come, ferdy." but chrissie caught her, and buried her own terror-stricken face in her mother's skirts. "mamma, mamma," she moaned, "don't look like that. mamma, don't you see? ferdy's _killed_. that's ferdy where papa is. don't go, oh don't go, mamma! mamma, i can't bear it. hide me, hide my eyes." and at this frantic appeal from the poor little half-maddened sister, mrs. ross's strength and sense came back to her as if by magic. she unclasped chrissie's clutching hands gently but firmly. "run upstairs and call flowers. tell her to lay a mattress on the floor of the oriel room at once; it is such a little way upstairs; and tell burt to bring some brandy at once--brandy and water. tell burt first." chrissie was gone in an instant. ferdy couldn't be dead, she thought, if mamma wanted brandy for him. but when the mother, nerved by love, flew along the drive to the spot where her husband and the coachman were still bending over what still was, or had been, her ferdy, she could scarcely keep back a scream of anguish. for a moment she was sure that chrissie's first words were true--he was killed. "walter, walter, tell me quick," she gasped. "is he--is he alive?" mr. ross looked up, his own face so deadly pale, his lips so drawn and quivering, that a rush of pity for _him_ came over her. "i--i don't know. i can't tell. what do you--think, merton?" he said, in a strange dazed voice. "he has not moved, but we thought he was breathing at first." the coachman lifted his usually ruddy face; it seemed all streaked, red and white in patches. "i can feel his heart, sir; i feel fairly sure i can feel his heart. if we could get a drop or two of brandy down his throat, and--yes, i think i can slip my arm under his head. there's burt coming with some water." "and brandy," said mrs. ross. "here, give it me--a spoon--yes, that's right. and, walter, have you sent for the doctor?" mr. ross passed his hand over his forehead, as if trying to collect himself. "i will send larkins now," he said, "on the pony--that will be the quickest," though a sort of shudder passed over him as he spoke of the innocent cause of this misery. "larkins, go at once for mr. stern; you know the shortest way," for there was no doctor within a mile or two of evercombe village, and mr. ross raised himself to give exact directions to the young groom. when he turned again they had succeeded in getting a spoonful of brandy and water between ferdy's closed lips--then another; then poor old merton looked up with a gleam of hope in his eyes. "he's coming to, sir--ma'am--i do believe," he said. he was right. a quiver ran through the little frame, then came the sound of a deep sigh, and ferdy's eyes opened slowly. they opened and--it was like ferdy--the first sign he gave of returning consciousness was a smile--a very sweet smile. "papa, mamma," he whispered, "is it time to get up? is it--my birthday?" that was too much for his mother. the tears she had been keeping back rushed to her eyes, but they were partly tears of joy. her boy was alive; at worst he was not killed, and perhaps, oh _perhaps_, he was not badly hurt. ferdy caught sight of her tears, though she had turned her face away in hopes of hiding them. a pained, puzzled look came over him. he tried to raise his head, which was resting on merton's arm, but it sank down again weakly; then he glanced at his left arm and hand, which were covered with blood from a cut on his forehead. "what is the--mamma, why are you crying?" he said. "have i hurt myself? oh dear, did i fall off my beautiful pony? i am so, _so_ sorry." "my darling," said his mother, "it was an accident. i hope you will soon be better. have you any pain anywhere?" "i don't think so," said he, "only i wish i was in bed, mamma. what is it that is bleeding?" "nothing very bad, sir," said merton cheerfully; "only a cut on your forehead. but that'll soon heal. your handkerchief, please, ma'am, dipped in cold water." "yes," said mr. ross, "that is the best thing for the moment," and he folded the handkerchief up into a little pad, which he soaked in the fresh cold water, and laid it on the place. "i think we must move him," he went on. "ferdy, my boy, will you let us try?" ferdy stretched out his right arm and put it round his father's neck. but the movement hurt somehow and somewhere, for he grew terribly white again. "my back," he whispered. a thrill of new anguish went through his parents at the words. "don't do anything yourself," said mr. ross; "lie quite still and trust to me." ferdy closed his eyes without speaking, and skilfully, though with infinite pains, his father raised him in his arms, ferdy making no sound--perhaps he half fainted again; there he lay quite helpless, like a little baby, as with slow, careful tread mr. ross made his way to the house, from which, not a quarter of an hour ago, the boy had flown out in perfect health and joy. at the door they met chrissie. she started violently, then covered her face with her hands. "oh, papa," she began, but her mother was close behind and caught her in her arms. "hush, dear," she said. "no, no," in answer to the little girl's unuttered question. "ferdy has opened his eyes and spoken to us; he knew us--papa and me." chrissie's terrors at once made place for hope. her white face flushed all over. "he's spoken to you, mamma? what did he say? oh, then he can't be so _very_ badly hurt. oh, _mamma_, how glad i am!" "be very, very quiet, dear. we can do nothing, and be sure of nothing, till the doctor comes, but--oh yes, thank god, we may hope." but by the time they had laid him on the mattress in the oriel room ferdy looked again so ghastly pale that the poor mother's heart went down. there was little they could do; they scarcely dared to undress him till the surgeon came. it was a terrible hour or two's waiting, for mr. stern was out, and larkins had to ride some considerable way before he caught him up on his morning rounds. chapter iii a strange birthday late on the afternoon of that sad day the doctor, coming out of the oriel room, was met by little christine. she had been watching for him on the stairs. it was his second visit since the morning, and his face was very grave; but its expression altered at once when he caught sight of chrissie. though stern by name, he was very far from stern by nature, and he was very fond of the ross children, whom he had known nearly all their lives. besides, it is a doctor's business to cheer up people as much as possible, and he was touched by poor chrissie's white face. never had the little girl spent such a miserable day, and thankful though she had been that her darling ferdy's life had been spared, she was beginning to doubt if after all he _was_ going to get better. her mother had scarcely left him for an instant; she had been busy arranging the room for him, or rather she had been sitting beside him holding his hand while she gave directions to the servants. by the doctor's advice ferdy's own little bed had been brought into the room, and he himself moved on to it, lifted upon the mattress as he lay; and it had, of course, been necessary to carry out some of the other furniture and rearrange things a little. this would not disturb ferdy, mr. stern said, but ferdy's head was now aching from the cut on his forehead, though it was not a very bad one, and he was tired and yet restless, and could not bear his mother to move away. so there she sat, and mr. ross had gone off to whittingham by a mid-day train, and no one had given much thought to poor christine. "my dear child," said the doctor, "how ill you look! have you been wandering about by yourself all day?" "yes," said chrissie simply, her lip quivering as she spoke. "there was nothing i could do to help, and they were all busy." "where is miss lilly?" asked mr. stern. "she wasn't coming to-day. we were to have a holiday. it--it is ferdy's birthday, you know, and we were going to be so happy. _oh_," she cried, as if she could keep back the misery no longer, "to think it is ferdy's birthday!" and she burst again into deep though not loud sobbing. mr. stern was very, very sorry for her. "dear chrissie," he said, "you must not make yourself ill. in a day or two you will be wanted very much indeed, and you must be ready for it. your brother will want you nearly all day long." chrissie's sobs stopped as if by magic, though they still caught her breath a little, and her face grew all pink and rosy. "will he, _will_ he?" she exclaimed. "do you mean that he is really going to get better? i thought--i thought--mamma kept shut up in the room, and nobody would tell me--do you really think he is going to get better soon?" mr. stern took her hand and led her downstairs, and then into the library. there was no one there, but he closed the door. "my dear child," he said, "i will tell you all i can," for he knew that christine was a sensible little girl, and he knew that anything was better than to have her working herself up more and more with miserable fears. "i think ferdy will be _better_ in a day or two, but we cannot say anything yet about his getting _well_. your father has gone to whittingham to see one of the best doctors, and ask him to come down here to-night or to-morrow to examine your brother, and after that we shall know more. but i am afraid it is very likely that he will have to stay in bed a long time, and if so, you know how much you can do to make the days pass pleasantly for him." chrissie's eyes sparkled through the tears still there. "i don't mind that," she began. "of course i know it will be very dull and tiresome for him, but _nothing_ seems very bad compared with if he was going to--" she stopped short, and again she grew very white. "oh, you are _sure_ he isn't going to get worse?" she exclaimed. "i do get so frightened every now and then when i think of how his face looked, and it was bleeding too." mr. stern patted her hand. "you have not seen him since this morning?" he said. chrissie shook her head. "not since papa carried him in," she replied. "would you like to see him very much?" "oh, _may_ i? i'll be very, very quiet and good. i'll bathe my eyes, so that he won't find out i've been crying, and i'll only stay a minute." "run upstairs then and make yourself look as much as usual as you can. i will go back for a moment and tell mrs. ross i have given you leave to come in." two minutes or so later chrissie was tapping very softly at the door of the oriel room. "come in," said mr. stern. he was not looking at all grave now, but very "smily" and cheerful, which chrissie was glad of, as it reminded her that she herself must not cry or seem unhappy. but how strange it all was! she would scarcely have known the pretty little sitting-room: ferdy's bed with a screen round it standing out at one side of the curiously shaped window, her mother's writing-table and other little things gone. chrissie could not help staring round in surprise, and perhaps because she had a nervous dread of looking at ferdy. he saw her, however, at once. "chrissie," said a weak, rather hoarse little voice, "chrissie, come here." chrissie choked down the lump in her throat that was beginning to make itself felt again. "kiss me," he said when she was close beside him. he did not look so unlike himself now, though there was a bandage round his forehead and he was very pale. "kiss me," he said again, and as she stooped down to do so, without speaking, "chrissie," he whispered, "i don't want mamma to hear--chrissie, just to think it's my birthday and that it's all through our great wish coming true. oh, chrissie!" the little girl felt, though she could not see him, that mr. stern was watching her, so she made a great effort. "i know," she whispered back again, and even into her whisper she managed to put a cheerful sound. "i know, ferdy darling. but you're going to get better. and you haven't any very bad pains, have you?" "not very bad," he replied. "my head's sore, but i daresay it'll be better to-morrow. but that won't make it right, you see, chrissie. it's it being my birthday i mind." christine did not know what to say. her eyes were filling with tears, and she was afraid of ferdy seeing them. she turned away a little, and as she did so her glance fell on the window, one side of which looked to the west. she and ferdy had often watched the sunset from there. it was too early yet for that, but signs of its coming near were beginning; already the lovely mingling of colours was gleaming faintly as if behind a gauzy curtain. "ferdy," said chrissie suddenly, "i think there's going to be a beautiful sunset, and you can see it lovelily the way you're lying. aren't you awfully glad you're in here? it wouldn't be half so nice in your own room for seeing out, would it?" "no, it wouldn't," said ferdy, more brightly than he had yet spoken. "i can't move my head, only the least bit, but i can see out. yes, chrissie, i can see the people on the road--i mean i could if the curtain was a little more pulled back." "of course you could," said mr. stern, coming forward. "but you must wait till to-morrow to try how much you can see." "shall i have to stay in bed all to-morrow?" said ferdy. "we must hear what the big doctor says," mr. stern replied, for he had already told ferdy that another surgeon was coming to see him, so that the sudden sight of a stranger should not startle the little fellow. "now, chrissie, my dear, i think you must say good-night; you shall see much more of ferdy to-morrow, i hope." they kissed each other again, and chrissie whispered, "don't mind about its being your birthday, darling. think how much worse you might have been hurt." "i know. i _might_ have been killed," said ferdy in a very solemn tone. "and do watch the sunset. i think it's going to be extra pretty," chrissie went on cheerfully. "if you _have_ to stay in bed, ferdy, it will be nice to have this lovely window." and ferdy's face grew decidedly brighter. "good little woman," said the doctor in a low voice as she passed him, and by the way mamma kissed her chrissie knew that she too was pleased with her. so the little sister was not altogether miserable as she fell asleep that night, and she was so tired out that she slept soundly--more heavily indeed than usual. she did not hear the sound of wheels driving up to the house soon after she had gone to bed, and this was a good thing, for she would have guessed they were those of the carriage bringing her father and the doctor he had gone to fetch, from the station, and her anxiety would very likely have sent away her sleepiness. nor did she hear the carriage drive away again an hour or two later. by that time she was very deeply engaged, for she was having a curious and very interesting dream. she had forgotten it when she woke in the morning, but it came back to her memory afterwards, as you will hear. ferdy did not much like the strange doctor, though he meant to be very kind, no doubt. he spoke to him too much as if he were a baby, and the boy was beginning at last to feel less restless and more comfortably sleepy when this new visitor came. and then the library lamp was brought up, and it blinked into his eyes, and he hated being turned round and having his backbone poked at, as he told chrissie, though he couldn't exactly say that it hurt him. and, worst of all, when he asked if he might get up "to-morrow" the strange doctor "put him off" in what ferdy thought a silly sort of way. he would much rather have been told right out, "no, certainly not to-morrow," and then he could have begun settling up things in his mind and planning what he would do, as chrissie and he always did if they knew a day in bed was before them; for they had never been very ill--never ill enough to make no plans and feel as if they cared for nothing in bed or out of it. no, ferdy was quite sure he liked mr. stern much better than dr. bigge, for, curiously enough, that was the great doctor's name, though by rights, as he was a very clever surgeon and not a physician, i suppose he should not be called "doctor" at all. when at last he had gone, mr. stern came back for a moment to tell ferdy's mother and flowers how it would be best to settle him for the night. they put the pillows in rather a funny way, he thought, but still he was pretty comfortable, and he began to feel a little sleepy again; and just as he was going to ask his mother what they were doing with the sofa, everything went out of his head, and he was off into the peaceful country of sleep, where his troubles were all forgotten, hushed into quiet by the soft waving wings of the white angel, whose presence is never so welcome as to the weary and suffering. when he woke next there was a faint light in the room. for a moment or two he thought that it was the daylight beginning to come, and he looked towards where the window was in his own little room; but even the tiny motion of his head on the pillow sent a sort of ache through him, and that made him remember. no, he was not in his own room, and the glimmer was not that of the dawn. it was from a shaded night-light in one corner, and as his eyes grew used to it he saw that there was some one lying on the sofa--some one with bright brown hair, bright even in the faint light, and dressed in a pale pink dressing-gown. it was mamma. poor mamma, how uncomfortable for her not to be properly in bed! why was she lying there? he hoped she was asleep, and yet--he almost hoped she wasn't, or at least that she would awake just for a minute, for he was thirsty and hot, and the fidgety feeling that he _couldn't_ keep still was beginning again. he did not know that he sighed or made any sound, but he must have done so, for in another moment the pink dressing-gown started up from the sofa, and then mamma's pretty face, her blue eyes still looking rather "dusty," as the children called it, with sleep, was anxiously bending over him. [illustration: "what is it, dear? did you call me?"] "what is it, dear? did you call me?" "no, mamma. but why aren't you in bed, and why is there a light in the room? aren't you going to bed?" "yes, in an hour or two flowers will come and take my place. you see we thought you might be thirsty in the night, and the doctor said you mustn't move." "i _am_ thirsty," said ferdy. "i'd like a drink of water." "better than lemonade? there is some nice fresh lemonade here." ferdy's eyes brightened. "oh, i _would_ like that best, but i didn't know there was any." mamma poured some out into such a funny cup--it had a pipe, so ferdy called it, at one side. he didn't need to sit up, or even to lift his head, to drink quite comfortably. "and i think," mrs. ross went on, "i think i will give you another spoonful of the medicine. it is not disagreeable to take, and it will help you to go to sleep again." yes, it did; very, very soon he was asleep again. this time he dreamt something, though when he awoke he could not clearly remember what. he only knew that it was something about birds. he lay with his eyes shut thinking about it for a few minutes, till a sound close to him made him open them and look round. it was morning, quite morning and daylight, and from the window came the gentle twittering of some swallows, who had evidently taken up their summer quarters in some corner hard by. "that must have been what made me dream about birds," said ferdy to himself, though he spoke aloud without knowing it. "i must have heard them in my sleep." "you have had a nice sleep," said a voice from the other side of his bed, and, looking towards her, ferdy saw flowers, already dressed and with a pleasant smile on her face. "are you feeling better, master ferdy, dear?" the little boy waited a moment or two before he replied. "my head isn't so sore, and i'm not so tired, but i don't think i want to get up even if i might. i want chrissie to come and sit beside me. what o'clock is it, flowers?" "just six o'clock, sir. you will have to wait a little before miss christine can come. i daresay she's tired, poor dear, and she may sleep late this morning; perhaps you will be able to sleep a little more yourself, master ferdy. would you like a drink of milk?" "yes," said ferdy, "i would like some milk, but i can't go to sleep again; i've too much on my mind," with a deep sigh. he spoke in such an "old-fashioned" way that, sorry as the maid was for him, she could scarcely help smiling a little. she gave him the milk and lifted him very, very gently a little farther on to the pillows. "does it hurt you, master ferdy?" she asked anxiously. "n--no, i don't think so," he replied; "but i feel all queer. i believe all my bones have got put wrong, and p'r'aps they'll never grow right again." "never's a long word, my dear," said flowers cheerfully. the truth was she scarcely knew what to say, and she was glad to turn away and busy herself with some little tidying up at the other side of the room. ferdy lay still, almost forgetting he was not alone in the room, for flowers was very quiet. his eyes strayed to the window, where another lovely sunshiny morning was gilding again the world of trees, and grass, and blossom with renewed beauty. it was all so very like yesterday morning, all "except me," thought ferdy, so terribly like his birthday morning, when he had been so happy, oh! so happy, that it had been difficult to believe in unhappiness anywhere. and yet even then he had thought of unhappiness. it was queer that he had. what had put it into his head? he remembered it all--wondering how very poor, or very old, or very suffering people, cripples, for instance, could be happy. and yet he had seen some that really seemed so. "cripples"--that word had never come into his mind in the same way before. he had never thought what it really meant. supposing _he_ were to be a cripple? was it for fear of that that the doctor would not let him get up? ferdy moved his legs about a very little; they did not hurt him, only they felt weak and heavy, and he had a kind of shrinking from the idea of standing, or even of sitting up in bed. was that how cripples felt? he wished somebody would tell him, but it was no use asking flowers--most likely she did not know. and he didn't think he would like to ask his mother; she looked so pale and tired, and it might make her cry if he spoke about being a cripple. he thought he might ask chrissie, perhaps. she was only a little girl, but she was very sensible, and he could speak to her without being so afraid of making her cry as if it was mamma--or rather, if she did cry, he wouldn't mind quite so much. he wished chrissie would come. only six o'clock flowers had said, not so very long ago. it couldn't be more than half-past six yet. what a pity it was that people, boys and girls any way, can't get up like the birds, just when it gets nice and light! what a chatter and twitter those birds outside were making--he had never noticed them so much before. but then, to be sure, he had never slept in the oriel room before. he wondered if they were the same swallows that were there last year, and every year. "if they are," thought ferdy, "i should think they must have got to know us. i wish they could talk to us and tell us stories of all the places they see when they are travelling. what fun it would be! i'll ask chrissie if she's ever thought about it. i wonder if we couldn't ever get to--under--stand--" but here the thread of his wonderings was suddenly snapped. ferdy had fallen asleep again. a minute or two after, flowers stepped softly across the room and stood beside the bed looking down at him. "poor dear," she said to herself, "he does look sweet lying there asleep. and to see him as he is now, no one would think there was anything the matter with him. oh dear, i do hope it won't turn out so bad as the doctors fear." chapter iv what the swallows thought of it thanks to the extra sleep which had come to ferdy after all, he had not long to wait for chrissie once he had wakened up "for good." she was not allowed to see him till he had had his breakfast, for it was very important to keep up his strength with nourishing food, and "if you begin talking together, you know," said mamma, "ferdy would get interested and excited, and very likely not feel inclined to eat anything. that is even the way sometimes when you are both quite well." she was speaking to chrissie about how careful she must be, if she were to be trusted to be with her brother, not to seem sad or dull, and yet to be very quiet--"quietly cheerful, dear," she went on, "and if ferdy is at all cross or peevish, you must just not mind." chrissie looked up in surprise. ferdy cross or peevish seemed impossible. "he never is, mamma dear," she said. "if ever we have little quarrels, it is almost always more my fault than his," which was quite true. "yes," her mother replied, "but you don't know, chrissie, how illness changes people. ferdy never has been seriously ill in his life, and--and this sad accident is sure to tell on his nerves." she had been doing her best to speak cheerfully, but now her voice broke, and the tears came into her eyes, already worn and tired-looking with the long hours of anxiety. chrissie stroked her hand gently. then she said, though hesitating a little, "mamma darling, won't you tell me more about ferdy--about what the doctors think, i mean. i promise you i will not let him find out anything you don't want him to know. i will be very brave and--and cheerful, but i would so like to know. it isn't that he's not going to get better--that he's going to get _worse_?" "no, dear, not that," said mrs. ross, drying her eyes as she spoke. "he is a strong child, and his general health is good, but his back is injured badly. that is the reason we are so anxious. he may get _better_. the doctors think that in a few weeks he will be able to be up and dressed and to lie on a couch, but they cannot say if he will ever be _quite_ right again. i am afraid they do not think he ever will." "oh, mamma," said chrissie. mrs. ross looked at her anxiously; she wondered if she had done wrong in telling her so much. and the little girl guessed what she was thinking. "i would much rather know, mamma," she said, "much rather. it will make me more careful when i am with dear ferdy, and if he ever is the least cross, i won't mind. i will try to amuse him nicely. are you going to tell miss lilly, mamma?" "oh yes, i am hoping that she will be a great help. i will see her this morning as soon as she comes." "are we to do any lessons to-day?" asked chrissie. "is ferdy to do lessons in bed?" "in a few days perhaps he may," said mrs. ross. "he will seem better in a few days, for he has had a great shock besides the hurt to his back, and he must have time to get over it; but i think you had better do _some_ lessons, chrissie--those that you have separately from ferdy. flowers or i will sit beside him a good part of the day, and i hope he will sleep a good deal. if he does not seem much better in a day or two we shall have to get a nurse." "oh, i hope not," said chrissie. "ferdy wouldn't like a stranger." "well, we shall see," said mrs. ross. "now you may go to ferdy, dear." and chrissie ran off. she was startled, but still not _very_ sad. she was so delighted to be with her brother again after a whole day's separation, and proud too of being trusted to take care of him. but it was going to be more difficult for her than she knew, for, as you will remember, ferdy had made up his mind to ask christine if she could tell him what the doctors really thought of him. he looked so much better than the day before that she could scarcely believe there was much the matter, and he looked still better when he caught sight of her--his whole face lighted up with smiles. "oh, chrissie," he called out, "how glad i am you've come! it seems such a long time since i saw you. you do look so nice this morning." so she did--she was a very pretty little girl, especially when her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright, as they were just now. "_you_ look much better too, ferdy," she said, "quite different from yesterday. have you had a good night?" "_pretty_ good," said ferdy in rather a melancholy tone. "i am getting tired of staying in bed." chrissie's heart sank--"tired of staying in bed," and this scarcely the second day of it! what would he do if it went on for weeks--perhaps months? she felt glad, however, that she knew the truth; it would make her be very careful in what she said. "i wouldn't mind so much," he went on, "if i knew how long it'd be. and i don't like to ask mamma for fear of making her sad, _in case_ it was to be for a long while. chrissie," and here he fixed his blue eyes--so like his mother's--on his sister's face, "_do_ you think it'll be a very long while? do you think," and his voice grew still more solemn, "that p'r'aps i'll never be able to stand or walk again?" chrissie's heart was beating fast. she was so glad to be able with truth to answer cheerfully. "oh no, ferdy dear. i really do think you'll be able to get up and be dressed before very long. but i should think the quieter you keep just now the quicker you'll get better. and it's so nice in this room, and you can see so nicely out of the window. you don't want to get up just yet, do you--not till you feel stronger? mamma says you'll feel much stronger in a few days." "does she?" said ferdy, brightening; "then the doctors must have told her. i'm so glad. no, i don't really want to get up--at least i don't feel as if i _could_--that's what bothers me. i am not sorry in my body to stay in bed, but in my mind i'm all in a fidget. i keep fancying things," and he hesitated. "what sort of things?" asked chrissie. she had a feeling that it was better for him to tell her all that was on his mind. he tried to do so. he told her how the day before, when he was quite well and so very happy, his thoughts had somehow wandered to people whose lives were very different from his, and how this morning these thoughts had come back again, the same yet different. "chrissie," he said, "i don't think i could bear it if i was never to get well again." it was very hard for the little sister to keep her self-control. if mrs. ross had known how ferdy was going to talk to chrissie, very probably she would not have told her all she had done. but chrissie seemed to have grown years older in a few hours. "and yet there must be lots of people who do bear it--just what you were saying yourself," said chrissie thoughtfully. "i suppose they get accustomed to it." "i think it must be more than getting accustomed to make them really seem happy," said ferdy. "p'r'aps it's something to do with not being selfish." "yes," said chrissie, "i'm sure it has. you see they'd know that if they always seemed unhappy it would make their friends unhappy too. and then--" "what?" said ferdy. "i was only thinking that mamma says people can always do _something_ for other people. and that makes you happier yourself than anything, you know, ferdy." ferdy lay still, thinking. "that was partly what was in my mind," he said at last. "such lots of thinkings have come since yesterday, chrissie--you'd hardly believe. i was thinking that _supposing_ i could never run about, or do things like other boys, what a trouble i'd be to everybody, and no good." "i don't think you need think of things that way," said his sister. "papa and mamma love you too much ever to think you a trouble, and i'm sure you _could_ be of good somehow. but i don't think you should begin puzzling about things when you're really not better yet; you'll make your head ache, and then they might think it was my fault. oh, ferdy," suddenly, "i had such a funny dream last night." "i dreamt something too," said ferdy, "but i couldn't remember what it was. it was something about--" "mine was about birds," interrupted christine, "about the swallows who have a nest just over the oriel window. i thought--" "how _very_ funny!" exclaimed ferdy, interrupting in his turn, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "i do believe mine was too. i knew it was about birds, but i couldn't get hold of the rest of it. and now i seem to remember more, and i know i was thinking about those swallows when i fell asleep. i was wishing i could understand what they mean when they twitter and chirp. tell me your dream, chris; perhaps it'll make me remember mine." christine was delighted to see that ferdy's thoughts were turned from melancholy things--only--there was something about him in her dream. she hoped it wouldn't make him sad again. "i dreamt i was walking in the garden," she said, "down there on the path just below this window. i was alone, and somehow even in my dream i knew there was something the matter. it seemed to be either late in the evening or very early in the morning, i'm not sure which, but it wasn't quite light, and there was a funny, dreamy sort of look in the sky--" "what colour?" asked ferdy. "all shaded," said chrissie, "something like mother-of-pearl. i've seen it in a picture, but never _quite_ like that in the real sky, though the real sky is so very beautiful." "that's just because it was a dream," said ferdy sagely. "you never see things _really_ the same as you do in dreams. that's what makes dreams so nice, i suppose,--nice dreams i mean,--but i've sometimes felt more unhappy in dreams than ever i did awake." "so have i," said chrissie. "well, go on," said ferdy, "it sounds rather nice. you were walking along and the sky was so wonderful?" "yes," continued chrissie, "i was looking up at it, and not thinking a bit about you being ill, and then all of a sudden i heard something rustling up over my head, and then a twittering and chirping, and i knew it was the swallows come back, and then i got the feeling still more that there was something the matter, and i began wondering if the swallows knew and were talking about it--their chirping got to sound so like talking. and at last, standing quite still and almost holding my breath to listen, i began to make out what they were saying. the first thing i heard was, 'it's rather sad to have come back to this,' and then another voice said, 'i don't like peacocks; vain, silly birds; they have no hearts; not like us; everybody knows how much we mind what happens to our friends.' and when i heard that, ferdy, it made me think of the poetry we were learning last week, about the swallows coming back, you know, and the changes they found." "i daresay it was that made you dream it," said ferdy. christine looked rather disappointed. "no, we won't think that, then," said he, correcting himself as he noticed his sister's face, "it's really very interesting--'specially as i know i dreamt something like it that i've forgotten. what more did the swallows say?" "the other voice said something i couldn't hear. it sounded as if one was inside the nest, and the other outside. and then the first one said, 'well, we'll do our best to cheer him up. he needn't be dull if he uses his eyes; it's a cheerful corner.' and by this time, ferdy, i had remembered all about you being hurt, and it came into my mind how nice it would be if the swallows would tell us stories of all the things they see at the other side of the world when they go away for the winter." "i don't think it's quite the other side of the world," said ferdy doubtfully, "not as far as that." "well, never mind," said chrissie, with a little impatience, "you know what i mean. if you keep interrupting me so, i can't tell it rightly." "i won't, then," said ferdy. "there isn't much more to tell," continued chrissie. "i looked up, thinking i might see the swallows or martins, whichever they are, and i called out, 'oh, won't you come down and speak to me? it would be so nice for you to tell ferdy stories about your adventures, now that i can understand what you say.' and i felt _so_ pleased. but i couldn't see them, and all i heard was twittering again,--twittering and chirping,--and then somehow i awoke, and there really _was_ twittering and chirping to be heard, for my window was a little open. it was a funny dream, ferdy, wasn't it?" "yes, very," said ferdy. "i wish you'd go on with it to-night and make them tell you stories." chrissie shook her head. "i don't think any one could dream regular stories like that," she said. "but it is rather nice to fancy that the swallows know about us, and that it's the same ones who come back every year. it makes them seem like friends." "yes," said ferdy, "it is nice. i wonder," he went on, "what sort of things they meant me to look at out of the window. it did rather sound, chrissie, as if they thought i'd have to stay a long time here in bed, didn't it?" chrissie laughed, though a little nervously. "how funny you are, ferdy," she said. "how could the _swallows_ know, even if it had been real and not a dream? still, we may a little fancy it is true. we could almost make a story of the window--of all the things to be seen, and all the people passing. when you are able to be on the sofa, ferdy, it might stand so that you would see all ways--it would really be like a watch tower." ferdy raised himself a _very_ little on one elbow. "yes," he said eagerly, "i see how you mean. i do hope i may soon be on the sofa. i think i would make a plan of looking out of one side part of the day, and then out of the other side. i don't think it would be so bad to be ill if you could make plans. it's the lying all day just the same that must get so dreadfully dull." "well, you need never do that," said his sister, "not even now. when miss lilly comes i'm to do a little lessons first, and then i daresay she'll come in here and read aloud to us, and when i go a walk mamma will sit with you. things will soon get into plans." "if i could do some of my work," said ferdy, "cutting out or painting things for my scrapbook." "i daresay you soon can," said chrissie hopefully. she was pleased that he had not questioned her more closely as to what the doctors had said, for fortunately her cheerful talking had made him partly forget that he had made up his mind the night before to find out exactly everything she could tell him. suddenly chrissie, who was standing in the window, gave a little cry. "there is miss lilly," she exclaimed. "i am so glad. now she has stopped to talk to somebody. who can it be? oh, i see, it's that naughty jesse piggot! i wonder why he isn't at school? she seems talking to him quite nicely. now she's coming on again and jesse is touching his cap. he _can_ be very polite when he likes. shall i run and meet miss lilly, and bring her straight up here? no, i can't, for there's mamma going down the drive towards her. she must have seen her coming from the drawing-room window." "go on," said ferdy. "tell me what they are doing. are they shaking hands and talking to each other? i daresay they're talking about _me_. does miss lilly look sorry? p'r'aps mamma is explaining that i can't have any lessons to-day." "n--no," said chrissie, "she's talking quite--like always, but--she's holding mamma's hand." "oh," said ferdy with satisfaction, "that does mean she's sorry, i'm sure. it would be nice, chrissie, if i was lying more in the window. i could see all those int'resting things myself. i could see a good deal now if i was sitting up more," and for a moment he startled his sister by moving as if he were going to try to raise himself in bed. "oh, ferdy, you mustn't," she cried, darting towards him. but poor ferdy was already quite flat on his pillow again. "i _can't_," he said with a sigh, "i can't sit up the least little bit," and tears came into his eyes. "well, don't look so unhappy," said chrissie, returning to her post at the window, "for they are coming in now, and mamma won't be pleased if she thinks i've let you get dull. there now, i hear them coming upstairs." "all right," said ferdy manfully, "i'm not going to look unhappy." and it was quite a cheerful little face which met his mother's anxious glance as she opened the door to usher in miss lilly. chapter v jesse piggot miss lilly's face was cheerful too. at least so it seemed to ferdy, for she was smiling, and immediately began speaking in a bright, quick way. but chrissie looked at her once or twice and "understood." she saw faint traces of tears having been very lately in her governess's kind eyes, and she heard a little tremble in the voice below the cheeriness. "my dear ferdy," miss lilly was saying, "see what comes of holidays! much better have lessons than accidents, but it's an ill wind that blows no good. we shall have famous time now for your _favourite_ lessons--sums and--" "now, miss lilly, you're joking--you know you are," said ferdy, looking up in her face with his sweet blue eyes--eyes that to the young girl's fancy looked very wistful that morning. he had stretched out his arms, and was clasping them round her neck. ferdy was very fond of miss lilly. "_aren't_ you joking?" he wasn't quite, quite sure if she was, for sums were one of the few crooks in ferdy's lot, and rather a sore subject. something in the tone of his voice made miss lilly kiss him again as she replied, "of course i'm joking, my dear little matter-of-fact. no, your mamma says you are only to do your _really_ favourite lessons for a week or two, and not those if they tire you. we are all going to spoil you, i'm afraid, my boy." "i don't want to be spoilt," said ferdy. "chrissie and i have been talking. i want to make plans and be--be useful or some good to somebody, even if i have to stay in bed a good bit. what i most want to get out of bed for is to lie on the sofa and have the end of it pulled into the window, so that i can see along the roads all ways. oh, chrissie, you must tell miss lilly about the swallows, and--and--what was it i wanted to ask you?" he looked round, as if he were rather puzzled. "are you not talking too much?" said miss lilly, for the little fellow's eyes were very bright--too bright, she feared. "chrissie dear, perhaps you can remember what ferdy wanted to ask me about." "oh, i know," said ferdy; "it was about jesse piggot. chrissie, you ask." "we saw you talking to him--at least i did--out of the window, and we wondered what it was about. they all say he's a very naughty boy, miss lilly." "i know," miss lilly replied. "he's a draymoor boy"--draymoor was the name of the mining village that ferdy had been thinking about on his birthday morning--"or rather he used to be, till his uncle there died." "and now he lives at farmer meare's, where he works, but he's still naughty," said chrissie, as if it was rather surprising that the having left off living at the black village had not made jesse good at once. miss lilly smiled. "i don't think everybody at draymoor is naughty," she said. "i think jesse would have been a difficult boy to manage anywhere, though draymoor isn't a place with much in the way of good example certainly. but i hope it's getting a little better. if one could get hold of the children." she sat silent for a moment or two, her eyes looking as if they saw scenes not there. "i know several of the miners' families who live nearer us than draymoor--at bollins, and there are some such nice children among them." bollins was a small hamlet on the draymoor road, and the little house where miss lilly lived with her grandfather, an elderly man who had once been a doctor, was just at the evercombe side of bollins. "but you haven't told us what you were saying to jesse," said chrissie. "oh no," said miss lilly. "poor boy, it was nice of him. he was asking how master ferdy was." ferdy looked pleased. "did you tell him i was better?" he asked. "i said i hoped so, but that i had not seen you yet. and then he asked if he might send you his 'respexs' and 'was there any birds' eggs you'd a fancy for?'" "poor jesse," said ferdy. "but birds' eggs are one of the things he's been so naughty about--taking them all and selling them to somebody at freston. papa's almost sure--at least ferguson is--that he took some thrushes' eggs out of our garden. fancy, miss lilly!" "and then for him to offer to get ferdy any," said chrissie. "he knows i c'lect them," said ferdy; "but papa told me long ago, when i was quite little, never to take all the eggs, and _i've_ never taken more than one. if you see jesse again will you tell him he must never take more than one, miss lilly?" "i think in this case," she replied, "it is better to tell him not to take any at all--the temptation would be too great if he knows he can always sell them. i told him i would give you his message, but that i did not think you wanted any eggs that he could get you, and i advised him to leave bird's-nesting alone, as it had already got him into trouble." "what did he say?" asked christine. "he looked rather foolish and said he 'had nought to do of an evening, that was what got him into mischief; it wasn't as if he had a home of his own,' though as far as that goes, i see plenty of boys who _have_ homes of their own idling about in the evenings. it doesn't matter in the summer, but in the winter grandfather and i often feel sorry for them, and wish we could do something to amuse them. but now, chrissie dear, we had better go to the schoolroom; your mamma is coming to sit with ferdy for an hour or so." "good-bye, darling," said chrissie, as she stooped to kiss ferdy's pale little face--it had grown very pale again since the excitement of seeing miss lilly had faded away. "we shall be back soon--won't we, miss lilly?" she went on, turning to her governess as they left the room together. "it depends on how he is," was the reply. "mrs. ross hopes that he will have a little sleep now, but if he is awake and not too tired when you have finished your lessons, i will read aloud to you both in his room." "miss lilly," began chrissie again, looking up very sadly when they were seated at the schoolroom table, "i don't want to be silly, but i really don't feel as if i could do any lessons. it is so--so dreadful to be without ferdy, when you think that only the day before yesterday we were both here together and so happy, looking forward to his birthday," and the child put her head down on her arms and broke into deep though quiet sobs. in an instant miss lilly had left her place and was kneeling on the floor beside her. "my poor little chrissie, my dear little chrissie," she said, "i am so sorry for you," and the tone of her voice showed that it was difficult for her to keep back her own tears,--"so very sorry; but remember, dear, that we can do much better for ferdy by controlling our grief than by giving way to it. a great deal depends on keeping him cheerful and happily employed and interested. when i got your mother's note yesterday afternoon--oh dear, what a shock it was to me!--i spoke to my grandfather about ferdy a great deal, and he said in such cases much depends on not letting the nervous system give way. do you understand at all what i mean?" "yes, i think so," said chrissie, drying her eyes and listening eagerly. "you mean if poor ferdy was to lie there all day alone, like some poor children have to do, i daresay, he'd get to feel as if he would never get well again." "just so," said miss lilly, pleased to see how sensible chrissie was. "of course, he must not be tired or allowed to excite himself, and for a few days he is sure to be restless and fidgety from weakness; but as he gradually gets stronger again in himself, we must do all we can not only to amuse him, but to keep up his interest in things and people outside himself." "i know," said chrissie, "if he can feel he's of any good to anybody, that would make him happier than anything. ferdy has never been selfish, has he, miss lilly?" "no, he certainly has never seemed so, and i do not think suffering and trial such as he may have to bear will make him so." chrissie's face fell again at the two sad words. miss lilly saw it, and went on speaking quietly. "i don't mean anything very dreadful, dear, but he may have to stay in bed or on a couch for a long time, and of course that cannot but be a great trial to an active boy. let us get on with your lessons now, chrissie, in case ferdy is awake when they are over." he was not awake. he slept a good part of the morning, which mrs. ross, sitting beside him, was very glad of; and when at last he opened his eyes and looked about him, it was not long before a smile came to his face, and he cheered his mother by saying he felt "so nicely rested." "may chris and miss lilly come back now?" he asked. "miss lilly said she would read aloud." yes, chris and miss lilly would be only too happy to come, but first ferdy must be "good" and drink some beef-tea, which was standing all ready. it was rather an effort to do so. ferdy did not like beef-tea, and he was not at all hungry, and he just wanted to lie still and not be bothered. but "to please me" from his mother was enough, and when she kissed him and said he _was_ "a good boy," he told her, laughing, that he felt as if he were a little baby again. chrissie's face brightened when she heard the sound of her brother's laugh. "are you feeling better, ferdy dear?" she said. "i _am_ so glad, and miss lilly has brought a story-book of her own that we have never read." "oh, how nice!" said ferdy. "do tell me the name of the book, miss lilly." "it is short stories," she replied. "i will read you the names of some of them, and you shall choose which you would like best." the titles were all very tempting, but ferdy made a good hit, and fixed upon one of the most interesting in the book, so said miss lilly. it was about a family of children in iceland, and though it was rather long, they wished there was more of it when it came to an end. then miss lilly looked at her watch. "there is still a quarter of an hour," she said, as she turned over the leaves. "yes, here is a short story, which will just about fill up the time." ferdy and chrissie looked very pleased, but they did not say anything. they were so afraid of losing any of the precious fifteen minutes. chapter vi a fairy tale--and thoughts "the name of the story," said miss lilly, "is 'a fairy house,'" and then she went on to read it. "once upon a time there was a fairy who had done something wrong, and for this reason had to be punished. i do not know exactly what it was that she had done, perhaps only something that we should scarcely think wrong at all, such as jumping on a mushroom before it was full grown, or drinking too much dew out of a lily-cup, and thereby leaving the poor flower thirsty through the hot noontide. most likely it was nothing worse than something of this kind, but still it was a fault that had to be corrected; so the little culprit was banished to a desert part of fairyland, a bleak and barren spot, which you would scarcely have thought could be found in the magic country which we always think of as so bright and beautiful. "there she stayed with nothing to do for some time, which is about the worst punishment a fairy can have to endure. so she felt very pleased when one morning there came a messenger direct from the queen, charged to tell the little exile that she should be forgiven and released from her banishment as soon as she should have fulfilled a task which was to be set her. this task was to build a house, which to us may sound almost impossible without masons and carpenters and all manner of workmen. but fairy houses are not like ours, as you will hear. "the messenger led the fairy to a spot on the moor where there was a heap of stones. "'these are what you are to build with,' he said. 'as soon as the house is completed you may send a butterfly to tell the queen, and she will then come to test it. if it is quite perfect, you shall return at once with her to the court,' and so saying he fled away. "the fairy set to work in good spirits. she had no need of mortar, or scaffolding, or tools, or anything, indeed, but her own little hands and the stones. nor were the stones cut evenly and regularly, as you might have expected. they were of all sizes and shapes, but each only required a touch from the fairy's fingers at once to fit itself into the place which she saw it was intended for. so for some time the work went on merrily. it was not till the house was very nearly completed that the fairy began to fear something was wrong. it lopped a little--a _very_ little--to one side. but there was nothing to be done that she could see. so she finished it in hopes that the queen would not notice the tiny imperfection, and despatched the butterfly to announce her readiness for her royal lady's visit. "the queen arrived promptly,--fairy queens are never unpunctual,--and at first sight she smiled amiably. "'you have worked hard,' she said to the poor fairy, who stood there half hopeful and half trembling. then her majesty stepped out of her chariot, patting her winged steeds as she passed them, and entered the new building, followed by the little architect. "all seemed right till they got to the second floor, when the queen stopped and looked round her sharply. "'something is wrong here,' she said. 'the left-hand wall is out of level. i suspected it downstairs, but waited to see.' "the fairy builder looked very distressed. "'did you know there was anything wrong?' said the queen, more coldly than she had yet spoken. "'i--i was afraid it was a little crooked,' the little fairy replied, 'but i hoped perhaps your majesty would not mind it.' "'my messenger told you that the building must be _perfect_,' replied the queen. 'you had all the stones, every one ready for its place. if you have left one out, even the smallest, the building cannot be perfect. ah, well, you must try again,' and so saying she left the house, followed by the builder. as soon as she stepped outside she waved her wand, and in an instant the walls had fallen apart, and there was nothing to be seen but the heap of stones as before. "the poor little fairy sat down and cried as she saw the queen's chariot disappear in the air. "'i don't know what to do,' she thought. 'it would be just the same thing if i set to work to build it up again. i am sure i used every stone, down to some quite tiny ones; but still it is no good crying about it,' and she started up, determined to try afresh. "as she did so, a very slight sound caught her ears. out of her pocket had rolled a very small stone, a tiny, insignificant pebble, probably smaller than any she had used in the building. "'that's the very pebble i found in my shoe the other day,' she exclaimed. 'i must have picked it up with my handkerchief,' and she was just about to fling it away when a new idea struck her. was it possible that this little atom of a stone--or rather its absence--was what had spoilt the whole piece of work? it might be so, for had not the queen said that the slightest little scrap of material wanting would spoil the perfection of the building. "and, full of fresh hope, she carefully placed the little stone on the top of the heap and began again. all went well. deep down in the foundations, unseen but far from unneeded, the tiny pebble found its own place, and before the sun set, the magic edifice stood perfect, gleaming white and fair in the radiance of the evening sky. [illustration: took her back to court in her own chariot.] "it was without fear or misgiving this time that the fairy sent off her butterfly messenger the next morning; and her joy was complete when the queen not only took her back to court in her own chariot, but as a proof of her perfect restoration to favour, transported the pretty white house by a wave of her wand to the centre of a lovely garden near her own palace, and gave it to the fairy as her home." miss lilly stopped reading. the children looked up, pleased but a little puzzled. "what a funny story," said ferdy; "it's nice, but isn't it more what you call a--i forget the word." "allegory, do you mean?" said miss lilly. "well yes, perhaps. many fairy stories have a kind of meaning behind them, but i don't think this one is difficult to guess." "it means, i suppose," said chrissie, "that everything is of use, if you can find the right place for it." "a little more than that," said miss lilly. "we might put it this way--that _everybody_, even the smallest and weakest, has his or her own place in the house of--" and she hesitated. "in the house of the world?" said ferdy. "in the house of life," said miss lilly after thinking a little. "that says it better." then, seeing that ferdy was looking rather tired, she told chrissie to run off and get dressed for going a walk. "i will send flowers to sit with you," she said, as she stooped to kiss the little invalid, "and in the afternoon chrissie and i will come back again for an hour or so if you are not asleep." "i won't be asleep," said ferdy; "i have slept quite enough to last me all day. miss lilly--" "what, dear?" for the boy's eyes looked as if he wanted to ask her something. "would you like us to bring you in some flowers?--not garden ones, but wild ones. there are still primroses--and violets, of course--in the woods." "yes," ferdy replied, "i should like them _very_ much. and could you get some moss, miss lilly? i would like to arrange them with moss, in that sort of birds'-nesty-looking way." "i know how you mean," the young lady said. "yes, we will bring you some moss. and, by the bye, ferdy, if i had some wire i could show you how to make moss baskets that last for ever so long to put flowers in. you put a little tin or cup to hold water in the middle of the basket--the moss quite hides it,--and then you can always freshen up the moss by sousing it in water." "what a nice word 'sousing' is," said ferdy, in his quaint old-fashioned way. "it makes you think of bathing in the sea. miss lilly, do you think i'll ever be able to bathe in the sea again? i do so love it. and then there's skating and cricket, and when i go to school there'll be football. papa was so good at football when he was at school. i wonder--" he stopped short. "i wonder," he went on again, "if i'll ever be able for any of those things. boys who are all right, _well_ boys, don't think of the difference being like me makes." "no, they don't," his governess agreed. "but there is still a good long while before you would be going to school, ferdy dear." "i know," he said, though he could not keep back a little sigh. "i've only been two days in bed, but i have thought such a lot. miss lilly, there was something i wanted to ask you. it's about that boy, jesse piggot. i was thinking about him when i was awake in the night. if you meet him, please thank him for asking if i was better, and do you think mamma would let him come in one day to see me? it's partly that story, too." miss lilly did not at first understand. "the 'nallegory," said ferdy, "about all the stones being some good." miss lilly's face cleared; she looked pleased and interested. "oh yes," she said. "i haven't got it straight in my head yet," said ferdy. "i want to think a lot more. it's partly about me myself, and partly about jesse and boys like him. oh, i do wish i could be on the sofa in the window," he added suddenly. "i'd like to see the children going to school and coming back." "i hope you will be on the sofa in a very few days, dear," said miss lilly. "but i must go--chrissie will be waiting for me. i hope we shall get some nice flowers and moss, and to-morrow i will bring some wire and green thread that i have at home on purpose for such things." when she had gone flowers made her appearance. she sat down with her work, and ferdy lay so still, that she thought he must have fallen asleep again. but no, ferdy was not asleep, only thinking; and to judge by the look on his face, his thoughts were interesting. the moss baskets proved a great success as well as a great amusement. ferdy's nimble fingers seemed to have grown even more nimble and delicate in touch now that he was forced to lie still. they twisted the wire into all sorts of new shapes, some quaint, some graceful, that miss lilly had never even thought of, and when some little old cups without handles or tiny jelly pots or tins were found to fit in, so that the flowers could have plenty of water to keep them fresh, you cannot think how pretty the moss baskets looked. the children's mother was quite delighted with one that was presented to her, and she smiled more cheerfully than she had yet done since ferdy's accident, to see him so busy and happy. and time went on. it is very curious how quickly we get accustomed to things--even to great overwhelming changes, which seem at first as if they must utterly upset and make an end of everything. it is a great blessing that we _do_ get used to what _is_. when i was a little girl i remember reading a story about the old proverb which in those days was to be found as one of the model lines in a copy-book. this one stood for the letter "c," and it was, "custom commonly makes things easy." somehow the words fixed themselves in my memory. you don't know how often and in what very far differing circumstances i have said them over to myself; sometimes in hopefulness, sometimes when i had to face sorrows that made me feel as if i _could_ not face them, "custom commonly" seemed to be whispered into my ear, as if by a gentle little fairy voice. and i found it came true, thank god! it is one of the ways in which he helps us to bear our sorrows and master our difficulties, above all, _real_ sorrows and _real_ difficulties. fanciful ones, or foolish ones that we make for ourselves, are often in the end the hardest to bear and to overcome. it was so with little ferdy and his friends. one month after that sad birthday that had begun so brightly, no stranger suddenly visiting the watch house would have guessed from the faces and voices of its inmates how lately and how terribly the blow had fallen upon them. all seemed bright and cheerful, and even the boy's own countenance, though pale and thin, had a happy and peaceful expression. more than that indeed. he was often so merry that you could hear his laugh ringing through the house if you were only passing up or down stairs, or standing in the hall below. by this time things had settled themselves down into a regular plan. the oriel room was now ferdy's "drawing-room"--or drawing-room and dining-room in one, as he said himself. it was his day room, and every night and morning his father or thomas, the footman, carried him most carefully and gently from and to the invalid couch in his favourite window to bed, or _from_ bed in his own little room. this was a delightful change. ferdy declared he felt "almost quite well again" when the day came on which he was allowed "to go to bed properly," and be attired nicely the next morning in a little dressing-gown made to look as like a sailor suit as possible. his general health was good, thanks to the excellent care that was taken of him, and thanks too to his own cheerful character. there were times, of course, when he _did_ find it difficult to be bright--lovely summer afternoons when a sharp pang pierced his little heart at the sight of the school children racing home in their careless healthfulness, or fresh sweet mornings when he longed with a sort of thirstiness to be able to go for a walk in the woods with christine and miss lilly. but these sad feelings did not last long, though the days went on, and still the doctor shook his head at the idea even of his being carried down to the lawn and laid there, as ferdy had begun to hope might be allowed. the oriel window was his greatest comfort. it really was a delightful window. on one side or other there was sure to be _something_ to look at, and ferdy was quick to find interest in everything. he loved to see the school children, some of whom were already known to him, some whom he learnt to know by sight from watching them pass. but one boyish figure he missed. all this time jesse piggot had never been seen. miss lilly had looked out for him, as ferdy had asked her to do, but in vain. and it was not till within a day or two of a month since the accident that she heard from some of the draymoor people that the boy had been taken off "on a job" by one of his rough cousins at the colliery village. "and no good will it do him neither," added the woman. "that's a lad as needs putting up to no manner o' mischief, as my master says." "wasn't it a pity to take him away from farmer meare's?" miss lilly added. "they hadn't really room for him there," said the woman. "but farmer meare is a good man. he says he'll take the poor lad back again after a bit when there'll be more work that he can do." miss lilly told this over to the children the next day. ferdy looked up with interest in his eyes. "i hope he will come back again soon," he said. "you know, miss lilly, i never finished talking about him to you. i was thinking of him again a lot yesterday; it was the birds, they _were_ chattering so when i was alone in the afternoon. i was half asleep, i think, and hearing them reminded me in a dreamy way of birds' nests and eggs, and then, through that, of jesse piggot and what the fairy story put in my head about him." "what was it?" asked miss lilly. "it's rather difficult to explain," ferdy replied. "i was thinking, you see, that if i never get well and strong again i wouldn't seem any use to anybody. it _does_ seem as if some people were no use. and jesse piggot seems always in everybody's way, as if there was no place for him, though quite different from me, of course, for everybody's so kind to me. and then i thought of the stones, and how they all fitted in, and i wondered what i could get to do, and i thought perhaps i might help jesse some way." miss lilly looked at ferdy. there was a very kind light in her eyes. "yes, ferdy dear," she said. "i think i understand. when jesse comes back we must talk more about it, and perhaps we shall find out some way of fitting him into his place. stop dear, i think i had better look at your knitting; you are getting it a little too tight on the needles." ferdy handed it to her with a little sigh. he did not care very much for knitting, and he had also a feeling that it was girls' work. but it had been very difficult to find any occupation for him, as he could not go on making moss baskets always, and knitting seemed the best thing for the moment. he was now making a sofa blanket for his mother, in stripes of different colours, and miss lilly and christine were helping him with it, as it would otherwise have been too long a piece of work. "i'm rather tired of knitting," he said, "now that i know how to do it. i liked it better at first, but there's no planning about it now." "we must think of a change of work for you before long," said miss lilly, as she quickly finished a row so as to get the stitches rather looser again. "don't do any more this morning, ferdy. lie still and talk. tell me about the birds chattering." "they are so sweet and funny," said ferdy. "sometimes i fancy i'm getting to know their different voices. and there's one that stands just at the corner of the window-sill outside, that i really think i could draw. i know the look of him so well. or i'll tell you what," he went on. "i could _figure_ him, i'm sure i could, better than draw him." "_figure_ him! what do you mean?" said chrissie. "what funny words you say, ferdy." "do you mean modelling it?" asked miss lilly. "have you ever seen any modelling?" "no," said ferdy, "i don't understand." "i mean using some soft stuff, like clay or wax, and shaping it, partly with your fingers and partly with tools," replied miss lilly. "i don't know much about it, but i remember one of my brothers doing something of the kind." ferdy reflected. "it does sound rather fun," he said, "but i didn't mean that. i meant cutting--with a nice sharp knife and soft wood. i am sure i could figure things that way. i know what made me think of it. it was a story about the village boys in switzerland, who cut out things in the winter evenings." "you mean carving," said christine; "you shouldn't call it cutting. yes, i've always thought it must be lovely work, but you would need to be awfully clever to do it." "i'd like to try," said the boy. "when my sofa's put up a little higher at the back, the way mr. stern lets it be now, i can use my hands quite well. you needn't be afraid i'd cut myself. oh, it _would_ be jolly to cut out birds, and stags' heads, and things like that!" "stags' heads would be awfully difficult," said christine, "because of the sticking-out horns--they're just like branches with lots of twigs on them. what is it you call them, miss lilly?" "antlers, isn't that what you mean?" miss lilly replied. "yes, they would be very difficult. you would have to begin with something much simpler, ferdy." "i suppose i thought of stags because the swiss boys in the story cut out stags' heads," said ferdy. "i think i'd try a swallow's head. when i shut my eyes i can see one quite plain. miss lilly, don't you think i might try to _draw_ one? if i had a piece of paper and a nice pencil--" just then the door opened and his mother came in. her face brightened up as soon as she caught sight of ferdy's cheerful expression and heard his eager tone--it was always so now. since the accident mrs. ross seemed a kind of mirror of her boy; if he was happy and comfortable her anxious face grew smooth and peaceful; if he had had a bad night, or was tired, or in pain, she looked ten years older. and miss lilly, who, though still quite young herself, was very thoughtful and sensible, saw this with anxiety. "it will never do for things to go on like this," she said to herself, "the strain will break down poor mrs. ross. and if ferdy is never to be quite well again, or even if it takes a long time for him to recover, it will get worse and worse. we must try to find something for him to do that will take him out of himself, as people say,--something that will make him feel himself of use, poor dear, as he would like to be. i wonder if my grandfather could speak to mrs. ross and make her see that she should try not to be always so terribly anxious." for old dr. lilly was a very wise man. in his long life he had acquired a great deal of knowledge besides "book-learning"; he had learnt to read human beings too. but just now miss lilly's thoughtful face brightened up also as ferdy's mother came in. "we are talking about wood-carving," she said. "i am going to ask my grandfather about it. and ferdy would like to prepare for it by drawing a little again--he was getting on nicely just before he was ill." "i'd like a slate," said ferdy, "because i could rub out so easily; only drawings on a slate never look pretty--white on black isn't right." "_i_ know what," exclaimed christine. "mamma, do let us get ferdy one of those beautiful white china slates--a big one, the same as your little one that lies on the hall table for messages." ferdy's eyes sparkled with pleasure. "that would do lovelily," he said. so it was arranged that christine should drive with her mother that afternoon to the nearest town--not whittingham, but a smaller town in another direction, called freston, in quest of a good-sized white china slate. chapter vii an unexpected pig's head miss lilly and ferdy spent a quiet hour or two together after christine and her mother had set off. then, as it was really a half-holiday, and miss lilly usually went home immediately after luncheon on half-holidays, she said good-bye to ferdy, after seeing him comfortably settled and flowers within hail, and started on her own way home. she was anxious to have a talk with her grandfather and ask his advice as to the best way of helping the little boy and his mother, and keeping off the dangers to both which she saw in the future. it was a lovely day--quite a summer day now--for it was some way on in june, and this year the weather had been remarkably beautiful--never before quite so beautiful since she had come to live in the neighbourhood, thought the young girl to herself, and she sighed a little as she pictured in her own mind what happy days she and her two little pupils might have had in the woods and fields round about evercombe. "poor ferdy," she thought, "i wonder if he really ever will get well again. that is, in a way, the hardest part of it all--the not knowing. it makes it so difficult to judge how to treat him in so many little ways." she was not very far from her own home by this time, and looking up along the sunny road, she saw coming towards her a familiar figure. "i do believe it is jesse piggot," she said to herself. "how curious, just when i'd been thinking about him the last day or two!" jesse stopped as he came up to her, and it seemed to miss lilly that his face grew a little red, though bashfulness was certainly not one of jesse's weak points. "why, jesse!" she exclaimed, "so you've got back again. how did you get on while you were away?" jesse's answer to this question was rather indistinct. he murmured something that sounded like "all right, thank you, miss," but added almost immediately in a brighter tone, "how is master ferdy, please?" "pretty well," miss lilly replied; "that is to say, he doesn't suffer now, and we do all we can to cheer him up." jesse's face grew concerned and half puzzled. "ain't he all right again by this time?" he asked. "i thought he'd have been running about same as before, and a-riding on his new pony." miss lilly shook her head rather sadly. "oh no," she said, "there's no chance of anything like that for a long time"--"if ever," she added to herself. "the kind of accident that happened to master ferdy," she went on, "is almost the worst of any to cure--worse than a broken leg, or a broken head even." jesse said nothing for a moment or two, but something in his manner showed the young lady that his silence did not come from indifference. he had something in his hand, a stick of some kind, and as miss lilly's eyes fell on it, she saw that he had been whittling it with a rough pocket-knife. "what is that, jesse?" she said. "are you making something?" the boy's face grew distinctly redder now. [illustration: "i've done 'em before from one of the old squeakers up at the farm."] "'tis nothing, miss," he said, looking very ashamed, "only a bit o' nonsense as i thought'd make master ferdy laugh. i've done 'em before from one of the old squeakers up at the farm." and he half-reluctantly allowed miss lilly to take out of his hand a small stick, the top of which he had chipped into a rough, but unmistakable likeness to a pig's head. miss lilly almost started. it seemed such a curious coincidence that just as she was going to consult her grandfather about some new interest and occupation for ferdy, and just, too, as the idea of her little pupil's being of use to this poor waif and stray of a boy had been put into her mind by ferdy himself, jesse should turn up again, and in the new character of a possible art! for though not an artist of any kind herself, she had quick perceptions and a good eye, and in the queer, grotesque carving that the boy held in his hand she felt almost sure that she detected signs of something--well, of _talent_, however uncultivated, to say the least. jesse did not understand her start of surprise and the moment's silence that followed it. he thought she was shocked, and he grew still redder as he hastily tried to hide the poor piggy in his hand. "i didn't think as any one 'ud see it till i met master ferdy hisself some time; he's partial to pigs, is master ferdy, though no one can say as they're pretty. but i thought it'd make him laugh." "my dear boy," exclaimed the young girl eagerly, "don't hide away the stick. you don't understand. i am very pleased with your pig--very pleased indeed. have you done other things like it? i should like to--" but then she stopped for a moment. she must not say anything to put it into jesse's scatter-brained head that he was a genius, and might make his fortune by wood-carving. of all things, as she knew by what she had heard of him, it was important that he should learn to stick to his work and work hard. so she went on quietly, "i am sure master ferdy will like the pig very much, and he will think it very kind of you to have thought of pleasing him. let me look at it again," and she took it out of jesse's rather unwilling hands. "it is not quite finished yet, i see," she said, "but i think it is going to be a very nice, comical pig." and, indeed, the grotesque expression of the ears and snout--of the whole, indeed--was excellent. you could scarcely help smiling when you looked at it. jesse's red face grew brighter. "oh no, miss," he said, "it bain't finished. i'm going to black the eyes a bit--just a touch, you know, with a pencil. and there's a lot more to do to the jowl. i'm going to have a good look at old jerry--that's the oldest porker at the farm--when he's havin' his supper to-night; you can see his side face beautiful then," and jesse's eyes twinkled with fun. "oh, then you are back at the farm--at mr. meare's?" said miss lilly. "i am glad of that." "i'm not to say reg'lar there," said jesse, "only half on--for odd jobs so to say. i've been a message to the smithy at bollins just now," and certainly, to judge by the leisurely way in which he had been sauntering along when ferdy's governess first caught sight of him, his "odd jobs" did not seem to be of a very pressing description. "that's a pity," said the lady. "farmer says as he'll take me on reg'lar after a bit," added jesse. "and where are you living, then?" inquired miss lilly. "they let me sleep in the barn," said jesse. "and sundays i goes to my folk at draymoor, though i'd just as lief stop away. cousin tom and i don't hit it off, and it's worser when he's sober. lord, miss, he did hide me when he was away on that navvy job!" and jesse gave a queer sort of grin. miss lilly shuddered. "and what do you do in the evenings?" she asked. jesse looked uncomfortable. "loaf about a bit," he said vaguely. "that isn't a very good way of spending time," she said. jesse screwed up his lips as if he were going to whistle, but a sudden remembrance of the respect due to the young lady stopped him. "what's i to do else, miss?" he said. "well, you've something to do to-night, any way," she replied. "if you can finish the pig's head, i am sure master ferdy will be delighted to have it. i won't tell him about it," as she detected a slight look of disappointment on jesse's face, "oh no, it must be a surprise. but if you call at the watch house the first time you are passing after it is ready, i will see if i can get leave for you to see him yourself for a few minutes. the afternoon would be the best time, i think." the boy's face beamed. "thank you, miss; thank you kindly," he said. "i'll see if i can't get it done to-night." and then the two parted with a friendly farewell on each side. miss lilly had a good deal to think of as she finished her walk home. she felt quite excited at the discovery she had made, and eager to tell her grandfather about it. and she was all the more pleased to see him standing at the gate watching for her as she came within sight, for dr. lilly had something to tell her on his part, too. "you are late, my dear," he said, "late, that is to say, for a wednesday." "yes, gran," she replied, "i had to stay an hour or so with poor ferdy, as mrs. ross and christine were going out early." "then there is nothing wrong with him," said the old doctor. "i get quite nervous about the poor little chap myself. but that was not why i was coming to meet you, eva; it was to tell you of an invitation i have from my old friend, mr. linham, to spend two or three weeks with him travelling in cornwall. i should much like to go, i don't deny, except for leaving you alone, and i must decide at once, as he wants to know." "_of course_ you must go, dear gran," replied the girl. "i don't mind being alone in the least. i daresay mrs. ross would be glad to have me more with them, especially if--oh grandfather, i have a lot to talk to you about!" and then she told him all she had been thinking about ferdy, and the curious coincidence of meeting jesse piggot, and the discovery of his unsuspected talent for wood-carving. dr. lilly listened with great interest. he was pleased with eva's good sense in not praising the old porker's head too much, and he quite agreed with her that it would be well worth while to encourage little ferdy's wish to try his own skill in the same direction. "i believe i know the very man to give him a little help to start with," he said. "he is a young fellow who carves for ball and guild at whittingham. i attended him once in a bad illness. now he is getting on well, though he is not a genius. but he would be able to help with the technical part of the work--the right wood to use, the proper tools, and so on. if mr. ross approves, i will write to this man--brock is his name--and ask him to come over to talk about it. the only difficulty is that i fear he is never free except in the evenings." "i don't think that would matter," said miss lilly,--"not in summer time. ferdy does not go to bed till half-past eight or nine. and if he gets on well with his carving, grandfather,--and i do believe he will; you know i have always thought there was something uncommon about ferdy,--_he_ will be able to help jesse. who knows what may come of it? it may be the saving of jesse." her pleasant face grew quite rosy with excitement. it might be such a good thing in so many ways--something to take the little invalid's thoughts off himself and to convince his too anxious mother that feeling himself able to be of use to others would be by far the surest way of securing ferdy's own happiness in the uncertain and perhaps very trying life before him. and her grandfather quite sympathised in all she felt. so that evening two letters were sent off from the pretty cottage at bollins, one to mr. linham, accepting his invitation to cornwall, and one to mr. ross, asking him to stop a moment on his drive past the old doctor's house the next morning to have a little talk about ferdy. "he is sure to do so, and sure too to be pleased with anything _you_ think would be good for ferdy," said eva to her grandfather. and this was quite true, for though dr. lilly no longer looked after ill people, his opinion was most highly thought of, and by no one more than by mr. ross, who had known him as long as he could remember knowing any one. after miss lilly left him that afternoon, ferdy, contrary to his custom, fell asleep and had a good long nap, only awaking when the carriage bringing his mother and chrissie back from their expedition drove up to the door. mrs. ross's anxious face grew brighter when she saw how fresh and well the boy was looking. she had been afraid lest the increasing heat of the weather would try ferdy's strength too much, especially as the doctors would not yet allow him to be carried out of doors. but here again the oriel window proved of the greatest use: it could always be open at one side or the other, according to the time of day, so that it was easy to catch whatever breeze was going for ferdy's benefit, and yet to shade him from the sun. he certainly did not look at all fagged or exhausted this afternoon, though it had been rather a hot day for june. christine followed her mother into the room, her arms filled with parcels, her eyes bright with pleasure. "we've got such a beautiful slate for you, ferdy," she said, "and a book of animal pictures--outlines--that will be quite easy to copy on a slate, and the man at the shop said it was a very good thing to study them for any one who wanted to try wood-carving." "oh, how nice!" said ferdy eagerly. "do let me see, chrissie! and what are those other parcels you've got?" "two are from the german confectioner's at freston--cakes for tea--that nice kind, you know--the fancy curly shape, like the ones in the 'struwelpeter' pictures." ferdy's face expressed great satisfaction. "we must have a regular good tea," he said; "those cakes are meant to be eaten while they're quite fresh. and what's the other parcel, chrissie?" "oh, it's two little ducky cushions," his sister replied, "quite little tiny ones of eider-down. they are to put under your elbows when you're sitting up, or at the back of your neck, or into any little odd corner where the big ones don't fit in. you know you've often wished for a little cushion, and when you go out into the garden or for a drive you'll need them still more, mamma says." all the time she had been talking, christine had been undoing her parcels, mrs. ross helping her to lay out their contents. "thank you so very much, mamma," said ferdy, "everything's beautiful. which way did you drive to freston?" "we went one way and came back the other," said mrs. ross,--"by the road that passes near draymoor, you know. dear me, even on a fine summer's day that place looks grim and wretched! and there seems always to be idle boys about, even early in the afternoon." "miss lilly says there's often a lot that can't get work to do," said ferdy. "it's this way--sometimes they're very, _very_ busy, and sometimes there's not enough to do, and that's how they get into mischief, i suppose," he added, with the air of a small solomon. "it seems a pity that no one can take a real interest in the place," said his mother; "but here comes tea, ferdy. i am sure we shall all be glad of it. chrissie, you can arrange the cakes while i pour out tea." they seemed a happy little party that afternoon--happier than ferdy's mother, at least, would have believed it possible they could be, had she, three months or so before, foreseen the sad trouble that was to befall her darling. "i wonder how soon i shall be able to go for a drive," said ferdy. "will you ask the big doctor the next time he comes, mamma? i should like to see draymoor again. i've never forgotten that day i went there with papa. and now i understand about it so much better. miss lilly says it isn't that the people are very poor--they earn a lot of money when they are at work, but then they spend it all instead of spreading it over the times they haven't work. isn't it a pity they can't be taught something else to do for the idle times, to keep them from quarrelling with each other and being unkind to their wives and children?" mrs. ross looked at ferdy with surprise and some misgiving. it was doubtless miss lilly who had talked to him about the draymoor people. was it quite wise of her to do so? ferdy was so sensitive already, and his illness seemed to have made him even more "old-fashioned." to hear him talk as he was doing just now, one could easily have believed him twice his real age. but a second glance at his face made her feel easy again. he was speaking in a tone of quiet interest, but not in any nervous or excited way. "yes," she replied, "there is plenty to be done to improve draymoor, and at present no one seems to take any special charge of it. if your father was less busy and richer, i know he would like to try to do something for the people there." "miss lilly says if there was any one to look after the boys it would be such a good thing," said ferdy. "i hope jesse piggot won't go back there to live." then they went on to talk of other things. ferdy greatly approved of the german cakes, and his mother's spirits rose higher as she saw him eating them with a good appetite and making little jokes with his sister. the rest of the evening passed happily. ferdy amused himself for some time by "trying" his new slate. he drew two or three animals without any model, and was delighted to find that chrissie recognised them all, and that they did not compare very badly with the outlines she had brought him. "i am tired now," he said as he put down his pencil with a little sigh, but a sigh of contentment as much as of weariness, "but i know what i'll do to-morrow, chrissie. i'll _study_ one animal's head, or perhaps a bird. if those old swallows would but settle for a bit on the window-sill, or even on one of the branches close by, i'm sure i could do them. what a pity it is they can't understand what we want, for i always feel as if they knew all about us." "that's because of my dream," said christine importantly. "but i must go now, ferdy dear; flowers has called me two or three times to change my frock." [illustration: watching the sweet summer sunset.] so ferdy lay on his couch, one end of which was drawn into the window, watching the sweet summer sunset and the gentle "good-night" stealing over the world. there were not many passers-by at that hour. the school children had long ago gone home; the little toddlers among them must already be in bed and asleep. now and then a late labourer came slowly along with lagging steps, or one of the village dogs, in search of a stray cat perhaps, pricked up his ears when ferdy tapped on the window-pane. but gradually all grew very still, even the birds ceasing to twitter and cheep as they settled themselves for the night. and ferdy himself felt ready to follow the general example, when suddenly his attention was caught by a figure that came down the lane from the farm and stood for a moment or two at the end of the drive where the gate had been left open. ferdy almost jumped as he saw it. "flowers," he exclaimed, as at that moment the maid came into the room followed by thomas to carry him up to bed. "flowers--thomas, do look! isn't that jesse piggot standing at the gate? he must have come back again." "i don't know, i'm sure, master ferdy," said flowers, who did not feel any particular interest in jesse piggot. but thomas was more good-natured. he peered out into the dusk. "it looks like him, master ferdy," he said, "but i don't know that he'll get much of a welcome even if he _has_ come back. such a lad for mischief never was," for thomas had had some experience of jesse once or twice when the boy had been called into the watch house for an odd job. "never mind about that," said ferdy, "_i_ shall be glad to see him again. be sure you find out in the morning, thomas, if it is him." chapter viii welcome visitors but ferdy did not need to wait till thomas had made his inquiries, which most likely would have taken some time, as he was not a young man who cared to be hurried. miss lilly in her quiet way was quite excited when she came the next morning. "whom do you think i met yesterday afternoon on my way home, ferdy?" she said as soon as she and chrissie came into the oriel room for the part of the morning they now regularly passed there with the little invalid. "i can guess," said ferdy eagerly. "i believe it was jesse piggot," and then he told miss lilly about having seen a boy's figure standing at the end of the drive looking in. "poor fellow," said miss lilly, "i daresay he was watching in the hopes of seeing some one who could--" but then she stopped short. ferdy looked up with curiosity. "'who could' what, miss lilly?" he asked. his governess smiled. "i think i mustn't tell you," she said. "it might disappoint the boy, if he is wanting to give you a little surprise. and i scarcely think he would have sent in a message by any one but me," she went on, speaking more to herself than to ferdy, "after what i promised him last night." "what did you promise him, miss lilly?" the little boy asked. his curiosity was greatly excited. "only that if possible i would get leave for him to come in and see you for a few minutes," the young lady replied. "i must ask mrs. ross." "oh, i'm sure mamma wouldn't mind," said ferdy. "i do so wonder what the surprise is." "you'd better not think about it," said chrissie sagely. "that's what _i_ do. i put things quite out of my mind if i know i can't find out about them. don't you, miss lilly?" miss lilly smiled. "i try to," she said, "but i own i find it very far from easy sometimes. i think the best way to put something out of your mind is to put something else in. so supposing we go on with our lessons, ferdy." "oh, but first," said ferdy eagerly, "first i must show you the beautiful things mamma and chris brought me yesterday. see here, miss lilly." and eva examined his new possessions with great interest, even greater interest than ferdy knew, for her head was full of her new ideas about jesse, and the talent she believed he had shown in his carving. she turned over the leaves of the little book of animal outlines till she came to one of a pig, and she sat looking at it in silence for so long that christine peeped over her shoulder to see what it could be that had so taken her fancy. "it's a pig, ferdy," she called out, laughing. "miss lilly, i didn't know you were so fond of pigs. i'm sure there are much prettier animals in the book than pigs." "i daresay there are," said her governess good-naturedly. "but i _am_ very interested in pigs, especially their heads. i wish you would draw me one, ferdy, after lessons. i would like to see how you can do it." ferdy was quite pleased at the idea. but in the meantime miss lilly reminded both children that they must give their attention to the english history which was that morning's principal lesson. jesse piggot did not make his appearance. it was a busy day at the farm, and for once there was plenty for him to do. he had finished carving the stick, and if he had dared he would have run off with it to the watch house. but what he had gone through lately had been of use to the boy. he was becoming really anxious to get a good regular place at farmer meare's, for he had no wish to go off again on "odd jobs" under the tender mercies of his rough draymoor cousins. and, on the whole, miss lilly settled in her own mind that she was not sorry he had not come that day, for she hoped that mr. ross had seen her grandfather that morning and heard from him about the lessons in wood-carving which the old doctor thought might be so good for ferdy; and more than that, she hoped that perhaps mr. ross's interest in poor jesse might be increased by what dr. lilly would tell about him. it all turned out very nicely, as you will hear. late that afternoon, just as lessons were over and chrissie had got her mother's leave to walk a little bit of her way home with miss lilly, thomas appeared in the oriel room with a message from mrs. ross. "would miss lilly stay to have tea with miss christine and master ferdy? mrs. ross would come up presently, but there was a gentleman in the drawing-room with her just now." "what a bother!" exclaimed chrissie. "now it will be too late for me to go with you, miss lilly. i wish horrid, stupid gentlemen wouldn't come to call and interrupt mamma when it's her time for coming up to see ferdy. and it's not really tea-time yet." but tea appeared all the same. there was plainly some reason for miss lilly's staying later than usual. and when the reason was explained in the shape of dr. lilly, who put his kind old face in at the door half an hour or so later, no one welcomed him more heartily than chrissie, though she got very red when ferdy mischievously whispered to her to ask if she counted _him_ "a horrid, stupid gentleman." dr. lilly was a great favourite with the children. and never had ferdy been more pleased to see him than to-day. "i am so glad you've come," he said, stretching out his little hand, thinner and whiter than his old friend would have liked to see it. "miss lilly says you know a lot about wood-carving, and i do so want to learn to do it." dr. lilly smiled. "i am afraid my granddaughter has made you think me much cleverer than i am, my dear boy," he replied. "i can't say i know much about it myself, but i have a young friend who does, and if you really want to learn, i daresay he might be of use to you." ferdy's eyes sparkled, and so did miss lilly's, for she knew her grandfather too well to think that he would have spoken in this way to ferdy unless he had good reason for it. "grandfather must have seen mr. ross and got his consent for the lessons," she thought. and she looked as pleased as ferdy himself, who was chattering away like a little magpie to dr. lilly about all the lovely things he would make if he really learnt to carve--or "cut out," as he kept calling it--very nicely. "what i'd like best of all to do is swallows," he said. "you see i've got to know the swallows over this window so well. i do believe i know each one of them sep'rately. and sometimes in the morning early--i can hear them out of my bedroom window too--i really can almost tell what they're talking about." "swallows are charming," said dr. lilly, "but to see them at their best they should be on the wing. they are rather awkward-looking birds when not flying." "they've got _very_ nice faces," said ferdy, who did not like to allow that his friends were short of beauty in any way. "their foreheads and necks are such a pretty browny colour, and then their top feathers are a soft sort of blue, greyey blue, which looks so nice over the white underneath. i think they're awfully pretty altogether." "you have watched them pretty closely, i see," said dr. lilly, pleased at ferdy's careful noticing of his feathered neighbours. "i love swallows as much as you do, but it takes a master hand to carve _movement_. you may begin with something easier, and who knows what you may come to do in time." ferdy did not answer. he lay still, his blue eyes gazing up into the sky, from which at that moment they almost seemed to have borrowed their colour. visions passed before his fancy of lovely things which he would have found it difficult to describe, carvings such as none but a fairy hand could fashion, of birds and flowers of beauty only to be seen in dreams--it was a delight just to think of them. and one stood out from the rest, a window like his own oriel window, but entwined with wonderful foliage, and in one corner a nest, with a bird still almost on the wing, poised on a branch hard by. "oh," and he all but spoke his fancy aloud, "i feel as if i could make it _so_ lovely." but just then, glancing downwards, though still out of doors, he gave a little start. "it _is_ him," he exclaimed. "miss lilly, dear, do look. isn't that jesse, standing at the gate?" yes, jesse it was. not peeping in shyly, as some boys would have done. that was not mr. jesse's way. no, there he stood, in the middle of the open gateway, quite at his ease, one hand in his pocket, in the fellow of which the other would have been, no doubt, if it had not been holding an inconvenient shape of parcel--a long narrow parcel done up in a bit of newspaper, which had seen better days; not the sort of parcel you could possibly hide in a pocket. it was tea-time at the farm, and jesse had slipped down to the watch house in hopes of catching sight of miss lilly, for she had spoken of the afternoon as the best time for seeing ferdy. "of course it is jesse," said the young lady. "look, grandfather, don't you think i may run down and ask mrs. ross to let me bring him in for a few minutes?" and off she went. a minute or two later ferdy and chrissie, still looking out of the window in great anxiety lest jesse should get tired of waiting and go away before miss lilly could stop him, saw their governess hurry up the drive. and jesse, as he caught sight of her, came forward, a little shy and bashful now, as he tugged at his cap by way of a polite greeting. ferdy's face grew rosy with pleasure. "they're coming in," he said to dr. lilly. "yes," said the old gentleman. "i will go over to the other side of the room with the newspaper, so that the poor lad won't feel confused by seeing so many people." but all the same from behind the shelter of his newspaper the old gentleman kept a look-out on the little scene passing before him. miss lilly came in quickly, but jesse hung back for a moment or two at the door. he was almost dazzled at first by the bright prettiness before him. for he had never seen such a charming room before, and though he would not have understood it if it had been said to him, underneath his rough outside jesse had one of those natures that are much and quickly alive to beauty of all kinds. and everything that love and good taste could do to make the oriel room a pleasant prison for the little invalid boy, had been done. it was a very prettily shaped room to begin with, and the creeping plants trained round the window outside were now almost in their full summer richness. roses peeped in with their soft blushing faces; honeysuckle seemed climbing up by the help of its pink and scarlet fingers; clematis, the dear old "traveller's joy," was there too, though kept in proper restraint. the oriel window looked a perfect bower, for inside, on the little table by ferdy's couch, were flowers too--one of his own moss-baskets, filled with wild hyacinth, and a beautiful large petalled begonia, one of old ferguson's special pets, which he had been proud to send in to adorn master ferdy's room, and two lovely fairy-like maiden-hair ferns. and the little group in the window seemed in keeping with the flowers and plants. there was the delicate face of the little invalid, and pretty christine with her fluffy golden hair, and miss lilly, slight and dark-eyed, stooping over them, as she explained to ferdy that jesse was longing to see him. altogether the poor boy, rude and rough as he was, felt as if he were gazing at some beautiful picture; he would have liked to stand there longer--the feelings that came over him were so new and so fascinating. he did not see old dr. lilly behind his newspaper in the farther corner of the room--he felt as if in a dream, and he quite started when miss lilly, glancing round, spoke to him by name. "come in, jesse," she said, "i do want master ferdy to see--you know what." jesse was clutching the little walking-stick tightly. he had almost forgotten about it. but he moved it from his right arm to his left, as he caught sight of the small white hand stretched out to clasp his own big brown one--though, after all, as hands go, the boy's were neither thick nor clumsy. "i'm so glad you've come back, jesse," said ferdy in his clear, rather weak tones. "you didn't care for being away, did you? at least, not much?" "no, master ferdy, 'twas terrible rough," said the boy. "i'm glad to be back again, though i'd be still gladder if mr. meare'd take me on reg'lar like." "i hope he will soon," said ferdy. "i daresay papa wouldn't mind saying something to him about it, if it would be any good. i'll ask him. but what's that you've got wrapped up so tight, jesse?" jesse reddened. "then the young lady didn't tell you?" he said, half turning to miss lilly. "of course not," she replied. "don't you remember, jesse, i said you should give it to master ferdy yourself?" jesse fumbled away at the strips of newspaper he had wound round his stick, till ferdy's eyes, watching with keen interest, caught sight of the ears and the eyes and then the snout of the grotesque but unmistakable pig's head--"old jerry--the biggest porker at the farm." "oh, jesse," cried ferdy, his face radiant with delight, "_how_ lovely!" and though the word was not quite exactly what one would have chosen, it sounded quite perfect to jesse--it showed him that master ferdy "were right down pleased." "'tis only a bit o' nonsense," he murmured as he stuffed the stick into the little invalid's hands. "i thought it'd make you laugh, master ferdy. i took it off old jerry--you know old jerry--the fat old fellow as grunts so loud for his dinner." "of course i remember him," said ferdy. "don't you, christine? we've often laughed at him when we've run in to look at the pigs. isn't it _capital_? do you really mean that you cut it out yourself, jesse? why, i'd _never_ be able to cut out like that! he really looks as if he was just going to open his mouth to gobble up his dinner, doesn't he, miss lilly?" "he's very good--very good indeed," she replied. and then raising her voice a little, "grandfather," she said, "would you mind coming over here to look at jesse's carving?" dr. lilly crossed the room willingly. truth to tell, the newspaper had not been getting very much of his attention during the last few minutes. in his own mind he had been prepared for some little kindly exaggeration on eva's part of jesse's skill, so that he was really surprised when he took the stick in his own hands and examined it critically, to see the undoubted talent--to say the least--the work showed. rough and unfinished and entirely "untaught" work of course it was. but that is exactly the sort of thing to judge by. it was the _spirit_ of it that was so good, though i daresay you will think that a curious word to apply to the rude carving of so very "unspiritual" a subject as an old pig's head, by a peasant boy! all the same i think i am right in using the expression. "life-like and certainly original," murmured dr. lilly. "grotesque, of course--that is all right, that is always how they begin. but we must be careful--very careful," he went on to himself in a still lower tone of voice. and aloud he only said, as he looked up with a smile, "very good, my boy, very good. you could not have a better amusement for your idle hours than trying to copy what you see in the world about you. it is the _seeing_ that matters. you must have watched this old fellow pretty closely to understand his look, have you not?" jesse, half pleased, half shy, answered rather gruffly. "he do be a queer chap, to be sure. master ferdy, and missie too, has often laughed at him when they've been up at the farm. and that's how i come to think of doing him on a stick. and many a time," he went on, as if half ashamed of the childishness of the occupation, "there's naught else i can do to make the time pass, so to say." "you could not have done better," said the old doctor kindly. "don't think it is waste of time to try your hand at this sort of thing after your other work is done. i hope you may learn to carve much better. a little teaching would help you on a good deal, and proper tools and knowledge of the different kinds of wood." jesse's face expressed great interest, but then it clouded over a little. "yes, sir," he agreed, "but i dunnot see how i could get the teaching. there's nothing like that about here--not like in big towns, where they say there's teaching for nothing, or next to nothing--evenings at the institutes." "ah well, help comes to those who help themselves. master ferdy may be able to give you some hints if he learns carving himself. and he can tell you some stories of the poor country boys in switzerland and some parts of germany--how they work away all by themselves till they learn to make all sorts of beautiful things. have you any other bits of carving by you that you could show me?" again jesse's brown face lighted up, and ferdy listened eagerly. "oh lor, yes, sir, all manner of nonsense--whistles, sir, though there's some sense in whistles, to be sure," with a twinkle of fun. "then bring me a pocketful of nonsense this evening--no, to-morrow evening will be better--to my house at bollins. you know it, of course? and we'll have a look over them together. perhaps i may have a friend with me, who knows more about carving than i do." "and after dr. lilly has seen them, please bring some of them for me to see too, jesse," said ferdy. "when can he come again, do you think, miss lilly?" miss lilly considered. "on friday afternoon. can you get off for half an hour on friday about this time, jesse?" "oh yes, miss, no fear but i can," the boy replied. "and thank you ever so many times--a great, great many times, for old jerry," said ferdy as he stretched out his little hand in farewell. jesse beamed with pleasure. "i'll see if i can't do something better for you, master ferdy," he said. and to himself he added, "it's a deal sensibler, after all, than knocking up after mischief all the evening--a-shamming to smoke and a-settin' trees on fire." for this had been one of his worst misdeeds in the village not many months before, when he and some other boys had hidden their so-called "cigars" of rolled-up leaves, still smouldering, in the hollow of an old oak, and frightened everybody out of their wits in the night by the conflagration which ended the days of the poor tree and threatened to spread farther. still more pleased would he have been could he have overheard ferdy's words after he had gone. "isn't it really capital, dr. lilly? i don't believe i could _ever_ do anything so like _real_ as this old jerry." chapter ix "my pupils" that summer was a very, very lovely one. it scarcely rained, and when it did, it was generally in the night. if it is "an ill wind that brings nobody any good," on the other hand i suppose that few winds are so good that they bring nobody any harm, so possibly in some parts of the country people _may_ have suffered that year for want of water; but this was not the case at evercombe, where there were plenty of most well-behaved springs, which--or some of which at least--had never been known to run dry. so the little brooks danced along their way as happily as ever, enjoying the sunshine, and with no murmurs from the little fishes to sadden their pretty songs, no fears for themselves of their full bright life running short. every living thing seemed bubbling over with content; the flowers and blossoms were as fresh in july as in may; never had the birds been quite so busy and merry; and as for the butterflies, there was no counting their number or variety. some new kinds _must_ have come this year from butterflyland, ferdy said to christine one afternoon when he was lying out on his new couch on the lawn. christine laughed, and so did miss lilly, and asked him to tell them where that country was, and ferdy looked very wise and said it lay on the edge of fairyland, the fairies looked after it, that much he _did_ know, and some day perhaps he would find out more. and then he went on to tell them, in his half-joking, half-serious way, that he really thought the swallows were considering whether it was worth while to go away over the sea again next autumn. he had heard them having _such_ a talk early that morning, and as far as he could make out, that was what they were saying. "the spring came so early this year, and the summer looks as if it were going to last for always," he said. "i don't wonder at the swallows. do you, miss lilly?" eva smiled, but shook her head. "it is very nice of them to be considering about it," she replied, "for, no doubt, they will be sorry to leave you and the oriel window, ferdy--sorrier than ever before." for she understood the little boy so well, that she knew it did him no harm to join him in his harmless fancies sometimes. "but they are wiser than we are in certain ways. they can feel the first faint whiff of jack frost's breath long before we have begun to think of cold at all." "like the fairy fine-ear," said ferdy, "who could hear the grass growing. i always like to think of that--there's something so--so _neat_ about it." "what a funny word to use about a fairy thing," said christine, laughing. "ah, well, any way we needn't think about jack frost or cold or winter just yet, and a day like this makes one feel, as ferdy says, as if the summer must last for always." it had been a great, an unspeakable comfort to the family at the watch house, all thinking so constantly about their dear little man, to have this lovely weather for him. it had made it possible for him to enjoy much that would otherwise have been out of the question--above all, the being several hours of the day out of doors. the big doctor had come again, not long after the day i told you of--the day of miss lilly's grandfather's visit, and of the presentation of the "old jerry stick," as it came to be called. and he gave leave at last for ferdy to be carried out of doors and to spend some hours on the lawn, provided they waited till a special kind of couch, or "garden-bed" in ferdy's words, was ordered and sent from london. it was a very clever sort of couch, as it could be lifted off its stand, so to say, and used for carrying the little fellow up and down stairs without the slightest jar or jerk. and ferdy did not feel as if he were deserting his dear oriel window, for the nicest spot in the whole garden for the daily camping-out was on the lawn just below the swallows' home. and watching their quaint doings, their flyings out and in, their "conversations," and now and then even a tiny-bird quarrel among the youngsters, came to be a favourite amusement at the times, which must come in every such life as ferdy had to lead, when he felt too tired to read or to be read to, too tired for his dearly loved "cutting-out" even, clever as he was getting to be at it. miss lilly's hopes were fulfilled. ferdy was having real lessons in carving two or three times a week. dr. lilly had arranged all about it, with the young man he had thought of, before he went away. his going away had turned into a much longer absence than was at first expected, but out of this came one very pleasant thing--miss lilly was living altogether at the watch house. this was a most happy plan for ferdy, and for everybody, especially so far as the carving lessons were concerned, for mr. brock could only come in the evening, and but for miss lilly's presence there might have been difficulties in the way, mrs. ross was so terribly afraid of overtiring ferdy, and nervous about his straining himself or doing too much in any way. but she knew she could trust eva, who really seemed to have, as her grandfather said, "an old head on young shoulders." she was the first to see if ferdy was getting too eager over his work, or tiring himself, and then too, though she had not actual artist talent herself, she had a very quick and correct eye. she understood mr. brock's directions sometimes even better than ferdy himself, and was often able to help him out of a difficulty or give him a hint to set him in a right way when he was working by himself in the day-time. and another person was much the gainer by miss lilly's stay at the watch house. i feel sure, dear children, you will quickly guess who that was. jesse piggot? yes, poor jesse. but for eva i doubt if he would have been allowed to share ferdy's lessons. mrs. ross had grown nervous since that sad birthday morning, though at the time she seemed so calm and strong. but she was now too anxious, and i am afraid flowers was a little to blame for her mistress's fears that jesse would in some way or other harm little ferdy. flowers did not like jesse. indeed, a good many people besides the watch house servants had no love for the boy. it was partly jesse's own fault, partly a case of giving a dog a bad name. "he came of such a rough lot," they would say. "those draymoor folk were all a bad lot, and piggot's set about the worst. jesse was idle, and 'mischeevious,' and impudent," and besides all these opinions of him, which flowers repeated to ferdy's mother, there was always "some illness about at draymoor--at least there was bound to be--scarlet fever or measles or something, in a place where there were such swarms of rough, ill-kept children." this was really not the case, for draymoor was an extraordinarily healthy place, and when mrs. ross spoke to dr. lilly before he left of her fears of infection being brought to her boy, he was able to set her mind more at rest on this point, and eva took care to remind her from time to time of what "grandfather had said." and jesse's luck seemed to have turned. to begin with, he was now regularly employed at the farm, and a week or two after mrs. ross had consented to his sharing ferdy's lessons, the draymoor difficulty came to an end, for farmer meare gave him a little room over the cow-houses, and told him he might spend his sundays there too if he liked, so that there was really no need for him to go backwards and forwards to the neighbourhood ferdy's mother dreaded so, at all. he was not overworked, for he was a very strong boy, but he had plenty to do, and there might have been some excuse for him if he had said he felt too tired "of an evening" to do anything but loiter about or go to bed before the sun did. no fear of anything of the kind, however. jesse was a good example of the saying that it is the busiest people who have the most time. the busier he was in the day, the more eager he seemed that nothing should keep him from making his appearance at the door of the oriel room a few minutes before the time at which the wood-carver from whittingham was due. and he was sure to be heartily welcomed by ferdy and his governess, and christine too, if she happened to be there. the first time or two miss lilly had found it necessary to give him a little hint. "have you washed your hands, jesse?" she said, and as jesse looked at his long brown fingers rather doubtfully, she opened the door again and called to good-natured thomas, who had just brought the boy upstairs. "jesse must wash his hands, please," she said. and from that evening the brown hands were always quite clean. then another hint or two got his curly black hair cropped and his boots brushed, so that it was quite a tidy-looking jesse who sat at the table on mr. brock's other side, listening with all his ears and watching with all his eyes. and he learnt with wonderful quickness. the teacher had been interested in him from the first. old jerry's head had shown him almost at once that the boy had unusual talent, and the next few weeks made him more and more sure of this. "we must not let it drop," he said to eva one day when he was able to speak to her out of hearing of the boys. "when dr. lilly returns i must tell him about jesse. he must not go on working as a farm-labourer much longer. his touch is improving every day, and he will soon be able to group things better than i can do myself--much better than i could do at his age," with a little sigh, for poor mr. brock was not at all conceited. he was clever enough to know pretty exactly what he could do and what he could not, and he felt that he could never rise very much higher in his art. miss lilly listened with great pleasure to his opinion of jesse, but, of course, she said any change in the boy's life was a serious matter, and must wait to be talked over by her grandfather and mr. ross when dr. lilly came home. and in her own heart she did not feel sure that they would wish him to give up his regular work, not at any rate for a good while to come, and till it was more certain that he could make his livelihood in a different way; for what dr. lilly cared most about was to give pleasant and interesting employment for leisure hours--to bring some idea of beauty and gracefulness into dull home lives. she said something of this kind one evening after jesse had gone, and she saw by the bright look in ferdy's face that he understood what she meant, better even than mr. brock himself did perhaps. "it sounds all very nice, miss," said the wood-carver, "but i doubt if there's any good to be done in that sort of way unless when there's real talent such as i feel sure this piggot lad has. the run of those rough folk have no idea beyond loafing about in their idle hours; and, after all, if they're pretty sober--and some few are that--what can one expect? the taste isn't in them, and if it's not there, you can't put it." eva hesitated. "are you so sure of that?" she said doubtfully. "well, miss, it looks like it. with jesse now, there was no encouragement--it came out because it was there." "yes, but i think jesse is an exception. he _has_ unusual talent, and in a case like his i daresay it will come to his choosing a line of his own altogether. but even for those who have no talent, and to begin with, even no taste, i do think _something_ might be done," she said. "thomas has taken to making whistles," said ferdy, "ever since he saw jesse's. he can't carve a bit--not prettily, i mean--but he cuts out letters rather nicely, and he's been giving everybody presents of whistles with their--'relitions' on." "_initials_ you mean, dear," said miss lilly. "_initials_," repeated ferdy, getting rather pink. "ah," said the wood-carver with a smile, "you can't quite take thomas as an example, my boy. why, compared to many of the even well-to-do people about, his whole life is 'a thing of beauty.' look at the rooms he lives in, the gardens, the ladies he sees. and as for those draymoor folk, they'd rather have the bar of an inn than the finest picture gallery in the world. no, miss, with all respect, you 'can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear.'" ferdy laughed. he had never heard the quaint old saying before, and as it was time for mr. brock to go, no more was said. but both miss lilly and ferdy had their own thoughts and kept their own opinion. ferdy's own work made him very happy, and of its kind it was very nice. his little mind was full of sweet and pretty fancies, but these, of course, for such a mere child as he was, and especially as he could not sit up to do his carving, it was very difficult to put into actual shape. but his happy cheeriness kept him from being discouraged. "i shall never be as clever as jesse," he told miss lilly and christine, "but i don't mind. p'r'aps when we're big i'll _think_ of things for jesse to _do_." "you can't tell yet what you may be able to do when you're big," said his governess. "i think it is wonderful to see all you can do already. those animals for the poor little children at the hospital are beautiful, ferdy." "they're _toys_," said ferdy with some contempt, "only," more cheerfully, "i'm very glad if they'll please the poor little children. but oh, miss lilly dear, if i could make you see the beautiful things i _think_! the prettiest of all always comes something like the oriel window--like an oriel window in fairyland." "was there a window like that in the house the little fairy had to build, do you think, miss lilly?" asked christine. "no, of course not," said ferdy, before his governess had time to answer. "my thinked window isn't built, it's cut out; it's all beautiful flowers and leaves, like the real window in summer, only far, far prettier. and there are birds' nests, with them _almost_ flying, they are so light and feathery looking, and--" he stopped, and lay back with his eyes closed and a dreamy smile on his face. "when you are older," said miss lilly, "i hope you will travel a good deal and go to see some of the wonderful carvings there are in italy and germany, and indeed in england too. not only wood-carving, but sculpture. fancy, _stone_ worked so as to look as if a breath of air would make it quiver!" she spoke perhaps a little thoughtlessly, and in an instant she felt that she had done so, for ferdy opened his big blue eyes and gazed up at her with a strange wistful expression. "miss lilly dear," he said, "you mustn't count on my doing anything like that--travelling, i mean, or things well people can do. p'r'aps, you know, i'll be all my life like this." eva turned her head aside. she did not want either ferdy or his sister to see that his quaint words made her feel very sad--that, indeed, they brought the tears very near her eyes. and in a minute or two ferdy seemed to have forgotten his own sad warning. he was laughing with christine at the comical expression of a pigling which he had mounted on the back of a rather eccentric-looking donkey--it was his first donkey, and he had found it more difficult than old jerrys. that evening a pleasant and very unexpected thing happened. it was a lesson evening, but a few minutes before the time a message was brought to the oriel room by good-natured thomas. it was from jesse to ask if he might come up, though he knew it was too early, as he wanted "pertickler" to see master ferdy before "the gentleman came." "he may, mayn't he, miss lilly?" asked the little invalid. "oh yes," eva replied. she was careful to please mrs. ross by not letting jesse ever forget to be quite polite and respectful, and never, as he would have called it himself, "to take freedoms," and there was a sort of natural quickness about the boy which made it easy to do this. and somehow, even the few hours he spent at the watch house--perhaps too the refining effect of his pretty work--had already made a great change in him. the old half-defiant, half-good-natured, reckless look had left him; he was quite as bright and merry as before, but no one now, not even flowers, could accuse him of being "impudent." he came in now with an eager light in his eyes, his brown face ruddier than usual; but he did not forget to stop an instant at the door while he made his usual bow or scrape--or a mixture of both. "good evening, jesse," said ferdy, holding out his hand. "why, what have you got there?" as he caught sight of some odd-shaped packages of various sizes, done up in newspaper, which jesse was carrying. "please, master ferdy, i've brought 'em to show you. it's my pupils as has done them. they're nothing much, i know, but still i'm a bit proud of 'em, and i wanted to show them to you and miss here, first of all." he hastened, with fingers almost trembling with eagerness, to unpack the queer-looking parcels, miss lilly, at a glance from ferdy, coming forward to help him. ferdy's own cheeks flushed as the first contents came to light. "oh," he exclaimed, "i _wish_ i could sit up!" but in another moment he had forgotten his little cry of complaint, so interested was he in the curious sight before him. all sorts and shapes of wooden objects came to view. there were pigs' heads, evidently modelled on old jerry, dogs, and horses, and cows, some not to be mistaken, some which would, it must be confessed, have been the better for a label with "this is a--," whatever animal it was meant to be, written upon it; there were round plates with scalloped edges, some with a very simple wreath of leaves; boxes with neat little stiff designs on the lids--in fact, the funniest mixture of things you ever saw, but all with _attempt_ in them--attempt, and good-will, and patience, and here and there a touch of something more--of real talent, however untrained--in them all, or almost all, signs of love of the work. there came a moment or two of absolute silence--silence more pleasing to jesse than any words, for as his quick eyes glanced from one to another of his three friends, he saw that it was the silence of delight and surprise. at last said ferdy, his words tumbling over each other in his eagerness, "miss lilly, chrissie, isn't it wonderful? do you hear what jesse says? it's his _pupils_. he's been teaching what he's been learning. tell us all about it, jesse." "do, do," added eva. "yes, ferdy, you're quite right--it's wonderful. who are they all, jesse?" [illustration: "we works in a shed there, in a field by the smithy ... and we're as jolly as sand-boys."] "there's about a dozen, altogether," began jesse, with, for the first time, a sort of shyness. "it began with one or two at the farm; seein' me so busy of an evening, they thought it'd be better fun nor throwin' sticks into the water for the dogs to catch, or smokin' them rubbishin' sham cigars. we sat in the barn, and then one day i met barney--barney coles, cousin's son to uncle bill at draymoor. barney's not a bad chap, and he's been ill and can't go in the mines. and we talked a bit, and he axed how it was i never come their way, and i said how busy i was, and he might see for hisself. so he comed, and he's got on one of the fastest--with plain work like," and jesse picked out one or two neat little boxes and plates, with stiff unfanciful patterns, carefully done. "he's lots of time just now, you see, and he's got a good eye for measuring. and then he brought one or two more, but i was afraid master wouldn't be best pleased at such a lot of us, so now i go two evenings a week to bollins, close by your place, miss," with a nod, not in the least intended to be disrespectful, in miss lilly's direction, "and we works in a shed there, in a field by the smithy. we got leave first, that's all right, and we fixed up a plank table and some benches, and we're as jolly as sand-boys. i've often had it in my mind to tell you, but i thought i'd better wait a bit till i had somethin' to show." "you will tell mr. brock about it?" said miss lilly. "he will be _nearly_ as pleased as we are--he can't be _quite_. i don't think i have ever been more pleased in my life, jesse." it was "wonderful," as ferdy had said. jesse piggot, the ringleader in every sort of mischief, the "cheeky young rascal" out of one scrape into another, to have started a class for "art work" among the rough colliery boys of draymoor! "oh, i do wish grandfather were back again," eva went on. "_he_ will help you, jesse, in every way he possibly can, i know." "we should be proud if the old doctor'd look at what we're doing," said jesse. "and there's several things i'd like to ask about. some of the boys don't take to the carving, but they're that quick at drawin' things to do, or fancy-like patterns that couldn't be done in wood, but'd make beautiful soft things--couldn't they be taught better? and barney says he's heard tell of brass work. i've never seen it, but he says it's done at some of the institutes, whittingham way, and he'd like that better than wood work." he stopped, half out of breath with the rush of ideas that were taking shape in his mind. "i know what you mean," said miss lilly. "i have seen it. i think it is an ancient art revived again. yes, i don't see why it would not be possible to get teaching in it. and then there's basket work, that is another thing that can be quite done at home, and very pretty things can be made in it. it might suit some of the lads who are not much good at carving." "them moss baskets of master ferdy's are right-down pretty," said jesse. "and you can twist withies about, beautiful." his eyes sparkled--his ideas came much quicker than his power of putting them into words. "there's no want of pretty things to copy," he said after a little silence. "no indeed," said miss lilly. but at that moment the door opened to admit mr. brock. a start of surprise came over the wood-carver as he caught sight of the table covered with jesse's exhibition. and then it had all to be explained to him, in his turn. he was interested and pleased, but scarcely in the same way as eva and ferdy. "we must look them all over," he said, "and carefully separate any work that gives signs of taste or talent. it is no use encouraging lads who have neither." jesse's face fell. he had somehow known that mr. brock would not feel quite as his other friends did about his "pupils." "yes," said miss lilly, "it will no doubt be a good thing to classify the work to some extent. but i would not discourage _any_, mr. brock. taste may grow, if not talent; and if there are only one or two boys with skill enough to do real work, surely the pleasure and interest of making _something_ in their idle hours must be good for all?" the wood-carver smiled indulgently. he thought the young lady rather fanciful, but still he could go along with her to a certain extent. "well, yes," he agreed. "at worst it is harmless. when the doctor returns, miss lilly, we must talk it all over with him; i am anxious to consult him about--" he glanced in jesse's direction meaningly, without the boy's noticing it. for jesse and ferdy were eagerly picking out for their teacher's approval some of the bits of carving which their own instinct had already told them showed promise of better things. chapter x taking refuge it was a saturday afternoon. ferdy, as he lay on his couch in the oriel window, looked out half sadly. the lawn and garden-paths below were thickly strewn with fallen leaves, for the summer was gone--the long beautiful summer which had seemed as if it were going to stay "for always." and the autumn was already old enough to make one feel that winter had started on its journey southwards from the icy lands which are its real home. there were no swallow voices to be heard. oh no; the last of the little tenants of the nests overhead had said good-bye several weeks ago now. ferdy's fancy had often followed them in their strange mysterious journey across the sea. "i wonder," he thought, "if they really _were_ rather sorry to go this year--sorrier than usual, because of me." he took up a bit of carving that he had been working at; it was meant to be a small frame for a photograph of chrissie, and he hoped to get it finished in time for his mother's birthday. it was very pretty, for he had made great progress in the last few months. in and out round the frame twined the foliage he had copied from the real leaves surrounding his dear window, and up in one corner was his pet idea--a swallow's head, "face," ferdy called it, peeping out from an imaginary nest behind. this head was as yet far from completed, and he almost dreaded to work at it, so afraid was he of spoiling it. to-day he had given it a few touches which pleased him, and he took it up, half meaning to do a little more to it, but he was feeling tired, and laid it down again and went back to his own thoughts, as his blue eyes gazed up dreamily into the grey, somewhat stormy-looking autumn sky. some changes had come in the last few months. dr. lilly was at home again, so ferdy and christine no longer had entire possession of their dear governess, though they still saw her every day except sunday, and sometimes even then too. ferdy was, on the whole, a little stronger, though less well than when able to be out for several hours together in the open air. what the doctors now thought as to the chances of his ever getting quite well, he did not know; he had left off asking. children live much in the present, or if not quite that, in a future which is made by their own thoughts and feelings in the present. and he had grown accustomed to his life, and to putting far before him, mistily, the picture of the day when he _would_ be "all right again." he had not really given up the hope of it, though his mother sometimes thought he had. the truth was that as yet the doctors did not know and could not say. but the present had many interests and much happiness in it for ferdy, little as he would have been able to believe this, had he foreseen all he was to be deprived of in a moment that sad may morning. his friendship for jesse was one of the things he got a great deal from. nothing as yet was settled about the boy's future, eager though mr. brock was to see him launched in another kind of life. for both mr. ross and dr. lilly felt that any great step of the sort must first be well thought over, especially as jesse was now working steadily at farmer meare's and earning regular wages, and seemingly quite contented. though he had had his troubles too. some of his old wild companions were very jealous of him and very spiteful; and bit by bit a sort of league had been started against him among the worst and roughest of the draymoor lads, several of whom were angry at not being allowed to join the class in the shed at bollins, some still more angry at having been sent away from the class, for jesse and his friend barney who acted as a sort of second in command were very particular as to whom they took as pupils. or rather as to whom they _kept_; they did not mind letting a boy come two or three times to see "what it was like," but if he turned out idle or disturbing to the others, and with no real interest in the work, he was told in very plain terms that he need not come back. they were patient with some rather dull and stupid lads, however. barney especially so. for he was very "quick" himself. and some of these dull ones really were the most satisfactory. they were so _very_ proud of finding that they could, with patience and perseverance, "make" something, useful at any rate, if not highly ornamental. no one who has not been tried in this way knows the immense pleasure of the first feeling of the power to "make." these things ferdy was thinking of, among others, as he lay there quietly this afternoon. he was alone, except for an occasional "look in" from thomas or flowers, as mr. ross had taken his wife and christine for a drive. ferdy had grown much older in the last few months in some ways. he had had so much time for thinking. and though he did not, as i have said, trouble himself much about his own future, he thought a good deal about jesse's. there was no doubt that jesse was _very_ clever at carving. ferdy knew it, and saw it for himself, and miss lilly thought so, and the old doctor thought so; and most of them all, mr. brock thought so. but for some weeks past mr. brock's lessons had stopped. he had been sent away by the firm at whittingham who employed him, to see to the restoration of an old house in the country, where the wood carving, though much out of repair, was very fine, and required a careful and skilful workman to superintend its repair. so there seemed to be no one at hand quite as eager about jesse as ferdy himself. "the winter is coming fast," thought the little invalid, "and they can't go on working in the shed. and jesse may get into idle ways again--he's not learning anything new now. it fidgets me so. i'd like him to be sent to some place where he'd get on fast. i don't believe he cares about it himself half as much as i care about it for him. and he's so taken up with his 'pupils.' i wonder what could be done about getting some one to teach them. barney isn't clever enough. oh, if only mamma wouldn't be so afraid of my tiring myself, and would let me have a class for them up here in the winter evenings! or i might have two classes,--there are only ten or twelve of them altogether,--and once a week or so mr. brock might come to help me, or not even as often as that. if he came once a fortnight or even once a month he could see how they were getting on,--_extra_ coming, i mean, besides his teaching me, for of course the more i learn the better i can teach them. and another evening we might have a class for something else--baskets or something not so hard as carving. miss lilly's learning baskets, i know. and then jesse wouldn't mind leaving his pupils. oh, i do wish it could be settled. i wish i could talk about it again to dr. lilly. i don't think jesse's quite am--i can't remember the word--caring enough about getting on to be something great." poor jesse, it was not exactly want of ambition with him. it was simply that the idea of becoming anything more than a farm-labourer had never yet entered his brain. he thought himself very lucky indeed to be where he now was, and to have the chance of improving in his dearly loved "carving" without being mocked at or interfered with, neither of which so far had actually been the case, though there had been some unpleasant threatenings in the air of late. his efforts to interest and improve the boys of the neighbourhood had been looked upon with suspicion--with more suspicion than he had known till quite lately, when he and barney had been trying to get some one to lend them a barn or an empty room of any kind for the winter. "what was he after now? some mischief, you might be sure, or he wouldn't be jesse piggot." so much easier is it to gain "a bad name," than to live one down. "oh," thought little ferdy, "i do _wish_ something could be settled about jesse." he was growing restless--restless and nervous, which did not often happen. was it the gloomy afternoon, or the being so long alone, or what? the clouds overhead were growing steely-blue, rather than grey. could it be going to thunder? surely it was too cold for that. perhaps there was a storm of some other kind coming on--heavy rain or wind, perhaps. and mamma and chrissie would get _so_ wet! if only they would come in! ferdy began to feel what he very rarely did--rather sorry for himself. it was nervousness, one of the troubles which are the hardest to bear in a life such as ferdy's had become and might continue. but this he was too young to understand; he thought he was cross and discontented, and this self-reproach only made him the more uncomfortable. these feelings, however, were not allowed to go very far that afternoon. a sound reached ferdy's quick ears which made him look up sharply and glance out of the window. some one was running rapidly along the drive towards the house. it was jesse. but fast as he came, his way of moving told of fatigue. he had run far, and seemed nearly spent. ferdy's heart began to beat quickly, something must be the matter. could it be an accident? oh! if anything had happened to his father and mother and chrissie, and jesse had been sent for help! but in that case he would have gone straight to the stable-yard, and as this thought struck him, ferdy breathed more freely again. perhaps, after all, it was only some message and nothing wrong, and jesse had been running fast just for his own amusement. the little boy lay still and listened. in a minute or two he heard footsteps coming upstairs. then a slight tap at the door--thomas's tap--and almost without waiting for an answer, the footman came in. "it's jesse, master ferdy," he began. "jesse piggot. he's run all the way from bollins, and he's pretty well done. he's begging to see you. he's in some trouble, but he won't tell me what. i'm afraid your mamma won't be best pleased if i let him up, but i don't know what to do, he seems in such a state." ferdy raised himself a little on his couch. there must be something very much the matter for jesse, merry, light-hearted jesse, to be in a "state" at all. "let him come up at once, thomas, i'll put it all right with mamma," he began, but before thomas had time for any more hesitation the matter was taken out of his hands by jesse's short-cropped, dark head appearing in the doorway. "oh, master ferdy!" he exclaimed, in a choking voice, "mayn't i come in?" "of course," said ferdy quickly. "it's all right, thomas," with a touch of impatience, "i'll call you if i want you," and thomas discreetly withdrew, closing the door behind him. "they're after me, master ferdy," were jesse's first words, "at least i'm afraid they are, though i tried my best to dodge them." "who?" exclaimed ferdy. "the p'lice and bill turner's father, and a lot of them, and oh, master ferdy, some one called out he was killed!" "who?" said ferdy again, though his own cheeks grew white at jesse's words. "and what is it that's happened, and what do you want me to do. you must tell me properly, jesse." it said a good deal for ferdy's self-control that he was able to speak so quietly and sensibly, for he was feeling terribly startled. jesse choked down his gasping breath, which was very nearly turning into sobs. "i didn't want to frighten you, master ferdy. i didn't ought to, i know, but i couldn't think what else to do. it's that bill turner, master ferdy," and at the name he gave a little shudder. "he was in the class once, but it was only out of mischief. he did no good and tried to upset the others. so barney and i wouldn't keep him at no price, and he's gone on getting nastier and nastier, and the other day he 'called' me--he did--so that i couldn't stand it, and i went for him. it didn't hurt him, but it made him madder than ever, and he said he'd pay me out. and this afternoon when barney and me were sorting the carvings at the shed--we've a box we keep them all in, there--bill comes down upon us, him and some others. they got hold of 'em all and smashed 'em up and kicked them to pieces--all to pieces, master ferdy"--with a sort of wail, almost of despair, in his voice. "all the things we've been at for so long! we were going to make a show of them at christmas; and i couldn't stand it, i went at him like a wild beast--it was for the other lads i minded so--though he's much bigger nor me, and i got him down, and he lay there without moving, and some one called out he was dead, and then the p'lice came, and one of 'em caught hold of me, but i got loose and i started running--i scarce knew what i was doing. i just thought i'd get here, and you'd tell me what to do. he can't be dead, master ferdy," he went on, dropping his voice--"you don't think he can be? i didn't seem to know what it meant till i got here and began to think." "i don't know," said ferdy, again growing very pale, while poor jesse's face was all blotched in great patches of red and white, and smeared with the tears he had tried to rub off. "oh, i do wish papa and mamma would come in! i don't know what to do. do you think they saw you running this way, jesse?" "i--i don't know, master ferdy. i hope not, but there was a lot of the boys about--draymoor boys, i mean--bill's lot, and they may have tracked me. of course none of _my_ boys," he added, lifting his head proudly, "would peach on me, whatever the p'lice did." but even as he spoke, there came, faintly and confusedly, the sound of approaching steps along the road just beyond the hedge, and a murmur of several voices all talking together. it might not have caught ferdy's attention at any other time, but just now both his ears and jesse's were sharpened by anxiety. "they're a coming, master ferdy," exclaimed the poor boy, growing still whiter. "never mind," said ferdy, trying hard to be brave, "thomas is all right, he won't let them come up here." "oh, but maybe he can't stop them," said jesse. "the p'lice can force their way anywheres. i wouldn't mind so much if it _had_ to be--like if your papa was here and said i must go to prison. but if they take me off now with no one to speak up for me, seems to me as if i'd never get out again." poor ferdy was even more ignorant than jesse of everything to do with law and prisons and the like; he looked about him almost wildly. "jesse," he said in a whisper. "i know what to do. creep under my couch and lie there quite still. thomas is all right, and nobody else saw you come up, did they?" "no one else saw me at all," jesse replied, dropping his voice, and going down on his hands and knees, "better luck. i'll keep still, no fear, master ferdy," his boyish spirits already rising again at the idea of "doing the p'lice," "and they'd never dare look under your sofa." he scrambled in, but put his head out again for a moment to whisper in an awestruck tone, "but oh, master ferdy, if they do come up here, please try to find out if bill turner's so badly hurt as they said. i know it _can't_ be true that i did as bad as _that_." all the same he was terribly frightened and remorseful. ferdy scarcely dared to reply, for by this time a group of men and boys was coming up the drive, and a constable in front marched along as if he meant business, for as ferdy watched them, he turned round and waved back the eight or ten stragglers who were following him, though he still held by the arm a thin, pale-faced little fellow whom he had brought with him all the way. this was barney, poor jesse's first lieutenant. another minute or two passed. then hurrying steps on the stairs again, and thomas reappeared, looking very excited. "master ferdy," he exclaimed, but stopped short on seeing that his little master was alone. "bless me!" he ejaculated under his breath, "he's gone! and i never saw him leave the house." "what is it, thomas?" said ferdy, trying to speak and look as usual. "i saw the constable come in--you must tell him papa's out." "i have told him so, sir, and i'm very sorry, but he will have it he must see you. some one's been and told that jesse ran this way." "let him come up then," said ferdy, with dignity, "though i'm sure papa will be very angry, and i don't believe he's any right to force his way in! but i'm not afraid of him!" proudly. "master _will_ be angry for certain," said thomas, "very angry, and i've told the constable so. but he's in a temper, and a very nasty one, and won't listen to reason. he says them draymoor boys are getting past bearing. i only hope," he went on, speaking more to himself, as he turned to leave the room again, "i only hope he won't get me into a scrape too for letting him up to frighten master ferdy--not that he _is_ frightened all the same!" chapter xi under the sofa two minutes later the burly form of constable brownrigg appeared at the door. he was already, to tell the truth, cooling down a little and beginning to feel rather ashamed of himself; and when his eyes lighted on the tiny figure in the window--looking even smaller and more fragile than ferdy really was--the clumsy but far from bad-hearted man could at first find nothing to say for himself. then-- "i beg pardon, sir, i hope i haven't upset you, but dooty's dooty!" ferdy raised his head a little, and looked the constable straight in the face, without condescending to notice the half apology. "what is it you want of me?" he said coldly. "it's all along of that there jesse piggot," replied brownrigg, "as bad a lot as ever were!" "what's he been doing?" said ferdy again in the same tone, rather turning the tables upon the constable, as if he--brownrigg--and not ferdy himself, was the one to be cross-questioned. the man glanced round him half suspiciously. "he was seen coming here, sir." "well, suppose he _had_ come here, you can't take him up for that?" said the boy. "i'm asking you what harm he'd done." "he got up a row at bollins this afternoon, and half killed a poor lad--bill turner by name--threw him down and half stunned him." "half stunned him," repeated ferdy, "that's not quite the same as half killing him. have you sent him to the hospital?" "well no, sir," said the constable, "he come to again--them boys has nine lives more than cats. i don't suppose he's really much the worse. but these draymoor fights must be put a stop to, they're getting worse and worse; i've had orders to that effect," drawing himself up. "and has jesse piggot been mixed up with them lately?" said ferdy severely. again the constable looked rather small. "well no, sir," he repeated, "but what does that matter, if he's been the offender to-day." this was true enough. "but what do you want _me_ to do?" asked ferdy. "to detain the lad if he comes here and give him up to the lawful authorities," said brownrigg more fluently. "everybody knows you've been very kind to him, but it's no true kindness to screen him from the punishment he deserves." a new idea struck ferdy. "did he begin the fight then?" he said. "there's such a thing as--as defending oneself, quite rightly. supposing the other boy started it?" "that will be all gone into in the proper time and place," said brownrigg pompously. "an example must be made, and--" before he had time to finish his sentence ferdy interrupted him joyfully. he had just caught sight of the pony-carriage driving in rapidly. for some garbled account of what had happened had been given to mr. ross by the group of men and boys still hanging about the gates, and he hurried in, afraid of finding his boy startled and upset. nor did the sight of the stout constable reassure him. on the contrary it made mr. ross very indignant. he scarcely noticed brownrigg's half-apologetic greeting. "what's all this?" he said sharply. "who gave you leave to come up here and disturb an invalid?" brownrigg grew very red, and murmured something about his "dooty." [illustration: "step downstairs, if you please, and then i'll hear what you've got to say."] "you've exceeded it in this case, i think you'll find," the master of the house replied severely. "step downstairs if you please, and then i'll hear what you've got to say," and to ferdy's inexpressible relief, for the consciousness of jesse's near presence was beginning to make him terribly nervous. mr. ross held the door wide open and the constable shamefacedly left the room. scarcely had he done so when there came a subterranean whisper, "master ferdy," it said, "shall i come out?" "no, no," ferdy replied quickly. "stay where you are, jesse, unless you're choking. mamma will be coming in most likely. wait till papa comes back again, and i can tell him all about it." rather to ferdy's surprise, the answer was a sort of giggle. "i'm all right, thank you, master ferdy--as jolly as a sand-boy. and you did speak up to the old bobby, master ferdy; you did set him down. but i'm right down glad bill turner's none the worse, i am. it give me a turn when they called out i'd done for him." and ferdy understood then that the giggle came in part from relief of mind. "hush now, jesse," he said. "i want to watch for brownrigg's going. and till he's clear away, you'd best not come out, nor speak." there was not very long to wait. for though mr. ross spoke out his mind very plainly to the constable, he made short work of it, and within ten minutes of the man leaving the oriel room, ferdy had the pleasure, as he announced to jesse in a sort of stage whisper, of seeing the worthy mr. brownrigg walking down the drive, some degrees less pompously than on his arrival. nor was he now accompanied by poor little barney, whom mr. ross had kept back, struck by pity for the lad's white, frightened face, as the constable could not say that there was any "charge" against _him_, except that he had been an eye-witness of the "row." "it's all right now, jesse," ferdy added in a minute or two. "he's quite gone--old brownrigg, i mean--so you'd better come out." jesse emerged from his hiding-place, a good deal redder in the face than when he went in, though he was still trembling inwardly at the idea of meeting ferdy's father. "you don't think, master ferdy--" he was beginning, when the door opened and both mr. and mrs. ross came in. "ferdy, darling," exclaimed his mother, "you've not been really frightened, i hope--" but she stopped short, startled by an exclamation from her husband. "jesse!" he said. "you here after all! upon my word!" and for a moment he looked as if he were really angry. then the absurd side of the matter struck him, and it was with some difficulty that he suppressed a smile. "my dear boy," he went on, glancing at the tiny, but determined-looking figure on the couch, "you'll be having your poor old father pulled up for conniving at felony." "i don't know what that is, papa," said ferdy. "but if it means hiding jesse under the sofa--yes, i _did_ do it, and i'd do it again. it wasn't jesse thought of it, only he was afraid that if brownrigg took him away he'd be put in prison and have nobody to speak up for him, and perhaps have been kept there for ever and ever so long." "your opinion of the law of the land is not a very high one apparently, jesse," said mr. ross, eying the boy gravely. jesse shuffled and grew very red. "i'll do whatever you think right, sir," he said stoutly. "if i must give myself up to brownrigg, i'll run after him now. i don't want to get master ferdy nor you into any bother about me, after--after all you've done for me," and for the first time the boy broke down, turning his face away to hide the tears which he tried to rub off with the cuff of his sleeve. "oh, papa," said ferdy pleadingly, his own eyes growing suspiciously dewy, "mamma, mamma, look at him." up to that moment, to tell the truth, mrs. ross's feelings towards jesse had not been very cordial. the sight of him had startled her and made her almost as indignant with him as with the constable. but now her kind heart was touched. she glanced at her husband, but what she saw already in his face set her mind at rest. "come, come," said mr. ross, "don't put yourself out about it, ferdy. tell me the whole story quietly, or let jesse do so," and after swallowing one or two sobs, jesse found voice to do as he was desired. he told his tale simply and without exaggeration, though his voice shook and quivered when he came to the sad part of the destruction of the many weeks' labour of himself and his "pupils," and mrs. ross could not keep back a little cry of indignation. "it is certainly not _jesse_ who deserves punishment," she said eagerly, turning to her husband. "if he could have controlled himself," said mr. ross, "to the point of _not_ knocking down that bully, turner, his case would have been a still stronger one. do you see that, my boy?" he went on, turning to jesse, who murmured something indistinctly in reply. "i'm glad he did knock him down all the same, papa," said ferdy. "you don't now think jesse need give himself up to the p'lice?" he added anxiously. "certainly not," said mr. ross, "but it will be best for me to see brownrigg and tell him all i now know--except--no i don't think i will tell him of the hiding-place under your sofa, ferdy." then turning again to jesse, "to-morrow is sunday," he said; "do you generally go to see your friends at draymoor on a sunday?" "sometimes," said jesse; "not always, sir." "then they won't think anything of it if they don't see you to-morrow?" "oh lor, no," jesse replied. "they'd think nothing of it if they never saw me again. it's only barney that cares for me or me for him of all that lot." "oh yes, by the bye--barney!" said mr. ross, starting up. "i left him downstairs, poor little fellow. he is in my study--you know where that is, jesse, run and fetch him," and jesse, delighted at this proof of confidence, started off quite cheerfully on his errand. when he was out of hearing, mr. ross said thoughtfully, "it won't do for that lad to remain in this neighbourhood, i see. i must have a talk about him again with dr. lilly, and probably with brock. something must be decided as to his future, and if he really has talent above the average he must be put in the right way towards making it of use." ferdy's eyes sparkled; sorry as he would be to be parted from jesse, this was what he, as well as miss lilly, had long been hoping for. before he had time to say anything, a tap at the door told that the two boys were outside. "come in," said mr. ross, and then jesse reappeared, half leading, half pushing his small cousin before him. mrs. ross was touched by barney's white face and general air of delicacy. "don't look so scared," she heard jesse whisper to him. "you must be tired, barney," she said kindly. "jesse and you must have some tea before you go back to draymoor." "jesse's not to go back to draymoor, mamma," said ferdy, looking up quickly. "no," said mr. ross, "that is what i wish to speak to barney about. will you tell your father, barney--is it to your father's house that jesse goes on sundays generally?" "no, sir, please, sir, i haven't a father--mother and me's alone. it's my uncle's." "well, then, tell your uncle from me," continued mr. ross, "that i think it best to keep jesse here at present, and that he was not to blame for the affair this afternoon. i shall see the constable again about it myself." barney's face expressed mingled relief and disappointment. "yes, sir," he said obediently. "there'll be no more classes then, i suppose?" he added sadly. "is jesse not even to come as far as bollins?" "not at present," replied mr. ross, and then, feeling sorry for the little fellow, he added: "if your mother can spare you, you may come over here to-morrow and have your sunday dinner with your cousin in the servants' hall." both boys' faces shone with pleasure. "and will you tell the lads, barney," said jesse, "how it's all been. and what i minded most was their things being spoilt." barney's face grew melancholy again. "don't look so downhearted," said mr. ross. "we won't forget you and the other boys. your work has already done you great credit." ferdy's lips opened as if he were about to speak, but the little fellow had learnt great thoughtfulness of late, and he wisely decided that what he had to say had better be kept till he was alone with his parents. just then christine made her appearance, very eager to know more about the constable's visit and the exciting events of the afternoon. so mrs. ross left her with her brother while she herself took the two boys downstairs to put them into the housekeeper's charge for tea, of which both struck her as decidedly in need. "papa," said ferdy, when he had finished going over the whole story again for his sister's benefit, "don't you think if jesse has to go away that _i_ might take on the class, one or two evenings a week any way? mr. brock might come sometimes--extra, you know--just to see how they were getting on. and they would be quite safe here, and nobody would dare to spoil their things." "and miss lilly and i would help," said christine eagerly. "there are some of them, jesse has told us, that want to learn other things--not only wood-carving--that _we_ could help them with. miss lilly's been having lessons herself in basket-making." "dr. lilly has reason to be proud of his granddaughter," said mr. ross warmly. "we must talk it all over. it would certainly seem a terrible pity for the poor fellows to lose what they have gained, not merely in skill, but the good habit of putting to use some of their leisure hours--miners have so much idle time." "there's the big empty room downstairs near the servants' hall," said ferdy. "could not i be carried down there, papa?" mr. ross hesitated. he felt doubtful, but anxious not to disappoint the boy, for as his eyes rested on the fragile little figure and he realised what ferdy's future life might be, he could not but think to himself how happy and healthy a thing it was that his child should be so ready to interest himself in others, instead of becoming self-engrossed and discontented. "we must see what mr. stern says," he replied, "and--yes, it will soon be time for the other doctor's visit. it would be a long walk from draymoor for the lads." "_they_ wouldn't mind," said ferdy decisively. "and now and then," said christine, "we might give them tea for a treat--once a month or so. oh! it would be lovely!" chapter xii another birthday again a spring morning, only two or three years ago. evercombe and the watch house look much as they did when we first saw them; one could fancy that but a few months instead of ten years had passed since then. the swallows are there, established in their summer quarters above the oriel window, the same and yet not the same, though their chirping voices may, for all we know, be telling of the little boy who for so long lay on his couch below, and loved them so well. he is not there now, nor is his couch in its old place. instead of the small white face and eager blue eyes, there stands at the post of observation a tall young girl, a very pretty girl, with a bright flush of happy expectancy on her fair face. "mamma, mamma," she exclaims to some one farther in the shade of the room. "i think i hear wheels. surely it will be they this time! if it isn't i really shan't have patience to stand here any longer." but "this time" her hopes were fulfilled. another moment and a carriage, which christine, for christine of course it was, quickly recognised as their own, turned in at the lodge gates. and before those inside had time to look up at the window, chrissie had flown downstairs followed by her mother. "ferdy, ferdy," she exclaimed, as the carriage-door opened, and her brother, his face flushed with pleasure equal to her own, got out, slowly, and with a little help from his father, for the young man was slightly lame, though his face told of health and fair strength. he was sunburnt and manly looking, full of life and happy eagerness. "isn't he looking well, mamma?" said chrissie, when the first loving greetings had sobered down a little. "and haven't i grown?" added ferdy, drawing himself up for approval. "and isn't it delightful that i managed to get back on my birthday after all?" "yes, indeed, my darling," said mrs. ross; while his father gently placed his hand on the young fellow's shoulder, repeated her words--"yes, indeed! when we think of this day--how many years ago! ten?--yes, it must be ten--you were nine then, ferdy, how very, unutterably thankful we should be to have you as you are." "and to judge by my looks you don't know the best of me," said ferdy. "i can walk ever so far without knocking up. but oh! what heaps of things we have to talk about!" "come in to breakfast first," said his mother. "it is ten o'clock, and after travelling all night you must be a little tired." "i am really not, only very hungry," said ferdy, as he followed her into the dining-room, where the happy party seated themselves round the table. ferdy had been away, abroad, for nearly two years, both for study and for health's sake, and the result was more than satisfactory. school-life had been impossible for him, for the effect of his accident had been but very slowly outgrown. slowly but surely, however, for now at nineteen, except for his slight lameness, he was perfectly well, and able to look forward to a busy and useful life, though the exact profession he was now to prepare himself for, was not yet quite decided upon. a busy and useful and happy life it promised to be, with abundance of interests for his leisure hours. he was no genius, but the tastes which he had had special opportunity for cultivating through his boyhood, were not likely to fail him as he grew up. and in many a dull and sunless home would they help him to bring something to cheer the dreary sameness of hard-working lives. they had done so already, more than he as yet knew. breakfast over and his old haunts revisited, mrs. ross at last persuaded him and his sister to join her on the lawn, where she had established herself with her work for the rest of the morning. "this is to be a real holiday, ferdy," she said. "chrissie and i have been looking forward to it for so long. we have nothing to do but to talk and listen." "i have heaps to tell," said ferdy, "but even more to ask. my life in switzerland was really awfully jolly in every way, but i'll tell you all about it by degrees; besides, i did write long letters, didn't i?" "yes, you did," said his mother and chrissie together; "you have been very good about letters all the time." "of course," began ferdy, after a moment or two's silence, "the thing i want to hear most about is how the classes have all been getting on. you kept me pretty well posted up about them, but in your last letters there was some allusion i didn't quite understand--something that the mayhews have been trying to arrange." christine glanced at her mother. "i may tell him, mayn't i, mamma? now that it is all settled? it is not only the mayhews' doing, but jesse piggot's too." and as ferdy's face lightened up at the mention of his friend's name--"he hasn't told you about it himself, surely?" in a tone of some disappointment. "i know that he wrote you long letters regularly, but i thought he understood that we wanted to keep this new thing as a surprise for you when you came back." ferdy looked puzzled. "he hasn't told me anything special except about himself. the last big piece of news, since of course it was all settled about his getting that capital berth at whittingham, that brock was so delighted about--the last big piece of news was his getting the order for the carved reredos at cowlingsbury abbey. but that was some time ago!" "oh yes," said christine, "we have got over the excitement about that. though when you think of it," she went on thoughtfully, "it is wonderful to realise how jesse has got on." "and is going to get on," added mrs. ross. "and without flattery, ferdy dear, we may say that it is greatly, very greatly owing to you." ferdy's face grew red with pleasure. "i can't quite see that," he said. "genius must make its own way. but do tell me the _new_ news, chrissie." "it is that mr. mayhew has got ground and money and everything for a sort of,--we don't know what to call it yet--'institute' is such an ugly word, we must think of something prettier,--a sort of art college at draymoor for the afternoon and evening classes. it won't be on a large scale. it would spoil it if it were, and a great part of their work can still be done at home, which is of course the real idea of it all. but this little college will really be for teaching what, up to now, has had to be done in odd rooms here and there." "oh!" ferdy exclaimed, "that is splendid!" "for you see," chrissie continued, counting up on her pretty fingers as she spoke, "what a lot of different kinds of work we've got to now. wood-carving to begin with--we must always count it first!" "no," said ferdy, laughing, "strictly speaking, moss baskets came first." "wood-carving," repeated chrissie, not condescending to notice the interruption. "then the modelling, and pottery classes, basket work, brass hammering, and the iron work, not to speak of the girls' embroidery and lace work. yes," with a deep sigh of satisfaction, "it _is_ time for a little college of our own." "a great, great deal of it," said ferdy, "is owing to miss lilly--i always forget to call her mrs. mayhew. if only she hadn't gone and got married we might have called it the 'lily college,' after her." "if she hadn't gone and got married, as you elegantly express it, mr. mayhew would never, probably, have been the vicar of draymoor," said chrissie. "for it was through his being such a great friend of dr. lilly's that he got to know the old squire, who gave him the living. and just think of all he has done--mr. mayhew i mean--for draymoor." ferdy did not at once reply. he gazed up into the blue sky and listened to the sweet bird-chatter overhead, with a look of great content on his face. "yes," he said, "things do turn out so--quite rightly sometimes. just when you'd have thought they'd go wrong! there was that row of jesse's to begin with, when he thought all he had tried to do was spoilt, and then there were all the difficulties about the evening classes, while i was still ill, and it almost seemed as if we would have to give them up. and then--and then--why! when it was fixed for me to go away two years ago, i could scarcely believe they'd go on, even though mr. mayhew had come by that time. yes, it's rather wonderful! i say, chrissie," with a sudden change of tone, "doesn't it really sound as if the swallows were rather excited about my coming home!" christine looked up at the oriel window with a smile. "i wonder," she said, "if _possibly_ any of them can be the same ones, or if they are telling over the story that has been handed down from their great-grandparents--the story of the little white boy that used to lie on the couch in the window?" * * * * * this is not a completed story, dear children, as you will have seen. it is only the story of the beginning of a life, and of the beginning of a work, which in many and many a place, besides gloomy draymoor, started in the humblest and smallest way. if ever, or wherever any of you come across this endeavour to brighten and refine dull, ungraceful, and ungracious homes, you will do your best to help it on, i feel sure, will you not? the end a new uniform edition of mrs. molesworth's stories for children with illustrations by walter crane and leslie brooke. * * * * * in ten volumes. mo. cloth. one dollar a volume. * * * * * tell me a story, and herr baby. "carrots," and a christmas child. grandmother dear, and two little waifs. the cuckoo clock, and the tapestry room. christmas-tree land, and a christmas posy. the children of the castle, and four winds farm. little miss peggy, and nurse heatherdale's story. "us," and the rectory children. rosy, and the girls and i. mary. sheila's mystery. carved lions. * * * * * the set, twelve volumes, in box, $ . . * * * * * "it seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to draw a lifelike man or woman: shakespeare and webster were the only two men of their age who could do it with perfect delicacy and success; at least, if there was another who could, i must crave pardon of his happy memory for my forgetfulness or ignorance of his name. our own age is more fortunate, on this single score at least, having a larger and far nobler proportion of female writers; among whom, since the death of george eliot, there is none left whose touch is so exquisite and masterly, whose love is so thoroughly according to knowledge, whose bright and sweet invention is so fruitful, so truthful, or so delightful as mrs. molesworth's. any chapter of _the cuckoo clock_ or the enchanting _adventures of herr baby_ is worth a shoal of the very best novels dealing with the characters and fortunes of mere adults."--mrs. a. c. swinburne, in _the nineteenth century_. mrs. molesworth's stories for children. * * * * * "there is hardly a better author to put into the hands of children than mrs. molesworth. i cannot easily speak too highly of her work. it is a curious art she has, not wholly english in its spirit, but a cross of the old english with the italian. indeed, i should say mrs. molesworth had also been a close student of the german and russian, and had some way, catching and holding the spirit of all, created a method and tone quite her own.... her characters are admirable and real."--_st. louis globe democrat._ "mrs. molesworth has a rare gift for composing stories for children. with a light, yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet natural and strong, characters."--_congregationalist._ "mrs. molesworth always has in her books those charming touches of nature that are sure to charm small people. her stories are so likely to have been true that men 'grown up' do not disdain them."--_home journal._ "no english writer of childish stories has a better reputation than mrs. molesworth, and none with whose stories we are familiar deserves it better. she has a motherly knowledge of the child nature, a clear sense of character, the power of inventing simple incidents that interest, and the ease which comes of continuous practice."--_mail and express._ "christmas would hardly be christmas without one of mrs. molesworth's stories. no one has quite the same power of throwing a charm and an interest about the most commonplace every-day doings as she has, and no one has ever blended fairyland and reality with the same skill."--_educational times._ "mrs. molesworth is justly a great favorite with children; her stories for them are always charmingly interesting and healthful in tone."--_boston home journal._ "mrs. molesworth's books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly well adapted to refined life. it is safe to add that mrs. molesworth is the best english prose writer for children.... a new volume from mrs. molesworth is always a treat."--_the beacon._ "no holiday season would be complete for a host of young readers without a volume from the hand of mrs. molesworth.... it is one of the peculiarities of mrs. molesworth's stories that older readers can no more escape their charm than younger ones."--_christian union._ "mrs. molesworth ranks with george macdonald and mrs. ewing as a writer of children's stories that possess real literary merit."--_milwaukee sentinel._ * * * * * the set, eleven volumes, in box, $ . . * * * * * tell me a story, and herr baby. "so delightful that we are inclined to join in the petition, and we hope she may soon tell us more stories."--_athenæum._ * * * * * "carrots"; just a little boy. "one of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our good fortune to meet with for some time. carrots and his sister are delightful little beings, whom to read about is at once to become very fond of."--_examiner._ * * * * * a christmas child; a sketch of a boy's life. "a very sweet and tenderly drawn sketch, with life and reality manifest throughout."--_pall mall gazette._ "this is a capital story, well illustrated. mrs. molesworth is one of those sunny, genial writers who has genius for writing acceptably for the young. she has the happy faculty of blending enough real with romance to make her stories very practical for good without robbing them of any of their exciting interest."--_chicago inter-ocean._ "mrs. molesworth's _a christmas child_ is a story of a boy-life. the book is a small one, but none the less attractive. it is one of the best of this year's juveniles."--_chicago tribune._ "mrs. molesworth is one of the few writers of tales for children whose sentiment though of the sweetest kind is never sickly; whose religious feeling is never concealed yet never obtruded; whose books are always good but never 'goody.' little ted with his soft heart, clever head, and brave spirit is no morbid presentment of the angelic child 'too good to live,' and who is certainly a nuisance on earth, but a charming creature, if not a portrait, whom it is a privilege to meet even in fiction."--_the academy._ * * * * * the cuckoo clock. "a beautiful little story.... it will be read with delight by every child into whose hands it is placed."--_pall mall gazette._ * * * * * grandmother dear. "the author's concern is with the development of character, and seldom does one meet with the wisdom, tact, and good breeding which pervades this little book."--_nation._ * * * * * two little waifs. "mrs. molesworth's delightful story of _two little waifs_ will charm all the small people who find it in their stockings. it relates the adventures of two lovable english children lost in paris, and is just wonderful enough to pleasantly wring the youthful heart."--_new york tribune._ "it is, in its way, indeed, a little classic, of which the real beauty and pathos can hardly be appreciated by young people.... it is not too much to say of the story that it is perfect of its kind."--_critic and good literature._ "mrs. molesworth is such a bright, cheery writer, that her stories are always acceptable to all who are not confirmed cynics, and her record of the adventures of the little waifs is as entertaining and enjoyable as we might expect."--_boston courier._ "_two little waifs_ by mrs. molesworth is a pretty little fancy, relating the adventures of a pair of lost children, in a style full of simple charm. it is among the very daintiest of juvenile books that the season has yet called forth; and its pathos and humor are equally delightful. the refined tone and the tender sympathy with the feelings and sentiments of childhood, lend it a special and an abiding charm."--_boston saturday evening gazette._ "this is a charming little juvenile story from the pen of mrs. molesworth, detailing the various adventures of a couple of motherless children in searching for their father, whom they had missed in paris where they had gone to meet him."--_montreal star._ "mrs. molesworth is a popular name, not only with a host of english, but with a considerable army of young american readers, who have been charmed by her delicate fancy and won by the interest of her style. _two little waifs_, illustrated by walter crane, is a delightful story, which comes, as all children's stories ought to do, to a delightful end."--_christian union._ * * * * * the tapestry room. "mrs. molesworth is the queen of children's fairyland. she knows how to make use of the vague, fresh, wondering instincts of childhood, and to invest familiar things with fairy glamour."--_athenæum._ "the story told is a charming one of what may be called the neo-fairy sort.... there has been nothing better of its kind done anywhere for children, whether we consider its capacity to awake interest or its wholesomeness."--_evening post._ "among the books for young people we have seen nothing more unique than _the tapestry room_. like all of mrs. molesworth's stories it will please young readers by the very attractive and charming style in which it is written."--_presbyterian journal._ "mrs. molesworth will be remembered as a writer of very pleasing stories for children. a new book from her pen will be sure of a welcome from all the young people. the new story bears the name of _the tapestry room_ and is a child's romance.... the child who comes into possession of the story will count himself fortunate. it is a bright, wholesome story, in which the interest is maintained to the end. the author has the faculty of adapting herself to the tastes and ideas of her readers in an unusual way."--_new haven paladium._ * * * * * christmas-tree land. "it is conceived after a happy fancy, as it relates the supposititious journey of a party of little ones through that part of fairyland where christmas-trees are supposed to most abound. there is just enough of the old-fashioned fancy about fairies mingled with the 'modern improvements' to incite and stimulate the youthful imagination to healthful action. the pictures by walter crane are, of course, not only well executed in themselves, but in charming consonance with the spirit of the tale."--_troy times._ "_christmas-tree land_, by mrs. molesworth, is a book to make younger readers open their eyes wide with delight. a little boy and a little girl domiciled in a great white castle, wander on their holidays through the surrounding fir-forests, and meet with the most delightful pleasures. there is a fascinating, mysterious character in their adventures and enough of the fairy-like and wonderful to puzzle and enchant all the little ones."--_boston home journal._ * * * * * a christmas posy. "this is a collection of eight of those inimitable stories for children which none could write better than mrs. molesworth. her books are prime favorites with children of all ages and they are as good and wholesome as they are interesting and popular. this makes a very handsome book, and its illustrations are excellent."--_christian at work._ "_a christmas posy_ is one of those charming stories for girls which mrs molesworth excels in writing."--_philadelphia press._ "here is a group of bright, wholesome stories, such as are dear to children, and nicely tuned to the harmonies of christmas-tide. mr. crane has found good situations for his spirited sketches."--_churchman._ "_a christmas posy_, by mrs. molesworth, is lovely and fragrant. mrs. molesworth succeeds by right to the place occupied with so much honor by the late mrs. ewing, as a writer of charming stories for children. the present volume is a cluster of delightful short stories. mr. crane's illustrations are in harmony with the text."--_christian intelligencer._ * * * * * the children of the castle. "_the children of the castle_, by mrs. molesworth, is another of those delightful juvenile stories of which this author has written so many. it is a fascinating little book, with a charming plot, a sweet, pure atmosphere, and teaches a wholesome moral in the most winning manner."--_b. s. e. gazette._ "mrs. molesworth has given a charming story for children.... it is a wholesome book, one which the little ones will read with interest."--_living church._ "_the children of the castle_ are delightful creations, actual little girls, living in an actual castle, but often led by their fancies into a shadowy fairyland. there is a charming refinement of style and spirit about the story from beginning to end; an imaginative child will find endless pleasure in it, and the lesson of gentleness and unselfishness so artistically managed that it does not seem like a lesson, but only a part of the story."--_milwaukee sentinel._ "mrs. molesworth's stories for children are always ingenious, entertaining, and thoroughly wholesome. her resources are apparently inexhaustible, and each new book from her pen seems to surpass its predecessors in attractiveness. in _the children of the castle_ the best elements of a good story for children are very happily combined."--_the week._ * * * * * four winds farm. "mrs. molesworth's books are always delightful, but of all none is more charming than the volume with which she greets the holidays this season. _four winds farm_ is one of the most delicate and pleasing books for a child that has seen the light this many a day. it is full of fancy and of that instinctive sympathy with childhood which makes this author's books so attractive and so individual."--_boston courier._ "like all the books she has written this one is very charming, and is worth more in the hands of a child than a score of other stories of a more sensational character."--_christian at work._ "still more delicately fanciful is mrs. molesworth's lovely little tale of the _four winds farm_. it is neither a dream nor a fairy story, but concerns the fortune of a real little boy, named gratian; yet the dream and the fairy tale seem to enter into his life, and make part of it. the farm-house in which the child lives is set exactly at the meeting-place of the four winds, and they, from the moment of his birth, have acted as his self-elected godmothers.... all the winds love the boy, and, held in the balance of their influence, he grows up as a boy should, simply and truly, with a tender heart and firm mind. the idea of this little book is essentially poetical."--_literary world._ "this book is for the children. we grudge it to them. there are few children in this generation good enough for such a gift. mrs. molesworth is the only woman now who can write such a book.... the delicate welding of the farm life about the child and the spiritual life within him, and the realization of the four immortals into a delightful sort of half-femininity shows a finer literary quality than anything we have seen for a long time. the light that never was on sea or land is in this little red and gold volume."--_philadelphia press._ * * * * * nurse heatherdale's story. "_nurse heatherdale's story_ is all about a small boy, who was good enough, yet was always getting into some trouble through complications in which he was not to blame. the same sort of things happens to men and women. he is an orphan, though he is cared for in a way by relations, who are not so very rich, yet are looked on as well fixed. after many youthful trials and disappointments he falls into a big stroke of good luck, which lifts him and goes to make others happy. those who want a child's book will find nothing to harm and something to interest in this simple story."--_commercial advertiser._ * * * * * "us." "mrs. molesworth's _us, an old-fashioned story_, is very charming. a dear little six-year-old 'bruvver' and sister constitute the 'us,' whose adventures with gypsies form the theme of the story. mrs. molesworth's style is graceful, and she pictures the little ones with brightness and tenderness."--_evening post._ "a pretty and wholesome story."--_literary world._ "_us, an old-fashioned story_, is a sweet and quaint story of two little children who lived long ago, in an old-fashioned way, with their grandparents. the story is delightfully told."--_philadelphia news._ "_us_ is one of mrs. molesworth's charming little stories for young children. the narrative ... is full of interest for its real grace and delicacy, and the exquisiteness and purity of the english in which it is written."--_boston advertiser._ "mrs. molesworth's last story, _us_, will please the readers of that lady's works by its pleasant domestic atmosphere and healthful moral tone. the narrative moves forward with sufficient interest to hold the reader's attention; and there are useful lessons for young people to be drawn from it."--_independent._ "... mrs. molesworth's story ... is very simple, refined, bright, and full of the real flavor of childhood."--_literary world._ * * * * * the rectory children. "it is a book written for children in just the way that is best adapted to please them."--_morning post._ "in _the rectory children_ mrs. molesworth has written one of those delightful volumes which we always look for at christmas time."--_athenæum._ "a delightful christmas book for children; a racy, charming home story, full of good impulses and bright suggestions."--_boston traveller._ "quiet, sunny, interesting, and thoroughly winning and wholesome."--_boston journal._ "there is no writer of children's books more worthy of their admiration and love than mrs. molesworth. her bright and sweet invention is so truthful, her characters so faithfully drawn, and the teaching of her stories so tender and noble, that while they please and charm they insensibly distil into the youthful mind the most valuable lessons. in _the rectory children_ we have a fresh, bright story, that will be sure to please all her young admirers."--_christian at work._ "_the rectory children_, by mrs. molesworth, is a very pretty story of english life. mrs. molesworth is one of the most popular and charming of english story-writers for children. her child characters are true to life, always natural and attractive, and her stories are wholesome and interesting."--_indianapolis journal._ * * * * * rosy. "_rosy_, like all the rest of her stories, is bright and pure and utterly free from cant,--a book that children will read with pleasure and lasting profit."--_boston traveller._ "there is no one who has a genius better adapted for entertaining children than mrs. molesworth, and her latest story, _rosy_, is one of her best. it is illustrated with eight woodcuts from designs by walter crane."--_philadelphia press._ "an english story for children of the every-day life of a bright little girl, which will please those who like 'natural' books."--_new york world._ "... mrs. molesworth's clever _rosy_, a story showing in a charming way how one little girl's jealousy and bad temper were conquered; one of the best, most suggestive and improving of the christmas juveniles."--_new york tribune._ "_rosy_ is an exceedingly graceful and interesting story by mrs. molesworth, one of the best and most popular writers of juvenile fiction. this little story is full of tenderness, is fragrant in sentiment, and points with great delicacy and genuine feeling a charming moral."--_boston gazette._ * * * * * the girls and i. "perhaps the most striking feature of this pleasant story is the natural manner in which it is written. it is just like the conversation of a bright boy--consistently like it from beginning to end. it is a boy who is the hero of the tale, and he tells the adventures of himself and those nearest him. he is, by the way, in many respects an example for most young persons. it is a story characterized by sweetness and purity--a desirable one to put into the hands of youthful readers."--_gettysburg monthly._ "jack himself tells the story of _the girls and i_, assisted of course by mrs. molesworth, whose name will recall to the juveniles pleasant memories of interesting reading, full of just the things that children want to know, and of that which will excite their ready sympathies. jack, while telling the story of the girls, takes the readers into his own confidence, and we like the little fellow rather better than the girls. the interest is maintained by the story of a lost jewel, the ultimate finding of which, in the most unexpected place, closes the story in a very pleasant manner. jack, otherwise mrs. molesworth, tells the tale in a lively style, and the book will attract attention."--_the globe._ "... a delightful and purposeful story which no one can read without being benefited."--_new york observer._ * * * * * mary. "mrs. molesworth's reputation as a writer of story-books is so well established that any new book of hers scarce needs a word of introduction."--_home journal._ * * * * * the macmillan company, fifth avenue, new york. the macmillan company's _catalogue_ of books for the young. * * * * * _messrs. macmillan & co. are the agents in the united states for the publications of the oxford and cambridge university presses, and for messrs. george bell & sons, london. complete catalogues of all books sold by them will be sent, free by mail, to any address on application._ * * * * * =adventure series, the.= large mo. fully illustrated. $ . each volume. =adventures of a younger son.= by john edward trelawny. with an introduction by edward garnett. =madagascar; or, robert drury's journal= during fifteen years' captivity on that island, and a further description of madagascar by the abbé alexis rochon. edited, with an introduction and notes, by captain s. pasfield oliver, f.s.a., author of "madagascar." =memoirs of the extraordinary military career of john shipp,= late lieutenant in his majesty's th regiment. written by himself. with an introduction by major h. m. chichester. =the adventures of thomas pellow,= of penryn, mariner, twenty-three years in captivity among the moors. written by himself; and edited, with an introduction and notes, by dr. robert brown. illustrated from contemporaneous prints. =the buccaneers and marooners of america.= being an account of the famous adventures and daring deeds of certain notorious freebooters of the spanish main. edited and illustrated by howard pyle. =the log of a jack tar; or, the life of james choyce, master mariner.= now first published, with o'brien's captivity in france. edited by commander v. lovett cameron, r.n., c.b., d.c.l. with introduction and notes. =the story of the filibusters.= by james jeffrey roche. to which is added "the life of colonel david crockett." with illustrations. "mr. roche has faithfully compared and sifted the statements of those who took part in the various expeditions, and he has also made effectual use of periodicals and official documents. the result is what may safely be regarded as the first complete and authentic account of the deeds of the modern vikings, who continue to be wonderfully romantic figures even after the gaudy trappings of myth, prejudice, and fiction have been stripped away."--_boston beacon._ =the voyages and adventures of ferdinand mendez pinto, the portuguese.= done into english by henry cogan, with an introduction by arminius vamb�ry. "it is decidedly reading of the most attractive kind, brimful of adventure piquantly related, and of rare interest in its recital of the experiences of the author, who 'five times suffered shipwreck, was sixteen times sold, and thirteen times made a slave.'"--_boston saturday evening gazette._ =a master mariner.= being the life and adventures of captain robert william eastwick. edited by herbert compton. with illustrations. =hard life in the colonies, and other adventures by sea and land.= now first printed. compiled from private letters by c. caslyon jenkyns. with illustrations. large mo. $ . . =�sop's fables.= illustrated. cents. =andersen= (hans christian). =fairy tales and sketches.= translated by c. c. peachy, h. ward, a. plesner, etc. with numerous illustrations by otto speckter and others. seventh thousand. handsomely bound. mo. $ . . "the translation most happily hits the delicate quaintness of andersen--most happily transposes into simple english words the tender precision of the famous story-teller; in a keen examination of the book we scarcely recall a single phrase or turn that obviously could have been bettered."--_daily telegraph._ =tales for children.= with full-page illustrations by wehnert, and small engravings on wood by w. thomas. thirteenth thousand. handsomely bound. mo. $ . . this volume contains several tales that are in no other edition published in this country, and with the preceding volume it forms the most complete english edition. =ariosto. paladin and saracen.= stories from ariosto. by w. c. hollway-calthrop. with illustrations. $ . . =atkinson. the last of the giant killers.= by the rev. j. c. atkinson, author of "a moorland parish." _shortly._ =awdry= (f.). =the story of a fellow soldier.= a life of bishop patteson for the young. mo. $ . . =baker. wild beasts and their ways.= reminiscences in asia, africa, and america. by sir samuel w. baker, f.r.s., etc., author of "albert nyanza," etc. with numerous illustrations. large mo. cloth extra. gilt. $ . . "a book which is destined not only to serve as a chart and compass for every hunter of big game, but which is likewise a valuable study of natural history, placed before the public in a practical and interesting form."--_new york tribune._ =beesly= (mrs.). =stories from the history of rome.= mo. cents. "of all the stories we remember from history none have struck us as so genuinely good--with the right ring--as those of mrs. beesly."--_educational times._ =bertz= (e.). =the french prisoners:= a story for boys. $ . . "written throughout in a wise and gentle spirit, and omits no opportunity to deprecate war as a barbaric survival, wholly unnecessary in a civilized age."--_independent._ "the story is an extremely interesting one, full of incident, told in a quiet, healthful way, and with a great deal of pleasantly interfused information about german and french boys."--_christian union._ =bunce= (j. t.). =fairy tales: their origin and meaning.= mo. cents. =carpenter. truth in tale.= addresses chiefly to children. by w. boyd carpenter, d.d., bishop of ripon. $ . . "these ingenious and interesting tales by bishop carpenter are full of poetic beauty and of religious truth.... we would like to see a copy in every sunday-school library."--_sunday school banner._ =carroll.= works by lewis carroll. =alice's adventures in wonderland.= with illustrations by tenniel. mo. $ . . a german translation. mo. $ . . a french translation. mo. $ . . an italian translation. mo. $ . . "an excellent piece of nonsense."--_times._ "that most delightful of children's stories."--_saturday review._ "elegant and delicious nonsense."--_guardian._ =through the looking-glass and what alice found there.= illustrations by tenniel. mo. $ . . "will fairly rank with the tale of her previous experience."--_daily telegraph._ "many of mr. tenniel's designs are masterpieces of wise absurdity."--_athenæum._ "whether as regarding author or illustrator, this book is a jewel rarely to be found nowadays."--_echo._ =alice's adventures in wonderland and through the looking glass.= in vol. with tenniel's illustrations. mo. $ . . =rhyme? and reason?= with illustrations by arthur b. frost, and nine by henry holiday. mo. $ . . this book is a reprint, with additions, of the comic portions of "phantasmagoria, and other poems," and of the "hunting of the snark." =a tangled tale.= reprinted from the "monthly packet." with illustrations. mo. $ . . =alice's adventures under ground.= being a fac-simile of the original ms. book afterward developed into "alice's adventures in wonderland." with illustrations. mo. $ . . =the hunting of the snark: an agony in eight fits.= by lewis carroll. with nine illustrations by henry holiday. new edition. mo. $ . . =sylvie and bruno.= with illustrations by harry furniss. mo. $ . . "alice was a delightful little girl, but hardly more pleasing than are the hero and heroine of this latest book from a writer in whose nonsense there is far more sense than in the serious works of many contemporary authors."--_morning post._ "mr. furniss's illustrations, which are numerous, are at once graceful and full of humor. we pay him a high compliment when we say he proves himself a worthy successor to mr. tenniel in illustrating mr. lewis carroll's books."--_st. james' gazette._ =the nursery "alice."= containing coloured enlargements from tenniel's illustrations to "alice's adventures in wonderland," with text adapted to nursery readers, by lewis carroll. to. $ . . "let the little people rejoice! the most charming book in the world has appeared for them. 'the nursery alice,' with its wealth of colored illustrations from tenniel's pictures, is certainly the most artistic juvenile that has been seen for many and many a day."--_boston budget._ =church.= works by the rev. a. j. church. =the story of the iliad.= with coloured illustrations. mo. $ . . =the story of the odyssey.= with coloured illustrations. mo. $ . . =stories from the bible.= with illustrations after julius schnorr. mo. $ . . "of all the books of this kind, this is the best we have seen."--_examiner._ "the book will be of infinite value to the student or teacher of the scriptures, and the stories are well arranged for interesting reading for children."--_boston traveller._ =stories from bible.= illustrated. second series. _shortly._ =the greek gulliver.= stories from lucian. with illustrations by c. o. murray. new edition. mo. paper. cents. "a curious example of ancient humor."--_chicago standard._ =the burning of rome.= a story of the times of nero. with illustrations. mo. $ . . =clifford= (mrs. w. k.). =anyhow stories, moral and otherwise.= with illustrations. $ . . =craik.= works by mrs. craik, author of "john halifax, gentleman." =sermons out of church.= new edition. mo. $ . . =children's poetry.= globe vo. $ . . =the little lame prince and his travelling cloak.= a parable for young and old. with illustrations. mo. $ . . =little sunshine's holiday.= globe vo. $ . . =adventures of a brownie.= with illustrations. mo. $ . . =alice learmont.= a fairy tale. with illustrations. mo. $ . . =our year: a child's book.= illustrated. mo. $ . . =the fairy book.= the best popular fairy stories. selected and rendered anew. _golden treasury series._ mo. $ . . =defoe. the adventures of robinson crusoe.= edited from the original edition by henry kingsley. _globe edition._ $ . . _golden treasury series._ mo. $ . . =de morgan. the necklace of princess florimonde, and other stories.= by mary de morgan. illustrated by walter crane. new and cheaper edition, cloth extra. $ . . "the stories display considerable originality, and mr. walter crane's characteristic illustrations combine with miss de morgan's pretty fancies in forming a charming gift-book."--_graphic._ "a real gem."--_punch._ =english men of action series.= mo. cloth, limp, cents; cloth, uncut edges, cents. "an admirable set of brief biographies.... the volumes are small, attractive, and inexpensive."--_dial._ "the 'english men of action' promises to be a notable series of short biographies. the subjects are well chosen, and the authors almost as well."--_epoch._ =gordon.= by col. sir w. butler. =henry the fifth.= by the rev. a. j. church. =livingstone.= by thomas hughes. =lord lawrence.= by sir r. temple. =wellington.= by george hooper. =dampier.= by w. clark russell. =monk.= by julian corbett. =strafford.= by h. d. traill. =warren hastings.= by sir alfred lyall, k.c.b. =peterborough.= by william stebbing. =captain cook.= by walter besant. =havelock.= by archibald forbes. =clive.= by col. sir charles wilson. =drake.= by julian corbett. =warwick, the king maker.= by c. w. oman. =napier.= by col. sir william butler. =rodney.= by d. g. hannay. =montrose.= by mowbray morris. _shortly._ =ewing= (j. h.). =we and the world.= a story for boys. by the late juliana horatio ewing. with seven illustrations by w. l. jones, and a pictorial design on the cover. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "a very good book it is, full of adventure graphically told. the style is just what it should be; simple but not bold, full of pleasant humor, and with some pretty touches of feeling. like all mrs. ewing's tales, it is sound, sensible, and wholesome."--_times._ =a flat iron for a farthing;= or, some passages in the life of an only son. with illustrations by h. allingham, and pictorial design on the cover. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "let every parent and guardian who wishes to be amused, and at the same time to please a child, purchase 'a flat iron for a farthing; or, some passages in the life of an only son,' by j. h. ewing. we will answer for the delight with which they will read it themselves, and we do not doubt that the young and fortunate recipients will also like it. the story is quaint, original, and altogether delightful."--_athenæum._ =mrs. overtheway's remembrances.= illustrated with nine fine full-page engravings by pasquier, and frontispiece by wolf, and pictorial design on the cover. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "it is not often nowadays the privilege of a critic to grow enthusiastic over a new work; and the rarity of the occasion that calls forth the delight is apt to lead one into the sin of hyperbole. and yet we think we shall not be accused of extravagance when we say that, without exception, 'mrs. overtheway's remembrances' is the most delightful work avowedly written for children that we have ever read."--_leader._ =six to sixteen.= a story for girls. with illustrations by mrs. allingham. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "it is scarcely necessary to say that mrs. ewing's book is one of the best of the year."--_saturday review._ =a great emergency.= (a very ill-tempered family; our field; madame liberality.) with four illustrations. d edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "never has mrs. ewing published a more charming volume of stories, and that is saying a very great deal. from the first to the last the book overflows with the strange knowledge of child-nature which so rarely survives childhood; and, moreover, with inexhaustible quiet humor, which is never anything but innocent and well-bred, never priggish, and never clumsy."--_academy._ =jan of the windmill.= a story of the plains. with illustrations by mrs. allingham and design on the cover. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper boards, cents. "the life and its surroundings, the incidents of jan's childhood, are described with mrs. ewing's accustomed skill; the village schoolmaster, the miller's wife, and the other children, are extremely well done." =melchior's dream.= (the blackbird's nest; friedrich's ballad; a bit of green; monsieur the viscount's friend; the yew lane ghosts; a bad habit; a happy family.) with eight illustrations by gordon browne. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. to. in paper wrapper, cents. "'melchior's dream' is an exquisite little story, charming by original humor, buoyant spirits, and tender pathos."--_athenæum._ =lob-lie-by-the-fire; or, the luck of lingborough, and other tales.= with three illustrations by george cruikshank. th edition. mo. $ . . "mrs. ewing has written as good a story as her 'brownies,' and that is saying a great deal. 'lob-lie-by-the-fire' has humor and pathos, and teaches what is right without making children think they are reading a sermon."--_saturday review._ =the brownies.= (the land of lost toys; three christmas trees; an idyl of the wood; christmas crackers; amelia and the dwarfs; timothy's shoes; benjy in beastland.) illustrated by george cruikshank. th edition. mo. $ . . cheap illustrated edition. fcap. to. in paper wrapper, cents. "if a child once begins 'the brownies,' it will get so deeply interested in it that when bedtime comes it will altogether forget the moral, and will weary its parents with importunities for just a few minutes more to see how everything ends."--_saturday review._ =freiligrath-kroeker.= =alice,= and other fairy plays for children, including a dramatised version (under sanction) of lewis carroll's "alice in wonderland," and three other plays. by mrs. freiligrath-kroeker, with eight original full-page plates. cloth, extra gilt. gilt edges. d edition. mo. $ . . "they have stood a practical ordeal, and stood it triumphantly."--_times._ =gaskoin= (mrs. h.). =children's treasury of bible stories.= edited by the rev. g. f. maclear, d.d. mo. each, cents. part i. old testament. ii. new testament. iii. three apostles: st. james, st. paul, st. john. =gatty= (mrs.). =parables from nature.= with illustrations by burne-jones, holman hunt, tenniel, wolf, and others. two series. each, cents. =golden treasury series.= uniformly printed in mo, with vignette titles by j. e. millais, sir noel paton, t. woolner, w. holman hunt, arthur hughes, etc. engraved on steel. mo. cloth. each, $ . . also bound in half morocco, $ . . half calf, $ . . padded calf, $ . . or beautifully bound in full morocco, padded, solid gilt edges, in boxes, $ . . =the children's garland from the best poets.= selected and arranged by coventry patmore, with a vignette by t. woolner. "mr. patmore deserves our gratitude for having searched through the wide field of english poetry for these flowers which youth and age can equally enjoy, and woven them into 'the children's garland.'"--_london review._ =the pilgrim's progress, from this world to that which is to come.= by john bunyan, with a vignette by w. holman hunt. "a beautiful and scholarly reprint."--_spectator._ =the fairy book.= the best popular fairy tales. selected and rendered anew by the author of "john halifax, gentleman," with a vignette by sir noel paton. "miss mulock has the true instinct into the secret of a perfect fairy tale ... delightful selection in a delightful external form."--_spectator._ =the adventures of robinson crusoe.= edited by j. w. clark, m.a., with a vignette by sir j. e. millais. "this cheap and pretty copy, rigidly exact to the original, will be a prize to many book buyers."--_examiner._ =the sunday book of poetry for the young.= selected and arranged by c. f. alexander. =a book of golden deeds= of all times and all countries. gathered and narrated anew. by the author of "the heir of redclyffe." =children's treasury of english song.= edited by f. t palgrave. =tom brown's school days.= by an old boy. =lamb's tales from shakespeare.= edited by the rev. a. ainger. =goldsmith. the vicar of wakefield.= by oliver goldsmith. with illustrations by hugh thomson, and a preface by austin dobson. uniform with the randolph caldecott edition of washington irving's "bracebridge hall" and "old christmas." mo. cloth extra $ . . "mr. thomson hits the exact line of humor which lies in goldsmith's creations. his work is refined, much of it graceful and dignified, but the humor of the situation never escapes him. the work is english line work, very beautiful, delicate, and effective, with a very perceptible touch of old-time quality, life, and costume in it. the volume itself is such as lovers of good books delight to hold in their hands."--_independent._ "a more bewitching bit of book work has not reached us for many a day."--_new york tribune._ =greenwood. the moon maiden, and other stories.= by jessy e. greenwood. mo. $ . . "a collection of brightly written and distinctly original stories in which fairy lore and moral allegory are deftly and pleasantly mingled."--_christian union._ =grimm's fairy tales.= the household stories. translated by lucy crane, and done into pictures by walter crane. mo. $ . . =hallward= (r. f.). =flowers of paradise.= music--verse--design--illustration. printed in colors by edmund evans. royal to. $ . . "to our mind one of the prettiest--if not the prettiest--of this year's picture books. the pages are very blake-like in effect, the drawings harmoniously blending with the music and words, and some of the larger pictures are quite beautiful in thought and feeling as well as in coloring. we ought soon to hear of mr. hallward again; he shows much promise."--_pall mall gazette._ =hughes.= works by thomas hughes. =tom brown's school days.= new illustrated edition. mo. cloth. gilt. $ . pocket edition, cents. english edition, $ . . "the most famous boy's book in the language."--_daily news._ _golden treasury edition._ mo. $ . . cheap edition. with illustrations by arthur hughes and s. p. hall. vo. paper. cents. =tom brown at oxford.= new illustrated edition. mo. cloth. gilt. $ . . english edition. mo. $ . . "in no other work that we can call to mind are the finer qualities of the english gentleman more happily portrayed."--_daily news._ "a book of great power and truth."--_national review._ =hullah= (m. a.). =hannah tarne.= a story for girls. with illustrations. mo. $ . . =keary.= works by a. and e. keary. =the heroes of asgard.= tales from scandinavian mythology. illustrated. mo. $ . . =the magic valley; or, patient antoine.= with illustrations. mo. $ . . =kingsley.= works by charles kingsley. =madam how and lady why: first lessons in earth lore for children.= $ . . english edition, $ . . =the heroes; or, greek fairy tales for my children.= with illustrations. $ . . english edition. mo. $ . . "this lovely version of three of the most famous folk stories of the old greeks."--_mail and express._ "ought to be in the hands of every child in the country."--_christian union._ =the water-babies: a fairy tale for a land baby.= illustrated. mo. $ . . english edition. mo. $ . . 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[illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] [illustration: ] http://www.freeliterature. (from images generously made available by europeana and the bodleian library of oxford.) "this etext edition of 'her benny' is dedicated to the memory of edgar, john and kenneth graham - three brothers from liverpool who made good." her benny. a story of street life. by silas k. hocking, author of "alec green," etc. illustrated by h. tuck. london frederick warne and co., bedford street, strand. [frontispiece: benny and nelly bates in the hut of joe wrag.--_see p._ ] to my bairns (god bless them!) this little book is dedicated with much affection. preface. my pastoral work, during a three years' residence in liverpool, called me frequently into some of the poorest neighbourhoods of that town, where i became acquainted with some of the originals of this story. it was not until i had seen the little arabs of the streets in their homes--if such haunts of wretchedness be worthy of that name--that i felt that interest in, and sympathy for them, that i have experienced ever since. getting to know them in their homes, i was glad to stop and speak to them in the streets, and give them a word of sympathy and encouragement. they are not all bad, as many people seem to think. many of them try hard to earn an honest living, though they find it a difficult matter, especially when at home they receive no encouragement, while in the streets temptation is being continually put in their way by those of whom "perks" so justly complained. the grouping of the characters that figure in the story is purely fictitious, but not the characters themselves. benny and little nell, perks and joe wrag, granny and eva lawrence, are drawn from life. i knew them well. some of them are alive to-day, others have gone to their rest. for the interest my little story has awakened in both old and young, in its serial form, i am rejoiced and thankful; and if, in the more permanent and attractive style it now assumes, it shall awaken any sympathy for the poor little waifs of our streets, i shall have my reward. silas k. hocking. _october_ _st_, . contents i. brother and sister ii. addler's hall iii. roughing it iv. a friend in need v. "o death! what dost thou mean?" vi. in which benny makes a discovery vii. two visits viii. in which joe wrag has a vision ix. tempted x. in the woods xi. benny prays xii. fading away xiii. the tide turns xiv. a glimpse of paradise xv. a terrible alternative xvi. an experiment xvii. perks again xviii. adrift xix. the border-land xx. life at the farm xxi. an accident xxii. recognition xxiii. the question settled xxiv. the reward of well-doing chapter i. brother and sister. perhaps while in our glowing grate the cheerful blaze is rising higher there's some one sitting desolate without a spark of fire. oh, what are we, that god hath blessed our winter homes and made them glad, while other hearts are sore distressed, while other homes are sad? it was getting dark, though the town hall clock had only just struck four. but a fog had hung all over liverpool since morning, and everything was as damp and dismal as it well could be; and now, as evening came on, the fog had settled into a downright drizzle, converting the streets into what seemed to nelly bates (who was crouched in the shadow of st. george's church) to be endless puddles. "i wish benny would come," said she to herself. "i wonder what has kept him? he said he'd be here when the clock struck four." and she wrapped her tattered clothes more closely around her, and looked eagerly down lord street and up and down castle street. but no benny appeared in sight. "i'm glad as how they's lightin' the lamps, anyhow. it'll make it feel a bit warmer, i reckon," she went on, "for it's terrible cold. but benny won't be long now, nohow. i hope he's sold all his fusees." and she looked wistfully at the unsold matches lying in her lap. then, after a pause, she went on again, "i's had desp'rate bad luck to-day. i reckon the gen'lmen thinks it too much trouble to take off their gloves to get at the coppers. i wonder if they know what it is to be cold and hungry like me?" and the child moved a little farther into the shadow of the church, to escape the keen cold blast that swept up from the river. little nelly bates was a delicate-looking child, with a pale, thoughtful face, and big, round, dreamy-looking eyes. she had none of that wolfish expression that so often characterizes the street arabs of our large towns and cities; but, on the contrary, there was an air of refinement about her that was difficult to account for. poor little waif! her own mother she could not remember. she had only known a stepmother--a cruel, drunken woman; and, alas! her father was no better. almost as soon as she could walk she had been sent into the streets with her brother benny, who was a year older, to get her living as best she could. never knowing a parent's love, the affections of these two children had gone out to each other. each to each was more than all the world beside. at the time our story opens nelly was nine years of age, and benny, as we said, a year older. still the minutes dragged along, and benny came not. the 'busses were crowded with people outside and in, wrapped in huge warm overcoats, and all down lord street she watched the hurrying crowds bending their steps homewards. and she tried to picture their cheerful homes, with great blazing fires, and happy children running to greet them, and wondered how none of them ever paused to notice her, shivering there in the shadow of the church. at length the great clocks all around began to strike five, and benny had not come; a sense of unutterable loneliness crept over the child, and she began to cry. besides, she was hungry and cold, and there was a great fear in her heart that something had befallen her brother. the last stroke of the town hall clock, however, had scarcely died away when she heard the patter of bare feet around the corner, and the next moment her brother, panting and breathless, stood before her. "oh, nell!" he burst out, "i's just soft, i is. i's missed a hour in the time. i never did think i was sich a fool. but can't be helped now, nohow." "i was afraid you'd got hurt, benny; but i don't care now you're all right," said nelly, looking proudly at the flushed face of her sturdy young brother. "me hurt? oh, never fear! i knows how to take care of myself. but what luck, nell?" "bad, benny, very bad. nobody wanted matches to-day." for a moment benny was silent, then he burst out, "by golly, nell! what's us to do? you know what the guv'nor said when we came away this morning?" "ay," said nelly. "but 'ave you 'ad bad luck too?" "horful, nell--simply horful!" and for a moment the children looked at each other in blank dismay. just then a gentleman was seen crossing the street carrying a portmanteau. "here's a gent with a portmantle," whispered benny to his sister. "i'll try my luck! foller me, nell, as quick as you can." and off he darted across the street. "carry yer bag, sir?" said he, stepping in front of the gentleman; and there was something very appealing in his tone as he spoke. the gentleman looked kindly down into the two honest-looking eyes that flashed in the gaslight. "what will you take the bag to the ferry for?" he inquired. "for what you please to give," said benny sturdily. "times is bad at present, and little chaps like us is glad to 'ave what we catches." "oh, that's it, is it? but i'm afraid this bag is too heavy for you." "oh, never fear," said benny, as he got hold of the portmanteau. "i'se 'mazing strong, and i ken carry this like winkin'." and he trotted down the street before the gentleman in a way that showed he was in earnest about the matter. the gentleman looked after the little fellow with an amused smile, but volunteered no further remark. meanwhile little nelly, who had become stiff and cramped with cold, followed at a little distance, taking care, however, that benny did not get out of her sight. on reaching the bridge that led down to the landing-stage, benny turned round, and, seeing his sister behind, shouted back, "stay here, nell, till i come back--i'll be no time sca'ce." and down the bridge he trotted, evidently glad that he was so near laying down his burden. "woodside boat, sir?" said he, turning round to the gentleman. "yes, my lad." "here we is, then, jist in time." and down the gangway he went at a sharp trot, and into the saloon, letting the bag down on one of the seats with a thump. "there you be, sir. couldn't a-been sarved quicker by a bigger chap." "all right, my little fellow," and he held out his hand. benny's eyes gleamed as he caught sight of something white between the gentleman's finger and thumb. "be jabbers! it's a thrip'ny," was his mental soliloquy, as he eagerly clutched the coin; and bowing his thanks as politely as he knew how, he dashed up the gangway with the fleetness of the wind, muttering to himself, "shouldn't wonder if 't was a fo'penny, arter all." standing under a lamp, he took the coin out of his mouth and looked at it. "oh, glory!" he ejaculated; "if 't ain't haaf a bob. murder and turf! this are a catch!" and he turned two somersaults on the stage by way of expressing his delight, unfortunately, however, planting his foot in his second revolution in the stomach of a young gentleman who was hurrying down to catch the boat. the gentleman soon recovered his sudden loss of wind, though the dirty footprint on his immaculate coat was not so easily removed. "beg pardon," said benny, in a fright, and hurried away just in time to escape a vigorous kick aimed at him by the infuriated young gentleman. "my stars and stockings!" he soliloquized, as he hurried up the bridge to join his sister. "if he 'ad a-catched me, i'd a-got a wolloping, an' no mistake. hallo, nell! what's a matter?" he said, as he saw great tears on the cheeks of his little crouching sister. "i'se so cold, benny--oh, so very cold!" sobbed the little girl. "never mind, nelly, i'll soon get yer warmed up. look here, i'se got haaf a bob, and a good warming into the bargain. now for a roast tater, my gal, and you'll feel as right as ninepence." and, taking his sister by the hand, they hurried away at a quick trot, lessening their pace only when they were quite out of breath, and nelly declared she was quite warm. "here's the tater man," said benny; "now for't, my gal. pennorth o' taters--hot, plaise, an' a good sprinkle o' salt," said benny, with quite an air of importance. "all right, my young gent, 'ere you are;" and the man put three moderate-sized potatoes into benny's outstretched palms. "now for old joe's fire, nell, where the roads is a-mendin';" and once more they hurried away at the same quick trot. in the next street they caught sight of the glowing grate of joe wrag, the night watchman, and of joe himself, sitting in the doorway of his little wooden hut. "you ax him, nell," whispered benny; "he winna say no to you." "may we eat our taters by your fire, joe?" said the plaintive voice of little nelly, as she placed her tiny hand on the fence, on which a red light was burning. "what dost 'a say, little woman?" said joe, in a rough though not unkindly voice. "may we eat our taters by your fire, please--benny an' me?" "ay, ay, my little 'arties. come along, i'll make room for 'e here;" and honest old joe moved aside to make room for the little waifs who sought shelter from the biting cold. "by golly, nell!" said benny, as he felt the grateful warmth of the fire, and dug his teeth into the potato, "ain't this sumpshus?" "ay, benny," was all the child's answer, as she greedily devoured the two potatoes that benny had insisted was her share. then there was silence between them for awhile, and joe went out and heaped more fuel on the grate, while nelly kept her eyes steadily fixed on the fire. what did the child see as she gazed into its glowing depths? for ever and anon a sweet smile played around the corners of her mouth, and spread over her pale thoughtful face, lighting it up with a wonderful beauty, and smoothing out the lines of care that at other times were only too visible. meanwhile benny was busily engaged counting his money. fourpence he laid aside for the purpose of purchasing stock for the morrow's sale, a penny he had spent in potatoes, and still he had threepence to the good, besides the sixpence the gentleman gave him, which was clear profit. the sixpence was evidently a great prize to him, for he looked at it long and earnestly. "wish i could keep it for mysel'," he muttered; "but it's no go--the guv'nor will 'ave to 'ave it. but the coppers i'll keep 'ginst bad times. here, nell," he said, nudging his sister, "you keep these 'ere coppers; and then if the guv'nor axes me if i has any more, i can tell him no." "all right, benny." and again the great round eyes sought the glowing grate, and the sweet smile played over her face once more. "what are 'e looking at, nell?" said benny, after a pause. "you look as 'appy as a dead duck in a saucepan." "oh, benny, i see such beautiful pictures in the fire. don't you 'members on fine days how we looks across the river and sees the great hills 'way behind birkenhead, such miles an' miles away?" "ay, i 'members. i'll take 'e across the river some day, nell, when i'se richer." "will 'e, benny? i shall be so glad. but i sees great hills in the fire, an' trees, an' pools, an' little rivers, an' oh! such lots of purty things." "queer!" said benny. "i don't see nowt o' sort." then there was silence again, and joe--who had been to see that the lamps at each end of the torn-up street were all right--came up. "how are 'e now, my 'arties? are 'e warmer'n you was?" "ay, joe, we's nice now," said nelly; "an' we's much 'bliged to you for lettin' us come." "oh, ye're welcome. but ain't it time you was to home?" "what's o'clock?" said benny. "seven, all to a minit or so." "ay, then, we must be off," said the children in chorus; and wishing joe good night, they darted off into the wet, cold street, and disappeared in the gloom. "purty little hangel!" said joe, as he stood looking up the street long after they had disappeared. "i wonder what will become o' her when she grows up?" chapter ii. addler's hall. the whole court went boiling, bubbling up from all the doors and windows, with a hideous wail of laughs and roar of oaths, and blows, perhaps.... i passed too quickly for distinguishing ... and pushed a little side door hanging on a hinge, and plunged into the dark. --elizabeth barrett browning. on the western side of scotland road--that is to say, between it and the docks--there is a regular network of streets, inhabited mostly by the lowest class of the liverpool poor. and those who have occasion to penetrate their dark and filthy recesses are generally thankful when they find themselves safe out again. in the winter those streets and courts are kept comparatively clean by the heavy rains; but in the summer the air fairly reeks with the stench of decayed fish, rotting vegetables, and every other conceivable kind of filth. the children, that seem to fairly swarm in this neighbourhood, are nearly all of a pale, sallow complexion, and of stunted growth. shoes and stockings and underclothing are luxuries that they never know, and one good meal a day is almost more than they dare hope for. cuffs and kicks they reckon upon every day of their lives; and in this they are rarely disappointed, and a lad who by dodging or cunning can escape this daily discipline is looked upon by the others as "'mazin' cute." to occupy two rooms is a luxury that only comparatively few families indulge in. why should they pay rent for two rooms when one will answer the purpose? "we know a trick worth two o' that," is their boast. and so year by year they bid defiance to all law and authority. the police rarely, if ever, venture into this neighbourhood alone, or if one should be foolish enough to do so, he has generally to pay dearly for his indiscretion. house agents and policemen are objects of special aversion. a friend of ours, some years ago, came into considerable property in this neighbourhood, and employed a young man who was new to the work to collect the rents for him. on entering the first house the agent was confronted by a big, villainous-looking man, who demanded in a surly tone what he wanted. "i am come for the rent," said the agent. "oh, you have, have you?" was the reply. "yes." "ah! did anybody see you come in?" "no." and instantly seizing a huge poker and waving it in the air, he shouted to the affrighted agent, with a terrible oath, "then i'll take care nobody ever sees you go out." this had the desired effect, and the terrified agent escaped for his life. at the next house at which he called he was received very blandly. "so you have come for the rint, have you?" "yes, that is my business." "ah, yes, indeed, very proper. could you change a five pun' note, now?" "oh, yes." "that will do." then raising his voice to a loud pitch, he shouted, "mike, come down here; there's a chap that 'as five pun' in his pocket; let's collar him--quick!" and a second time the affrighted agent fled, and gave up the situation at once, vowing he would never enter any of those streets again while he lived. it was to this neighbourhood that benny bates and his sister wended their way, after leaving old joe and his warm fire. whether the lamplighter had neglected his duty, or whether some of the inhabitants, "loving darkness rather than light," had shut off the gas, is not certain; but anyhow bowker's row and several of the adjacent courts were in total darkness. this, however, seemed no matter of surprise to benny and little nell, who wended their way without difficulty along the rough, ill-paved street. at length they turned up a narrow court, darker and dirtier even than bowker's row, which went by the name of "addler's hall." about half-way up this court they paused for a moment and listened; then, cautiously pushing open a door, they entered the only home they had ever known. much to their relief, they found the house empty. a lump of coal was smouldering in the grate, which benny at once broke up, and soon a ruddy glare from the fire lighted up the dismal room. the furniture consisted of a three-legged round table, a chair minus a leg, and a three-legged stool. on the window-sill there was a glass bottle with a candle stuck in the neck, and under the stairs there was a heap of rags and shavings, on which benny and his sister slept. a frying-pan was suspended against the wall near the fireplace, and several cracked cups and saucers, together with a quart mug, stood on the table. the only other article of furniture was a small cupboard in a corner of the room close up to the ceiling, placed there, no doubt, to be out of the way of the children. drawing the chair and the stool close up to the fire, benny and his sister waited the return of their parents. outside, the wind moaned and wailed, and whistled through the keyhole and the chinks in the door, and rattled the paper and rags with which the holes in the window were stopped. and as the children listened they shivered, and drew closer together, and nearer the fire. "by golly!" said benny, "this 'ouse is like a hair-balloon. i wish as how we could keep the wind out." "you can't do that, benny; it creeps in everywheres." "are 'e cold, nell?" "no, not very; but i's very hungry." just then an uncertain step was heard in the court outside, and the next moment their stepmother staggered into the room. "now, out of the way, you brats," was her greeting, "while i cooks your faather's supper." and without a word they got out of her way as quickly as possible, for they saw at a glance she was not in the best of humours. they were pleased to see, however, that she had brought with her a loaf of bread, some butter, and several red herrings, and so they were hopeful that for once they would get a good supper. the supper was not quite ready when their father came in, flushed and excited. "where's the brats?" was his first angry exclamation, glancing round the room. "there," said his wife, pointing under the stairs, where the children were crouched. "come out here, you young vermin; quick! do you hear?" and the frightened children came out and stood before him. "have you brought me that sixpence that i told yer? for, if you ain't," said he, scowling at benny, "i'll loosen yer hide for yer in double-quick time." "ay," said the little fellow, producing the sixpence, "'ere it are." "is that all you've got?" benny shot a quick glance at his sister before replying, which, however, did not escape his father's eye. "ay," he said, stoutly; "i ain't got no more." "you lie, you villain!" roared the father; "fork it out this moment." "i tell yer i ain't got none," said benny. nelly was about to speak here, but a glance from her brother silenced her. "will you fork it out?" said the father again. "no," was the reply. in a moment dick bates had taken the leather strap from his waist, and without mercy rained blow after blow upon the head and shoulders of his child. at first benny bore the blows without shrinking and without uttering a cry; but this only the more aggravated the inhuman father, and faster and more furious fell the blows, till the little fellow shrieked with pain and begged for mercy. but there was no mercy in the father's heart, and still the blows fell, till little nelly, unable longer to bear it, rushed in between her father and brother, saying, "you shall not beat benny so." "oh, you want it too, do you?" roared he. "then take that, and that, and that." "faather," said benny, "will you strike nell?" the question for a moment seemed to stagger him, and he looked down upon the pleading face of his suffering child, and into those great round eyes that were full of pain and tears, and the hand that was raised to strike fell powerless to his side, and with a groan he turned away. what was there in the face of his little daughter that touched this cruel, besotted man? we cannot tell. perhaps he caught a glimpse in that sweet face of his early love. it is said that he loved his first wife dearly, and that while she lived he was tolerably steady, and was never unkind to her. he even went with her to the house of prayer, and listened to her while she read the bible aloud during winter evenings. these were happy days, but when she died all this was changed; he tried to forget his trouble in drink, and in the companionship of the lowest and most degraded men and women. then he married again, a coarse drunken woman, who had ever since led him a wretched life; and every year he had become more drunken and vicious. if he yet loved anything in the world, it was his "little nell," as he always called her. she was wonderfully like her mother, the neighbours said, and that was doubtless the reason why dick bates continued to love her when all love for everything else had died out of his heart. he had never treated her before as he had treated her to-night; it was a new experience to the child, and for long after she lay on her heap of shavings with dry eyes and hot cheeks, staring into vacancy. but when the last spark of fire had died out, and her father and stepmother were asleep in the room above, turning to her brother, who was still awake, she said, "put your arm about me, benny, will yer?" and benny put his arm around his little sister, and pressed her face to his bosom. and then the fountain of the child's tears was broken up, and she wept as though her heart would break, and great sobs shook her little frame, and broke the silence of the night. benny silently kissed away the tears, and tried to comfort the little breaking heart. after awhile she grew calm, and benny grew resolute. "i's not going to stand this no longer," he said. "what will you do, benny?" "do? well, i dunno, yet; but i's bound to do some'at, an' i will too." after awhile he spoke again. "i say, nell, ain't yer hungry? for i is. i believe i could eat a grave-stun." "i was hungry afore faather beat me, but i doesna feel it now," was the reply. "well, i seen where mother put the bread an' butter, and if i dunna fork the lot i's not ben bates." "but how will yer get to it, benny?" "aisy 'nough, on'y you must 'elp me." so without much noise they moved the table into the corner of the room underneath the cupboard, and placing the chair on the top of the table, benny mounted the top, and was able to reach the cupboard without difficulty. a fair share of the loaf remained, and "heaps of butter," benny said. "now, nell," said he, "we'll 'ave a feast." and a feast they did have, according to benny's thinking, for very little of either loaf or butter remained when they had finished their repast. "what will mother say when she finds out?" said nelly, when they had again lain down. "we must be off afore she wakes, nell, and never come back no more." "dost 'a mean it, benny?" "ay do i. we mun take all our traps wi' us i' t' morning." "where shall us go?" "never fear, we'll find a shop somewheres, an' anywheres is better nor this." "ay, that's so." "now, nell, we mun sleep a bit, 'cause as how we'll 'ave to be stirring airly." and soon the brother and sister were fast asleep, locked in each other's arms. chapter iii. roughing it. ne'er saw i, never felt a calm so deep! the river glideth at his own sweet will: dear god, the very houses seem asleep; and all that mighty heart is lying still. --wordsworth next morning benny was stirring early, and when the first faint rays of the coming day peeped through the dust-begrimed and patched-up window, they saw the little fellow busily engaged in gathering together what things he and nelly possessed previous to their final departure from home. nelly still slept on, and several times the brother paused and looked fondly down upon the fair face of the sleeping child. she looked very beautiful, benny thought, as she lay sleeping there, with a pink spot glowing on either cheek, and the long flaxen hair thrown carelessly back from the pale forehead. once or twice she murmured in her sheep, and the same happy smile spread over her face that he had noticed the evening before when she sat gazing into joe wrag's fire. "i wonder what she's a-dreamin' on?" he murmured to himself. "perhaps she sees the hills and flowers and trees agin." then he set to work again turning over a heap of rubbish that had been pushed as far back as possible under the stairs. at length a joyful exclamation burst from his lips as he came upon a small heap of potatoes. "here's a fortin', an' no mistake; nell and i'll be able to walk off the lot." and he brought them out into the room, and wrapped them up in an old handkerchief that his stepmother used to tie round her head when she went out. there were scarcely twenty potatoes altogether, but to benny they seemed almost an inexhaustible supply. this being done, he sat down beside his sleeping sister and waited until he should hear any movement in the room above. gradually the cold grey light of the morning stole into the room, revealing all its squalor and dinginess, and benny felt that he and nelly would have to make their escape soon, or else they might be prevented. he felt very loth to awake his sister, she slept so sweetly, and he did not know where they might find a shelter when darkness covered the earth again. but there was no help for it. his father might awake any moment, and the neighbours would soon be stirring in the court and in bowker's row. so bending over her, he pressed his lips upon her brow: still she moved not. "nelly," he whispered, "it's time to be movin'." slowly the great round eyes opened, and looked languidly up into his face. "come, stir your pegs, nell, or we'll be too late." "oh, ay," she said, as the recollection of the previous evening came back to her. "we 'as to be off to-day, ain't we?" "ay, my gal, we's goin' on our own 'ook now, so look alive." "does yer think we's doin' right, benny?" "'course we is, nell; i'll take care o' yer, never fear." thus reassured, she followed benny silently out of the house and into bowker's row; then seeing that no one was about, they set off at a quick trot in the direction from whence they had come the previous night. nelly had the utmost confidence in benny's sagacity, and though she had doubted for a moment whether they were doing the wisest thing in the course they were taking, yet she had little doubt that her brother would be equal to every emergency, and that he would find her a home of some sort. and the child had a vague, undefined feeling that they could not be worse off, whatever might happen. to see her benny punished as she had so frequently done of late was "pain and grief" to her: not only had he suffered the pinchings of cold and hunger during the day, but he had been compelled to bring home a certain amount every night, or else take the consequences of her father's senseless anger. and as the child thought of these things she could not wonder that benny had resolved to run away and seek a home somewhere else. but what of herself? she had on the whole been much better treated, and she thought perhaps her father did not well know what he was doing last night, as he was in drink. ought she, then, to run away? "ay, but i canna leave benny," was her mental response; and having settled that question, she seemed perfectly satisfied to share the fortunes of her brother, whatever they might be, and help him as best she could to fight the battle of life. as for benny, he had no qualms of conscience about the matter. he had never heard the command, "honour thy father and thy mother," and even if he had, it would not have troubled him on the present occasion. he had a feeling that he had been wronged, cruelly wronged, and that he ought not to stand it any longer. once the question had crossed his mind, "had he any right to take those potatoes?" but he answered the question to himself by saying, "ain't i brought home a haaf a bob every night for th' week, an' then bin kep' without supper? by jabbers, i's paid for those taters, and i'll eat 'em." moreover, his notions of right and wrong were of the vaguest character. he had some dim recollection of his mother, and how she used to tell him it was wrong to steal, and to tell lies, and to cheat. but the more he tried to recall it, the vaguer the recollection became. yet sometimes when he was tempted to steal, and would look around to see that no one was watching him, a voice within him would whisper, "don't, benny, it is wrong to steal," and he would turn away with a sigh, feeling that there was something in that voice that he dared not disobey. in after years he held firmly to the belief that his own mother was permitted to be the guardian angel of his childhood, and that it was she who whispered to him when he was tempted to do wrong. he has also been heard to say, that though he regarded it as very wrong for children, under ordinary circumstances, to leave their home without their parents' consent, yet in his case he thought his action perfectly justifiable. but we must leave this question, with the hope that none of the children who read this story may be driven by cruelty and wrong to a similar course of action, and must follow the little waifs as they threaded their way through the dingy streets that cold december morning. their object was to reach joe wrag's fire before his watch ended, and in this they were successful. joe was standing before his hut, rubbing his hands over the still glowing grate, though benny noticed that the fire was burning low. "we's brought some taters from hum, may we cook 'em on yer fire, joe?" said benny, putting on as bold a face as he could. joe looked at the children for a moment without speaking. "please do, joe, like a good man," chimed in nelly's plaintive voice. "come along with yer, then. but how are 'e out so airly?" "lots o' bisness on hand," was benny's prompt reply. "there's some'at up wi' you youngsters, i reckon. but yer not goin' to eat all these taters at once, are yer?" "oh, no!" said benny, "we on'y want two apiece, and we want you to keep the rest till we comes agin." "very likely story," said joe, gruffly. "where's yer bin stealin' 'em from?" "oh, nowheres, joe," said nelly. "we bringed 'em from hum, we did, for sure." "well, ain't that a-stealin' on 'em?" "no!" said benny stoutly. "i's tooked 'em hum a haaf a bob every night for t' week, and they b'longs to me." joe shook his head dubiously, as if not certain of the soundness of benny's logic, but made no further reply. he, however, gave his aid to the children in cooking their potatoes, which were soon done to a nicety, and even gave them a piece of bread, the remains of his own morning's repast. thus fortified, the children were soon ready for the duties of the day. their first business was to go into park lane and get in a stock of matches for the day's sale; this done, they separated and went their different ways, agreeing to meet in the shadow of st. george's church at twelve o'clock, and at four, to report progress. nelly's stand was near the junction of lord street, church street, paradise street, and whitechapel, going occasionally as far as the "sailors' home." benny, on the other hand, waited about near the landing-stage, selling his matches if he could, but at the same time looking out for an opportunity of carrying some gentleman's bag. but to-day benny had another object in view, and that was to discover, if possible, some place where he and his sister might sleep when night came on. he knew of a place where, for the payment of a penny each, they might sleep in a cellar on some dirty straw amongst a lot of rough boys. but somehow benny shrank from introducing his sister to such company as there assembled night after night. he must find some place where they could be alone, if possible, though he felt that that would be no easy matter. the day was beautifully fine, with a clear frosty sky, and both benny and his sister carried on a brisk sale in fusees, and when they met at noon they were in high spirits over the proceeds of the day. still benny had found no place as yet where to spend the night. during the afternoon, however, his attention was directed to some sailors who were caulking a boat not far from the george's dock. the boat he noticed was turned bottom upward, and that it had one end stove in; evidently it had had rough handling somewhere. and besides this, benny noticed that there was a large quantity of hemp and tow on which the sailors were kneeling while at their work. several times during the afternoon he took a look at the sailors, and when at length he saw them lift up the boat and push the tow underneath, his mind was made up. "stunnin'!" he ejaculated; "i b'lieve we is in luck's way to-day. couldna have bin better if it wer' a-made for us." punctually at four o'clock the children were at their trysting-place. they were both in high spirits, for their profits were larger than they had been for many a day past. benny especially was in high glee, for he had the prospect of a comfortable lodging-place for the night, without any fear of his father's fury, and was consequently eager to communicate his discovery to nelly. "golly, nell," was his greeting, using his favourite expression, "it's a heap too cold to stick in one place. let's off into park lane and git a feed; we can 'ford it to-night." and off they started, hand in hand. the place to which they directed their steps was not the most select, the character of the customers being of no consequence, so long as the money was forthcoming. this fact was well known to benny, so he entered, leading his sister by the hand, without any trepidation. it was a long narrow room in which they found themselves, with several small tables placed at regular intervals down the sides. a bright fire was burning in the farther end of the room, near which benny took his seat, requesting that "two penny loaves might be brought, and a pennorth of cheese." they remained as long as they felt they dared do so, then again sought the wintry streets. but the keen frosty air made them long for shelter, and once more they sought the glowing grate of honest joe wrag. the old man seemed pleased to see them, and made room for them in his hut, though he said little. oh, how the fire glowed and crackled in the keen frosty air, revealing to little nelly bates scenes of wondrous beauty! and as joe watched her face glowing in the firelight, he muttered to himself, "purty little hangel; i hopes she'll grow up good, or--or die--ay, or die!" it was after eight o'clock when they left joe's warm hut, for nelly had pleaded so hard to stay that he could not deny her request. she seemed to be twining herself around the old man's heart in a wonderful manner, and but for his fury of a wife he would have taken her to his own home when it became known to him that the children were homeless. it did not take them long to reach the boat; and having satisfied themselves that they were not noticed, they crept underneath in a "jiffey," as benny would have expressed it. "brimstone and treacle!" said benny, as he put his hand on the large heap of tow; "ain't this sumpshus? we'll be as snug as jonar 'ere." "ay, benny, this is fine." "let's shut out all the daylight fust, nell, an' then the cold won't git in." thanks to the abundance of tow this was not difficult, and soon the children were cuddled in each other's arms, feeling warmer than they had felt for many a night past. it was a long time, however, before they could get to sleep. to nelly especially was it strange. and thoughts too deep for them to express kept crowding into their minds, keeping them wide awake. at length, however, a feeling of drowsiness began to creep over them, and they were just dropping off to sleep when they were startled by a footstep near them, and a hoarse voice muttering, as if in anguish, "o death, what dost thou mean?" for a moment the children clutched each other in terror; then they heard the footsteps dying away in the distance, and their confidence returned again. "who could it be?" said nelly. "a bobby, i 'specks," said benny; "but he ain't catched us, so we's safe 'nough now." for awhile after they lay listening, but no other footsteps disturbed them, and soon balmy sleep stole over them, sealing their eyelids, and giving rest to their weary little heads and hearts. chapter iv. a friend in need. friendship, peculiar boon of heaven the noble mind's delight and pride; to men and angels only given, to all the lower world denied. --samuel johnson. the experiences of benny and his sister during the next day were but a repetition of what we recorded in the last chapter; but during the second night they found the shelter of the boat but a poor substitute for a home, and in the morning they were stiff and cramped through lying so long in one position; and when they paid joe wrag their third morning visit, the old man noticed that all was not right with them. nelly especially was gloomy and depressed. joe wrag was generally a silent man, and not given to asking many questions; but when he saw great tears in nelly's round eyes as she sat gazing into the fire, he felt that he must know what was troubling the child, and help her if he could. he had also a dim suspicion that they had not been to their home of late, and he wondered where they could have spent their nights; and, like benny, he dreaded the idea of little nelly congregating with young thieves and vagabonds, and felt he would rather a thousand times the child should die than that she should grow up to be a wicked woman. so after reflecting for some time, and wondering how he should best get at the truth, he burst out suddenly with the question, "when were you last to hum, eh?" for a moment there was silence, and benny looked at his sister as much as to say, "that's a poser; we're in for it now." "come, now," said joe, seeing their hesitation, "let's 'ave nowt but truth; out wi' it, an' it will be best in the end." "you tell 'im, nell," said benny, "'cause he'll b'lieve you." so nelly, in her sweet pleading voice, told him all the story of benny's wrong, and of her father's cruelty, and how even she herself had not escaped his anger. "and did he beat you, my purty?" said joe, clenching his fist tightly at the same time. "ay, joe; but i dunna think he know'd what he were a-doin'." for a few moments the old man's face worked as if in pain. then he muttered to himself, "some'at must be done, an' no mistake; but what? eh, what?" then he looked at the children again. "don't yer think you'd better go to hum again to-night?" he said; and he watched eagerly for the effect of his question. nelly was the first to speak. "oh, no," she said; "we should get it worse nor ever. dad would a'most kill benny." and the tears welled up into her eyes again. "i's not goin' to risk it," said benny stoutly. "i's 'ad hidin's enough to last me a lifetime." "ay, ay," said joe. "i wonder, now----" and he looked reflectively into the fire. "what are 'e a-wonderin' on?" queried benny. but joe was silent. he had evidently got hold of some idea which he was trying to work out. at length he looked up and said, "now, away with yer, an' come here again this ev'ning at six o'clock. d'ye hear?" "ay, ay," was the response; and away they bounded, leaving joe alone to his meditations. joe remained some time after they were gone in one position, scratching his head most vigorously, and would doubtless have remained much longer had he not been disturbed by the men who had come to their work, and who set him at liberty from his watch until darkness should again come down upon the earth. joe walked leisurely to his home as if burdened with some great thought, ate his morning meal in silence, and then went to bed, and lay tossing for full two hours ere he could find a wink of sleep. joe wrag had been for many years a complete enigma to a number of well-meaning people, who had become much interested in this silent and thoughtful man, and were anxious to know more about him than he cared to reveal. several "town missionaries" had tried to make something out of him, but had utterly failed. he had never been known to enter a house of prayer, and whether in the matter of religious knowledge and belief he was a heathen or a christian was an open question; and yet, notwithstanding this, he lived a life that in many respects was worthy of the imitation of many who made greater professions. indeed, to be strictly accurate, joe wrag never made any profession whatever of any kind, and yet he was as honest as the day, and as true as steel. honest, not because "honesty was the best policy." nay, policy never entered into his thoughts; but he was honest because he could not be otherwise. his _soul_ was honest; and as for lying, he loathed it as he would loathe a viper. nothing could tempt him to be untruthful. in fact, he recoiled as if by instinct from everything mean and deceitful. what teaching he had received, or what influences had surrounded him during his early life, we have never been able to gather. he kept himself mostly to himself, and was silent about the past. year by year he moved along the even tenour of his way, ever ready to do a kindly deed when opportunity presented itself, but never thrusting himself where he felt he might not be wanted. he had a perfect horror of appearing to be better than he really was; and it was thought that that was his chief reason why he never made any profession of religion. about three o'clock joe got up, and after partaking of a substantial meal, wended his way to the neighbourhood of copperas hill. after turning several sharp corners, he found himself in a small court containing about half a dozen houses. before one of the doors he paused for a moment, then raised his stick, and gave a sharp rat-tat-tat. the door was instantly opened by a woman who had evidently reached her threescore years and ten. yet she appeared hale and strong for her age, and though poorly, was yet tidily attired. "well, ye are a stranger," was her greeting. "i'm verra glad to see 'e, though." "an' i'm glad to see you, betty." "well, come tha in. what's i' tha wind?" "nowt much, betty; but what thar is consarns you as much as me." "well, out wi' it, joe," said betty, as soon as joe had seated himself. "no trouble, i 'ope?" "no, not that i knows on; but could 'e make room 'ere for a couple o' lodgers--little 'uns, mind you--children, on'y 'bout so high?" holding out his hand. "well, what an idear, to be sure! what are ye a-dreamin' on?" "your old man," said joe solemnly, "was my mate for mony a year, an' a good man he wur; an' if from that fur-off country he can see what's doin' 'ere, he'd be mightily pleased for 'e to do, betty, what i'm a-axin' o' yer." "but i dunno that i quite understand," said betty; "explain your meanin' a bit more." and joe, in a solemn voice, told the story of little nell and her brother benny. "it mebbe, betty," he said, "they're the lord's little 'uns. i'm none o' the lord's mysel'. i've tried to find 'im; but he winna be found o' me. i'm none o' the elect. i've settled that for more'n twenty year now. but if these bairns are the lord's, we mustna turn 'em away." "all bairns are the lord's," said betty; but joe only shook his head, and sat gazing into the fire. before he left, however, it was settled that a bed should be made for the children in the corner under the stairs, which would be near the fire also. for this they were to pay a penny per night. "we mustna make paupers o' them, you know, betty," was joe's remark. it was also agreed that she should do what washing and mending the children's clothes needed, for which they were to pay also, if they could afford it. "if not," said joe, "i'll make it square wi' you, betty." punctually at six o'clock the children put in an appearance at joe's hut. they had had but poor luck during the day, and benny did not feel nearly so courageous as he had felt two days before. the prospect of sleeping night after night underneath a boat was not so inviting as he had imagined it would be; besides, there was the fear that their hiding-place might be discovered, and that even this poor shelter might be taken away from them at any time. he did not confide his fears to nelly; he felt that it would be cruel to do so; and she--whatever she may have felt--never uttered a single word of complaint. she knew that "her benny" had enough to bear, and she would not add to his burden. benny had been very much puzzled at joe wrag's manner in the morning, and had wondered much during the day "what he 'ad been a-turnin' over in his noddle." he was desperately afraid that joe would try to persuade him and nelly to return to their home, or even insist upon their doing so; and rather than do that, he felt that he would lose joe's friendship and warm fireside into the bargain. joe was looking very abstractedly into the grate when they came up to the fence, and for a moment they watched his rugged face with the firelight playing upon it. but benny, who could read his father's face pretty cleverly, declared to himself that "he could make nowt out o' joe's." as usual, joe made room for benny in his little hut; but to-night he took little nelly very tenderly on his knee, and stroked her long flaxen hair with his hard rough hand, muttering to himself the while, "purty little hangel; i reckon she's one o' the lord's elect." benny wondered for a long time when joe was going to say something that he could understand; but somehow to-night he did not like to disturb him by asking questions. nelly, on the contrary, was far away again from the cold and dingy streets, and the ceaseless roar of the busy town, and was wandering in imagination through sunny meadows where the turf was soft and the grass was green. she fancied she heard the music of purling streams, and the songs of happy birds in the leafy trees that waved their branches over her. the air was fragrant with the scent of flowers that she had heard of, but never seen, and weariness and cold she felt no more. the voice of joe banished the beautiful vision from the glowing grate, and the child wondered if ever it would become a reality--if ever she would dwell amid such scenes in a life that had no ending. "i've some'at to say to 'e, my dears," was joe's first exclamation; and the children looked up into his face, and wondered what was coming next. "i've found a hum for 'e, and a reet good 'un, an' ye'r to go to-night." "oh, scissors!" shouted benny; and he ran into the street, and had turned two somersaults ere he knew what he was doing; then stood on his head for at least five seconds by way of cooling off, and what other performances he might have gone through i cannot say, had not joe called him into the hut. little nelly said nothing; she only nestled closer to her benefactor, and joe felt great scalding tears dropping upon his hand, and knew that her heart was too full for her to speak. then he told them all about their new home, and what would be expected of them, and how he hoped they would be good and kind to the old woman, and always be honest and truthful, and then when they died they might go to the good place. "does folks go somewheres when they die?" said benny, with a look of astonishment. "ay, ben, that they do." "oh, beeswax and turpentine!" he ejaculated, "that are a go!" but nelly's face grew luminous, and her eyes fairly sparkled, as she faintly grasped the idea that perhaps her dreams might come true after all. they had no difficulty in finding their way to tempest court, or in discovering the house of betty barker. the old woman gave them a rough though kindly welcome, and benny was soon at his ease. their bed in the warm corner under the stairs was, to use benny's phrase, "simply sumshus;" and next morning when they appeared before joe, it was with faces glowing with gladness and delight. chapter v. "oh, death! what does thou mean?" to sleep! perchance to dream;--ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause. --hamlet we must now go back to the morning when benny and his sister left their home, and pay one more visit to "addler's hall." dick bates got up in the morning with a splitting headache, and, if the truth must be told, with an aching heart. his sleep had been disturbed by horrid dreams, the recollection of which haunted him still, and made him feel anything but comfortable. he had dreamt that he had been working near the docks, and in going close to the edge of one of them he saw his two children rise to the surface of the water clasped in each other's arms; and while he looked at them, they opened their glassy eyes and cast upon him one lingering, reproachful glance, then sank to the bottom again. twice during the night had this dream been repeated, and when he awoke in the morning it was with a vague fear of impending evil. dick bates, like many other hardened and cruel men, was at heart a great coward, besides being very superstitious. he listened several times for any movement downstairs, but all was still; and this only increased his alarm, for he knew his children were in the habit of stirring early, and he saw by the light that the morning was far advanced. we may judge, therefore, of his alarm when, on coming downstairs, he found the room empty, and he thought, with a terror in his heart that made the perspiration ooze from his forehead, that perhaps his children had been driven by his cruelty to put an end to their existence. he tried to banish the thought as weak and childish, but he could not; his nerves were completely unstrung to-day, and he did not seem at all himself. when his wife came down he sent her into the neighbours' houses, and into bowker's row, to inquire if any one had seen them. but everywhere the same answer was given: no one had either seen them or heard them. his wife characterized his fears as "bosh," and declared "he wur wuss nor any owd woman. the brats'll turn up agin to-night, never fear," she said; and dick sincerely hoped in his heart that they would do so. he was too late to get any work that morning, so he spent most of the forenoon in the house, brooding over his fears. and while he sat there on the low stool with his face buried in his hands, memories of other and happier years crowded in upon his brain. his boyhood life in the country seemed to him now, as he looked back at it through a long vista of years, like a happy dream. and he was glad that his old father and mother were dead, and did not know how low he had fallen. then he thought of the morning when he had led his first young bride to church, and of the few short years of happiness that had followed. he remembered, too, the promise he had made her on her dying bed--that he would take care of the children, and meet her in heaven. alas! how he had belied those solemn words! he had not cared for his children, he admitted to himself with shame; but, on the contrary, he had cruelly neglected them, had behaved towards them as the veriest brute. and now perhaps they were dead--driven to death by his cruelty. then other thoughts took possession of him. "if they're dead," he said, "they are better off: what is there to live for? better for 'em to die now than to grow up to be like me an' sall." then he began to wonder what dying meant. "if i wur sartin," he said, "that there wur nowt arter death, i'd die too." and he got up and walked about the room; after awhile he sat down again, and buried his face in his hands once more. "mary used to say," he mused, "that bad people went to a bad place an' was tormented for ever; but that if we was good, an' trusted in the saviour, we should go to 'eaven an' be 'appy for ever. and poor owd father and mother used to say t' same. i remembers it very well! ah me, i've nearly forgot all sense o' it, though." and thus he mused hour after hour, heedless that his wife swore and raved that "the brats had eat all the butter, and walked off all the taters." when, however, he was made to comprehend this fact, he became less concerned about his children, and a little before noon he started off in search of work. but all the afternoon he was gloomy and depressed, and instead of going to a public house, as was his wont when the day's work was done, he set off home, much to the surprise of his mates, who grew warm in a discussion as the evening advanced as to what "'ad a-comed over dick bates." from seven to nine he sat in his own desolate home alone, for his wife was in no humour to keep him company, and every patter of feet in the court made him start and look eagerly towards the door, in the hope that he would see it open, and his children enter; but the door did not open, and his children never came. "i wouldna a-minded so much," he said, "if i hadna a-wolloped poor little nell;" and he vowed with a terrible oath that "he would treat 'em better in t' future, if he ever had the chance." but when the clock in the steeple not far away struck nine, he started up, muttering to himself, "i canna stand this: i wonder what's comed to me? if 't bairns would come home, i reckon i'd be all right." but the bairns did not come, and he started out to get a glass, to help him to drown remorse. his mates tried to rally him, but they had to confess that it was "no go;" and when at eleven o'clock he left them at the corner of the street, and once more directed his steps towards addler's hall, they touched their foreheads significantly to each other, and whispered it as their opinion "that dick bates was a-goin' wrong in his noddle, and was above a bit luny." when he reached his home, he opened the door with a beating heart. all was silent, save the heavy breathing of his wife in the room above. he went to the dark corner where his children slept, and felt with his hands; but the bed, such as it was, was empty, and with a groan he turned away and hid his face in his hands. and again his past life came back to him more vividly than it had done for years. "i mun go an' look for 'em," he said. "i shall see 'em floating in one o' the docks, as i did last night in my dream." and with a feeling of despair in his heart he wandered forth again into the now almost deserted streets. as we have before stated, it was a clear frosty night; not a single cloud obscured the myriad stars that glittered in the deep vault of heaven. and as dick bates wandered under the light of the stars along the long line of docks, no one would have believed that this anxious-faced man was the brutal drunkard that only on the previous night punished his unoffending children without mercy. was it god that was working in his heart, bringing back to him the memories of other years, and awaking within him better thoughts? who shall say it was not? still on he went, starting continually as he fancied he saw something white on the dark still water. "how nice it would be," he muttered, "to sleep for ever! to be free fra the worry an' trouble." but how could he know that death was endless sleep? might it not be, as his mary said it was, the beginning of a life that should never end? he was now near the boat under which his children lay. it was his footstep that startled them just as they were dropping off to sleep. it was his voice that muttered the words, "o death! what dost thou mean?" how near father and children had come to each other! but neither knew of the other's presence: then they drifted apart again, to meet no more on earth. there were only a few small vessels in the next dock, and all the lights were out. "there they be, sure enough," said dick, as something white, floating on the surface of the water, caught his eye, and he went close up to the edge of the dock, forgetful of the fact that the huge damp coping stones had, by the action of the frost, become as slippery as glass. he had scarcely planted his foot on one of the huge stones when it slipped from beneath him; a piercing shriek rang out on the startled air, followed by a plunge, a gurgling cry, and the cold water closed over him. a moment later a pale agonized face gleamed up from the dark water, a hurried prayer floated up on the cold frosty air, "saviour of my mary, save me!" then the water closed over him again. two other times, at longer intervals, dick bates' agonized and horror-stricken face appeared for a moment on the surface; then the ruffled waters grew smooth, hiding in their dark bosom the dead body of richard bates, whose soul had been so suddenly called to its account. the next day the dead body was dragged to the surface, and conveyed to the dead-house, where it was claimed by his wife. an inquest and a funeral followed, of which benny and little nell never knew. and it was well, perhaps, they did not. the knowledge would have been pain to the little waifs, and they had already as much trouble as their little hearts knew how to bear. chapter vi. in which benny makes a discovery. all unseen the master walketh by the toiling servant's side; comfortable words he speaketh, while his hands uphold and guide. --baynes. christmas day this year came upon a wednesday, and, during the two days preceding it, benny did what he characterized as a "roaring bizness." there were so many people leaving and arriving by all the ferry-boats and at all the stations, that our hero was kept on the trot nearly all the time. his frank open face seemed to most people, who had a bag or a bundle to carry, a sufficient guarantee of his honesty, and they hoisted their bag upon the little fellow's shoulder without any fear that he would attempt to pry into its contents, or make off with it round some sharp corner. for a time the "match business" was turned over entirely to nelly's management; and though the modest little girl never pushed her wares--she was too shy for that--yet benny declared she did "stunnin'." many a gentleman, catching just a glimpse of the pale sweet face as he hurried past, would turn to have another look at the child, and, without taking any of her fusees, would put a penny, and sometimes more, into the little thin hand. and nelly would courtesy her thanks, unable to utter a word. benny declared "he liked christmas-time 'mazin' well, and wondered why folks didn't have christmas a sight oftener than once a year." how it was that coppers were so much more plentiful at this time of the year than at any other time was to him a mystery. poor little fellow! the thought never seemed to enter into his small head that it might be that people's hearts were more open at this festive season than at some other times. however, benny was not one that speculated long on such questions; he only wished that people were always as ready to have their bags carried, and always gave their pence as ungrudgingly. once or twice he felt a bit sad, and brushed away a hasty tear, when he saw boys no bigger than himself wrapped up in great warm overcoats, and beautiful little girls with fur-trimmed jackets and high-heeled dainty boots, clasped in the arms of their parents as soon as they stepped from the ferry, and then hurried away to a cab or to a carriage in waiting--and then thought of his own cheerless life. "i specks they's mighty 'appy," he said reflectively, and then hurried away to the other end of the stage, where he thought he saw the chance of employment. on christmas eve benny took his sister through st. john's market, and highly delighted they were with what they saw. the thousands of geese, turkeys, and pheasants, the loads of vegetables, the heaps of oranges and apples, the pyramids of every other conceivable kind of fruit, the stalls of sweetmeats, the tons of toffee, and the crowds of well-dressed people all bent upon buying something, were sources of infinite pleasure to the children. there was only one drawback to their happiness, and that was they did not know how to lay out the sixpence they had brought with them to spend. if there had been less variety there would have been less difficulty; but, as it was, benny felt as if he would never be able to decide what to buy. however, they agreed at last to lay out twopence in two slices of bread and ham, for they were both rather hungry; and then they speculated the other fourpence in apples, oranges, and toffee, and, on the whole, felt very well satisfied with the results of their outlay. it was rather later than usual when they got home, but old betty knew where they had gone, and, as it was christmas eve, she had got a bigger fire in than usual, and had also got them a cup of hot cocoa each, and some bun loaf to eat with it. "by golly!" said benny, as he munched the cake, "i do wish folks 'ud 'ave christmas ev'ry week." "you are a cur'us boy," said the old woman, looking up with a smile on her wrinkled face. "is i, granny? i specks it's in my blood, as the chap said o' his timber leg." the old woman had told them on the first evening of their arrival, when they seemed at a loss what name to give her, to call her granny; and no name could have been more appropriate, or have come more readily to the children's lips. "but could folks have christmas any oftener if they wished to?" asked little nell. "in course they could, nell," burst out benny. "you dunna seem to know what folks make christmas for." "an i thinks as you dunno either, benny." "don't i, though?" he said, putting on an air of importance. "it's made to give folks the chance of doing a lot o' feeding; didn't yer see all the gooses an' other nice things in the market that the folks is going to polish off to-morrow?" "i dunna think it was made purpose for that. wur it, now, granny?" thus appealed to, the old woman, who had listened with an amused smile on her face, answered, "no, my child. it's called christmas 'cause it is the birthday of christ." "who's he?" said benny, looking up; and nelly's eyes echoed the inquiry. "don't you know--ain't you never heerd?" said the old woman, in a tone of surprise. "nay," said benny; "nothin' sense. some o' the chaps says 'by christ' as i says 'by golly'; but i never knowed he was somebody." "poor little dears! i didn't know as how you was so ignorant, or i should have told you before." and the old woman looked as if she did not know where or how to begin to tell the children the wonderful story, and for a considerable time remained silent. at length she said, "i'll read it to 'e out o' the book; mebbe you'll understand it better that way nor any way else." and, taking down from her shelf her big and much-worn bible, she opened it at the second of st. matthew, and began to read in a tremulous voice,-- "now when jesus was born in bethlehem of judæa in the days of herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to jerusalem, saying, where is he that is born king of the jews? for we have seen his star in the east, and are come to worship him." and slowly the old woman read on until she reached the end of the chapter, while the children listened with wide-open and wondering eyes. to nelly the words seemed to come like a revelation, responding to the deepest feeling of her nature, and awakening thoughts within her that were too big for utterance. benny, however, on the contrary, could see nothing particularly interesting in the narrative itself. but the art of reading was to him a mystery past all comprehension. how granny could see that story upon the page of her bible was altogether beyond his grasp. at length, after scratching his head vigorously for some time, he burst out,-- "by jabbers! i's got it at last!--jimmy jones squeeze me if i ain't! it's the specks that does it." "does what?" said nelly. "why, the story bizness, to be sure. let me look at the book through your specks, shall i, granny?" "ay, if you like, benny." and the next minute he was looking at the bible with granny's spectacles upon his nose, with a look of blank disappointment upon his face. "golly! i's sold!" was his exclamation. "but this are a poser, and no mistake." "what's such a poser?" said granny. "why, how yer find the story in the book; for i can see nowt." and benny looked as disappointed as if he had earned nothing for a week. by much explaining, however, granny enabled him to comprehend in some vague way how the mystery was accomplished; and then arose within the heart of the child an unutterable longing to understand this mysterious art fully, and be able to read for himself--a longing that grew in intensity as evening after evening he tried, by granny's help, to master the alphabet. in fact, it became a passion with the lad, and many an hour in the weeks and months that followed he spent gazing at the placards on the walls, and in trying to explain to the other arabs that gathered around him the meaning of the mysterious characters. benny was naturally a sharp lad, and hence, though his opportunities were few, his progress was by no means slow. sometimes he startled joe wrag by spelling out a long word that he had carried in his head the whole of the day, and asking its meaning. long words had an especial fascination for him, and the way he brought them out in all sorts of connections was truly amusing. nelly manifested no desire to learn to read. if ever she thought about it, it was only to regard it as something infinitely beyond her capabilities; and she seemed content to remain as she was. but if she could get granny to read to her a chapter out of st. john's gospel, she seemed to desire no higher pleasure. she would sit with a dreamy far-away look in her half-closed eyes, and the smiles that old joe wrag loved to see would come and go upon her face like patches of spring sunshine chasing each other across a plain. she never said very much, but perhaps she thought all the more. to honest joe wrag she seemed as if ripening for a fairer country, and for a purer and nobler life. not that she ailed anything. true, she had a little hacking cough now and then, and when she lay asleep a pink spot would glow on either cheek; but nothing more than that. "speretual things," mused joe wrag one night, as he sat in the door of his hut looking into the fire, "are speretually discerned, an' i b'lieve that child 'as rale speretual discernment: she looks a mighty sight deeper than we thinks she do, that's my opinion. i should like to get howld o' all that passes through her purty little noddle, the little hangel--bless her! as for the boy, 'e's a little hanimal. i reckon the passons would call him a materialist. i don't b'lieve 'e b'lieves nothing but what 'e sees. no speretual insight in 'im--not a bit. p'raps he's like me, don't belong to the elect. ah, me! i wonder what the likes o' us was born for?" and joe went out, and heaped more fuel on the fire by way of diverting his thoughts from a subject that was always painful to him. but when he came back and sat down again, and the fire before him blazed up with fiercer glow, the thoughts returned, and would not be driven away. "bless her!" he said. "she sees in the fire only woods, an' meadows, an' mountains, an' streams; an' i only see the yawning caverns o' hell. an' to think i must burn in a fire a thousan' times bigger an' hotter than that for ever and ever without a single moment's ease; scorching on every side, standin' up or lyin' down, always burnin'! no water, no light, no mercy, no hope. an' when a million million years are past, still burning, an' no nearer the end than at the beginnin'. oh, how shall i bear it--how shall i bear it?" and big drops of perspiration oozed from his forehead and rolled down his face, testifying to the anguish of his soul. "i canna understand it--i canna understand it," he went on. "all this pain and suffering for his glory. what kind o' glory can it be, to bring folks into the world doomed aforehand to eternal misery? to give 'em no chance o' repentance, an' then damn them for ever 'cause they don't repent! o lord a mercy, excuse me, but i canna see no justice in it anywhere." and once more joe got up and began to pace up and down in front of the fire; but the thoughts would not leave him. "'whom he did foreknow,'" he went on, "'them also he did predestinate.' mighty queer, that a father should love a part o' his fam'ly an' hate the rest. create 'em only to burn 'em for ever an' ever! an' what's the use o' the burnin'? that bangs me complete. if 't was to burn away the dross an' leave the metal, i could understand it. i think sometimes there's jist a bit o' the right stuff in me; an' if hell would burn up the bad an' leave the good, an' give it a chance of some'at better, there 'ud be more justice in it, seems to me. but what am i a-saying? it shows as how i'm none o' the elect, to be talking to myself in this way. what a wicked old sinner i be!" and once more joe sat down with a jerk, as if he meant to say, "i'm not going to be bothered with such thoughts any more to-night." but alas! he found that thoughts would come, whether he would or no. "pr'aps," he said, "we don't know nowt about it, none o' us. mebbe god is more marcyfuller than we think. an' i'm sadly banged about that 'makin' an end o' sin;' i don't see as how he can make an end o' sin without making an end o' the sinner; an' whiles there is millions sich as me in hell, there'll be no end to neither on 'em. i'm sadly out in my reck'nin' somewheres, but 'pears to me if there was no sinners there 'ud be no sin; an' the way to rid the univarse of sinners is to get 'em all saved or kill 'em outright." much more to the same effect joe wrag turned over in his mind that night, but we must not weary the reader with his speculations. like many other of god's children, he was crying in the darkness and longing for light. he had found that human creeds, instead of being a ladder leading up into the temple of truth, were rather a house of bondage. men had spread a veil before the face of god, and he had not courage to pull it aside. now and then through the rents he caught a ray of light, but it dazzled him so that he was afraid there was something wrong about it, and he turned away his face and looked again into the darkness. and yet the night was surely passing away. it wanted but a hand to take down the shutters from the windows of his soul, and let the light--ay, and the love of god that surrounded him, like a mighty ocean--rush in. but whose hand should take down the shutters? through what agency should the light come in? let us wait and see. chapter vii. two visits. tell me the story slowly, that i may take it in; that wonderful redemption, god's remedy for sin. tell me the story simply, as to a little child; for i am weak and weary, and helpless and defiled. --hankey. one clear frosty evening early in the new year two little figures might have been seen threading their way along old hall street, in the opposite direction to the exchange. it had not long gone five, and numbers of clerks and warehousemen were crowding into the street and hurrying in the direction of their several homes. but the little figures dodged their way with great skill through the crowded street, still holding each other by the hand and keeping up most of the time a sharp trot. after pursuing a straight course for a considerable time, they turned off suddenly to the right into a less frequented street. then they took a turn to the left, and then again to the right. it was very evident they knew the streets well, for they wound in and out, now right, now left, without the least hesitation. at length they reached a street where all was darkness, save where here and there the flickering rays of a candle struggled through the dirt-begrimed window. this was bowker's row, and benny and his sister paused for awhile before venturing into the darkness. for several days their little hearts had been aching with curiosity to visit once more their old home. they had no wish to be seen, and as for living again in addler's hall, that was altogether out of the question. still, they were filled with a curiosity that they could not resist to peep at the old spot once more, and ascertain, if possible, how far their father and stepmother were pleased or otherwise with their disappearance. they had talked the matter over for several nights as they lay in each other's arms in the warm corner under betty barker's stairs. they admitted that there were difficulties, perhaps danger, in paying such a visit; but at length curiosity became too strong for them, and they resolved to risk it. with nelly, too, there was something more than curiosity. notwithstanding his drunken habits and his cruelty to benny, she loved her father, for there had been times when he had made much of her, and called her "his little nell." perhaps she did not love her father very deeply. in comparison to "her benny," he occupied indeed a very third-rate place in her affections. still he was her father, and now and then he had been kind to her, and hence he was more to her than a stranger, and her little heart longed for one more sight of his face. they did not wait long at the end of bowker's row. ascertaining that the coast was tolerably clear, they darted up the street, and without any one recognizing them, turned into addler's hall. from the window of their late home a feeble light struggled, which satisfied them that the house was not empty. "take care," said benny to his sister, "an' don't make no noise if yer can 'elp it." "right you are," whispered his sister, and with silent footfalls they glided up to the door and listened. from within came the sound of voices, but they were the voices of children--strange voices, too, they were. and benny looked at his sister and whispered-- "by golly! this are a go. the owd folks 'ave flit, that's sartin." "can yer get a peep through the winder, benny?" said nelly, with a white, startled face. "dunno, but i'll try;" and try he did, but without success. "brimstone!" he whispered, scratching his head; "what's us to do? oh, i 'ave it," he said at length. "come 'ere, nell. i's 'mazin' strong, an' i can lift you 'igh 'nough to get a peep." and, taking his sister in his arms, he managed, not without considerable difficulty, to enable her to look through the window and get a glimpse of the inmates of the room. "do 'e know 'em, nell?" said benny, after he had lifted her down very carefully. "no, i dunno who they is; i've never seen 'em afore." "well, then, we'll ax 'em." and without further ado he pushed open the door. there were four hungry and neglected-looking children in the room, the oldest of them about the same age as benny. they looked up with questioning eyes at the intruders, but said nothing. "does you live 'ere?" said benny, putting on a bold face. "ay," was the response from all together. "how long?" said benny. "week afore last," answered the oldest lad. "where's the folks as lived 'ere afore you comed?" "dunno." "ain't you ever heerd?" "ay, we've heerd." "where is they, then?" queried benny. "childer is drownded." "golly! are that so?" and there was an amused twinkle in benny's eye as he put the question. "ay," was the response; "we's heerd so." "where's their faather?" was benny's next question. "dunno," said the biggest lad. "ain't you heerd?" "ay, we 'ave." "where is he, then?" "well, faather says he's gone to davy jones, but i dunno where that are." "nor i too," said benny, scratching his head. then he looked at the oldest lad again. "did the man's missus go wi' him, does yer know?" he inquired. "never heerd nothing 'bout 'er," said the lad. "an' yer knows nothin' more 'bout 'em?" "no, nothin'." "mich 'bliged," said benny, with an air of importance. and taking nelly by the hand, he walked out of the house. he hardly knew whether he was most pleased or disappointed with his visit, so he said nothing to his sister until they had left bowker's row behind them, and got once more into the region of gaslight. then, turning to his sister, he said, "what does yer think o' it now, nell?" "p'r'aps father's mended, and 'as gone to live in a better 'ouse," was the quiet reply. "mos' likely," said benny, and again they trudged on in silence. at length they paused in front of a chapel that abutted close on to the street. a few people were dropping in quietly one after another, and benny wondered what they did inside. he had never been inside a church or a chapel; they were most of them so grand, and the people that went were dressed so well, that he had concluded long since that they were not for such poor little chaps as he. but this chapel was anything but grand-looking, and the people who were going in did not look very smart, and benny began to wonder if he might not dare take a peep inside. while he was speculating as to what he had better do, a gentleman who had been standing in the vestibule came out, and said in a kindly voice, "well, my little ones, would you like to come inside?" "may us?" said benny, eagerly. "oh, yes," was the reply; "we shall be very glad to see you, and there is plenty of room; come this way." and without a word they followed him. "here," he said, pushing open a green baize door, "i will put you in my pew; you will be nice and comfortable there, and none of my family will be here to-night." for a few moments the children hardly knew whether they were awake or dreaming; but at length they mustered up sufficient courage to look around them. the place they thought was very large, but everything felt so snug and warm that they almost wished they could stay there all night. still the people dropped in very quietly and orderly, until there were between two and three hundred present. then a gentleman opened the organ and began to play a voluntary; softly at first, then louder, swelling out in rich full tones, then dying away again, like the sighing of a summer's breeze; anon bursting forth like the rushing of a storm, now rippling like a mountain rill, now wailing as a child in pain; now rushing on as with shouts of gladness and thanksgiving, and again dying away like the wind in far-off trees. nelly listened with open mouth and wondering eyes, oblivious to everything but the strains of music that were floating all around her. and benny sat as if transfixed. "by golly!" he whispered to nelly, when the piece was ended, "if i ever heerd sich music as that afore. it's made me cold all over; seems to me as if some one were pouring cold water adown my back." but nelly answered nothing; her attention was attracted to a gentleman that stood alone on a platform with a book in his hand. nelly thought his voice was strangely musical as he read the words,-- "jesus, lover of my soul, let me to thy bosom fly, while the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high. hide me, o my saviour, hide, till the storm of life be past; safe into the haven guide: oh, receive my soul at last." then all the people stood up to sing, and the children thought they had never heard anything half so sweet before. great tears welled up in nelly's brimming eyes and rolled down her cheeks; though if any one had asked her why she wept, she would not have been able to tell. then followed a prayer full of devout thanksgiving and of earnest pleading. then came another hymn-- "would jesus have a sinner die? why hangs he then on yonder tree? what means that strange expiring cry? sinners, he prays for you and me: forgive them, father, oh! forgive; they know not that by me they live." and once more the congregation stood up to sing. nelly was even more affected than during the singing of the previous hymn, and while they sang the last verse-- "oh, let me kiss his bleeding feet, and bathe and wash them with my tears, the story of his love repeat in every drooping sinner's ears, that all may hear the quick'ning sound, since i, even i, have mercy found,"-- she fairly broke down, and, hiding her face in her hands, she sobbed aloud. she soon recovered herself, however, when the preacher began to speak. clear and distinct his words rang out:-- "let the wicked forsake his ways, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him return unto the lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our god, for he will abundantly pardon." and nelly eagerly drank in his words as he went on to tell how we were all wanderers from our father's house; and how the father's heart yearned towards us, and how he had invited all to return home, giving the same invitation to every one of his children, and promising an abundant pardon to all that would come. and then he told, by way of illustration, the beautiful parable of the prodigal son, and concluded with an earnest exhortation to all the unsaved to come to the saviour that very night, and to come just as they were. nelly felt that she would very much like to "come to the saviour," but, alas! she did not know how. and when she saw several persons leave their pews and kneel around the communion, she wondered if they were "prodigals going home to the father." but what of benny? alas! if joe wrag had seen him that evening, he would have been more than ever convinced that he was none of the elect, and that he had not one particle of spiritual discernment. the words of the preacher seemed to have a very soothing influence upon our hero, for scarcely had he uttered twenty words of the sermon ere benny was fast asleep. nor did he wake again till near the end of the service, when he was startled by a strange voice speaking. it was one of the men that nelly had noticed kneeling at the communion. the man stood up, and with a face radiant with his new-found joy, he said, in broken accents, "oh, friends, thank the lord for me, for i have found the saviour!" evidently he intended to have said more, but, overcome by his emotion, he sat down and hid his face in his hands. "i'm glad the chap found 'im," said benny to his sister, as they hurried homeward, "for he seemed desp'rate cut up 'bout it." but nelly did not answer, she was too full of what she had seen, and heard, and felt, to speak. the next evening, long before service-time, they were waiting around the chapel door, and when at length the door was opened, they were welcomed by the same gentleman that had spoken to them the previous evening, and put into the same pew. and once more was benny delighted with the music, and once more was he soothed to sleep by the sermon. but not so nelly. as the preacher explained that wonderful text, "for god so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth in him might not perish, but have everlasting life," she seemed to see more clearly what the preacher meant on the previous night. and while he dwelt on the word "whosoever," she felt that she was included in this invitation of mercy. in fact, it seemed to her as if a great deal the preacher had said had been for her special benefit, and that for _her_ the saviour had provided a home more beautiful than any of the pictures she had seen in joe wrag's fire. as they were leaving, near the close of the service, a young gentleman placed his hand on benny's shoulder, and said, "well, my little man, i hope you have found the saviour." "lor' a massy!" said benny, with a look of surprise upon his face, "are that little chap lost agin? he can't be well looked arter, that's sartin." "you don't understand," said the young man; "but perhaps i should have asked if the saviour has found you?" "not that i knows on," said benny stoutly. "nobody finds me, i finds myself." "dear me!" said the young man, "you mistake my meaning altogether." "does i?" "yes, my little fellow. but i will talk with you again some other time, when there is more time." "will yer?" "yes; but now good night." "good night," said benny and nelly in chorus, and once more they left the warm house of prayer for the cold and wintry street. "you would understand better, benny," said his sister, as they journeyed homeward, "if yer would listen to granny, an' not go to sleep whiles the man is talkin'." "dunno that i should, nell. i's not 'cute 'bout those things like you is; but let's 'urry on, for i's gettin' as cold as jonar in the den o' lions." benny was very fond of old testament stories, and granny had humoured his liking in this respect, but the way he mixed up the prophets, patriarchs, and other noted bible characters, was rather bewildering. "never mind," he would say, when granny took him to task on this matter, "so long's i gets hold o' the right hend o' the story, mixin' up the names a bit makes no matter, as fur as i can see." so granny let him have his way, concluding that he would mend in that matter as he got older. "but," the old woman would say, "he'll never be like little nelly. bless her! i's afeard, sometimes, she's too good an' knowin' to live." chapter viii. in which joe wrag has a vision. they are going, only going, jesus called them long ago all the wintry time they're passing softly as the falling snow. when the violets in the spring-time catch the azure of the sky, they are carried out to slumber sweetly where the violets lie. as winter slowly wore away, little nelly's health began to fail. she seemed weary and languid, and poor little benny was at his wits' end to know what to get her to eat. after spending more than he could really afford in something that he thought would tempt her appetite, he was grieved beyond measure when she would turn away her head and say, "i's very sorry for yer, benny, but i canna eat it; i would if i could." and he would be compelled reluctantly to eat it himself, though he would not mind going without food altogether if only "little nell" could eat. but he comforted himself with the thought that she would get better when the spring-time came, and the streets were dry and warm. he might get her into the parks, too, and she would be sure, he thought, to get an appetite then. and so he kept up his spirits, and hoped for the best. "she's ripenin' for the kingdom," was joe wrag's reflection, as he watched her pale face becoming thinner, and her great round eyes becoming larger and more luminous day by day. "she belongs to the elect, there ken be no doubt, an' the lord don't intend for her little bare feet to walk the cold, dirty streets o' liverpool much longer. i reckon she'll soon be walking the golden streets o' the shinin' city, where there's no more cold, nor hunger, nor pain. i shall be main sorry to lose her, bless her little heart, for i'm feared there's no chance of me ever seein' her agin' when she's gone. i wonder if the lord would permit me to look at her through the bars o' the gate just for a minit if i wur to ax him very hard? 't will be nice, anyhow, to think o' her bein' comforted while i'm tormented. but it comes 'ard 'pon such as us as don't belong to the elect, whichever way we looks at it." sometimes joe would leave his home earlier in the afternoon than usual, and getting a nice bunch of grapes, he would make his way towards nelly's stand as the short winter's day was fading in the west. he would rarely have much difficulty in finding his little pet, and taking her up in his great strong arms, he would carry her off through bye-streets to his hut. and wrapping her in his great warm overcoat, and placing her on a low seat that he had contrived for her, he would leave her to enjoy her grapes, while he went out to light the fire and see that the lamps were properly set for the night. with a dreamy look in her eyes, nelly would watch her old friend kindling his fire and putting things "ship-shape," as he termed it, and would think how well she had been cared for of late. by-and-bye, when the fire crackled and glowed in the grate, joe would come into the hut and take her upon his knee, and she would lean her head against his shoulder with a heart more full of thankfulness than words of hers could utter. and at such times, at her request, joe would tell her of the mercy that was infinite, and of the love that was stronger than death. she had only been twice to the chapel, for when she and benny went the following week they discovered that there was no service, and so disappointed were they that they had not gone again; for the chapel was a long distance from tempest court, and she was tired when the day's work was done, and to go such a long distance and find the doors closed was anything but inviting. so they had not ventured again. but nelly had heard enough from granny and while at the chapel to make her thirst for more. and so joe became her teacher, and evening by evening, whenever opportunity presented, he unfolded to her the "old, old story of jesus and his love." it made his heart ache, though, to talk of the "good tidings of great joy," and think they were not for him. if the truth must be told, this was the reason why he kept away from church and chapel. he had adopted in early life the calvinistic creed, and had come to the conclusion, when about thirty years of age, that he belonged to the "eternally reprobate." hence, to go to church to listen to promises that were not for him, to hear offers of salvation that he could not accept, to be told of a heaven that he could never enter, and of a hell that he could not shun, was more than his sensitive nature could bear. and yet, as he repeated to nelly the wonderful promises of the gospel, they seemed sometimes to widen out, until they embraced the whole world, including even him, and for a moment his heart would throb with joy and hope. then again the bossy front of his creed would loom up before him like an iron wall, hiding the light, shutting out the sunshine, and leaving him still in "outer darkness." one day nelly rather startled him by saying, in her sweet childish way, "i does like that word who-so-ever!" "do you?" said joe. "oh, yes, very much; don't you?" "well, i 'ardly knows what to make on it." "how is that, joe?" said nelly, looking up with a wondering expression on her face. "well, 'cause it seems to mean what it don't mean," said joe, jerking out the words with an effort. "oh, no, joe; how can that be?" "well, that's jist where i'm floored, nelly. but it seem to be the fact, anyhow." "oh, joe! and would the saviour you've been a-tellin' me of say what he didna mean?" and a startled expression came over the child's face, as if the ground was slipping from beneath her. "no, no, nelly, he could not say that; but the pinch is about what the word do mean." "oh, the man in the chapel said it meaned everybody, an' i reckon he knows, 'cause he looked as if he wur sartin." "did he, nelly? then perhaps he wur right." "oh, yes, it's everybody, joe. i feels as if it wur so inside." "purty little hangel!" said joe, in an undertone. "but there are somethin' in the book about 'out of the mouths of babes an' sucklings.' i'll read it again when i gets home." that night, as joe wrag sat in his hut alone, while the silence of the slumbering town was unbroken, save for the echoing footfall of the policeman on his beat, he seemed to see the iron wall of his creed melt and vanish, till not a shred remained, and beyond where it stood stretched endless plains of light and glory. and arching the sky from horizon to horizon, a rainbow glowed of every colour and hue, and in the rainbow a promise was written in letters of fire, and as he gazed the letters burst forth into brighter flame, and the promise was this, "whosoever cometh unto me, i will in no wise cast them out." and over the distant hills a great multitude appeared in sight--so many, indeed, that he could not number them. but he noticed this, that none of them were sick, or feeble, or old. no touch of pain was on any face, no line of care on any brow, and nearer and yet nearer they came, till he could hear the regular tramp, tramp of their feet, and catch the words they were chanting as if with one voice. how thankful he was that the great town was hushed and still, so that he could not mistake the words. "and the spirit and the bride say, come. and let him that heareth say, come. and let him that is athirst come. and whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely." and still nearer their echoing footfalls came, when suddenly the glowing arch of fire in his grate fell together, and a policeman passing his hut with measured tread, shouted,-- "good night, joe. we shall have a storm, i reckon; the wind has got up terrible during the last hour." "ay, ay," responded joe, rubbing his eyes and wondering for a moment what had come over him. "you seem hardly awake, joe," laughed the policeman. "believe i 'ave nodded a bit," said joe. "but, bless me, how the wind do howl!" "yes, it'll be rough outside the 'bar,' i reckon. i hope we shall have no wrecks. good night." "good night," said joe, as he staggered out of his hut to mend the fire, which done, he sat down to reflect. "wur it a vision," he soliloquized, "or wur it a dream, or wur it 'magination? wur it given to teach or to mislead me? but, lor', how bright that promise did shine! i ken see it now. it are in the bible, too, that's the queerest part on it. an' how beautiful they did sing, an' how they did shout out that part, 'whosoever will.' lor' bless us! i can't get it out o' my noddle; nor i dunno that i want to, it's so amazin' comfortin', and much more nearer my idear of what god ought to be, 'cause as how there is no limit to it." and joe scratched his head vigorously, which was a sure sign that some new idea had struck him. "well, bang me!" he ejaculated, "if i ain't floored again. ain't god infinite, an' if that be the case he must be infinite 'all round.' an' that bein' so, then his power's infinite, and his marcy's infinite, an' his love's infinite, an' he's all infinite. no limit to nothin'. an' if that be so, it don't square nohow with his love an' marcy stoppin' just at the point where the elect leaves off an' the reprobate begins." and joe took a long iron rod and stirred up the fire until it roared again, muttering to himself the while. "well, if i ain't completely banged. i'll ax little nell. i b'lieve she knows more about it now than i do, by a long chalk." by this time slates and chimneypots began to drop around him in a decidedly dangerous fashion, and he had again to seek the shelter of his hut. but even there he did not feel quite safe, for the little wooden house rocked and creaked in the might of the storm, and threatened to topple over altogether. there was no longer any chance of meditation, so he had to content himself listening to the roar of the storm. sometimes he heard its voice moaning away in the distant streets, and he wondered where it had gone to. then he heard it coming up behind his hut again, at first quietly, as if meditating what to do; then it would gather strength and speed, and he would listen as it came nearer and nearer, till it would rush shrieking past his hut, making it creak and shiver, and once more there would be a momentary lull. and so joe waited and listened through the wild solemn night, and longed as he had rarely done for the light of the morning to appear. chapter ix. tempted. where the watching, waiting angels lead them from the shadow dim, to the brightness of his presence who has called them unto him,-- little hearts for ever stainless, little hands as pure as they, little feet by angels guided, never a forbidden way. towards the close of february nelly caught a very severe cold, which kept her indoors for several days. one night her cough had been so bad that she had scarcely slept at all, and when she got up in the morning, with flushed cheeks and hollow eyes, unrested and unrefreshed, granny insisted that she was not fit to go out, and that she must stay indoors and keep herself warm. benny was very sorry to lose her earnings, for, alas! it had been a hard struggle for the children to find the necessary coppers day by day to purchase food and pay for their lodgings; and had it not been for joe wrag's kindness, they would often have fared much worse. nelly knew this very well, and hence it was a great trial to her to stay indoors doing nothing, while her benny was out fighting the world alone. "how will yer manage, benny?" she said, with an anxious look in her eyes, the first morning that he went out alone. "oh, never fear, nell, i'll 'cumulate the coppers somehow," was the response. "what's 'cumulate, benny?" for it was the first time he had ventured to use that word in her hearing. "well, i might a-knowed," he said, putting on a knowing look, "that you would not hundercumstand sich words, 'cause as how you don't seem to care for larnin' like me." "well, you 'ave not told me now, benny." "oh, it means as how i'm bound to get the coppers somehow." "how _somehow_, benny? you'll only get 'em the right way, will yer, now?" "never fear, nell; i's not goin' to steal 'em." "but if you dunna get enough, benny?" "oh, i'll go hungry for a day or two; 't won't be fust time i's done it." "poor benny!" and she placed her wasted hand on his shoulder. "but i 'ope it will be true, what joe told me t'other night." "what did he tell yer?" "well, he said the good lord was sure to provide; that is, you know, benny, he willna let us starve." "i dunno much about _him_, nell." "oh, but joe 'as told me lots an' lots about him; an' he never says what he doesna mean; an' if he says he'll provide, he will, benny." "anyhow, i shall be glad to see it," was benny's observation, as he walked away, leaving nelly standing at the door. he found the days very long without a sight of his sister's face from morn till eve. but he bore up bravely, and hurried home as early as he possibly could when the day's toil was over. nobody knew how much "little nell" was to him: she had been the only comfort of his cheerless life, and when the world seemed more rough and unfriendly than usual, it was nelly who stood by his side like a ministering angel, encouraging him still to persevere. the sight of her sweet patient face in the evening was like a benediction to him, and after the frugal meal they would sit on the floor with their arms around each other before granny's fire. and benny would tell his sister all the experiences of the day; making light, however, of the difficulties and disappointments, and magnifying every little pleasure that had fallen to his lot. it was wonderful how thoughtful he was of his sister, and how he anticipated her every want. he would not give her a moment's pain on any consideration if he could possibly help it. yet nelly always knew when he was in trouble, though he said nothing about it; for experience had made her quick to detect his every mood. one afternoon, as benny was passing along a narrow and not very frequented street, he paused before a small hosier's shop. a great many things had been hung outside the door to catch the eye of the passer-by. but one article especially attracted his attention, and that was a woollen "cross-over." "golly!" he said to himself, "if nelly only had that, she'd be better in no time." nelly had been much better that morning, and but for the keen east wind that had been blowing for several days, she would have again ventured into the streets. and as benny looked again and again at the cross-over, he thought how nice she would look with it crossed over her chest, and how nice and snug and warm it would make her feel. no cold, he was sure, could come through a thing like that; and it was the cold, granny said, that made her cough so much. but he knew he could not purchase it, so with a sigh he turned away. yet in less than half an hour he was standing before the shop again. "they would never miss it," he muttered to himself, "an' nelly needs it so much." then a voice within him whispered, "don't steal, benny," and again he walked away. but the tempter followed and gave him no rest. "i could cut the string as easy as that," he said to himself, snapping his fingers. "and it ain't for myself that i wants it, and i dunna think it can be so very wrong to take it for little nell, when she's so ill." while he was musing thus, he was startled by a voice near him, "hullo, ben, are 'e goin' to a funeral, yer look so glum?" looking up a narrow entry, he saw a lad that went by the name of "perks," engaged in trying on a pair of shoes, that were evidently new, though they had been well plastered with mud. perks was not so big as benny, though he was two or three years older. he was a strange-looking lad. a great shock of fiery red hair made hat or cap totally unnecessary. his face was plain, looked at under any circumstances, but a look of low cunning made it at times appear almost repulsive. perks was no friend of benny's, who rarely took the trouble to reply when addressed by him. benny knew that he was not honest. he never sold matches, and rarely carried parcels, and yet he had generally plenty of coppers at his disposal, and wore better clothes than any of the street lads. but to-day benny was in a different humour to what he was generally. he had permitted an evil spirit to take possession of him, and so was not so particular about his company. so he walked up the entry close to where perks sat, and pointing to the shoes, said in a whisper, "where'd yer get them?" "walked 'em," was the response. "that is, stole 'em, ain't it?" "gem'men of our per-fession don't say stole, it ain't perlite," said perks, trying to look important. "it means that, though," said benny. "well, i admit i took 'em without leave, as i takes most things; it's most conwenient." "how did yer manage?" said benny. "so yer wants to take up the per-fession, does yer?" and there was a cunning leer in his eye as he spoke. "no, i don't," said benny, colouring up. "what yer ax me for 'ow i did it, then?" "for fun." "no doubt. but, i'll tell yer, nothin' is easier. folks hang things outside on purpose to be stole. i took up the per-fession 'cause i couldn't 'elp it. shop-keepers put things right under my nose, an' made me take 'em against my will at fust. now i's no feelin' 'bout it at all." "'t ain't right, though, nohow," said benny. perks was about to sneer at this remark, but thought better of it, and answered, after a pause, "well, if it ain't, i's not to blame. folks just put things in my way; an' a chap's not to blame for eatin' butter when it's put in his mouth." to this benny ventured no remark. and perks having fastened on the shoes to his satisfaction, said, "come with me a minute," and together they walked off into a more crowded thoroughfare. poor benny! in such a state of mind as he was, he could not have fallen into worse hands. he was fast getting into the toils of the tempter; and who should deliver him? for awhile benny and perks walked on in silence, when suddenly perks clutched his arm and whispered in his ear, "look alive, an' i'll show yer a bit of nice play." "what yer mean?" said benny. "yer see that man afore us, with a bit o' his hankecher peepin' out o' his pocket?" "ay." "well, there's another chap walking alongside o' him, an' comin' down the street is three or four more; don't 'e see as how they'll all meet by that lamp-post? well, ther'll be a bit o' crush, an' i'll just pop in atween 'em at the same time onexpected, an' for a moment we'll be sixes an' sevens, an' then the thing is done." and off perks darted like the wind. benny did not wait to see how he succeeded in his undertaking. the poisonous seed had taken root in the soil that had been prepared for its reception, and benny hurried away to the hosier's shop, alas! already a thief in heart, if not in action, for he had made up his mind to take the cross-over if anything like a favourable opportunity presented itself. "i's not to blame for takin' things," he said, using perks's words, "if people puts 'em right in one's way." it was getting dusk, and in this narrow street it was darker than in the street he had just left. yes, there was the cross-over. and, after looking at all the windows in the neighbourhood, to see that no one was watching him, he glided stealthily up to the door. the shopkeeper was busy inside. "so much the better," he thought. "now's the time," and he stretched out his hand to grasp the coveted article, when a hand was laid upon his arm with a firm grip, and, turning, he saw a face that made the perspiration ooze from him at every pore. leaving benny for a moment to recover his fright, we will go back to tempest court, and have a look at nelly. she had been restless and ill at ease all the day--a sign, granny said, that she was getting better; and, indeed, she felt much better in body, though she was uneasy in mind, and, as the day kept fine and got much warmer as the hours wore on, she determined she would go out and see how benny was getting on, for she had a vague presentiment that all was not right. on reaching the landing-stage she looked anxiously around, but benny was nowhere visible. this did not trouble her much, but after loitering around for a good part of an hour, and he did not come, she began to feel alarmed; still she waited around, till, unable longer to bear the burden of suspense, she started off to search for him. up one street and down another she went, looking here and there and everywhere, but without avail. just before four o'clock she made her way to the old trysting-place by st. george's church, in the hope that benny might do the same; but, alas! she was doomed to disappointment, for he did not come; and when she saw the daylight begin to fade, she got frightened, feeling sure that some evil had befallen "her benny." evil, alas! had befallen him, though not of the nature that she had feared. at length she saw some one turn up a narrow street that looked like benny. she could not be certain, but she would follow and see; so with beating heart she hurried up the street. yes, it was benny; she was near enough to recognize him now. but when she saw--as she did at a glance--what he was about to do, her heart stood still for a moment; the next moment she hurried forward with the fleetness of the wind, and laid her hand upon his arm, unable to speak a word. for two or three seconds the children looked at each other in silence, then nelly took her brother by the hand and led him away. she uttered no word of reproach, she only said, "my poor benny!" and her great round eyes filled with tears, which rolled silently down her wasted cheeks. "it was for you, nelly. i thought 't would warm yer. i wouldna 'ave done it for myself." and again came the words, in a choking voice, "my poor benny!" "i didna think it wur so very wicked, seein' as you is so ill, nelly. is you very mad at me, nell?" "i's not mad, benny, but i's sorry--oh, so sorry! i did not think----" but here she broke off abruptly: she would utter no word of reproach, for she knew it was all out of love for her. that evening she could eat no supper. benny knew the reason and did not press her, but her silent grief nearly broke his heart. he would rather suffer anything himself than see his sister suffer. and yet now he had given her keener pain than words could tell. in the middle of the night he awoke and found her sobbing by his side as though her little heart would break, and he knew that he was the cause of her grief. "don't take on so, nell," he said, in a voice that had the sound of tears in it. and he drew her tear-stained face towards him and kissed her affectionately. but she only sobbed the more. "do forgive me, nell," he said. "i's very sorry." "i 'as nothin' to forgive you for, benny; you's always been good to me. ax the dear lord to forgive yer." "i knows nowt about him, nell." "but he knows about you, benny--joe says so; and he sees everything we does. ax him." "could he hear if i wur to ax him?" "yes, joe says as he hears everything." "then i'll try him," said benny, and, sitting up in bed, he commenced,-- "if you plaise, mr. god, i's very sorry i tried to stole; but if you'll be a trump an' not split on a poor little chap, i'll be mighty 'bliged to yer. an' i promise 'e i won't do nowt o' the sort agin'." "there, will that do, nell?" "say amen." "amen," said benny, and he lay down to listen for the answer. but after waiting a long time and no voice broke the stillness of the night, and nelly having fallen asleep, our hero concluded that _she_ had received the answer, as she seemed so much comforted; so he thought that he might go to sleep also, which he accordingly did, and did not awake till late in the morning, when he saw his sister bending over him with a calm face, from which all trace of pain had fled, and a beautiful light shining in her eyes. this satisfied him that his prayer had been answered, and once more his heart was at peace. chapter x. in the woods. i roam the woods that crown the upland, where the mingled splendours glow, where the gay company of trees look down on the green fields below. let in through all the trees come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright, their sunny-coloured foliage in the breeze twinkles like beams of light. --bryant. perks was very much annoyed that benny had not stayed to see him perform the feat of picking a gentleman's pocket, nevertheless, he was very anxious to cultivate our hero's acquaintance, especially as benny had generally treated him with unmistakable contempt; so on the following morning he sought out benny, and tried his very best to make himself agreeable. but benny was in a decidedly unfriendly mood, and threw cold water on all perks' advances. but, nothing daunted, perks kept near him most of the day, and even offered to treat him to what he called "a feed." but it was of no use. benny had learned a lesson he would not easily forget, and he knew that his safety lay in having as little to do with perks and his class as possible. so as evening came on and perks still hung around him, he lost all patience, and, doubling his fist in an unmistakable manner, he said, with a gymnastic flourish, "look 'ere, perks, if yer don't walk yer pegs in double-quick time, you'll wish yer had, that's all." "oh, that's yer game, is it?" said perks, in a defiant tone, and squaring up in front of benny. "it are," was the reply; "an' if yer don't want to see fire, you'd better be off like greased lightnin'." "i shall go when i likes, and not afore," said perks; "an' if yer thinks yer's goin' to bully this little chap, you's got the wrong pig by the ear." "i wants to bully nobody," said benny, in a milder tone; "but i won't have yer a hangin' about me all day." "i 'spose yer wants to crib somethin' without my knowin' it," said perks, with a sneer. "it's a lie," said benny, colouring painfully, as the event of the previous day crossed his mind. "'t ain't a lie, neither," was the response, "or you'd not get so red over it." "d' yer think i's a thief, then?" said benny. "no," said perks scornfully, "but i knows it." "an' yer shall know some'at else afore yer a minit older," said benny, springing upon him, and dealing him a blow between the eyes that made him stagger; and, before he could recover himself, a second blow sent him reeling against a wall. for a moment perks glared at his antagonist with flaming eyes, but he saw that he was no match for benny, so he turned on his heel and walked away. he had not gone many steps, however, before he came back again. "look 'ere, ben bates," he said, "you's licked me now, but i'll get my revenge, an' i'll a'most plague the life out o' yer," and once more he walked away. perks kept his word; from that day he became the greatest plague of benny's life. he stole his matches, picked his pocket, tripped him up in the street, and annoyed him in every possible way that he could imagine, always mindful, however, to keep out of the reach of benny's arm; and, being fleet-footed, that was not difficult. benny, however, said that he could "'ford to bide his time," so he quietly went on his way, feeling that nothing could trouble him very much now that "little nell" was getting better again. and as the summer advanced she did seem to get very much better. the cough became less troublesome, her appetite improved, her cheerfulness came back, and altogether she seemed to be taking, as joe wrag put it, "a new lease of her life." and yet a close observer would have noticed that the improvement was more in appearance than in reality. the pink spot still burned on either cheek, and her great round eyes shone with an unnatural lustre, and her strength, which had been failing for months, did not seem to come back; and though she went out with benny in the morning and came back with him in the evening, yet each evening she seemed more tired and worn than on the previous one. she made no complaint, however; but, on the contrary, always declared that she was getting ever so much better. for several weeks joe wrag had been planning to give the children a treat; and one fine morning in june he put in an appearance at tempest court before they had left, much to their surprise and delight. nelly was the first to see him coming up the court, and ran to meet him, her eyes beaming with pleasure. "oh, joe," she exclaimed, "i's so pleased to see you!" "is you, my purty?" said joe fondly; and, stooping down, he took her up in his arms, and carried her into the house. granny looked up in surprise, and benny stared in bewilderment, fearing there was mischief in the wind. "yer don't get much heavier," said joe, sitting down with nelly on his knee. "we'll have to feed yer up a bit somehow." "oh, i's very well, joe," said nelly, nestling closer to her old friend. "dunno 'bout that," said joe reflectively; "but what d' yer say 'bout havin' holiday to-day?" "oh, methusaler!" said benny, brightening up in a moment, "that's the game, are it?" and he went out in the doorway and stood on his head--a sure sign that he was more than usually delighted. nelly looked up in joe's face with a beautiful light in her eyes. "d' yer mean it, joe?" she said, simply. "ay, my bonny, that i do," responded joe. "oh, then, won't it be jist--jist--" "profusely," said benny, coming to her rescue with one of his grand words, of which he had been laying in a stock of late. "now, then," said joe, "get on yer best togs, and let's be off." poor children! they had not much of best or worst in the way of attire, but, such as it was, it was clean and neatly mended. granny did her very best to turn them out respectable, and certainly they did her no discredit. "where is we going?" said nelly, as she stepped along by joe's side, her eyes sparkling with delight. "into the woods somewhere on t' other side o' the water," said joe, looking fondly down into the child's beaming eyes. benny had nearly stood on his head again when he heard that; but thought better of it, and contented himself with a shrill whistle expressive of delight. "better an' better," he thought, flinging his cap into the air and catching it on his toe; "won't i enjoy myself, just, that's all?" by ten o'clock they were on the landing-stage, and soon after they were gliding up the river towards eastham. oh, how the wavelets sparkled in the summer's sunshine, and how the paddle-wheels tossed the water into foam! how happy everything seemed to-day! the ferries were crowded with passengers, all of whom seemed in the best of spirits; and the rush of water and the beat of the engine seemed to nelly the happiest sounds she had ever heard. benny was rushing here and there and everywhere, and asking joe questions about everything. but nelly sat still. her thoughts were too big for utterance, and her little heart was full to overflowing. at length they reach new ferry, where several passengers get off and several others get on; then on they glide again. the river here seems like a sheet of glass, so broad and smooth. now they are nearing the river's bank, and nelly is delighted to watch the trees gliding past. how wonderful everything seems! surely her dreams are becoming a reality at last. for awhile after they land they sit on the river's bank in the shade of the trees, and nelly rubs her eyes and pinches herself, to be certain that she is not asleep. how grandly the mile-wide river at their feet flows downward to the sea! and what a beautiful background to the picture the wooded landscape makes that stretches away beyond garston and aigburth! and nelly wonders to herself if it is possible that heaven can be more beautiful than this. but benny soon gets impatient to be off into the wood, and, humouring his wish, they set off up the narrow path, between banks of ferns and primroses and wild flowers of almost every hue. the tall trees wave their branches above them, and the birds whistle out their happy hearts. here and there the grasshoppers chirp among the undergrowth, and myriads of insects make the air vocal with their ceaseless hum. they had scarcely got into the heart of the wood ere they found that benny was missing; but they were neither surprised nor alarmed at this, for the lad was fairly brimming over with delight, and could not stay for five minutes in the same place if he were to be crowned. nelly was as much delighted as her brother; perhaps more so, but she had a different way of expressing it. she felt as she sat on a mossy bank, holding joe's rough and horny hand within both her own, and looked away up the long avenues between the trees, and watched the dancing sunlight that was sifted down in golden patches, and listened to the dreamy murmur of the summer's wind through the leafy trees, mingling with the song of birds and the lowing of the cattle in the distant fields, as if she could have cried for very joy. it was all so solemn, and yet so delightful, so awe-inspiring and yet so gladsome, that she hardly knew whether to laugh outright, or hide her face on joe's shoulder and have a good cry. benny, however, decided the matter for her. he had been wandering no one knew whither, and joe was beginning to think that it was time to go off in search of him, when they heard him shouting at the top of his voice,-- "joe, joe! golly! make haste--quick, d' ye hear? thunder!" judging by the tone of his voice, as well as by his words, that he was in a difficulty of some kind, joe and nelly started off in the direction from whence the sound came. they had not gone far, however, before they espied our hero, and at sight of him joe stood stock-still and held his sides. for there was benny suspended by his nether garment to the branch of a tree, and striking out with his hands and feet like a huge octopus in a frantic and vain endeavour to recover a horizontal position. he had gone out on this branch, which was not more than six feet from the ground, for some unknown purpose, and, missing his hold, he slipped, and would have fallen to the ground but for the friendly stump that held him suspended in mid-air. "joe! oh, do come! murder and turf! d' ye hear? what's yer larfin at? are 'e moon-struck? oh--h--!" he shrieked out at the top of his voice, still going through most unheard-of gymnastic exercises, and vainly trying to raise his head to the level of his heels. to make the matter worse, a young gentleman passing at the time inquired of benny, with a very grave face, "whether his was a new method of learning to swim on dry land? if so, he thought he had got the action nearly perfect, the only thing required was to keep his head just a trifle higher." by this time, however, joe had come to his relief, and easily lifted him down without further mishap. the young gentleman tried to poke some more fun at benny, but he would not reply, and soon after set off with joe and nelly to get some dinner. after dinner they took a ramble across the fields, in the direction of raby mere. benny's adventure had rather sobered him, so he did not object to assist his sister in gathering wild flowers, while joe artistically arranged them into what seemed to the children to be a magnificent bouquet. fleet-footed indeed were the hours of that long summer's afternoon. benny wished a thousand times that the day could last for ever; and nelly, though she was getting tired, watched with a look of pain in her eyes the sun getting farther and farther down in the western sky. as they were returning across the fields benny was strongly tempted to leap a ditch that he had noticed at the beginning of their ramble--so strongly tempted indeed that he could not resist it. so off he set at a swinging trot as soon as they got into the field. joe guessed what he was after, and called him back; but it was of no use, he either did not hear or would not heed, for he went faster and faster as he neared the ditch. joe saw him fling up his hands, take a flying leap, and then disappear. after waiting a few moments, and he did not appear on the opposite bank, joe and nelly hurried after him. on reaching the ditch they found that he was stuck fast in the mud about two feet from the opposite side, and the more he tried to get out the deeper he sank. "oh, quick, joe!" he shouted, "or i'll be out o' sight in another minit." "sarve you right!" said joe, laughing; "you had no business to get in there." "i can't stay to argify," retorted benny; "don't yer see there's scarce anything of me left?" "ay, i see plain enough," said joe, going to the other side, and pulling him out, though not without an effort. "i wonder what mischief you'll be into next?" "dunno," said benny, regarding his legs with a look of dismay. then, after a long pause, "i say, joe, how's i to get this mud off?" "scrape off what yer can," said joe, "and let the rest dry, and it'll rub off as clean as a new pin." benny was rather ashamed of his appearance, however, when he got into the wood again, and found himself in the midst of two or three hundred sunday-school children and their teachers, all nicely dressed, who had come out for a picnic. but when he saw them each with a small bun loaf and a cup of milk, he could not help drawing near, notwithstanding the rather disgraceful state of his legs. nelly was also anxious to have a nearer view of all those happy-looking children. fortunately for benny, the superintendent of the school was the gentleman that had invited him into the chapel months before. benny felt sure he knew them again, but whether he did or not he invited all three to sit down with the rest, and gave them each a bun and a cup of milk. joe was as delighted as the children with the kindness shown, and was soon quite at his ease. after lunch the children ran races for prizes, and benny was invited to compete with the rest. this suited him exactly, and very soon after, with about a dozen others, he was bounding up a broad avenue between the trees, in a well-matched and most exciting race. for the first half of the distance benny dropped into the rear, then he began gradually to gain upon the others. now was his time, so putting on a spurt, for which he had saved his breath, he went bounding ahead of all the others, and amid loud hurrahs came first into the goal. benny never felt so proud in his life before as when that first prize--a brand new sixpence--was put into his hand. his success, however, disqualified him from competing again, so he had to content himself with watching the others run. but the most delightful circumstance of all to nelly was when all the children stood up in a large circle, and sang in their pure young voices the following hymn:-- "land ahead! its fruits are waving o'er the fields of fadeless green; and the living waters laving shores where heavenly forms are seen. "there let go the anchor. riding on this calm and silvery bay, seaward fast the tide is gliding, shores in sunlight stretch away. "now we're safe from all temptation, all the storms of life are past; praise the rock of our salvation, we are safely home at last." nelly never forgot that little hymn to her dying day; and when that evening they glided down the placid river towards home, she repeated to herself over and over again-- "seaward fast the tide is gliding, shores in sunlight stretch away." and when in her little corner she lay down to sleep, it was only to dream of the sunlit shores on the banks of the far jordan river. heaven seemed nearer and dearer to her ever after that day, and she sometimes almost longed for the sunny slopes of that far-off country where there should be no more weariness nor pain. chapter xi. benny prays. prayer is the burden of a sigh, the falling of a tear, the upward glancing of the eye when none but god is near. prayer is the simplest form of speech that infant lips can try; prayer the sublimest strains that reach the majesty on high. --montgomery. the long summer days passed all too quickly, and autumn came again. the days began to shorten, and the evenings to be cold. nelly felt the change in an unmistakable manner, for her cough returned worse than ever, and her appetite and strength began to fail rapidly. but the hopeful little child battled bravely with her growing weakness, and each morning went forth to earn her daily bread. one afternoon in october benny was down on the pier, when he saw perks coming towards him, and not wishing to have anything to say to him, he was about to turn away, when perks called out, "does yer want to hear a bit o' news?" "no!" said benny. "yer wants to 'ear what i knows, i'm sartin." "well! what is it?" said benny, carelessly. "your nelly's killed!" "it's a lie!" said benny, paling to the lips. "'taint a lie, neither; she's been run over with a 'bus, an' 'ad her yed cut off." "you lying thief!" said benny. "if yer not out o' my sight in a minit i'll pound yer to a jelly." and benny made a rush towards him. but perks was not to be caught, and was soon out of sight. benny did not believe a word perks had said; and yet, somehow, his words troubled him, and very long seemed the time till four o'clock, when he would meet her in the shadow of st. george's church. if perks' only object was to plague and annoy benny, he could not have been more successful, for try as he would, he could not get perks' words out of his head. punctually at four o'clock he was standing by the church, but nelly was not there, and a dull pain crept into his heart, such as he had never felt before. five minutes pass--ten minutes--fifteen minutes pass, and still nelly had not come, and benny began to fear that something had really happened to her. just then he saw bill tucker--a boy of his acquaintance--coming towards him. "have yer seen nelly, bill?" he shouted, when the lad got within hearing distance. "ay; ain't yer heerd?" "heerd what?" said benny, growing paler than ever. "why, she's got hurt," said the other. "are 'e sure, now?" said benny, great tears starting in his eyes. "ay, quite sure. i seed the perlice myself takin' her to the 'firmary." "oh, no! 't aint true, are it, bill? say yer a-foolin' me," said benny, trembling from head to foot. "i wish it weren't true," said, the lad, "but i seed 'em pick her up mysel', an' i's 'feared she's dead; she looked like it." "did a 'bus run over her?" "no. a big dog runned agin her, an' she fell with her yed on a sharp stone." "yer quite sure, bill?" "ay, quite," said the lad; "but go to the 'firmary an' see for yoursel'." "which way?" said benny. "haaf-way up brownlow hill, an' roun' to the left; a mighty big 'ouse." and off benny started, like the wind. by dint of many inquiries he found himself in the right street, but looking in vain for the infirmary. just then a policeman came up. "could yer tell me where the 'firmary are, please?" said benny, doffing his cap. "why, there, right afore your eyes." "what, that?" said benny, pointing to the huge building. "ay, to be sure," said the policeman. "oh, lor'!" was the reply, "i thought that wur the 'ouse the queen lived in." the policeman was about to laugh, but noticing benny's troubled face, he said, "do you want to get in?" "ay," said benny, "that i do." "then go up this street. there's the lodge door on your left; you can't miss it." "thanks, sir," and off benny started. in response to his timid knock the door was opened by a kind-looking man. "this are the 'firmary, ain't it?" said benny. "yes, my little man," was the answer. "what do you want?" "i wants to know if nelly are in 'ere?" "i don't know. who is she?" "my sister," said benny, the tears starting in his eyes. "when was she brought here?" "to-day. bill tucker said as 'ow she was hurt in the street an' brought here." "yes, a little girl was brought in two or three hours ago." "wur she very white, an' had long hair?" "yes, my little man." "oh, that wur nelly. let me see her, please." "you cannot to-day, it's against rules; you can see her to-morrow morning, after ten o'clock." "oh, do let me jist peep at her." "i cannot, my little fellow; and besides, it would do her no good." "but it ud do me good," said benny, gulping down a great lump in his throat. "she is all i has in the world." "i'm very sorry, my boy, but you can't see her to-night." "not for jist a minit?" "no, not to-night." "she ain't dead, then?" "no, but she is unconscious." "will she get better?" "i hope so. now run away and come again to-morrow, and rest satisfied that your little sister will be well taken care of." "oh, please," said benny, making a last appeal, the great tears running down his cheeks the while. "i cannot let you see her, however willing i might be," said the man. "now run away, there's a good lad." "oh, dear," groaned benny, as he stepped out into the darkening street. "what shall i do? what shall i do?" he had tasted no food since noon, but he never thought of hunger. he had been on the tramp all the day, but he felt no weariness. there was one great pain in his heart, and that banished every other feeling. nelly was in that great house suffering, perhaps dying; and he could not speak to her--not even look at her. what right had these people to keep his nelly from him? was not she his own little nell, all that he had in the wide, wide world? how dared they, then, to turn him away? hour after hour he wandered up and down in front of the huge building, watching the twinkling lights in its many windows. how could he go away while nelly was suffering there? could he sleep in his snug corner while his own little nell was suffering amongst strangers? it could not be. so when the great town grew silent around him, he sat down on a doorstep nearly opposite the entrance, and waited for the morning. the night was chilly, but he felt not the cold; his heart felt as if it would burn through his body. how long the night seemed, and he almost wondered if morning would ever come. suddenly a thought struck him. had he not better pray? he remembered how nelly prayed every night ere she lay down to sleep, and once he had prayed and felt all the better for it. he would pray again. so he got up and knelt on the cold flags, and looking up into the silent heavens, where the pale stars kept watch over the sleeping earth, he said, "oh, mr. god, i's in great trouble, for nelly's got hurt, and they's took her into the 'firmary, an' won't let me see her till to-morrer, but you knows all about it, i specks, for joe says as how you knows everything. but i dunna want her to die, for joe says you takes people who dies that is good to a mighty nice place; nicer'n eastham by a long chalk, an' how you has lots an' lots o' childer; an' if that be the case, i's sure you needn't take little nell; for oh, sir, she's all i's got in the world. please let her stay an' get better. oh, do now! for i'll break my heart if she dies. an' 'member, i's only a little chap, an' i's no one but nelly; an' 'tis so lonesome out here, an' she in there. please make her better. if i was in your place, an' you was a little chap like me, i'd let your nelly stay. i would for sure. an' oh, if you'll let my nelly stay an' get better, i'll be awful good. amen." benny waited for a few moments longer in silence, then got up and crept to the doorstep, and in five minutes after he was fast asleep. he was aroused in the morning about nine o'clock by the door being opened suddenly, against which he was leaning, and he fell into the passage. he got up as quickly as possible, but not in time to escape a fierce kick dealt him by a hard-featured woman. poor child! it was a painful awaking for him. but he was thankful it was broad day. he was cold, and almost faint for want of food, yet he was not conscious of hunger. when at length he was admitted into the infirmary he walked as one in a dream. at any other time he would have noticed the long corridors and broad flights of stairs. but he saw nothing of this to-day. he kept his eyes fixed on the nurse who walked before him, and who was leading him to his little nell. he was told that he must be very quiet, and on no account excite her, or it might prove fatal to her, as she was in a very critical state. she had recovered consciousness on the previous night, but she was so weak, and her nervous system had received such a shock, that she could not bear any excitement. benny only partly understood what it all meant, but he had determined that he would be very quiet, and make no more noise than he could possibly help. so he followed the pleasant-faced nurse as silently as possible into the children's ward. he noticed the two long rows of beds between which they were passing, but he had no eyes for the occupants. at length the nurse stopped by the side of a little cot, and with a sudden bound he stood by her side. he could hardly repress a cry that rose to his lips, and a great lump rose in his throat that almost choked him; but with a tremendous effort he gulped it down, and brushed away the tears that almost blinded him. there in the cot was his little nell, pale as the pillow on which she lay, yet with a look of deep content upon her face, and just the shadow of a smile lingering round the corners of her mouth. benny was about to throw his arms around her, but the nurse held up her finger. nelly's eyes were closed, so that she did not know of their presence, and benny was made to understand that he must wait until she should open her eyes of her own accord. so he stood as motionless as the little figure on the bed, gazing with hungry eyes at his little sister, who was silently slipping away from his grasp. he had not to wait long. slowly the great round eyes opened, the vanishing smile came back and brightened all her face, the lips parted sufficiently for her to whisper "my benny." and with a low cry benny bent down his head, and the little wasted arms were twined about his neck, and then the round eyes closed again, and the nurse saw two tears steal out underneath the long lashes, and roll silently down her cheek. for a few moments they remained thus in silence, then benny, unable longer to restrain his feelings, sobbed out-- "oh, nelly! i can't bear it; my heart's breaking." "don't give way so," she said softly. "it's so comfortable here, an' the good lord'll take care o' you, benny." "but you will soon be better, nelly, won't you?" "yes, benny, i'll soon be better, but not as you mean it. i's going to jesus, and shall never have no more cough, nor feel no more pain." "oh, no! you's going to get better. i axed the lord last night to make you better an' let you stay." "no, benny, i shan't stay long. i's known it for months, an' i's willin' to go, 'cause i know as how the lord will take care of you." "but i canna let you go," said benny, sobbing louder than ever. then the nurse came forward, and laid her hand upon his shoulder. "you must not excite your sister," she said kindly, "for that is not the way to make her better." "oh, but she's all i has," he sobbed. "yes, poor boy, i know," she replied. "but if your sister leaves you she'll be better off, and will not have to tramp the streets in the cold and wet; so you must think that what is your loss will be her gain." nelly raised her eyes to the nurse with a grateful look for talking to benny in that way. and before he left he had grown calm, and seemingly resigned. it was a painful parting; but nelly did her best to cheer him up, reminding him that in two days he would be able to come and see her again. granny was in great trouble at the absence of the children, and it was no small relief to her when, about noon, benny put in an appearance at tempest court. one look at his face, however, was sufficient to convince her that something had happened, and when benny told her what had befallen his little nell, the old woman sat down and cried; for she knew very well that never more would the little face brighten the dingy court. and granny had got to love the sweet, patient little child as her own; and though for months she had been convinced that the little flower was marked to fall, yet it had come in a way she had not expected, and, like benny, she felt it very hard to give her up. after dinner benny went out again to face the world. it was with a very sad heart that he did it; for he felt that from henceforth he would have to fight the battle of life alone. chapter xii. fading away. the morning flowers displayed their sweets, and gay their silken leaves unfold, as careless of the noontide heats, as fearless of the evening cold. nipt by the winds unkindly blast, parched by the sun's directer ray, the momentary glories waste, the short-lived beauties die away. --s. wesley. joe wrag heard the news in silence. benny, who had gone to him to tell him what had happened to nell, was not half pleased that he said nothing in reply. but joe was too troubled to talk. like granny, he had known for months what was coming, but it had come suddenly, and in a way that he had not expected, and the old man, as he afterwards expressed it, was "struck all of a heap." benny waited for some time, but finding joe was not inclined to talk, he made his way home, leaving the old man gazing into the fire, with a vacant look in his eyes and a look of pain upon his face. no one ever knew what the old man suffered that night. it was like tearing open the wound that had been made twenty years before, when his only son, as the crowning act of his unkindness, ran away from home, and had never since been heard of. "if i could only believe that there was the smallest hope o' my ever getting to heaven," he muttered, "it 'ud be easier to bear." and he hid his face in his hands, while great tears dropped between his fingers to the floor. "bless her little heart!" he murmured; "she did not believe as how any wur excluded; she allers stuck to that word 'whosoever,' an' sometimes i wur inclined to think as how she wur right. i wonder, now, if she wur? for sartinly it looks the reasonabler. "bless me!" he said after a long pause, "i'm getting mortal shaky in my faith; i used to be firm as a rock. i wonder if it are my heart getting righter, or my head getting wrong. but i mun have a few more talks wi' the little hangel afore she goes." as soon as joe was liberated from his watch, he made his way direct to the infirmary, and bitterly was he disappointed when told that he could not be admitted, and that if he wanted to see the child he must come again on the following day. his heart was yearning for a sight of her face, and another day and night seemed such a long time to wait; but he turned away without a word, and went slowly home. evening found him again at his post of duty, and the next morning found him anxious and sad. the night had seemed so very long, and he was burning with impatience to get away. the men came to work at length, and off he started with all possible speed. the porter at the door knew him again, and he was admitted without a word. nelly was expecting him; she knew it was visitors' day, and she was certain he would come, so she waited with closed eyes, listening for the footfall of her old friend. she knew without looking up when he stooped beside her, and reached out her wasted hand, and drew down his weather-beaten wrinkled face and kissed him. for a long time neither of them spoke. joe felt if he attempted to utter a word it would choke him, for she was far more wasted than he expected to see her, and somehow he felt that that was the last time they would ever meet on earth. nelly was the first to break the silence. "i's so glad you's come, joe," she said simply. "are 'e, my honey?" said joe, with a choking in his throat. "ay," she replied; "i wanted to see yer once more. you's been very good to me, joe, and to benny, an' i wanted to thank you afore i died." "i dunna want thanks, honey," he said, sitting down in the one chair by her bedside, and hiding his face in his hands. "i know yer does not want 'em, joe; but it does me good, an' i shall tell the lord when i gets to heaven how good you've been." joe could not reply, and nelly closed her eyes, and whispered again to herself, as she had often done, "seaward fast the tide is gliding, shores in sunlight stretch away." then after awhile she spoke again, without opening her eyes. "you'll not be long afore you comes too, will yer, joe?" "perhaps the lord will let me look at you through the gate," sobbed joe; "but i'm afeard he won't let sich as me in." "oh, yes, joe," she said, opening her eyes with such a pained look. "does you think the lord does not love yer as much as i do? an' won't he be as glad to see yer as i shall?" "it does look reasonable like, my purty," said joe; "but, oh, i'm so afeard." "'who-so-ever,'" whispered nelly, and again closed her eyes, while the troubled expression passed away, and the smile that joe loved to see came back and lit up her pure _spirituelle_ face with a wonderful beauty. and as joe watched the smile lingering about her mouth as if loth to depart, he felt somehow as if that child had been sent of god to teach him the truth, and to lighten the burden of his dreary life by giving him a hope of heaven. "'out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,'" he muttered to himself. "yes," said the nurse, coming softly to his side, "out of the mouths of babes he perfects praise." joe looked up in surprise. "do you think the bairn is right?" he stammered out. "i'm sure of it," she replied. "but what about the elect?" said joe, in a tone of voice that proclaimed how deeply he was agitated. "i think the elect are 'whosoever will,'" she replied. "so nelly thinks," he said, and shook his head sadly, as if such news were too good to be true. the nurse, besides being a kind motherly woman who dearly loved children, was also a person of strong common sense, and hence she saw joe's difficulty in a moment. "you have no children of your own, i suppose," she said. "i had a son once," said joe. "i hope he's still living." "you do not love him, of course?" in a moment joe was on his feet. "love him!" said joe, trembling from head to foot. "i'd lie down an' die for him this blessed moment if it would do him good." "ah! he has been a very good son, i expect," said the nurse. joe sat down again, and hid his face in his hands. after awhile he looked up and said with evident emotion, "no, he was what people would call a bad son--a very bad 'un." "then if he were to come home again, you certainly would close the door against him?" "close the door agin him! close the door agin my own child, my own flesh and blood! why, i've been longing for years for him to come home. i wish he'd try me, he should have the best of everything i've got in the house. oh, marcy! how my poor old heart 'ud ache with joy if he were to come to-night." joe had got quite excited while delivering himself of this long speech. so the nurse said quietly, "so you think, joe, that you are better than god." "better 'n god?" "yes; more merciful, and loving, and kind." "who said so?" said joe, staring at her as if he could scarcely believe his own ears. "well, you implied it," said the nurse, quietly. "me implied it?" said he in a tone of bewilderment. "how so?" "well, you say you have a bad son who has been away many years, and yet you say you love him still, so much so that you would willingly die for him; and that, bad as he has been, if he were to come home to-night, instead of driving him from the door, you would give him the heartiest welcome, and think nothing in the house too good for him. and yet you think god will turn away you. so you must admit, joe," she said with a smile, "that you think you have more love and mercy in your heart than god has in his?" joe was silent. and nelly whispered to the nurse, "thank you _so_ much." after awhile joe got up, and leaning over the crib, he kissed the pale brow of the little sufferer. "good bye, my purty," he whispered. "we'll meet again, i do believe." "ay, joe, i'm sure we shall." "i'm main sorry to lose 'e," he said in a faltering voice, and brushing his rough hand across his eyes; "but i ken give yer to god." "i'll be waiting, joe, 'gin you come. now kiss me, for i'll be gone, i reckon, afore you come again." silently joe bent over her, and pressed a last lingering kiss upon her paling lips. then, sobbing, turned away and left the room. granny and benny called a little later in the day, and found her sinking fast. her last words to her brother were: "be good, benny, an' the lord will provide, an' we'll meet in heaven." then she lay as if asleep, taking no further notice of any one. once or twice the nurse heard her repeating, "seaward fast the tide is gliding," and felt that the words were sadly true. the nurse told granny that the child was dying, not of the blow on the head, but of swift decline. nothing could save her, she said. the shock to her nervous system had of course hastened the end; but for that she might have lived till another spring, but certainly not longer. she did not seem to suffer in the least. hour after hour she lay quite still, while the tide of her little life ebbed swiftly out, and the darkness stole on apace; but she did not fear the gloom. the brave little heart that had borne so patiently the frowns of an unkindly world, was now resting in the love of god. the smile that had so long flickered over her face like firelight on a wall, now settled into a look of deep content. no murmur ever escaped her lips, not even a sigh; now and then her lips moved as if in prayer, that was all. and thus she lay waiting for the messenger that should still the little heart into an everlasting rest, and listening for the footfalls that should tell of the coming of her lord. after her last look at benny, she was never seen to open her eyes again, but gradually sank to rest. so fades a summer's cloud away, so sinks the gale when storms are o'er, so gently shuts the eye of day, so dies a wave along the shore. two days after, joe and benny went together to the infirmary. but they were too late: the pure spirit had gone to god, and the little tired feet were for ever at rest. "cannot we see her?" said benny. "no, you had better not," was the reply. benny felt it very keenly that he might not see his little dead sister, and yet it was best. they were told, however, if they would be at the new cemetery at the east of the town on the following day, they might see her buried, and mark her grave. it was a cold cheerless afternoon when little nelly bates was laid in her grave. there was no pomp or display about that funeral, for she was buried at the public expense. only two mourners stood by the grave, benny and joe, but they were mourners indeed. benny went from the grave-side of little nell to his corner under granny's stairs, and sobbed himself to sleep. and joe went to his hut to muse on the mercy of god, and to revel in his new-found hope of heaven. chapter xiii. the tide turns. be what thou seemest: live thy creed, hold up to earth the torch divine; be what thou prayest to be made; let the great master's steps be thine. --bonar. how benny lived through the next few weeks he never knew. it seemed to him as if the world had become suddenly dark. the one little being who had been the sunshine of his life was buried up in the damp cold grave, and now there seemed nothing to live for, nothing to work for, nothing even to hope for; for what was all the world to him now his little nell was gone? he missed her everywhere, and was continually fancying he saw her running to meet him as he drew near the church where they had regularly met for so long a time; and sometimes he would turn round with a sudden start, and with the word "nelly" on his lips, as he fancied he heard the pattering of her little feet behind him. he grew despondent, too. while nelly lived there was some one to work for, some one to bear rebuffs and insults for; but now what did it matter whether he sold his matches or not? he could go hungry; he did not mind. in fact, he did not seem to care what became of him. there seemed to him nothing to fight the world for--nothing. but for joe he would have moped his life away in some dark corner where no one could see him. but joe taught him to believe that his little sister was not lost, only gone before, and that perhaps she looked down upon him from heaven, and that it might grieve her to see him fretting so. so he tried to sell his matches or earn a penny in some other way in a listless, hopeless manner. but it was very hard work. and when evening came he would drag himself wearily to his little corner under granny's stairs, and generally sob himself to sleep. he missed his little companion in the evenings almost more than at any time, and wished that he had died with her. sometimes he went out to the cemetery to see her grave; and no one knew what the little fellow suffered as he knelt there with clasped hands, dropping scalding tears upon the cold earth that hid his little sister from his sight. he seemed to take no comfort in anything, not even in the story-books that granny had hunted up for him, and which he was beginning to read so nicely. he was proud of his learning while nelly lived; but all that was changed now. and so the weeks wore away, and winter came in dark and cold. but people generally did not seem to mind the darkness nor the cold, for christmas was drawing near, and they were anticipating a time of mirth and merrymaking, of friendly greetings and family gatherings. the trains began to be crowded again with homecomers for their holidays; shopkeepers began to vie with each other as to which could present in their windows the grandest display; the streets were crowded with well-dressed people who were getting in a stock of christmas cheer; and everywhere people seemed bent on enjoying themselves to the utmost of their ability. all this, however, only seemed to make benny sadder than ever. he remembered how the christmas before nelly was with him, and he was as happy and light-hearted as he well could be. yet now the very happiness of the people seemed to mock his sorrow, and he wished that christmas was gone again. one bitterly cold afternoon he was at his old place, waiting for the railway boat to come up to the stage, in the hope that some one of its many passengers would permit him to carry his or her bag, when he noticed a gentleman standing against the side of the boat with a portmanteau in his right hand, and holding the hand of a little girl in his left. the boat was a long time coming to, for a heavy sea was running at the time, and the gentleman seemed to get terribly impatient at the delay. but benny was rather glad of it, for he had abundant opportunity of looking at the little girl, whose pleasant, smiling face reminded him more of his little dead sister than any face he had ever seen. "golly, ain't she purty!" said benny to himself; "and don't that woolly stuff look hot round her jacket! and what long hair she have!--a'most as long as little nell's," and he brushed his hand quickly across his eyes. "an' she looks good an' kind, too. i specks the gent is her par." and benny regarded the gentleman more attentively than he had hitherto done. "well now, ain't that cur'us!" he muttered. "if that ain't the very gent whose portmantle i carried the night faather wolloped me so. i'll try my luck agin, for he's a good fare, an' not to be sneezed at." by this time the gangway had been let down, and the gentleman and his little girl were among the first to hurry on to the stage. in a moment benny had stepped forward, and touching his cap very respectfully, said, "carry yer bag, sir?" "no," said the gentleman shortly, and hurried on. "oh, please, sir, do!" said benny, his eyes filling with tears. "i's had no luck to-day." but the gentleman did not heed his tears or his pleading voice. he had been annoyed at the delay of the boat, and he was in no mood to brook further delay. so he said sternly, "be off with you this moment!" benny turned away with a great sob, for since nelly died rebuffs had become doubly hard to bear. he did not try to get another fare, but stood looking out on the storm-tossed river, trying to gulp down the great lumps that rose continually in his throat. "i specks i'll have to starve," he thought bitterly, "for i can't get a copper to-day nohow." just then he felt a touch on his arm, and turning his brimming eyes, he saw the little girl he had noticed on the boat. "what's the matter, little boy?" she said, in a voice that sounded like music to the sad-hearted child. they were the first kind words that had been spoken to him for the day, and they completely broke him down. at length he stammered out between his sobs, "oh, i's so hungry an' cold, an' little nelly's dead; an' all the world is agin me." "have you no father?" she said. "no; i's no father, nor mother, nor sister, nor nobody. nelly was all i had in the world, an' now she's dead." "poor boy!" said the kindly little voice. "and how do you get your living?" "oh, i sells matches or carries gents' portmantles when they'll let me, or anything honest as turns up." "well, don't think papa is unkind because he spoke cross to you, but he had been annoyed. and here is a shilling he gave me to-day; you need it more than i do, so i will give it to you. are you here every day?" "ay, i's mostly here every day," said benny, closing his fingers around the bright shilling as one in a dream. the next moment he was alone. he looked everywhere for the little girl, but she was nowhere visible. "golly!" said benny, rubbing his eyes, "i wonder now if she wur a hangel. nelly said as 'ow the lord 'ud provide. an' mebbe he sent her with that bob. i wish i had looked more particler to see if she had wings, 'cause nelly said as how hangels had wings." more than twenty times that afternoon benny looked at the bright new shilling that had been given him; the very sight of it seemed to do him good. it seemed to turn the tide, too, in his favour, for before dark he had earned another shilling; and that evening he trudged to his home with a lighter heart than he had known for many a week. the weather on christmas eve was anything but orthodox. there was neither frost nor snow; but, on the contrary, it was close and sultry. benny had been out in the neighbourhood of edge hill with a big bundle for a woman, who dismissed him with three halfpence, and the remark that young vagabonds like he always charged twice as much as they expected to get. so benny was trudging home in a not very happy frame of mind. he had been tolerably fortunate, however, during the early part of the day, and that compensated him to some extent for his bad afternoon's work. as he was passing along a street in the neighbourhood of falkner square he was arrested by the sound of music and singing. now, as we have hinted before, benny was very sensitive to the influence of music, and, in fact, anything beautiful had a peculiar charm for him. the window of the house before which he stopped stood slightly open, so that he was not only able to hear the music, but also to distinguish the words that were being sung. it was a pure childish voice that was singing to a simple accompaniment on the piano,-- "there is beauty all around, when there's love at home; there is joy in every sound, when there's love at home. peace and plenty here abide, smiling sweet on every side; time doth softly, sweetly glide, when there's love at home." benny waited, as if rooted to the ground, until the song ended; waited a minute longer in the hope that the singer would begin again. and in that minute the little singer came to the window and looked out and saw our hero; and benny, looking up at the same moment, saw the face of his angel, and hurried away out of sight, as if he had been guilty of some wrong. the little singer was eva lawrence, the daughter of a well-to-do man of business in the town. she was not ten years of age by several months, but she was unusually thoughtful for her age, and was as kind-hearted as she was thoughtful. as soon as mr. lawrence had finished his tea that evening, and had betaken himself to his easy chair, little eva clambered upon his knee, and, putting her arms about his neck, said, "papa, what do you think?" "oh, i think ever so many things," he replied, laughing. "now, you naughty man, you're going to tease again. but i've begun wrong way about, as usual. i want to ask a favour." "i expected as much, eva," said her father, smiling. "but how many more christmas presents will you want?" "but this is not a present exactly." "oh, indeed," he said, pretending to look serious. "now, don't be a tease," she said, pulling his whiskers, "for i'm quite serious. now listen." "i'm all attention, my dear." "you want a little boy to run errands and sweep out the office, and do little odd jobs, don't you?" "well, who has been telling you that?" "nobody, papa; i only wanted to know, you see. so you do, don't you?" "well, i shall the beginning of the year, for the boy i have is leaving. but what has that to do with my little girl?" "well, papa, our teacher is always telling us that we ought to be little missionaries, and lend a helping hand to the needy whenever possible, and do all the good we can." "quite right, my dear; but i can't see yet what my little girl is driving at." "well, she was telling us only last sunday that lots of people would be better if they had better surroundings; and that if something could be done to get those little street arabs more out of the reach of temptation, they might grow up to be good and honest men and women." "well, eva?" "well, papa, i should like for you to give one of those little street boys a chance." "who do you mean?" "that poor boy i gave the shilling to on the landing-stage the other day, don't you remember--when you called me a silly girl?" "and were you not silly, eva?" "no, papa, i don't think i was; for i am sure the boy is not bad, he has such honest eyes. and he said he had no father, nor mother, nor brother, nor sister, and he seemed in such trouble." "well, my child?" "you know now what i mean, papa. i confess i had quite forgotten the poor boy till this afternoon i saw him standing in front of the house. i had been singing 'love at home,' and he had been listening, i think; and i fancy it had made him sad, for his eyes were full of tears, but when he saw he was noticed he hurried away as quickly as possible." "and suppose i should decide to employ this boy, eva, where should i find him?" "oh, he said he was nearly always on the landing-stage. he sold matches there, except when he was running errands." "well, i will think about it, eva." "oh, promise, papa, there's a good man." "i don't believe in making rash promises, eva," said mr. lawrence kindly; "and, besides, i have very little faith in those street boys. they are taught to be dishonest from their infancy, and it is a difficult matter for them to be anything else; but i'll think about it." and mr. lawrence was as good as his word; he did think about it, and, what is more, he decided to give the little boy a trial. benny was on the landing-stage on new year's day when mr. lawrence was returning from chester. he had scarcely left the railway boat when several lads crowded around him with "carry yer bag, sir?" benny among the number. he quickly recognized our hero from the description eva gave, and placed his bag in benny's hand, giving him the address of his office. arrived there, much to benny's bewilderment, he was invited inside, and mr. lawrence began to ply him with questions, all of which he answered in a straightforward manner, for there was little in his life that he cared to hide. mr. lawrence was so much impressed in the boy's favour that he engaged him at once, promising him two shillings a week more than he had intended to give. when benny at length comprehended his good fortune--for it was some time before he did--he sobbed outright. looking up at length with streaming eyes, he blurted out, "i can't tell 'e how 'bliged i is," and ran out of the office and hurried home to tell granny the news, not quite certain in his own mind whether he was awake or dreaming. granny was upstairs when benny burst into the room, and when she came down the first thing she saw was benny standing on his head. "oh, granny," he shouted, "i's made my fortin! i's a gent at last!" granny was a considerable time before she could really discover from benny what had happened; but when she did discover she seemed as pleased as the child. and a bigger fire was made up, and a more sumptuous supper was got ready in honour of the occasion. chapter xiv. a glimpse of paradise. i know not how others saw her, but to me she was wholly fair; and the light of the heaven she came from still lingered and gleamed in her hair; for it was as wavy and golden and as many changes took as the shadow of sunlight ripples or the yellow bed of a brook --j.r. lowell. for the next month benny lived in a seventh heaven of delight. the only drawback to his happiness was that nelly was not alive to share his good fortune. time was mercifully blunting the keen edge of his sorrow, and day by day he was getting more reconciled to his loss. yet never a day passed but that he wished a hundred times that his little sister were still with him, that they might rejoice together in his good fortune. he knew that she was better off, and even hoped that she was not altogether ignorant of his success in life. yet how much pleasanter it would have been, he thought, if they could have journeyed on through life together. benny had wonderful dreams of future success. though not of a very imaginative temperament, he could not help occasionally indulging in daydreams and castle-building, and some of his castles, it must be admitted, were of the most magnificent description. he saw the glowing heights before him, the summits of which others had reached, and why might not he? he certainly had commenced the ascent: what was there to hinder him from reaching the top? had not granny told him of poor liverpool boys who, by perseverance and honest toil, had become wealthy men, and were now occupying high and honourable positions? surely, then, there was a chance for him, and if he did not succeed it should not be for want of trying. he felt that already he had got his foot on the first rung of the ladder, and if there was any chance of his reaching the top he would do it. and as he thought thus, the future opened out before him in glowing vistas of unimagined beauty. he knew that he must wait many years; that he must work hard and patiently; that perhaps many difficulties would arise that he could not foresee; still, still, across the boggy valley the mountain rose up with its sunlighted crown, and the question came back--others had reached the top, then why might not he? it is true he never attempted to put these thoughts into words. they seemed to him too big for utterance; yet they were always with him, lightening his toil and brightening the long future that lay before him. if benny had been of a less practical turn of mind, he might have done what so many others have done--dreamed his life away, or waited idly for fortune to drop her treasures in his lap. but benny, notwithstanding his occasional daydreams, was sufficiently matter-of-fact to know that if he was to win any success in life, it must be by hard work. he was already able to read very creditably. but now a new desire seized him--he would learn to write as well. but how was he to begin? he had to confess that that was a poser, for neither granny nor joe could give him any assistance. still he had set his heart upon learning to write, and he was not to be defeated. so one day he said to one of mr. lawrence's clerks, "does yer think, mr. morgan, that i could learn to write if i was to try very hard?" "of course you could, benny," said mr. morgan, looking kindly down into the dark earnest-looking eyes of the office boy. for benny had done several little things for mr. morgan, and so that gentleman was disposed to be kind to the little waif. "but how is i to begin?" said benny eagerly. "i'm busy now," said mr. morgan, "but if you will wait till to-morrow, i'll bring you a slate and pencil, and will set you a copy, and then you'll be able to begin right off." just then mr. lawrence called benny from the inner office, and sent him with a note to mrs. lawrence, with instructions to wait for an answer. "you know the way, benny?" "yes, sir." "but you've never been to the house?" "no, sir." "then how do you know the way?" "it's where you has the music an' 'love at home,' sir, ain't it?" mr. lawrence smiled and said, "you are on the right track, benny, i think. go to the house, and give this note to the servant that opens the door, and say that you have to wait for an answer." "yes, sir," said benny, bowing very politely, and hurrying out of the office. benny had often longed to listen under the window of mr. lawrence's house that he might hear again the song that had so touched his heart, and see again the little angel face through whose intercession he owed his good fortune; for mr. lawrence had hinted as much as that to him. but even if nothing had ever been said, he would still have connected mr. lawrence's kindness to him with his little daughter, who had spoken so kindly to him in the hour of his sorrow and despair, and whose bright shilling he still kept, and regarded with almost superstitious reverence. but he had never dared to listen under the window again; he felt somehow as if he had no business in that neighbourhood, no right to look upon the face of his little benefactress; so he kept away and spent his long winter evenings by granny's fireside, poring over the few books that she and joe were able to procure for him. benny could not help wondering, as he hurried along the streets, holding the letter very carefully in his hand, whether he would see again the little face at the window or hear her voice in song. he hoped that one or the other would greet him; but he was disappointed in both. no face was at the window, no sound of music floated out on the bright frosty air. he pulled the door-bell very timidly, and then waited a long time very patiently for the door to open. it was opened, however, at length, and, bowing very low, he said, "please, 'm, here's a letter from the master, an' i's to wait for an answer." "you'll have to wait some time, then," said the girl, scornfully, "for mrs. lawrence has gone out;" and she shut the door with a bang. "may i wait here?" said benny, looking round the roomy hall. "yes," said the girl; "i'll have no brats in the kitchen; you can sit on that chair if you like;" and she hurried downstairs. benny obeyed, and sat for a long time holding his cap between his knees. at length, as he was growing rather impatient, he heard a light step on the stairs near him, and, looking up, he saw his little benefactress descending, carrying a huge doll in her arms. benny felt himself growing hot all over, for he had no idea whether it was the proper thing to stand or sit still, so he shuffled about on his chair in a very uneasy manner. the little girl looked at him curiously for a moment, and then came towards him, saying, "are you not benny, that papa has in his office?" "yes, 'm," said benny, shuffling dangerously near the edge of the chair, and blushing to the roots of his hair. "don't be frightened," she said, noticing his embarrassment. "i've been wanting a long time to see you. are you waiting for something?" "ay," said benny, regaining his composure; "the master sent me with a letter, an' told me to wait an answer." "well, mamma won't be in yet, so you can come into the nursery; it is warm there." benny had not the remotest idea what a nursery was, but he followed his guide at what he thought a very respectful distance, and soon found himself in the most wonderful room he had ever seen in his life. toys of every description were scattered about, and pictures of every description adorned the walls. a swing was suspended from the ceiling in the centre of the room, and in the nearest corner was a doll's house furnished in magnificent style. but what most attracted benny's attention was a huge rocking-horse. at first he thought it was alive, but soon found out his mistake, though his wonderment was not in the least diminished by his discovery. little eva lawrence was evidently amused at benny's astonishment, and after regarding him for some time with a merry twinkle in her eyes, said, "did you never see a rocking-horse before, benny?" "never!" was the laconic reply. "would you like to ride, benny?" "wouldn't i just!" said benny, his eyes beaming with pleasure. "well, here are the steps; take care you don't fall off, though," said eva. "oh, never fear," said benny, mounting the horse. "now for 't, miss, an' see if i ain't a stunner at it!" and the next moment our hero was sprawling on the floor in the middle of the room. "golly!" he ejaculated, picking himself up with a bewildered air, and scratching his head. "i's floored, to a sartinty." "you tried to go too fast to begin with," laughed eva; "you'll do better next time." "may i try again?" he questioned. "oh, yes," was the reply; "i want you to enjoy yourself." and enjoy himself he did, to his heart's content. after awhile eva said, "now, benny, i want to know more about you: won't you tell me something about yourself and about your little sister?" "ay, that i will, if you wish," said benny, sitting down in a low chair before the fire. and in his simple childish way he told her all the story with which the reader is acquainted--for he had lost all shyness now--told it with a simple eloquence and pathos that brought the tears again and again to his little listener's eyes. ay, he wept himself when he told of his little sister, of her goodness and of her love. he did not even hide from his listener the story of his temptation, and how but for his little nelly he would have been a thief in act as well as in heart. with the account of little nelly's death eva was much affected, and benny sobbed again as the recollection of his loss came back to him. "i thought i should ha' died when she were took," said he, between his sobs. "poor little boy!" said eva, soothingly; "but you see your little sister's words have come true, after all." "what words, miss?" "why, what you told me just now, benny,--how the lord would provide." "oh, ay," said benny, reflectively, "though i wur as near as nothin' to starvin' the day i fust seed you." "were you? then perhaps the lord sent me to help you." "oh, no doubt on that score," said benny, stoutly; "i's sartin about that matter." "do you go to sunday-school, benny?" benny shook his head. "nor to church or chapel?" "not since that night me an' nelly went, that i told you 'bout." "how is that?" "well, we did try to get into another place o' the sort, smarter like, but the gent at the door shoved us out, an' said there wur no room for such brats as us, an' told us to be off 'bout our bizness." "poor boy!" said eva, wondering if he came to the chapel she attended if he would not receive similar treatment. at length she looked up and said, "i would go to that chapel again, that you and nelly attended, if i were you, on a sunday. it would not be closed then, and i'm sure that kind gentleman would be glad to have you in the sunday-school." "oh, then, i'll go," said benny, who felt that this little girl's wish was law to him. soon after mrs. lawrence came in, read her husband's note without a word, and hastily wrote a reply. "make haste, benny," she said kindly, giving him the letter she had written. "i'm afraid mr. lawrence will think you've been away a very long time." benny took the letter without a word, and hurried away with a heart full of gratitude for the kindly treatment he had received. it seemed to him as if that day he had had a glimpse of paradise, and had spoken to one of god's angels face to face. how bright and smooth his path of life was growing! he almost feared sometimes that he was dreaming, and that he would awake and find himself destitute and forsaken. he was now beginning to enjoy life, and as he looked back upon the past he almost wondered how he and his little sister had managed to live in those dark years of cold and want. when joe wrag first heard of benny's good fortune, he lifted up his hands, and said in a voice of reverence, "the lord is good! the lord is good!" then after a moment's pause he went on, "but oh! what an old sinner i've a-been, to be sure." "how so?" said benny. "how so? 'cause as how i turned my back upon god, an' tried to persuade mysel' that he had turned his back on me. oh, i did, lad, an' in my heart i called him 'ard names. i didn't dare say it wi' my lips, but in my heart, boy, i said he wur cruel--that he wur a monster, that he had no feelin', that he had shut the door agin' me, when all the time he wur a-sayin', 'joe, come back, come back, for there's room in the father's heart and home for thee.' but, oh! praise his name, he sent his hangel to tell poor owd joe the way, an' reveal the father's love--he did, boy, for sure." "his hangel, joe?" said benny, trying in vain to comprehend all joe had said. "ay, his hangel, boy. an' that hangel wur little nell, bless her! she's wi' him now, in the land where there's no more sorrow nor pain, an' joe's on the way." and the old man looked up into the star-bespangled sky, as if he would look through the very floor of heaven. benny thought of all this, as he hurried from mr. lawrence's door, and felt as if he, too, had had an angel sent from god to help him on the way to heaven. poor boy! he did not see the heavy cloud that was gathering in the sky, nor the dark and painful paths that lay before him, which he, with bruised and bleeding feet, would have to tread. he only saw the promised land, bathed in sunshine and clad in beauty, a land where plenty reigned and want could never come, and knew not of the weary wilderness that lay between. he thought that he had passed through the wilderness already, and that all the sorrow, and hunger, and pain lay behind him. it was well he did so. let him enjoy the sunshine while it lasts, and dream his happy dreams of coming joy. the awaking will come all too soon. poor boy! may god protect him in the struggle of life. chapter xv. a terrible alternative. sow truth, if thou the true wouldst reap,-- who sows the false shall reap the vain; erect and sound thy conscience keep, from hollow words and deeds refrain. sow love, and taste its fruitage pure; sow peace, and reap its harvest bright; sow sunbeams on the rock and moor, and reap a harvest home of light --bonar. the days of peace and sunshine sped all too swiftly. winter soon gave place to budding spring, and spring lengthened into summer. twelve months had passed since that happy day in eastham woods, for june had come again; and the parks and squares were once more green, and the streets were hot and dusty. it had been a strange year to benny. pain and pleasure had strangely commingled. never had he felt such sorrow, never had he known such joy. the old year had closed in sorrow and despair; the new year had opened in joy and hope. benny had grown much during those twelve months, for neither the chastening of grief nor the stimulus of kindness had been lost upon him. both had done him good, and so the year had been to him one of growth--growth in every sense. he had grown physically. he was barely twelve yet, but he was well developed for his age; especially so considering how little had been the care bestowed on his childhood. his face was open and pleasant, and there was a frank honest expression in his eyes that won him favour wherever he went. he had grown, too, mentally. mr. morgan had regularly set him copies, and mr. lawrence, discovering his eagerness to learn, had lent him books that would help him in the pursuit of knowledge. he became a most diligent student. at first he sought after knowledge as a means to an end. he believed that it would help him in the race of life. but the farther he advanced the pleasanter became his studies, and knowledge became precious for its own sake. what at first he set before himself as a stern and even unpleasant duty, became at last a joy and delight. he was eager also to improve his manners. he was anxious to speak correctly, and not be a disgrace to the gentleman who employed him and the butt of the clerks. and it was wonderful what progress he made in this respect. it is true that he frequently forgot himself, and the old expressions that habit had made familiar rolled easily from his tongue. but he had made up his mind to conquer, and he was certainly succeeding. and last, but not least, he had grown morally. for three months he had regularly attended the sunday-school, and among the five hundred boys and girls that assembled regularly week after week there was not a more diligent inquirer than benny. the spiritual discernment that joe wrag thought he lacked was being given, and the "old, old story" was beginning to have a wonderful fascination for him. mr. lawrence was wonderfully pleased with his _protégé_, and had decided that if during the next six months he made such progress as he had done in the past, he should be promoted to a higher position. benny regarded his fortune as made. never had life seemed so bright to him as, one saturday afternoon, he was busy at work putting mr. lawrence's office in order. there was no one in the office but himself. mr. lawrence had just left, giving him instructions that he must wait till mr. morgan returned, who would lock up the offices, and then he (benny) must bring up the keys to his residence. benny had swept out the inner office, put the few books that were lying about in their proper places on the shelves, and was busy dusting the furniture, humming to himself the song that haunted him continually-- "there is beauty all around, when there's love at home," when mr. lawrence came in hurriedly, and went straight to his desk and began to search carefully among the few papers that were lying on it; then he looked behind it, around it, and underneath it, but it was evident, from the perplexed look on his face, that he could not find what he was in search of. "benny," he called, "come here." and benny came in from the outer office, to which he had retired on mr. lawrence's appearance. "has mr. morgan returned yet?" demanded mr. lawrence, in a stern voice. "no, sir," said benny, wondering what had happened. "has any one been here since i left?" "no, sir." "you are quite sure?" "yes, sir, quite sure." "then will you tell me what has become of the five-pound note that i left lying on the desk when i went out?" and he looked straight in benny's face. benny turned pale, for he knew what the question implied, but he did not quail before mr. lawrence's stern gaze, and, looking his employer straight in the eyes, he answered, "i do not know, sir; i have not seen it." "now, benny," said mr. lawrence, "mind what you are saying." in a moment his face flushed crimson as he answered, "did you ever know me lie, sir?" "no, benny," answered mr. lawrence; "i never did, nor steal either. though i can quite conceive how, in a moment of weakness, you might be tempted to do both." "but i've done neither," said benny, with trembling lip. for a moment mr. lawrence was silent, then he said, "look here, benny. i left a five-pound note on the desk when i went out. i am quite certain of that--as certain as i am that i stand here at this moment. and, according to your own statement, no one but yourself has been in the office since i left, and when i come back the note is gone. what am i to think?" "it's mighty queer, sir," said benny, turning pale again; "but i hope you'll not think that i've took it." "i'm afraid that i must think so." then there was another pause, while benny trembled from head to foot. at length mr. lawrence spoke again. "i do not wish to be hard with you, benny," he said; "and if you will only confess that you have taken the note, i will forgive you." "and if i was to tell a lie and say i took it, you would ask me for it at once, and i ain't got it." and benny burst into tears. "no, i will be more lenient still, for i know what a grief it will be to my little girl when she hears about it. if you will only confess that you have taken it, i won't even ask you to return it. but if you will not confess, i'm afraid the law will have to take its course." poor benny! it was a terrible moment to him, and he tried to realize how much depended upon his answer. by telling a lie he might still keep his situation and the friendship of his little benefactress, and yet reach the heights to which his ambition pointed. but if he stuck to the truth, what would there be? a prison, perhaps, and then the old life in the streets--hunger and weariness and cold. true, if he told a lie mr. lawrence would then have no doubt of his guilt. but, alas! he would still believe him guilty if he told the truth, and not only mr. lawrence, but every one else that knew him would regard him as a thief. it was a terrible alternative. tell a lie, and still go on the shining way that for months had been opening up before him; tell the truth, and go back to the old life, that would now seem worse than death--go back to want and disgrace. at one time he would not have been long in deciding the question. but conscience had been awakened since then, and, while he hesitated, the little pale face of his dead sister rose up between him and his employer, and a voice within seemed to whisper, "tell the truth, benny, and the lord will provide." it was a brief interval since mr. lawrence had spoken, but in those few moments benny had fought the fiercest battle of his life, and had won the victory. he lifted his swimming eyes to mr. lawrence and said, "i cannot tell a lie, sir." that was all. mr. lawrence regarded him for a few moments in silence, then left the office with a deeply puzzled expression on his face. he did not know what to think. either benny was honest or he was a most hardened thief, and somehow he felt that the boy could not be the latter. he had always found him so truthful and thoughtful and obliging. there seemed nothing bad about the boy. and yet where could that note be if he had not taken it? and again he walked back into the office, and commenced a search more careful and diligent than before, but all without avail: the note was nowhere to be found. sorely puzzled what to do, he left the office once more, and had scarcely got into the street when he stumbled across police-inspector sharp. "good afternoon," said the inspector, touching his hat. "good afternoon," said mr. lawrence, passing on. he had not gone many steps, however, before he turned back. "i don't know but that it is a fortunate thing, sharp, that i have met you," he said. "the fact is, i'm in a bit of a difficulty, and i don't know a more likely man than you to help me out." "i'm at your service, sir," said mr. sharp, "and if i can render you any assistance, i shall be most happy to do so." "well, the fact is," said mr. lawrence, and he went on to tell all the circumstances connected with the missing note, and finished up by saying, "but somehow i cannot for the life of me believe the boy has stolen it." "indeed, now," said mr. sharp, putting on a professional air, "i cannot for the life of me believe that the urchin has _not_ stolen it. so you see my difficulty is in the opposite direction, mr. lawrence." "but you don't know this lad, mr. sharp." "well, perhaps, i don't know this particular young dog, but i know the whole tribe of them," said mr. sharp, trying to look wise, "and i tell you they are all rogues and vagabonds, from the oldest to the youngest of 'em. bless you, it is bred in their very bones, and they couldn't be honest if they were to try ever so." "but this boy has been with me six months, and a nicer lad i never knew." "ay, yes, mr. lawrence, their cunning is amazing; and they can play the hypocrite equal to old satan himself. i tell you what, sir, if you had had the experience of 'em that i've had, you'd mistrust the whole tribe of 'em." "well, i dare say, sharp, you know more about them than i do, and i confess that it was with some amount of misgiving that i engaged the boy; but he has never taken anything before." "did you ever give him the chance?" "well, perhaps not," said mr. lawrence, looking thoughtful. "just so," said inspector sharp. "the young dog has patiently waited his opportunity. oh, bless you, sir, they know their game." "but what had i better do?" said mr. lawrence, looking puzzled. "if you'll leave the matter to me," said mr. sharp, "_i'll_ work the oracle for you, and very likely restore you the missing money." "i'm very unwilling to prosecute," said mr. lawrence, in a troubled tone of voice. "just so, just so. i quite understand your feeling. but you'll not have need to do much in that direction, i can assure you," said mr. sharp, in a patronizing manner. "well," said mr. lawrence, looking like a man that had made up his mind to submit to a painful operation, "i'll leave the matter in your hands." half an hour later, as benny stood in the street waiting until mr. morgan had locked the doors, a police constable came forward and touched him on the arm. "you'll come with me!" he said. "i've found fresh lodgings for you to-night." "did mr. lawrence send you?" said benny, the tears standing in his eyes. "the orders came from him in the first place," said the policeman; "he intends to stop your cribbing for a week or two." "oh, but i didn't steal the money," sobbed benny, "i didn't really." "they all say that," laughed the constable; "but from what i can hear, you're a particular cunning dog. however, you're caught this time." benny felt that it was of no use saying any more, so he walked along by the officer's side with the calmness of despair settling down upon his heart. he had no wish to resist. he knew it would be useless for him to attempt to do so. he had lost everything now, and the only thing he hoped for was that death might come speedily, and that he might soon be laid to rest by the side of his little sister, and be at peace for ever. he thought everybody was looking at him, as the officer led him through the streets, and he could not help feeling thankful now that nelly was dead. such disgrace would break her heart if she were alive. and for the first time he felt glad that she was sleeping in her grave. how changed everything had become in one short day! a few hours ago he was mourning the loss of his sister; now he was glad that she was numbered with the dead. but one short hour before the world had never seemed so bright, and he had thought how he should enjoy the beautiful summer evening in wavertree park; now the world had never seemed so cheerless and dark, and his evening was to be spent in a prison cell. poor boy! it is no wonder that he wished he might die, for every hope had been blasted in an hour. on arriving at the police station he was thrust into his cell without a word. he was thankful to find that it was empty, for he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. selecting the darkest corner, he crouched down upon the floor and rested his head upon his knees. he could not weep, his grief was too great for tears. he could only think and think, until his thoughts seemed to scorch his very brain. and as he crouched thus, while the hours of that summer's afternoon and evening dragged slowly along, his whole life passed vividly before him, he seemed to live it all over again, and he asked himself if he could go back to the old life of hunger and cold in the streets. when nelly was with him, and they knew no other life, they were not unhappy. but he had had a glimpse of paradise since then. he had tasted the joys of hope and had cherished dreams of a happy future, and he felt that it would be easier to die than to return in disgrace to what he had thought he had left behind him for ever. it was very hard that just as the world seemed brightest, and hope seemed growing into certainty--just as the path of life was getting clear, and the end seemed certain, that he should be thus thrust down, and thrust down to a lower depth than he had known in his darkest days. could it be true, he asked himself again and again, that he, who had been trying so hard to be good and truthful and honest, was really in prison on a charge of theft? it had come upon him so suddenly that he thought sometimes it must be all some horrid dream, and that he would surely awake some time and find the bright future still before him. and so the hours wore away, and the light faded in the little patch of sky that was visible through his high grated window, and the cell grew darker and more dismal all the while. at length there was a tramp of feet in the courtyard outside. the key grated in the lock, the door flew open, and two lads were tumbled into the cell. these were followed in half an hour by three others, and benny became aware by the noises in the courtyard that other cells were being filled as well as the one he occupied. and, as the darkness deepened, night grew hideous with shouts, and laughter, and songs, and curses loud and deep. it seemed to him as if he had got to the very mouth of hell. nothing that he had ever heard in addler's hall or bowker's row could at all compare with what he heard that night: now there was the sound of blows; now cries for help; now shrieks of murder, accompanied by volleys of oaths and shouts of laughter. the companions of his own cell were on the whole tolerably orderly, and were evidently disposed to make the best of their situation. they started several songs, but in every case broke down at the end of the second line, so at length they gave up trying, and settled themselves down to sleep. it was far on towards morning before all grew still, but silence did drop down upon the prisoners at last; and benny, weary with counting the beats of his heart, dropped at length into a troubled sleep. it was late in the morning when he awoke again, and for a moment he was unable to recall what had happened or where he was. then the memory of the past evening rushed in upon him like a flood, and he buried his face in his hands in the misery of despair. he wondered what granny would think of his absence, and what his teacher would think in the sunday-school. alas! he should see them no more, for how could he go to them with such a stain upon his name? while he was musing thus he was startled by a familiar voice addressing him, and looking up he saw perks looking at him, with a broad grin upon his countenance. "well, this are a onexpected pleasure!" he said. "i's jolly glad to see yer, ben. yer see, i's of a very forgivin' natur'." but benny made no reply. he only wondered if his misery would ever end. "in the dumps, eh?" continued perks. "well, i an' my mates'll help you out in quick sticks: now let's have a song all together. you ken take the big end, that's the bass, yer know." "i want to be quiet," said benny; "do let me alone." "in course i'll let 'e alone. i looks like it, don't i? i's a very forgivin' natur', mister benjamin bates, you knows that, though i don't forget. but the fact is, i's so pleased to 'ave yer company agin, that i'm bound to show my delight in some way." "if you don't take yourself off, perks, you'll wish you had," said benny. "now, don't be touchy, mr. bates. but let's dance a cornpipe, while one o' my mates whistles 'pop goes the weasel.'" poor benny! he could not escape his tormentor, so he bore throughout that weary sabbath, as best he could, a series of petty persecutions. he tried to be patient, he even tried to pray, but the only prayer he could utter was, "o lord, kill me at once, and put me out of misery." chapter xvi. an experiment. sow ye beside all waters, where the dew of heaven may fall; ye shall reap, if ye be not weary. for the spirit breathes o'er all. sow, though the thorns may wound thee: one wore the thorns for thee; and though the cold world scorn thee, patient and hopeful be. --anna shipton. while benny in his prison-cell was dragging out the weary hours of that june sabbath, joe wrag was engaged in an experiment that had occupied his thoughts for some considerable time. since that never-to-be-forgotten day when he had kissed his little nelly a last good bye, he had never doubted three things:--first, that the elect were "whosoever will;" second, that he had been accepted of the father; and, third, that little nelly bates had been to him the "sent of god," to lead him out of the darkness of error into the light of truth. the certainty that he was included in god's invitation of mercy was to him a new revelation. he felt as if he had suddenly grown young again, and, notwithstanding his grief for his little pet, he experienced a joy springing up in his heart the like of which he had never known before. the words that have comforted so many sorrow-bruised hearts--"for we mourn not as those without hope, for them that sleep in him"--seemed to him to have a new and deeper meaning. for he felt that not only was his little nelly safe, but that he, too, was secure in the almighty love of god. for several weeks joe hardly knew at times whether he was in the body or out of it. wrapped in contemplation, he would forget "all time and toil and care," and the long nights would slip away like a dream. he grew more silent than ever; but the look of melancholy was rapidly disappearing from his weatherbeaten face, and an expression of heart-rest and peace was taking its place. but one morning, as joe was walking home from his work, lost as usual in contemplation, a thought crossed his mind that fairly startled him, and for several moments he stood stock-still in the street. "oh, dear! oh, dear!" he groaned. "if i don't desarve to be reprobated, my name's not joe wrag." then he walked on again with rapid strides, as if he would escape the haunting thought. but the thought would not leave him; nay, it seemed to grow into a living voice, that sounded clear and distinct above the roar of the streets. "joe wrag," it said, "is your religion such a selfish thing, and is your joy such a selfish thing, that you can think of nothing but yourself? are you the only one for whom christ died? are there no tired and toil-worn men and women around you struggling in the darkness and longing for light? do you want heaven all to yourself, that you invite no one to go along with you? for shame, joe wrag, you are actually growing selfish! in your thankfulness that you have found a place of shelter, you have forgotten the many outside still exposed to the storm. is this what you have learnt of christ? get down on your knees, man, and ask his pardon, and ask him for grace also that you may be saved from yourself, and that henceforth you may live for christ and humanity." "o lord, have marcy!" cried joe, rushing on faster and faster. "i've been as blind as a bat, an' as selfish as sin could make me. enter not into judgment with me for thy marcy's sake, an' i'll try to do better--i will, for sure." when joe reached his home, he went at once to his bed-room, and, falling on his knees, he poured out his soul in a long and agonizing prayer. he prayed for grace and strength, he prayed for light and wisdom. he did not ask for peace or joy, but he asked to be made holy and useful, that he might do diligently his life-work, and be able to say when death came, "i have finished the work that thou gavest me to do." when joe came downstairs a light was shining in his eyes, such as his wife (who had been for many years joe's "thorn in the flesh") had never seen before. from that day joe wrag was a changed man, and, as might be expected, his wife was the first to notice the change and the first to appreciate it. that very morning, instead of eating his meal in silence, as had been his custom for many years, he began to talk to her, to ask her questions, and to interest himself in domestic affairs. and when he had taken his four or five hours' sleep, instead of moping in silence, as he had been in the habit of doing, until it was time to go to his work, he actually began to help his wife to tidy up the house, and even anticipated her wants in several little matters, and altogether made himself so agreeable that his wife was at her wits' end to know what had come over him. mary wrag had grown, as the years had slipped by, from a light-hearted, high-spirited girl, into a sour, disappointed, and vixenish woman. poor joe was utterly at a loss to understand the change that had come over her. he could not think that he had contributed to it in the smallest degree. he had never crossed her, never answered her back when she snarled at him, never bothered her with his own troubles, and never vexed her by trying to pry into hers. he had always let her have her own way, and had scarcely interfered with her in anything, and hence it was a mystery to him how she had grown so cross-grained and sour. it was a very common mistake, and one that has been fraught with the most serious results. he did not know how, in the years gone by, his wife had longed to share his troubles (for she was too proud to tell him), and how she wanted him to share hers. he did not know what a trouble it was to her when he sat hour after hour moody and silent, never speaking to her, and taking no interest in anything she did or said. he did not know what bitter tears she shed in the early years of their wedded life, because he would not notice a new bow of pink ribbon she had made, or a new fashion in which she had done up her glossy hair. "i don't believe," she would say bitterly, "that joe cares a bit what i wears. it's not a bit of pleasure to try an' make oneself look nice, for he never notices." and so she grew cross and sour. he never blamed her, it is true, but she complained to herself that he never praised her, and even when she got thoroughly out of temper and gave him a good "blowing up," his silence only exasperated her all the more. "i'd rather a thousan' times over," she would say, "that he'd get cross, an' answer back again, than sit still, turnin' up his eyes like a dyin' dolphin." had joe known all this, it would certainly have been a great trouble to him, and yet if he had known it, it would doubtless have saved him many years of pain. but after the morning to which we have alluded, joe's conduct and manner changed in a remarkable degree. he became thoughtful and attentive and communicative, and he began to think, too, that his wife's temper was improving; and after a few weeks he was surprised at the wonderful change that had come over her, little dreaming that it was the change in himself that had produced the change in his wife. the experiment to which we alluded in the opening sentences of this chapter was that of trying to get hold of his neighbours and acquaintances, and helping them if possible to a higher and better life. there were people living all round him--some of them he had known for twenty years--who never went to church or chapel, and who seemed utterly unconcerned about death and the great hereafter that lay beyond it--people whose life was one hopeless round of toil, with nothing to brighten or cheer its dull monotony. some of them were decent people too, honest and industrious. it is true they got drunk occasionally, and were not always as civil to their wives and families and to each other as they might be; yet, notwithstanding, they had a soft place in their hearts, and were ever ready to watch by a sick neighbour's bed-side, or lend a helping hand to a mate more needy than themselves. how to get hold of these children of the great father, and lead them into his fold, was a problem that had puzzled joe for some time. at length he decided, with his wife's consent, to invite them to tea, or as many of them as could be accommodated, some sunday afternoon, and when he had got them together, to talk to them on those matters which were of such vital importance. accordingly the invitations were sent out, and on the sunday afternoon already mentioned some fifteen men found their way to joe wrag's cottage, wondering what was in the wind. when they had all got comfortably seated on the forms that joe had provided, joe stood up in a corner of the room, and looked around him: evidently it was no easy task to begin to talk. joe had no idea that it would be so difficult. every eye was fixed upon him with a wondering expression. joe coughed two or three times, then making a tremendous effort, he said, "you all know me, mates?" "ay," they all exclaimed, "we ought to, anyhow." "ay, jist so," said joe, feeling more at ease now that the ice was broken; "but i've discovered lately, lads, that i ain't a-done my duty." "come, old boss, we ain't a-blamin' yer; so don't begin a ballyraggin' yoursel' in that way," said one of the men. "facts is stubborn, though," went on joe, "an' i see that i've kep' mysel' too much to mysel', an' i ain't a-been that neighbourly as i ought to ha' been; but i intend to do differ'nt." "well, i'm hanged," said the man who had before spoken, "if i ain't considerable at a loss, joe, to know what yer drivin' at." "i 'spects so, no doubt, but i'm not good at 'splainin'; but it 'pears to me, mates, as how we ain't got hold o' life by the right end." "yer mean _us_, joe?" questioned several voices together. "well, p'raps i do. yer don't git much comfort in this life, and yer ain't preparin' for a better life. don't stop me; but i used to think that heaven wern't for me, and for lots o' us poor chaps--that we didn't belong to the elect; but, bless yer, lads, i know now, that the elect are everybody as likes. we are all god's children, an' he loves us all, the bad 'uns as well as the good 'uns, an' he's promised pardon an' heaven to whosoever will. let me tell 'e lads, how it came about. a little girl an' her brother comed an' axed me to let 'em warm theirselves by my fire one pinchin' cold night. a purtier little critter than little nelly never breathed, wi' her great round eyes an' sweet mouth. i seem to see her now, though she's asleep in her grave. well, when her father druv 'em from home, i got a place for 'em wi' betty barker. an' betty used to read to 'em out o' the testament. an' then they got into a chapel, an' heerd a couple o' sermons--leastaway nelly did; the lad were asleep durin' the preachin'. well, you can't tell how eager that little gal became to know more about the saviour, an' heaven, an' all the rest o' it. an' she used to come an' ax me all sorts o' questions. bless yer, that little girl had real speretuel insight; she used to floor me complete. i never heerd sich posers as she used to put sometimes. but i tell 'e, mates, every one of the questions helped to lead me out o' the darkness into the light. day after day it got clearer, an' yet i doubted. i spoke the promises to the little gal, and yet i were afeard to take 'em mysel'. i had a vision, too, one night, an' that helped me amazin'. but not until my little nell was dyin' did i see clear. the nurse said to me what she seed the little gal wanted to say, an' that took down the last shutter, an' the light streamed in. i can't tell yer all the joy, lads, i've felt, but for a long time i kept it all to mysel'. but the lord has showed to me how selfish i've been, an' now i want for everybody to get close to the saviour." for a moment there was silence, then one of the men said, "but there's wussur chaps 'n us goin'." "ay, that's true, lad," said joe; "but you're all bad enough to be better, an' the saviour wants 'e all to be good, an' he wants to help 'e all to be patient an' bear the burden of life, an' he wants to show 'e how much he loves an' cares for 'e all." "i dunna think he ken love us very much," said one of the men sullenly, "or he wouldn't ha' put us in this 'ere muck all our lives." "well, lads," replied joe thoughtfully, "i 'fess i can't 'splain all. an' the book tells us how we on'y see through a glass darkly. we looks at life an' the world an' everything through a smoked glass, an' it all 'pears dark. but i tell 'e, lads, this i know, that god loves us, ay, loves us, and he'll make everything right and square by-and-bye, if we will only leave it wi' him." "i dunna see much sign o' the love anywheres," said the man in reply. "p'r'aps so," said joe. "but yer see, mates, as how sin an' the devil have comed in th' world, an' they's made terrible mischief, terrible, and many o' us 'as bin 'elping the devil all we could, an' so between us we's got oursels into a queer scrape, an' piled misery an' sorrow o' top o' our 'eads. but god loved us so much that he sent the saviour to take away our sin an' make us free. an' yet all the time we complain as if our father made all the mischief an' trouble, when most o' us 'as a-made it oursels." "ay, that's true, lad," said dick somerset, the man that had spoken most. "course it are true," said joe, brightening up. "an', besides, it may be a good thing for us to be kep' poor an' 'ave plenty o' 'ard work. the lord knows best, you may depend on 't, what's best for us; lots of us couldn't stand riches, 't would be the greatest curse we could 'ave. i b'lieve if you place some people on a hoss they'd ride to the devil, but if you were to keep 'em in clogs they'd plod on all the way to paradise." "it's 'nation 'ard, though," said several of the men, "to be allers a-grindin' away at it as we's bound to do." "ay, lads," said joe, "that are true, an' yet i reckon we ain't a-tried very much to better our position. some o' yer 'as spent in drink what yer might a-saved, an' if yer 'ad a-done so, an' 'ad spent yer evenin's improvin' yer mind an' gettin' some larnin', ye might ha' been better off. i might, i see it now quite clear; but as i said at the fust, we's 'ad hold o' life by the wrong end. an' i wants us all to begin afresh." "but how is we to do it, joe?" said several voices. "well, let's begin by axin' the lord for pardon for all the past, an' for strength to do better for the future." and joe got down upon his knees at once and began to pray, and while he pleaded the promises, it seemed to him as if the little room became full of the presence of the most high. all his hesitancy of speech vanished. it seemed to him as if he had got hold of the very hand of god, and he cried out, "i will not let thee go until thou bless me." promise after promise crowded into his mind with more rapidity than he could utter them; until at length, overcome by his feelings, he cried out, "i canna doubt, i canna doubt no more!" then he hid his face in his hands, and there was silence throughout the room. when he rose from his knees his face fairly shone with joy, and the men looked wonderingly at him and at each other. just then there was a knock at the little kitchen door, and joe's wife came in to say that she was waiting to bring in the tea. "right thee are, lass," said joe. "i'd nearly forgotten the tea; bring it away as fast as thee likes." and mary wrag and a neighbour's wife who had come in to help began to bring in large plates of cake and bread and butter, which the men greedily devoured. it was very evident that whatever they thought of the other part of the service, they enjoyed this part of it. joe was more pleased than he could tell at his experiment, and from that day every sunday afternoon his house was thrown open to any of his neighbours who might like to come in, and hear the bible read, and have a little conversation about spiritual things. it was wonderful, now that the tongue of this silent man had been unloosed, how freely he could talk, and he never lacked a congregation. the neighbours flocked to hear him talk of jesus and of his wondrous love, and in joe's little kitchen many a weary and heavy-laden soul found peace and rest. in a little bethel near his home joe found a place to worship god. he loved now to be in the house of prayer. it no longer gave him pain to talk of heaven and of the joys of the redeemed for he knew that heaven was open to him, and that in a little while he would find again the little angel that led him into the light, and look upon the saviour whom he loved. chapter xvii. perks again. i knew, i knew it could not last; 't was bright, 't was heavenly, but 'tis past oh, ever thus from childhood's hour i've seen my fondest hopes decay. i never nursed a tree or flower, but 't was the first to fade away; i never nursed a dear gazelle to glad me with its soft black eye, but when it came to know me well. and love me, it was sure to die. --moore. on the monday morning benny was brought before the magistrates, charged with stealing five pounds from his master's office. he was almost ready to faint when placed in the dock; but, conscious of his own innocence, he gathered up his courage, and answered fearlessly the questions that were addressed to him. inspector sharp gave the particulars of the case, adding that though the money had not been found on the prisoner, or indeed anywhere else, yet he had no doubt that the lad had accomplices to whom he had given the missing property. benny denied most emphatically that he had seen the money: he admitted that appearances were against him. "but, oh," he said, looking at the presiding magistrate, his eyes swimming with tears, "i'm not a thief, sir, if you'll on'y believe it; i'm not, really." benny's honest face and simple straightforward answers evidently made in his favour; but as mr. lawrence had not appeared against him, he was remanded until the following day, so he was removed once more to his cell. perks's case was not tried that day, so once more benny had him for a companion. during most of the evening perks sat in one corner, with his face in his hands, and his elbows on his knees, without either speaking or moving. benny took the opposite corner, glad for once that he had a chance of being quiet. he wondered what would be done to him, whether he would be sent to prison or set at liberty. he felt that he did not care much what happened, for to be penned up in prison, he thought, could not be much worse than to go back in disgrace to the old life of selling matches in the street. above the grated window the little patch of blue began to fade as the day waned and darkened into night. then a solitary star appeared, and looked down with kindly eye into the dreary cell. benny watched the star twinkling so far above him, and wondered what it could be. was it one of god's eyes, or the eye of one of his angels? could it be his nelly that was looking at him? or were the stars only holes in the floor of heaven to let the glory through? he could not tell, but somehow that kindly star looking in upon him seemed to comfort his heart; and he felt that though the world buffeted him, and would not give him a chance of getting on, yet he was not forgotten of god. then his thoughts turned to perks. was god watching him also? for the star was not visible from the corner where he crouched. why was he so quiet? was he sorry for what he had done, or was he ill? benny was glad to be quiet; and yet somehow as the darkness deepened he felt lonesome, and wondered what had come to the silent figure in the corner. it was so unusual for perks to be quiet so long. he listened for a moment, but all was still. and still the minutes dragged away, and the silence became oppressive. "perks!" said benny, unable longer to keep quiet; and his voice awoke the sleeping echoes of the cell, and made it sound hollow as a tomb. but the echoes were his only answer. "perks!" in a louder voice. still there was silence, and benny began to get frightened. was he dead? he wondered. how awful it would be to be in that cell all night alone with a dead body! "perks, do speak!" in a tone of agony. and he listened for an answer, while the perspiration stood in great drops upon his forehead. but still only silence. he could hear the thumping of his own heart distinctly, and he became hot and cold by turns with fright. at length he thought he heard a noise coming from the corner where he felt sure perks was crouched dead. it sounded like suppressed laughter. what could it mean? he dared not move from his corner. was it satan come to carry away perks? for he was very wicked, he knew. it had got too dark now to see anything distinctly; but there was a shuffling noise on the floor. horrors! it was coming across the cell towards him. what was it? he could see some unshapely thing moving. now it was drawing itself up to its full height. benny nearly shrieked out in an agony of terror. then it flashed across his mind in a moment--perks was playing him another of his tricks. waiting until perks was near enough, he dealt him a blow straight from the shoulder that sent him sprawling to the other end of the cell. "oh, lor a massy!" he shouted, "if that ain't a stinger!" "serves you right," said benny. "lor, but didn't i give you a scarin', just! i never did injoy a thing as much in my life; but, oh, lor! i nearly busted once or twice wi' larfin'." "i think i gived you a scarin' too," retorted benny. "well, i confess it comed raather sudden like; so that's one to you, ben. i'll give you yer due." "i've a good mind to pound you to a jelly," said benny. "yer always on with yer tricks." "well, i didn't 'tend to scare yer, ben, for i wur bissy medertatin' on a little plan i 'as in my yed; but when yer spoke 'perks!' anxious like, the idear comed to me all in a moment. oh, lor, weren't it a spree!" "i don't see no fun in it," said benny. "oh, lor, yer don't?" and perks laughed again. "but i say, ben, i wants yer 'elp in carryin' out as purty a bit o' play as ever you seen." "is it what you've been thinking about all the evenin'?" "ay, lad, it's the most butifullest idear that wur ever 'atched in this 'ere noddle; an' if you'll only 'elp me, my stars! our fortin's made." "you're up to no good again, i'll be bound," said benny. "well, i reckon you'll alter your mind on that score when yer 'ears the details o' my plan," said perks, coming closer to benny's side. "well, what is it?" "i must whisper it," said perks, "though i dunna thinks any bobbies is around listenin' at this time o' night, but it's allers best to be on the safe side." "i don't want to 'ear it," said benny, "if it's some'at you must whisper. it's no good, that i'm sartin of." "don't be a ninny, ben. just listen." and perks confided to ben a plan of getting into the house of an old man who kept a little shop, and lived all alone, and who kept all his money locked up in a little cupboard in the room behind the shop. "how do you know he keeps his money there?" said benny. "never you mind," was the answer; "i does know it to a sartinty." "where does the old man live?" "no. ---- street." "what's his name?" "jerry starcher. ain't yer 'eard o' 'im?" "ay," said benny. "then you'll 'elp?" said perks, eagerly. "ay," said benny, "but not in the way you thinks." "what does yer mean?" "i mean, if i git out of this place, i'll put the old man on his guard." "what, an' split on me?" "no, i'll not mention names." "then i 'opes ye'll be sent to a 'formatory an' kep' there for the next five year." "do you? why?" "'cause yer a fool, ben bates." "how so?" "'cause ye are, i say." "well, your saying so don't make it so, anyhow," retorted benny: "don't it, though? but look 'ere: ye're 'ere for stealin', and i can tell yer from 'sperience, that a gent as takes up the perfession is worse nor a fool to give it up agin 'cause he 'appens to get nabbed." "but i'm not here for stealin'," said benny, colouring. "ye're not, eh?" said perks, laughing till the tears ran down his face. "well, that are the richest bit i's heard for the last month." "but," said benny, with flashing eyes, "though i'm here charged with stealing, i tell yer i'm honest." "are that a fact now, ben?" said perks, looking serious. "it is," replied benny; "i never took the money." "well, so much the worse," said perks. "how's that?" "cause yer might as well be a thief, hout an' hout, as be charged wi' bein' one. i tell 'e there's no chance for yer; the bobbies'll 'ave their eyes on yer wherever yer be; and if yer gits a sitivation they'll come along an' say to yer guv'nor, 'yon's a jail-bird, yer'd better 'ave yer eye on 'im;' then ye'll 'ave to walk it somewheres else, an' it'll be the same everywheres." "how do you know that?" said benny. "'cause i's 'sperienced it," was the reply. "i's older 'n you, though you's biggest; but i reckons as i knows most, an' it's true what i say. why, bless yer, the first time i ever nabbed i got a month, an' i wor so horful frightened, that i vowed if ever i got out i'd be honest, an' never get in no more; but, bless yer, it wur no go. the bobbies told each other who i wur, an' they was always a-watching me. i got a sitivation once, a honcommon good 'un too; but, oh, lor, the next day a bobby says to the guv'nor, says he, 'yon's a jail-bird, you'd better keep yer eye on 'im;' an' you may guess i'd to walk in quick sticks. i made two or three tries arter, but it wur no go. as soon as hever a bobbie came near i'd to be off like greased lightnin', an' you'll find out what i say. if yer not a thief now, ye'll 'ave to come to it. i tell yer there's no help for it." "but i tell you i'll _not_ come to it," said benny, stoutly. "but i knows better," persisted perks; "there ken be no possible chance for yer. ye're down, an' the world'll keep 'e down, though yer try ever so." benny looked thoughtful, for he had a suspicion that a good deal that perks said was true. he was down, and he feared there was very little, if any, chance of his getting up again. he had proved by experience that the world was hard upon poor lads, and he knew it would be doubly hard upon him now that his character was gone. yet he felt that he could not become a thief. he would sooner die, and he told perks so. but perks only laughed at the idea. "you'll find that dyin' ain't so precious easy, my lad," he said in a patronizing tone of voice. and benny felt that very likely perks' words were true in relation to that matter, and so he was silent. "you'd better come partner 'long wi' me," said perks, in a tone of voice that was intended to be encouraging. "no," said benny. "i'll help you if you'll try to be honest; for look here, perks: there's another life besides this, an' if we're not good we shall go to the bad place when we die, for only good people can go to heaven. an' i want to go to the good place, for little nell is there; an' i want to see her again, for she was all i had to love in the world, an' oh! it 'ud grieve her so if i were to be a thief, an' grieve the good lord who died for us all. no, perks, little nell begged me afore she died to be good, an' she said the lord 'ud provide, an' i means to be good. won't you try to be good too, perks? i'm sure it 'ud be better." "no," said perks: "folks 'as druv' me to what i is. i tried to be honest once, an' they wouldn't let me, an' so i intends to stick to the perfession now, for i likes it; an' ye'll come to it yet." "i'd rather die," said benny solemnly. "humbug!" snarled perks. "but i'll say this afore i go to sleep, for i's gettin' des'pert sleepy, if ye'll join me in the perfession i'll be a frien' to yer, an' put yer up to all the tricks, an' forgive yer for that hidin' yer give me. but if," and he brought out the words slowly, "ye'll 'sist on bein' a fool, i'll pay off old scores yet, an' i'll plague yer worse nor ever i's done yet; so i give yer fair warnin'. now for the land o' nod." neither of them spoke again after that, and soon after they were both locked in the arms of kindly sleep. the following morning benny was again brought before the magistrates, but nothing new was brought forward in evidence. mr. lawrence, however, stated that he did not wish to prosecute, or in any way punish the lad. and as there was no positive evidence that benny had taken the money, he was dismissed. it was evident, however, that the general belief was that he was guilty; but as the evidence was only presumptive, and this being his first appearance before them, he was given the benefit of the doubt, and set at liberty, with a caution that if he came before them again he would not get off so easily. his week's wages that mr. lawrence had paid him was restored to him on leaving the court, and once more he found himself a homeless orphan on the streets of liverpool. perks did not fare so well. he was an old and evidently a hardened offender. the case was also proved against him, and he was sentenced to be kept in prison for three calendar months. perks heard the sentence unmoved. he liked liberty best, it is true, but the only thing that grieved him was that it was summer-time. if it had been winter, he would not have cared a straw; but as it was he was determined to make the best of it, and get as much enjoyment out of it as he possibly could. so perks and benny drifted apart, and benny wondered if they would ever meet again. life before him lay dark and cheerless. he seemed to have drifted away from everything: no friend was left to him in all the world. there were granny and joe, but he could not see them, for he felt that if a shade of suspicion crept into their manner, it would break his heart. no, he would keep away. then there was mr. lawrence; he could expect nothing further from him. he believed him to be a thief, of that there could be no doubt, and so doubtless did morgan and all the other clerks. and then there was little eva, the angel that had brightened his life for six brief months, and whose bright shilling nothing could induce him to part with. did she believe him guilty too? of course she did. his guilt must seem so clear to every one of them. and so he was alone in the world, without a friend to help, unless god would help him; but of that he did not feel quite sure. sometimes he thought that the lord would surely provide, but at other times he doubted. he was at liberty, it was true, and ought he not to be thankful for that? he asked himself; but alas! his innocence had not been established. young as he was, he felt the force of that. and he felt it terribly hard that all--all! even his little angel--believed him to be a thief. ah! he did not know how sore was eva lawrence's little heart, and how she persisted to her father that benny was innocent, and pleaded with him, but pleaded in vain, for him to take back the poor boy and give him another chance. and night after night she cried herself to sleep, as she thought of the little orphan sent adrift on life's treacherous ocean, and wondered what the end would be. and when one day she tried to sing "love at home," the words almost choked her, for the pleading, suffering face of the homeless child came up before her, and looked at her with hungry wistful eyes, as if asking for sympathy and help. but children soon forget their griefs, and as the days wore away and lengthened into weeks, benny was almost forgotten, till one day a circumstance occurred which made him again the talk of the lawrence household. what that circumstance was shall be told in its proper place in the unfolding of this story of benny's life. chapter xviii. adrift. a fathomless sea is rolling o'er the wreck of the bravest bark; and my pain-muffled heart is tolling its dumb peal down in the dark. the waves of a mighty sorrow have 'whelmed the pearl of my life; and there cometh to me no morrow, to solace this desolate strife. gone are the last faint flashes, set is the sun of my years; and over a few poor ashes i sit in my darkness and tears. --gerald massey. had any of our readers been passing the front of st. george's hall during the afternoon of the day on which benny was acquitted, they might have seen our hero sitting on one of the many steps, with his face buried in his hands and his elbows resting on his knees. hour after hour he sat unmolested, for perks was no longer at liberty to tease him, and the police did not notice him. benny was utterly unconscious of the flight of time, for he was trying to decide upon some course of action by which he could honestly earn his daily bread. he felt that he was beginning life again, and beginning it under tremendous disadvantages. he knew that there was a great deal of truth in what perks had said to him. all who knew him would mistrust him, and even should he succeed in getting employment under those who did not know him, they might soon get to know, and then he would be dismissed. he was getting too big to be a match boy. he did not understand blacking shoes, and yet to remain idle meant starvation. "i'm wuss nor a chap buried," he said to himself, thrusting his hands into his trousers pockets and staring around him. "i've heerd of chaps beginnin' at the bottom, but lor a massy! i'm beginnin' furder down than that by a long chalk. i'm six feet under ground, an' i'll 'ave to bore a hole up inter the daylight, or die, i 'specks." as the afternoon wore away he became conscious of a feeling of hunger. fortunately, he had sufficient money to keep him from starving for a day or two. he counted over the coins very carefully, and laid aside eighteenpence as being due to granny, and which he resolved should be paid. "i'll begin honest," he said to himself, "an' i'll keep on at it too, or go to heaven to little nell." so after purchasing two sheets of paper and two envelopes, he made his way to a small eating-house and ordered some bread and cheese. he was not long in devouring his very simple meal, and then with a lead pencil commenced his first attempt at letter-writing. the first letter contained only a few words of warning to jerry starcher. the second letter was longer, and was addressed to granny. this letter cost benny a tremendous effort, for, fearing that granny would not be able to read writing, he had, to use his own words, "to print it," and he found it to be a rather slow process. the letter was to the following effect:-- "deer grany,--i ken never come 'ome no more. you's heerd what's took plaas, but i nevver stole the money. i is 'onest, for shure i dunno wat i'll do or whair i'll go; but i meen to be 'onest or die. i wish i wur ded. i is very, very, very 'bliged for ole you's don for me an' littel nel: tel joe i is 'bliged to 'im to. p'r'aps i'll never see 'e no more, p'r'aps i'll go to littel nel soon. i 'ope i may, i's very lon-ly. i put with this the money i ow's. good nite.--benny." more than one scalding tear fell upon the letter while he wrote, for the tears would come despite his efforts to keep them back. life seemed to him such an utter desolation, and hope had almost died out of his heart. when he had carefully folded and sealed the letters, he went out again on the steps in the shadow of the great hall, and waited for the darkness. all around him the people hurried to and fro. but had he been in the heart of africa he could not have felt more utterly forsaken and alone. when at length the darkness crept over the busy town, he hurried away to tempest court, passing jerry starcher's, and pushing the letter under his door on the way. his heart beat very fast when he reached granny's door. he was strongly tempted to knock for admittance, for something told him that granny would not turn him away, but he struggled against the feeling. welcome as would have been his little bed under the stairs, and glad as he would have been for a hiding-place from the world's scorn, yet he felt he would rather not see granny and joe again while this stain darkened his name. within the cottage silence and darkness reigned, for granny had retired early to rest--not without a prayer, though, that the boy she was learning to love might see the error of his ways, truly repent of his sin, and lead a new life. for joe had told her what had befallen benny, and furthermore had extracted from her the promise that if he should ever seek again the shelter of her home, for his little sister's sake and for the sake of the saviour, she would not turn him away, but would help him to begin a better life. benny listened for awhile at the key-hole, then cautiously pushing the letter under the door, he hurried away into the darkness. he had no idea where he would spend the night, nor did he concern himself about the direction he was taking; he only felt that he must go somewhere. so on he went in a northerly direction, passing street after street, till, footsore and weary, he stumbled into a dark corner where he thought nobody would notice him, and soon fell fast asleep. why could not the policeman who passed a few minutes later, and spied the little crouching figure, have permitted the child to sleep on? he was doing no harm, and the policeman might have known that had the boy a home to go to he would not have been found sleeping in the street. i suppose he thought nothing about the matter, for he seized benny by the collar and lifted him off the ground, and after shaking him as a terrier might shake a rat, he ordered him to move on, giving emphasis to his words by a cruel kick, which made benny grind his teeth with pain, and hurry limping down the street. he had not gone far before a clock near him began to strike slowly the hour of midnight. at the first stroke of the bell benny started, and looked carefully around him. clang went the second stroke. "it must be the same," he muttered to himself. the third stroke made him certain. he was near addler's hall without knowing it. the tone of the church clock was as familiar to him as the voice of his father. scores of times during the years of his childhood he had listened to that clang, waking up the midnight silence when all the others were asleep. "i wonder if father's comed home yet?" he said to himself; "i'll go and see, anyhow." bowker's row was as silent as the grave, and, as usual, wrapped in darkness. but the darkness was no difficulty to benny, as he made his way cautiously up the dingy street and into the dingier court that was once his home. it seemed very strange to him that he should be there alone in the silent night, and that nelly should be alone in her little grave miles away from where he stood. what a lot had been crowded into his lonely life since last he stood in addler's hall, holding his little sister by the hand! and he wondered if ever nelly left her beautiful home in the sky to pay a visit to the dreary haunts of her childhood. before him the door of his old home stood open--the night was not so dark but he could see that--and he could see also that the place wore even a more forsaken appearance than in former days. pausing for a moment on the threshold, he plunged into the darkness, then stood still in the middle of the room and listened; but no sound of breathing or noise of any kind broke the oppressive stillness. he soon discovered also that the house was destitute of furniture; a few shavings under the stairs alone remained. "the bobbies'll not find me 'ere, i reckon," he said to himself, "though nelly may." and he stretched himself on the shavings in the corner where he and his little sister used to sleep in the days that had gone for ever. it seemed so strange to be there again, and to be there in sorrow and disgrace; and once or twice he stretched out his hand in the darkness as if expecting to find his little sister by his side. then, as the memory of his loss and the loneliness of his life crept over him, he gave vent to his feelings in a flood of tears. by-and-bye he grew calm, and soon after fell asleep; and in happy dreams, in which he wandered with nelly through eastham woods, he forgot all his trouble and care. when he awoke the next morning the court was alive and stirring, and bowker's row was crowded with ill-fed, ragged, and dirty children: some were doing their best to climb the lamp-posts, some were practising cart-wheel revolutions, some were squatted idly on the pavement, and others were playing with the refuse in the street. on benny making his appearance, he was greeted with a shout and a howl that made the street echo again, and summoned the elders to the doorways to see what had happened. it was very evident that the older children had recognized him, while many a familiar face appeared at door and window. this benny thought was very unfortunate, for he was in no mood to be questioned or to brook delay. so he darted down the street as if on a race for life, knocking over several of the older lads who tried to check his progress. for some distance he was followed by a whole tribe of noisy urchins, who shouted at the top of their voices. but benny was too fleet-footed for them, and soon bowker's row and its noisy denizens were left far behind. benny's first thought now was to secure a substantial breakfast, which was by no means a difficult matter. that done, he made his way toward the docks, in the hope that he might get employment of some kind. but to a little friendless lad, without character or recommendation, employment was not so easily obtained. most of those whom he addressed did not condescend to notice his question in any way. a few asked him what he could do, and when he replied "anything," the invariable answer was, "that means nothing," and he was sent about his business. in fact, there seemed to be no work in the whole line of docks that a child of his age was capable of doing. and night found him worn out with fatigue, and with a sadly lightened pocket. however, he kept up his heart as well as he could, and sought rest and sleep in a damp cellar upon some dirty straw, which for the payment of twopence he shared with a dozen other lads, who appeared to be as friendless as himself. that night he slept the sleep of the innocent and weary, and awoke next morning, strengthened and refreshed, to find that all his companions had left and that his pockets were empty! this was a terrible blow to benny; but when he discovered that his "lucky shilling" was still safe in the lining of his waistcoat, he dried his tears, and went bravely out, hungry as he was, to battle with an unfriendly world. before sunset, however, he had nearly lost heart, for he had been unable to earn a single penny, and he was almost faint with hunger. so in sheer desperation he sought his old place on the landing-stage, in the hope that he might have the chance of carrying some one's portmanteau, and in that way earn his supper; but everyone to whom he offered his services repulsed him, and for the first time he wondered whether it would be wrong to throw himself into the river, and whether that would not be the easiest way out of his trouble. somehow he could not help thinking that it would be less wicked for him to do that than to steal. he could not starve; drowning he was sure would be a much less painful death; and, as far as he could see, it had really come to this, that he must either steal or die. but he would not steal, he had made up his mind to that. had he not promised nelly that he would be honest? and had not joe and granny and his sunday-school teacher told him what a wicked thing it was to be a thief? no; he had settled that matter, and when he had settled a thing in his own mind he was not to be moved. the question then was, what was the easiest kind of death? the river looked beautiful this summer evening, and he thought it must be very nice to rest beneath its cool sparkling waters after the hot glare of the streets. should he plunge in now, or should he wait a little longer? he had been without food for twenty-four hours. he had no place to sleep, no means of getting supper. then suddenly he remembered his "lucky shilling." "queer!" he mused. "the lord sent his angel wi' this bob, an' i've never wanted it till now, an' now i does want it, i've got it. i'm floored again. nelly said the lord 'ud provide, and he do." and he took out the bright shilling and looked at it fondly. just then he heard a countryman inquiring the way to lime street station, of a man who stood near him. "here's a chance," he thought; and, stepping forward, he said, "i'll show you the way, sir, if yer likes." "dost thee know th' way thysel', lad?" inquired the man. "i should think i do," said benny, drawing himself up to his full height. "lead the way, then," said the farmer; and benny trotted on before him, feeling sure that he was safe now for a good supper without spending his shilling. "thankee," said the farmer, on their arrival at the station; "thee'rt a sharp lad, an' no mistake." and he smiled benevolently, and hurried away to the booking-office, leaving our hero staring after him in utter bewilderment. benny felt that he would have liked to have had his revenge on that man then and there. "golly," he said, "don't i feel savage, just!" just then a gentleman pushed against him, carrying a bulky leathern bag. "carry yer bag, sir?" said benny in an instant; and, without a word, the bag was hoisted on his shoulder, and once more benny was on the trot. by the time he had reached the top of brownlow hill he was almost exhausted, and without a word the man (gentleman, i suppose he thought himself) took the bag from his shoulder and handed him a penny in payment for his services. when will men, and professedly christian men, learn the great though simple lesson--to do unto others as they would that others should do unto them? a benevolent baker, moved to pity by the sight of benny's suffering face, gave him a twopenny loaf for his penny, with a smile and a kindly word into the bargain, and benny went out into the darkening street with a lighter heart than he had felt for the day. the evening was oppressively warm, and having no inclination to go back again into the dingy town, where policemen were plentiful, benny made his way in an easterly direction, hoping that he might find a dark corner somewhere where he might sleep undisturbed. after a while he found himself in the neighbourhood of the cemetery where nelly was buried. he was not superstitious, so without a moment's hesitation he climbed over the wall, and, getting dark as it was, he easily found his sister's grave; and, stretching himself on the damp grass, with his head upon the little mound under which his nelly slept in peace, he tried to think--to form some plan for the future. above him twinkled the silent stars. around him slept the silent dead. everything was silent; not a leaf stirred, not even a blade of grass; and yielding to the silent influence of the hour, he fell asleep, though not before he had resolved that he would return to his old haunts no more, but would commence his new life as far away from liverpool as he could possibly get. next morning he was up with the lark, and kissing the sod above his sister's face, he hurried away. at noon liverpool was several miles behind him, and before him--what? under the shadow of a tree by the roadside he rested for an hour during the heat of the day, and in a clear stream that babbled by he slaked his thirst and washed the dust from his hands and face, then hurried on again. the country looked very beautiful bathed in the summer's sunshine, but he was in no mood to enjoy it. the birds sang their glad songs in the trees, but to him they seemed only to mock his sorrow. in the fields he saw the sleek cattle grazing as he passed, or lying in the sunshine contentedly chewing their cud, while he was footsore, hungry, and sad, and he wondered what the end of it all would be. as the afternoon wore away he found himself hedged in with plantations on every side, and not a single human habitation in sight. for awhile he dragged himself along with fast failing courage and strength; then he gave up in despair. "it's no go," he said; "i ken go no furder." his feet were hot and blistered with his long tramp over the hard and dusty road. his head ached from the fierce heat that had been beating down on him all the day, his strength was all but gone, for he had tasted no food since the previous evening. "i dunno how the lord's goin' to do it," he said, the tears starting in his eyes. "nelly said as how the lord 'ud provide, an' so did the angel that gived me the bob; but i dunna see how. i wonder if he's goin' to take me to heaven? p'r'aps that's the way he's goin' to do it, an' then i'll never be 'ungry no more." climbing on a gate, he looked around him, but no house was anywhere visible. "it's all up, i reckon," he said sadly, getting down on the inside and making his way through the tangled undergrowth into the heart of the plantation. "i'll find a snug place 'ere somewheres, where i ken wait till the lord comes. i wonder if he'll be long?" he had not gone far before he found a place that suited him. a luxuriant patch of ferns growing out of a carpet of moss, bordered on every side with tall brushwood, while overhead giant fir-trees sighed and moaned in the evening breeze, made a perfect arbour of quiet and repose. pressing down the yielding ferns, he had soon a bed soft as he could desire, while a mossy bank made a pillow grateful as a kiss of love to his aching head and burning cheek. "i'll be comfortable 'ere till the lord comes," he said, stretching out his weary limbs. "i wonder if he'll bring nelly wi' him?" then he closed his eyes and waited. above him the fir-branches swayed gently in the soft evening breeze, and from far away came the subdued plash of falling water. it was very strange and solemn, but soothing and restful withal. the pangs of hunger abated, too, after he had rested awhile, and his head ceased to ache, while the wind in the trees sounded like an evening lullaby, and brought back to him a vague and misty recollection of his mother rocking him to sleep on her lap, in the years long, long ago. then the music seemed to come from farther and farther away, till it ceased altogether, and once more benny slept. and there in the solemn wood we will leave him for awhile to the mercy and care that are infinite. chapter xix. the border land. for since thy hand hath led me here, and i have seen the border land,-- seen the dark river flowing near, stood on its bank as now i stand,-- there has been nothing to alarm my trembling soul; why should i fear? for since encircled by thy arm, i never felt thee half so near. joe wrag was in great trouble when he heard of benny's misfortune. granny was the first to make him acquainted with the fact that something was wrong. benny had been in the habit of returning earlier on a saturday evening since he had been with mr. lawrence than on any other day of the week, and when that evening wore away and deepened into night, and benny did not come, granny got very much concerned, fearing some accident had befallen him; and so she remained rocking herself in her chair, and listening in vain for his footfall all through the night. and when morning came she hurried away, old as she was, to joe's house, in the hope that he would be able to give her some information as to benny's whereabouts. joe was thunderstruck at sight of betty so early on a sunday morning, and her eager question, "dost a' knaw where the boy is, joe?" did not help to mend matters. for a few moments joe's power of utterance seemed to have left him altogether, then he stammered forth-- "ain't he hum, betty?" "nae, joe; i's never seen 'im sin yester morn!" joe looked thoughtful, for he had no reply to this, and betty sat down in a chair, evidently exhausted. after a while betty got up to go. "i mun be a-goin'," she said, "he may a-got hum by now." towards evening joe called at tempest court, but nothing had been heard of the wanderer. the night that followed was one of the longest joe had ever known, and as soon as he was released from his watch in the morning he went at once to mr. lawrence's office. "is the maaster in?" he said, addressing one of the clerks. "no, my good man," was the reply; "he will not be down for an hour yet. could you call again?" "mebbe you'll do as weel," said joe, scratching his head. "can yer tell me wot's become o' the boy benny?" "oh, yes," said the clerk, smiling complacently, "he's where he ought to have been long ago." "where's that?" said joe. "in prison, sir!" "in prison?" in a tone of bewilderment. "even so," with a bland smile. "i can't say as 'ow i hunderstand," joe stammered out. "very likely," said the clerk, "so i will inform you that mr. lawrence, having his suspicions aroused, placed a five-pound note on his desk, and then set a watch----" "well?" said joe, eager yet fearing to hear the rest. "well," continued the clerk, "this young friend of yours, who seems to have been an old hand at the work, was seen coolly to take the money. but when charged with the theft, a few minutes after, he stoutly denied all knowledge of the circumstance; but mr. lawrence was determined to stand no nonsense, and had him at once marched off to the lock-up." for a moment joe looked at the clerk in silence, then, without a word, walked out of the office. when he told granny, she was at first indignant. "to think that she, a honest woman, 'ad been a-'arbouring a thief all these months!" but joe soon talked her into a better frame of mind, and it was then that she promised him that if the prodigal ever came back again she would not turn him away. when joe read in the paper on wednesday morning that benny was acquitted, his delight knew no bounds. he accepted the fact as almost proof positive that benny was innocent, and went at once to tell granny the news. he found the old woman crying over benny's letter, with the eighteenpence lying in her lap. when joe came in she handed him the letter without a word. joe blew his nose violently several times during its perusal, then laid it down on the table, and walked to the door to hide his emotion. it was several moments before he could command himself sufficiently to speak, then he blurted out-- "the poor parsecuted bairn mun be found somehow, betty, an' 'ere's off to sairch. good mornin', betty." and before the old woman could reply he was gone. during the next three days joe had but little sleep. he tramped the town in every direction, in the hope that he might glean some tidings of the poor lost lad; but his labour was in vain, and each evening when he returned to his hut it was with a sadly diminished hope of ever finding the boy again. on the evening that benny, hungry and forsaken, lay down in the wood to sleep, joe felt his heart drawn out in prayer in such a manner as he had never before experienced. nearly the whole of the night he spent upon his knees. now and then he got up and walked out into the silent street, and gazed for a few moments up into the starlit sky. then he would return to his hut again and pray more fervently than ever. he had returned from his search that evening utterly cast down, feeling that the only resource left to him was prayer. he knew not whether the boy was living or dead. he could hardly think the latter; and yet if he were alive, who could tell what he was suffering? who but god? to god then he would go and plead for the outcast boy, and who should tell whether god might not regard his prayer and send help and deliverance to the child? thus hour after hour he prayed on, and when the light of the morning crept up into the eastern sky, he rose from his knees comforted. were joe wrag's prayers answered? no doubt they were. not in the way, perhaps, that joe would have liked best, and yet in the best way for all that. god does not always give us in answer to our prayers what _we_ think best, but what _he_ thinks best. to weary, worn-out benny god gave sleep, deep, dreamless, and refreshing, and in the morning he awoke to the song of birds and to the rustle of a thousand leaves. the music sounded very sweet to benny's ears, but it was not the music of heaven, as he had hoped it would be. he had waited there in the solemn wood for the coming of the lord, but he had not come. heaven seemed farther away from him than ever this morning, and earth was painfully real. he felt himself too weak to stir at first, so he lay still, occasionally opening his eyes to watch the slanting sunbeams play among the tangled foliage, and light up the dewdrops that trembled on every leaf. his head was hot and heavy, and his eyes ached when he kept them open long, and the pangs of hunger were coming on again. what should he do? he lay for a long time trying to think, but his thoughts whirled and twisted like snowflakes in a storm. "p'raps i kin get on a little furder if i tries," he said to himself at length, and suiting the action to the words, he rose from his ferny bed and staggered out of the wood. he had scarcely strength left to get over the gate, but he managed it at length, and then fell down exhausted by the roadside. how long he lay there he never knew; but he was aroused at length by the lumbering of some kind of vehicle coming towards him along the road, and by the shrill whistling of the driver. nearer and nearer came the vehicle, and then stopped just opposite him. benny looked up and saw a shock-headed, overgrown lad, standing in what seemed an empty cart, staring at him with a look of wonder in his great round eyes. benny had reached a stage of exhaustion which made him indifferent to almost everything, so he only blinked at the boy, and then dropped his head again on the grass. "art a tired?" said the boy at length. "ay," said benny, without opening his eyes. "wilt a 'ave a lift?" "what's a lift?" "a ride, then, if it's properer." "ay, i'll ride; but 'ow's i to get in?" "oh, aisy 'nough," said young giles, jumping out of the cart and lifting benny in as if he had been an infant. "golly," said benny, coming out with his once favourite expression, "you're mighty strong!" "strong? you should see me lift a bag o' corn! now, dobbin," to the horse. "gee, meth-a-way," and the horse moved on at what seemed a stereotyped pace. "'ave a turmut?" said the boy at length. "what's a turmut?" "lor, now," laughed the boy, "you must be green not to know what a turmut is." and he untied the mouth of one of several bags lying at the bottom of the cart, and took out two, and by the aid of a large clasp-knife had both peeled in a "jiffey." putting his teeth into one, he handed the other to benny, who readily followed his example, and thought he had never tasted anything more delicious. by the time our hero had finished his turnip they had reached a small village, and benny was able to get out of the cart unaided. here were houses at last. perhaps he might get work here; he would try, at any rate. and try he did; but it was discouraging work. at many of the houses the door was slammed in his face in answer to his inquiry. at a few places the person addressed condescended to ask benny where he came from, and when he replied "from liverpool," he was told to be off about his business, as "they wanted no thieves nor pickpockets in their employ." one kind-looking old gentleman asked benny what he could do. "anything a'most," was the prompt reply. "you're too clever by a long way," laughed the old man; "but let's perticlerize a bit. can you spud thistles?" benny looked bewildered. he knew nothing about "spuds" or "thistles," so he shook his head in reply. "canst a whet a scythe?" another shake of the head. "take out arter the mowers?" "no." "dibbel tates?" "i don't know." "humph. canst a milk?" "i ken drink it, if that's wot you mean," said benny. "ha! ha! mary," raising his voice, "fotch the lad a mug o' milk." and in a few moments a stout red-armed girl brought benny a pint mug, brimful of rich new milk. "ay, ay," said the old man, "i see thee canst do thy part in that direction weel eno'. have another?" "no, thank you." "humph. i fear thee'rt no 'count in the country, lad." "but i could larn," said benny. "yes, yes, that's true; thee'rt a sharp boy. i shouldn't wonder if thee couldn't get a job at t' next village." "how far?" said benny. "short o' two mile, i should say." "thank you." and once more benny set off on the tramp. it was scarcely noon, and the day was melting hot. outside the village the sun's rays beat down pitilessly on his head, and made him feel sick and giddy. all the trees were on the wrong side of the road, and he looked in vain for a shady spot along the dusty highway. still on he tramped, with fast failing strength. a little way before him he saw a farmhouse, with trees growing around it. "if i can only reach that," he thought, "i'll rest awhile." nearer and nearer, but how strangely everything was swimming around him, and what a curious mist was gathering before his eyes! ah, there is the sound of voices; a group of haymakers just inside the gate getting their dinner in the shadow of a tree. was help at hand? he did not know. gathering up all his strength, he staggered towards them, stretched out his hand blindly, for the mist had deepened before his eyes, then lifted his hands to his temples, as if struck with sudden pain, reeled, and fell senseless to the ground. in a moment a woman raised him from the ground, and supported his head against her knee, while the men crowded round with wondering faces. then farmer fisher came up with the question, "what's to do?" and the haymakers stood aside, that he might see for himself. "the boy's dead," said the farmer, with just a little shake in his voice. "no," said the woman, "he's not dead, his heart beats still." "go and call the missus, then, quick." then one of the men started for the farmhouse. mrs. fisher was a gentle, kind-hearted woman at all times, especially to children, and just now she was particularly so, for a month had not elapsed since she had laid one of her own children, a boy of about benny's age, in the silent grave. and when she caught sight of benny's white suffering face, her heart went out to him instantly. "take him into the house, john," she said to her husband, the tears starting in her eyes, "and send for the doctor at once." so without further ado benny was carried into the house, stripped of his dirty and ragged attire, put into a warm bath, and then laid gently in a clean soft bed, in a cool pleasant room. once only he opened his eyes, looked around him with a bewildered air, then relapsed again into unconsciousness. the doctor, who arrived toward evening, pronounced it a very bad case, ordered port wine to be poured down his throat in small quantities during the night, and promised to call again next day. "will he live?" was mrs. fisher's anxious question. "fear not," said the doctor: "want, exposure, and i fear also sunstroke, have done their work. whoever the little fellow belongs to, he's had a hard time of it, and to such death should not be unwelcome." during the next day benny was conscious at brief intervals, but he lay so perfectly still, with half-closed eyes, that they hardly knew at times whether he was alive or dead. his face was as white as the pillow on which he lay, and his breathing all but imperceptible. the doctor shook his head when he came, but held out no hope of recovery. so that summer sabbath passed away, and monday came and went, and tuesday followed in the track, and wednesday dawned, and still benny's life trembled in the balance. the doctor said there was no perceptible increase of strength, while the pulse, if anything, was weaker. hence, without some great change, he thought the boy would not live many hours longer. outside the birds twittered in the trees, and the songs of the haymakers floated on the still summer air; but within, in a darkened room, little benny to all appearance lay dying. he had reached the border land, and was standing on the river's brink. on the other side of the stream was the everlasting home, where his nelly dwelt, and where hunger and weariness and pain could never come. why did he linger, when he wanted so much to cross and be at rest for ever? he had no fear, and to the onlookers it seemed easy dying. no sigh or moan escaped his lips; he lay as still as the dead. the day waned at length and darkened into night, and mrs. fisher and one of the servants remained up to watch by the little invalid. it was about midnight when they observed a change come over him. the brow contracted as if in pain, the wasted fingers plucked at the clothes, and the breathing became heavy and irregular. mrs. fisher ran to her husband's room and summoned him at once to benny's bedside. john fisher was a kind man, and needed no second bidding. with gentle hand he wiped away the big drops that were gathering on the little sufferer's brow; then turning to his wife, he said, "do you think you had better stay, love? i think he is dying." "no, no!" she said, "i cannot see him die." then, after a pause, she sobbed, "let me know when it is over, john," and hurried from the room. chapter xx. life at the farm. source of my life's refreshing springs, whose presence in my heart sustains me, thy love appoints me pleasant things, thy mercy orders all that pains me. well may thine own beloved, who see in all their lot their father's pleasure, bear loss of all they love, save thee-- their living, everlasting treasure. --waring. mrs. fisher waited anxiously in an adjoining room for the coming of her husband to tell her that benny was no more. she could not go back into the sick-room, she dared not see the child die. it was only such a short time ago she held her own dying rob in her arms while he gasped out his little life, and the wound in her heart was not healed yet: she fancied it never would be. the sick child in the next room, that she had taken to her heart, had opened it afresh, and she felt that to see the little fellow struggling in the agonies of death would be more than her nerves could bear. and so she waited while the moments dragged slowly along. "how tenaciously the child clings to life!" she said to herself as she paced restlessly up and down the room. still her husband came not. "can he be fighting death all this while?" she said; "i hope the little spirit will be released soon." then she fell upon her knees and prayed--prayed long and earnestly that, if it were the lord's will, the boy that had been thrown upon their care might have speedy and sweet release from the burden of the flesh. it seemed long since she had left the sick-room, and still the moments travelled slowly on. "it cannot be much longer," she said; then a step on the landing made her look up anxiously, and her husband came quickly into the room. "come this way, mary," he said, without waiting for her to speak. "is it all over?" she questioned, looking up into his face. "no, i can't understand it at all: the lad seems better, though he's evidently wrong in his head." without further remark, she went at once to the bedside, and laid her hand gently upon his forehead. benny opened his eyes slowly, and raised them to her face, then tried to speak, but only a faint whisper escaped his lips. "what do you say, poor boy?" said mrs. fisher kindly, bending down her ear to listen. "may i see nelly, please?" he whispered. "who is nelly?" she replied. "nelly is my sister; may i not see her?" in the same faint whisper. "where is your sister, my boy?" said mrs. fisher, looking a little perplexed. "nelly's in heaven," he said. "this is heaven, ain't it?" "no, my boy, this is not heaven," she replied. "oh, i thought it wur," he said, closing his eyes with a look of pain. and mrs. fisher's eyes became moist, as she saw the big tears stealing out under the lashes, and rolling slowly down the pale wasted cheeks. after a while benny fell into a sound sleep, from which he did not awake till morning. when the doctor came next day he rubbed his hands with glee. "never had but one case before to equal it!" he said, "but it's wonderful what children will pull through: just as you think they are going right over the precipice, they turn round, and coolly walk back into health." "do you think he will get better?" said mrs. fisher. "more likely than not," was the reply: "the tide has turned, evidently. he had reached the crisis when you thought he was dying last night, and instead of kicking the beam, why, here he is ever so much better." from that day benny got better. not rapidly; no, it was a slow coming back to health; still, he did get better. day by day he gathered strength, though scarcely perceptible at times. the doctor rather wondered at this, for he expected his recovery to be much more rapid. but the secret lay in the fact that benny did not want to get better. and one day, about a week after the time of which we have spoken, he positively refused to take his medicine. "but it is to make you better," said mrs. fisher gently. "but i dunna want to get better," said benny; "i wants to go to heaven." "but you should be willing to wait the lord's time, benny." "i's waited so long," he said fretfully, "that i's tired of waitin'." "but it's wrong to murmur at what is god's will, benny." "are it?" he said. "i didn't know, but i's very tired." "but you'll get rested after a while, if you'll be patient." "ah, then," he said, with a sigh, "i mun try, i s'pose." but in spite of benny's anxiety to die, health and strength came back to him day by day, and one beautiful july sabbath afternoon he was dressed, for the first time, in a suit of dead rob's clothes, and carried into another room, and placed in an easy chair by the window, that he might feast his eyes on the beautiful landscape that stretched out before him. benny submitted to the process without speaking a word, for he was still very weak; but after he had recovered himself a little, he looked curiously at the clothes in which he was enveloped, as if not at all certain of his identity. "i reckon i's not benny bates," he said at length. "oh, yes, you are," said mrs. fisher, who had been watching him with an amused smile upon her face. "then," he said, looking up, "these is not my togs." "no; but i think i'll give them to you, benny." "whew!" lifting his eyebrows. then he began to search carefully all the pockets; that done, he lifted his white scared face to mrs. fisher, and said, "where's the bob, please?" "where's what?" "the shillin'." "what shilling?" "the one the angel gived me. ain't yer seen it?" "no; where was it?" "in the linin' of my wesket." "oh, then, perhaps we can find it." "oh, yes, do, please; i wouldna lose that bob for a hunderd poun'." "a hundred pounds is a lot of money, benny." "don't care; don't you see? an angel gived it to me." "an angel, benny?" "ay, an angel, a real one; but if you'll find the bob, i'll tell yer all 'bout it." after some searching the shilling was found, and benny, as good as his word, told mrs. fisher the story connected with it. in fact, he would, now that the ice was broken, have told that day all the story of his life, but mrs. fisher insisted that it would tire him too much, and that she would hear it some other day. so day after day as he sat by the window, with the soft summer breeze fanning his brow, and with the songs of the birds in his ears, he told the story that we have written. told of his father's cruelty, of joe wrag's friendship, and of his sister's love--told of his sorrow and loss, his hunger and despair, and of the angel that came to him in his hour of need--told of his success in mr. lawrence's office, of his thirst for knowledge, and of the bright hopes he cherished for the future. and he told her, too, of the charge of theft, of his imprisonment and temptation, of his release and resolve, of his fierce battle with hunger and want; and how, to be out of the reach of temptation, he had wandered away into the country until, worn out with hunger and fatigue, he lay down to die. and while mrs. fisher listened, she felt thankful that she had been able to befriend the homeless boy. benny was winning his way to her motherly heart in a wonderful manner, and was helping to fill the gap caused by the death of little rob. and could she have had her own way, she would have adopted him as her own, and sent him to school when he was strong enough, with harry and george. but benny's independent spirit would not hear of it. he would stay at scout farm if he might be permitted to earn his own living; but if they could not find employment for him he must go out into the great world once more, and try over again to earn, by some means, his daily bread. so it was settled at length that he should stay, and learn to be a farmer; and then benny grew strong rapidly, and ere the sunny september days passed away, he was out in the breezy fields helping to gather in the late harvest, and trying to make himself useful in every possible way. he was willing, nay, anxious to learn, and the work was by no means difficult. for the first few weeks he was very tired when evening came, but the fresh air gave him an appetite, and the work developed his muscles, and life once more became to him a joy. he very soon got to know what to do without being told. he would tie up the cattle in the evening as if he had been used to a farm all his life; groom the horses as if he and they were old acquaintances; and feed the calves with all the dispatch of an old hand at the work. mr. fisher was delighted with him; "a handier little chap," he declared, "he had never come across." and instead of being in the way, as mrs. fisher feared he would be, he soon made himself necessary to them. when winter came, with its long dreary evenings, he found a new source of pleasure, and that was a night school. it was mrs. fisher--to whom he had spoken of his thirst for knowledge--that persuaded him to attend. she knew he would not only derive pleasure, but profit. benny was considerably puzzled at first as to what a "night school" was like; but he soon discovered its purpose, and night after night, through wind and rain, he plodded along the dark country lane to the neighbouring village of scoutleigh, eager to improve his mind and add to his small store of knowledge. never had a village schoolmaster a more diligent pupil than he, and rarely one that improved more rapidly. nor did he forget in the summer that followed what he had learnt during the winter. there were books in mr. fisher's house, to which he had free access, for though on the farm he worked side by side with the hired servants, in the house he was treated as one of the family; and when the day's work was done, he found in his books his most congenial companions. and so he grew in body and mind, and thanked god in his heart for the haven he had found at last. time passed quickly at scout farm. there was always so much to be done that he had little time to brood over the past, or sigh over "what might have been." occasionally he longed for the busy life of the town he had left, but the feeling was only momentary. on the whole he was pleased with the life he was living, and though he saw no prospect of ever realizing the dreams that once he cherished, yet he tried to be content. so the weeks passed away, and lengthened into months, and the months lengthened into years, almost unconsciously to benny. he found himself growing into a man almost against his will. * * * * * six years passed away, and benny had grown almost out of recognition. no one would have thought that the tall, handsome young fellow that did so large a share of the work at scout farm, was the pale and famished child that dragged himself along the dusty highway six years before. he used to laugh sometimes when reminded of the past, and say that he was an example of what hard work, fresh air, and good food could accomplish. mr. fisher was almost as proud of him as if he had been his own son, and never seemed tired of declaring that "ben bates could swing a scythe, shear a sheep, plough a furrow, build a corn-stack, or thatch a hay-rick equal to any man for ten miles round." nor was john fisher the only man that sang benny's praises. the superintendent of the methodist sunday-school at scoutleigh averred that benny was the most punctual, diligent, and successful teacher he had. benny always declared, however, that he learnt more than he ever taught. up to the time that he commenced to teach, he had looked upon religion as stern, cold duty, and as that only; a question simply of doing or not doing. it is true that he heard occasionally sermons on the subject of experimental religion, but he thought it was only a way the preachers had of expressing themselves. he had no doubt that he was a christian. he had been trying to be one ever since the death of his little nell; he said his prayers regularly, and always tried to do his duty; and he asked himself what more could he do. yet as he studied the new testament carefully week by week, in order that he might instruct his class of boys, he became slowly conscious of the fact that feelings and experiences were hinted at in that book of books that he was a stranger to. what did he know about that "peace that passeth understanding," or of "rejoicing with joy unspeakable"? was his life "hid with christ in god," and was he certain what was meant by "holding communion with god and fellowship with christ"? he now began to pay more attention to the sermons that were preached, and to the hymns that were sung. one sunday morning he stopped singing at the verse, "jesus, thine all-victorious love shed in my heart abroad, then shall my feet no longer rove, rooted and fixed in god." "what did it mean?" he asked himself, "this love shed abroad in the heart, inspiring the life, beautifying the character? was religion as much a matter of love as of duty?" he heard nothing of the lesson that was read; but when the congregation stood up to sing again he was all attention. slowly the words rang out, and filled the little sanctuary, "give me the faith which can remove and sink the mountain to a plain; give me the child-like praying love which longs to build thy house again; thy love, let it my heart o'erpower, and all my simple soul devour. "enlarge, inflame, and fill my heart with boundless charity divine! so shall i all my strength exert, and love them with a zeal like thine and lead them to thy open side, the sheep for whom the shepherd died." that hymn for the rest of the day became the burden of his prayer, and for many days after, though when the answer came, or how, benny never knew. that it did come he had no doubt, for he discovered that religion was no longer the cold formal thing he had once imagined it to be, but a warm living something that filled his whole life. duty now became a joy, because love inspired it. loving god, he loved his service and loved his people; and at last he understood the words of the master, "my meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work." i do not know that any one saw any change in benny's life, except perhaps the superintendent of the school. he taught from henceforth as if his whole heart and soul were in the work; duty was no longer irksome, but a delight, and when some of the boys of his class were raised to a higher one, he went out into the village and got other boys to take their places. thus in earnest christian work he spent his sabbath days; and on the monday morning he would start out into the fields with a light heart, feeling all the happier and stronger for doing the master's work on the previous day. for many months nothing had happened to disturb the quiet and peaceful lives that were lived at scout farm. harry and george were at college, one studying to be a doctor, the other to be a solicitor. winnie, the baby--born since benny came to the farm--had grown into a bonny little creature, the pet of all the household; and mr. and mrs. fisher were as contented with their lot as two people could be, and wanted no change of any kind. benny was a little restless at times, but on the whole was happy. but this quiet life could not be lived always, and soon afterwards a circumstance transpired which was destined to affect benny's future in a way that he had no conception of. what that circumstance was shall be told in another chapter. chapter xxi. an accident. the sea of fortune doth not ever flow, she draws her favours to the lowest ebb her tides have equal time to come and go, her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web no joy so great, but runneth to an end, no hap so hard but may in time amend. --southwell. not far from scout farm were several gentlemen's residences, occupied chiefly by manchester merchants, who travelled to and from the city morning and evening by rail. one of the largest of these residences, and also the farthest away from scoutleigh road station, was occupied by a mr. munroe, who was reputed to be a man of great wealth, and also of great liberality. in consequence of the distance of mr. munroe's house from the station, his coachman used to drive him to scoutleigh road in the morning and fetch him in the evening, sometimes taking mrs. munroe, or one of the children, at the same time. mrs. munroe was the only sister of mr. lawrence, of liverpool, benny's former master, and, at the time to which we refer, eva lawrence was spending a few weeks at brooklands with her uncle and aunt. little did our hero think, as he sometimes looked across the valley at mr. munroe's house, almost hidden by trees, that his "angel" was staying there. it was doubtless well for him that he did not know. he would have been impatient to look once more upon the face of the maiden that, next to his sister nelly, had been the brightest vision of his life. he still kept the shilling that she had given him, and often when alone he would take it out of his purse and look at it, and wonder what had become of the little girl that befriended him in his hour of need, and would almost long for one more sight of her angel face. it was at such times as these that benny grew restless, and pined for the bustle of liverpool streets, and for the sight of old faces, that day by day were fading from his memory. yet he never seriously entertained the idea of going back. there were only joe and granny, and mr. lawrence and eva, that he cared to see, but that they would care to see him was very doubtful, and he could not go back to be looked at with suspicion. and not only so: he believed that he was where god intended him to be. he had a home, and a good one, among friends who believed in his honesty, and treated him with kindness. and even yet, had he been disposed to pay a visit to his old haunts, he had no time. he was fully employed every day of the week, and every season of the year brought its appointed work. the days were so short in winter that they had always their hands full, and sometimes more than they could do. and spring was always a busy time: the lambs had to be attended to; fences had to be repaired; and so many "crops" had to be got in, that hay harvest came upon them frequently before they were ready. then huge fields of turnips and mangolds and potatoes had to be hoed, and ere that was done the fields were white unto the harvest. then came sheep-shearing and ploughing land for next year's wheat crop, and potato digging, and half a dozen other things, that allowed them no time for idleness, and it was well for benny that it was so. he had no time to mope or to waste in useless regrets. one evening he had to pass brooklands on his way to a neighbouring farm. the day had been beautifully fine--a real june day, people said; a few people complained that it had been too hot about noon, but as the day declined a fresh breeze had sprung up, that made the evening deliciously cool. benny enjoyed few things more than a saunter across the fields during a summer's evening. and this evening he was just in the mood to enjoy the song of birds, and the scent of apple blossom and new-mown hay. it wanted several hours yet of sundown, so he sauntered on very leisurely, and paused when near mr. munroe's house, arrested by the sound of laughter. not far from where he stood three or four young ladies were engaged in a game of archery, and as he could not be seen by them, he waited awhile to watch them. he did not know that one of those fair maidens was eva lawrence; how should he know? she was a little girl when he saw her last, now she was just blooming into womanhood. the beauty, of which her early life gave promise, was now more than realized. but had eva lawrence been plain of feature, she would still have been beautiful in the eyes of those who knew her well. hers was a beautiful life, and people did not wonder that it was mirrored in a lovely face. it was a picture that would have pleased an artist's eye on which benny gazed, and their rippling laughter formed a pleasant accompaniment to the rustling of the leaves and the music of the brook that murmured down the glen. but as benny gazed at the picture he only saw one face, that of eva lawrence. he thought he had never seen the face before, and yet it affected him strangely. it seemed to bring back to him some half-forgotten dream. what was it that it reminded him of? he could not tell; whatever it might be, it eluded his grasp. like the snatch of a forgotten song it came and went, leaving nothing definite upon the mind. an hour later he returned by another way across the glen or ravine (adown which the brook babbled) by a narrow bridge with low parapets, and turned a sudden corner down the lane towards scout farm. for a moment he paused and remarked to himself, "this is a dangerous corner; i wonder mr. munroe does not alter it; and that bridge too, it is altogether too narrow. if i drove this way as often as he does, i would pull down that antiquated structure, and build a good wide bridge with a high wall on either side;" and, having given expression to an opinion that he had expressed a hundred times before, he turned on his heel and quietly pursued his way. he had not gone many yards, however, before he heard a great hue and cry, and, looking down the lane, he saw that mr. munroe's horse had taken fright, and was rushing towards him at headlong speed. the coachman, who had been riding behind, had coolly dropped himself down on the road, and stood staring after the flying carriage in blank astonishment, and shouting at the top of his voice. benny saw that mr. munroe was trying in vain to check the mad gallop of the horse, and he saw also that the young lady whose face had attracted him so strangely before was sitting by his side, pale and motionless. here and there people rushed out from the fields into the road and held up their hands or hoes, but always retreated after a few frantic gesticulations in time for the affrighted steed to pass. instantly benny thought of the sharp corner and the narrow bridge over the deep ravine. if the road had been straight, the wisest course would have been to have given the horse rein, and let it tire itself out. but as it was, the horse must be stopped before it reached the bridge, or almost certain death would be the fate of mr. munroe and his niece. he had little time to think, but he knew that to attempt to stop the horse would be attended with considerable risk to himself. if he failed to grasp the bridle the horse and carriage would go over him, in all probability killing him on the spot; but he had no time to debate the question, the startled horse was full upon him. in an instant he dashed at the bridle and caught it, the end of the shaft striking him on the arm at the same moment, almost causing him to let go his hold, but he held tight. for a dozen yards the horse dragged him along the road; then he succeeded in getting it on its knees with its nose against a hedge, and mr. munroe and eva alighted in perfect safety. by this time, however, a number of people had gathered round, the coachman amongst the rest, who at once took charge of the horse, and benny slunk away as quietly as possible, and made his way along the road as fast as he was able. mr. monroe, however, seeing his intentions, followed him at once. "come, come, my young friend," he said; "i cannot let you go without thanking you for your noble act." "do not mention it, sir," said benny, with an effort, turning pale at the same time. "i would be ungrateful indeed," said mr. munroe, "were i not to mention it. no, i shall never forget that to your heroism my niece and myself owe our lives." "i am very thankful if i have been of service to you," said benny; "but i could not have acted otherwise, so please----" but he did not finish the sentence; setting his teeth together, as if in pain, he staggered towards a seat by the hedge. instantly mr. munroe sprang towards him, exclaiming, "you're hurt, i'm sure you are; tell me what's the matter." "my arm is broken, that is all," said benny, with a poor attempt at a smile; then everything began to spin around him in a very bewildering manner, and he could never exactly recollect what happened after. he always carried with him, however, a lively recollection of the process of bone-setting, which he afterwards underwent, and of the sleepless night that followed. next morning mr. munroe came to scout farm and sat with benny for half an hour, chatting about things in general, and before he left he thanked him again in the warmest terms for his bravery, and made him promise to visit brooklands as soon as he was able, stating that mrs. munroe was very anxious to see him, as were also his daughters and niece, especially the latter, who wanted to thank him personally for saving her life. benny blushed at first and begged to be excused, but mr. munroe would not hear of it. so benny reluctantly consented at last to endure the martyrdom (to him) of being introduced to the fine ladies at the big house, and in his heart wished he was well out of it all. he felt sure that he should look silly and make a hole in his manners, for he had never been used to grand people; and what would be the proper thing to say when they thanked him he had not the remotest idea. "well, ben bates," he said to himself when mr. munroe had left the room, "you're in for it now, and no mistake. here's a pretty kettle of fish for you, my lad, and you've to see to it that you don't go and make a fool of yourself. a lot you know about etiquette and drawing-room manners; and won't you do the graceful before the ladies! oh, dear, dear!" and he laughed till the tears ran down his face, spite the pain in his arm. "i think i see you going through the introduction, my lad, trying to do the thing proper as if you knew how, and only succeeding in making yourself look silly. and won't the ladies giggle after you're gone!" then benny looked serious, and after a long pause he went on again: "look here, ben bates: do you think you are a downright fool, or do you think you have just a few grains of common sense? for, unless you're a born natural, you'll put on no airs at the big house; but you'll just be yourself, remember, and not ape anybody else; you profess a great hatred of sham, then don't be a sham yourself, and make yourself look ridiculous. remember what you are, ben bates; and remember, too, that you've got nothing to be ashamed of." then, after another pause: "i wish i was well out of this job, notwithstanding. i hate to be thanked. i wonder, by the bye, who that young lady is? how her face reminds me of something, something in the old life, but what i cannot make out. how strange everything seems! i fancy sometimes i must have lived here always, and dreamed all the rest. but no, nelly was real, and that shilling was real. ah! i wonder what's become of her." and a far-away look came into his eyes, as if he were back again in the old life of mingled joy and pain. meanwhile mr. munroe was out in the yard talking with mr. fisher. "a fine young fellow that of yours, mr. fisher," was his first greeting. "yes," said the farmer; "i'd back him against any young man his age for ten miles round." "an adopted son of yours, i suppose?" "well, no, not exactly," replied mr. fisher. "beg pardon, i thought you had adopted him." "well, perhaps you are not far wrong either. you see, he came to us five or six years agone, a poor little famished, wizened creature. it was a sweltering hot day too, and he had walked all the way from liverpool, sleeping at nights by the roadside, and by the time he got here--or rather, he didn't get here--our folks were making hay in the home close, and he just got inside the gate, and dropped down in a fit, or something of the sort. well, he was completely done up; the doctor never thought he would come round again, but he did, and you see what a fine fellow he's grown to." "yes, indeed! and so he has lived with you ever since?" "ever since. my wife says she believes the lord directed him here. any way, the boy was a great comfort to her, for we'd only just buried our little rob, and he seemed to fill up the gap a bit, you see." "i suppose you find him very handy about the farm now, mr. fisher?" "handy? i tell you, there isn't his equal for miles around. he took to the farm as natural as a duck takes to the water. in fact, the plucky little dog said he wouldn't stay to be a burden to us, and he never has been. in fact, if we came to square accounts, i fancy that i should find that i was considerably in his debt." "and you find him perfectly trustworthy?" "he's as honest as the daylight, sir, and as good as gold. why, i'd trust him with my life, and so would the missus. she thinks a sight of him, i can assure you." "i do not wonder at it, mr. fisher; he's a brave young fellow, and deserves notice and help--if he needed it." "brave? well, you've said just right in that, mr. munroe; he's as brave as a lion. i don't think the young dog knows what fear is. i expect it'll be getting him into trouble some of these days. but then, bless you, on the other hand, he's as gentle as a woman, and the very soul of kindness. i believe the young scamp would give away the last copper he had, if he saw some one he fancied wanted it more than himself." "indeed!" said mr. munroe, feeling rather amused at mr. fisher's enthusiasm. "it is not often you see people possessing so many good qualities." "good! well, you've hit it again, the lad _is_ good; and yet, mark you, he ain't none of the goody-goody sort either. why, bless you, he's as full of fun and frolic as an egg is full of meat. you should just see the carryings on we have here when the lads are home from school. i laugh sometimes fit to kill myself, and yet feel as mad as a sheep at 'em, for they give me no peace of my life." "well, we cannot expect the young folks to be as sedate and steady-going as we older people, mr. fisher." "that's what my wife says, sir; she says it's as natural for the lads to play as it is for the kittens, and that it's quite as harmless, and i don't think she's far wrong. in fact, i generally give in to her; she's had a sight better education than ever i had, so she ought to know better." "ah, speaking about education, mr. fisher, what sort of education has this young man had?" "well, mr. munroe, i confess i'm no judge in matters of that sort. you see, he was never at a day school a day in his life; but for all that he seems to have a natural gift for learning. our george says he's got on wonderfully; and old mr. jones, that keeps the night school yonder at scoutleigh, says he can't teach him any more." "excuse me asking all these questions, mr. fisher, but i feel quite interested in the young man. it's but natural i should, since i owe my life to him; and i should like to do something for him, if i could see how it's to be done." "it's very kind of you, i'm sure, and i can assure you you'll not find me stand in the lad's way. fact is, i've thought many times of late that he's too good--too well informed, and that kind of thing--to be a farm labourer all his life, and he'd never get enough as a day labourer to become a farmer on his own account." "just so; the same thought has occurred to me, but we'll see what can be done. good morning, mr. fisher." "good morning, sir, good morning." and mr. fisher went his way to his farm, and mr. munroe to the station, to catch the noon train to manchester. benny kept indoors two whole days, and declared that they were two of the longest days of his life. but on the third morning he was out in the fields again with his arm in a sling. he could not work, so he took a book with him and lay down by a sunny hedge, and read till dinner-time. he would not be treated as an invalid. "i'm all right but for my game arm," he said to mrs. fisher, when she brought him some little delicacy that she had cooked for his special benefit; "and i think i know some one that will enjoy it a great deal more than i should," looking across to baby winnie, who was eyeing the dish with curious eyes. "at any rate, she shall have a share. come here, winnie," he said, turning to the child, "come to benny." and the little bit of humanity slipped off her chair in what benny would have once characterized as "sca'se no time," and came toddling round the table towards him, holding up her little fat dimpled hands, and with eyes brimful of delight. "take us up, 'enny," said the little prattler; "winnie 'oves 'oo very much." "easier said than done, you young foxy," said benny, laughing down upon the child. "come, mammy," turning to mrs. fisher, "lend us a helping hand, and get this young soldier where she wants to be." and soon benny and baby were eating out of the same dish, and it would have been hard to decide which enjoyed it most. so day after day passed away, and benny kept putting off the promised visit to brooklands. mrs. fisher was constantly reminding him of his promise, and yet every day he found some fresh excuse for staying away. one afternoon, however, about a fortnight after the accident, he announced to mrs. fisher that he was going to pay his promised visit to the lions that afternoon. "that's right, benny; though i don't think from your own experience that you have any occasion to call the ladies lions," and mrs. fisher bent on him a knowing look. "right you are, mammy; i believe they are mostly angels after all, and perhaps those at brooklands will be no exception to the rule." "i'm sure they will be kind to you, benny; so you had better be off and get ready." half an hour later he came into the sitting-room to mrs. fisher, dressed for his visit. "now, mammy," he said, "am i presentable?" "go away with you," she said, laughing, though casting at the same time an admiring look at the manly young fellow that stood before her, "you'll be as proud as a peacock soon." "right you are again. i feel the pride creeping up already. but now for a sight of the angels, so good-bye." and off he started to pay a visit that was to be fraught with vastly more important issues than he had any conception of. chapter xxii. recognition. "that strain again; it had a dying fall: oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south that breathes upon a bank of violets, stealing and giving odour."--_tempest_. when our hero reached the bridge that spanned the narrow dell, he paused for a moment and looked over the low parapet at the deep gully that had been worn away by the action of the water, and shuddered as he thought of what would have happened had he failed to grasp the bridle-rein. "i expect this breakneck place will be remedied now," he said, "that a couple of lives have come near being lost over it. if the horse had not been stopped there could not have been the least possible chance of their escape. well, well, i'm thankful the affair ended in nothing worse than a broken arm." passing through the lodge gates, he wended his way slowly along the carriage drive towards the house. high above his head the leafy canopy swayed gently in the summer breeze, making pleasant music, and here and there an industrious bee droned dreamily on leaf and flower. from distant fields the sheep-bells jingled gently, and mingled with the whistling of a plough-boy riding home his tired team, while from a neighbouring farmyard the patient cows lowed lazily while waiting to be milked. when benny reached the door of the munroe mansion, he felt strongly tempted to turn and go back again; but concluding that such an action would be exceedingly foolish, he seized the bell-handle, gave it a vigorous pull, and waited. "is mr. munroe at home?" he inquired of the servant who opened the door. "yes; but he's engaged at present. will you give me your name?" "bates. but never mind, you need not disturb him; another time will do as well." "i think the master has been expecting you to call," with a glance at benny's arm. "very likely. i said i would call some afternoon." "i'm sure he will see you, then. come this way, please, into the library." benny followed without a word, and soon found himself surrounded on every side with books. "oh, my!" he said, "i think i should enjoy spending a fortnight here. i wonder how long it would take me to read all these books, and how much longer to understand them? ay, that's the rub--understanding and remembering what one does read." then he ran his eye along shelf after shelf, reading only the titles. "i expect i should feel like a boy in a sweet-shop, not knowing which bottle to start with. ah, wordsworth!" as his eye caught the name. "i've heard of him. i wonder what the inside is like?" he must have found something very interesting, for when mr. munroe came into the room half an hour later, benny did not notice his entrance. mr. munroe watched him with an amused smile on his face for about five minutes, then said, "i'm glad you've found something to take your fancy, mr. bates." benny started, and blushed to the roots of his hair. in the first place he thought he was alone, and in the second place it was the first time that he had ever been addressed as "mister." "i beg pardon," he stammered out at length. "i did not know you were in the room." "don't mention it. i'm glad to see that you are fond of books; and i'm glad to see you here." benny blushed again, but did not reply. "i was afraid you were not coming," went on mr. munroe; "but how is your arm?" "getting on nicely, thank you; the doctor says it will soon be as right as ever." "i'm glad to hear it. it's a mercy we were not every one of us killed; but i'm having a new bridge built. i've been _going_ to have it done for the last ten years, but kept putting it off; however, they are going to start with the job next week." "i'm very glad to hear it," said benny. "it's not safe as it is at present." "no, no; you're quite right there." then there was an awkward pause, and benny began to feel uncomfortable. mr. munroe was the first to speak. "i wanted to see you here," he said, "to have a little conversation with you about--about--yourself," bringing out the last word with a jerk. benny did not know what reply to make to this, so he said nothing. "i understand you have not always lived in the country?" questioned mr. munroe. "no, sir; i lived in liverpool till i was twelve or thirteen years of age." "and how do you like farming?" "very well, i think; but, really, i've scarcely thought about it." "you are not uncomfortable, then?" "oh, no! far from it. mr. and mrs. fisher took me in when i was houseless, homeless, friendless, and all but dead, and ever since have treated me with the utmost kindness. i have a better home now than i ever had before in my life, and as for the work i do, i feel that it's but poor compensation for the kindness bestowed upon me." "you have no wish, then, to be anything different to what you are?" "i did not say so, sir; but as i have no expectation of being other than what i am, i try to be content." "ah, just so; and yet i am told you have paid considerable attention to intellectual pursuits." "i have tried to make the most of my opportunities for acquiring knowledge. i'm fond of books--very; and knowledge i love for its own sake." "well spoken, mr. bates. i like to hear a young man talk in that way. you are a good penman, mr. jones tells me." "he has paid me that compliment before, but i am scarcely a judge." "you understand bookkeeping?" "a little." "double entry?" "yes." "quick at accounts?" "i should think not. i have scarcely had sufficient practice." "i suppose if you stay on the farm there is no prospect of your rising to anything higher than a day labourer?" "not much, i fear." "well, now, mr. bates, i may as well out with it first as last. i am very much pleased with you; i am, indeed. i cannot forget that you saved my life, and the life of my niece; and i am anxious to help you to something better than being a farm labourer if you will let me. almost any one can do farm work, and i think you are deserving of something better, because you have educated yourself for it. now, i shall be glad to take you into my city office, and give you a start in life. i commenced as a clerk at the desk, and what i have accomplished there is no reason why you may not. what do you say, now?" "i hardly know what to say," said benny. "i am very much obliged to you for your kind offer, but i would like to talk with mr. and mrs. fisher about the matter before i come to a decision." "you are quite right, mr. bates. let me know this day week; and now let us go into the drawing-room and see the ladies." benny followed mr. munroe like one in a dream up a broad flight of stairs, and into a large and luxuriantly furnished room. then commenced the introduction which he had so much dreaded. he bowed to each one in turn, mr. munroe mentioning the name of each person; but benny never heard a word he said, and was never quite certain whether he was bowing to a lady or gentleman. it was over, however, at length, and he sat down with a feeling of infinite relief, and took up a volume of milton that was lying on a table near him. then miss munroe came forward with the question-- "are you fond of poetry, mr. bates?" "yes, very." "you know wordsworth, of course?" "no. i ought to be ashamed to say so, but i do not." and then followed a conversation about poets and authors of various kinds, and benny soon forgot his shyness, and chatted away with as much freedom as if he had been at scout farm. by-and-bye eva lawrence came forward shyly, and with a soft blush tinging neck and face; and miss munroe rose and left her and benny together. it was growing dusk by this time, and she sat with her back to the light, so that benny could scarcely see her face. "i am very grateful to you, mr. bates," she began in a low voice, "for your bravery in stopping our horse the other night." benny started, for something in the voice reminded him again of other days, and he did not reply for a moment; and eva went on-- "uncle tells me that if you had not stopped the horse, nothing could have saved us;" and she shuddered slightly. "i am very thankful, indeed, that i have been permitted to be of service to you," began benny. then mrs. munroe came forward, and the conversation drifted off into matters in general, for which he was very thankful, and ended in eva being requested to sing. "what are your favourite songs?" asked mrs. munroe. "well, i hardly know," said benny, blushing. "i know so very few; but the simpler they are the better they please me, as a rule." "could you mention one or two?" "yes; there is one called 'love at home,' which i like very much." "oh, that's one of your old songs, dear," said mrs. munroe, turning to eva. "you remember it, don't you?" "yes, quite well; but i don't care to sing it, aunt, unless mr. bates very much wishes to hear it." "i should like to hear it again very much," said benny; "but don't sing it if you would rather not." "i will do my best, anyhow;" and she got up and went to the piano. "ring for lights, dear," said mrs. munroe, addressing her daughter; "it is getting quite dark." "no, no, aunt, please," said eva; "i know it quite well without the music, and i think the gloaming is the nicest part of the day;" and she sat down and began to play over the air; then there was a long pause, for eva's thoughts had wandered away elsewhere. "we are all attention, dear," said mrs. munroe. "excuse me," said eva; "but i was thinking of something else. i will tell you all about it directly, if you care to hear." then, clear and sweet, rang out the words, "there is beauty all around, when there's love at home." and benny felt thankful that the lights had not been brought, for in the gloom he could hide his emotion. when the song was finished, eva swung herself round on the music-stool, and said, "you will think me very silly, i have no doubt, but i never sing that old song without thinking of what happened years ago." "dear me, how old you talk!" laughed her cousin. "well, dot, i _am_ getting old; but never mind, i was only a little girl then. pa and i were returning from chester, and when we landed from the railway-boat, a pale hungry-looking lad came up to pa and asked him to carry his bag. well, pa had been delayed, and consequently he was in a hurry, so he said 'no' to the boy in a stern voice, and pushed roughly past, and i saw the boy turn away and begin to cry; so scarcely thinking what i was doing, i went to the boy and asked him why he cried, and he said he was hungry and cold, that he had no father or mother, and that he had just buried his little sister, and nobody would employ him; so i gave him a new shilling that pa had given me, and asked him if he was generally on the landing-stage. "'yes,' he said; and his face brightened wonderfully at the sight of the shilling, and an honest-looking face it was too; 'i'm mostly hereabouts.' "well," continued eva, after a pause, "i thought no more about the lad for several days, when one afternoon i was in the dining-room alone, and i began to play and sing 'love at home.' when i had finished, i rose to close the window, and there just outside was the very boy i had given the shilling to, his eyes full of tears; but when he saw he was noticed he shrank away, as if ashamed he had been caught listening." "and so you conceived a romantic attachment to the lad?" chimed in mr. munroe. "of course i did, uncle; but to be serious. teacher had been telling us that we ought to be little missionaries, etc, and i thought this was a likely case to experiment on. so i got pa interested, and in the end the boy was taken into his office, and a better boy pa said he never had. he was honest, truthful, industrious, and seemed very anxious to learn." then there was another pause, and if benny ever felt thankful for the darkness, he did then. it was all clear to him now. this, then, was his little angel, grown into a grand lady! and yet she had not forgotten the poor street boy. he would like to have spoken, and put an end to further revelations, but he dared not trust himself to speak. then eva went on again: "i am come to the most painful part of the story. this boy had been with pa six months, when one saturday afternoon he left him in charge of the office, but he had scarcely got a hundred yards from the door when he remembered that he had left a bank note on his desk, and instantly turned back for it. well, when he got into the office the note was gone. nobody had been in the office but the boy, and yet he denied ever having seen it. well, pa was quite in a way. he searched everywhere, but it was not to be found. so the boy was apprehended on suspicion, and taken to the police-station. i was in a great way too, for it was through me that pa had employed the boy; still, i could not believe that he was dishonest. at the trial he was given the benefit of the doubt and dismissed, and has never been seen or heard of since. but the strangest part of all is, about a month later pa wanted to look at the directory--a book he does not use very often--and the first thing on which his eye fell as he opened the book was the missing bank-note. he _was_ in a way when he came home, and we chatted about nothing else all the evening, for he remembered then very distinctly how he had laid the note on the open book, and before he went out had shut it up quickly, and placed it on the shelf. what troubled pa so much was, the boy had been robbed of his character, for the magistrates had little doubt of his guilt, though there was no positive evidence; and when a lad's character is gone his fortune is gone. all inquiries concerning him have been fruitless. and pa says sometimes that he feels occasionally as if he had driven the poor boy to destruction. so you see whenever i sing that song it always brings back to my mind this painful story." after the story was ended there was silence for a few moments. benny would liked to have spoken, but his heart was too full--to think that the shadow was lifted from his life at last! he wished he could have been alone for a few moments, that he might out of the fulness of his heart have thanked god. "what a pity," said mrs. munroe at length, "that the boy could not be found." then benny got up, and said in a voice tremulous with emotion, "i must go now, please; but before i go i would like to say that i am the lost boy." "you!" they all said in chorus. "yes. i cannot say more now." and he sat down again, and hid his face in his hands. "how strange!" said eva; "but i see it all now. i could not think who you reminded me of; but you have strangely altered." "yes, i suppose i have," he said huskily; "and yet, perhaps, not more than you have." "how thankful pa will be!" she said, not heeding his last remark. "i will write and tell him to-morrow." "well," said mr. munroe, speaking at length, "if this is not the strangest ending to a story that i ever came across!" "it's as good as a novel," said miss munroe. "i declare it would make a capital tale." "and your father is satisfied that i am honest now?" said benny, going towards eva. "yes; but i don't think that he ever really believed you were dishonest." "and you never doubted my honesty?" "no, never." that was all that passed between them. when he had gone mr. munroe remarked, "a wonderful young man that; i never in my life met with a more remarkable case. how the young fellow has managed to bear up and fight the world as he has is beyond my comprehension." "and he has the bearing of a gentleman too," remarked miss munroe. "i expected we were going to be highly amused at his behaviour and his dialect, and so on; but really he speaks quite correctly." "he always was a well-behaved boy," remarked eva; "and during the time he was in pa's office he told one of the clerks that he was very anxious to speak correctly." "he must have worked very hard, however," said mr. munroe; "and a lad with such application, pluck, and determination is sure to get on. i confess i shall watch his future career with great interest." "but what surprises me most," said mrs. munroe, "is the sterling honesty that seems always to have characterized him. as a rule, those street arabs have the crudest notions of right and wrong." "he told me once," said eva, "that he could just remember his mother, who told him to be honest, and truthful, and good; but his little sister nelly, who died just before i met him, seems to have been his safeguard, and but for her he said he felt certain he should have been a thief." meanwhile the subject of this conversation was making his way along the silent lanes that lay between brooklands and scout farm like one in a dream. could it be really true, he mused, that he had seen his angel face to face, that he had listened again while she sang "love at home," and that he had heard from her own lips how the lost bank-note had been found, and how that now no stain rested upon his name? what a wonderful day it had been! could it be possible that his long-buried hopes might be realized at last? in a lonely part of the road he paused and listened, but no sound broke the stillness. above him twinkled the silent stars; around him all nature lay hushed and still. "god is here," he said; and lifting up his face to the sky, and clasping his hands together, he poured out his heart in thanksgiving. "o god!" he said, "i thank thee for all things; for the sorrow, and pain, and loss, for the darkness through which i have wandered, and for the burdens i have had to bear. thou hast never forsaken me. thou hast always been good. i thank thee for bringing me here, and for the discipline of toil. and now that thou hast lifted off the cloud that so long has darkened my life, help me to praise thee, and love thee more and more. i want to be good, and noble, and true. help me, o father, for thy mercy's sake." benny slept but little that night. in the long silent hours he lived all his life over again, and wondered at the mercy of god. chapter xxiii. the question settled. life's withered leaves grow green again and fresh with childhood's spring. as i am welcomed back once more within its rainbow ring; the past, with all its gathered charms, beckons me back in joy, and loving hearts and open arms re-clasp me as a boy. --massey. next morning benny was unusually quiet, so much so that mrs. fisher thought he was not well; but he insisted that nothing was the matter with him, and she did not like to question him further. but when mr. fisher came in to breakfast he began to rally benny at once, and to ask him how he got on with the grand folks on the previous evening. "very well, i think," benny answered, simply; "they all seemed very grateful for the little service i had been able to render them." "and did you find the ladies lions, benny?" inquired mrs. fisher. "indeed no," said benny, colouring; "they all of them made me think more of angels than of lions." "indeed?" said mrs. fisher, in a questioning tone. "yes, they treated me with the utmost kindness, every one of them; but, now i think of it, the ladies always have done so," said benny, with a laugh. "i should think so," interposed mr. fisher; "but mr. munroe spoke to me about helping you in some way: did he say anything to you about it?" "yes; that was what he wanted to see me at his house for principally." "well, lad, out with it: did he make you an offer of some sort?" "yes, he made me a very kind offer indeed." "well, ben, what was it like? you are precious slow this morning." "am i?" "you are, indeed. he hasn't proposed suicide to you, has he?" "not quite. but i had better tell you all that passed between us." "of course you accepted his offer?" said mr fisher, when he had done. "no, i did not." "you didn't?" "no; i said i would like to talk to you about it before coming to a decision." "you needn't fear, lad," said mr. fisher, with a little shake in his voice, "that i will put a straw in your way. i shall be very sorry to lose you, i confess, for you have been a great help to me, especially as neither harry nor george would take to farming, and i know you have been a great comfort to the missus." "that he has," said mrs. fisher, as if speaking to herself. "but," continued mr. fisher, without heeding his wife's remark, "i have thought for some time past that you might do better for yourself than slaving on a farm all the days of your life; and now that you've got the chance of bettering your condition, my advice is, accept it by all means, and think yourself a lucky dog for getting such an offer." "oh, yes, benny," said mrs. fisher, "i think you had better accept mr. munroe's offer: such a chance does not often come twice in a lifetime; and besides, you can still make this your home--that is, you will be able to come on a saturday night and stay until monday morning." "of course you will, ben; i never thought of that," said mr. fisher. "i believe you have got into luck's way at last." "but i have something more to tell you yet," said benny, looking up with a smile. "more in the way of good luck?" said mr. fisher. "well, i don't think the word luck will apply exactly, and yet what i have to tell you is to me very good news indeed." "well, lad, out with it: you are beating about the bush in tremendous style this morning, and no mistake." "oh, you are so impatient!" laughed benny; "and i declare you look a great deal more curious than mrs. fisher does." "well, and what has that to do with it, you tantalizing young vagabond?" "oh, a great deal!" said benny, laughing: "you always profess that curiosity is a feminine weakness which you are a stranger to, and yet here you are as curious and impatient as a schoolgirl!" and benny laughed again. "well, ben," laughed mr. fisher, "you have me this time, i'll admit. i am a bit curious; there's no denying it; so let us know what this piece of good news is." "you have heard me speak," said benny, "of the little girl that gave me my lucky shilling years ago?" "the angel, you mean, benny," said mrs. fisher, with a smile. "yes, that's who i mean," said benny, blushing; "and i am not quite certain that she is not an angel yet." "well, and what of her?" said mr. fisher. "i daresay you will think it a strange story, but it seems she is a niece of mr. munroe, and is staying at present at brooklands. she was with mr. munroe the night the horse took fright, and so without knowing it i saved the life of the little girl that befriended me in the hour of my greatest need. a little girl no longer, however, for she has grown into a grand lady, and yet she seems as good and kind as ever." "well, i never!" said mr. fisher. "and you recognized each other at once?" inquired his wife. "no, that we didn't: she has grown out of recollection quite; and i suppose i have also." "well, i should rather think you have," said mr. fisher, with a broad grin; "you were a scarecrow when you found your way here, and no mistake." "but how did you find out who she was?" said mrs. fisher. "by the merest accident. but you would never guess, so i will tell you all about it." and he detailed the circumstances with which the reader is familiar. "well, if i ever!" grunted mr. fisher. "i'm so thankful, benny," mrs. fisher remarked; "though the finding of the note can make no difference in our regard for you, for we never doubted your honesty for a moment." "thank you, mammy;" and he looked fondly up into the face of the good woman who for so many years had been as a mother to him. after breakfast benny took a book and went out into the fields to read, but somehow to-day the letters got hopelessly mixed, and all the lines seemed to run into one. he did his best to fix his mind upon the subject of the book, but in vain: before he had read a dozen words the letters would fade away, and his thoughts would be somewhere else; and not only his thoughts, but his eyes kept wandering in the direction of brooklands, and he found himself weaving all kinds of fancies. but in every pattern stood out the face of one he had never forgotten either in joy or pain. how grandly life was opening out before him again! the mountain heights that had been so long in darkness were once more bathed in light. the wilderness surely lay all behind him now. ah! he had thought so once before, and had found out that he had only just commenced the journey across the dreary waste. was it to be so again? would this glorious morning close in darkness? were hopes always delusive, and but the prelude of despair? he knew not; and yet he had no fear. "the lord," he said, "has always provided for me; i believe he always will." then a lark rose up from its lowly nest near him, and went singing upward through the sky, and as he listened to the full rich song that floated down to him, he seemed to hear in it the promise of an ever-faithful friend--"and not one of them falls to the ground without the notice of his eye.... are ye not much better than they?" towards the close of the afternoon benny found himself in the lane that led down to the bridge that crossed the dell. he had no particular object in view, only he loved a quiet stroll through the country lanes in the quiet of the day, and he was useless on the farm till his arm got better. below in the valley the river rippled pleasantly over its stony bed. to benny's ears it sounded like a song, while his own fancy supplied the words-- "there is beauty all around when there's love at home." on turning the sharp corner of which we have already spoken, he came suddenly face to face with eva lawrence. benny blushed scarlet; but eva held out her hand in a simple childish manner, and said frankly, "i am pleased to see you----" (she was about to say "benny," but checked herself), and added, "i hope your arm is still improving." "yes, thank you; it will soon be as well as ever." "i am very glad; but how strange, isn't it, that i should have found you again?" "yes, very; but my life has been a strange one altogether." "i suppose so. do you remember telling me all about your life up to the time i first saw you on the landing-stage?" "yes, i remember. do you remember giving me the shilling? of course you do, for you mentioned it last night, but i wanted to tell you i have that shilling yet." and benny took the shilling out of his purse and handed it to her. "how funny!" said she, taking the coin in her hand; "and is this the very same?" "yes; i have never had the heart to part with it, somehow, though i've wanted bread since you gave it to me. i call it my lucky shilling." "how strange!" she said, more to herself than to him. "then you have never forgotten us?" "forgotten you!" said benny, "i should----" then he checked himself, and added, after a pause, "no, i could not easily forget those who have befriended me." by this time they had reached the bridge, and eva sat down on the low parapet, and benny took a seat opposite her. for a while neither spoke, then eva looked up and said, "would you mind telling me about yourself since that dreadful evening you had to leave pa's office?" "if you care to hear it, though i fear it would be a very uninteresting story." "i should like to hear it very much, for i have often wondered what could have become of you." "i should not have kept silence all these years if i had thought any one cared to know what had become of me, but i supposed that i should best please those who had known me by keeping out of their sight." "you were mistaken in that, i am sure; but never mind now, i am all curiosity to hear your story." benny could not resist this request, so he gave her an outline of what we have given in greater detail, making as little as possible, however, of his sufferings and privations, and dwelling at length, and with much feeling, on the kindness of his friends at the farm. of his inner life he said nothing. his religious experience seemed too deep for words, too sacred for parade, and he had not framed an experience yet to use on public occasions, and he preferred also that his actions, rather than his words, should reveal his religious life. eva listened with great attention, and her quick imagination supplied what she felt he had left out. for awhile there was silence after benny had told his story, save for the clear river that babbled down underneath the bridge, for both were thinking of the old days that had passed away for ever. at length eva arose and held out her hand, and benny took the little white fingers in his hard brown palm, and held them just for a moment. "good evening, mr. bates; i must go home now," she said. "good evening, miss lawrence." and benny watched her glide away among the shadows of the tall trees, in the direction of brooklands, then turned and walked slowly home. the next morning, as he was leaving the house, he almost stumbled over mr. lawrence, who on receipt of his daughter's letter had come over at once. "mr. lawrence!" said benny, in a tone of surprise. "then you _are_ benny, i suppose," he said, "as you recognize me, but i should never have known you." "yes, i am benny bates, but you have not altered in the least; i should have known you anywhere." "well, benny," said mr. lawrence with much feeling, taking his hand, "you cannot tell how thankful i am to see you alive and well." then, glancing at benny's arm, which he still carried in a sling, he added, "i beg pardon, i had forgotten your arm for a moment. i have to thank you also for saving my daughter's life." "do not mention it, mr. lawrence; i have received abundant thanks already." "that may be, but i have much to say to you; can you spare time for a walk?" "yes, with pleasure; i am able to do nothing, as you see, and so time hangs rather heavy." "benny," said mr. lawrence, when they had gone some distance, "when i found that missing bank-note, i resolved that, if ever i saw you again or had the chance of speaking to you, i would ask your forgiveness for the wrong i did you." "do not speak in that way, please," said benny. "if you wronged me it was not intentionally, so that i have nothing to forgive; if i had, it should be freely granted." "thank you. and now, benny, will you return to liverpool again? not to be office boy," he said, glancing at benny's tall and well-knit frame; "i can find you something much better than that, and i should like to make you some reparation for all you have suffered through me." "thank you, mr. lawrence," said benny firmly; "but i could not come simply to be tolerated because you fancied you had wronged me, and wished to make amends." mr. lawrence looked up in surprise. "you will understand what i mean, i think," said benny. "i am too old and too big to be any longer an object of charity, but if you think i am able to fill the place you want filled, and am worth the salary that you are in the habit of paying, then i will consider your very kind proposal." "i understand what you mean now," said mr. lawrence, "and i must say i admire your independence. i do not wish you to be an object of charity, for mr. munroe tells me that he finds, through inquiries that he has made, that you are a good penman, and quick at accounts, and if you will come and take the vacant stool in my office, i shall be sincerely obliged." "thank you; but do you know that mr. munroe has made me a similar offer?" "yes." "do you require an answer now?" "to-morrow will do." "let it be to-morrow, then, please, and i will think about it in the meanwhile." benny had decided the question, however, before he slept that night. manchester was a strange place, liverpool was his home. he knew every street for half a mile around the custom house as well as he knew the lanes around scout farm. he had spent his childhood there; his earliest, ay, and his happiest recollections were associated with it. it had been the scene of his greatest struggles and triumphs. it had witnessed his deepest joy and his bitterest sorrow, and though he had left it in disgrace and pain, he loved it still. there were a few people there he had pined to see. it was joe wrag's home; it was nelly's resting-place; granny lived there, and his sunday-school teacher, and mr. lawrence, and--. but never mind, liverpool was dear to him still, and in the very spot from which he had been driven in disgrace he would start afresh. next morning he walked across to brooklands, and asked to see mr. munroe. "i have come," he said, as soon as that gentleman appeared, "to tell you that i cannot accept your very kind offer." "i guessed as much," said mr. munroe, with a smile, "when i heard mr. lawrence had been after you. so liverpool has more attractions for you than manchester, eh?" "yes, sir, liverpool is my home, and manchester would be strange to me; but i am very much obliged to you for your kindness." "i do not blame you, mr. bates; on the contrary, i think you have acted wisely. still, if at any time you should need a friend, you may reckon upon me." "thank you, sir," said benny, with a shake in his voice, "thank you very much; and now, sir, could i see mr. lawrence?" "oh, yes, i will send him to you at once." "good morning, benny," was mr lawrence's greeting; "and have you settled the matter?" "yes, sir, i will accept your offer." "that's right; i am glad to hear it. and now, when can you be ready?" "in a week, sir." "that will do; and in the meantime i will secure lodgings for you, and make things as straight and pleasant against your arrival as i possibly can." "thank you very much." "don't name it; but i will send you word when i have secured a comfortable home for you, so that if you like to send on your luggage beforehand, you may do so." the next few days benny was busy getting his things together, previous to his departure from scout farm. little winnie followed him everywhere, and wanted him to promise her that he would not "do away." he did not think until he began to pack his things that the parting would cost him so much, nor did he know till then how closely the little prattling winnie had twined herself around his heart. "benny does not 'ove his 'ittle winnie, to do away," the child repeated over and over again, with choking voice and brimming eyes. "benny's pet," he would say, taking her up in his arms and kissing away her tears; "he loves you more than he can tell." "then benny'll stay with winnie, won't he?" "do you want benny to stay very badly, eh, pet?" "oh, yes, winnie 'oves 'oo werry much; don't do away, benny." "i'll come back again at christmas, winnie, and then we'll have rare fun, and i'll bring you a new doll and heaps of oranges." but the child would not be comforted. at length the last morning of his stay arrived. it was a silent party that sat down to breakfast, for the hearts of all were too full for speech. then the trap was brought round, and they all drove over to the station together. the train was in time this morning, for which benny felt thankful. there was only time for a hurried good bye good-bye, an extra kiss for winnie, and the train started for the busy town where benny was to commence afresh the race of life. chapter xxiv. the reward of well-doing. i have seen angels in the gloomy prison, in crowded halls, by the lone widow's hearth; and when they passed the fallen have uprisen, the giddy paused, the mourner's hope had birth. * * * * * and by his side there moved a form of beauty, strewing sweet flowers along his path of life. and looking up with meek and love-lent duty: i call her angel, but he called her wife. on reaching liverpool, his first visit was to his sister's grave. he would never have found it, were it not for a curious-shaped stone that he had embedded in the sod ere he went away. as it was, he was a long time before he could discover it among the hundreds of grass-grown mounds lying all around it. it seemed to him that he had lived a long life since he lay there that summer night, and resolved that he would leave liverpool behind him, and go out into the great world that lay beyond to seek his fortune. "ah, well!" he mused, "i have made no fortune, but i have lived a life of peace, and god has taken care of me, and now i have come back again no longer a child, though scarcely a man, and i believe god will take care of me here." kneeling by the little grave, he offered up a silent prayer for help and protection. he thanked god for his little sister that was safe from the world's temptation, and prayed that when he should be laid down to sleep by her side, they might meet by the far-off jordan river, and part no more for ever. he was in a very subdued frame of mind when he left the cemetery and wended his way in the direction of tempest court. he could not help wondering as he threaded his way through the busy streets whether granny was still alive, but he certainly did not expect to find that tempest court was no longer in existence. such, however, was the case. the march of improvement had swept away hundreds of tumble-down houses, in one of which granny had dwelt for so many years. but she did not live to see that day. in the little home in which she had lived so long she was permitted to die; and so, when the "destroyer," as she would have called it, came to tempest court, she was gone--gone home to the father's mansion, to the "house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." but benny knew nothing of this, and so he gazed with a look of pain at the heaps of broken bricks and mortar which men were busy carting away, and thought what a grief it would be to granny. his next visit was to st. george's hall, and for a while he sat in the shadow of the great portico to watch the hurrying crowds passing up and down. how different it was from the silent country and the still, drowsy fields! what a tremendous hurry everybody seemed to be in! was it always so? he had never noticed it in the old days: surely the great town must have grown bigger and busier in the years he had been away from it. "but i daresay i shall soon get used to it," he said to himself, as he rose from his seat, and started this time for the landing-stage. here he saw no change. the mighty river was the same as in the old days, a scene of life and beauty. but the children selling matches and the women crying newspapers brought more vividly back to his mind than anything else the days of his own childhood. in the cemetery it seemed a life-time since he went away; here, on the stage, it seemed only yesterday since he was a poor famished child, earning a precarious living as best he could. he could hardly realize that he was a strong, well-dressed young man. once or twice the word "perks" leaped to his lips as a shock-headed ragged lad ran against him; and when a little girl came up to him with "fusees, sir?" the face of his dead little sister seemed to flash upon him for a moment, and he started and turned pale, then handed the child some coppers, and patted her on the head, telling her to be a good girl. he now began to think it time to put in an appearance at mr. lawrence's office. but he could not resist the temptation of a sail to birkenhead and back first. for years he had longed for the day when he would be rich enough to afford such a luxury; that day had come at last, and the wish should be gratified; and surely, as he floated across the broad placid river and back again, no child ever felt half so delighted with a new toy as did he. mr. lawrence was pleased to see that our hero had arrived, and offered him the option of a few days' holiday before he settled down to the desk. but benny said he would be quite ready for work on the following morning; he only wanted to see joe wrag and granny, and he thought he would be able to find them before the day closed, and he knew that he should be happier at work than doing nothing. benny's next move was to make inquiries of the police as to what streets were being repaired; and, having been furnished with a list, he waited until half-past five, and then went in search of his old friend. but joe was not so easily found as he had imagined. he went from one street to another until his list was exhausted; but all the watchmen were strangers to him, and he began to fear that his old friend was either dead, or that failing health and strength had compelled him to retire from his occupation. benny now began to consider what he was to do next, for he had not the remotest idea in what part of the town joe lived, if indeed he were still living. at length it occurred to him that very likely the watchmen knew each other, and that if he were to inquire of one of them he might get some idea of joe's whereabouts. with benny to think was to act very frequently; so he walked up to an old man who was keeping watch in the street in which he then found himself, and put the question at once. "do you know an old man by the name of joe wrag?" "oh, ay, very well." "then perhaps you could tell me where i might find him." "in course i could. if you keep down old hall street for haaf a mile, you'll tumble over him, unless yer mind where yer goin'." "much obliged." and off benny started with a very much lighter heart than he had five minutes before. it was a warm july evening, and benny espied the old man long before he got to him, sitting on a block of wood outside his hut, apparently buried in thought. for a moment or two benny stood before him without speaking, and joe seemed utterly unconscious of his presence. six years seemed to have passed very lightly over the old man's head. benny could detect no change in his features; he did not look a day older than he did the last time he saw him. at length benny said, in a hesitating tone of voice, "good evening, mr. wrag." joe started, but scarcely lifted his eyes to the intruder; then answered, after a pause, "i'm none so much mister, as i knows on; i'm only plain joe wrag." "this is a nice time of the year for you watchmen," said benny, not knowing exactly what to say. "yes, it's purty fair; we don't git bothered quite so much wi' the youngsters as we do in the winter." "and so the children bother you in the winter, do they?" "well, i don't know they bother me so much, arter all; only they like the fire, yer see, when the weather's cold." "just so; you'll get to know a great many children, i should think?" "oh, ay, a goodish few." "did you ever know a lad called benny bates?" "ay, yes, poor lad, i should think i did," said joe, with a sigh; "an' his little sister too, purty little hangel; she's safe enough, thank god. she's wi' the lord in heaven, but where the poor lad is the lord only knows." "lost, then, is he?" "oh, ay, poor bairn, poor persecuted lad; falsely accused he wur, an' it seemed to break his 'eart; he's never been heard of since." "do you think you would know him if he were to come back again?" "ay, i should know 'im among a thousand," said the old man, still keeping his eyes on the ground. "then look at me, joe, and say if you know me." instantly he rose to his feet, and, coming close to benny, looked straight in his face. then raising his hands to heaven, he cried out, "o lord of mercy!" and fell upon benny's neck and wept. we will not tire the reader with repeating the conversation that passed between joe and benny that night. each had a hundred things to say to each other, and each a hundred questions to ask. darkness had crept over the earth, and the great town was silent and still, ere benny left joe's hut; and when at length he took his departure, joe watched him until he had disappeared in the gloom, then looking up into the now star-lighted sky, he clasped his hands together, while the tears ran down his weatherbeaten cheeks, and cried out, "now, lord, lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation." next day benny settled down to work with a fixed determination to do his duty, and to make his way in the world if it could be honestly done. the same truthfulness and perseverance, and diligence and honesty that had characterized him for so many years still marked his life, and raised him month by month and year by year in the estimation of his employer and in the estimation of all with whom he came in contact. according to promise he spent his christmas at scout farm, to the delight of little winnie and of all the other members of the household, and returned to town feeling all the better for a week's rest. when benny had been in liverpool about two years, a case that was tried at the assizes created considerable interest. the prisoner was found guilty of burglary and manslaughter, and sentenced to twenty-one years' penal servitude. in reading an account of the trial, benny was struck with the names of the prisoner, john cadger, _alias_ peeler, _alias_ perks. could it be the perks that he had known? so interested was he in this question that he determined to find out if possible; and, after some difficulty he was permitted to visit the prisoner in his cell, previous to his removal to dartmoor. benny's first glance at the shock head and sinister face convinced him that his worst fears were realized. for a moment he was unable to speak, then summoning up all his courage, he held out his hand, saying, "i'm very sorry to see you here, perks." "who are you?" snarled perks, with a terrible oath. "do you not know me?" said benny. "no! i only know you b'longs to the gentry tribe that are always down on poor chaps like us." "you are mistaken there, perks; i am benny bates." "you!" he said in astonishment, eyeing him from head to foot. "then you must 'ave got mighty 'igh in the perfeshun. i could never dress like that." "i am not in the profession, as you call it," said benny. "not in it?" "no." "do you mean to say you've kep' honest all these years?" "yes, i have." "an' kep' in liverpool?" "no." and benny told him where he had been. "jist so; you'd a-been bound to take up the perfeshun if you 'ad kep' here." "i don't think so." "i'm sure on it. look 'ere: do you 'member that chat we 'ad that night i skeered yer so? oh, lor!" and perks laughed till the tears ran down his face. "well, ben, i tried bein' honest arter i got out o' quad that time. i did for sure, jist by way of speriment; but lor! 't were no use,--i was nearly starved, an' i 'ad to take up the bizness agin or else die." "but why did not you do as i did?" "never thought on it, and shouldn't a-'ad pluck enough to hacted it out if i 'ad." then benny talked seriously to perks about his sin, and about the everlasting future beyond the grave; told him also about a loving saviour, who was ready to forgive the vilest, and of the happy home he had prepared for all. perks listened in silence to all benny had to say, only remarking when he had finished, "i wish i wur dead." he confessed to benny the justice of his sentence, though he would insist upon it that society had made him what he was, and was to some degree responsible for his wickedness. to benny the interview was a very painful one, and he felt it a relief when he found himself once more outside the prison walls. they never met again. in less than three years perks was summoned to appear before a higher tribunal, to answer for the deeds done in the body. benny had no sooner got settled in liverpool than he sought out his old sunday school, and became a teacher there; and often he told to the ragged and neglected children that he gathered around him the story of his life, and pointed out a bright future that might be theirs if they would be industrious, truthful, and honest. once during each summer he made it a point of taking his class to eastham woods, knowing from his own experience what a joy it would be to the poor boys to breathe the fresh air, listen to the song of birds, and run races on the mossy sward. benny was never idle. the one aim of his life was to do good, to be "rich in good works;" and grandly he succeeded. his name in many a home was like "ointment poured forth," and young and old blessed him for his kindly words and kindlier deeds. * * * * * and now what shall we more say? for tales must end while lives run on. years--i need not say how many--have passed away since benny again took up his abode in liverpool. he is now partner with mr. lawrence, in a business that has become more prosperous than ever. he lives in a beautiful house of his own, and the angel that years ago brightened his childhood now brightens his home; and sometimes on winter evenings he gathers his children around his knee, and shows them a shilling still bright and little worn, and tells them how their mother gave it to him when she was a little girl, and he a poor, ragged, starving boy upon the streets; tells them how, by being honest, truthful, and persevering, he had worked his way through many difficulties, and how, by the blessing and mercy of god, he had been kept until that day. and ben, the eldest lad, thinks how he will be brave and true like his father, and so grow up to be an honourable man. here, then, we will end our story--a story that contains more truth than fiction--and hope that the young people who may read it may learn the lesson we have aimed to teach, and so be helped to the cultivation of those virtues that will yield them in this world "a hundredfold more, and in the world to come life everlasting." the end. what katy did by susan coolidge with frontispiece in color by ralph pallen coleman to five. six of us once, my darlings, played together beneath green boughs, which faded long ago, made merry in the golden summer weather, pelted each other with new-fallen snow. did the sun always shine? i can't remember a single cloud that dimmed the happy blue,-- a single lightning-bolt or peal of thunder, to daunt our bright, unfearing lives: can you? we quarrelled often, but made peace as quickly, shed many tears, but laughed the while they fell, had our small woes, our childish bumps and bruises, but mother always "kissed and made them well." is it long since?--it seems a moment only: yet here we are in bonnets and tail-coats, grave men of business, members of committees, our play-time ended: even baby votes! and star-eyed children, in whose innocent faces kindles the gladness which was once our own, crowd round our knees, with sweet and coaxing voices, asking for stories of that old-time home. "were _you_ once little too?" they say, astonished; "did you too play? how funny! tell us how." almost we start, forgetful for a moment; almost we answer, "we are little _now!_" dear friend and lover, whom to-day we christen, forgive such brief bewilderment,--thy true and kindly hand we hold; we own thee fairest. but ah! our yesterday was precious too. so, darlings, take this little childish story, in which some gleams of the old sunshine play, and, as with careless hands you turn the pages, look back and smile, as here i smile to-day. contents chapter i the little carrs ii paradise iii the day of scrapes iv kikeri v in the loft vi intimate friends vii cousin helen's visit viii to-morrow ix dismal days x st. nicholas and st. valentine xi a new lesson to learn xii two years afterward xiii at last chapter i the little carrs i was sitting in the meadows one day, not long ago, at a place where there was a small brook. it was a hot day. the sky was very blue, and white clouds, like great swans, went floating over it to and fro. just opposite me was a clump of green rushes, with dark velvety spikes, and among them one single tall, red cardinal flower, which was bending over the brook as if to see its own beautiful face in the water. but the cardinal did not seem to be vain. the picture was so pretty that i sat a long time enjoying it. suddenly, close to me, two small voices began to talk--or to sing, for i couldn't tell exactly which it was. one voice was shrill; the other, which was a little deeper, sounded very positive and cross. they were evidently disputing about something, for they said the same words over and over again. these were the words--"katy did." "katy didn't." "she did." "she didn't." "she did." "she didn't." "did." "didn't." i think they must have repeated them at least a hundred times. i got up from my seat to see if i could find the speakers; and sure enough, there on one of the cat-tail bulrushes, i spied two tiny pale-green creatures. their eyes seemed to be weak, for they both wore black goggles. they had six legs apiece,--two short ones, two not so short, and two very long. these last legs had joints like the springs to buggy-tops; and as i watched, they began walking up the rush, and then i saw that they moved exactly like an old-fashioned gig. in fact, if i hadn't been too big, i _think_ i should have heard them creak as they went along. they didn't say anything so long as i was there, but the moment my back was turned they began to quarrel again, and in the same old words--"katy did." "katy didn't." "she did." "she didn't." as i walked home i fell to thinking about another katy,--a katy i once knew, who planned to do a great many wonderful things, and in the end did none of them, but something quite different,--something she didn't like at all at first, but which, on the whole, was a great deal better than any of the doings she had dreamed about. and as i thought, this little story grew in my head, and i resolved to write it down for you. i have done it; and, in memory of my two little friends on the bulrush, i give it their name. here it is--the story of what katy did. katy's name was katy carr. she lived in the town of burnet, which wasn't a very big town, but was growing as fast as it knew how. the house she lived in stood on the edge of the town. it was a large square house, white, with green blinds, and had a porch in front, over which roses and clematis made a thick bower. four tall locust trees shaded the gravel path which led to the front gate. on one side of the house was an orchard; on the other side were wood piles and barns, and an ice-house. behind was a kitchen garden sloping to the south; and behind that a pasture with a brook in it, and butternut trees, and four cows--two red ones, a yellow one with sharp horns tipped with tin, and a dear little white one named daisy. there were six of the carr children--four girls and two boys. katy, the oldest, was twelve years old; little phil, the youngest, was four, and the rest fitted in between. dr. carr, their papa, was a dear, kind, busy man, who was away from home all day, and sometimes all night, too, taking care of sick people. the children hadn't any mamma. she had died when phil was a baby, four years before my story began. katy could remember her pretty well; to the rest she was but a sad, sweet name, spoken on sunday, and at prayer-times, or when papa was especially gentle and solemn. in place of this mamma, whom they recollected so dimly, there was aunt izzie, papa's sister, who came to take care of them when mamma went away on that long journey, from which, for so many months, the little ones kept hoping she might return. aunt izzie was a small woman, sharp-faced and thin, rather old-looking, and very neat and particular about everything. she meant to be kind to the children, but they puzzled her much, because they were not a bit like herself when she was a child. aunt izzie had been a gentle, tidy little thing, who loved to sit as curly locks did, sewing long seams in the parlor, and to have her head patted by older people, and be told that she was a good girl; whereas katy tore her dress every day, hated sewing, and didn't care a button about being called "good," while clover and elsie shied off like restless ponies when any one tried to pat their heads. it was very perplexing to aunt izzie, and she found it hard to quite forgive the children for being so "unaccountable," and so little like the good boys and girls in sunday-school memoirs, who were the young people she liked best, and understood most about. then dr. carr was another person who worried her. he wished to have the children hardy and bold, and encouraged climbing and rough plays, in spite of the bumps and ragged clothes which resulted. in fact, there was just one half-hour of the day when aunt izzie was really satisfied about her charges, and that was the half-hour before breakfast, when she had made a law that they were all to sit in their little chairs and learn the bible verse for the day. at this time she looked at them with pleased eyes, they were all so spick and span, with such nicely-brushed jackets and such neatly-combed hair. but the moment the bell rang her comfort was over. from that time on, they were what she called "not fit to be seen." the neighbors pitied her very much. they used to count the sixty stiff white pantalette legs hung out to dry every monday morning, and say to each other what a sight of washing those children made, and what a chore it must be for poor miss carr to keep them so nice. but poor miss carr didn't think them at all nice; that was the worst of it. "clover, go up stairs and wash your hands! dorry, pick your hat off the floor and hang it on the nail! not that nail--the third nail from the corner!" these were the kind of things aunt izzie was saying all day long. the children minded her pretty well, but they didn't exactly love her, i fear. they called her "aunt izzie" always, never "aunty." boys and girls will know what _that_ meant. i want to show you the little carrs, and i don't know that i could ever have a better chance than one day when five out of the six were perched on top of the ice-house, like chickens on a roost. this ice-house was one of their favorite places. it was only a low roof set over a hole in the ground, and, as it stood in the middle of the side-yard, it always seemed to the children that the shortest road to every place was up one of its slopes and down the other. they also liked to mount to the ridge-pole, and then, still keeping the sitting position, to let go, and scrape slowly down over the warm shingles to the ground. it was bad for their shoes and trousers, of course, but what of that? shoes and trousers, and clothes generally, were aunt izzie's affair; theirs was to slide and enjoy themselves. clover, next in age to katy, sat in the middle. she was a fair, sweet dumpling of a girl, with thick pig-tails of light brown hair, and short-sighted blue eyes, which seemed to hold tears, just ready to fall from under the blue. really, clover was the jolliest little thing in the world; but these eyes, and her soft cooing voice, always made people feel like petting her and taking her part. once, when she was very small, she ran away with katy's doll, and when katy pursued, and tried to take it from her, clover held fast and would not let go. dr. carr, who wasn't attending particularly, heard nothing but the pathetic tone of clover's voice, as she said: "me won't! me want dolly!" and, without stopping to inquire, he called out sharply: "for shame, katy! give your sister _her_ doll at once!" which katy, much surprised, did; while clover purred in triumph, like a satisfied kitten. clover was sunny and sweet-tempered, a little indolent, and very modest about herself, though, in fact, she was particularly clever in all sorts of games, and extremely droll and funny in a quiet way. everybody loved her, and she loved everybody, especially katy, whom she looked up to as one of the wisest people in the world. pretty little phil sat next on the roof to clover, and she held him tight with her arm. then came elsie, a thin, brown child of eight, with beautiful dark eyes, and crisp, short curls covering the whole of her small head. poor little elsie was the "odd one" among the carrs. she didn't seem to belong exactly to either the older or the younger children. the great desire and ambition of her heart was to be allowed to go about with katy and clover and cecy hall, and to know their secrets, and be permitted to put notes into the little post-offices they were forever establishing in all sorts of hidden places. but they didn't want elsie, and used to tell her to "run away and play with the children," which hurt her feelings very much. when she wouldn't run away, i am sorry to say they ran away from her, which, as their legs were longest, it was easy to do. poor elsie, left behind, would cry bitter tears, and, as she was too proud to play much with dorry and john, her principal comfort was tracking the older ones about and discovering their mysteries, especially the post-offices, which were her greatest grievance. her eyes were bright and quick as a bird's. she would peep and peer, and follow and watch, till at last, in some odd, unlikely place, the crotch of a tree, the middle of the asparagus bed, or, perhaps, on the very top step of the scuttle ladder, she spied the little paper box, with its load of notes, all ending with: "be sure and not let elsie know." then she would seize the box, and, marching up to wherever the others were, she would throw it down, saying, defiantly: "there's your old post-office!" but feeling all the time just like crying. poor little elsie! in almost every big family, there is one of these unmated, left-out children. katy, who had the finest plans in the world for being "heroic," and of use, never saw, as she drifted on her heedless way, that here, in this lonely little sister, was the very chance she wanted for being a comfort to somebody who needed comfort very much. she never saw it, and elsie's heavy heart went uncheered. dorry and joanna sat on the two ends of the ridge-pole. dorry was six years old; a pale, pudgy boy, with rather a solemn face, and smears of molasses on the sleeve of his jacket. joanna, whom the children called "john," and "johnnie," was a square, splendid child, a year younger than dorry; she had big brave eyes, and a wide rosy mouth, which always looked ready to laugh. these two were great friends, though dorry seemed like a girl who had got into boy's clothes by mistake, and johnnie like a boy who, in a fit of fun, had borrowed his sister's frock. and now, as they all sat there chattering and giggling, the window above opened, a glad shriek was heard, and katy's head appeared. in her hand she held a heap of stockings, which she waved triumphantly. "hurray!" she cried, "all done, and aunt izzie says we may go. are you tired out waiting? i couldn't help it, the holes were so big, and took so long. hurry up, clover, and get the things! cecy and i will be down in a minute." the children jumped up gladly, and slid down the roof. clover fetched a couple of baskets from the wood-shed. elsie ran for her kitten. dorry and john loaded themselves with two great fagots of green boughs. just as they were ready, the side-door banged, and katy and cecy hall came into the yard. i must tell you about cecy. she was a great friend of the children's, and lived in a house next door. the yards of the houses were only separated by a green hedge, with no gate, so that cecy spent two-thirds of her time at dr. carr's, and was exactly like one of the family. she was a neat, dapper, pink-and-white-girl, modest and prim in manner, with light shiny hair, which always kept smooth, and slim hands, which never looked dirty. how different from my poor katy! katy's hair was forever in a snarl; her gowns were always catching on nails and tearing "themselves"; and, in spite of her age and size, she was as heedless and innocent as a child of six. katy was the _longest_ girl that was ever seen. what she did to make herself grow so, nobody could tell; but there she was--up above papa's ear, and half a head taller than poor aunt izzie. whenever she stopped to think about her height she became very awkward, and felt as if she were all legs and elbows, and angles and joints. happily, her head was so full of other things, of plans and schemes, and fancies of all sorts, that she didn't often take time to remember how tall she was. she was a dear, loving child, for all her careless habits, and made bushels of good resolutions every week of her life, only unluckily she never kept any of them. she had fits of responsibility about the other children, and longed to set them a good example, but when the chance came, she generally forgot to do so. katy's days flew like the wind; for when she wasn't studying lessons, or sewing and darning with aunt izzie, which she hated extremely, there were always so many delightful schemes rioting in her brains, that all she wished for was ten pairs of hands to carry them out. these same active brains got her into perpetual scrapes. she was fond of building castles in the air, and dreaming of the time when something she had done would make her famous, so that everybody would hear of her, and want to know her. i don't think she had made up her mind what this wonderful thing was to be; but while thinking about it she often forgot to learn a lesson, or to lace her boots, and then she had a bad mark, or a scolding from aunt izzie. at such times she consoled herself with planning how, by and by, she would be beautiful and beloved, and amiable as an angel. a great deal was to happen to katy before that time came. her eyes, which were black, were to turn blue; her nose was to lengthen and straighten, and her mouth, quite too large at present to suit the part of a heroine, was to be made over into a sort of rosy button. meantime, and until these charming changes should take place, katy forgot her features as much as she could, though still, i think, the person on earth whom she most envied was that lady on the outside of the tricopherous bottles with the wonderful hair which sweeps the ground. chapter ii paradise the place to which the children were going was a sort of marshy thicket at the bottom of a field near the house. it wasn't a big thicket, but it looked big, because the trees and bushes grew so closely that you could not see just where it ended. in winter the ground was damp and boggy, so that nobody went there, excepting cows, who don't mind getting their feet wet; but in summer the water dried away, and then it was all fresh and green, and full of delightful things--wild roses, and sassafras, and birds' nests. narrow, winding paths ran here and there, made by the cattle as they wandered to and fro. this place the children called "paradise," and to them it seemed as wide and endless and full of adventure as any forest of fairy land. the way to paradise was through some wooden bars. katy and cecy climbed these with a hop, skip and jump, while the smaller ones scrambled underneath. once past the bars they were fairly in the field, and, with one consent, they all began to run till they reached the entrance of the wood. then they halted, with a queer look of hesitation on their faces. it was always an exciting occasion to go to paradise for the first time after the long winter. who knew what the fairies might not have done since any of them had been there to see? "which path shall we go in by?" asked clover, at last. "suppose we vote," said katy. "i say by the pilgrim's path and the hill of difficulty." "so do i!" chimed in clover, who always agreed with katy. "the path of peace is nice," suggested cecy. "no, no! we want to go by sassafras path!" cried john and dorry. however, katy, as usual, had her way. it was agreed that they should first try pilgrim's path, and afterward make a thorough exploration of the whole of their little kingdom, and see all that had happened since last they were there. so in they marched, katy and cecy heading the procession, and dorry, with his great trailing bunch of boughs, bringing up the rear. "oh, there is the dear rosary, all safe!" cried the children, as they reached the top of the hill of difficulty, and came upon a tall stump, out of the middle of which waved a wild rose-bush, budded over with fresh green eaves. this "rosary" was a fascinating thing to their minds. they were always inventing stories about it, and were in constant terror lest some hungry cow should take a fancy to the rose-bush and eat it up. "yes," said katy, stroking a leaf with her finger, "it was in great danger one night last winter, but it escaped." "oh, how? tell us about it!" cried the others, for katy's stories were famous in the family. "it was christmas eve," continued katy, in a mysterious tone. "the fairy of the rosary was quite sick. she had taken a dreadful cold in her head, and the poplar-tree fairy, just over there, told her that sassafras tea is good for colds. so she made a large acorn-cup full, and then cuddled herself in where the wood looks so black and soft, and fell asleep. in the middle of the night, when she was snoring soundly, there was a noise in the forest, and a dreadful black bull with fiery eyes galloped up. he saw our poor rosy posy, and, opening his big mouth, he was just going to bite her in two; but at that minute a little fat man, with a wand in his hand, popped out from behind the stump. it was santa claus, of course. he gave the bull such a rap with his wand that he moo-ed dreadfully, and then put up his fore-paw, to see if his nose was on or not. he found it was, but it hurt him so that he 'moo-ed' again, and galloped off as fast as he could into the woods. then santa claus waked up the fairy, and told her that if she didn't take better care of rosy posy he should put some other fairy into her place, and set her to keep guard over a prickly, scratchy, blackberry-bush." "is there really any fairy?" asked dorry, who had listened to this narrative with open mouth. "of course," answered katy. then bending down toward dorry, she added in a voice intended to be of wonderful sweetness: "i am a fairy, dorry!" "pshaw!" was dorry's reply; "you're a giraffe--pa said so!" the path of peace got its name because of its darkness and coolness. high bushes almost met over it, and trees kept it shady, even in the middle of the day. a sort of white flower grew there, which the children called pollypods, because they didn't know the real name. they staid a long while picking bunches of these flowers, and then john and dorry had to grub up an armful of sassafras roots; so that before they had fairly gone through toadstool avenue, rabbit hollow, and the rest, the sun was just over their heads, and it was noon. "i'm getting hungry," said dorry. "oh, no, dorry, you mustn't be hungry till the bower is ready!" cried the little girls, alarmed, for dorry was apt to be disconsolate if he was kept waiting for his meals. so they made haste to build the bower. it did not take long, being composed of boughs hung over skipping-ropes, which were tied to the very poplar-tree where the fairy lived who had recommended sassafras tea to the fairy of the rose. when it was done they all cuddled in underneath. it was a very small bower--just big enough to hold them, and the baskets, and the kitten. i don't think there would have been room for anybody else, not even another kitten. katy, who sat in the middle, untied and lifted the lid of the largest basket, while all the rest peeped eagerly to see what was inside. first came a great many ginger cakes. these were carefully laid on the grass to keep till wanted: buttered biscuit came next--three apiece, with slices of cold lamb laid in between; and last of all were a dozen hard-boiled eggs, and a layer of thick bread and butter sandwiched with corn-beef. aunt izzie had put up lunches for paradise before, you see, and knew pretty well what to expect in the way of appetite. oh, how good everything tasted in that bower, with the fresh wind rustling the poplar leaves, sunshine and sweet wood-smells about them, and birds singing overhead! no grown-up dinner party ever had half so much fun. each mouthful was a pleasure; and when the last crumb had vanished, katy produced the second basket, and there, oh, delightful surprise! were seven little pies--molasses pies, baked in saucers--each with a brown top and crisp candified edge, which tasted like toffy and lemon-peel, and all sorts of good things mixed up together. there was a general shout. even demure cecy was pleased, and dorry and john kicked their heels on the ground in a tumult of joy. seven pairs of hands were held out at once toward the basket; seven sets of teeth went to work without a moment's delay. in an incredibly short time every vestige of the pie had disappeared, and a blissful stickiness pervaded the party. "what shall we do now?" asked clover, while little phil tipped the baskets upside down, as if to make sure there was nothing left that could possibly be eaten. "i don't know," replied katy, dreamily. she had left her seat, and was half-sitting, half-lying on the low, crooked bough of a butternut tree, which hung almost over the children's heads. "let's play we're grown up," said cecy, "and tell what we mean to do." "well," said clover, "you begin. what do you mean to do?" "i mean to have a black silk dress, and pink roses in my bonnet, and a white muslin long-shawl," said cecy; "and i mean to look _exactly_ like minerva clark! i shall be very good, too; as good as mrs. bedell, only a great deal prettier. all the young gentlemen will want me to go and ride, but i shan't notice them at all, because you know i shall always be teaching in sunday-school, and visiting the poor. and some day, when i am bending over an old woman and feeding her with currant jelly, a poet will come along and see me, and he'll go home and write a poem about me," concluded cecy, triumphantly. "pooh!" said clover. "i don't think that would be nice at all. _i'm_ going to be a beautiful lady--the most beautiful lady in the world! and i'm going to live in a yellow castle, with yellow pillars to the portico, and a square thing on top, like mr. sawyer's. my children are going to have a play-house up there. there's going to be a spy-glass in the window, to look out of. i shall wear gold dresses and silver dresses every day, and diamond rings, and have white satin aprons to tie on when i'm dusting, or doing anything dirty. in the middle of my back-yard there will be a pond-full of lubin's extracts, and whenever i want any i shall go just out and dip a bottle in. and i shan't teach in sunday schools, like cecy, because i don't want to; but every sunday i'll go and stand by the gate, and when her scholars go by on their way home, i'll put lubin's extracts on their handkerchiefs." "i mean to have just the same," cried elsie, whose imagination was fired by this gorgeous vision, "only my pond will be the biggest. i shall be a great deal beautifuller, too," she added. "you can't," said katy from overhead. "clover is going to be the most beautiful lady in the world." "but i'll be more beautiful than the most beautiful," persisted poor little elsie; "and i'll be big, too, and know everybody's secrets. and everybody'll be kind, then, and never run away and hide; and there won't be any post offices, or anything disagreeable." "what'll you be, johnnie?" asked clover, anxious to change the subject, for elsie's voice was growing plaintive. but johnnie had no clear ideas as to her future. she laughed a great deal, and squeezed dorry's arm very tight, but that was all. dorry was more explicit. "i mean to have turkey every day," he declared, "and batter-puddings; not boiled ones, you know, but little baked ones, with brown shiny tops, and a great deal of pudding sauce to eat on them. and i shall be so big then that nobody will say, 'three helps is quite enough for a little boy.'" "oh, dorry, you pig!" cried katy, while the others screamed with laughter. dorry was much affronted. "i shall just go and tell aunt izzie what you called me," he said, getting up in a great pet. but clover, who was a born peacemaker, caught hold of his arm, and her coaxings and entreaties consoled him so much that he finally said he would stay; especially as the others were quite grave now, and promised that they wouldn't laugh any more. "and now, katy, it's your turn," said cecy; "tell us what you're going to be when you grow up." "i'm not sure about what i'll be," replied katy, from overhead; "beautiful, of course, and good if i can, only not so good as you, cecy, because it would be nice to go and ride with the young gentlemen _sometimes_. and i'd like to have a large house and a splendiferous garden, and then you could all come and live with me, and we would play in the garden, and dorry should have turkey five times a day if he liked. and we'd have a machine to darn the stockings, and another machine to put the bureau drawers in order, and we'd never sew or knit garters, or do anything we didn't want to. that's what i'd like to _be_. but now i'll tell you what i mean to _do_." "isn't it the same thing?" asked cecy. "oh, no!" replied katy, "quite different; for you see i mean to _do_ something grand. i don't know what, yet; but when i'm grown up i shall find out." (poor katy always said "when i'm grown up," forgetting how very much she had grown already.) "perhaps," she went on, "it will be rowing out in boats, and saving peoples' lives, like that girl in the book. or perhaps i shall go and nurse in the hospital, like miss nightingale. or else i'll head a crusade and ride on a white horse, with armor and a helmet on my head, and carry a sacred flag. or if i don't do that, i'll paint pictures, or sing, or scalp--sculp,--what is it? you know--make figures in marble. anyhow it shall be _something_. and when aunt izzie sees it, and reads about me in the newspapers she will say, 'the dear child! i always knew she would turn out an ornament to the family,' people very often say, afterward, that they 'always knew,'" concluded katy sagaciously. "oh, katy! how beautiful it will be!" said clover, clasping her hands. clover believed in katy as she did in the bible. "i don't believe the newspapers would be so silly as to print things about _you_, katy carr," put in elsie, vindictively. "yes they will!" said clover; and gave elsie a push. by and by john and dorry trotted away on mysterious errands of their own. "wasn't dorry funny with his turkey?" remarked cecy; and they all laughed again. "if you won't tell," said katy, "i'll let you see dorry's journal. he kept it once for almost two weeks, and then gave it up. i found the book, this morning, in the nursery closet." all of them promised, and katy produced it from her pocket. it began thus: "march .--have resolved to keep a jurnal. march .--had rost befe for diner, and cabage, and potato and appel sawse, and rice puding. i do not like rice puding when it is like ours. charley slack's kind is rele good. mush and sirup for tea. march .--forgit what did. john and me saved our pie to take to schule. march .--forgit what did. gridel cakes for brekfast. debby didn't fry enuff. march .--this is sunday. corn befe for dinnir. studdied my bibel leson. aunt issy said i was gredy. have resollved not to think so much about things to ete. wish i was a beter boy. nothing pertikeler for tea. march .--forgit what did. march .--forgit what did. march .--played. march .--forgit what did. april .--have dissided not to kepe a jurnal enny more." here ended the extracts; and it seemed as if only a minute had passed since they stopped laughing over them, before the long shadows began to fall, and mary came to say that all of them must come in to get ready for tea. it was dreadful to have to pick up the empty baskets and go home, feeling that the long, delightful saturday was over, and that there wouldn't be another for a week. but it was comforting to remember that paradise was always there; and that at any moment when kate and aunt izzie were willing, they had only to climb a pair of bars--very easy ones, and without any fear of an angel with flaming sword to stop the way--enter in, and take possession of their eden. chapter iii the day of scrapes mrs. knight's school, to which katy and clover and cecy went, stood quite at the other end of the town from dr. carr's. it was a low, one-story building and had a yard behind it, in which the girls played at recess. unfortunately, next door to it was miss miller's school, equally large and popular, and with a yard behind it also. only a high board fence separated the two playgrounds. mrs. knight was a stout, gentle woman, who moved slowly, and had a face which made you think of an amiable and well-disposed cow. miss miller, on the contrary, had black eyes, with black corkscrew curls waving about them, and was generally brisk and snappy. a constant feud raged between the two schools as to the respective merits of the teachers and the instruction. the knight girls for some unknown reason, considered themselves genteel and the miller girls vulgar, and took no pains to conceal this opinion; while the miller girls, on the other hand, retaliated by being as aggravating as they knew how. they spent their recesses and intermissions mostly in making faces through the knot-holes in the fence, and over the top of it when they could get there, which wasn't an easy thing to do, as the fence was pretty high. the knight girls could make faces too, for all their gentility. their yard had one great advantage over the other: it possessed a wood-shed, with a climbable roof, which commanded miss miller's premises, and upon this the girls used to sit in rows, turning up their noses at the next yard, and irritating the foe by jeering remarks. "knights" and "millerites," the two schools called each other; and the feud raged so high, that sometimes it was hardly safe for a knight to meet a millerite in the street; all of which, as may be imagined, was exceedingly improving both to the manners and morals of the young ladies concerned. one morning, not long after the day in paradise, katy was late. she could not find her things. her algebra, as she expressed it, had "gone and lost itself," her slate was missing, and the string was off her sun-bonnet. she ran about, searching for these articles and banging doors, till aunt izzie was out of patience. "as for your algebra," she said, "if it is that very dirty book with only one cover, and scribbled all over the leaves, you will find it under the kitchen-table. philly was playing before breakfast that it was a pig: no wonder, i'm sure, for it looks good for nothing else. how you do manage to spoil your school-books in this manner, katy, i cannot imagine. it is less than a month since your father got you a new algebra, and look at it now--not fit to be carried about. i do wish you would realize what books cost! "about your slate," she went on, "i know nothing; but here is the bonnet-string;" taking it out of her pocket. "oh, thank you!" said katy, hastily sticking it on with a pin. "katy carr!" almost screamed miss izzie, "what are you about? pinning on your bonnet-string! mercy on me, what shiftless thing will you do next? now stand still, and don't fidget. you sha'n't stir till i have sewed it on properly." it wasn't easy to "stand still and not fidget," with aunt izzie fussing away and lecturing, and now and then, in a moment of forgetfulness, sticking her needle into one's chin. katy bore it as well as she could, only shifting perpetually from one foot to the other, and now and then uttering a little snort, like an impatient horse. the minute she was released she flew into the kitchen, seized the algebra, and rushed like a whirlwind to the gate, where good little clover stood patiently waiting, though all ready herself, and terribly afraid she should be late. "we shall have to run," gasped katy, quite out of breath. "aunt izzie kept me. she has been so horrid!" they did run as fast as they could, but time ran faster, and before they were half-way to school the town clock struck nine, and all hope was over. this vexed katy very much; for, though often late, she was always eager to be early. "there," she said, stopping short, "i shall just tell aunt izzie that it was her fault. it is _too_ bad." and she marched into school in a very cross mood. a day begun in this manner is pretty sure to end badly, as most of us know. all the morning through, things seemed to go wrong. katy missed twice in her grammar lesson, and lost her place in the class. her hand shook so when she copied her composition, that the writing, not good at best, turned out almost illegible, so that mrs. knight said it must all be done over again. this made katy crosser than ever; and almost before she thought, she had whispered to clover, "how hateful!" and then, when just before recess all who had "communicated" were requested to stand up, her conscience gave such a twinge that she was forced to get up with the rest, and see a black mark put against her name on the list. the tears came into her eyes from vexation; and, for fear the other girls would notice them, she made a bolt for the yard as soon as the bell rang, and mounted up all alone to the wood-house roof, where she sat with her back to the school, fighting with her eyes, and trying to get her face in order before the rest should come. miss miller's clock was about four minutes slower than mrs. knight's, so the next playground was empty. it was a warm, breezy day, and as katy sat here, suddenly a gust of wind came, and seizing her sun-bonnet, which was only half tied on, whirled it across the roof. she clutched after it as it flew, but too late. once, twice, thrice, it flapped, then it disappeared over the edge, and katy, flying after, saw it lying a crumpled lilac heap in the very middle of the enemy's yard. this was horrible! not merely losing the bonnet, for katy was comfortably indifferent as to what became of her clothes, but to lose it _so_. in another minute the miller girls would be out. already she seemed to see them dancing war-dances round the unfortunate bonnet, pinning it on a pole, using it as a football, waving it over the fence, and otherwise treating it as indians treat a captive taken in war. was it to be endured? never! better die first! and with very much the feeling of a person who faces destruction rather than forfeit honor, katy set her teeth, and sliding rapidly down the roof, seized the fence, and with one bold leap vaulted into miss miller's yard. just then the recess bell tinkled; and a little millerite who sat by the window, and who, for two seconds, had been dying to give the exciting information, squeaked out to the others: "there's katy carr in our back-yard!" out poured the millerites, big and little. their wrath and indignation at this daring invasion cannot be described. with a howl of fury they precipitated themselves upon katy, but she was quick as they, and holding the rescued bonnet in her hand, was already half-way up the fence. there are moments when it is a fine thing to be tall. on this occasion katy's long legs and arms served her an excellent turn. nothing but a daddy long legs ever climbed so fast or so wildly as she did now. in one second she had gained the top of the fence. just as she went over a millerite seized her by the last foot, and almost dragged her boot off. almost, not quite, thanks to the stout thread with which aunt izzie had sewed on the buttons. with a frantic kick katy released herself, and had the satisfaction of seeing her assailant go head over heels backward, while, with a shriek of triumph and fright, she herself plunged headlong into the midst of a group of knights. they were listening with open mouths to the uproar, and now stood transfixed at the astonishing spectacle of one of their number absolutely returning alive from the camp of the enemy. i cannot tell you what a commotion ensued. the knights were beside themselves with pride and triumph. katy was kissed and hugged, and made to tell her story over and over again, while rows of exulting girls sat on the wood-house roof to crow over the discomfited millerites: and when, later, the foe rallied and began to retort over the fence, clover, armed with a tack-hammer, was lifted up in the arms of one of the tall girls to rap the intruding knuckles as they appeared on the top. this she did with such good-will that the millerites were glad to drop down again, and mutter vengeance at a safe distance. altogether it was a great day for the school, a day to be remembered. as time went on, katy, what with the excitement of her adventure, and of being praised and petted by the big girls, grew perfectly reckless, and hardly knew what she said or did. a good many of the scholars lived too far from school to go home at noon, and were in the habit of bringing their lunches in baskets, and staying all day. katy and clover were of this number. this noon, after the dinners were eaten, it was proposed that they should play something in the school-room, and katy's unlucky star put it into her head to invent a new game, which she called the game of rivers. it was played in the following manner: each girl took the name of a river, and laid out for herself an appointed path through the room, winding among the desks and benches, and making a low, roaring sound, to imitate the noise of water. cecy was the platte, marianne brooks, a tall girl, the mississippi, alice blair, the ohio, clover, the penobscot, and so on. they were instructed to run into each other once in a while, because, as katy said, "rivers do." as for katy herself, she was "father ocean," and, growling horribly, raged up and down the platform where mrs. knight usually sat. every now and then, when the others were at the far end of the room, she would suddenly cry out, "now for a meeting of the waters!" whereupon all the rivers bouncing, bounding, scrambling, screaming, would turn and run toward father ocean, while he roared louder than all of them put together, and made short rushes up and down, to represent the movement of waves on a beach. such a noise as this beautiful game made was never heard in the town of burnet before or since. it was like the bellowing of the bulls of bashan, the squeaking of pigs, the cackle of turkey-cocks, and the laugh of wild hyenas all at once; and, in addition, there was a great banging of furniture and scraping of many feet on an uncarpeted floor. people going by stopped and stared, children cried, an old lady asked why some one didn't run for a policeman; while the miller girls listened to the proceedings with malicious pleasure, and told everybody that it was the noise that mrs. knight's scholars "usually made at recess." mrs. knight coming back from dinner, was much amazed to see a crowd of people collected in front of her school. as she drew near, the sounds reached her, and then she became really frightened, for she thought somebody was being murdered on her premises. hurrying in, she threw open the door, and there, to her dismay, was the whole room in a frightful state of confusion and uproar: chairs flung down, desks upset, ink streaming on the floor; while in the midst of the ruin the frantic rivers raced and screamed, and old father ocean, with a face as red as fire, capered like a lunatic on the platform. "what _does_ this mean?" gasped poor mrs. knight, almost unable to speak for horror. at the sound of her voice the rivers stood still, father ocean brought his prances to an abrupt close, and slunk down from the platform. all of a sudden, each girl seemed to realize what a condition the room was in, and what a horrible thing she had done. the timid ones cowered behind their desks, the bold ones tried to look unconscious, and, to make matters worse, the scholars who had gone home to dinner began to return, staring at the scene of disaster, and asking, in whispers, what had been going on? mrs. knight rang the bell. when the school had come to order, she had the desks and chairs picked up, while she herself brought wet cloths to sop the ink from the floor. this was done in profound silence; and the expression of mrs. knight's face was so direful and solemn, that a fresh damp fell upon the spirits of the guilty rivers, and father ocean wished himself thousands of miles away. when all was in order again, and the girls had taken their seats, mrs. knight made a short speech. she said she never was so shocked in her life before; she had supposed that she could trust them to behave like ladies when her back was turned. the idea that they could act so disgracefully, make such an uproar and alarm people going by, had never occurred to her, and she was deeply pained. it was setting a bad example to all the neighborhood--by which mrs. knight meant the rival school, miss miller having just sent over a little girl, with her compliments, to ask if any one was hurt, and could _she_ do anything? which was naturally aggravating! mrs. knight hoped they were sorry; she thought they must be--sorry and ashamed. the exercises could now go on as usual. of course some punishment would be inflicted for the offense, but she should have to reflect before deciding what it ought to be. meantime she wanted them all to think it over seriously; and if any one felt that she was more to blame than the others, now was the moment to rise and confess it. katy's heart gave a great thump, but she rose bravely: "i made up the game, and i was father ocean," she said to the astonished mrs. knight, who glared at her for a minute, and then replied solemnly: "very well, katy--sit down;" which katy did, feeling more ashamed than ever, but somehow relieved in her mind. there is a saving grace in truth which helps truth-tellers through the worst of their troubles, and katy found this out now. the afternoon was long and hard. mrs. knight did not smile once; the lessons dragged; and katy, after the heat and excitement of the forenoon, began to feel miserable. she had received more than one hard blow during the meetings of the waters, and had bruised herself almost without knowing it, against the desks and chairs. all these places now began to ache: her head throbbed so that she could hardly see, and a lump of something heavy seemed to be lying on her heart. when school was over, mrs. knight rose and said, "the young ladies who took part in the game this afternoon are requested to remain." all the others went away, and shut the door behind them. it was a horrible moment: the girls never forgot it, or the hopeless sound of the door as the last departing scholar clapped it after her as she left. i can't begin to tell you what it was that mrs. knight said to them: it was very affecting, and before long most of the girls began to cry. the penalty for their offense was announced to be the loss of recess for three weeks; but that wasn't half so bad as seeing mrs. knight so "religious and afflicted," as cecy told her mother afterward. one by one the sobbing sinners departed from the schoolroom. when most of them were gone, mrs. knight called katy up to the platform, and said a few words to her specially. she was not really severe, but katy was too penitent and worn out to bear much, and before long was weeping like a water-spout, or like the ocean she had pretended to be. at this, tender-hearted mrs. knight was so much affected that she let her off at once, and even kissed her in token of forgiveness, which made poor ocean sob harder than ever. all the way home she sobbed; faithful little clover, running along by her side in great distress, begging her to stop crying, and trying in vain to hold up the fragments of her dress, which was torn in, at least, a dozen places. katy could not stop crying, and it was fortunate that aunt izzie happened to be out, and that the only person who saw her in this piteous plight was mary, the nurse, who doted on the children, and was always ready to help them out of their troubles. on this occasion she petted and cosseted katy exactly as if it had been johnnie or little phil. she took her on her lap, bathed the hot head, brushed the hair, put arnica on the bruises, and produced a clean frock, so that by tea-time the poor child, except for her red eyes, looked like herself again, and aunt izzie didn't notice anything unusual. for a wonder, dr. carr was at home that evening. it was always a great treat to the children when this happened, and katy thought herself happy when, after the little ones had gone to bed, she got papa to herself, and told him the whole story. "papa," she said, sitting on his knee, which, big girl as she was, she liked very much to do, "what is the reason that makes some days so lucky and other days so unlucky? now today began all wrong, and everything that happened in it was wrong, and on other days i begin right, and all goes right, straight through. if aunt izzie hadn't kept me in the morning, i shouldn't have lost my mark, and then i shouldn't have been cross, and then _perhaps_ i shouldn't have got in my other scrapes." "but what made aunt izzie keep you, katy?" "to sew on the string of my bonnet, papa." "but how did it happen that the string was off?" "well," said katy, reluctantly, "i am afraid that was _my_ fault, for it came off on tuesday, and i didn't fasten it on." "so you see we must go back of aunt izzie for the beginning of this unlucky day of yours, childie. did you ever hear the old saying about, 'for the want of a nail the shoe was lost'?" "no, never--tell it to me!" cried katy, who loved stories as well as when she was three years old. so dr. carr repeated-- "for the want of a nail the shoe was lost, for the want of a shoe the horse was lost, for the want of a horse the rider was lost, for the want of a rider the battle was lost, for the want of a battle the kingdom was lost, and all for want of a horse-shoe nail." "oh, papa!" exclaimed katy, giving him a great hug as she got off his knee, "i see what you mean! who would have thought such a little speck of a thing as not sewing on my string could make a difference? but i don't believe i shall get in any more scrapes, for i sha'n't ever forget-- "'for the want of a nail the shoe was lost.'" chapter iv kikeri but i am sorry to say that my poor, thoughtless katy _did_ forget, and did get into another scrape, and that no later than the very next monday. monday was apt to be rather a stormy day at the carrs'. there was the big wash to be done, and aunt izzie always seemed a little harder to please, and the servants a good deal crosser than on common days. but i think it was also, in part, the fault of the children, who, after the quiet of sunday, were specially frisky and uproarious, and readier than usual for all sorts of mischief. to clover and elsie, sunday seemed to begin at saturday's bed-time, when their hair was wet, and screwed up in papers, that it might curl next day. elsie's waved naturally, so aunt izzie didn't think it necessary to pin her papers very tight; but clover's thick, straight locks required to be pinched hard before they would give even the least twirl, and to her, saturday night was one of misery. she would lie tossing, and turning, and trying first one side of her head and then the other; but whichever way she placed herself, the hard knobs and the pins stuck out and hurt her; so when at last she fell asleep, it was face down, with her small nose buried in the pillow, which was not comfortable, and gave her bad dreams. in consequence of these sufferings clover hated curls, and when she "made up" stories for the younger children, they always commenced: "the hair of the beautiful princess was as straight as a yard-stick, and she never did it up in papers--never!" sunday always began with a bible story, followed by a breakfast of baked beans, which two things were much tangled up together in philly's mind. after breakfast the children studied their sunday-school lessons, and then the big carryall came round, and they drove to church, which was a good mile off. it was a large, old-fashioned church, with galleries, and long pews with high red-cushioned seats. the choir sat at the end, behind a low, green curtain, which slipped from side to side on rods. when the sermon began, they would draw the curtain aside and show themselves, all ready to listen, but the rest of the time they kept it shut. katy always guessed that they must be having good times behind the green curtain--eating orange-peel, perhaps, or reading the sunday-school books--and she often wished she might sit up there among them. the seat in dr. carr's pew was so high that none of the children, except katy, could touch the floor, even with the point of a toe. this made their feet go to sleep; and when they felt the queer little pin-pricks which drowsy feet use to rouse themselves with, they would slide off the seat, and sit on the benches to get over it. once there, and well hidden from view, it was almost impossible not to whisper. aunt izzie would frown and shake her head, but it did little good, especially as phil and dorry were sleeping with their heads on her lap, and it took both her hands to keep them from rolling off into the bottom of the pew. when good old dr. stone said, "finally, my brethren," she would begin waking them up. it was hard work sometimes, but generally she succeeded, so that during the last hymn the two stood together on the seat, quite brisk and refreshed, sharing a hymn-book, and making believe to sing like the older people. after church came sunday-school, which the children liked very much, and then they went home to dinner, which was always the same on sunday--cold corned-beef, baked potatoes, and rice pudding. they did not go to church in the afternoon unless they wished, but were pounced upon by katy instead, and forced to listen to the reading of _the sunday visitor_, a religious paper, of which she was the editor. this paper was partly written, partly printed, on a large sheet of foolscap, and had at the top an ornamental device, in lead pencil, with "sunday visitor" in the middle of it. the reading part began with a dull little piece of the kind which grown people call an editorial, about "neatness," or "obedience," or "punctuality." the children always fidgeted when listening to this, partly, i think, because it aggravated them to have katy recommending on paper, as very easy, the virtues which she herself found it so hard to practise in real life. next came anecdotes about dogs and elephants and snakes, taken from the natural history book, and not very interesting, because the audience knew them by heart already. a hymn or two followed, or a string of original verses, and, last of all, a chapter of "little maria and her sisters," a dreadful tale, in which katy drew so much moral, and made such personal allusions to the faults of the rest, that it was almost more than they could bear. in fact, there had just been a nursery rebellion on the subject. you must know that, for some weeks back, katy had been too lazy to prepare any fresh _sunday visitors_, and so had forced the children to sit in a row and listen to the back numbers, which she read aloud from the very beginning! "little maria" sounded much worse when taken in these large doses, and clover and elsie, combining for once, made up their minds to endure it no longer. so, watching their chance, they carried off the whole edition, and poked it into the kitchen fire, where they watched it burn with a mixture of fear and delight which it was comical to witness. they dared not confess the deed, but it was impossible not to look conscious when katy was flying about and rummaging after her lost treasure, and she suspected them, and was very irate in consequence. the evenings of sunday were always spent in repeating hymns to papa and aunt izzie. this was fun, for they all took turns, and there was quite a scramble as to who should secure the favorites, such as, "the west hath shut its gate of gold," and "go when the morning shineth." on the whole, sunday was a sweet and pleasant day, and the children thought so; but, from its being so much quieter than other days, they always got up on monday full of life and mischief, and ready to fizz over at any minute, like champagne bottles with the wires just cut. this particular monday was rainy, so there couldn't be any out-door play, which was the usual vent for over-high spirits. the little ones, cooped up in the nursery all the afternoon, had grown perfectly riotous. philly was not quite well, and had been taking medicine. the medicine was called _elixir pro_. it was a great favorite with aunt izzie, who kept a bottle of it always on hand. the bottle was large and black, with a paper label tied round its neck, and the children shuddered at the sight of it. after phil had stopped roaring and spluttering, and play had begun again, the dolls, as was only natural, were taken ill also, and so was "pikery," john's little yellow chair, which she always pretended was a doll too. she kept an old apron tied on his back, and generally took him to bed with her--not into bed, that would have been troublesome; but close by, tied to the bed-post. now, as she told the others, pikery was very sick indeed. he must have some medicine, just like philly. "give him some water," suggested dorry. "no," said john, decidedly, "it must be black and out of a bottle, or it won't do any good." after thinking a moment, she trotted quietly across the passage into aunt izzie's room. nobody was there, but john knew where the elixir pro was kept--in the closet on the third shelf. she pulled one of the drawers out a little, climbed up, and reached it down. the children were enchanted when she marched back, the bottle in one hand, the cork in the other, and proceeded to pour a liberal dose on to pikery's wooden seat, which john called his lap. "there! there! my poor boy," she said, patting his shoulder--i mean his arm--"swallow it down--it'll do you good." just then aunt izzie came in, and to her dismay saw a long trickle of something dark and sticky running down on to the carpet. it was pikery's medicine, which he had refused to swallow. "what is that?" she asked sharply. "my baby is sick," faltered john, displaying the guilty bottle. aunt izzie rapped her over the head with a thimble, and told her that she was a very naughty child, whereupon johnnie pouted, and cried a little. aunt izzie wiped up the slop, and taking away the elixir, retired with it to her closet, saying that she "never knew anything like it--it was always so on mondays." what further pranks were played in the nursery that day, i cannot pretend to tell. but late in the afternoon a dreadful screaming was heard, and when people rushed from all parts of the house to see what was the matter, behold the nursery door was locked, and nobody could get in. aunt izzie called through the keyhole to have it opened, but the roars were so loud that it was long before she could get an answer. at last elsie, sobbing violently, explained that dorry had locked the door, and now the key wouldn't turn, and they couldn't open it. _would_ they have to stay there always, and starve? "of course you won't, you foolish child," exclaimed aunt izzie. "dear, dear, what on earth will come next? stop crying, elsie--do you hear me? you shall all be got out in a few minutes." and sure enough, the next thing came a rattling at the blinds, and there was alexander, the hired man, standing outside on a tall ladder and nodding his head at the children. the little ones forgot their fright. they flew to open the window, and frisked and jumped about alexander as he climbed in and unlocked the door. it struck them as being such a fine thing to be let out in this way, that dorry began to rather plume himself for fastening them in. but aunt izzie didn't take this view of the case. she scolded them well, and declared they were troublesome children, who couldn't be trusted one moment out of sight, and that she was more than half sorry she had promised to go to the lecture that evening. "how do i know," she concluded, "that before i come home you won't have set the house on fire, or killed somebody?" "oh, no we won't! no we won't!" whined the children, quite moved by this frightful picture. but bless you--ten minutes afterward they had forgotten all about it. all this time katy had been sitting on the ledge of the bookcase in the library, poring over a book. it was called tasso's jerusalem delivered. the man who wrote it was an italian, but somebody had done the story over into english. it was rather a queer book for a little girl to take a fancy to, but somehow katy liked it very much. it told about knights, and ladies, and giants, and battles, and made her feel hot and cold by turns as she read, and as if she must rush at something, and shout, and strike blows. katy was naturally fond of reading. papa encouraged it. he kept a few books locked up, and then turned her loose in the library. she read all sorts of things: travels, and sermons, and old magazines. nothing was so dull that she couldn't get through with it. anything really interesting absorbed her so that she never knew what was going on about her. the little girls to whose houses she went visiting had found this out, and always hid away their story-books when she was expected to tea. if they didn't do this, she was sure to pick one up and plunge in, and then it was no use to call her, or tug at her dress, for she neither saw nor heard anything more, till it was time to go home. this afternoon she read the jerusalem till it was too dark to see any more. on her way up stairs she met aunt izzie, with bonnet and shawl on. "where _have_ you been?" she said. "i have been calling you for the last half-hour." "i didn't hear you, ma'am." "but where were you?" persisted miss izzie. "in the library, reading," replied katy. her aunt gave a sort of sniff, but she knew katy's ways, and said no more. "i'm going out to drink tea with mrs. hall and attend the evening lecture," she went on. "be sure that clover gets her lesson, and if cecy comes over as usual, you must send her home early. all of you must be in bed by nine." "yes'm," said katy, but i fear she was not attending much, but thinking, in her secret soul, how jolly it was to have aunt izzie go out for once. miss carr was very faithful to her duties: she seldom left the children, even for an evening, so whenever she did, they felt a certain sense of novelty and freedom, which was dangerous as well as pleasant. still, i am sure that on this occasion katy meant no mischief. like all excitable people she seldom did _mean_ to do wrong, she just did it when it came into her head. supper passed off successfully, and all might have gone well, had it not been that after the lessons were learned and cecy had come in, they fell to talking about "kikeri." kikeri was a game which had been very popular with them a year before. they had invented it themselves, and chosen for it this queer name out of an old fairy story. it was a sort of mixture of blindman's buff and tag--only instead of any one's eyes being bandaged, they all played in the dark. one of the children would stay out in the hall, which was dimly lighted from the stairs, while the others hid themselves in the nursery. when they were all hidden, they would call out "kikeri," as a signal for the one in the hall to come in and find them. of course, coming from the light he could see nothing, while the others could see only dimly. it was very exciting to stand crouching up in a corner and watch the dark figure stumbling about and feeling to right and left, while every now and then somebody, just escaping his clutches, would slip past and gain the hall, which was "freedom castle," with a joyful shout of "kikeri, kikeri, kikeri, ki!" whoever was caught had to take the place of the catcher. for a long time this game was the delight of the carr children; but so many scratches and black-and-blue spots came of it, and so many of the nursery things were thrown down and broken, that at last aunt izzie issued an order that it should not be played any more. this was almost a year since; but talking of it now put it into their heads to want to try it again. "after all we didn't promise," said cecy. "no, and _papa_ never said a word about our not playing it," added katy, to whom "papa" was authority, and must always be minded, while aunt izzie might now and then be defied. so they all went up stairs. dorry and john, though half undressed, were allowed to join the game. philly was fast asleep in another room. it was certainly splendid fun. once clover climbed up on the mantel-piece and sat there, and when katy, who was finder, groped about a little more wildly than usual, she caught hold of clover's foot, and couldn't imagine where it came from. dorry got a hard knock, and cried, and at another time katy's dress caught on the bureau handle and was frightfully torn, but these were too much affairs of every day to interfere in the least with the pleasures of kikeri. the fun and frolic seemed to grow greater the longer they played. in the excitement, time went on much faster than any of them dreamed. suddenly, in the midst of the noise, came a sound--the sharp distinct slam of the carryall-door at the side entrance. aunt izzie had returned from her lecture. the dismay and confusion of that moment! cecy slipped down stairs like an eel, and fled on the wings of fear along the path which led to her home. mrs. hall, as she bade aunt izzie good-night, and shut dr. carr's front door behind her with a bang, might have been struck with the singular fact that a distant bang came from her own front door like a sort of echo. but she was not a suspicious woman; and when she went up stairs there were cecy's clothes neatly folded on a chair, and cecy herself in bed, fast asleep, only with a little more color than usual in her cheeks. meantime, aunt izzie was on _her_ way up stairs, and such a panic as prevailed in the nursery! katie felt it, and basely scuttled off to her own room, where she went to bed with all possible speed. but the others found it much harder to go to bed; there were so many of them, all getting into each other's way, and with no lamp to see by. dorry and john popped under the clothes half undressed, elsie disappeared, and clover, too late for either, and hearing aunt izzie's step in the hall, did this horrible thing--fell on her knees, with her face buried in a chair, and began to say her prayers very hard indeed. aunt izzie, coming in with a candle in her hand, stood in the doorway, astonished at the spectacle. she sat down and waited for clover to get through, while clover, on her part, didn't dare to get through, but went on repeating "now i lay me" over and over again, in a sort of despair. at last aunt izzie said very grimly: "that will do, clover, you can get up!" and clover rose, feeling like a culprit, which she was, for it was much naughtier to pretend to be praying than to disobey aunt izzie and be out of bed after ten o'clock, though i think clover hardly understood this then. aunt izzie at once began to undress her, and while doing so asked so many questions, that before long she had got at the truth of the whole matter. she gave clover a sharp scolding, and leaving her to wash her tearful face, she went to the bed where john and dorry lay, fast asleep, and snoring as conspicuously as they knew how. something strange in the appearance of the bed made her look more closely: she lifted the clothes, and there, sure enough, they were--half dressed, and with their school-boots on. such a shake as aunt izzie gave the little scamps at this discovery, would have roused a couple of dormice. much against their will john and dorry were forced to wake up, and be slapped and scolded, and made ready for bed, aunt izzie standing over them all the while, like a dragon. she had just tucked them warmly in, when for the first time she missed elsie. "where is my poor little elsie?" she exclaimed. "in bed," said clover, meekly. "in bed!" repeated aunt izzie, much amazed. then stooping down, she gave a vigorous pull. the trundle-bed came into view, and sure enough, there was elsie, in full dress, shoes and all, but so fast asleep that not all aunt izzie's shakes, and pinches, and calls, were able to rouse her. her clothes were taken off, her boots unlaced, her night-gown put on; but through it all elsie slept, and she was the only one of the children who did not get the scolding she deserved that dreadful night. katy did not even pretend to be asleep when aunt izzie went to her room. her tardy conscience had waked up, and she was lying in bed, very miserable at having drawn the others into a scrape as well as herself, and at the failure of her last set of resolutions about "setting an example to the younger ones." so unhappy was she, that aunt izzie's severe words were almost a relief; and though she cried herself to sleep, it was rather from the burden of her own thoughts than because she had been scolded. she cried even harder the next day, for dr. carr talked to her more seriously than he had ever done before. he reminded her of the time when her mamma died, and of how she said, "katy must be a mamma to the little ones, when she grows up." and he asked her if she didn't think the time was come for beginning to take this dear place towards the children. poor katy! she sobbed as if her heart would break at this, and though she made no promises, i think she was never quite so thoughtless again, after that day. as for the rest, papa called them together and made them distinctly understand that "kikeri" was never to be played any more. it was so seldom that papa forbade any games, however boisterous, that this order really made an impression on the unruly brood, and they never have played kikeri again, from that day to this. chapter v in the loft "i declare," said miss petingill, laying down her work, "if them children don't beat all! what on airth _are_ they going to do now?" miss petingill was sitting in the little room in the back building, which she always had when she came to the carr's for a week's mending and making over. she was the dearest, funniest old woman who ever went out sewing by the day. her face was round, and somehow made you think of a very nice baked apple, it was so criss-crossed, and lined by a thousand good-natured puckers. she was small and wiry, and wore caps and a false front, which was just the color of a dusty newfoundland dog's back. her eyes were dim, and she used spectacles; but for all that, she was an excellent worker. every one liked miss petingill though aunt izzie _did_ once say that her tongue "was hung in the middle." aunt izzie made this remark when she was in a temper, and was by no means prepared to have phil walk up at once and request miss petingill to "stick it out," which she obligingly did; while the rest of the children crowded to look. they couldn't see that it was different from other tongues, but philly persisted in finding something curious about it; there must be, you know--since it was hung in that queer way! wherever miss petingill went, all sorts of treasures went with her. the children liked to have her come, for it was as good as a fairy story, or the circus, to see her things unpacked. miss petingill was very much afraid of burglars; she lay awake half the night listening for them and nothing on earth would have persuaded her to go anywhere, leaving behind what she called her "plate." this stately word meant six old teaspoons, very thin and bright and sharp, and a butter-knife, whose handle set forth that it was "a testimonial of gratitude, for saving the life of ithuriel jobson, aged seven, on the occasion of his being attacked with quinsy sore throat." miss petingill was very proud of her knife. it and the spoons travelled about in a little basket which hung on her arm, and was never allowed to be out of her sight, even when the family she was sewing for were the honestest people in the world. then, beside the plate-basket, miss petingill never stirred without tom, her tortoiseshell cat. tom was a beauty, and knew his power; he ruled miss petingill with a rod of iron, and always sat in the rocking-chair when there was one. it was no matter where _she_ sat, miss petingill told people, but tom was delicate, and must be made comfortable. a big family bible always came too, and a special red merino pin-cushion, and some "shade pictures" of old mr. and mrs. petingill and peter petingill, who was drowned at sea; and photographs of mrs. porter, who used to be marcia petingill, and mrs. porter's husband, and all the porter children. many little boxes and jars came also, and a long row of phials and bottles, filled with homemade physic and herb teas. miss petingill could not have slept without having them beside her, for, as she said, how did she know that she might not be "took sudden" with something, and die for want of a little ginger-balsam or pennyroyal? the carr children always made so much noise, that it required something unusual to make miss petingill drop her work, as she did now, and fly to the window. in fact there was a tremendous hubbub: hurrahs from dorry, stamping of feet, and a great outcry of shrill, glad voices. looking down, miss petingill saw the whole six--no, seven, for cecy was there too--stream out of the wood-house door--which wasn't a door, but only a tall open arch--and rush noisily across the yard. katy was at the head, bearing a large black bottle without any cork in it, while the others carried in each hand what seemed to be a cookie. "katherine carr! kather-_ine_!" screamed miss petingill, tapping loudly on the glass. "don't you see that it's raining? you ought to be ashamed to let your little brothers and sisters go out and get wet in such a way!" but nobody heard her, and the children vanished into the shed, where nothing could be seen but a distant flapping of pantalettes and frilled trousers, going up what seemed to be a ladder, farther back in the shed. so, with a dissatisfied cluck, miss petingill drew back her head, perched the spectacles on her nose, and went to work again on katy's plaid alpaca, which had two immense zigzag rents across the middle of the front breadth. katy's frocks, strange to say, always tore exactly in that place! if miss petingill's eyes could have reached a little farther, they would have seen that it wasn't a ladder up which the children were climbing, but a tall wooden post, with spikes driven into it about a foot apart. it required quite a stride to get from one spike to the other; in fact the littler ones couldn't have managed it at all, had it not been for clover and cecy "boosting" very hard from below, while katy, making a long arm, clawed from above. at last they were all safely up, and in the delightful retreat which i am about to describe: imagine a low, dark loft without any windows, and with only a very little light coming in through the square hole in the floor, to which the spikey post led. there was a strong smell of corn-cobs, though the corn had been taken away, a great deal of dust and spiderweb in the corners, and some wet spots on the boards; for the roof always leaked a little in rainy weather. this was the place, which for some reason i have never been able to find out, the carr children preferred to any other on rainy saturdays, when they could not play out-doors, aunt izzie was as much puzzled at this fancy as i am. when she was young (a vague, far-off time, which none of her nieces and nephews believed in much), she had never had any of these queer notions about getting off into holes and corners, and poke-away places. aunt izzie would gladly have forbidden them to go the loft, but dr. carr had given his permission, so all she could do was to invent stories about children who had broken their bones in various dreadful ways, by climbing posts and ladders. but these stories made no impression on any of the children except little phil, and the self-willed brood kept on their way, and climbed their spiked post as often as they liked. "what's in the bottle?" demanded dorry, the minute he was fairly landed in the loft. "don't be greedy," replied katy, severely; "you will know when the time comes. it is something _delicious_, i can assure you. "now," she went on, having thus quenched dorry, "all of you had better give me your cookies to put away: if you don't, they'll be sure to be eaten up before the feast, and then you know there wouldn't be anything to make a feast of." so all of them handed over their cookies. dorry, who had begun on his as he came up the ladder, was a little unwilling, but he was too much in the habit of minding katy to dare to disobey. the big bottle was set in a corner, and a stack of cookies built up around it. "that's right," proceeded katy, who, as oldest and biggest, always took the lead in their plays. "now if we're fixed and ready to begin, the fête (katy pronounced it _feet_) can commence. the opening exercise will be 'a tragedy of the alhambra,' by miss hall." "no," cried clover; "first 'the blue wizard, or edwitha of the hebrides,' you know, katy." "didn't i tell you?" said katy; "a dreadful accident has happened to that." "oh, what?" cried all the rest, for edwitha was rather a favorite with the family. it was one of the many serial stories which katy was forever writing, and was about a lady, a knight, a blue wizard, and a poodle named bop. it had been going on so many months now, that everybody had forgotten the beginning, and nobody had any particular hope of living to hear the end, but still the news of its untimely fate was a shock. "i'll tell you," said katy. "old judge kirby called this morning to see aunt izzie; i was studying in the little room, but i saw him come in, and pull out the big chair and sit down, and i almost screamed out 'don't!'" "why?" cried the children. "don't you see? i had stuffed 'edwitha' down between the back and the seat. it was a _beau_tiful hiding-place, for the seat goes back ever so far; but edwitha was such a fat bundle, and old judge kirby takes up so much room, that i was afraid there would be trouble. and sure enough, he had hardly dropped down before there was a great crackling of paper, and he jumped up again and called out, 'bless me! what is that?' and then he began poking, and poking, and just as he had poked out the whole bundle, and was putting on his spectacles to see what it was, aunt izzie came in." "well, what next?" cried the children, immensely tickled. "oh!" continued katy, "aunt izzie put on her glasses too, and screwed up her eyes--you know the way she does, and she and the judge read a little bit of it; that part at the first, you remember, where bop steals the blue-pills, and the wizard tries to throw him into the sea. you can't think how funny it was to hear aunt izzie reading 'edwitha' out loud--" and katy went into convulsions at the recollection "where she got to 'oh bop--my angel bop--' i just rolled under the table, and stuffed the table-cover in my mouth to keep from screaming right out. by and by i heard her call debby, and give her the papers, and say: 'here is a mass of trash which i wish you to put at once into the kitchen fire.' and she told me afterward that she thought i would be in an insane asylum before i was twenty. it was too bad," ended katy half laughing and half crying, "to burn up the new chapter and all. but there's one good thing--she didn't find 'the fairy of the dry goods box,' that was stuffed farther back in the seat. "and now," continued the mistress of ceremonies, "we will begin. miss hall will please rise." "miss hall," much flustered at her fine name, got up with very red cheeks. "it was once upon a time," she read, "moonlight lay on the halls of the alhambra, and the knight, striding impatiently down the passage, thought she would never come." "who, the moon?" asked clover. "no, of course not," replied cecy, "a lady he was in love with. the next verse is going to tell about her, only you interrupted. "she wore a turban of silver, with a jewelled crescent. as she stole down the corregidor the beams struck it and it glittered like stars. "'so you are come, zuleika?' "'yes, my lord.' "just then a sound as of steel smote upon the ear, and zuleika's mail-clad father rushed in. he drew his sword, so did the other. a moment more, and they both lay dead and stiff in the beams of the moon. zuleika gave a loud shriek, and threw herself upon their bodies. she was dead, too! and so ends the tragedy of the alhambra." "that's lovely," said katy, drawing a long breath, "only very sad! what beautiful stories you do write, cecy! but i wish you wouldn't always kill the people. why couldn't the knight have killed the father, and--no, i suppose zuleika wouldn't have married him then. well, the father might have--oh, bother! why must anybody be killed, anyhow? why not have them fall on each other's necks, and make up?" "why, katy!" cried cecy, "it wouldn't have been a tragedy then. you know the name was a _tragedy_ of the alhambra." "oh, well," said katy, hurriedly, for cecy's lips were beginning to pout, and her fair, pinkish face to redden, as if she were about to cry; "perhaps it _was_ prettier to have them all die; only i thought, for a change, you know!--what a lovely word that was--. 'corregidor'--what does it mean?" "i don't know," replied cecy, quite consoled. "it was in the 'conquest of granada.' something to walk over, i believe." "the next," went on katy, consulting her paper, "is 'yap,' a simple poem, by clover carr." all the children giggled, but clover got up composedly, and recited the following verses: "did you ever know yap? the best little dog who e'er sat on lap or barked at a frog. "his eyes were like beads, his tail like a mop, and it waggled as if it never would stop. "his hair was like silk of the glossiest sheen, he always ate milk, and once the cold-cream "off the nursery bureau (that line is too long!) it made him quite ill, so endeth my song. "for yappy he died just two months ago, and we oughtn't to sing at a funeral, you know." the "poem" met with immense applause; all the children laughed, and shouted, and clapped, till the loft rang again. but clover kept her face perfectly, and sat down as demure as ever, except that the little dimples came and went at the corners of her mouth; dimples, partly natural, and partly, i regret to say, the result of a pointed slate-pencil, with which clover was in the habit of deepening them every day while she studied her lessons. "now," said katy, after the noise had subsided, "now come 'scripture verses,' by miss elsie and joanna carr. hold up your head, elsie, and speak distinctly; and oh, johnnie, you _mustn't_ giggle in that way when it comes your turn!" but johnnie only giggled the harder at this appeal, keeping her hands very tight across her mouth, and peeping out over her fingers. elsie, however, was solemn as a little judge, and with great dignity began: "an angel with a fiery sword, came to send adam and eve abroad and as they journeyed through the skies they took one look at paradise. they thought of all the happy hours among the birds and fragrant bowers, and eve she wept, and adam bawled, and both together loudly squalled." dorry snickered at this, but sedate clover hushed him. "you mustn't," she said; "it's about the bible, you know. now john, it's your turn." but johnnie would persist in holding her hands over her mouth, while her fat little shoulders shook with laughter. at last, with a great effort, she pulled her face straight, and speaking as fast as she possibly could, repeated, in a sort of burst: "balaam's donkey saw the angel, and stopped short in fear. balaam didn't see the angel, which is very queer." after which she took refuge again behind her fingers, while elsie went on-- "elijah by the creek, he by ravens fed, took from their horny beak pieces of meat and bread." "come, johnnie," said katy, but the incorrigible johnnie was shaking again, and all they could make out was-- "the bears came down, and ate------and ate." these "verses" were part of a grand project on which clover and elsie had been busy for more than a year. it was a sort of rearrangement of scripture for infant minds; and when it was finished, they meant to have it published, bound in red, with daguerreotypes of the two authoresses on the cover. "the youth's poetical bible" was to be the name of it. papa, much tickled with the scraps which he overheard, proposed, instead, "the trundle-bed book," as having been composed principally in that spot, but elsie and clover were highly indignant, and would not listen to the idea for a moment. after the "scripture verses," came dorry's turn. he had been allowed to choose for himself, which was unlucky, as his taste was peculiar, not to say gloomy. on this occasion he had selected that cheerful hymn which begins-- "hark, from the tombs a doleful sound." and he now began to recite it in a lugubrious voice and with great emphasis, smacking his lips, as it were, over such lines as-- "princes, this clay _shall_ be your bed, in spite of all your towers." the older children listened with a sort of fascinated horror, rather enjoying the cold chills which ran down their backs, and huddling close together, as dorry's hollow tones echoed from the dark corners of the loft. it was too much for philly, however. at the close of the piece he was found to be in tears. "i don't want to st-a-a-y up here and be groaned at," he sobbed. "there, you bad boy!" cried katy, all the more angry because she was conscious of having enjoyed it herself, "that's what you do with your horrid hymns, frightening us to death and making phil cry!" and she gave dorry a little shake. he began to whimper, and as phil was still sobbing, and johnnie had begun to sob too, out of sympathy with the others, the _feet_ in the loft seemed likely to come to a sad end. "i'm goin' to tell aunt izzie that i don't like you," declared dorry, putting one leg through the opening in the floor. "no, you aren't," said katy, seizing him, "you are going to stay, because _now_ we are going to have the feast! do stop, phil; and johnnie, don't be a goose, but come and pass round the cookies." the word "feast" produced a speedy effect on the spirits of the party. phil cheered at once, and dorry changed his mind about going. the black bottle was solemnly set in the midst, and the cookies were handed about by johnnie, who was now all smiles. the cookies had scalloped edges and caraway seeds inside, and were very nice. there were two apiece; and as the last was finished, katy put her hand in her pocket, and amid great applause, produced the crowning addition to the repast--seven long, brown sticks of cinnamon. "isn't it fun?" she said. "debby was real good-natured to-day, and let me put my own hand into the box, so i picked out the longest sticks there were. now, cecy, as you're company, you shall have the first drink out of the bottle." the "something delicious" proved to be weak vinegar-and-water. it was quite warm, but somehow, drank up there in the loft, and out of a bottle, it tasted very nice. beside, they didn't _call_ it vinegar-and-water--of course not! each child gave his or her swallow a different name, as if the bottle were like signor blitz's and could pour out a dozen things at once. clover called her share "raspberry shrub," dorry christened his "ginger pop," while cecy, who was romantic, took her three sips under the name of "hydomel," which she explained was something nice, made, she believed, of beeswax. the last drop gone, and the last bit of cinnamon crunched, the company came to order again, for the purpose of hearing philly repeat his one piece,-- "little drops of water," which exciting poem he had said every saturday as far back as they could remember. after that katy declared the literary part of the "feet" over, and they all fell to playing "stagecoach," which, in spite of close quarters and an occasional bump from the roof, was such good fun, that a general "oh dear!" welcomed the ringing of the tea-bell. i suppose cookies and vinegar had taken away their appetites, for none of them were hungry, and dorry astonished aunt izzie very much by eyeing the table in a disgusted way, and saying: "pshaw! _only_ plum sweatmeats and sponge cake and hot biscuit! i don't want any supper." "what ails the child? he must be sick," said dr. carr; but katy explained. "oh no, papa, it isn't that--only we've been having a feast in the loft." "did you have a good time?" asked papa, while aunt izzie gave a dissatisfied groan. and all the children answered at once: "splendiferous!" chapter vi intimate friends "aunt izzie, may i ask imogen clark to spend the day here on saturday?" cried katy, bursting in one afternoon. "who on earth is imogen clark? i never heard the name before," replied her aunt. "oh, the _loveliest_ girl! she hasn't been going to mrs. knight's school but a little while, but we're the greatest friends. and she's perfectly beautiful, aunt izzie. her hands are just as white as snow, and no bigger than _that_. she's got the littlest waist of any girl in school, and she's real sweet, and so self-denying and unselfish! i don't believe she has a bit good times at home, either. do let me ask her!" "how do you know she's so sweet and self-denying, if you've known her such a short time?" asked aunt izzie, in an unpromising tone. "oh, she tells me everything! we always walk together at recess now. i know all about her, and she's just lovely! her father used to be real rich, but they're poor now, and imogen had to have her boots patched twice last winter. i guess she's the flower of her family. you can't think how i love her!" concluded katy, sentimentally. "no, i can't," said aunt izzie. "i never could see into these sudden friendships of yours, katy, and i'd rather you wouldn't invite this imogen, or whatever her name is, till i've had a chance to ask somebody about her." katy clasped her hands in despair. "oh, aunt izzie!" she cried, "imogen knows that i came in to ask you, and she's standing at the gate at this moment, waiting to hear what you say. please let me, just this once! i shall be so dreadfully ashamed not to." "well," said miss izzie, moved by the wretchedness of katy's face, "if you've asked her already, it's no use my saying no, i suppose. but recollect, katy, this is not to happen again. i can't have you inviting girls, and then coming for my leave. your father won't be at all pleased. he's very particular about whom you make friends with. remember how mrs. spenser turned out." poor katy! her propensity to fall violently in love with new people was always getting her into scrapes. ever since she began to walk and talk, "katy's intimate friends" had been one of the jokes of the household. papa once undertook to keep a list of them, but the number grew so great that he gave it up in despair. first on the list was a small irish child, named marianne o'riley. marianne lived in a street which katy passed on her way to school. it was not mrs. knight's, but an abc school, to which dorry and john now went. marianne used to be always making sand-pies in front of her mother's house, and katy, who was about five years old, often stopped to help her. over this mutual pastry they grew so intimate, that katy resolved to adopt marianne as her own little girl, and bring her up in a safe and hidden corner. she told clover of this plan, but nobody else. the two children, full of their delightful secret, began to save pieces of bread and cookies from their supper every evening. by degrees they collected a great heap of dry crusts, and other refreshments, which they put safely away in the garret. they also saved the apples which were given them for two weeks, and made a bed in a big empty box, with cotton quilts, and the dolls' pillows out of the baby-house. when all was ready, katy broke the plan to her beloved marianne, and easily persuaded her to run away and take possession of this new home. "we won't tell papa and mamma till she's quite grown up," katy said to clover; "then we'll bring her down stairs, and _won't_ they be surprised? don't let's call her marianne any longer, either. it isn't pretty. we'll name her susquehanna instead--susquehanna carr. recollect, marianne, you mustn't answer if i call you marianne--only when i say susquehanna." "yes'm," replied marianne, very meekly. for a whole day all went on delightfully. susquehanna lived in her wooden box, ate all the apples and the freshest cookies, and was happy. the two children took turns to steal away and play with the "baby," as they called marianne, though she was a great deal bigger than clover. but when night came on, and nurse swooped on katy and clover, and carried them off to bed, miss o'riley began to think that the garret was a dreadful place. peeping out of her box, she could see black things standing in corners, which she did not recollect seeing in the day-time. they were really trunks and brooms and warming-pans, but somehow, in the darkness, they looked different--big and awful. poor little marianne bore it as long as she could; but when at last a rat began to scratch in the wall close beside her, her courage gave way entirely, and she screamed at the top of her voice. "what is that?" said dr. carr, who had just come in, and was on his way up stairs. "it sounds as if it came from the attic," said mrs. carr (for this was before mamma died). "can it be that one of the children has got out of bed and wandered up stairs in her sleep?" no, katy and clover were safe in the nursery; so dr. carr took a candle and went as fast as he could to the attic, where the yells were growing terrific. when he reached the top of the stairs, the cries ceased. he looked about. nothing was to be seen at first, then a little head appeared over the edge of a big wooden box, and a piteous voice sobbed out: "ah, miss katy, and indeed i can't be stayin' any longer. there's rats in it!" "who on earth _are_ you?" asked the amazed doctor. "sure i'm miss katy's and miss clover's baby. but i don't want to be a baby any longer. i want to go home and see my mother." and again the poor little midge lifted up her voice and wept. i don't think dr. carr ever laughed so hard in his life, as when finally he got to the bottom of the story, and found that katy and clover had been "adopting" a child. but he was very kind to poor susquehanna, and carried her down stairs in his arms, to the nursery. there, in a bed close to the other children, she soon forgot her troubles and fell asleep. the little sisters were much surprised when they waked up in the morning, and found their baby asleep beside them. but their joy was speedily turned to tears. after breakfast, dr. carr carried marianne home to her mother, who was in a great fright over her disappearance, and explained to the children that the garret plan must be given up. great was the mourning in the nursery; but as marianne was allowed to come and play with them now and then, they gradually got over their grief. a few months later mr. o'riley moved away from burnet, and that was the end of katy's first friendship. the next was even funnier. there was a queer old black woman who lived all alone by herself in a small house near the school. this old woman had a very bad temper. the neighbors told horrible stories about her, so that the children were afraid to pass the house. they used to turn always just before they reached it, and cross to the other side of the street. this they did so regularly, that their feet had worn a path in the grass. but for some reason katy found a great fascination in the little house. she liked to dodge about the door, always holding herself ready to turn and run in case the old woman rushed out upon her with a broomstick. one day she begged a large cabbage of alexander, and rolled it in at the door of the house. the old woman seemed to like it, and after this katy always stopped to speak when she went by. she even got so far as to sit on the step and watch the old woman at work. there was a sort of perilous pleasure in doing this. it was like sitting at the entrance of a lion's cage, uncertain at what moment his majesty might take it into his head to give a spring and eat you up. after this, katy took a fancy to a couple of twin sisters, daughters of a german jeweller. they were quite grown-up, and always wore dresses exactly alike. hardly any one could tell them apart. they spoke very little english, and as katy didn't know a word of german, their intercourse was confined to smiles, and to the giving of bunches of flowers, which katy used to tie up and present to them whenever they passed the gate. she was too shy to do more than just put the flowers in their hands and run away; but the twins were evidently pleased, for one day, when clover happened to be looking out of the window, she saw them open the gate, fasten a little parcel to a bush, and walk rapidly off. of course she called katy at once, and the two children flew out to see what the parcel was. it held a bonnet--a beautiful doll's bonnet of blue silk, trimmed with artificial flowers; upon it was pinned a slip of paper with these words, in an odd foreign hand: "to the nice little girl who was so kindly to give us some flowers." you can judge whether katy and clover were pleased or not. this was when katy was six years old. i can't begin to tell you how many different friends she had set up since then. there was an ash-man, and a steam-boat captain. there was mrs. sawyer's cook, a nice old woman, who gave katy lessons in cooking, and taught her to make soft custard and sponge-cake. there was a bonnet-maker, pretty and dressy, whom, to aunt izzie's great indignation, katy persisted in calling "cousin estelle!" there was a thief in the town-jail, under whose window katy used to stand, saying, "i'm so sorry, poor man!" and "have you got any little girls like me?" in the most piteous way. the thief had a piece of string which he let down from the window. katy would tie rosebuds and cherries to this string, and the thief would draw them up. it was so interesting to do this, that katy felt dreadfully when they carried the man off to the state prison. then followed a short interval of cornelia perham, a nice, good-natured girl, whose father was a fruit-merchant. i am afraid katy's liking for prunes and white grapes played a part in this intimacy. it was splendid fun to go with cornelia to her father's big shop, and have whole boxes of raisins and drums of figs opened for their amusement, and be allowed to ride up and down in the elevator as much as they liked. but of all katy's queer acquaintances, mrs. spenser, to whom aunt izzie had alluded, was the queerest. mrs. spenser was a mysterious lady whom nobody ever saw. her husband was a handsome, rather bad-looking man, who had come from parts unknown, and rented a small house in burnet. he didn't seem to have any particular business, and was away from home a great deal. his wife was said to be an invalid, and people, when they spoke of him, shook their heads and wondered how the poor woman got on all alone in the house, while her husband was absent. of course katy was too young to understand these whispers, or the reasons why people were not disposed to think well of mr. spenser. the romance of the closed door and the lady whom nobody saw, interested her very much. she used to stop and stare at the windows, and wonder what was going on inside, till at last it seemed as if she _must_ know. so, one day she took some flowers and victoria, her favorite doll, and boldly marched into the spensers' yard. she tapped at the front door, but nobody answered. then she tapped again. still nobody answered. she tried the door. it was locked. so shouldering victoria, she trudged round to the back of the house. as she passed the side-door she saw that it was open a little way. she knocked for the third time, and as no one came, she went in, and passing through the little hall, began to tap at all the inside doors. there seemed to be no people in the house, katy peeped into the kitchen first. it was bare and forlorn. all sorts of dishes were standing about. there was no fire in the stove. the parlor was not much better. mr. spenser's boots lay in the middle of the floor. there were dirty glasses on the table. on the mantel-piece was a platter with bones of meat upon it. dust lay thick over everything, and the whole house looked as if it hadn't been lived in for at least a year. katy tried several other doors, all of which were locked, and then she went up stairs. as she stood on the top step, grasping her flowers, and a little doubtful what to do next, a feeble voice from a bed-room called out: "who is there?" this was mrs. spenser. she was lying on her bed, which was very tossed and tumbled, as if it hadn't been made up that morning. the room was as disorderly and dirty as all the rest of the house, and mrs. spenser's wrapper and night-cap were by no means clean, but her face was sweet, and she had beautiful curling hair, which fell over the pillow. she was evidently very sick, and altogether katy felt sorrier for her than she had ever done for anybody in her life. "who are you, child?" asked mrs. spenser. "i'm dr. carr's little girl," answered katy, going straight up to the bed. "i came to bring you some flowers." and she laid the bouquet on the dirty sheet. mrs. spenser seemed to like the flowers. she took them up and smelled them for a long time, without speaking. "but how did you get in?" she said at last. "the door was open," faltered katy, who was beginning to feel scared at her own daring, "and they said you were sick, so i thought perhaps you would like me to come and see you." "you are a kind little girl," said mrs. spenser, and gave her a kiss. after this katy used to go every day. sometimes mrs. spenser would be up and moving feebly about; but more often she was in bed, and katy would sit beside her. the house never looked a bit better than it did that first day, but after a while katy used to brush mrs. spenser's hair, and wash her face with the corner of a towel. i think her visits were a comfort to the poor lady, who was very ill and lonely. sometimes, when she felt pretty well, she would tell katy stories about the time when she was a little girl and lived at home with her father and mother. but she never spoke of mr. spenser, and katy never saw him except once, when she was so frightened that for several days she dared not go near the house. at last cecy reported that she had seen him go off in the stage with his carpet-bag, so katy ventured in again. mrs. spenser cried when she saw her. "i thought you were never coming any more," she said. katy was touched and flattered at having been missed, and after that she never lost a day. she always carried the prettiest flowers she could find, and if any one gave her a specially nice peach or a bunch of grapes, she saved it for mrs. spenser. aunt izzie was much worried at all this. but dr. carr would not interfere. he said it was a case where grown people could do nothing, and if katy was a comfort to the poor lady he was glad. katy was glad too, and the visits did her as much good as they did mrs. spenser, for the intense pity she felt for the sick woman made her gentle and patient as she had never been before. one day she stopped, as usual, on her way home from school. she tried the side-door--it was locked; the back-door, it was locked too. all the blinds were shut tight. this was very puzzling. as she stood in the yard a woman put her head out of the window of the next house. "it's no use knocking," she said, "all the folks have gone away." "gone away where?" asked katy. "nobody knows," said the woman; "the gentleman came back in the middle of the night, and this morning, before light, he had a wagon at the door, and just put in the trunks and the sick lady, and drove off. there's been more than one a-knocking besides you, since then. but mr. pudgett, he's got the key, and nobody can get in without goin' to him." it was too true. mrs. spenser was gone, and katy never saw her again. in a few days it came out that mr. spenser was a very bad man, and had been making false money--_counterfeiting_, as grown people call it. the police were searching for him to put him in jail, and that was the reason he had come back in such a hurry and carried off his poor sick wife. aunt izzie cried with mortification, when she heard this. she said she thought it was a disgrace that katy should have been visiting in a counterfeiter's family. but dr. carr only laughed. he told aunt izzie that he didn't think that kind of crime was catching, and as for mrs. spenser, she was much to be pitied. but aunt izzie could not get over her vexation, and every now and then, when she was vexed, she would refer to the affair, though this all happened so long ago that most people had forgotten all about it, and philly and john had stopped playing at "putting mr. spenser in jail," which for a long time was one of their favorite games. katy always felt badly when aunt izzie spoke unkindly of her poor sick friend. she had tears in her eyes now, as she walked to the gate, and looked so very sober, that imogen clark, who stood there waiting, clasped her hands and said: "ah, i see! your aristocratic aunt refuses." imogen's real name was elizabeth. she was rather a pretty girl, with a screwed-up, sentimental mouth, shiny brown hair, and a little round curl on each of her cheeks. these curls must have been fastened on with glue or tin tacks, one would think, for they never moved, however much she laughed or shook her head. imogen was a bright girl, naturally, but she had read so many novels that her brain was completely turned. it was partly this which made her so attractive to katy, who adored stories, and thought imogen was a real heroine of romance. "oh no, she doesn't," she replied, hardly able to keep from laughing, at the idea of aunt izzie's being called an "aristocratic relative"--"she says she shall be my hap--" but here katy's conscience gave a prick, and the sentence ended in "um, um, um--" "so you'll come, won't you, darling? i am so glad!" "and i!" said imogen, turning up her eyes theatrically. from this time on till the end of the week, the children talked of nothing but imogen's visit, and the nice time they were going to have. before breakfast on saturday morning, katy and clover were at work building a beautiful bower of asparagus boughs under the trees. all the playthings were set out in order. debby baked them some cinnamon cakes, the kitten had a pink ribbon tied round her neck, and the dolls, including "pikery," were arrayed in their best clothes. about half-past ten imogen arrived. she was dressed in a light-blue barège, with low neck and short sleeves, and wore coral beads in her hair, white satin slippers, and a pair of yellow gloves. the gloves and slippers were quite dirty, and the barège was old and darned; but the general effect was so very gorgeous, that the children, who were dressed for play, in gingham frocks and white aprons, were quite dazzled at the appearance of their guest. "oh, imogen, you look just like a young lady in a story!" said simple katy; whereupon imogen tossed her head and rustled her skirts about more than ever. somehow, with these fine clothes, imogen seemed to have put on a fine manner, quite different from the one she used every day. you know some people always do, when they go out visiting. you would almost have supposed that this was a different imogen, who was kept in a box most of the time, and taken out for sundays and grand occasions. she swam about, and diddled, and lisped, and looked at herself in the glass, and was generally grown-up and airy. when aunt izzie spoke to her, she fluttered and behaved so queerly, that clover almost laughed; and even katy, who could see nothing wrong in people she loved, was glad to carry her away to the playroom. "come out to the bower," she said, putting her arm round the blue barège waist. "a bower!" cried imogen. "how sweet!" but when they reached the asparagus boughs her face fell. "why it hasn't any roof, or pinnacles, or any fountain!" she said. "why no, of course not," said clover, staring, "we made it ourselves." "oh!" said imogen. she was evidently disappointed. katy and clover felt mortified; but as their visitor did not care for the bower, they tried to think of something else. "let us go to the loft," they said. so they all crossed the yard together. imogen picked her way daintily in the white satin slippers, but when she saw the spiked post, she gave a scream. "oh, not up there, darling, not up there!". she cried; "never, never!" "oh, do try! it's just as easy as can be," pleaded katy, going up and down half a dozen times in succession to show how easy it was. but imogen wouldn't be persuaded. "do not ask me," she said affectedly; "my nerves would never stand such a thing! and besides--my dress!" "what made you wear it?" said philly, who was a plain-spoken child, and given to questions. while john whispered to dorry, "that's a real stupid girl. let's go off somewhere and play by ourselves." so, one by one, the small fry crept away, leaving katy and clover to entertain the visitor by themselves. they tried dolls, but imogen did not care for dolls. then they proposed to sit down in the shade, and cap verses, a game they all liked. but imogen said that though she adored poetry, she never could remember any. so it ended in their going to the orchard, where imogen ate a great many plums and early apples, and really seemed to enjoy herself. but when she could eat no more, a dreadful dulness fell over the party. at last imogen said: "don't you ever sit in the drawing-room?" "the what?" asked clover. "the drawing-room," repeated imogen. "oh, she means the parlor!" cried katy. "no, we don't sit there except when aunt izzie has company to tea. it is all dark and poky, you know. beside, it's so much pleasanter to be out-doors. don't you think so?" "yes, sometimes," replied imogen, doubtfully, "but i think it would be pleasant to go in and sit there for a while, now. my head aches dreadfully, being out here in this horrid sun." katy was at her wit's end to know what to do. they scarcely ever went into the parlor, which aunt izzie regarded as a sort of sacred place. she kept cotton petticoats over all the chairs for fear of dust, and never opened the blinds for fear of flies. the idea of children with dusty boots going in there to sit! on the other hand, katy's natural politeness made it hard to refuse a visitor anything she asked for. and beside, it was dreadful to think that imogen might go away and report "katy carr isn't allowed to sit in the best room, even when she has company!" with a quaking heart she led the way to the parlor. she dared not open the blinds, so the room looked very dark. she could just see imogen's figure as she sat on the sofa, and clover twirling uneasily about on the piano-stool. all the time she kept listening to hear if aunt izzie were not coming, and altogether the parlor was a dismal place to her; not half so pleasant as the asparagus bower, where they felt perfectly safe. but imogen, who, for the first time, seemed comfortable, began to talk. her talk was about herself. such stories she told about the things which had happened to her! all the young ladies in the ledger put together, never had stranger adventures. gradually, katy and clover got so interested that they left their seats and crouched down close to the sofa, listening with open mouths to these stories. katy forgot to listen for aunt izzie. the parlor door swung open, but she did not notice it. she did not even hear the front door shut, when papa came home to dinner. dr. carr, stopping in the hall to glance over his newspaper, heard the high-pitched voice running on in the parlor. at first he hardly listened; then these words caught his ear: "oh, it was lovely, girls, perfectly delicious! i suppose i did look well, for i was all in white, with my hair let down, and just one rose, you know, here on top. and he leaned over me, and said in a low, deep tone, 'lady, i am a brigand, but i feel the enchanting power of your beauty. you are free!'" dr. carr pushed the door open a little farther. nothing was to be seen but some indistinct figures, but he heard katy's voice in an eager tone: "oh, _do_ go on. what happened next?" "who on earth have the children got in the parlor?" he asked aunt izzie, whom he found in the dining-room. "the parlor!" cried miss izzie, wrathfully, "why, what are they there for?" then going to the door, she called out, "children, what are you doing in the parlor? come out right away. i thought you were playing out-doors." "imogen had a head-ache," faltered katy. the three girls came out into the hall; clover and katy looking scared, and even the enchanter of the brigand quite crest-fallen. "oh," said aunt izzie, grimly, "i am sorry to hear that. probably you are bilious. would you like some camphor or anything?" "no, thank you," replied imogen, meekly. but afterwards she whispered to katy: "your aunt isn't very nice, i think. she's just like jackima, that horrid old woman i told you about, who lived in the brigand's cave and did the cooking. "i don't think you're a bit polite to tell me so," retorted katy, very angry at this speech. "oh, never mind, dear, don't take it to heart!" replied imogen, sweetly. "we can't help having relations that ain't nice, you know." the visit was evidently not a success. papa was very civil to imogen at dinner, but he watched her closely, and katy saw a comical twinkle in his eye, which she did not like. papa had very droll eyes. they saw everything, and sometimes they seemed to talk almost as distinctly as his tongue. katy began to feel low-spirited. she confessed afterward that she should never have got through the afternoon if she hadn't run up stairs two or three times, and comforted herself by reading a little in "rosamond." "aren't you glad she's gone?" whispered clover, as they stood at the gate together watching imogen walk down the street. "oh, clover! how can you?" said katy but she gave clover a great hug, and i think in her heart she _was_ glad. "katy," said papa, next day, "you came into the room then, exactly like your new friend miss clark." "how? i don't know what you mean," answered katy, blushing deeply. "_so_," said dr. carr; and he got up, raising his shoulders and squaring his elbows, and took a few mincing steps across the room. katy couldn't help laughing, it was so funny, and so like imogen. then papa sat down again and drew her close to him. "my dear," he said, "you're an affectionate child, and i'm glad of it. but there is such a thing as throwing away one's affection. i didn't fancy that little girl at all yesterday. what makes you like her so much?" "i didn't like her so much, yesterday," admitted katy, reluctantly. "she's a great deal nicer than that at school, sometimes." "i'm glad to hear it," said her father. "for i should be sorry to think that you really admired such silly manners. and what was that nonsense i heard her telling you about brigands?" "it really hap--" began katy.--then she caught papa's eye, and bit her lip, for he looked very quizzical. "well," she went on, laughing, "i suppose it didn't really all happen;--but it was ever so funny, papa, even if it was a make-up. and imogen's just as good-natured as can be. all the girls like her." "make-ups are all very well," said papa, "as long as people don't try to make you believe they are true. when they do that, it seems to me it comes too near the edge of falsehood to be very safe or pleasant. if i were you, katy, i'd be a little shy of swearing eternal friendship for miss clark. she may be good-natured, as you say, but i think two or three years hence she won't seem so nice to you as she does now. give me a kiss, chick, and run away, for there's alexander with the buggy." chapter vii cousin helen's visit a little knot of the school-girls were walking home together one afternoon in july. as they neared dr. carr's gate, maria fiske exclaimed, at the sight of a pretty bunch of flowers lying in the middle of the sidewalk: "oh my!" she cried, "see what somebody's dropped! i'm going to have it." she stooped to pick it up. but, just as her fingers touched the stems, the nosegay, as if bewitched, began to move. maria made a bewildered clutch. the nosegay moved faster, and at last vanished under the gate, while a giggle sounded from the other side of the hedge. "did you see that?" shrieked maria; "those flowers ran away of themselves." "nonsense," said katy, "it's those absurd children." then, opening the gate, she called: "john! dorry! come out and show yourselves." but nobody replied, and no one could be seen. the nosegay lay on the path, however, and picking it up, katy exhibited to the girls a long end of black thread, tied to the stems. "that's a very favorite trick of johnnie's," she said: "she and dorry are always tying up flowers, and putting them out on the walk to tease people. here, maria, take 'em if you like. though i don't think john's taste in bouquets is very good." "isn't it splendid to have vacation come?" said one of the bigger girls. "what are you all going to do? we're going to the seaside." "pa says he'll take susie and me to niagara," said maria. "i'm going to make my aunt a visit," said alice blair. "she lives in a real lovely place in the country, and there's a pond there; and tom (that's my cousin) says he'll teach me to row. what are you going to do, katy?" "oh, i don't know; play round and have splendid times," replied katy, throwing her bag of books into the air, and catching it again. but the other girls looked as if they didn't think this good fun at all, and as if they were sorry for her; and katy felt suddenly that her vacation wasn't going to be so pleasant as that of the rest. "i wish papa _would_ take us somewhere," she said to clover, as they walked up the gravel path. "all the other girls' papas do." "he's too busy," replied clover. "beside, i don't think any of the rest of the girls have half such good times as we. ellen robbins says she'd give a million of dollars for such nice brothers and sisters as ours to play with. and, you know, maria and susie have _awful_ times at home, though they do go to places. mrs. fiske is so particular. she always says 'don't,' and they haven't got any yard to their house, or anything. i wouldn't change." "nor i," said katy, cheering up at these words of wisdom. "oh, isn't it lovely to think there won't be any school to-morrow? vacations are just splendid!" and she gave her bag another toss. it fell to the ground with a crash. "there, you've cracked your slate," said clover. "no matter, i sha'n't want it again for eight weeks," replied katy, comfortably, as they ran up the steps. they burst open the front door and raced up stairs, crying "hurrah! hurrah! vacation's begun. aunt izzie, vacation's begun!" then they stopped short, for lo! the upper hall was all in confusion. sounds of beating and dusting came from the spare room. tables and chairs were standing about; and a cot-bed, which seemed to be taking a walk all by itself, had stopped short at the head of the stairs, and barred the way. "why, how queer!" said katy, trying to get by. "what _can_ be going to happen? oh, there's aunt izzie! aunt izzie, who's coming? what _are_ you moving the things out of the blue-room for?" "oh, gracious! is that you?" replied aunt izzie, who looked very hot and flurried. "now, children, it's no use for you to stand there asking questions; i haven't got time to answer them. let the bedstead alone, katy, you'll push it into the wall. there, i told you so!" as katy gave an impatient shove, "you've made a bad mark on the paper. what a troublesome child you are! go right down stairs, both of you, and don't come up this way again till after tea. i've just as much as i can possibly attend to till then." "just tell us what's going to happen, and we will," cried the children. "your cousin helen is coming to visit us," said miss izzie, curtly, and disappeared into the blue-room. this was news indeed. katy and clover ran down stairs in great excitement, and after consulting a little, retired to the loft to talk it over in peace and quiet. cousin helen coming! it seemed as strange as if queen victoria, gold crown and all, had invited herself to tea. or as if some character out of a book, robinson crusoe, say, or "amy herbert," had driven up with a trunk and announced the intention of spending a week. for to the imaginations of the children, cousin helen was as interesting and unreal as anybody in the fairy tales: cinderella, or blue-beard, or dear red riding-hood herself. only there was a sort of mixture of sunday-school book in their idea of her, for cousin helen was very, very good. none of them had ever seen her. philly said he was sure she hadn't any legs, because she never went away from home, and lay on a sofa all the time. but the rest knew that this was because cousin helen was ill. papa always went to visit her twice a year, and he liked to talk to the children about her, and tell how sweet and patient she was, and what a pretty room she lived in. katy and clover had "played cousin helen" so long, that now they were frightened as well as glad at the idea of seeing the real one. "do you suppose she will want us to say hymns to her all the time?" asked clover. "not all the time," replied katy, "because you know she'll get tired, and have to take naps in the afternoons. and then, of course, she reads the bible a great deal. oh dear, how quiet we shall have to be! i wonder how long she's going to stay?" "what do you suppose she looks like?" went on clover. "something like 'lucy,' in mrs. sherwood, i guess, with blue eyes, and curls, and a long, straight nose. and she'll keep her hands clasped _so_ all the time, and wear 'frilled wrappers,' and lie on the sofa perfectly still, and never smile, but just look patient. we'll have to take off our boots in the hall, clover, and go up stairs in stocking feet, so as not to make a noise, all the time she stays." "won't it be funny!" giggled clover, her sober little face growing bright at the idea of this variation on the hymns. the time seemed very long till the next afternoon, when cousin helen was expected. aunt izzie, who was in a great excitement, gave the children many orders about their behavior. they were to do this and that, and not to do the other. dorry, at last, announced that he wished cousin helen would just stay at home. clover and elsie, who had been thinking pretty much the same thing in private, were glad to hear that she was on her way to a water cure, and would stay only four days. five o'clock came. they all sat on the steps waiting for the carriage. at last it drove up. papa was on the box. he motioned the children to stand back. then he helped out a nice-looking young woman, who, aunt izzie told them, was cousin helen's nurse, and then, very carefully, lifted cousin helen in his arms and brought her in. "oh, there are the chicks!" were the first words the children heard, in such a gay, pleasant voice. "do set me down somewhere, uncle. i want to see them so much!" so papa put cousin helen on the hall sofa. the nurse fetched a pillow, and when she was made comfortable, dr. carr called to the little ones. "cousin helen wants to see you," he said. "indeed i do," said the bright voice. "so this is katy? why, what a splendid tall katy it is! and this is clover," kissing her; "and this dear little elsie. you all look as natural as possible--just as if i had seen you before." and she hugged them all round, not as if it was polite to like them because they were relations, but as if she had loved them and wanted them all her life. there was something in cousin helen's face and manner, which made the children at home with her at once. even philly, who had backed away with his hands behind him, after staring hard for a minute or two, came up with a sort of rush to get his share of kissing. still, katy's first feeling was one of disappointment. cousin helen was not at all like "lucy," in mrs. sherwood's story. her nose turned up the least bit in the world. she had brown hair, which didn't curl, a brown skin, and bright eyes, which danced when she laughed or spoke. her face was thin, but except for that you wouldn't have guessed that she was sick. she didn't fold her hands, and she didn't look patient, but absolutely glad and merry. her dress wasn't a "frilled wrapper," but a sort of loose travelling thing of pretty gray stuff, with a rose-colored bow, and bracelets, and a round hat trimmed with a gray feather. all katy's dreams about the "saintly invalid" seemed to take wings and fly away. but the more she watched cousin helen the more she seemed to like her, and to feel as if she were nicer than the imaginary person which she and clover had invented. "she looks just like other people, don't she?" whispered cecy, who had come over to have a peep at the new arrival. "y-e-s," replied katy, doubtfully, "only a great, great deal prettier." by and by, papa carried cousin helen up stairs. all the children wanted to go too, but he told them she was tired, and must rest. so they went out doors to play till tea-time. "oh, do let me take up the tray," cried katy at the tea-table, as she watched aunt izzie getting ready cousin helen's supper. such a nice supper! cold chicken, and raspberries and cream, and tea in a pretty pink-and-white china cup. and such a snow-white napkin as aunt izzie spread over the tray! "no indeed," said aunt izzie; "you'll drop it the first thing." but katy's eyes begged so hard, that dr. carr said, "yes, let her, izzie; i like to see the girls useful." so katy, proud of the commission, took the tray and carried it carefully across the hall. there was a bowl of flowers on the table. as she passed, she was struck with a bright idea. she set down the tray, and picking out a rose, laid it on the napkin besides the saucer of crimson raspberries. it looked very pretty, and katy smiled to herself with pleasure. "what are you stopping for?" called aunt izzie, from the dining-room. "do be careful, katy, i really think bridget had better take it." "oh no, no!" protested katy, "i'm most up already." and she sped up stairs as fast as she could go. luckless speed! she had just reached the door of the blue-room, when she tripped upon her boot-lace, which, as usual, was dangling, made a misstep, and stumbled. she caught at the door to save herself; the door flew open; and katy, with the tray, cream, raspberries, rose and all, descended in a confused heap upon the carpet. "i told you so!" exclaimed aunt izzie from the bottom of the stairs. katy never forgot how kind cousin helen was on this occasion. she was in bed, and was of course a good deal startled at the sudden crash and tumble on her floor. but after one little jump, nothing could have been sweeter than the way in which she comforted poor crest-fallen katy, and made so merry over the accident, that even aunt izzie almost forgot to scold. the broken dishes were piled up and the carpet made clean again, while aunt izzie prepared another tray just as nice as the first. "please let katy bring it up!" pleaded cousin helen, in her pleasant voice, "i am sure she will be careful this time. and katy, i want just such another rose on the napkin. i guess that was your doing--wasn't it?" katy _was_ careful.--this time all went well. the tray was placed safely on a little table beside the bed, and katy sat watching cousin helen eat her supper with a warm, loving feeling at her heart. i think we are scarcely ever so grateful to people as when they help us to get back our own self-esteem. cousin helen hadn't much appetite, though she declared everything was delicious. katy could see that she was very tired. "now," she said, when she had finished, "if you'll shake up this pillow, _so;_--and move this other pillow a little, i think i will settle myself to sleep. thanks--that's just right. why, katy dear, you are a born nurse now kiss me. good-night! to-morrow we will have a nice talk." katy went down stairs very happy. "cousin helen's perfectly lovely," she told clover. "and she's got on the most _beautiful_ night-gown, all lace and ruffles. it's just like a night-gown in a book." "isn't it wicked to care about clothes when you're sick?" questioned cecy. "i don't believe cousin helen _could_ do anything wicked," said katy. "i told ma that she had on bracelets, and ma said she feared your cousin was a worldly person," retorted cecy, primming up her lips. katy and clover were quite distressed at this opinion. they talked about it while they were undressing. "i mean to ask cousin helen to-morrow," said katy. next morning the children got up very early. they were so glad that it was vacation! if it hadn't been, they would have been forced to go to school without seeing cousin helen, for she didn't wake till late. they grew so impatient of the delay, and went up stairs so often to listen at the door, and see if she were moving, that aunt izzie finally had to order them off. katy rebelled against this order a good deal, but she consoled herself by going into the garden and picking the prettiest flowers she could find, to give to cousin helen the moment she should see her. when aunt izzie let her go up, cousin helen was lying on the sofa all dressed for the day in a fresh blue muslin, with blue ribbons, and cunning bronze slippers with rosettes on the toes. the sofa had been wheeled round with its back to the light. there was a cushion with a pretty fluted cover, that katy had never seen before, and several other things were scattered about, which gave the room quite a different air. all the house was neat, but somehow aunt izzie's rooms never were pretty. children's eyes are quick to perceive such things, and katy saw at once that the blue-room had never looked like this. cousin helen was white and tired, but her eyes and smile were as bright as ever. she was delighted with the flowers, which katy presented rather shyly. "oh, how lovely!" she said; "i must put them in water right away. katy dear, don't you want to bring that little vase on the bureau and set it on this chair beside me? and please pour a little water into it first." "what a beauty!" cried katy, as she lifted the graceful white cup swung on a gilt stand. "is it yours, cousin helen?" "yes, it is my pet vase. it stands on a little table beside me at home, and i fancied that the water cure would seem more home-like if i had it with me there, so i brought it along. but why do you look so puzzled, katy? does it seem queer that a vase should travel about in a trunk?" "no," said katy, slowly, "i was only thinking--cousin helen, is it worldly to have pretty things when you're sick?" cousin helen laughed heartily. "what put that idea into your head?" she asked. "cecy said so when i told her about your beautiful night-gown." cousin helen laughed again. "well," she said, "i'll tell you what i think, katy. pretty things are no more 'worldly' than ugly ones, except when they spoil us by making us vain, or careless of the comfort of other people. and sickness is such a disagreeable thing in itself, that unless sick people take great pains, they soon grow to be eyesores to themselves and everybody about them. i don't think it is possible for an invalid to be too particular. and when one has the back-ache, and the head-ache, and the all-over ache," she added, smiling, "there isn't much danger of growing vain because of a ruffle more or less on one's night-gown, or a bit of bright ribbon." then she began to arrange the flowers, touching each separate one gently, and as if she loved it. "what a queer noise!" she exclaimed, suddenly stopping. it _was_ queer--a sort of snuffing and snorting sound, as if a walrus or a sea-horse were promenading up and down in the hall. katy opened the door. behold! there were john and dorry, very red in the face from flattening their noses against the key-hole, in a vain attempt to see if cousin helen were up and ready to receive company. "oh, let them come in!" cried cousin helen from her sofa. so they came in, followed, before long, by clover and elsie. such a merry morning as they had! cousin helen proved to possess a perfect genius for story-telling, and for suggesting games which could be played about her sofa, and did not make more noise than she could bear. aunt izzie, dropping in about eleven o'clock, found them having such a good time, that almost before she knew it, _she_ was drawn into the game too. nobody had ever heard of such a thing before! there sat aunt izzie on the floor, with three long lamp-lighters stuck in her hair, playing, "i'm a genteel lady, always genteel," in the jolliest manner possible. the children were so enchanted at the spectacle, that they could hardly attend to the game, and were always forgetting how many "horns" they had. clover privately thought that cousin helen must be a witch; and papa, when he came home at noon, said almost the same thing. "what have you been doing to them, helen?" he inquired, as he opened the door, and saw the merry circle on the carpet. aunt izzie's hair was half pulled down, and philly was rolling over and over in convulsions of laughter. but cousin helen said she hadn't done anything, and pretty soon papa was on the floor too, playing away as fast as the rest. "i must put a stop to this," he cried, when everybody was tired of laughing, and everybody's head was stuck as full of paper quills as a porcupine's back. "cousin helen will be worn out. run away, all of you, and don't come near this door again till the clock strikes four. do you hear, chicks? run--run! shoo! shoo!" the children scuttled away like a brood of fowls--all but katy. "oh, papa, i'll be _so_ quiet!" she pleaded. "mightn't i stay just till the dinner-bell rings?" "do let her!" said cousin helen, so papa said "yes." katy sat on the floor holding cousin helen's hand, and listening to her talk with papa. it interested her, though it was about things and people she did not know. "how is alex?" asked dr. carr, at length. "quite well now," replied cousin helen, with one of her brightest looks. "he was run down and tired in the spring, and we were a little anxious about him, but emma persuaded him to take a fortnight's vacation, and he came back all right." "do you see them often?" "almost every day. and little helen comes every day, you know, for her lessons." "is she as pretty as she used to be?" "oh yes--prettier, i think. she is a lovely little creature: having her so much with me is one of my greatest treats. alex tries to think that she looks a little as i used to. but that is a compliment so great, that i dare not appropriate it." dr. carr stooped and kissed cousin helen as if he could not help it. "my _dear_ child," he said. that was all; but something in the tone made katy curious. "papa," she said, after dinner, "who is alex, that you and cousin helen were talking about?" "why, katy? what makes you want to know?" "i can't exactly tell--only cousin helen looked so;--and you kissed her;--and i thought perhaps it was something interesting." "so it is," said dr. carr, drawing her on to his knee. "i've a mind to tell you about it, katy, because you're old enough to see how beautiful it is, and wise enough (i hope) not to chatter or ask questions. alex is the name of somebody who, long ago, when cousin helen was well and strong, she loved, and expected to marry." "oh! why didn't she?" cried katy. "she met with a dreadful accident," continued dr. carr. "for a long time they thought she would die. then she grew slowly better, and the doctors told her that she might live a good many years, but that she would have to lie on her sofa always, and be helpless, and a cripple. "alex felt dreadfully when he heard this. he wanted to marry cousin helen just the same, and be her nurse, and take care of her always; but she would not consent. she broke the engagement, and told him that some day she hoped he would love somebody else well enough to marry her. so after a good many years, he did, and now he and his wife live next door to cousin helen, and are her dearest friends. their little girl is named 'helen.' all their plans are talked over with her, and there is nobody in the world they think so much of." "but doesn't it make cousin helen feel bad, when she sees them walking about and enjoying themselves, and she can't move?" asked katy. "no," said dr. carr, "it doesn't, because cousin helen is half an angel already, and loves other people better than herself. i'm very glad she could come here for once. she's an example to us all, katy, and i couldn't ask anything better than to have my little girls take pattern after her." "it must be awful to be sick," soliloquized katy, after papa was gone. "why, if i had to stay in bed a whole week--i should _die_, i know i should." poor katy. it seemed to her, as it does to almost all young people, that there is nothing in the world so easy as to die, the moment things go wrong! this conversation with papa made cousin helen doubly interesting in katy's eyes. "it was just like something in a book," to be in the same house with the heroine of a love-story so sad and sweet. the play that afternoon was much interrupted, for every few minutes somebody had to run in and see if it wasn't four o'clock. the instant the hour came, all six children galloped up stairs. "i think we'll tell stories this time," said cousin helen. so they told stories. cousin helen's were the best of all. there was one of them about a robber, which sent delightful chills creeping down all their backs. all but philly. he was so excited, that he grew warlike. "i ain't afraid of robbers," he declared, strutting up and down. "when they come, i shall just cut them in two with my sword which papa gave me. they did come once. i did cut them in two--three, five, eleven of 'em. you'll see!" but that evening, after the younger children were gone to bed, and katy and clover were sitting in the blue-room, a lamentable howling was heard from the nursery. clover ran to see what was the matter. behold--there was phil, sitting up in bed, and crying for help. "there's robbers under the bed," he sobbed; "ever so many robbers." "why no, philly!" said clover, peeping under the valance to satisfy him; "there isn't anybody there." "yes, there is, i tell you," declared phil, holding her tight. "i heard one. they were _chewing my india-rubbers_." "poor little fellow!" said cousin helen, when clover, having pacified phil, came back to report. "it's a warning against robber stories. but this one ended so well, that i didn't think of anybody's being frightened." it was no use, after this, for aunt izzie to make rules about going into the blue-room. she might as well have ordered flies to keep away from a sugar-bowl. by hook or by crook, the children _would_ get up stairs. whenever aunt izzie went in, she was sure to find them there, just as close to cousin helen as they could get. and cousin helen begged her not to interfere. "we have only three or four days to be together," she said. "let them come as much as they like. it won't hurt me a bit." little elsie clung with a passionate love to this new friend. cousin helen had sharp eyes. she saw the wistful look in elsie's face at once, and took special pains to be sweet and tender to her. this preference made katy jealous. she couldn't bear to share her cousin with anybody. when the last evening came, and they went up after tea to the blue-room, cousin helen was opening a box which had just come by express. "it is a good-by box," she said. "all of you must sit down in a row, and when i hide my hands behind me, _so_, you must choose in turn which you will take." so they all chose in turn, "which hand will you have, the right or the left?" and cousin helen, with the air of a wise fairy, brought out from behind her pillow something pretty for each one. first came a vase exactly like her own, which katy had admired so much. katy screamed with delight as it was placed in her hands: "oh, how lovely! how lovely!" she cried. "i'll keep it as long as i live and breathe." "if you do, it'll be the first time you ever kept anything for a week without breaking it," remarked aunt izzie. next came a pretty purple pocket-book for clover. it was just what she wanted, for she had lost her porte-monnaie. then a cunning little locket on a bit of velvet ribbon, which cousin helen tied round elsie's neck. "there's a piece of my hair in it," she said. "why, elsie, darling, what's the matter? don't cry so!" "oh, you're s-o beautiful, and s-o sweet!" sobbed elsie; "and you're go-o-ing away." dorry had a box of dominoes, and john a solitaire board. for phil there appeared a book--"the history of the robber cat." "that will remind you of the night when the thieves came and chewed your india-rubbers," said cousin helen, with a mischievous smile. they all laughed, phil loudest of all. nobody was forgotten. there was a notebook for papa, and a set of ivory tablets for aunt izzie. even cecy was remembered. her present was "the book of golden deeds," with all sorts of stories about boys and girls who had done brave and good things. she was almost too pleased to speak. "oh, thank you, cousin helen!" she said at last. cecy wasn't a cousin, but she and the carr children were in the habit of sharing their aunts and uncles, and relations generally, as they did their other good things. next day came the sad parting. all the little ones stood at the gate, to wave their pocket-handkerchiefs as the carriage drove away. when it was quite out of sight, katy rushed off to "weep a little weep," all by herself. "papa said he wished we were all like cousin helen," she thought, as she wiped her eyes, "and i mean to try, though i don't suppose if i tried a thousand years i should ever get to be half so good. i'll study, and keep my things in order, and be ever so kind to the little ones. dear me--if only aunt izzie was cousin helen, how easy it would be! never mind--i'll think about her all the time, and i'll begin to-morrow." chapter viii to-morrow "to-morrow i will begin," thought katy, as she dropped asleep that night. how often we all do so! and what a pity it is that when morning comes and to-morrow is to-day, we so frequently wake up feeling quite differently; careless or impatient, and not a bit inclined to do the fine things we planned overnight. sometimes it seems as if there must be wicked little imps in the world, who are kept tied up so long as the sun shines, but who creep into our bed-rooms when we are asleep, to tease us and ruffle our tempers. else, why, when we go to rest good-natured and pleasant, should we wake up so cross? now there was katy. her last sleepy thought was an intention to be an angel from that time on, and as much like cousin helen as she could; and when she opened her eyes she was all out of sorts, and as fractious as a bear! old mary said that she got out of bed on the wrong side. i wonder, by the way, if anybody will ever be wise enough to tell us which side that is, so that we may always choose the other? how comfortable it would be if they could! you know how, if we begin the day in a cross mood, all sorts of unfortunate accidents seem to occur to add to our vexations. the very first thing katy did this morning was to break her precious vase--the one cousin helen had given her. it was standing on the bureau with a little cluster of blush-roses in it. the bureau had a swing-glass. while katy was brushing her hair, the glass tipped a little so that she could not see. at a good-humored moment, this accident wouldn't have troubled her much. but being out of temper to begin with, it made her angry. she gave the glass a violent push. the lower part swung forward, there was a smash, and the first thing katy knew, the blush-roses lay scattered all over the floor, and cousin helen's pretty present was ruined. katy just sat down on the carpet and cried as hard as if she had been phil himself. aunt izzie heard her lamenting, and came in. "i'm very sorry," she said, picking up the broken glass, "but it's no more than i expected, you're so careless, katy. now don't sit there in that foolish way! get up and dress yourself. you'll be late to breakfast." "what's the matter?" asked papa, noticing katy's red eyes as she took her seat at the table. "i've broken my vase," said katy, dolefully. "it was extremely careless of you to put it in such a dangerous place," said her aunt. "you might have known that the glass would swing and knock it off." then, seeing a big tear fall in the middle of katy's plate, she added: "really, katy, you're too big to behave like a baby. why dorry would be ashamed to do so. pray control yourself!" this snub did not improve katy's temper. she went on with her breakfast in sulky silence. "what are you all going to do to-day?" asked dr. carr, hoping to give things a more cheerful turn. "swing!" cried john and dorry both together. "alexander's put us up a splendid one in the wood-shed." "no you're not," said aunt izzie in a positive tone, "the swing is not to be used till to-morrow. remember that, children. not till to-morrow. and not then, unless i give you leave." this was unwise of aunt izzie. she would better have explained farther. the truth was, that alexander, in putting up the swing, had cracked one of the staples which fastened it to the roof. he meant to get a new one in the course of the day, and, meantime, he had cautioned miss carr to let no one use the swing, because it really was not safe. if she had told this to the children, all would have been right; but aunt izzie's theory was, that young people must obey their elders without explanation. john, and elsie, and dorry, all pouted when they heard this order. elsie recovered her good-humor first. "i don't care," she said, "'cause i'm going to be very busy; i've got to write a letter to cousin helen about somefing." (elsie never could quite pronounce the _th_.) "what?" asked clover. "oh, somefing," answered elsie, wagging her head mysteriously. "none of the rest of you must know, cousin helen said so, it's a secret she and me has got." "i don't believe cousin helen said so at all," said katy, crossly. "she wouldn't tell secrets to a silly little girl like you." "yes she would too," retorted elsie angrily. "she said i was just as good to trust as if i was ever so big. and she said i was her pet. so there! katy carr!" "stop disputing," said aunt izzie. "katy your top-drawer is all out of order. i never saw anything look so badly. go up stairs at once and straighten it, before you do anything else. children, you must keep in the shade this morning. it's too hot for you to be running about in the sun. elsie, go into the kitchen and tell debby i want to speak to her." "yes," said elsie, in an important tone, "and afterwards i'm coming back to write my letter to cousin helen." katy went slowly up stairs, dragging one foot after the other. it was a warm, languid day. her head ached a little, and her eyes smarted and felt heavy from crying so much. everything seemed dull and hateful. she said to herself, that aunt izzie was very unkind to make her work in vacation, and she pulled the top-drawer open with a disgusted groan. it must be confessed that miss izzie was right. a bureau-drawer could hardly look worse than this one did. it reminded one of the white knight's recipe for a pudding, which began with blotting-paper, and ended with sealing-wax and gunpowder. all sorts of things were mixed together, as if somebody had put in a long stick and stirred them well up. there were books and paint-boxes and bits of scribbled paper, and lead-pencils and brushes. stocking-legs had come unrolled, and twisted themselves about pocket-handkerchiefs, and ends of ribbon, and linen collars. ruffles, all crushed out of shape, stuck up from under the heavier things, and sundry little paper boxes lay empty on top, the treasures they once held having sifted down to the bottom of the drawer, and disappeared beneath the general mass. it took much time and patience to bring order out of this confusion. but katy knew that aunt izzie would be up by and by, and she dared not stop till all was done. by the time it was finished, she was very tired. going down stairs, she met elsie coming up with a slate in her hand, which, as soon as she saw katy, she put behind her. "you mustn't look," she said, "it's my letter to cousin helen. nobody but me knows the secret. it's all written, and i'm going to send it to the office. see--there's a stamp on it;" and she exhibited a corner of the slate. sure enough, there was a stamp stuck on the frame. "you little goose!" said katy, impatiently, "you can't send _that_ to the post-office. here, give me the slate. i'll copy what you've written on paper, and papa'll give you an envelope." "no, no," cried elsie, struggling, "you mustn't! you'll see what i've said and cousin helen said i wasn't to tell. it's a secret. let go of my slate, i say! i'll tell cousin helen what a mean girl you are, and then she won't love you a bit." "there, then, take your old slate!" said katy, giving her a vindictive push. elsie slipped, screamed, caught at the banisters, missed them, and rolling over and over, fell with a thump on the hall floor. it wasn't much of a fall, only half-a-dozen steps, but the bump was a hard one, and elsie roared as if she had been half killed. aunt izzie and mary came rushing to the spot. "katy--pushed--me," sobbed elsie. "she wanted me to tell her my secret, and i wouldn't. she's a bad, naughty girl!" "well, katy carr, i _should_ think you'd be ashamed of yourself," said aunt izzie, "wreaking your temper on your poor little sister! i think your cousin helen will be surprised when she hears this. there, there, elsie! don't cry any more, dear. come up stairs with me. i'll put on some arnica, and katy sha'n't hurt you again." so they went up stairs. katy, left below, felt very miserable: repentant, defiant, discontented, and sulky all at once. she knew in her heart that she had not meant to hurt elsie, but was thoroughly ashamed of that push; but aunt izzie's hint about telling cousin helen, had made her too angry to allow of her confessing this to herself or anybody else. "i don't care!" she murmured, choking back her tears. "elsie is a real cry-baby, anyway. and aunt izzie always takes her part. just because i told the little silly not to go and send a great heavy slate to the post-office!" she went out by the side-door into the yard. as she passed the shed, the new swing caught her eye. "how exactly like aunt izzie," she thought, "ordering the children not to swing till she gives them leave. i suppose she thinks it's too hot, or something. _i_ sha'n't mind her, anyhow." she seated herself in the swing. it was a first-rate one, with a broad, comfortable seat, and thick new ropes. the seat hung just the right distance from the floor. alexander was a capital hand at putting up swings, and the wood-shed the nicest possible spot in which to have one. it was a big place, with a very high roof. there was not much wood left in it just now, and the little there was, was piled neatly about the sides of the shed, so as to leave plenty of room. the place felt cool and dark, and the motion of the swing seemed to set the breeze blowing. it waved katy's hair like a great fan, and made her dreamy and quiet. all sorts of sleepy ideas began to flit through her brain. swinging to and fro like the pendulum of a great clock, she gradually rose higher and higher, driving herself along by the motion of her body, and striking the floor smartly with her foot, at every sweep. now she was at the top of the high arched door. then she could almost touch the cross-beam above it, and through the small square window could see pigeons sitting and pluming themselves on the eaves of the barn, and white clouds blowing over the blue sky. she had never swung so high before. it was like flying, she thought, and she bent and curved more strongly in the seat, trying to send herself yet higher, and graze the roof with her toes. suddenly, at the very highest point of the sweep, there was a sharp noise of cracking. the swing gave a violent twist, spun half round, and tossed katy into the air. she clutched the rope,--felt it dragged from her grasp,--then, down,--down--down--she fell. all grew dark, and she knew no more. when she opened her eyes she was lying on the sofa in the dining-room. clover was kneeling beside her with a pale, scared face, and aunt izzie was dropping something cold and wet on her forehead. "what's the matter?" said katy, faintly. "oh, she's alive--she's alive!" and clover put her arms round katy's neck and sobbed. "hush, dear!" aunt izzie's voice sounded unusually gentle. "you've had a bad tumble, katy. don't you recollect?" "a tumble? oh, yes--out of the swing," said katy, as it all came slowly back to her. "did the rope break, aunt izzie? i can't remember about it." "no, katy, not the rope. the staple drew out of the roof. it was a cracked one, and not safe. don't you recollect my telling you not to swing to-day? did you forget?" "no, aunt izzie--i didn't forget. i--" but here katy broke down. she closed her eyes, and big tears rolled from under the lids. "don't cry," whispered clover, crying herself, "please don't. aunt izzie isn't going to scold you." but katy was too weak and shaken not to cry. "i think i'd like to go up stairs and lie on the bed," she said. but when she tried to get off the sofa, everything swam before her, and she fell back again on the pillow. "why, i can't stand up!" she gasped, looking very much frightened. "i'm afraid you've given yourself a sprain somewhere," said aunt izzie, who looked rather frightened herself. "you'd better lie still a while, dear, before you try to move. ah, here's the doctor! well, i am glad." and she went forward to meet him. it wasn't papa, but dr. alsop, who lived quite near them. "i am so relieved that you could come," aunt izzie said. "my brother is gone out of town not to return till to-morrow, and one of the little girls has had a bad fall." dr. alsop sat down beside the sofa and counted katy's pulse. then he began feeling all over her. "can you move this leg?" he asked. katy gave a feeble kick. "and this?" the kick was a good deal more feeble. "did that hurt you?" asked dr. alsop, seeing a look of pain on her face. "yes, a little," replied katy, trying hard not to cry. "in your back, eh? was the pain high up or low down?" and the doctor punched katy's spine for some minutes, making her squirm uneasily. "i'm afraid she's done some mischief," he said at last, "but it's impossible to tell yet exactly what. it may be only a twist, or a slight sprain," he added, seeing the look of terror on katy's face. "you'd better get her up stairs and undress her as soon as you can, miss carr. i'll leave a prescription to rub her with." and dr. alsop took out a bit of paper and began to write. "oh, must i go to bed?" said katy. "how long will i have to stay there, doctor?" "that depends on how fast you get well," replied the doctor; "not long, i hope. perhaps only a few days. "a few days!" repeated katy, in a despairing tone. after the doctor was gone, aunt izzie and debby lifted katy, and carried her slowly up stairs. it was not easy, for every motion hurt her, and the sense of being helpless hurt most of all. she couldn't help crying after she was undressed and put into bed. it all seemed so dreadful and strange. if only papa was here, she thought. but dr. carr had gone into the country to see somebody who was very sick, and couldn't possibly be back till to-morrow. such a long, long afternoon as that was! aunt izzie sent up some dinner, but katy couldn't eat. her lips were parched and her head ached violently. the sun began to pour in, the room grew warm. flies buzzed in the window, and tormented her by lighting on her face. little prickles of pain ran up and down her back. she lay with her eyes shut, because it hurt to keep them open, and all sorts of uneasy thoughts went rushing through her mind. "perhaps, if my back is really sprained, i shall have to lie here as much as a week," she said to herself. "oh dear, dear! i _can't_. the vacation is only eight weeks, and i was going to do such lovely things! how can people be as patient as cousin helen when they have to lie still? won't she be sorry when she hears! was it really yesterday that she went away? it seems a year. if only i hadn't got into that nasty old swing!" and then katy began to imagine how it would have been if she _hadn't_, and how she and clover had meant to go to paradise that afternoon. they might have been there under the cool trees now. as these thoughts ran through her mind, her head grew hotter and her position in the bed more uncomfortable. suddenly she became conscious that the glaring light from the window was shaded, and that the wind seemed to be blowing freshly over her. she opened her heavy eyes. the blinds were shut, and there beside the bed sat little elsie, fanning her with a palm-leaf fan. "did i wake you up, katy?" she asked in a timid voice. katy looked at her with startled, amazed eyes. "don't be frightened," said elsie, "i won't disturb you. johnnie and me are so sorry you're sick," and her little lips trembled. "but we mean to keep real quiet, and never bang the nursery door, or make noises on the stairs, till you're well again. and i've brought you somefing real nice. some of it's from john, and some from me. it's because you got tumbled out of the swing. see--" and elsie pointed triumphantly to a chair, which she had pulled up close to the bed, and on which were solemnly set forth: st. a pewter tea-set; d. a box with a glass lid, on which flowers were painted; d. a jointed doll; th. a transparent slate; and lastly, two new lead pencils! "they're all yours--yours to keep," said generous little elsie. "you can have pikery, too, if you want. only he's pretty big, and i'm afraid he'd be lonely without me. don't you like the fings, katy? they're real pretty!" it seemed to katy as if the hottest sort of a coal of fire was burning into the top of her head as she looked at the treasures on the chair, and then at elsie's face all lighted up with affectionate self-sacrifice. she tried to speak, but began to cry instead, which frightened elsie very much. "does it hurt you so bad?" she asked, crying, too, from sympathy. "oh, no! it isn't that," sobbed katy, "but i was so cross to you this morning, elsie, and pushed you. oh, please forgive me, please do!" "why, it's got well!" said elsie, surprised. "aunt izzie put a fing out of a bottle on it, and the bump all went away. shall i go and ask her to put some on you too--i will." and she ran toward the door. "oh, no!" cried katy, "don't go away, elsie. come here and kiss me, instead." elsie turned as if doubtful whether this invitation could be meant for her. katy held out her arms. elsie ran right into them, and the big sister and the little, exchanged an embrace which seemed to bring their hearts closer together than they had ever been before. "you're the most _precious_ little darling," murmured katy, clasping elsie tight. "i've been real horrid to you, elsie. but i'll never be again. you shall play with me and clover, and cecy, just as much as you like, and write notes in all the post-offices, and everything else." "oh, goody! goody!" cried elsie, executing little skips of transport. "how sweet you are, katy! i mean to love you next best to cousin helen and papa! and"--racking her brains for some way of repaying this wonderful kindness--"i'll tell you the secret, if you want me to _very_ much. i guess cousin helen would let me." "no!" said katy; "never mind about the secret. i don't want you to tell it to me. sit down by the bed, and fan me some more instead." "no!" persisted elsie, who, now that she had made up her mind to part with the treasured secret, could not bear to be stopped. "cousin helen gave me a half-dollar, and told me to give it to debby, and tell her she was much obliged to her for making her such nice things to eat. and i did. and debby was real pleased. and i wrote cousin helen a letter, and told her that debby liked the half-dollar. that's the secret! isn't it a nice one? only you mustn't tell anybody about it, ever--just as long as you live." "no!" said katy, smiling faintly, "i won't." all the rest of the afternoon elsie sat beside the bed with her palm-leaf fan, keeping off the flies, and "shue"-ing away the other children when they peeped in at the door. "do you really like to have me here?" she asked, more than once, and smiled, oh, _so_ triumphantly! when katy said "yes!" but though katy said yes, i am afraid it was only half the truth, for the sight of the dear little forgiving girl, whom she had treated unkindly, gave her more pain than pleasure. "i'll be _so_ good to her when i get well," she thought to herself, tossing uneasily to and fro. aunt izzie slept in her room that night. katy was feverish. when morning came, and dr. carr returned, he found her in a good deal of pain, hot and restless, with wide-open, anxious eyes. "papa!" she cried the first thing, "must i lie here as much as a week?" "my darling, i'm afraid you must," replied her father, who looked worried, and very grave. "dear, dear!" sobbed katy, "how can i bear it?" chapter ix dismal days if anybody had told katy, that first afternoon, that at the end of a week she would still be in bed, and in pain, and with no time fixed for getting up, i think it would have almost killed her. she was so restless and eager, that to lie still seemed one of the hardest things in the world. but to lie still and have her back ache all the time, was worse yet. day after day she asked papa with quivering lip: "mayn't i get up and go down stairs this morning?" and when he shook his head, the lip would quiver more, and tears would come. but if she tried to get up, it hurt her so much, that in spite of herself she was glad to sink back again on the soft pillows and mattress, which felt so comfortable to her poor bones. then there came a time when katy didn't even ask to be allowed to get up. a time when sharp, dreadful pain, such as she never imagined before, took hold of her. when days and nights got all confused and tangled up together, and aunt izzie never seemed to go to bed. a time when papa was constantly in her room. when other doctors came and stood over her, and punched and felt her back, and talked to each other in low whispers. it was all like a long, bad dream, from which she couldn't wake up, though she tried ever so hard. now and then she would rouse a little, and catch the sound of voices, or be aware that clover or elsie stood at the door, crying softly; or that aunt izzie, in creaking slippers, was going about the room on tiptoe. then all these things would slip away again, and she would drop off into a dark place, where there was nothing but pain, and sleep, which made her forget pain, and so seemed the best thing in the world. we will hurry over this time, for it is hard to think of our bright katy in such a sad plight. by and by the pain grew less, and the sleep quieter. then, as the pain became easier still, katy woke up as it were--began to take notice of what was going on about her; to put questions. "how long have i been sick?" she asked one morning. "it is four weeks yesterday," said papa. "four weeks!" said katy. "why, i didn't know it was so long as that. was i very sick, papa?" "very, dear. but you are a great deal better now." "how did i hurt me when i tumbled out of the swing?" asked katy, who was in an unusually wakeful mood. "i don't believe i could make you understand, dear." "but try, papa!" "well--did you know that you had a long bone down your back, called a spine?" "i thought that was a disease," said katy. "clover said that cousin helen had the spine!" "no--the spine is a bone. it is made up of a row of smaller bones--or knobs--and in the middle of it is a sort of rope of nerves called the spinal cord. nerves, you know, are the things we feel with. well, this spinal cord is rolled up for safe keeping in a soft wrapping, called membrane. when you fell out of the swing, you struck against one of these knobs, and bruised the membrane inside, and the nerve inflamed, and gave you a fever in the back. do you see?" "a little," said katy, not quite understanding, but too tired to question farther. after she had rested a while, she said: "is the fever well now, papa? can i get up again and go down stairs right away?" "not right away, i'm afraid," said dr. carr, trying to speak cheerfully. katy didn't ask any more questions then. another week passed, and another. the pain was almost gone. it only came back now and then for a few minutes. she could sleep now, and eat, and be raised in bed without feeling giddy. but still the once active limbs hung heavy and lifeless, and she was not able to walk, or even stand alone. "my legs feel so queer," she said one morning, "they are just like the prince's legs which were turned to black marble in the arabian nights. what do you suppose is the reason, papa? won't they feel natural soon?" "not soon," answered dr. carr. then he said to himself: "poor child! she had better know the truth." so he went on, aloud, "i am afraid, my darling, that you must make up your mind to stay in bed a long time." "how long?" said katy, looking frightened: "a month more?" "i can't tell exactly how long," answered her father. "the doctors think, as i do, that the injury to your spine is one which you will outgrow by and by, because you are so young and strong. but it may take a good while to do it. it may be that you will have to lie here for months, or it may be more. the only cure for such a hurt is time and patience. it is hard, darling"--for katy began to sob wildly--"but you have hope to help you along. think of poor cousin helen, bearing all these years without hope!" "oh, papa!" gasped katy, between her sobs, "doesn't it seem dreadful, that just getting into the swing for a few minutes should do so much harm? such a little thing as that!" "yes, such a little thing!" repeated dr. carr, sadly. "and it was only a little thing, too, forgetting aunt izzie's order about the swing. just for the want of the small 'horseshoe nail' of obedience, katy." years afterwards, katy told somebody that the longest six weeks of her life were those which followed this conversation with papa. now that she knew there was no chance of getting well at once, the days dragged dreadfully. each seemed duller and dismaller than the day before. she lost heart about herself, and took no interest in anything. aunt izzie brought her books, but she didn't want to read, or to sew. nothing amused her. clover and cecy would come and sit with her, but hearing them tell about their plays, and the things they had been doing, made her cry so miserably, that aunt izzie wouldn't let them come often. they were very sorry for katy, but the room was so gloomy, and katy so cross, that they didn't mind much not being allowed to see her. in those days katy made aunt izzie keep the blinds shut tight, and she lay in the dark, thinking how miserable she was, and how wretched all the rest of her life was going to be. everybody was very kind and patient with her, but she was too selfishly miserable to notice it. aunt izzie ran up and down stairs, and was on her feet all day, trying to get something which would please her, but katy hardly said "thank you," and never saw how tired aunt izzie looked. so long as she was forced to stay in bed, katy could not be grateful for anything that was done for her. but doleful as the days were, they were not so bad as the nights, when, after aunt izzie was asleep, katy would lie wide awake, and have long, hopeless fits of crying. at these times she would think of all the plans she had made for doing beautiful things when she was grown up. "and now i shall never do any of them," she would say to herself, "only just lie here. papa says i may get well by and by, but i sha'n't, i know i sha'n't. and even if i do, i shall have wasted all these years, and the others will grow up and get ahead of me, and i sha'n't be a comfort to them or to anybody else. oh dear! oh dear! how dreadful it is!" the first thing which broke in upon this sad state of affairs, was a letter from cousin helen, which papa brought one morning and handed to aunt izzie. "helen tells me she's going home this week," said aunt izzie, from the window, where she had gone to read the letter. "well, i'm sorry, but i think she's quite right not to stop. it's just as she says: one invalid at a time is enough in a house. i'm sure i have my hands full with katy." "oh, aunt izzie!" cried katy, "is cousin helen coming this way when she goes home? oh! do make her stop. if it's just for one day, do ask her! i want to see her so much! i can't tell you how much! won't you? please! please, dear papa!" she was almost crying with eagerness. "why, yes, darling, if you wish it so much," said dr. carr. "it will cost aunt izzie some trouble, but she's so kind that i'm sure she'll manage it if it is to give you so much pleasure. can't you, izzie?" and he looked eagerly at his sister. "of course i will!" said miss izzie, heartily. katy was so glad, that, for the first time in her life, she threw her arms of her own accord round aunt izzie's neck, and kissed her. "thank you, dear aunty!" she said. aunt izzie looked as pleased as could be. she had a warm heart hidden under her fidgety ways--only katy had never been sick before, to find it out. for the next week katy was feverish with expectation. at last cousin helen came. this time katy was not on the steps to welcome her, but after a little while papa brought cousin helen in his arms, and sat her in a big chair beside the bed. "how dark it is!" she said, after they had kissed each other and talked for a minute or two; "i can't see your face at all. would it hurt your eyes to have a little more light?" "oh no!" answered katy. "it don't hurt my eyes, only i hate to have the sun come in. it makes me feel worse, somehow." "push the blind open a little bit then clover;" and clover did so. "now i can see," said cousin helen. it was a forlorn-looking child enough which she saw lying before her. katy's face had grown thin, and her eyes had red circles about them from continual crying. her hair had been brushed twice that morning by aunt izzie, but katy had run her fingers impatiently through it, till it stood out above her head like a frowsy bush. she wore a calico dressing-gown, which, though clean, was particularly ugly in pattern; and the room, for all its tidiness, had a dismal look, with the chairs set up against the wall, and a row of medicine-bottles on the chimney-piece. "isn't it horrid?" sighed katy, as cousin helen looked around. "everything's horrid. but i don't mind so much now that you've come. oh, cousin helen, i've had such a dreadful, _dreadful_ time!" "i know," said her cousin, pityingly. "i've heard all about it, katy, and i'm so very sorry for you! it is a hard trial, my poor darling." "but how do _you_ do it?" cried katy. "how do you manage to be so sweet and beautiful and patient, when you're feeling badly all the time, and can't do anything, or walk, or stand?"--her voice was lost in sobs. cousin helen didn't say anything for a little while. she just sat and stroked katy's hand. "katy," she said at last, "has papa told you that he thinks you are going to get well by and by?" "yes," replied katy, "he did say so. but perhaps it won't be for a long, long time. and i wanted to do so many things. and now i can't do anything at all!" "what sort of things?" "study, and help people, and become famous. and i wanted to teach the children. mamma said i must take care of them, and i meant to. and now i can't go to school or learn anything myself. and if i ever do get well, the children will be almost grown up, and they won't need me." "but why must you wait till you get well?" asked cousin helen, smiling. "why, cousin helen, what can i do lying here in bed?" "a good deal. shall i tell you, katy, what it seems to me that i should say to myself if i were in your place?" "yes, please!" replied katy wonderingly. "i should say this: 'now, katy carr, you wanted to go to school and learn to be wise and useful, and here's a chance for you. god is going to let you go to _his_ school--where he teaches all sorts of beautiful things to people. perhaps he will only keep you for one term, or perhaps it may be for three or four; but whichever it is, you must make the very most of the chance, because he gives it to you himself.'" "but what is the school?" asked katy. "i don't know what you mean." "it is called the school of pain," replied cousin helen, with her sweetest smile. "and the place where the lessons are to be learned is this room of yours. the rules of the school are pretty hard, but the good scholars, who keep them best, find out after a while how right and kind they are. and the lessons aren't easy, either, but the more you study the more interesting they become." "what are the lessons?" asked katy, getting interested, and beginning to feel as if cousin helen were telling her a story. "well, there's the lesson of patience. that's one of the hardest studies. you can't learn much of it at a time, but every bit you get by heart, makes the next bit easier. and there's the lesson of cheerfulness. and the lesson of making the best of things." "sometimes there isn't anything to make the best of," remarked katy, dolefully. "yes there is, always! everything in the world has two handles. didn't you know that? one is a smooth handle. if you take hold of it, the thing comes up lightly and easily, but if you seize the rough handle, it hurts your hand and the thing is hard to lift. some people always manage to get hold of the wrong handle." "is aunt izzie a 'thing?'" asked katy. cousin helen was glad to hear her laugh. "yes--aunt izzie is a _thing_--and she has a nice pleasant handle too, if you just try to find it. and the children are 'things,' also, in one sense. all their handles are different. you know human beings aren't made just alike, like red flower-pots. we have to feel and guess before we can make out just how other people go, and how we ought to take hold of them. it is very interesting, i advise you to try it. and while you are trying, you will learn all sorts of things which will help you to help others." "if i only could!" sighed katy. "are there any other studies in the school, cousin helen?" "yes, there's the lesson of hopefulness. that class has ever so many teachers. the sun is one. he sits outside the window all day waiting a chance to slip in and get at his pupil. he's a first-rate teacher, too. i wouldn't shut him out, if i were you. "every morning, the first thing when i woke up, i would say to myself: 'i am going to get well, so papa thinks. perhaps it may be to-morrow. so, in case this _should_ be the last day of my sickness, let me spend it _beauti-_fully, and make my sick-room so pleasant that everybody will like to remember it.' "then, there is one more lesson, katy--the lesson of neatness. school-rooms must be kept in order, you know. a sick person ought to be as fresh and dainty as a rose." "but it is such a fuss," pleaded katy. "i don't believe you've any idea what a bother it is to always be nice and in order. you never were careless like me, cousin helen; you were born neat." "oh, was i?" said her cousin. "well, katy, we won't dispute that point, but i'll tell you a story, if you like, about a girl i once knew, who _wasn't_ born neat." "oh, do!" cried katy, enchanted. cousin helen had done her good, already. she looked brighter and less listless than for days. "this girl was quite young," continued cousin helen; "she was strong and active, and liked to run, and climb, and ride, and do all sorts of jolly things. one day something happened--an accident--and they told her that all the rest of her life she had got to lie on her back and suffer pain, and never walk any more, or do any of the things she enjoyed most." "just like you and me!" whispered katy, squeezing cousin helen's hand. "something like me; but not so much like you, because, you know, we hope _you_ are going to get well one of these days. the girl didn't mind it so much when they first told her, for she was so ill that she felt sure she should die. but when she got better, and began to think of the long life which lay before her, that was worse than ever the pain had been. she was so wretched, that she didn't care what became of anything, or how anything looked. she had no aunt izzie to look after things, so her room soon got into a dreadful state. it was full of dust and confusion, and dirty spoons and phials of physic. she kept the blinds shut, and let her hair tangle every which way, and altogether was a dismal spectacle. "this girl had a dear old father," went on cousin helen, "who used to come every day and sit beside her bed. one morning he said to her: "'my daughter, i'm afraid you've got to live in this room for a long time. now there's one thing i want you to do for my sake.' "'what's that?' she asked, surprised to hear there was anything left which she could _do_ for anybody. "'i want you to turn out all these physic bottles, and make your room pleasant and pretty for _me_ to come and sit in. you see, i shall spend a good deal of my time here! now i don't like dust and darkness. i like to see flowers on the table, and sunshine in at the window. will you do this to please me?' "'yes,' said the girl, but she gave a sigh, and i am afraid she felt as if it was going to be a dreadful trouble. "'then, another thing,' continued her father, 'i want _you_ to look pretty. can't nightgowns and wrappers be trimmed and made becoming just as much as dresses? a sick woman who isn't neat is a disagreeable object. do, to please me, send for something pretty, and let me see you looking nice again. i can't bear to have my helen turn into a slattern.'" "helen!" exclaimed katy, with wide-open eyes, "was it _you_?" "yes," said her cousin, smiling. "it was i though i didn't mean to let the name slip out so soon. so, after my father was gone away, i sent for a looking-glass. such a sight, katy! my hair was a perfect mouse's nest, and i had frowned so much that my forehead was all criss-crossed with lines of pain, till it looked like an old woman's." katy stared at cousin helen's smooth brow and glossy hair. "i can't believe it," she said; "your hair never could be rough." "yes it was--worse, a great deal, than yours looks now. but that peep in the glass did me good. i began to think how selfishly i was behaving, and to desire to do better. and after that, when the pain came on, i used to lie and keep my forehead smooth with my fingers, and try not to let my face show what i was enduring. so by and by the wrinkles wore away, and though i am a good deal older now, they have never come back. "it was a great deal of trouble at first to have to think and plan to keep my room and myself looking nice. but after a while it grew to be a habit, and then it became easy. and the pleasure it gave my dear father repaid for all. he had been proud of his active, healthy girl, but i think she was never such a comfort to him as his sick one, lying there in her bed. my room was his favorite sitting-place, and he spent so much time there, that now the room, and everything in it, makes me think of him." there were tears in cousin helen's eyes as she ceased speaking. but katy looked bright and eager. it seemed somehow to be a help, as well as a great surprise, that ever there should have been a time when cousin helen was less perfect than she was now. "do you really think i could do so too?" she asked. "do what? comb your hair?" cousin helen was smiling now. "oh no! be nice and sweet and patient, and a comfort to people. you know what i mean." "i am sure you can, if you try." "but what would you do first?" asked katy; who, now that her mind had grasped a new idea, was eager to begin. "well--first i would open the blinds, and make the room look a little less dismal. are you taking all those medicines in the bottles now?" "no--only that big one with the blue label." "then you might ask aunt izzy to take away the others. and i'd get clover to pick a bunch of fresh flowers every day for your table. by the way, i don't see the little white vase." "no--it got broken the very day after you went away; the day i fell out of the swing," said katy, sorrowfully. "never mind, pet, don't look so doleful. i know the tree those vases grow upon, and you shall have another. then, after the room is made pleasant, i would have all my lesson-books fetched up, if i were you, and i would study a couple of hours every morning." "oh!" cried katy, making a wry face at the idea. cousin helen smiled. "i know," said she, "it sounds like dull work, learning geography and doing sums up here all by yourself. but i think if you make the effort you'll be glad by and by. you won't lose so much ground, you see--won't slip back quite so far in your education. and then, studying will be like working at a garden, where things don't grow easily. every flower you raise will be a sort of triumph, and you will value it twice as much as a common flower which has cost no trouble." "well," said katy, rather forlornly, "i'll try. but it won't be a bit nice studying without anybody to study with me. is there anything else, cousin helen?" just then the door creaked, and elsie timidly put her head into the room. "oh, elsie, run away!" cried katy. "cousin helen and i are talking. don't come just now." katy didn't speak unkindly, but elsie's face fell, and she looked disappointed. she said nothing, however, but shut the door and stole away. cousin helen watched this little scene without speaking. for a few minutes after elsie was gone she seemed to be thinking. "katy," she said at last, "you were saying just now, that one of the things you were sorry about was that while you were ill you could be of no use to the children. do you know, i don't think you have that reason for being sorry." "why not?" said katy, astonished. "because you can be of use. it seems to me that you have more of a chance with the children now, than you ever could have had when you were well, and flying about as you used. you might do almost anything you liked with them." "i can't think what you mean," said katy, sadly. "why, cousin helen, half the time i don't even know where they are, or what they are doing. and i can't get up and go after them, you know." "but you can make your room such a delightful place, that they will want to come to you! don't you see, a sick person has one splendid chance--she is always on hand. everybody who wants her knows just where to go. if people love her, she gets naturally to be the heart of the house. "once make the little ones feel that your room is the place of all others to come to when they are tired, or happy, or grieved, or sorry about anything, and that the katy who lives there is sure to give them a loving reception--and the battle is won. for you know we never do people good by lecturing; only by living their lives with them, and helping a little here, and a little there, to make them better. and when one's own life is laid aside for a while, as yours is now, that is the very time to take up other people's lives, as we can't do when we are scurrying and bustling over our own affairs. but i didn't mean to preach a sermon. i'm afraid you're tired." "no, i'm not a bit," said katy, holding cousin helen's hand tight in hers; "you can't think how much better i feel. oh, cousin helen, i will try!" "it won't be easy," replied her cousin. "there will be days when your head aches, and you feel cross and fretted, and don't want to think of any one but yourself. and there'll be other days when clover and the rest will come in, as elsie did just now, and you will be doing something else, and will feel as if their coming was a bother. but you must recollect that every time you forget, and are impatient or selfish, you chill them and drive them farther away. they are loving little things, and are so sorry for you now, that nothing you do makes them angry. but by and by they will get used to having you sick, and if you haven't won them as friends, they will grow away from you as they get older." just then dr. carr came in. "oh, papa! you haven't come to take cousin helen, have you?" cried katy. "indeed i have," said her father. "i think the big invalid and the little invalid have talked quite long enough. cousin helen looks tired." for a minute, katy felt just like crying. but she choked back the tears. "my first lesson in patience," she said to herself, and managed to give a faint, watery smile as papa looked at her. "that's right, dear," whispered cousin helen, as she bent forward to kiss her. "and one last word, katy. in this school, to which you and i belong, there is one great comfort, and that is that the teacher is always at hand. he never goes away. if things puzzle us, there he is, close by, ready to explain and make all easy. try to think of this, darling, and don't be afraid to ask him for help if the lesson seems too hard." katy had a strange dream that night. she thought she was trying to study a lesson out of a book which wouldn't come quite open. she could just see a little bit of what was inside, but it was in a language which she did not understand. she tried in vain; not a word could she read; and yet, for all that, it looked so interesting that she longed to go on. "oh, if somebody would only help me!" she cried impatiently. suddenly a hand came over her shoulder and took hold of the book. it opened at once, and showed the whole page. and then the forefinger of the hand began to point to line after line, and as it moved the words became plain, and katy could read them easily. she looked up. there, stooping over her, was a great beautiful face. the eyes met hers. the lips smiled. "why didn't you ask me before, little scholar?" said a voice. "why, it is you, just as cousin helen told me!" cried katy. she must have spoken in her sleep, for aunt izzie half woke up, and said: "what is it? do you want anything?" the dream broke, and katy roused, to find herself in bed, with the first sunbeams struggling in at the window, and aunt izzie raised on her elbow, looking at her with a sort of sleepy wonder. chapter x st. nicholas and st. valentine "what are the children all doing to-day?" said katy laying down "norway and the norwegians," which she was reading for the fourth time; "i haven't seen them since breakfast." aunt izzie, who was sewing on the other side of the room, looked up from her work. "i don't know," she said, "they're over at cecy's, or somewhere. they'll be back before long, i guess." her voice sounded a little odd and mysterious, but katy didn't notice it. "i thought of such a nice plan yesterday," she went on. "that was that all of them should hang their stockings up here to-morrow night instead of in the nursery. then i could see them open their presents, you know. mayn't they, aunt izzie? it would be real fun." "i don't believe there will be any objection," replied her aunt. she looked as if she were trying not to laugh. katy wondered what was the matter with her. it was more than two months now since cousin helen went away, and winter had fairly come. snow was falling out-doors. katy could see the thick flakes go whirling past the window, but the sight did not chill her. it only made the room look warmer and more cosy. it was a pleasant room now. there was a bright fire in the grate. everything was neat and orderly, the air was sweet with mignonette, from a little glass of flowers which stood on the table, and the katy who lay in bed, was a very different-looking katy from the forlorn girl of the last chapter. cousin helen's visit, though it lasted only one day, did great good. not that katy grew perfect all at once. none of us do that, even in books. but it is everything to be started in the right path. katy's feet were on it now; and though she often stumbled and slipped, and often sat down discouraged, she kept on pretty steadily, in spite of bad days, which made her say to herself that she was not getting forward at all. these bad days, when everything seemed hard, and she herself was cross and fretful, and drove the children out of her room, cost katy many bitter tears. but after them she would pick herself up, and try again, and harder. and i think that in spite of drawbacks, the little scholar, on the whole, was learning her lesson pretty well. cousin helen was a great comfort all this time. she never forgot katy. nearly every week some little thing came from her. sometimes it was a pencil note, written from her sofa. sometimes it was an interesting book, or a new magazine, or some pretty little thing for the room. the crimson wrapper which katy wore was one of her presents, so were the bright chromos of autumn leaves which hung on the wall, the little stand for the books--all sorts of things. katy loved to look about her as she lay. all the room seemed full of cousin helen and her kindness. "i wish i had something pretty to put into everybody's stocking," she went on, wistfully; "but i've only got the muffetees for papa, and these reins for phil." she took them from under her pillow as she spoke--gay worsted affairs, with bells sewed on here and there. she had knit them herself, a very little bit at a time. "there's my pink sash," she said suddenly, "i might give that to clover. i only wore it once, you know, and i don't think i got any spots on it. would you please fetch it and let me see, aunt izzie? it's in the top drawer." aunt izzie brought the sash. it proved to be quite fresh, and they both decided that it would do nicely for clover. "you know i sha'n't want sashes for ever so long," said katy, in rather a sad tone, "and this is a beauty." when she spoke next, her voice was bright again. "i wish i had something real nice for elsie. do you know, aunt izzie--i think elsie is the dearest little girl that ever was." "i'm glad you've found it out," said aunt izzie, who had always been specially fond of elsie. "what she wants most of all is a writing-desk," continued katy. "and johnnie wants a sled. but, oh dear! these are such big things. and i've only got two dollars and a quarter." aunt izzie marched out of the room without saying anything. when she came back she had something folded up in her hand. "i didn't know what to give you for christmas, katy," she said, "because helen sends you such a lot of things that there don't seem to be anything you haven't already. so i thought i'd give you this, and let you choose for yourself. but if you've set your heart on getting presents for the children, perhaps you'd rather have it now." so saying, aunt izzie laid on the bed a crisp, new five-dollar bill! "how good you are!" cried katy, flushed with pleasure. and indeed aunt izzie _did_ seem to have grown wonderfully good of late. perhaps katy had got hold of her smooth handle! being now in possession of seven dollars and a quarter, katy could afford to be gorgeously generous. she gave aunt izzie an exact description of the desk she wanted. "it's no matter about its being very big," said katy, "but it must have a blue velvet lining, and an inkstand, with a silver top. and please buy some little sheets of paper and envelopes, and a pen-handle; the prettiest you can find. oh! and there must be a lock and key. don't forget that, aunt izzie." "no, i won't. what else?" "i'd like the sled to be green," went on katy, "and to have a nice name. sky-scraper would be nice, if there was one. johnnie saw a sled once called sky-scraper, and she said it was splendid. and if there's money enough left, aunty, won't you buy me a real nice book for dorry, and another for cecy, and a silver thimble for mary? her old one is full of holes. oh! and some candy. and something for debby and bridget--some little thing, you know. i think that's all!" was ever seven dollars and a quarter expected to do so much? aunt izzie must have been a witch, indeed, to make it hold out. but she did, and next day all the precious bundles came home. how katy enjoyed untying the strings! everything was exactly right. "there wasn't any sky-scraper," said aunt izzie, "so i got 'snow-skimmer' instead." "it's beautiful, and i like it just as well," said katy contentedly. "oh, hide them, hide them!" she cried with sudden terror, "somebody's coming." but the somebody was only papa, who put his head into the room as aunt izzie, laden with bundles, scuttled across the hall. katy was glad to catch him alone. she had a little private secret to talk over with him. it was about aunt izzie, for whom she, as yet, had no present. "i thought perhaps you'd get me a book like that one of cousin helen's, which aunt izzie liked so much," she said. "i don't recollect the name exactly. it was something about a shadow. but i've spent all my money." "never mind about that," said dr. carr. "we'll make that right. 'the shadow of the cross'--was that it? i'll buy it this afternoon." "oh, thank you, papa! and please get a brown cover, if you can, because cousin helen's was brown. and you won't let aunt izzie know, will you? be careful, papa!" "i'll swallow the book first, brown cover and all," said papa, making a funny face. he was pleased to see katy so interested about anything again. these delightful secrets took up so much of her thoughts, that katy scarcely found time to wonder at the absence of the children, who generally haunted her room, but who for three days back had hardly been seen. however, after supper they all came up in a body, looking very merry, and as if they had been having a good time somewhere. "you don't know what we've been doing," began philly. "hush, phil!" said clover, in a warning voice. then she divided the stockings which she held in her hand. and everybody proceeded to hang them up. dorry hung his on one side of the fireplace, and john hers exactly opposite. clover and phil suspended theirs side by side, on two handles of the bureau. "i'm going to put mine here, close to katy, so that she can see it the first fing in the mornin'," said elsie, pinning hers to the bed-post. then they all sat down round the fire to write their wishes on bits of paper, and see whether they would burn, or fly up the chimney. if they did the latter, it was a sign that santa claus had them safe, and would bring the things wished for. john wished for a sled and a doll's tea-set, and the continuation of the swiss family robinson. dorry's list ran thus: "a plum-cake, a new bibel, harry and lucy, a kellidescope, everything else santa claus likes." when they had written these lists they threw them into the fire. the fire gave a flicker just then, and the papers vanished. nobody saw exactly how. john thought they flew up chimney, but dorry said they didn't. phil dropped his piece in very solemnly. it flamed for a minute, then sank into ashes. "there, you won't get it, whatever it was!" said dorry. "what did you write, phil?" "nofing," said phil, "only just philly carr." the children shouted. "i wrote 'a writing-desk' on mine," remarked elsie, sorrowfully, "but it all burned up." katy chuckled when she heard this. and now clover produced her list. she read aloud: "'strive and thrive,' a pair of kid gloves, a muff, a good temper!" then she dropped it into the fire. behold, it flew straight up chimney. "how queer!" said katy; "none of the rest of them did that." the truth was, that clover, who was a canny little mortal, had slipped across the room and opened the door just before putting her wishes in. this, of course, made a draft, and sent the paper right upward. pretty soon aunt izzie came in and swept them all off to bed. "i know how it will be in the morning," she said, "you'll all be up and racing about as soon as it is light. so you must get your sleep now, if ever." after they had gone, katy recollected that nobody had offered to hang a stocking up for her. she felt a little hurt when she thought of it. "but i suppose they forgot," she said to herself. a little later papa and aunt izzie came in, and they filled the stockings. it was great fun. each was brought to katy, as she lay in bed, that she might arrange it as she liked. the toes were stuffed with candy and oranges. then came the parcels, all shapes and sizes, tied in white paper, with ribbons, and labelled. "what's that?" asked dr. carr, as aunt izzie rammed a long, narrow package into clover's stocking. "a nail-brush," answered aunt izzie. "clover needed a new one." how papa and katy laughed! "i don't believe santa claus ever had such a thing before," said dr. carr. "he's a very dirty old gentleman, then," observed aunt izzie, grimly. the desk and sled were too big to go into any stocking, so they were wrapped in paper and hung beneath the other things. it was ten o'clock before all was done, and papa and aunt izzie went away. katy lay a long time watching the queer shapes of the stocking-legs as they dangled in the firelight. then she fell asleep. it seemed only a minute, before something touched her and woke her up. behold, it was day-time, and there was philly in his nightgown, climbing up on the bed to kiss her! the rest of the children, half dressed, were dancing about with their stockings in their hands. "merry christmas! merry christmas!" they cried. "oh, katy, such beautiful, beautiful things!" "oh!" shrieked elsie, who at that moment spied her desk, "santa claus _did_ bring it, after all! why, it's got 'from katy' written on it! oh, katy, it's so sweet, and i'm _so_ happy!" and elsie hugged katy, and sobbed for pleasure. but what was that strange thing beside the bed! katy stared, and rubbed her eyes. it certainly had not been there when she went to sleep. how had it come? it was a little evergreen tree planted in a red flower-pot. the pot had stripes of gilt paper stuck on it, and gilt stars and crosses, which made it look very gay. the boughs of the tree were hung with oranges, and nuts, and shiny red apples, and pop-corn balls, and strings of bright berries. there were also a number of little packages tied with blue and crimson ribbon, and altogether the tree looked so pretty, that katy gave a cry of delighted surprise. "it's a christmas-tree for you, because you're sick, you know!" said the children, all trying to hug her at once. "we made it ourselves," said dorry, hopping about on one foot; "i pasted the black stars on the pot." "and i popped the corn!" cried philly. "do you like it?" asked elsie, cuddling close to katy. "that's my present--that one tied with a green ribbon. i wish it was nicer! don't you want to open 'em right away?" of course katy wanted to. all sorts of things came out of the little bundles. the children had arranged every parcel themselves. no grown person had been allowed to help in the least. elsie's present was a pen-wiper, with a gray flannel kitten on it. johnnie's, a doll's tea-tray of scarlet tin. "isn't it beau-ti-ful?" she said, admiringly. dorry's gift, i regret to say, was a huge red-and-yellow spider, which whirred wildly when waved at the end of its string. "they didn't want me to buy it," said he, "but i did! i thought it would amoose you. does it amoose you, katy?" "yes, indeed," said katy, laughing and blinking as dorry waved the spider to and fro before her eyes. "you can play with it when we ain't here and you're all alone, you know," remarked dorry, highly gratified. "but you don't notice what the tree's standing upon," said clover. it was a chair, a very large and curious one, with a long-cushioned back, which ended in a footstool. "that's papa's present," said clover; "see, it tips back so as to be just like a bed. and papa says he thinks pretty soon you can lie on it, in the window, where you can see us play." "does he really?" said katy, doubtfully. it still hurt her very much to be touched or moved. "and see what's tied to the arm of the chair," said elsie. it was a little silver bell, with "katy" engraved on the handle. "cousin helen sent it. it's for you to ring when you want anybody to come," explained elsie. more surprises. to the other arm of the chair was fastened a beautiful book. it was "the wide wide world"--and there was katy's name written on it, 'from her affectionate cecy.' on it stood a great parcel of dried cherries from mrs. hall. mrs. hall had the most _delicious_ dried cherries, the children thought. "how perfectly lovely everybody is!" said katy, with grateful tears in her eyes. that was a pleasant christmas. the children declared it to be the nicest they had ever had. and though katy couldn't quite say that, she enjoyed it too, and was very happy. it was several weeks before she was able to use the chair, but when once she became accustomed to it, it proved very comfortable. aunt izzie would dress her in the morning, tip the chair back till it was on a level with the bed, and then, very gently and gradually, draw her over on to it. wheeling across the room was always painful, but sitting in the window and looking out at the clouds, the people going by, and the children playing in the snow, was delightful. how delightful nobody knows, excepting those who, like katy, have lain for six months in bed, without a peep at the outside world. every day she grew brighter and more cheerful. "how jolly santa claus was this year!" she happened to say one day, when she was talking with cecy. "i wish another saint would come and pay us a visit. but i don't know any more, except cousin helen, and she can't." "there's st. valentine," suggested cecy. "sure enough. what a bright thought!" cried katy, clapping her hands. "oh, cecy, let's do something funny on valentine's-day! such a good idea has just popped into my mind." so the two girls put their heads together and held a long, mysterious confabulation. what it was about, we shall see farther on. valentine's-day was the next friday. when the children came home from school on thursday afternoon, aunt izzie met them, and, to their great surprise, told them that cecy was come to drink tea, and they must all go up stairs and be made nice. "but cecy comes most every day," remarked dorry, who didn't see the connection between this fact and having his face washed. "yes--but to-night you are to take tea in katy's room," said aunt izzie; "here are the invitations: one for each of you." sure enough, there was a neat little note for each, requesting the pleasure of their company at "queen katharine's palace," that afternoon, at six o'clock. this put quite a different aspect on the affair. the children scampered up stairs, and pretty soon, all nicely brushed and washed, they were knocking formally at the door of the "palace." how fine it sounded! the room looked bright and inviting. katy, in her chair, sat close to the fire, cecy was beside her, and there was a round table all set out with a white cloth and mugs of milk and biscuit, and strawberry-jam and doughnuts. in the middle was a loaf of frosted cake. there was something on the icing which looked like pink letters, and clover, leaning forward, read aloud, "st. valentine." "what's that for?" asked dorry. "why, you know this is st. valentine's-eve," replied katy. "debbie remembered it, i guess, so she put that on." nothing more was said about st. valentine just then. but when the last pink letter of his name had been eaten, and the supper had been cleared away, suddenly, as the children sat by the fire, there was a loud rap at the door. "who can that be?" said katy; "please see, clover!" so clover opened the door. there stood bridget, trying very hard not to laugh, and holding a letter in her hand. "it's a note as has come for you, miss clover," she said. "for _me_!" cried clover, much amazed. then she shut the door, and brought the note to the table. "how very funny!" she exclaimed, as she looked at the envelope, which was a green and white one. there was something hard inside. clover broke the seal. out tumbled a small green velvet pincushion made in the shape of a clover-leaf, with a tiny stem of wire wound with green silk. pinned to the cushion was a paper, with these verses: "some people love roses well, tulips, gayly dressed, some love violets blue and sweet,-- i love clover best. "though she has a modest air, though no grace she boast, though no gardener call her fair, i love clover most. "butterfly may pass her by, he is but a rover, i'm a faithful, loving bee-- and i stick to clover." this was the first valentine clover had ever had. she was perfectly enchanted. "oh, who _do_ you suppose sent it?" she cried. but before anybody could answer, there came another loud knock at the door, which made them all jump. behold, bridget again, with a second letter! "it's for you, miss elsie, this time," she said with a grin. there was an instant rush from all the children, and the envelope was torn open in the twinkling of an eye. inside was a little ivory seal with "elsie" on it in old english letters, and these rhymes: "i know a little girl, she is very dear to me, she is just as sweet as honey when she chooses so to be, and her name begins with e, and ends with e. "she has brown hair which curls, and black eyes for to see with, teeth like tiny pearls, and dimples, one, two--three, and her name begins with e, and ends with e. "her little feet run faster than other feet can flee, as she brushes quickly past, her voice hums like a bee, and her name begins with e, and ends with e. "do you ask me why i love her? then i shall answer thee, because i can't help loving, she is so sweet to me, this little girl whose name begins and ends with 'e.'" "it's just like a fairy story," said elsie, whose eyes had grown as big as saucers from surprise, while these verses were being read aloud by cecy. another knock. this time there was a perfect handful of letters. everybody had one. katy, to her great surprise, had _two_. "why, what _can_ this be?" she said. but when she peeped into the second one, she saw cousin helen's handwriting, and she put it into her pocket, till the valentines should be read. dorry's was opened first. it had the picture of a pie at the top--i ought to explain that dorry had lately been having a siege with the dentist. "little jack horner sat in his corner, eating his christmas pie, when a sudden grimace spread over his face, and he began loudly to cry. "his tender mamma heard the sound from afar, and hastened to comfort her child; 'what aileth my john?' she inquired in a tone which belied her question mild. "'oh, mother,' he said, 'every tooth in my head jumps and aches and is loose, o my! and it hurts me to eat anything that is sweet-- so what _will_ become of my pie?' "it were vain to describe how he roared and he cried, and howled like a miniature tempest; suffice it to say, that the very next day he had all his teeth pulled by a dentist!" this valentine made the children laugh for a long time. johnnie's envelope held a paper doll named "red riding-hood." these were the verses: "i send you my picture, dear johnnie, to show that i'm just as alive as you, and that you needn't cry over my fate any more, as you used to do. "the wolf didn't hurt me at all that day, for i kicked and fought and cried, till he dropped me out of his mouth, and ran away in the woods to hide. "and grandma and i have lived ever since in the little brown house so small, and churned fresh butter and made cream cheeses, nor seen the wolf at all. "so cry no more for fear i am eaten, the naughty wolf is shot, and if you will come to tea some evening you shall see for yourself i'm not." johnnie was immensely pleased at this, for red riding-hood was a great favorite of hers. philly had a bit of india-rubber in his letter, which was written with very black ink on a big sheet of foolscap: "i was once a naughty man, and i hid beneath the bed, to steal your india-rubbers, but i chewed them up instead. "then you called out, 'who is there?' i was thrown most in a fit, and i let the india-rubbers fall-- all but this little bit. "i'm sorry for my naughty ways, and now, to make amends, i send the chewed piece back again, and beg we may be friends. "robber." "just listen to mine," said cecy, who had all along pretended to be as much surprised as anybody, and now behaved as if she could hardly wait till philly's was finished. then she read aloud: "to cecy. "if i were a bird and you were a bird, what would we do? why you should be little and i would be big, and, side by side on a cherry-tree twig, we'd kiss with our yellow bills, and coo-- that's what we'd do! "if i were a fish and you were a fish, what would we do? we'd frolic, and whisk our little tails, and play all sorts of tricks with the whales, and call on the oysters, and order a 'stew,' that's what we'd do! "if i were a bee and you were a bee, what would we do? we'd find a home in a breezy wood, and store it with honey sweet and good. you should feed me and i would feed you, that's what we'd do! "valentine." "i think that's the prettiest of all," said clover. "i don't," said elsie. "i think mine is the prettiest. cecy didn't have any seal in hers, either." and she fondled the little seal, which all this time she had held in her hand. "katy, you ought to have read yours first because you are the oldest," said clover. "mine isn't much," replied katy, and she read: "the rose is red the violet blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you." "what a mean valentine!" cried elsie, with flashing eyes. "it's a real shame, katy! you ought to have had the best of all." katy could hardly keep from laughing. the fact was that the verses for the others had taken so long, that no time had been left for writing a valentine to herself. so, thinking it would excite suspicion to have none, she had scribbled this old rhyme at the last moment. "it isn't very nice," she said, trying to look as pensive as she could, "but never mind." "it's a shame!" repeated elsie, petting her very hard to make up for the injustice. "hasn't it been a funny evening?" said john; and dorry replied, "yes; we never had such good times before katy was sick, did we?" katy heard this with a mingled feeling of pleasure and pain. "i think the children do love me a little more of late," she said to herself. "but, oh, why couldn't i be good to them when i was well and strong!" she didn't open cousin helen's letter until the rest were all gone to bed. i think somebody must have written and told about the valentine party, for instead of a note there were these verses in cousin helen's own clear, pretty hand. it wasn't a valentine, because it was too solemn, as katy explained to clover, next day. "but," she added, "it is a great deal beautifuller than any valentine that ever was written." and clover thought so too. these were the verses: "in school. "i used to go to a bright school where youth and frolic taught in turn; but idle scholar that i was, i liked to play, i would not learn; so the great teacher did ordain that i should try the school of pain. "one of the infant class i am with little, easy lessons, set in a great book; the higher class have harder ones than i, and yet i find mine hard, and can't restrain my tears while studying thus with pain. "there are two teachers in the school, one has a gentle voice and low, and smiles upon her scholars, as she softly passes to and fro. her name is love; 'tis very plain she shuns the sharper teacher, pain. "or so i sometimes think; and then, at other times, they meet and kiss, and look so strangely like, that i am puzzled to tell how it is, or whence the change which makes it vain to guess if it be--love or pain. "they tell me if i study well, and learn my lessons, i shall be moved upward to that higher class where dear love teaches constantly; and i work hard, in hopes to gain reward, and get away from pain. "yet pain is sometimes kind, and helps me on when i am very dull; i thank him often in my heart; but love is far more beautiful; under her tender, gentle reign i must learn faster than of pain. "so i will do my very best, nor chide the clock, nor call it slow; that when the teacher calls me up to see if i am fit to go, i may to love's high class attain, and bid a sweet good-by to pain." chapter xi a new lesson to learn it was a long time before the children ceased to talk and laugh over that jolly evening. dorry declared he wished there could be a valentine's-day every week. "don't you think st. valentine would be tired of writing verses?" asked katy. but she, too, had enjoyed the frolic, and the bright recollection helped her along through the rest of the long, cold winter. spring opened late that year, but the summer, when it came, was a warm one. katy felt the heat very much. she could not change her seat and follow the breeze about from window to window as other people could. the long burning days left her weak and parched. she hung her head, and seemed to wilt like the flowers in the garden-beds. indeed she was worse off than they, for every evening alexander gave them a watering with the hose, while nobody was able to bring a watering-pot and pour out what she needed--a shower of cold, fresh air. it wasn't easy to be good-humored under these circumstances, and one could hardly have blamed katy if she had sometimes forgotten her resolutions and been cross and fretful. but she didn't--not very often. now and then bad days came, when she was discouraged and forlorn. but katy's long year of schooling had taught her self-control, and, as a general thing, her discomforts were borne patiently. she could not help growing pale and thin however, and papa saw with concern that, as the summer went on, she became too languid to read, or study, or sew, and just sat hour after hour, with folded hands, gazing wistfully out of the window. he tried the experiment of taking her to drive. but the motion of the carriage, and the being lifted in and out, brought on so much pain, that katy begged that he would not ask her to go again. so there was nothing to be done but wait for cooler weather. the summer dragged on, and all who loved katy rejoiced when it was over. when september came, with cool mornings and nights, and fresh breezes, smelling of pine woods, and hill-tops, all things seemed to revive, and katy with them. she began to crochet and to read. after a while she collected her books again, and tried to study as cousin helen had advised. but so many idle weeks made it seem harder work than ever. one day she asked papa to let her take french lessons. "you see i'm forgetting all i knew," she said, "and clover is going to begin this term, and i don't like that she should get so far ahead of me. don't you think mr. bergèr would be willing to come here, papa? he does go to houses sometimes." "i think he would if we asked him," said dr. carr, pleased to see katy waking up with something like life again. so the arrangement was made. mr. bergèr came twice every week, and sat beside the big chair, correcting katy's exercises and practising her in the verbs and pronunciation. he was a lively little old frenchman, and knew how to make lesson-time pleasant. "you take more pain than you used, mademoiselle," he said one day; "if you go on so, you shall be my best scholar. and if to hurt the back make you study, it would be well that some other of my young ladies shall do the same." katy laughed. but in spite of mr. bergèr and his lessons, and in spite of her endeavors to keep cheerful and busy, this second winter was harder than the first. it is often so with sick people. there is a sort of excitement in being ill which helps along just at the beginning. but as months go on, and everything grows an old story, and one day follows another day, all just alike and all tiresome, courage is apt to flag and spirits to grow dull. spring seemed a long, long way off whenever katy thought about it. "i wish something would happen," she often said to herself. and something was about to happen. but she little guessed what it was going to be. "katy!" said clover, coming in one day in november, "do you know where the camphor is? aunt izzie has got _such_ a headache." "no," replied katy, "i don't. or--wait--clover, it seems to me that debby came for it the other day. perhaps if you look in her room you'll find it." "how very queer!" she soliloquized, when clover was gone; "i never knew aunt izzie to have a headache before." "how is aunt izzie?" she asked, when papa came in at noon. "well, i don't know. she has some fever and a bad pain in her head. i have told her that she had better lie still, and not try to get up this evening. old mary will come in to undress you, katy. you won't mind, will you, dear?" "n-o!" said katy, reluctantly. but she did mind. aunt izzie had grown used to her and her ways. nobody else suited her so well. "it seems so strange to have to explain just how every little thing is to be done," she remarked to clover, rather petulantly. it seemed stranger yet, when the next day, and the next, and the next after that passed, and still no aunt izzie came near her. blessings brighten as they take their flight. katy began to appreciate for the first time how much she had learned to rely on her aunt. she missed her dreadfully. "when _is_ aunt izzie going to get well?" she asked her father; "i want her so much." "we all want her," said dr. carr, who looked disturbed and anxious. "is she very sick?" asked katy, struck by the expression of his face. "pretty sick, i'm afraid," he replied. "i'm going to get a regular nurse to take care of her." aunt izzie's attack proved to be typhoid fever. the doctors said that the house must be kept quiet, so john, and dorry, and phil were sent over to mrs. hall's to stay. elsie and clover were to have gone too, but they begged so hard, and made so many promises of good behavior, that finally papa permitted them to remain. the dear little things stole about the house on tiptoe, as quietly as mice, whispering to each other, and waiting on katy, who would have been lonely enough without them, for everybody else was absorbed in aunt izzie. it was a confused, melancholy time. the three girls didn't know much about sickness, but papa's grave face, and the hushed house, weighed upon their spirits, and they missed the children very much. "oh dear!" sighed elsie. "how i wish aunt izzie would hurry and get well." "we'll be real good to her when she does, won't we?" said clover. "i never mean to leave my rubbers in the hat-stand any more, because she don't like to have me. and i shall pick up the croquet-balls and put them in the box every night." "yes," added elsie, "so will i, when she gets well." it never occurred to either of them that perhaps aunt izzie might not get well. little people are apt to feel as if grown folks are so strong and so big, that nothing can possibly happen to them. katy was more anxious. still she did not fairly realize the danger. so it came like a sudden and violent shock to her, when, one morning on waking up, she found old mary crying quietly beside the bed, with her apron at her eyes. aunt izzie had died in the night! all their kind, penitent thoughts of her; their resolutions to please--their plans for obeying her wishes and saving her trouble, were too late! for the first time, the three girls, sobbing in each other's arms, realized what a good friend aunt izzie had been to them. her worrying ways were all forgotten now. they could only remember the many kind things she had done for them since they were little children. how they wished that they had never teased her, never said sharp words about her to each other! but it was no use to wish. "what shall we do without aunt izzie?" thought katy, as she cried herself to sleep that night. and the question came into her mind again and again, after the funeral was over and the little ones had come back from mrs. hall's, and things began to go on in their usual manner. for several days she saw almost nothing of her father. clover reported that he looked very tired and scarcely said a word. "did papa eat any dinner?" asked katy, one afternoon. "not much. he said he wasn't hungry. and mrs. jackson's boy came for him before we were through." "oh dear!" sighed katy, "i do hope _he_ isn't going to be sick. how it rains! clovy, i wish you'd run down and get out his slippers and put them by the fire to warm. oh, and ask debby to make some cream-toast for tea! papa likes cream-toast." after tea, dr. carr came up stairs to sit a while in katy's room. he often did so, but this was the first time since aunt izzie's death. katy studied his face anxiously. it seemed to her that it had grown older of late, and there was a sad look upon it, which made her heart ache. she longed to do something for him, but all she could do was to poke the fire bright, and then to possess herself of his hand, and stroke it gently with both hers. it wasn't much, to be sure, but i think papa liked it. "what have you been about all day?" he asked. "oh, nothing, much," said katy. "i studied my french lesson this morning. and after school, elsie and john brought in their patchwork, and we had a 'bee.' that's all." "i've been thinking how we are to manage about the housekeeping," said dr. carr. "of course we shall have to get somebody to come and take charge. but it isn't easy to find just the right person. mrs. hall knows of a woman who might do, but she is out west, just now, and it will be a week or two before we can hear from her. do you think you can get on as you are for a few days?" "oh, papa!" cried katy, in dismay, "must we have anybody?" "why, how did you suppose we were going to arrange it? clover is much too young for a housekeeper. and beside, she is at school all day." "i don't know--i hadn't thought about it," said katy, in a perplexed tone. but she did think about it--all that evening, and the first thing when she woke in the morning. "papa," she said, the next time she got him to herself, "i've been thinking over what you were saying last night, about getting somebody to keep the house, you know. and i wish you wouldn't. i wish you would let _me_ try. really and truly, i think i could manage." "but how?" asked dr. carr, much surprised. "i really don't see. if you were well and strong, perhaps--but even then you would be pretty young for such a charge, katy." "i shall be fourteen in two weeks," said katy, drawing herself up in her chair as straight as she could. "and if i _were_ well, papa, i should be going to school, you know, and then of course i couldn't. no, i'll tell you my plan. i've been thinking about it all day. debby and bridget have been with us so long, that they know all aunt izzie's ways, and they're such good women, that all they want is just to be told a little now and then. now, why couldn't they come up to me when anything is wanted--just as well as to have me go down to them? clover and old mary will keep watch, you know, and see if anything is wrong. and you wouldn't mind if things were a little crooked just at first, would you? because, you know, i should be learning all the time. do let me try! it will be real nice to have something to think about as i sit up here alone, so much better than having a stranger in the house who doesn't know the children or anything. i am sure it will make me happier. please say 'yes,' papa, please do!" "it's too much for you, a great deal too much," replied dr. carr. but it was not easy to resist katy's "please! please!" and after a while it ended with-- "well, darling, you may try, though i am doubtful as to the result of the experiment. i will tell mrs. hall to put off writing to wisconsin for a month, and we will see. "poor child, anything to take her thoughts off herself!" he muttered, as he walked down stairs. "she'll be glad enough to give the thing up by the end of the month." but papa was mistaken. at the end of a month katy was eager to go on. so he said, "very well--she might try it till spring." it was not such hard work as it sounds. katy had plenty of quiet thinking-time for one thing. the children were at school all day, and few visitors came to interrupt her, so she could plan out her hours and keep to the plans. that is a great help to a housekeeper. then aunt izzie's regular, punctual ways were so well understood by the servants, that the house seemed almost to keep itself. as katy had said, all debby and bridget needed was a little "telling" now and then. as soon as breakfast was over, and the dishes were washed and put away, debby would tie on a clean apron, and come up stairs for orders. at first katy thought this great fun. but after ordering dinner a good many times, it began to grow tiresome. she never saw the dishes after they were cooked; and, being inexperienced, it seemed impossible to think of things enough to make a variety. "let me see--there is roast beef--leg of mutton--boiled chicken," she would say, counting on her fingers, "roast beef--leg of mutton--boiled chicken. debby, you might roast the chickens. dear!--i wish somebody would invent a new animal! where all the things to eat are gone to, i can't imagine!" then katy would send for every recipe-book in the house, and pore over them by the hour, till her appetite was as completely gone as if she had swallowed twenty dinners. poor debby learned to dread these books. she would stand by the door with her pleasant red face drawn up into a pucker, while katy read aloud some impossible-sounding rule. "this looks as if it were delicious, debby, i wish you'd try it: take a gallon of oysters, a pint of beef stock, sixteen soda crackers, the juice of two lemons, four cloves, a glass of white wine, a sprig of marjoram, a sprig of thyme, a sprig of bay, a sliced shalott--" "please, miss katy, what's them?" "oh, don't you know, debby? it must be something quite common, for it's in almost all the recipes." "no, miss katy, i never heard tell of it before. miss carr never gave me no shell-outs at all at all!" "dear me, how provoking!" katy would cry, flapping over the leaves of her book; "then we must try something else." poor debby! if she hadn't loved katy so dearly, i think her patience must have given way. but she bore her trials meekly, except for an occasional grumble when alone with bridget. dr. carr had to eat a great many queer things in those days. but he didn't mind, and as for the children, they enjoyed it. dinner-time became quite exciting, when nobody could tell exactly what any dish on the table was made of. dorry, who was a sort of dr. livingstone where strange articles of food were concerned, usually made the first experiment, and if he said that it was good, the rest followed suit. after a while katy grew wiser. she ceased teasing debby to try new things, and the carr family went back to plain roast and boiled, much to the advantage of all concerned. but then another series of experiments began. katy got hold of a book upon "the stomach," and was seized with a rage for wholesome food. she entreated clover and the other children to give up sugar, and butter, and gravy, and pudding-sauce, and buckwheat cakes, and pies, and almost everything else that they particularly liked. boiled rice seemed to her the most sensible dessert, and she kept the family on it until finally john and dorry started a rebellion, and dr. carr was forced to interfere. "my dear, you are overdoing it sadly," he said, as katy opened her book and prepared to explain her views; "i am glad to have the children eat simple food--but really, boiled rice five times in a week is too much." katy sighed, but submitted. later, as the spring came on, she had a fit of over-anxiousness, and was always sending clover down to ask debby if her bread was not burning, or if she was sure that the pickles were not fermenting in their jars? she also fidgeted the children about wearing india-rubbers, and keeping on their coats, and behaved altogether as if the cares of the world were on her shoulders. but all these were but the natural mistakes of a beginner. katy was too much in earnest not to improve. month by month she learned how to manage a little better, and a little better still. matters went on more smoothly. her cares ceased to fret her. dr. carr watching the increasing brightness of her face and manner, felt that the experiment was a success. nothing more was said about "somebody else," and katy, sitting up stairs in her big chair, held the threads of the house firmly in her hands. chapter xii two years afterward it was a pleasant morning in early june. a warm wind was rustling the trees, which were covered thickly with half-opened leaves, and looked like fountains of green spray thrown high into the air. dr. carr's front door stood wide open. through the parlor window came the sound of piano practice, and on the steps, under the budding roses, sat a small figure, busily sewing. this was clover, little clover still, though more than two years had passed since we saw her last, and she was now over fourteen. clover was never intended to be tall. her eyes were as blue and sweet as ever, and her apple-blossom cheeks as pink. but the brown pig-tails were pinned up into a round knot, and the childish face had gained almost a womanly look. old mary declared that miss clover was getting quite young-ladyfied, and "miss clover" was quite aware of the fact, and mightily pleased with it. it delighted her to turn up her hair; and she was very particular about having her dresses made to come below the tops of her boots. she had also left off ruffles, and wore narrow collars instead, and little cuffs with sleeve-buttons to fasten them. these sleeve-buttons, which were a present from cousin helen, clover liked best of all her things. papa said that he was sure she took them to bed with her, but of course that was only a joke, though she certainly was never seen without them in the daytime. she glanced frequently at these beloved buttons as she sat sewing, and every now and then laid down her work to twist them into a better position, or give them an affectionate pat with her forefinger. pretty soon the side-gate swung open, and philly came round the corner of the house. he had grown into a big boy. all his pretty baby curls were cut off, and his frocks had given place to jacket and trousers. in his hand he held something. what, clover could not see. "what's that?" she said, as he reached the steps. "i'm going up stairs to ask katy if these are ripe," replied phil, exhibiting some currants faintly streaked with red. "why, of course they're not ripe!" said clover, putting one into her mouth. "can't you tell by the taste? they're as green as can be." "i don't care, if katy says they're ripe i shall eat 'em," answered phil, defiantly, marching into the house. "what did philly want?" asked elsie, opening the parlor door as phil went up stairs. "only to know if the currants are ripe enough to eat." "how particular he always is about asking now!" said elsie; "he's afraid of another dose of salts." "i should think he would be," replied clover, laughing. "johnnie says she never was so scared in her life as when papa called them, and they looked up, and saw him standing there with the bottle in one hand and a spoon in the other!" "yes," went on elsie, "and you know dorry held his in his mouth for ever so long, and then went round the corner of the house and spat it out! papa said he had a good mind to make him take another spoonful, but he remembered that after all dorry had the bad taste a great deal longer than the others, so he didn't. i think it was an _awful_ punishment, don't you?" "yes, but it was a good one, for none of them have ever touched the green gooseberries since. have you got through practising? it doesn't seem like an hour yet." "oh, it isn't--it's only twenty-five minutes. but katy told me not to sit more than half an hour at a time without getting up and running round to rest. i'm going to walk twice down to the gate, and twice back. i promised her i would." and elsie set off, clapping her hands briskly before and behind her as she walked. "why--what is bridget doing in papa's room?" she asked, as she came back the second time. "she's flapping things out of the window. are the girls up there? i thought they were cleaning the dining-room." "they're doing both. katy said it was such a good chance, having papa away, that she would have both the carpets taken up at once. there isn't going to be any dinner today, only just bread and butter, and milk, and cold ham, up in katy's room, because debby is helping too, so as to get through and save papa all the fuss. and see," exhibiting her sewing, "katy's making a new cover for papa's pincushion, and i'm hemming the ruffle to go round it." "how nicely you hem!" said elsie. "i wish i had something for papa's room too. there's my washstand mats--but the one for the soap-dish isn't finished. do you suppose, if katy would excuse me from the rest of my practising, i could get it done? i've a great mind to go and ask her." "there's her bell!" said clover, as a little tinkle sounded up stairs; "i'll ask her, if you like." "no, let me go. i'll see what she wants." but clover was already half-way across the hall, and the two girls ran up side by side. there was often a little strife between them as to which should answer katy's bell. both liked to wait on her so much. katy came to meet them as they entered. not on her feet: that, alas! was still only a far-off possibility; but in a chair with large wheels, with which she was rolling herself across the room. this chair was a great comfort to her. sitting in it, she could get to her closet and her bureau-drawers, and help herself to what she wanted without troubling anybody. it was only lately that she had been able to use it. dr. carr considered her doing so as a hopeful sign, but he had never told katy this. she had grown accustomed to her invalid life at last, and was cheerful in it, and he thought it unwise to make her restless, by exciting hopes which might after all end in fresh disappointment. she met the girls with a bright smile as they came in, and said: "oh, clovy, it was you i rang for! i am troubled for fear bridget will meddle with the things on papa's table. you know he likes them to be left just so. will you please go and remind her that she is not to touch them at all? after the carpet is put down, i want you to dust the table, so as to be sure that everything is put back in the same place. will you?" "of course i will!" said clover, who was a born housewife, and dearly loved to act as katy's prime minister. "sha'n't i fetch you the pincushion too, while i'm there?" "oh yes, please do! i want to measure." "katy," said elsie, "those mats of mine are most done, and i would like to finish them and put them on papa's washstand before he comes back. mayn't i stop practising now, and bring my crochet up here instead?" "will there be plenty of time to learn the new exercise before miss phillips comes, if you do?" "i think so, plenty. she doesn't come till friday, you know." "well, then it seems to me that you might just as well as not. and elsie, dear, run into papa's room first, and bring me the drawer out of his table. i want to put that in order myself." elsie went cheerfully. she laid the drawer across katy's lap, and katy began to dust and arrange the contents. pretty soon clover joined them. "here's the cushion," she said. "now we'll have a nice quiet time all by ourselves, won't we? i like this sort of day, when nobody comes in to interrupt us." somebody tapped at the door, as she spoke. katy called out, "come!" and in marched a tall, broad-shouldered lad, with a solemn, sensible face, and a little clock carried carefully in both his hands. this was dorry. he has grown and improved very much since we saw him last, and is turning out clever in several ways. among the rest, he has developed a strong turn for mechanics. "here's your clock, katy," he said. "i've got it fixed so that it strikes all right. only you must be careful not to hit the striker when you start the pendulum." "have you, really?" said katy. "why, dorry, you're a genius! i'm ever so much obliged." "it's four minutes to eleven now," went on dorry. "so it'll strike pretty soon. i guess i'd better stay and hear it, so as to be sure that it is right. that is," he added politely, "unless you're busy, and would rather not." "i'm never too busy to want you, old fellow," said katy, stroking his arm. "here, this drawer is arranged now. don't you want to carry it into papa's room and put it back into the table? your hands are stronger than elsie's." dorry looked gratified. when he came back the clock was just beginning to strike. "there!" he exclaimed; "that's splendid, isn't it?" but alas! the clock did not stop at eleven. it went on--twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen! "dear me!" said clover, "what does all this mean? it must be day after to-morrow, at least." dorry stared with open mouth at the clock, which was still striking as though it would split its sides. elsie, screaming with laughter, kept count. "thirty, thirty-one--oh, dorry! thirty-two! thirty-three! thirty-four!" "you've bewitched it, dorry!" said katy, as much entertained as the rest. then they all began counting. dorry seized the clock--shook it, slapped it, turned it upside-down. but still the sharp, vibrating sounds continued, as if the clock, having got its own way for once, meant to go on till it was tired out. at last, at the one-hundred-and-thirtieth stroke, it suddenly ceased; and dorry, with a red, amazed countenance, faced the laughing company. "it's very queer," he said, "but i'm sure it's not because of anything i did. i can fix it, though, if you'll let me try again. may i, katy? i'll promise not to hurt it." for a moment katy hesitated. clover pulled her sleeve, and whispered, "don't!" then seeing the mortification on dorry's face, she made up her mind. "yes! take it, dorry. i'm sure you'll be careful. but if i were you, i'd carry it down to wetherell's first of all, and talk it over with them. together you could hit on just the right thing. don't you think so?" "perhaps," said dorry; "yes, i think i will." then he departed with the clock under his arm, while clover called after him teasingly, "lunch at o'clock; don't forget!" "no, i won't!" said dorry. two years before he would not have borne to be laughed at so good-naturedly. "how could you let him take your clock again?" said clover, as soon as the door was shut. "he'll spoil it. and you think so much of it." "i thought he would feel mortified if i didn't let him try," replied katy, quietly, "i don't believe he'll hurt it. wetherell's man likes dorry, and he'll show him what to do." "you were real good to do it," responded clover; "but if it had been mine i don't think i could." just then the door flew open, and johnnie rushed in, two years taller, but otherwise looking exactly as she used to do. "oh, katy!" she gasped, "won't you please tell philly not to wash the chickens in the rain-water tub? he's put in every one of speckle's, and is just beginning on dame durden's. i'm afraid one little yellow one is dead already--" "why, he mustn't--of course he mustn't!" said katy; "what made him think of such a thing?" "he says they're dirty, because they've just come out of egg-shells! and he insists that the yellow on them is yolk-of-egg. i told him it wasn't, but he wouldn't listen to me." and johnnie wrung her hands. "clover!" cried katy, "won't you run down and ask philly to come up to me? speak pleasantly, you know!" "i spoke pleasantly--real pleasantly, but it wasn't any use," said johnnie, on whom the wrongs of the chicks had evidently made a deep impression. "what a mischief phil is getting to be!" said elsie. "papa says his name ought to be pickle." "pickles turn out very nice sometimes, you know," replied katy, laughing. pretty soon philly came up, escorted by clover. he looked a little defiant, but katy understood how to manage him. she lifted him into her lap, which, big boy as he was, he liked extremely; and talked to him so affectionately about the poor little shivering chicks, that his heart was quite melted. "i didn't mean to hurt 'em, really and truly," he said, "but they were all dirty and yellow--with egg, you know, and i thought you'd like me to clean 'em up." "but that wasn't egg, philly--it was dear little clean feathers, like a canary-bird's wings." "was it?" "yes. and now the chickies are as cold and forlorn as you would feel if you tumbled into a pond and nobody gave you any dry clothes. don't you think you ought to go and warm them?" "how?" "well--in your hands, very gently. and then i would let them run round in the sun." "i will!" said philly, getting down from her lap. "only kiss me first, because i didn't mean to, you know!"--philly was very fond of katy. miss petingill said it was wonderful to see how that child let himself be managed. but i think the secret was that katy didn't "manage," but tried to be always kind and loving, and considerate of phil's feelings. before the echo of phil's boots had fairly died away on the stairs, old mary put her head into the door. there was a distressed expression on her face. "miss katy," she said, "i wish _you'd_ speak to alexander about putting the woodshed in order. i don't think you know how bad it looks." "i don't suppose i do," said katy, smiling, and then sighing. she had never seen the wood-shed since the day of her fall from the swing. "never mind, mary, i'll talk to alexander about it, and he shall make it all nice." mary trotted down stairs satisfied. but in the course of a few minutes she was up again. "there's a man come with a box of soap, miss katy, and here's the bill. he says it's resated." it took katy a little time to find her purse, and then she wanted her pencil and account book, and elsie had to move from her seat at the table. "oh dear!" she said, "i wish people wouldn't keep coming and interrupting us. who'll be the next, i wonder?" she was not left to wonder long. almost as she spoke, there was another knock at the door. "come in!" said katy, rather wearily. the door opened. "shall i?" said a voice. there was a rustle of skirts, a clatter of boot-heels, and imogen clark swept into the room. katy could not think who it was, at first. she had not seen imogen for almost two years. "i found the front door open," explained imogen, in her high-pitched voice, "and as nobody seemed to hear when i rang the bell, i ventured to come right up stairs. i hope i'm not interrupting anything private?" "not at all," said katy, politely. "elsie, dear, move up that low chair, please. do sit down, imogen! i'm sorry nobody answered your ring, but the servants are cleaning house to-day, and i suppose they didn't hear." so imogen sat down and began to rattle on in her usual manner, while elsie, from behind katy's chair, took a wide-awake survey of her dress. it was of cheap material, but very gorgeously made and trimmed, with flounces and puffs, and imogen wore a jet necklace and long black ear-rings, which jingled and clicked when she waved her head about. she still had the little round curls stuck on to her cheeks, and elsie wondered anew what kept them in their places. by and by the object of imogen's visit came out. she had called to say good-by. the clark family were all going back to jacksonville to live. "did you ever see the brigand again?" asked clover, who had never forgotten that eventful tale told in the parlor. "yes," replied imogen, "several times. and i get letters from him quite often. he writes _beau_tiful letters. i wish i had one with me, so that i could read you a little bit. you would enjoy it, i know. let me see--perhaps i have." and she put her hand into her pocket. sure enough there _was_ a letter. clover couldn't help suspecting that imogen knew it all the time. the brigand seemed to write a bold, black hand, and his note-paper and envelope was just like anybody else's. but perhaps his band had surprised a pedlar with a box of stationery. "let me see," said imogen, running her eye down the page. "'adored imogen'--that wouldn't interest you--hm, hm, hm--ah, here's something! 'i took dinner at the rock house on christmas. it was lonesome without you. i had roast turkey, roast goose, roast beef, mince pie, plum pudding, and nuts and raisins. a pretty good dinner, was it not? but nothing tastes first-rate when friends are away.'" katy and clover stared, as well they might. such language from a brigand! "john billings has bought a new horse," continued imogen; "hm, hm, hm--him. i don't think there is anything else you'd care about. oh, yes! just here, at the end, is some poetry: "'come, little dove, with azure wing, and brood upon my breast,' "that's sweet, ain't it?" "hasn't he reformed?" said clover; "he writes as if he had." "reformed!" cried imogen, with a toss of the jingling ear-rings. "he was always just as good as he could be!" there was nothing to be said in reply to this. katy felt her lips twitch, and for fear she should be rude, and laugh out, she began to talk as fast as she could about something else. all the time she found herself taking measure of imogen, and thinking--"did i ever really like her? how queer! oh, what a wise man papa is!" imogen stayed half an hour. then she took her leave. "she never asked how you were!" cried elsie, indignantly; "i noticed, and she didn't--not once." "oh well--i suppose she forgot. we were talking about her, not about me," replied katy. the little group settled down again to their work. this time half an hour went by without any more interruptions. then the door bell rang, and bridget, with a disturbed face, came up stairs. "miss katy," she said, "it's old mrs. worrett, and i reckon's she's come to spend the day, for she's brought her bag. what ever shall i tell her?" katy looked dismayed. "oh dear!" she said, "how unlucky. what can we do?" mrs. worrett was an old friend of aunt izzie's, who lived in the country, about six miles from burnet, and was in the habit of coming to dr. carr's for lunch, on days when shopping or other business brought her into town. this did not occur often; and, as it happened, katy had never had to entertain her before. "tell her ye're busy, and can't see her," suggested bridget; "there's no dinner nor nothing, you know." the katy of two years ago would probably have jumped at this idea. but the katy of to-day was more considerate. "n-o," she said; "i don't like to do that. we must just make the best of it, bridget. run down, clover, dear, that's a good girl! and tell mrs. worrett that the dining-room is all in confusion, but that we're going to have lunch here, and, after she's rested, i should be glad to have her come up. and, oh, clovy! give her a fan the first thing. she'll be _so_ hot. bridget, you can bring up the luncheon just the same, only take out some canned peaches, by way of a dessert, and make mrs. worrett a cup of tea. she drinks tea always, i believe. "i can't bear to send the poor old lady away when she has come so far," she explained to elsie, after the others were gone. "pull the rocking-chair a little this way, elsie. and oh! push all those little chairs back against the wall. mrs. worrett broke down in one the last time she was here--don't you recollect?" it took some time to cool mrs. worrett off, so nearly twenty minutes passed before a heavy, creaking step on the stairs announced that the guest was on her way up. elsie began to giggle. mrs. worrett always made her giggle. katy had just time to give her a warning glance before the door opened. mrs. worrett was the most enormously fat person ever seen. nobody dared to guess how much she weighed, but she looked as if it might be a thousand pounds. her face was extremely red. in the coldest weather she appeared hot, and on a mild day she seemed absolutely ready to melt. her bonnet-strings were flying loose as she came in, and she fanned herself all the way across the room, which shook as she walked. "well, my dear," she said, as she plumped herself into the rocking-chair, "and how do you do?" "very well, thank you," replied katy, thinking that she never saw mrs. worrett look half so fat before, and wondering how she _was_ to entertain her. "and how's your pa?" inquired mrs. worrett. katy answered politely, and then asked after mrs. worrett's own health. "well, i'm so's to be round," was the reply, which had the effect of sending elsie off into a fit of convulsive laughter behind katy's chair. "i had business at the bank," continued the visitor, "and i thought while i was about it i'd step up to miss petingill's and see if i couldn't get her to come and let out my black silk. it was made quite a piece back, and i seem to have fleshed up since then, for i can't make the hooks and eyes meet at all. but when i got there, she was out, so i'd my walk for nothing. do you know where she's sewing now?" "no," said katy, feeling her chair shake, and keeping her own countenance with difficulty, "she was here for three days last week to make johnnie a school-dress. but i haven't heard anything about her since. elsie, don't you want to run down stairs and ask bridget to bring a--a--a glass of iced water for mrs. worrett? she looks warm after her walk." elsie, dreadfully ashamed, made a bolt from the room, and hid herself in the hall closet to have her laugh out. she came back after a while, with a perfectly straight face. luncheon was brought up. mrs. worrett made a good meal, and seemed to enjoy everything. she was so comfortable that she never stirred till four o'clock! oh, how long that afternoon did seem to the poor girls, sitting there and trying to think of something to say to their vast visitor! at last mrs. worrett got out of her chair, and prepared to depart. "well," she said, tying her bonnet-strings, "i've had a good rest, and feel all the better for it. ain't some of you young folks coming out to see me one of these days? i'd like to have you, first-rate, if you will. 'tain't every girl would know how to take care of a fat old woman, and make her feel to home, as you have me, katy. i wish your aunt could see you all as you are now. she'd be right pleased; i know that." somehow, this sentence rang pleasantly in katy's ears. "ah! don't laugh at her," she said later in the evening, when the children, after their tea in the clean, fresh-smelling dining-room, were come up to sit with her, and cecy, in her pretty pink lawn and white shawl, had dropped in to spend an hour or two; "she's a real kind old woman, and i don't like to have you. it isn't her fault that she's fat. and aunt izzie was fond of her, you know. it is doing something for her when we can show a little attention to one of her friends. i was sorry when she came, but now it's over, i'm glad." "it feels so nice when it stops aching," quoted elsie, mischievously, while cecy whispered to clover. "isn't katy sweet?" "isn't she!" replied clover. "i wish i was half so good. sometimes i think i shall really be sorry if she ever gets well. she's such a dear old darling to us all, sitting there in her chair, that it wouldn't seem so nice to have her anywhere else. but then, i know it's horrid in me. and i don't believe she'd be different, or grow slam-bang and horrid, like some of the girls, even if she were well." "of course she wouldn't!" replied cecy. chapter xiii at last it was about six weeks after this, that one day, clover and elsie were busy down stairs, they were startled by the sound of katy's bell ringing in a sudden and agitated manner. both ran up two steps at a time, to see what was wanted. katy sat in her chair, looking very much flushed and excited. "oh, girls!" she exclaimed, "what do you think? i stood up!" "what?" cried clover and elsie. "i really did! i stood up on my feet! by myself!" the others were too much astonished to speak, so katy went on explaining. "it was all at once, you see. suddenly, i had the feeling that if i tried i could, and almost before i thought, i _did_ try, and there i was, up and out of the chair. only i kept hold of the arm all the time! i don't know how i got back, i was so frightened. oh, girls!"--and katy buried her face in her hands. "do you think i shall ever be able to do it again?" she asked, looking up with wet eyes. "why, of course you will!" said clover; while elsie danced about, crying out anxiously: "be careful! do be careful!" katy tried, but the spring was gone. she could not move out of the chair at all. she began to wonder if she had dreamed the whole thing. but next day, when clover happened to be in the room, she heard a sudden exclamation, and turning, there stood katy, absolutely on her feet. "papa! papa!" shrieked clover, rushing down stairs. "dorry, john, elsie--come! come and see!" papa was out, but all the rest crowded up at once. this time katy found no trouble in "doing it again." it seemed as if her will had been asleep; and now that it had waked up, the limbs recognized its orders and obeyed them. when papa came in, he was as much excited as any of the children. he walked round and round the chair, questioning katy and making her stand up and sit down. "am i really going to get well?" she asked, almost in a whisper. "yes, my love, i think you are," replied dr. carr, seizing phil and giving him a toss into the air. none of the children had ever before seen papa behave so like a boy. but pretty soon, noticing katy's burning cheeks and excited eyes, he calmed himself, sent the others all away, and sat down to soothe and quiet her with gentle words. "i think it is coming, my darling," he said, "but it will take time, and you must have a great deal of patience. after being such a good child all the years, i am sure you won't fail now. remember, any imprudence will put you back. you must be content to gain a very little at a time. there is no royal road to walking any more than there is to learning. every baby finds that out." "oh, papa!" said katy, "it's no matter if it takes a year--if only i get well at last." how happy she was that night--too happy to sleep. papa noticed the dark circles under her eyes in the morning, and shook his head. "you must be careful," he told her, "or you'll be laid up again. a course of fever would put you back for years." katy knew papa was right, and she was careful, though it was by no means easy to be so with that new life tingling in every limb. her progress was slow, as dr. carr had predicted. at first she only stood on her feet a few seconds, then a minute, then five minutes, holding tightly all the while by the chair. next she ventured to let go the chair, and stand alone. after that she began to walk a step at a time, pushing a chair before her, as children do when they are learning the use of their feet. clover and elsie hovered about her as she moved, like anxious mammas. it was droll, and a little pitiful, to see tall katy with her feeble, unsteady progress, and the active figures of the little sisters following her protectingly. but katy did not consider it either droll or pitiful; to her it was simply delightful--the most delightful thing possible. no baby of a year old was ever prouder of his first steps than she. gradually she grew adventurous, and ventured on a bolder flight. clover, running up stairs one day to her own room, stood transfixed at the sight of katy sitting there, flushed, panting, but enjoying the surprise she caused. "you see," she explained, in an apologizing tone, "i was seized with a desire to explore. it is such a time since i saw any room but my own! but oh dear, how long that hall is! i had forgotten it could be so long. i shall have to take a good rest before i go back." katy did take a good rest, but she was very tired next day. the experiment, however, did no harm. in the course of two or three weeks, she was able to walk all over the second story. this was a great enjoyment. it was like reading an interesting book to see all the new things, and the little changes. she was forever wondering over something. "why, dorry," she would say, "what a pretty book-shelf! when did you get it?" "that old thing! why, i've had it two years. didn't i ever tell you about it?" "perhaps you did," katy would reply, "but you see i never saw it before, so it made no impression." by the end of august she was grown so strong, that she began to talk about going down stairs. but papa said, "wait." "it will tire you much more than walking about on a level," he explained, "you had better put it off a little while--till you are quite sure of your feet." "i think so too," said clover; "and beside, i want to have the house all put in order and made nice, before your sharp eyes see it, mrs. housekeeper. oh, i'll tell you! such a beautiful idea has come into my head! you shall fix a day to come down, katy, and we'll be all ready for you, and have a 'celebration' among ourselves. that would be just lovely! how soon may she, papa?" "well--in ten days, i should say, it might be safe." "ten days! that will bring it to the seventh of september, won't it?" said katy. "then papa, if i may, i'll come down stairs the first time on the eighth. it was mamma's birthday, you know," she added in a lower voice. so it was settled. "how delicious!" cried clover, skipping about and clapping her hands: "i never, never, never _did_ hear of anything so perfectly lovely. papa, when are you coming down stairs? i want to speak to you _dreadfully_." "right away--rather than have my coat-tails pulled off," answered dr. carr, laughing, and they went away together. katy sat looking out of the window in a peaceful, happy mood. "oh!" she thought, "can it really be? is school going to 'let out,' just as cousin helen's hymn said? am i going to 'bid a sweet good-bye to pain?' but there was love in the pain. i see it now. how good the dear teacher has been to me!" clover seemed to be very busy all the rest of that week. she was "having windows washed," she said, but this explanation hardly accounted for her long absences, and the mysterious exultation on her face, not to mention certain sounds of hammering and sawing which came from down stairs. the other children had evidently been warned to say nothing; for once or twice philly broke out with, "oh, katy!" and then hushed himself up, saying, "i 'most forgot!" katy grew very curious. but she saw that the secret, whatever it was, gave immense satisfaction to everybody except herself; so, though she longed to know, she concluded not to spoil the fun by asking any questions. at last it wanted but one day of the important occasion. "see," said katy, as clover came into the room a little before tea-time. "miss petingill has brought home my new dress. i'm going to wear it for the first time to go down stairs in." "how pretty!" said clover, examining the dress, which was a soft, dove-colored cashmere, trimmed with ribbon of the same shade. "but katy, i came up to shut your door. bridget's going to sweep the hall, and i don't want the dust to fly in, because your room was brushed this morning, you know." "what a queer time to sweep a hall!" said katy, wonderingly. "why don't you make her wait till morning?" "oh, she can't! there are--she has--i mean there will be other things for her to do to-morrow. it's a great deal more convenient that she should do it now. don't worry, katy, darling, but just keep your door shut. you will, won't you? promise me!" "very well," said katy, more and more amazed, but yielding to clover's eagerness, "i'll keep it shut." her curiosity was excited. she took a book and tried to read, but the letters danced up and down before her eyes, and she couldn't help listening. bridget was making a most ostentatious noise with her broom, but through it all, katy seemed to hear other sounds--feet on the stairs, doors opening and shutting--once, a stifled giggle. how queer it all was! "never mind," she said, resolutely stopping her ears, "i shall know all about it to-morrow." to-morrow dawned fresh and fair--the very ideal of a september day. "katy!" said clover, as she came in from the garden with her hands full of flowers, "that dress of yours is sweet. you never looked so nice before in your life!" and she stuck a beautiful carnation pink under katy's breast-pin and fastened another in her hair. "there!" she said, "now you're adorned. papa is coming up in a few minutes to take you down." just then elsie and johnnie came in. they had on their best frocks. so had clover. it was evidently a festival-day to all the house. cecy followed, invited over for the special purpose of seeing katy walk down stairs. she, too, had on a new frock. "how fine we are!" said clover, as she remarked this magnificence. "turn round, cecy--a panier, i do declare--and a sash! you are getting awfully grown up, miss hall." "none of us will ever be so 'grown up' as katy," said cecy, laughing. and now papa appeared. very slowly they all went down stairs, katy leaning on papa, with dorry on her other side, and the girls behind, while philly clattered ahead. and there were debby and bridget and alexander, peeping out of the kitchen door to watch her, and dear old mary with her apron at her eyes crying for joy. "oh, the front door is open!" said katy, in a delighted tone. "how nice! and what a pretty oil-cloth. that's new since i was here." "don't stop to look at _that_!" cried philly, who seemed in a great hurry about something. "it isn't new. it's been there ever and ever so long! come into the parlor instead." "yes!" said papa, "dinner isn't quite ready yet, you'll have time to rest a little after your walk down stairs. you have borne it admirably, katy. are you very tired?" "not a bit!" replied katy, cheerfully. "i could do it alone, i think. oh! the bookcase door has been mended! how nice it looks." "don't wait, oh, don't wait!" repeated phil, in an agony of impatience. so they moved on. papa opened the parlor door. katy took one step into the room--then stopped. the color flashed over her face, and she held by the door-knob to support herself. what was it that she saw? not merely the room itself, with its fresh muslin curtains and vases of flowers. nor even the wide, beautiful window which had been cut toward the sun, or the inviting little couch and table which stood there, evidently for her. no, there was something else! the sofa was pulled out and there upon it, supported by pillows, her bright eyes turned to the door, lay--cousin helen! when she saw katy, she held out her arms. clover and cecy agreed afterward that they never were so frightened in their lives as at this moment; for katy, forgetting her weakness, let go of papa's arm, and absolutely _ran_ toward the sofa. "oh, cousin helen! dear, dear cousin helen!" she cried. then she tumbled down by the sofa somehow, the two pairs of arms and the two faces met, and for a moment or two not a word more was heard from anybody. "isn't a nice 'prise?" shouted philly, turning a somerset by way of relieving his feelings, while john and dorry executed a sort of war-dance round the sofa. phil's voice seemed to break the spell of silence, and a perfect hubbub of questions and exclamations began. it appeared that this happy thought of getting cousin helen to the "celebration," was clover's. she it was who had proposed it to papa, and made all the arrangements. and, artful puss! she had set bridget to sweep the hall, on purpose that katy might not hear the noise of the arrival. "cousin helen's going to stay three weeks this time--isn't that nice?" asked elsie, while clover anxiously questioned: "are you sure that you didn't suspect? not one bit? not the least tiny, weeny mite?" "no, indeed--not the least. how could i suspect anything so perfectly delightful?" and katy gave cousin helen another rapturous kiss. such a short day as that seemed! there was so much to see, to ask about, to talk over, that the hours flew, and evening dropped upon them all like another great surprise. cousin helen was perhaps the happiest of the party. beside the pleasure of knowing katy to be almost well again, she had the additional enjoyment of seeing for herself how many changes for the better had taken place, during the four years, among the little cousins she loved so much. it was very interesting to watch them all. elsie and dorry seemed to her the most improved of the family. elsie had quite lost her plaintive look and little injured tone, and was as bright and beaming a maiden of twelve as any one could wish to see. dorry's moody face had grown open and sensible, and his manners were good-humored and obliging. he was still a sober boy, and not specially quick in catching an idea, but he promised to turn out a valuable man. and to him, as to all the other children, katy was evidently the centre and the sun. they all revolved about her, and trusted her for everything. cousin helen looked on as phil came in crying, after a hard tumble, and was consoled; as johnnie whispered an important secret, and elsie begged for help in her work. she saw katy meet them all pleasantly and sweetly, without a bit of the dictatorial elder-sister in her manner, and with none of her old, impetuous tone. and best of all, she saw the change in katy's own face: the gentle expression of her eyes, the womanly look, the pleasant voice, the politeness, the tact in advising the others, without seeming to advise. "dear katy," she said a day or two after her arrival, "this visit is a great pleasure to me--you can't think how great. it is such a contrast to the last i made, when you were so sick, and everybody so sad. do you remember?" "indeed i do! and how good you were, and how you helped me! i shall never forget that." "i'm glad! but what i could do was very little. you have been learning by yourself all this time. and katy, darling, i want to tell you how pleased i am to see how bravely you have worked your way up. i can perceive it in everything--in papa, in the children, in yourself. you have won the place, which, you recollect, i once told you an invalid should try to gain, of being to everybody 'the heart of the house.'" "oh, cousin helen, don't!" said katy, her eyes filling with sudden tears. "i haven't been brave. you can't think how badly i sometimes have behaved--how cross and ungrateful i am, and how stupid and slow. every day i see things which ought to be done, and i don't do them. it's too delightful to have you praise me--but you mustn't. i don't deserve it." but although she said she didn't deserve it i think that katy did! dusty diamonds cut and polished, by r.m. ballantyne. first published ________________________________________________________________________ as so often with ballantyne there are two concurrent stories in this book. in one of these we meet two little stray and homeless boys in the vicinity of whitechapel in the east-end of london. these two are rescued from the streets, trained up and sent to canada to live as part of a farmer's family there. the other story concerns the mother of one of the boys, with too many children, a drink-habit, and a wife-beating and criminal husband: plainly there's not much going for her, but her eldest daughter manages to bring life together for the family. the bad father, on his release from jail, deserts his wife, which is no bad thing; the wife takes the blue ribbon and gives up drinking; a couple of well-to-do gentlemen take an interest in the family; and finally they all emigrate to canada and live happily ever after. of course, it is a little more complicated than that, with a burglary thrown in as well as a smattering of do-good-ers and do-bad-ers. but for those with an interest in the street-life of the nineteenth century this will be a very interesting book for you. a note about the author. robert michael ballantyne was born in and died in . he was educated at the edinburgh academy, and in he became a clerk with the hudson bay company, working at the red river settlement in northern canada until , arriving back in edinburgh in . the letters he had written home were very amusing in their description of backwoods life, and his family publishing connections suggested that he should construct a book based on these letters. three of his most enduring books were written over the next decade, "the young fur traders", "ungava", "the hudson bay company", and were based on his experiences with the h.b.c. in this period he also wrote "the coral island" and "martin rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited by ballantyne. having been chided for small mistakes he made in these books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about. with these books he became known as a great master of literature intended for teenagers. he researched the cornish mines, the london fire brigade, the postal service, the railways, the laying down of submarine telegraph cables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, the life-boat service, south africa, norway, the north sea fishing fleet, ballooning, deep-sea diving, algiers, and many more, experiencing the lives of the men and women in these settings by living with them for weeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived. he was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes he encountered with great care and attention to detail. his young readers looked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the s and s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year, all very good reading. the rate of production diminished in the last ten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed. he published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books for very young children under the pseudonym "comus". for today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and what we would nowadays call "pi". in part that was the way people wrote in those days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the red river settlement, in the wilds of canada, he had been a little dissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of how they ought to behave, as he felt he had been. some of his books were quite short, little over pages. these books formed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having less pocket-money. these books are particularly well-written and researched, because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible for their money. they were published as six series, three books in each series. re-created as an e-text by nick hodson, september . ________________________________________________________________________ dusty diamonds cut and polished, by r.m. ballantyne. chapter one. an accident and some of its curious results. every one has heard of those ponies--those shaggy, chubby, innocent-looking little creatures--for which the world is indebted, we suppose, to shetland. well, once on a time, one of the most innocent-looking, chubbiest, and shaggiest of shetland ponies--a dark brown one--stood at the door of a mansion in the west-end of london. it was attached to a wickerwork vehicle which resembled a large clothes-basket on small wheels. we do not mean, of course, that the pony was affectionately attached to it. no; the attachment was involuntary and unavoidable, by reason of a brand-new yellow leather harness with brass buckles. it objected to the attachment, obviously, for it sidled this way, and straddled that way, and whisked its enormous little tail, and tossed its rotund little head, and stamped its ridiculously small feet; and champed its miniature bit, as if it had been a war-horse of the largest size, fit to carry a wallace, a bruce, or a richard of the lion-heart, into the midst of raging battle. and no wonder; for many months had not elapsed since that brown creature had kicked up its little heels, and twirled its tail, and shaken its shaggy mane in all the wild exuberance of early youth and unfettered freedom on the heather hills of its native island. in the four-wheeled basket sat a little girl whom it is useless to describe as beautiful. she was far beyond that! her delicate colour, her little straight nose, her sparkling teeth, her rosebud of a mouth, her enormous blue eyes, and floods of yellow hair--pooh! these are not worth mentioning in the same sentence with her expression. it was that which carried all before it, and swept up the adoration of man-and-woman-kind as with the besom of fascination. she was the only child of sir richard brandon. sir richard was a knight and a widower. he was knighted, not because of personal merit, but because he had been mayor of some place, sometime or other, when some one connected with royalty had something important to do with it! little diana was all that this knight and widower had on earth to care for, except, of course, his horses and dogs, and guns, and club, and food. he was very particular as to his food. not that he was an epicure, or a gourmand, or luxurious, or a hard drinker, or anything of that sort--by no means. he could rough it, (so he said), as well as any man, and put up with whatever chanced to be going, but, when there was no occasion for roughing it, he did like to see things well cooked and nicely served; and wine, you know, was not worth drinking--positively nauseous--if it was not of the best. sir richard was a poor man--a very poor man. he had only five thousand a year--a mere pittance; and he managed this sum in such a peculiar way that he never had anything wherewith to help a struggling friend, or to give to the poor, or to assist the various religious and charitable institutions by which he was surrounded; while at certain intervals in the year he experienced exasperating difficulty in meeting the demands of those torments to society, the tradespeople--people who ought to be ashamed of themselves for not being willing to supply the nobility and gentry with food and clothing gratuitously! moreover, sir richard never by any chance laid anything by. standing by the pony's head, and making tender efforts to restrain his waywardness, stood a boy--a street boy--a city arab. to a londoner any description of this boy would be superfluous, but it may be well to state, for the benefit of the world at large, that the class to which he belonged embodies within its pale the quintessence of rollicking mischief, and the sublimate of consummate insolence. this remarkable boy was afflicted with a species of dance--not that of saint vitus, but a sort of double-shuffle, with a stamp of the right foot at the end--in which he was prone to indulge, consciously and unconsciously, at all times, and the tendency to which he sometimes found it difficult to resist. he was beginning to hum the sharply-defined air to which he was in the habit of performing this dance, when little diana said, in a silvery voice quite in keeping with her beauty-- "let go his head, boy; i'm quite sure that he cannot bear restraint." it may be remarked here that little di was probably a good judge on that point, being herself nearly incapable of bearing restraint. "i'd better not, miss," replied the boy with profound respect in tone and manner, for he had yet to be paid for the job; "he seems raither frisky, an' might take a fancy to bolt, you know." "let his head go, i say!" returned miss diana with a flashing of the blue eyes, and a pursing of the rosebud mouth that proved her to be one of adam's race after all. "vell, now, don't you think," rejoined the boy, in an expostulating tone, "that it would be as veil to vait for the guv'nor before givin' 'im 'is 'ead?" "do as i bid you, sir!" said di, drawing herself up like an empress. still the street boy held the pony's head, and it is probable that he would have come off the victor in this controversy, had not diana's dignified action given to the reins which she held a jerk. the brown pony, deeming this full permission to go on, went off with a bound that overturned the boy, and caused the fore-wheel to strike him on the leg as it passed. springing up with the intention of giving chase to the runaway, the little fellow again fell, with a sharp cry of pain, for his leg was broken. at the same moment sir richard brandon issued from the door of his mansion leisurely, and with an air of calm serenity, pulling on his gloves. it was one of the knight's maxims that, under all circumstances, a gentleman should maintain an appearance of imperturbable serenity. when, however, he suddenly beheld the street boy falling, and his daughter standing up in her wickerwork chariot, holding on to the brown pony like an amazon warrior of ancient times, his maxim somehow evaporated. his serenity vanished. so did his hat as he bounded from beneath it, and left it far behind in his mad and hopeless career after the runaway. a policeman, coming up just as sir richard disappeared, went to the assistance of the street boy. "not much hurt, youngster," he said kindly, as he observed that the boy was very pale, and seemed to be struggling hard to repress his feelings. "vell, p'raps i is an' p'raps i ain't, bobby," replied the boy with an unsuccessful attempt at a smile, for he felt safe to chaff or insult his foe in the circumstances, "but vether hurt or not it vont much matter to you, vill it?" he fainted as he spoke, and the look of half-humorous impudence, as well as that of pain, gave place to an expression of infantine repose. the policeman was so struck by the unusual sight of a street boy looking innocent and unconscious, that he stooped and raised him quite tenderly in his arms. "you'd better carry him in here," said sir richard brandon's butler, who had come out. "i saw it 'appen, and suspect he must be a good deal damaged." sir richard's footman backing the invitation, the boy was carried into the house accordingly, laid on the housemaid's bed, and attended to by the cook, while the policeman went out to look after the runaways. "oh! what ever shall we do?" exclaimed the cook, as the boy showed symptoms of returning consciousness. "send for the doctor," suggested the housemaid. "no," said the butler, "send for a cab, and 'ave the boy sent home. i fear that master will blame me for givin' way to my feelin's, and won't thank me for bringin' 'im in here. you know he is rather averse to the lower orders. besides, the poor boy will be better attended to at 'ome, no doubt. i dare say you'd like to go 'ome, wouldn't you?" he said, observing that the boy was looking at him with a rather curious expression. "i dessay i should, if i could," he answered, with a mingled glance of mischief and pain, "but if you'll undertake to carry me, old cock, i'll be 'appy to go." "i'll send you in a cab, my poor boy," returned the butler, "and git a cabman as i'm acquainted with to take care of you." "all right! go a'ead, ye cripples," returned the boy, as the cook approached him with a cup of warm soup. "oh! ain't it prime!" he said, opening his eyes very wide indeed, and smacking his lips. "i think i'll go in for a smashed pin every day o' my life for a drop o' that stuff. surely it must be wot they drinks in 'eaven! have 'ee got much more o' the same on 'and?" "never mind, but you drink away while you've got the chance," replied the amiable cook; "there's the cab coming, so you've no time to lose." "vell, i _am_ sorry i ain't able to 'old more, an' my pockets wont 'old it neither, bein' the wuss for wear. thankee, missus." he managed, by a strong effort, to dispose of a little more soup before the cab drew up. "where do you live?" asked the butler, as he placed the boy carefully in the bottom of the cab with his unkempt head resting on a hassock, which he gave him to understand was a parting gift from the housemaid. "vere do i live?" he repeated. "vy, mostly in the streets; my last 'ome was a sugar barrel, the one before was a donkey-cart, but i do sometimes condescend to wisit my parents in their mansion 'ouse in vitechapel." "and what is your name? sir richard may wish to inquire for you-- perhaps." "may he? oh! i'm sorry i ain't got my card to leave, but you just tell him, john--is it, or thomas?--ah! thomas. i knowed it couldn't 'elp to be one or t'other;--you just tell your master that my name is robert, better known as bobby, frog. but i've lots of aliases, if that name don't please 'im. good-bye, thomas. farewell, and if for ever, then-- you know the rest o' the quotation, if your eddication's not bin neglected, w'ich is probable it was. oh! by the way. this 'assik is the gift of the 'ouse-maid? you observe the answer, cabby, in case you and i may differ about it 'ereafter." "yes," said the amused butler, "a gift from jessie." "ah!--jus' so. an' she's tender-'earted an' on'y fifteen. wots 'er tother name? summers, eh? vell, it's prettier than vinters. tell 'er i'll not forget 'er. now, cabman--'ome!" a few minutes more, and bobby frog was on his way to the mansion in whitechapel, highly delighted with his recent feast, but suffering extremely from his broken limb. meanwhile, the brown pony--having passed a bold costermonger, who stood shouting defiance at it, and waving both arms till it was close on him, when he stepped quickly out of its way--eluded a dray-man, and entered on a fine sweep of street, where there seemed to be no obstruction worth mentioning. by that time it had left the agonised father far behind. the day was fine; the air bracing. the utmost strength of poor little diana, and she applied it well, made no impression whatever on the pony's tough mouth. influences of every kind were favourable. on the illogical principle, probably, that being "in for a penny" justified being "in for a pound," the pony laid himself out for a glorious run. he warmed to his work, caused the dust to fly, and the clothes-basket to advance with irregular bounds and swayings as he scampered along, driving many little dogs wild with delight, and two or three cats mad with fear. gradually he drew towards the more populous streets, and here, of course, the efforts on the part of the public to arrest him became more frequent, also more decided, though not more successful. at last an inanimate object effected what man and boy had failed to accomplish. in a wild effort to elude a demonstrative cabman near the corner of one of the main thoroughfares, the brown pony brought the wheels of the vehicle into collision with a lamp-post. that lamp-post went down before the shock like a tall head of grain before the sickle. the front wheels doubled up into a sudden embrace, broke loose, and went across the road, one into a greengrocer's shop, the other into a chemist's window. thus diversely end many careers that begin on a footing of equality! the hind-wheels went careering along the road like a new species of bicycle, until brought up by a donkey-cart, while the basket chariot rolled itself violently round the lamp-post, like a shattered remnant, as if resolved, before perishing, to strangle the author of all the mischief. as to the pony, it stopped, and seemed surprised at first by the unexpected finale, but the look quickly changed--or appeared to change--to one of calm contentment as it surveyed the ruin. but what of the fair little charioteer? truly, in regard to her, a miracle, or something little short of one, had occurred. the doctrine that extremes meet contains much truth in it--truth which is illustrated and exemplified more frequently, we think, than is generally supposed. a tremendous accident is often much less damaging to the person who experiences it than a slight one. in little diana's case, the extremes had met, and the result was absolute safety. she was shot out of her basket carriage after the manner of a sky-rocket, but the impulse was so effective that, instead of causing her to fall on her head and break her pretty little neck, it made her perform a complete somersault, and alight upon her feet. moreover, the spot on which she alighted was opportune, as well as admirably suited to the circumstances. at the moment, ignorant of what was about to happen, police-constable number --we are not quite sure of what division--in all the plenitude of power, and blue, and six-feet-two, approached the end of a street entering at right angles to the one down which our little heroine had flown. he was a superb specimen of humanity, this constable, with a chest and shoulders like hercules, and the figure of apollo. he turned the corner just as the child had completed her somersault, and received her two little feet fairly in the centre of his broad breast, driving him flat on his back more effectively than could have been done by the best prize-fighter in england! number proved a most effectual buffer, for di, after planting her blow on his chest, sat plump down on his stomach, off which she sprang in an agony of consternation, exclaiming-- "oh! i have killed him! i've killed him!" and burst into tears. "no, my little lady," said number , as he rose with one or two coughs and replaced his helmet, "you've not quite done for me, though you've come nearer the mark than any _man_ has ever yet accomplished. come, now, what can i do for you? you're not hurt, i hope?" this sally was received with a laugh, almost amounting to a cheer, by the half-horrified crowd which had quickly assembled to witness, as it expected, a fatal accident. "hurt? oh! no, i'm not hurt," exclaimed di, while tears still converted her eyes into blue lakelets as she looked anxiously up in the face of number ; "but i'm quite sure you must be hurt--awfully. i'm _so_ sorry! indeed i am, for i didn't mean to knock you down." this also was received by the crowd with a hearty laugh, while number sought to comfort the child by earnestly assuring her that he was not hurt in the least--only a little stunned at first, but that was quite gone. "wot does she mean by knockin' of 'im down?" asked a small butcher's boy, who had come on the scene just too late, of a small baker's boy who had, happily, been there from the beginning. "she means wot she says," replied the small baker's boy with the dignified reticence of superior knowledge, "she knocked the constable down." "wot! a leetle gurl knock a six-foot bobby down?--walk-_er_!" "very good; you've no call to b'lieve it unless you like," replied the baker's boy, with a look of pity at the unbelieving butcher, "but she did it, though--an' that's six month with 'ard labour, if it ain't five year." at this point the crowd opened up to let a maniac enter. he was breathless, hatless, moist, and frantic. "my child! my darling! my dear di!" he gasped. "papa!" responded diana, with a little scream, and, leaping into his arms, grasped him in a genuine hug. "oh! i say," whispered the small butcher, "it's a melly-drammy--all for nuffin!" "my!" responded the small baker, with a solemn look, "won't the lord left-tenant be down on 'em for play-actin' without a licence, just!" "is the pony killed?" inquired sir richard, recovering himself. "not in the least, sir. 'ere 'e is, sir; all alive an' kickin'," answered the small butcher, delighted to have the chance of making himself offensively useful, "but the hinsurance offices wouldn't 'ave the clo'se-baskit at no price. shall i order up the remains of your carriage, sir?" "oh! i'm so glad he's not dead," said diana, looking hastily up, "but this policeman was nearly killed, and _i_ did it! he saved my life, papa." a chorus of voices here explained to sir richard how number had come up in the nick of time to receive the flying child upon his bosom. "i am deeply grateful to you," said the knight, turning to the constable, and extending his hand, which the latter shook modestly while disclaiming any merit for having merely performed his duty--he might say, involuntarily. "will you come to my house?" said sir richard. "here is my card. i should like to see you again, and pray, see that some one looks after my pony and--" "and the remains," suggested the small butcher, seeing that sir richard hesitated. "be so good as to call a cab," said sir richard in a general way to any one who chose to obey. "here you are, sir!" cried a peculiarly sharp cabby, who, correctly judging from the state of affairs that his services would be required, had drawn near to bide his time. sir richard and his little daughter got in and were driven home, leaving number to look after the pony and the remains. thus curiously were introduced to each other some of the characters in our tale. chapter two. the irresistible power of love. need we remark that there was a great deal of embracing on the part of di and her nurse when the former returned home? the child was an affectionate creature as well as passionate. the nurse, mrs screwbury, was also affectionate without being passionate. poor diana had never known a mother's love or care; but good, steady, stout mrs screwbury did what in her lay to fill the place of mother. sir richard filled the place of father pretty much as a lamp-post might have done had it owned a child. he illuminated her to some extent-- explained things in general, stiffly, and shed a feeble ray around himself; but his light did not extend far. he was proud of her, however, and very fond of her--when good. when not good, he was--or rather had been--in the habit of dismissing her to the nursery. nevertheless, the child exercised very considerable and ever-increasing influence over her father; for, although stiff, the knight was by no means destitute of natural affection, and sometimes observed, with moist eyes, strong traces of resemblance to his lost wife in the beautiful child. indeed, as years advanced, he became a more and more obedient father, and was obviously on the high road to abject slavery. "papa," said di, while they were at luncheon that day, not long after the accident, "i _am_ so sorry for that poor policeman. it seems such a dreadful thing to have actually jumped upon him! and oh! you should have heard his poor head hit the pavement, and seen his pretty helmet go spinning along like a boy's top, ever so far. i wonder it didn't kill him. i'm _so_ sorry." di emphasised her sorrow by laughing, for she had a keen sense of the ludicrous, and the memory of the spinning helmet was strong upon her just then. "it must indeed have been an unpleasant blow," replied sir richard, gravely, "but then, dear, you couldn't help it, you know--and i dare say he is none the worse for it now. men like him are not easily injured. i fear we cannot say as much for the boy who was holding the pony." "oh! i quite forgot about him," exclaimed di; "the naughty boy! he wouldn't let go the pony's reins when i bid him, but i saw he tumbled down when we set off." "yes, he has been somewhat severely punished, i fear, for his disobedience. his leg had been broken. is it not so, balls?" "yes, sir," replied the butler, "'e 'as 'ad 'is--" balls got no farther, for diana, who had been struck dumb for the moment by the news, recovered herself. "his leg broken!" she exclaimed with a look of consternation; "oh! the poor, poor boy!--the dear boy! and it was me did that too, as well as knocking down the poor policeman!" there is no saying to what lengths the remorseful child would have gone in the way of self-condemnation if her father had not turned her thoughts from herself by asking what had been done for the boy. "we sent 'im 'ome, sir, in a cab." "i'm afraid that was a little too prompt," returned the knight thoughtfully. "a broken leg requires careful treatment, i suppose. you should have had him into the house, and sent for a doctor." balls coughed. he was slightly chagrined to find that the violation of his own humane feelings had been needless, and that his attempt to do as he thought his master would have wished was in vain. "i thought, sir richard, that you didn't like the lower orders to go about the 'ouse more--" again little di interrupted the butler by asking excitedly where the boy's home was. "in the neighbour'ood of w'itechapel, miss di." "then, papa, we will go straight off to see him," said the child, in the tone of one whose mind is fully made up. "you and i shall go together-- won't we? good papa!" "that will do, balls, you may go. no, my dear di, i think we had better not. i will write to one of the city missionaries whom i know, and ask him to--" "no, but, papa--dear papa, we _must_ go. the city missionary could never say how very, _very_ sorry i am that he should have broken his leg while helping me. and then i should _so_ like to sit by him and tell him stories, and give him his soup and gruel, and read to him. poor, _poor_ boy, we _must_ go, papa, won't you?" "not to-day, dear. it is impossible to go to-day. there, now, don't begin to cry. perhaps--perhaps to-morrow--but think, my love; you have no idea how dirty--how _very_ nasty--the places are in which our lower orders live." "oh! yes i have," said di eagerly. "haven't i seen our nursery on cleaning days?" a faint flicker of a smile passed over the knight's countenance. "true, darling, but the places are far, far dirtier than that. then the smells. oh! they are very dreadful--" "what--worse than _we_ have when there's cabbage for dinner?" "yes, much worse than that." "i don't care, papa. we _must_ go to see the boy--the poor, _poor_ boy, in spite of dirt and smells. and then, you know--let me up on your knee and i'll tell you all about it. there! well, then, you know, i'd tidy the room up, and even wash it a little. oh, you can't think how nicely i washed up my doll's room--her corner, you know,--that day when i spilt all her soup in trying to feed her, and then, while trying to wipe it up, i accidentally burst her, and all her inside came out--the sawdust, i mean. it was the worst mess i ever made, but i cleaned it up as well as jessie herself could have done--so nurse said." "but the messes down in whitechapel are much worse than you have described, dear," expostulated the parent, who felt that his powers of resistance were going. "so much the better, papa," replied di, kissing her sire's lethargic visage. "i should like _so_ much to try if i could clean up something worse than my doll's room. and you've promised, you know." "no--only said `perhaps,'" returned sir richard quickly. "well, that's the same thing; and now that it's all nicely settled, i'll go and see nurse. good-bye, papa." "good-bye, dear," returned the knight, resigning himself to his fate and the newspaper. chapter three. poverty manages to board out her infant for nothing. on the night of the day about which we have been writing, a woman, dressed in "unwomanly rags" crept out of the shadow of the houses near london bridge. she was a thin, middle-aged woman, with a countenance from which sorrow, suffering, and sin had not been able to obliterate entirely the traces of beauty. she carried a bundle in her arms which was easily recognisable as a baby, from the careful and affectionate manner in which the woman's thin, out-spread fingers grasped it. hurrying on to the bridge till she reached the middle of one of the arches, she paused and looked over. the thames was black and gurgling, for it was intensely dark, and the tide half ebb at the time. the turbid waters chafed noisily on the stone piers as if the sins and sorrows of the great city had been somehow communicated to them. but the distance from the parapet to the surface of the stream was great. it seemed awful in the woman's eyes. she shuddered and drew back. "oh! for courage--only for one minute!" she murmured, clasping the bundle closer to her breast. the action drew off a corner of the scanty rag which she called a shawl, and revealed a small and round, yet exceedingly thin face, the black eyes of which seemed to gaze in solemn wonder at the scene of darkness visible which was revealed. the woman stood between two lamps in the darkest place she could find, but enough of light reached her to glitter in the baby's solemn eyes as they met her gaze, and it made a pitiful attempt to smile as it recognised its mother. "god help me! i can't," muttered the woman with a shiver, as if an ice-block had touched her heart. she drew the rag hastily over the baby's head again, pressed it closer to her breast, retraced her steps, and dived into the shadows from which she had emerged. this was one of the "lower orders" to whom sir richard brandon had such an objection, whom he found it, he said, so difficult to deal with, (no wonder, for he never tried to deal with them at all, in any sense worthy of the name), and whom it was, he said, useless to assist, because all _he_ could do in such a vast accumulation of poverty would be a mere drop in the bucket. hence sir richard thought it best to keep the drop in his pocket where it could be felt and do good--at least to himself, rather than dissipate it in an almost empty bucket. the bucket, however, was not quite empty--thanks to a few thousands of people who differed from the knight upon that point. the thin woman hastened through the streets as regardless of passers-by as they were of her, until she reached the neighbourhood of commercial street, spitalfields. here she paused and looked anxiously round her. she had left the main thoroughfare, and the spot on which she stood was dimly lighted. whatever she looked or waited for, did not, however, soon appear, for she stood under a lamp-post, muttering to herself, "i _must_ git rid of it. better to do so than see it starved to death before my eyes." presently a foot-fall was heard, and a man drew near. the woman gazed intently into his face. it was not a pleasant face. there was a scowl on it. she drew back and let him pass. then several women passed, but she took no notice of them. then another man appeared. his face seemed a jolly one. the woman stepped forward at once and confronted him. "please, sir," she began, but the man was too sharp for her. "come now--you've brought out that baby on purpose to humbug people with it. don't fancy you'll throw dust in _my_ eyes. i'm too old a cock for that. don't you know that you're breaking the law by begging?" "i'm _not_ begging," retorted the woman, almost fiercely. "oh! indeed. why do you stop me, then?" "i merely wished to ask if your name is thompson." "ah hem!" ejaculated the man with a broad grin, "well no, madam, my name is _not_ thompson." "well, then," rejoined the woman, still indignantly, "you may move on." she had used an expression all too familiar to herself, and the man, obeying the order with a bow and a mocking laugh, disappeared like those who had gone before him. for some time no one else appeared save a policeman. when he approached, the woman went past him down the street, as if bent on some business, but when he was out of sight she returned to the old spot, which was near the entrance to an alley. at last the woman's patience was rewarded by the sight of a burly little elderly man, whose face of benignity was unmistakably genuine. remembering the previous man's reference to the baby, she covered it up carefully, and held it more like a bundle. stepping up to the newcomer at once, she put the same question as to name, and also asked if he lived in russell square. "no, my good woman," replied the burly little man, with a look of mingled surprise and pity, "my name is _not_ thompson. it is twitter-- samuel twitter, of twitter, slime and--, but," he added, checking himself, under a sudden and rare impulse of prudence, "why do you ask my name and address?" the woman gave an almost hysterical laugh at having been so successful in her somewhat clumsy scheme, and, without uttering another word, darted down the alley. she passed rapidly round by a back way to another point of the same street she had left--well ahead of the spot where she had stood so long and so patiently that night. here she suddenly uncovered the baby's face and kissed it passionately for a few moments. then, wrapping it in the ragged shawl, with its little head out, she laid it on the middle of the footpath full in the light of a lamp, and retired to await the result. when the woman rushed away, as above related, mr samuel twitter stood for some minutes rooted to the spot, lost in amazement. he was found in that condition by the returning policeman. "constable," said he, cocking his hat to one side the better to scratch his bald head, "there are strange people in this region." "indeed there are, sir." "yes, but i mean _very_ strange people." "well, sir, if you insist on it, i won't deny that some of them are _very_ strange." "yes, well--good-night, constable," said mr twitter, moving slowly forward in a mystified state of mind, while the guardian of the night continued his rounds, thinking to himself that he had just parted from one of the very strangest of the people. suddenly samuel twitter came to a full stop, for there lay the small baby gazing at him with its solemn eyes, apparently quite indifferent to the hardness and coldness of its bed of stone. "abandoned!" gasped the burly little man. whether mr twitter referred to the infant's moral character, or to its being shamefully forsaken, we cannot now prove, but he instantly caught the bundle in his arms and gazed at it. possibly his gaze may have been too intense, for the mild little creature opened a small mouth that bore no proportion whatever to the eyes, and attempted to cry, but the attempt was a failure. it had not strength to cry. the burly little man's soul was touched to the centre by the sight. he kissed the baby's forehead, pressed it to his ample breast, and hurried away. if he had taken time to think he might have gone to a police-office, or a night refuge, or some such haven of rest for the weary, but when twitter's feelings were touched he became a man of impulse. he did not take time to think--except to the extent that, on reaching the main thoroughfare, he hailed a cab and was driven home. the poor mother had followed him with the intention of seeing him home. of course the cab put an end to that. she felt comparatively easy, however, knowing, as she did, that her child was in the keeping of "twitter, slime and ---." that was quite enough to enable her to trace mr twitter out. comforting herself as well as she could with this reflection, she sat down in a dark corner on a cold door-step, and, covering her face with both hands, wept as though her heart would break. gradually her sobs subsided, and, rising, she hurried away, shivering with cold, for her thin cotton dress was a poor protection against the night chills, and her ragged shawl was--gone with the baby. in a few minutes she reached a part of the whitechapel district where some of the deepest poverty and wretchedness in london is to be found. turning into a labyrinth of small streets and alleys, she paused in the neighbourhood of the court in which was her home--if such it could be called. "is it worth while going back to him?" she muttered. "he nearly killed baby, and it wouldn't take much to make him kill me. and oh! he was so different--once!" while she stood irresolute, the man of whom she spoke chanced to turn the corner, and ran against her, somewhat roughly. "hallo! is that you?" he demanded, in tones that told too clearly where he had been spending the night. "yes, ned, it's me. i was just thinking about going home." "home, indeed--'stime to b'goin' home. where'v you bin? the babby 'll 'v bin squallin' pretty stiff by this time." "no fear of baby now," returned the wife almost defiantly; "it's gone." "gone!" almost shouted the husband. "you haven't murdered it, have you?" "no, but i've put it in safe keeping, where _you_ can't get at it, and, now i know that, i don't care what you do to _me_." "ha! we'll see about that. come along." he seized the woman by the arm and hurried her towards their dwelling. it was little better than a cellar, the door being reached by a descent of five or six much-worn steps. to the surprise of the couple the door, which was usually shut at that hour, stood partly open, and a bright light shone within. "wastin' coal and candle," growled the man with an angry oath, as he approached. "hetty didn't use to be so extravagant," remarked the woman, in some surprise. as she spoke the door was flung wide open, and an overgrown but very handsome girl peered out. "oh! father, i thought it was your voice," she said. "mother, is that you? come in, quick. here's bobby brought home in a cab with a broken leg." on hearing this the man's voice softened, and, entering the room, he went up to a heap of straw in one corner whereon our little friend bobby frog--the street-arab--lay. "hallo! bobby, wot's wrong with 'ee? you ain't used to come to grief," said the father, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, and giving him a rough shake. things oftentimes "are not what they seem." the shake was the man's mode of expressing sympathy, for he was fond of his son, regarding him, with some reason, as a most hopeful pupil in the ways of wickedness. "it's o' no use, father," said the boy, drawing his breath quickly and knitting his brows, "you can't stir me up with a long pole now. i'm past that." "what! have 'ee bin runned over?" "no--on'y run down, or knocked down." "who did it? on'y give me his name an' address, an' as sure as my name's ned i'll--" he finished the sentence with a sufficiently expressive scowl and clenching of a huge fist, which had many a time done great execution in the prize ring. "it wasn't a he, father, it was a she." "well, no matter, if i on'y had my fingers on her windpipe i'd squeeze it summat." "if you did i'd bang your nose! she didn't go for to do it a-purpose, you old grampus," retorted bobby, intending the remark to be taken as a gentle yet affectionate reproof. "a doctor's bin an' set my leg," continued the boy, "an' made it as stiff as a poker wi' what 'e calls splints. he says i won't be able to go about for ever so many weeks." "an' who's to feed you, i wonder, doorin' them weeks? an' who sent for the doctor? was it him as supplied the fire an' candle to-night?" "no, father, it was me," answered hetty, who was engaged in stirring something in a small saucepan, the loose handle of which was attached to its battered body by only one rivet; the other rivet had given way on an occasion when ned frog sent it flying through the doorway after his retreating wife. "you see i was paid my wages to-night, so i could afford it, as well as to buy some coal and a candle, for the doctor said bobby must be kept warm." "afford it!" exclaimed ned, in rising wrath, "how can 'ee say you can afford it w'en i 'aven't had enough grog to _half_ screw me, an' not a brown left. did the doctor ask a fee?" "no, father, i offered him one, but he wouldn't take it." "ah--very good on 'im! i wonder them fellows has the cheek to ask fees for on'y givin' advice. w'y, i'd give advice myself all day long at a penny an hour, an' think myself well off too if i got that--better off than them as got the advice anyhow. what are you sittin' starin' at an' sulkin' there for?" this last remark was addressed gruffly to mrs frog, who, during the previous conversation, had seated herself on a low three-legged stool, and, clasping her hands over her knees, gazed at the dirty blank walls in blanker despair. the poor woman realised the situation better than her drunken husband did. as a bird-fancier he contributed little, almost nothing, to the general fund on which this family subsisted. he was a huge, powerful fellow, and had various methods of obtaining money--some obvious and others mysterious--but nearly all his earnings went to the gin-palace, for ned was a man of might, and could stand an enormous quantity of drink. hetty, who worked, perhaps we should say slaved, for a firm which paid her one shilling a week, could not manage to find food for them all. mrs frog herself with her infant to care for, had found it hard work at any time to earn a few pence, and now bobby's active little limbs were reduced to inaction, converting him into a consumer instead of a producer. in short, the glaring fact that the family expenses would be increased while the family income was diminished, stared mrs frog as blankly in the face as she stared at the dirty blank wall. and her case was worse, even, than people in better circumstances might imagine, for the family lived so literally from hand to mouth that there was no time even to think when a difficulty arose or disaster befell. they rented their room from a man who styled it a furnished apartment, in virtue of a rickety table, a broken chair, a worn-out sheet or two, a dilapidated counterpane, four ragged blankets, and the infirm saucepan before mentioned, besides a few articles of cracked or broken crockery. for this accommodation the landlord charged ninepence per day, which sum had to be paid _every night_ before the family was allowed to retire to rest! in the event of failure to pay they would have been turned out into the street at once, and the door padlocked. thus the necessity for a constant, though small, supply of cash became urgent, and the consequent instability of "home" very depressing. to preserve his goods from the pawnbroker, and prevent a moonlight flitting, this landlord had printed on his sheets the words "stolen from ---" and on the blankets and counterpane were stamped the words "stop thief!" mrs frog made no reply to her husband's gruff question, which induced the man to seize an empty bottle, as being the best way of rousing her attention. "come, you let mother alone, dad," suggested bobby, "she ain't a-aggrawatin' of you just now." "why, mother," exclaimed hetty, who was so busy with bobby's supper, and, withal, so accustomed to the woman's looks of hopeless misery that she had failed to observe anything unusual until her attention was thus called to her, "what ever have you done with the baby?" "ah--you may well ask that," growled ned. even the boy seemed to forget his pain for a moment as he now observed, anxiously, that his mother had not the usual bundle on her breast. "the baby's gone!" she said, bitterly, still keeping her eyes on the blank wall. "gone!--how?--lost? killed? speak, mother," burst from hetty and the boy. "no, only gone to where it will be better cared for than here." "come, explain, old woman," said ned, again laying his hand on the bottle. as hetty went and took her hand gently, mrs frog condescended to explain, but absolutely refused to tell to whose care the baby had been consigned. "well--it ain't a bad riddance, after all," said the man, as he rose, and, staggering into a corner where another bundle of straw was spread on the floor, flung himself down. appropriately drawing two of the "stop thief" blankets over him, he went to sleep. then mrs frog, feeling comparatively sure of quiet for the remainder of the night, drew her stool close to the side of her son, and held such intercourse with him as she seldom had the chance of holding while bobby was in a state of full health and bodily vigour. hetty, meanwhile, ministered to them both, for she was one of those dusty diamonds of what may be styled the east-end diggings of london--not so rare, perhaps, as many people may suppose--whose lustre is dimmed and intrinsic value somewhat concealed by the neglect and the moral as well as physical filth by which they are surrounded. "of course you've paid the ninepence, hetty?" "yes, mother." "you might 'ave guessed that," said bobby, "for, if she 'adn't we shouldn't 'ave bin here." "that and the firing and candle, with what the doctor ordered, has used up all i had earned, even though i did some extra work and was paid for it," said hetty with a sigh. "but i don't grudge it, bobby--i'm only sorry because there's nothing more coming to me till next week." "meanwhile there is nothing for _this_ week," said mrs frog with a return of the despair, as she looked at her prostrate son, "for all i can manage to earn will barely make up the rent--if it does even that-- and father, you know, drinks nearly all he makes. god help us!" "god _will_ help us," said hetty, sitting down on the floor and gently stroking the back of her mother's hand, "for he sent the trouble, and will hear us when we cry to him." "pray to him, then, hetty, for it's no use askin' me to join you. i can't pray. an' don't let your father hear, else he'll be wild." the poor girl bent her head on her knees as she sat, and prayed silently. her mother and brother, neither of whom had any faith in prayer, remained silent, while her father, breathing stertorously in the corner, slept the sleep of the drunkard. chapter four. samuel twitter astonishes mrs. twitter and her friends. in a former chapter we described, to some extent, the person and belongings of a very poor man with five thousand a year. let us now make the acquaintance of a very rich one with an income of five hundred. he has already introduced himself to the reader under the name of samuel twitter. on the night of which we write mrs twitter happened to have a "few friends" to tea. and let no one suppose that mrs twitter's few friends were to be put off with afternoon tea--that miserable invention of modern times--nor with a sham meal of sweet warm water and thin bread and butter. by no means. we have said that samuel twitter was rich, and mrs twitter, conscious of her husband's riches, as well as grateful for them, went in for the substantial and luxurious to an amazing extent. unlimited pork sausages and inexhaustible buttered toast, balanced with muffins or crumpets, was her idea of "tea." the liquid was a secondary point--in one sense--but it was always strong. it was the only strong liquid in fact allowed in the house, for mr twitter, mrs twitter, and all the little twitters were members of the blue ribbon army; more or less enthusiastic according to their light and capacity. the young twitters descended in a graduated scale from sammy, the eldest, (about sixteen), down through molly, and willie, and fred, and lucy, to alice the so-called "baby"--though she was at that time a remarkably robust baby of four years. mrs twitter's few friends were aware of her tendencies, and appreciated her hospitality, insomuch that the "few" bade fair to develop by degrees into many. well, mrs twitter had her few friends to tea, and conviviality was at its height. the subject of conversation was poverty. mrs loper, a weak-minded but amiable lady, asserted that a large family with pounds a year was a poor family. mrs loper did not know that mrs twitter's income was five hundred, but she suspected it. mrs twitter herself carefully avoided giving the slightest hint on the subject. "of course," continued mrs loper, "i don't mean to say that people with five hundred are _very_ poor, you know; indeed it all depends on the family. with six children like you, now, to feed and clothe and educate, and with everything so dear as it is now, i should say that five hundred was poverty." "well, i don't quite agree with you, mrs loper, on that point. to my mind it does not so much depend on the family, as on the notions, and the capacity to manage, in the head of the family. i remember one family just now, whose head was cut off suddenly, i may say in the prime of life. a hundred and fifty a year or thereabouts was the income the widow had to count on, and she was left with five little ones to rear. she trained them well, gave them good educations, made most of their garments with her own hands when they were little, and sent one of her boys to college, yet was noted for the amount of time she spent in visiting the poor, the sick, and the afflicted, for whom she had always a little to spare out of her limited income. now, if wealth is to be measured by results, i think we may say that that poor lady was rich. she was deeply mourned by a large circle of poor people when she was taken home to the better land. her small means, having been judiciously invested by a brother, increased a little towards the close of life, but she never was what the world esteems rich." mrs twitter looked at a very tall man with a dark unhandsome countenance, as if to invite his opinion. "i quite agree with you," he said, helping himself to a crumpet, "there are some people with small incomes who seem to be always in funds, just as there are other people with large incomes who are always hard-up. the former are really rich, the latter really poor." having delivered himself of these sentiments somewhat sententiously, mr crackaby,--that was his name,--proceeded to consume the crumpet. there was a general tendency on the part of the other guests to agree with their hostess, but one black sheep in the flock objected. he quite agreed, of course, with the general principle that liberality with small means was beautiful to behold as well as desirable to possess--the liberality, not the small means--and that, on the other hand, riches with a narrow niggardly spirit was abominable, but then--and the black sheep came, usually, to the strongest part of his argument when he said "but then"--it was an uncommonly difficult thing, when everything was up to famine prices, and gold was depreciated in value owing to the gold-fields, and silver was nowhere, and coppers were changed into bronze,--exceedingly difficult to practise liberality and at the same time to make the two ends meet. as no one clearly saw the exact bearing of the black sheep's argument, they all replied with that half idiotic simper with which ignorance seeks to conceal herself, and which politeness substitutes for the more emphatic "pooh," or the inelegant "bosh." then, applying themselves with renewed zest to the muffins, they put about ship, nautically speaking, and went off on a new tack. "mr twitter is rather late to-night, i think?" said mr crackaby, consulting his watch, which was antique and turnipy in character. "he is, indeed," replied the hostess, "business must have detained him, for he is the very soul of punctuality. that is one of his many good qualities, and it is _such_ a comfort, for i can always depend on him to the minute,--breakfast, dinner, tea; he never keeps us waiting, as too many men do, except, of course, when he is unavoidably detained by business." "ah, yes, business has much to answer for," remarked mrs loper, in a tone which suggested that she held business to be an incorrigibly bad fellow; "whatever mischief happens with one's husband it's sure to be business that did it." "pardon me, madam," objected the black sheep, whose name, by the way, was stickler, "business does bring about much of the disaster that often appertains to wedded life, but mischief is sometimes done by other means, such, for instance, as accidents, robberies, murders--" "oh! mr stickler," suddenly interrupted a stout, smiling lady, named larrabel, who usually did the audience part of mrs twitter's little tea parties, "how _can_ you suggest such ideas, especially when mr twitter is unusually late?" mr stickler protested that he had no intention of alarming the company by disagreeable suggestions, that he had spoken of accident, robbery, and murder in the abstract. "there, you've said it all over again," interrupted mrs larrabel, with an unwonted frown. "but then," continued stickler, regardless of the interruption, "a broken leg, or a rifled pocket and stunned person, or a cut windpipe, may be applicable to the argument in hand without being applied to mr twitter." "surely," said mrs loper, who deemed the reply unanswerable. in this edifying strain the conversation flowed on until the evening grew late and the party began to grow alarmed. "i do hope nothing has happened to him," said mrs loper, with a solemnised face. "i think not. i have seen him come home much later than this--though not often," said the hostess, the only one of the party who seemed quite at ease, and who led the conversation back again into shallower channels. as the night advanced, however, the alarm became deeper, and it was even suggested by mrs loper that crackaby should proceed to twitter's office--a distance of three miles--to inquire whether and when he had left; while the smiling mrs larrabel proposed to send information to the headquarters of the police in scotland yard, because the police knew everything, and could find out anything. "you have no idea, my dear," she said, "how clever they are at scotland yard. would you believe it, i left my umbrellar the other day in a cab, and i didn't know the number of the cab, for numbers won't remain in my head, nor the look of the cabman, for i never look at cabmen, they are so rude sometimes. i didn't even remember the place where i got into the cab, for i can't remember places when i've to go to so many, so i gave up my umbrellar for lost and was going away, when a policeman stepped up to me and asked in a very civil tone if i had lost anything. he was so polite and pleasant that i told him of my loss, though i knew it would do me no good, as he had not seen the cab or the cabman. "`i think, madam,' he said, `that if you go down to scotland yard to-morrow morning, you may probably find it there.' "`young man,' said i, `do you take me for a fool!' "`no, madam, i don't,' he replied. "`or do you take my umbrellar for a fool,' said i, `that it should walk down to scotland yard of its own accord and wait there till i called for it?' "`certainly not, madam,' he answered with such a pleasant smile that i half forgave him. "`nevertheless if you happen to be in the neighbourhood of scotland yard to-morrow,' he added, `it might be as well to call in and inquire.' "`thank you,' said i, with a stiff bow as i left him. on the way home, however, i thought there might be something in it, so i did go down to scotland yard next day, where i was received with as much civility as if i had been a lady of quality, and was taken to a room as full of umbrellas as an egg's full of meat--almost. "`you'd know the umbrellar if you saw it, madam,' said the polite constable who escorted me. "`know it, sir!' said i, `yes, i should think i would. seven and sixpence it cost me--new, and i've only had it a week--brown silk with a plain handle--why, there it is!' and there it was sure enough, and he gave it to me at once, only requiring me to write my name in a book, which i did with great difficulty because of my gloves, and being so nervous. now, how did the young policeman that spoke to me the day before know that my umbrellar would go there, and how did it get there? they say the days of miracles are over, but i don't think so, for that was a miracle if ever there was one." "the days of miracles are indeed over, ma'am," said the black sheep, "but then that is no reason why things which are in themselves commonplace should not appear miraculous to the uninstructed mind. when i inform you that our laws compel cabmen under heavy penalties to convey left umbrellas and parcels to the police-office, the miracle may not seem quite so surprising." most people dislike to have their miracles unmasked. mrs larrabel turned from the black sheep to her hostess without replying, and repeated her suggestion about making inquiries at scotland yard--thus delicately showing that although, possibly, convinced, she was by no means converted. they were interrupted at this point by a hurried knock at the street door. "there he is at last," exclaimed every one. "it is his knock, certainly," said mrs twitter, with a perplexed look, "but rather peculiar--not so firm as usual--there it is again! impatient! i never knew my sam impatient before in all our wedded life. you'd better open the door, dear," she said, turning to the eldest twitter, he being the only one of the six who was privileged to sit up late, "mary seems to have fallen asleep." before the eldest twitter could obey, the maligned mary was heard to open the door and utter an exclamation of surprise, and her master's step was heard to ascend the stair rather unsteadily. the guests looked at each other anxiously. it might be that to some minds--certainly to that of the black sheep--visions of violated blue-ribbonism occurred. as certainly these visions did _not_ occur to mrs twitter. she would sooner have doubted her clergyman than her husband. trustfulness formed a prominent part of her character, and her confidence in her sam was unbounded. even when her husband came against the drawing-room door with an awkward bang--the passage being dark--opened it with a fling, and stood before the guests with a flushed countenance, blazing eyes, a peculiar deprecatory smile, and a dirty ragged bundle in his arms, she did not doubt him. "forgive me, my dear," he said, gazing at his wife in a manner that might well have justified the black sheep's thought, "screwed," "i--i-- business kept me in the office very late, and then--" he cast an imbecile glance at the bundle. "what _ever_ have you got there, sam?" asked his wondering wife. "goodness me! it moves!" exclaimed mrs loper. "live poultry!" thought the black sheep, and visions of police cells and penal servitude floated before his depraved mental vision. "yes, mrs loper, it moves. it is alive--though not very much alive, i fear. my dear, i've found--found a baby--picked it up in the street. not a soul there but me. would have perished or been trodden on if i had not taken it up. see here!" he untied the dirty bundle as he spoke, and uncovered the round little pinched face with the great solemn eyes, which gazed, still wonderingly, at the assembled company. it is due to the assembled company to add that it returned the gaze with compound interest. chapter five. treats still further of riches, poverty, babies, and police. when mr and mrs twitter had dismissed the few friends that night, they sat down at their own fireside, with no one near them but the little foundling, which lay in the youngest twitter's disused cradle, gazing at them with its usual solemnity, for it did not seem to require sleep. they opened up their minds to each other thus:-- "now, samuel," said mrs twitter, "the question is, what are you going to do with it?" "well, mariar," returned her spouse, with an assumption of profound gravity, "i suppose we must send it to the workhouse." "you know quite well, sam, that you don't mean that," said mrs twitter, "the dear little forsaken mite! just look at its solemn eyes. it has been clearly cast upon us, sam, and it seems to me that we are bound to look after it." "what! with six of our own, mariar?" "yes, sam. isn't there a song which says something about luck in odd numbers?" "and with only pounds a year?" objected mr twitter. "_only_ five hundred. how can you speak so? we are _rich_ with five hundred. can we not educate our little ones?" "yes, my dear." "and entertain our friends?" "yes, my love,--with crumpets and tea." "don't forget muffins and bloater paste, and german sausage and occasional legs of mutton, you ungrateful man!" "i don't forget 'em, mariar. my recollection of 'em is powerful; i may even say vivid." "well," continued the lady, "haven't you been able to lend small sums on several occasions to friends--" "yes, my dear,--and they are _still_ loans," murmured the husband. "and don't we give a little--i sometimes think too little--regularly to the poor, and to the church, and haven't we got a nest-egg laid by in the post-office savings-bank?" "all true, mariar, and all _your_ doing. but for your thrifty ways, and economical tendencies, and rare financial abilities, i should have been bankrupt long ere now." mr twitter was nothing more than just in this statement of his wife's character. she was one of those happily constituted women who make the best and the most of everything, and who, while by no means turning her eyes away from the dark sides of things, nevertheless gave people the impression that she saw only their bright sides. her economy would have degenerated into nearness if it had not been commensurate with her liberality, for while, on the one hand, she was ever anxious, almost eager, to give to the needy and suffering every penny that she could spare, she was, on the other hand, strictly economical in trifles. indeed mrs twitter's vocabulary did not contain the word trifle. one of her favourite texts of scripture, which was always in her mind, and which she had illuminated in gold and hung on her bedroom walls with many other words of god, was, "gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost." acting on this principle with all her heart, she gathered up the fragments of time, so that she had always a good deal of that commodity to spare, and was never in a hurry. she gathered up bits of twine and made neat little rings of them, which she deposited in a basket--a pretty large basket--which in time became such a repository of wealth in that respect that the six twitters never failed to find the exact size and quality of cordage wanted by them--and, indeed, even after the eldest, sammy, came to the years of discretion, if he had suddenly required a cable suited to restrain a first-rate iron-clad, his mind would, in the first blush of the thing, have reverted to mother's basket! if friends wrote short notes to mrs twitter--which they often did, for the sympathetic find plenty of correspondents--the blank leaves were always torn off and consigned to a scrap-paper box, and the pile grew big enough at last to have set up a small stationer in business. and so with everything that came under her influence at home or abroad. she emphatically did what she could to prevent waste, and became a living fulfilment of the well-known proverb, for as she wasted not she wanted not. but to return from this digression-- "well, then," said mrs twitter, "don't go and find fault, samuel," (she used the name in full when anxious to be impressive), "with what providence has given us, by putting the word `only' to it, for we are _rich_ with five hundred a year." mr twitter freely admitted that he was wrong, and said he would be more careful in future of the use to which he put the word "only." "but," said he, "we haven't a hole or corner in the house to put the poor thing in. to be sure, there's the coal-cellar and the scuttle might be rigged up as a cradle, but--" he paused, and looked at his wife. the deceiver did not mean all this to be taken as a real objection. he was himself anxious to retain the infant, and only made this show of opposition to enlist maria more certainly on his side. "not a corner!" she exclaimed, "why, is there not the whole parlour? do you suppose that a baby requires a four-post bed, and a wash-hand-stand, and a five-foot mirror? couldn't we lift the poor darling in and out in half a minute? besides, there is our own room. i feel as if there was an uncomfortable want of some sort ever since _our_ baby was transplanted to the nursery. so we will establish the old bassinet and put the mite there." "and what shall we call it, maria?" "call it--why, call it--call it--mite--no name could be more appropriate." "but, my love, mite, if a name at all, is a man's--that is, it sounds like a masculine name." "call it mita, then." and so it was named, and thus that poor little waif came to be adopted by that "rich" family. it seems to be our mission, at this time, to introduce our readers to various homes--the homes of england, so to speak! but let not our readers become impatient, while we lead the way to one more home, and open the door with our secret latch-key. this home is in some respects peculiar. it is not a poor one, for it is comfortable and clean. neither is it a rich one, for there are few ornaments, and no luxuries about it. over the fire stoops a comely young woman, as well as one can judge, at least, from the rather faint light that enters through a small window facing a brick wall. the wall is only five feet from the window, and some previous occupant of the rooms had painted on it a rough landscape, with three very green trees and a very blue lake, and a swan in the middle thereof, sitting on an inverted swan which was meant to be his reflection, but somehow seemed rather more real than himself. the picture is better, perhaps, than the bricks were, yet it is not enlivening. the only other objects in the room worth mentioning are, a particularly small book-shelf in a corner; a cuckoo-clock on the mantel-shelf, an engraved portrait of queen victoria on the wall opposite in a gilt frame, and a portrait of sir robert peel in a frame of rosewood beside it. on a little table in the centre of the room are the remains of a repast. under the table is a very small child, probably four years of age. near the window is another small, but older child--a boy of about six or seven. he is engaged in fitting on his little head a great black cloth helmet with a bronze badge, and a peak behind as well as before. having nearly extinguished himself with the helmet, the small boy seizes a very large truncheon, and makes a desperate effort to flourish it. close to the comely woman stands a very tall, very handsome, and very powerful man, who is putting in the uppermost buttons of a police-constable's uniform. behold, reader, the _tableau vivant_ to which we would call your attention! "where d'you go on duty to-day, giles," asked the comely young woman, raising her face to that of her husband. "oxford circus," replied the policeman. "it is the first time i've been put on fixed-point duty. that's the reason i'm able to breakfast with you and the children, molly, instead of being off at half-past five in the morning as usual. i shall be on for a month." "i'm glad of it, giles, for it gives the children a chance of seeing something of you. i wish you'd let me look at that cut on your shoulder. do!" "no, no, molly," returned the man, as he pushed his wife playfully away from him. "hands off! you know the punishment for assaulting the police is heavy! now then, monty," (to the boy), "give up my helmet and truncheon. i must be off." "not yet, daddy," cried monty, "i's a pleeceman of the a division, number , 'ats me, an' i'm goin' to catch a t'ief. i 'mell 'im." "you smell him, do you? where is he, d'you think?" "oh! i know," replied the small policeman--here he came close up to his father, and, getting on tiptoe, said in a very audible whisper, "he's under de table, but don' tell 'im i know. his name's joe!" "all right, i'll keep quiet, monty, but look alive and nab him quick, for i must be off." thus urged the small policeman went on tiptoe to the table, made a sudden dive under it, and collared his little brother. the arrest, however, being far more prompt than had been expected, the "t'ief" refused to be captured. a struggle ensued, in the course of which the helmet rolled off, a corner of the tablecloth was pulled down, and the earthenware teapot fell with a crash to the floor. "it's my duty, i fear," said giles, "to take you both into custody and lock you up in a cell for breaking the teapot as well as the peace, but i'll be merciful and let you off this time, monty, if you lend your mother a hand to pick up the pieces." monty agreed to accept this compromise. the helmet and truncheon were put to their proper uses, and the merciful police-constable went out "on duty." chapter six. wealth pays a visit to poverty. it was an interesting sight to watch police-constable number as he went through the performance of his arduous duties that day at the regent circus in oxford street. to those who are unacquainted with london, it may be necessary to remark that this circus is one of those great centres of traffic where two main arteries cross and tend to cause so much obstruction, that complete stoppages would become frequent were it not for the admirable management of the several members of the police force who are stationed there to keep order. the "oxford circus," as it is sometimes called, is by no means the largest or most crowded of such crossings, nevertheless the tide of traffic is sufficiently strong and continuous there to require several police-constables on constant duty. when men are detailed for such "fixed-point" duty they go on it for a month at a time, and have different hours from the other men, namely, from nine in the morning till five in the afternoon. we have said it was interesting to watch our big hero, number , in the performance of his arduous duties. he occupied the crossing on the city side of the circus. it was a magnificent afternoon, and all the metropolitan butterflies were out. busses flowed on in a continuous stream, looking like big bullies who incline to use their weight and strength to crush through all obstruction. the drivers of these were for the most part wise men, and restrained themselves and their steeds. in one or two instances, where the drivers were unwise, a glance from the bright eye of giles scott was quite sufficient to keep all right. and giles could only afford to bestow a fragmentary glance at any time on the refractory, for, almost at one and the same moment he had to check the impetuous, hold up a warning hand to the unruly, rescue a runaway child from innumerable horse-legs, pilot a stout but timid lady from what we may call refuge-island, in the middle of the roadway, to the pavement, answer an imbecile's question as to the whereabouts of the tower or saint paul's, order a loitering cabby to move on, and look out for his own toes, as well as give moderate attention to the carriage-poles which perpetually threatened the small of his own back. we should imagine that the premium of insurance on the life of number was fabulous in amount, but cannot tell. besides his great height, giles possessed a drooping moustache, which added much to his dignified appearance. he was also imperturbably grave, except when offering aid to a lady or a little child, on which occasions the faintest symptoms of a smile floated for a moment on his visage like an april sunbeam. at all other times his expression was that of incorruptible justice and awful immobility. no amount of chaff, no quantity of abuse, no kind of flattery, no sort of threat could move him any more than the seething billows of the mediterranean can move gibraltar. costermongers growled at him hopelessly. irate cabmen saw that their wisdom lay in submission. criminals felt that once in his grasp their case was hopeless, just as, conversely, old ladies felt that once under his protection they were in absolute security. even street-boys felt that references to "bobbies," "coppers," and "slops;" questions as to how 'is 'ead felt up there; who rolled 'im hout so long; whether his mother knew 'e was hout; whether 'e'd sell 'em a bit of 'is legs; with advice to come down off the ladder, or to go 'ome to bed-- that all these were utterly thrown away and lost upon giles scott. the garb of the london policeman is not, as every one knows, founded on the principles of aesthetics. neither has it been devised on utilitarian principles. indeed we doubt whether the originator of it, (and we are happy to profess ignorance of his name), proceeded on any principle whatever, except the gratification of a wild and degraded fancy. the colour, of course, is not objectionable, and the helmet might be worse, but the tunic is such that the idea of grace or elegance may not consist with it. we mention these facts because giles scott was so well-made that he forced his tunic to look well, and thus added one more to the already numerous "exceptions" which are said to "prove the rule." "allow me, madam," said giles, offering his right-hand to an elderly female, who, having screwed up her courage to make a rush, got into sudden danger and became mentally hysterical in the midst of a conglomerate of hoofs, poles, horse-heads, and wheels. the female allowed him, and the result was sudden safety, a gasp of relief, and departure of hysteria. "not yet, please," said giles, holding up a warning right-hand to the crowd on refuge-island, while with his left waving gently to and fro he gave permission to the mighty stream to flow. "now," he added, holding up the left-hand suddenly. the stream was stopped as abruptly as were the waters of jordan in days of old, and the storm-staid crew on refuge-island made a rush for the mainland. it was a trifling matter to most of them that rush, but of serious moment to the few whose limbs had lost their elasticity, or whose minds could not shake off the memory of the fact that between and lives are lost in london streets by accidents every year, and that between and are more or less severely injured annually. before the human stream had got quite across, an impatient hansom made a push. the eagle eye of number had observed the intention, and in a moment his gigantic figure stood calmly in front of the horse, whose head was raised high above his helmet as the driver tightened the reins violently. just then a small slipshod girl made an anxious dash from refuge-island, lost courage, and turned to run back, changed her mind, got bewildered, stopped suddenly and yelled. giles caught her by the arm, bore her to the pavement, and turned, just in time to see the hansom dash on in the hope of being overlooked. vain hope! number saw the number of the hansom, booked it in his memory while he assisted in raising up an old gentleman who had been overturned, though not injured, in endeavouring to avoid it. during the lull--for there are lulls in the rush of london traffic, as in the storms of nature,--giles transferred the number of that hansom to his note-book, thereby laying up a little treat for its driver in the shape of a little trial the next day terminating, probably, with a fine. towards five in the afternoon the strain of all this began to tell even on the powerful frame of giles scott, but no symptom did he show of fatigue, and so much reserve force did he possess that it is probable he would have exhibited as calm and unwearied a front if he had remained on duty for eighteen hours instead of eight. about that hour, also, there came an unusual glut to the traffic, in the form of a troop of the horse-guards. these magnificent creatures, resplendent in glittering steel, white plumes, and black boots, were passing westward. giles stood in front of the arrested stream. a number of people stood, as it were, under his shadow. refuge-island was overflowing. comments, chiefly eulogistic, were being freely made and some impatience was being manifested by drivers, when a little shriek was heard, and a child's voice exclaimed:-- "oh! papa, papa--there's _my_ policeman--the one i so nearly killed. he's _not_ dead after all!" giles forgot his dignity for one moment, and, looking round, met the eager gaze of little di brandon. another moment and duty required his undivided attention, so that he lost sight of her, but di took good care not to lose sight of him. "we will wait here, darling," said her father, referring to refuge-island on which he stood, "and when he is disengaged we can speak to him." "oh! i'm _so_ glad he's not dead," said little di, "and p'raps he'll be able to show us the way to my boy's home." di had a method of adopting, in a motherly way, all who, in the remotest manner, came into her life. thus she not only spoke of our butcher and our baker, which was natural, but referred to "my policeman" and "my boy" ever since the day of the accident. when giles had set his portion of the traffic in harmonious motion he returned to his island, and was not sorry to receive the dignified greeting of sir richard brandon, while he was delighted as well as amused by the enthusiastic grasp with which di seized his huge hand in both of her little ones, and the earnest manner in which she inquired after his health, and if she had hurt him much. "did they put you to bed and give you hot gruel?" she asked, with touching pathos. "no, miss, they didn't think i was hurt quite enough to require it," answered giles, his drooping moustache curling slightly as he spoke. "i had hoped to see you at my house," said sir richard, "you did not call." "thank you, sir, i did not think the little service i rendered your daughter worth making so much of. i called, however, the same evening, to inquire for her, but did not wish to intrude on you." "it would have been no intrusion, friend," returned sir richard, with grand condescension. "one who has saved my child's life has a claim upon my consideration." "a dook 'e must be," said a small street boy in a loud stage whisper to a dray-man--for small street-boys are sown broadcast in london, and turn up at all places on every occasion, "or p'raps," he added on reflection, "'e's on'y a markiss." "now then," said giles to the dray-man with a motion of the hand that caused him to move on, while he cast a look on the boy which induced him to move off. "by the way, constable," said sir richard, "i am on my way to visit a poor boy whose leg was broken on the day my pony ran away. he was holding the pony at the time. he lives in whitechapel somewhere. i have the address here in my note-book." "excuse me, sir, one moment," said number , going towards a crowd which had gathered round a fallen horse. "i happen to be going to that district myself," he continued on returning, "what is the boy's name?" "robert--perhaps i should rather say bobby frog," answered sir richard. "the name is familiar," returned the policeman, "but in london there are so many--what's his address, sir,--roy's court, near commercial street? oh! i know it well--one of the worst parts of london. i know the boy too. he is somewhat noted in that neighbourhood for giving the police trouble. not a bad-hearted fellow, i believe, but full of mischief, and has been brought up among thieves from his birth. his father is, or was, a bird-fancier and seller of penny articles on the streets, besides being a professional pugilist. you will be the better for protection there, sir. i would advise you not to go alone. if you can wait for five or ten minutes," added giles, "i shall be off duty and will be happy to accompany you." sir richard agreed to wait. within the time mentioned giles was relieved, and, entering a cab with his friends, drove towards whitechapel. they had to pass near our policeman's lodgings on the way. "would you object, sir, stopping at my house for five minutes?" he asked. "certainly not," returned the knight, "i am in no hurry." number stopped the cab, leaped out and disappeared through a narrow passage. in less than five minutes a very tall gentlemanly man issued from the same passage and approached them. little di opened her blue eyes to their very uttermost. it was _her_ policeman in plain clothes! she did not like the change at all at first, but before the end of the drive got used to him in his new aspect--all the more readily that he seemed to have cast off much of his stiffness and reserve with his blue skin. near the metropolitan railway station in whitechapel the cab was dismissed, and giles led the father and child along the crowded thoroughfare until they reached commercial street, along which they proceeded a short distance. "we are now near some of the worst parts of london, sir," said giles, "where great numbers of the criminal and most abandoned characters dwell." "indeed," said sir richard, who did not seem to be much gratified by the information. as for di, she was nearly crying. the news that _her_ boy was a thief and was born in the midst of such naughty people had fallen with chilling influence on her heart, for she had never thought of anything but the story-book "poor but honest parents!" "what large building is that?" inquired the knight, who began to wish that he had not given way to his daughter's importunities, "the one opposite, i mean, with placards under the windows." "that is the well-known home of industry, instituted and managed by miss macpherson and a staff of volunteer workers. they do a deal of good, sir, in this neighbourhood." "ah! indeed," said sir richard, who had never before heard of the home of industry. "and, pray, what particular industry does this miss mac-- what did you call her?" "macpherson. the lady, you know, who sends out so many rescued waifs and strays to canada, and spends all her time in caring for the poorest of the poor in the east-end and in preaching the gospel to them. you've often seen accounts of her work, no doubt, in the _christian_?" "well--n-no. i read the _times_, but, now you mention it, i have some faint remembrance of seeing reference to such matters. very self-denying, no doubt, and praiseworthy, though i must say that i doubt the use of preaching the gospel to such persons. from what i have seen of these lowest people i should think they were too deeply sunk in depravity to be capable of appreciating the lofty and sublime sentiments of christianity." number felt a touch of surprise at these words, though he was too well-bred a policeman to express his feelings by word or look. in fact, although not pre-eminently noted for piety, he had been led by training, and afterwards by personal experience, to view this matter from a very different standpoint from that of sir richard. he made no reply, however, but, turning round the corner of the home of industry, entered a narrow street which bore palpable evidence of being the abode of deepest poverty. from the faces and garments of the inhabitants it was also evidently associated with the deepest depravity. as little di saw some of the residents sitting on their doorsteps with scratched faces, swelled lips and cheeks, and dishevelled hair, and beheld the children in half-naked condition rolling in the kennel and extremely filthy, she clung closer to her father's side and began to suspect there were some phases of life she had never seen--had not even dreamt of! what the knight's thoughts were we cannot tell, for he said nothing, but disgust was more prominent than pity on his fine countenance. those who sat on the doorsteps, or lolled with a dissipated air against the door-posts, seemed to appreciate him at his proper value, for they scowled at him as he passed. they recognised number , however, (perhaps by his bearing), and gave him only a passing glance of indifference. "you said it would be dangerous for me to come here by myself," said sir richard, turning to giles, as he entered another and even worse street. "are they then so violent?" "many of them are among the worst criminals in london, sir. here is the court of which you are in search: roy's court." as he spoke, ned frog staggered out of his own doorway, clenched his fists, and looked with a vindictive scowl at the strangers. a second glance induced him to unclench his fists and reel round the corner on his way to a neighbouring grog-shop. whatever other shops may decay in that region, the grog-shops, like noxious weeds, always flourish. the court was apparently much deserted at that hour, for the men had not yet returned from their work--whatever that might be--and most of the women were within doors. "this is the house," continued giles, descending the few steps, and tapping at the door; "i have been here before. they know me." the door was opened by hetty, and for the first time since entering those regions of poverty and crime, little di felt a slight rise in her spirits, for through hetty's face shone the bright spirit within; albeit the shining was through some dirt and dishevelment, good principle not being able altogether to overcome the depressing influences of extreme poverty and suffering. "is your mother at home, hetty!" "oh! yes, sir. mother, here's mr scott. come in, sir. we are so glad to see you, and--" she stopped, and gazed inquiringly at the visitors who followed. "i've brought some friends of bobby to inquire for him. sir richard brandon--mrs frog." number stood aside, and, with something like a smile on his face, ceremoniously presented wealth to poverty. wealth made a slightly confused bow to poverty, and poverty, looking askance at wealth, dropt a mild courtesy. "vell now, i'm a dutchman if it ain't the hangel!" exclaimed a voice in the corner of the small room, before either wealth or poverty could utter a word. "oh! it's _my_ boy," exclaimed di with delight, forgetting or ignoring the poverty, dirt, and extremely bad air, as she ran forward and took hold of bobby's hand. it was a pre-eminently dirty hand, and formed a remarkable contrast to the little hands that grasped it! the small street boy was, for the first time in his life, bereft of speech! when that faculty returned, he remarked in language which was obscure to di:-- "vell, if this ain't a go!" "what is a go?" asked di with innocent surprise. instead of answering, bobby frog burst into a fit of laughter, but stopped rather suddenly with an expression of pain. "oh! 'old on! i say. this won't do. doctor 'e said i musn't larf, 'cause it shakes the leg too much. but, you know, wot's a cove to do ven a hangel comes to him and axes sitch rum questions?" again he laughed, and again stopped short in pain. "i'm _so_ sorry! does it feel _very_ painful? you can't think how constantly i've been thinking of you since the accident; for it was all my fault. if i hadn't jumped up in such a passion, the pony wouldn't have run away, and you wouldn't have been hurt. i'm so _very, very_ sorry, and i got dear papa to bring me here to tell you so, and to see if we could do anything to make you well." again bobby was rendered speechless, but his mind was active. "wot! i ain't dreamin', am i? 'as a hangel _really_ come to my bedside all the vay from the vest-end, an' brought 'er dear pa'--vich means the guv'nor, i fancy--all for to tell me--a kid whose life is spent in `movin' on'--that she's wery, wery, sorry i've got my leg broke, an' that she's bin an' done it, an' she would like to know if she can do hanythink as'll make me vell! but it ain't true. it's a big lie! i'm dreamin', that's all. i've been took to hospital, an' got d'lirious-- that's wot it is. i'll try to sleep!" with this end in view he shut his eyes, and remained quite still for a few seconds, and when di looked at his pinched and pale face in this placid condition, the tears _would_ overflow their natural boundary, and sobs _would_ rise up in her pretty throat, but she choked them back for fear of disturbing her boy. presently the boy opened his eyes. "wot, are you there yet?" he asked. "oh yes. did you think i was going away?" she replied, with a look of innocent surprise. "i won't leave you now. i'll stay here and nurse you, if papa will let me. i have slept once on a shake-down, when i was forced by a storm to stay all night at a juv'nile party. so if you've a corner here, it will do nicely--" "my dear child," interrupted her amazed father, "you are talking nonsense. and--do keep a little further from the bed. there may be-- you know--infection--" "oh! you needn't fear infection here, sir," said mrs frog, somewhat sharply. "we are poor enough, god knows, though i _have_ seen better times, but we keep ourselves pretty clean, though we can't afford to spend much on soap when food is so dear, and money so scarce--so _very_ scarce!" "forgive me, my good woman," said sir richard, hastily, "i did not mean to offend, but circumstances would seem to favour the idea--of--of--" and here wealth--although a bank director and chairman of several boards, and capable of making a neat, if weakly, speech on economic laws and the currency when occasion required--was dumb before poverty. indeed, though he had often theorised about that stricken creature, he had never before fairly hunted her down, run her into her den, and fairly looked her in the face. "the fact is, mrs frog," said giles scott, coming to the rescue, "sir richard is anxious to know something about your affairs--your family, you know, and your means of--by the way, where is baby?" he said looking round the room. "she's gone lost," said mrs frog. "lost?" repeated giles, with a significant look. "ay, lost," repeated mrs frog, with a look of equal significance. "bless me, how did you lose your child?" asked sir richard, in some surprise. "oh! sir, that often happens to us poor folk. we're used to it," said mrs frog, in a half bantering half bitter tone. sir richard suddenly called to mind the fact--which had not before impressed him, though he had read and commented on it--that , children under ten years of age had been lost that year, (and it was no exceptional year, as police reports will show), in the streets of london, and that of these children were _never found_. he now beheld, as he imagined, one of the losers of the lost ones, and felt stricken. "well now," said giles to mrs frog, "let's hear how you get along. what does your husband do?" "he mostly does nothin' but drink. sometimes he sells little birds; sometimes he sells penny watches or boot-laces in cheapside, an' turns in a little that way, but it all goes to the grog-shop; none of it comes here. then he has a mill now an' again--" "a mill?" said sir richard,--"is it a snuff or flour--" "he's a professional pugilist," explained giles. "an' he's employed at a music-hall," continued mrs frog, "to call out the songs an' keep order. an' bobby always used to pick a few coppers by runnin' messages, sellin' matches, and odd jobs. but he's knocked over now." "and yourself. how do you add to the general fund?" asked sir richard, becoming interested in the household management of poverty. "well, i char a bit an' wash a bit, sir, when i'm well enough--which ain't often. an' sometimes i lights the jews' fires for 'em, an' clean up their 'earths on saturdays--w'ich is their sundays, sir. but hetty works like a horse. it's she as keeps us from the work'us, sir. she's got employment at a slop shop, and by workin' 'ard all day manages to make about one shillin' a week." "i beg your pardon--how much?" "one shillin', sir." "ah, you mean one shilling a day, i suppose." "no, sir, i mean one shillin' a _week_. mr scott there knows that i'm tellin' what's true." giles nodded, and sir richard said, "ha-a-hem," having nothing more lucid to remark on such an amazing financial problem as was here set before him. "but," continued mrs frog, "poor hetty has had a sad disappointment this week--" "oh! mother," interrupted hetty, "don't trouble the gentleman with that. perhaps he wouldn't understand it, for of course he hasn't heard about all the outs and ins of slop-work." "pardon me, my good girl," said sir richard, "i have not, as you truly remark, studied the details of slop-work minutely, but my mind is not unaccustomed to financial matters. pray let me hear about this--" a savage growling, something between a mastiff and a man, outside the door, here interrupted the visitor, and a hand was heard fumbling about the latch. as the hand seemed to lack skill to open the door the foot considerately took the duty in hand and burst it open, whereupon the huge frame of ned frog stumbled into the room and fell prostrate at the feet of sir richard, who rose hastily and stepped back. the pugilist sprang up, doubled his ever ready fists, and, glaring at the knight, asked savagely: "who the--" he was checked in the utterance of a ferocious oath, for at that moment he encountered the grave eye of number . relaxing his fists he thrust them into his coat-pockets, and, with a subdued air, staggered out of the house. "my 'usband, sir," said mrs frog, in answer to her visitor's inquiring glance. "oh! is that his usual mode of returning home?" "no, sir," answered bobby from his corner, for he was beginning to be amused by the succession of surprises which wealth was receiving, "'e don't always come in so. sometimes 'e sends 'is 'ead first an' the feet come afterwards. in any case the furniture's apt to suffer, not to mention the in'abitants, but you've saved us to-night, sir, or, raither, mr scott 'as saved both us an' you." poor little di, who had been terribly frightened, clung closer to her father's arm on hearing this. "perhaps," said sir richard, "it would be as well that we should go, in case mr frog should return." he was about to say good-bye when di checked him, and, despite her fears, urged a short delay. "we haven't heard, you know, about the slops yet. do stop just one minute, dear papa. i wonder if it's like the beef-tea nurse makes for me when i'm ill." "it's not that kind of slops, darling, but ready-made clothing to which reference is made. but you are right. let us hear about it, miss hetty." the idea of "miss" being applied to hetty, and slops compared to beef-tea proved almost too much for the broken-legged boy in the corner, but he put strong constraint on himself and listened. "indeed, sir, i do not complain," said hetty, quite distressed at being thus forcibly dragged into notice. "i am thankful for what has been sent--indeed i am--only it _was_ a great disappointment, particularly at this time, when we so much needed all we could make amongst us." she stopped and had difficulty in restraining tears. "go on, hetty," said her mother, "and don't be afraid. bless you, he's not goin' to report what you say." "i know that, mother. well, sir, this was the way on it. they sometimes--" "excuse me--who are `they'?" "i beg pardon, sir, i--i'd rather not tell." "very well. i respect your feelings, my girl. some slop-making firm, i suppose. go on." "yes, sir. well--they sometimes gives me extra work to do at home. it do come pretty hard on me after goin' through the regular day's work, from early mornin' till night, but then, you see, it brings in a little more money--and, i'm strong, thank god." sir richard looked at hetty's thin and colourless though pretty face, and thought it possible that she might be stronger with advantage. "of late," continued the girl, "i've bin havin' extra work in this way, and last week i got twelve children's ulsters to make up. this job when finished would bring me six and sixpence." "how much?" "six and sixpence, sir." "for the whole twelve?" asked sir richard. "yes, sir--that was sixpence halfpenny for makin' up each ulster. it's not much, sir." "no," murmured wealth in an absent manner; "sixpence halfpenny is _not_ much." "but when i took them back," continued hetty--and here the tears became again obstreperous and difficult to restrain--"the master said he'd forgot to tell me that this order was for the colonies, that he had taken it at a very low price, and that he could only give me three shillin's for the job. of--of course three shillin's is better the nothin', but after workin' hard for such a long long time an' expectin' six, it was--" here the tears refused to be pent up any longer, and the poor girl quietly bending forward hid her face in her hand. "come, i think we will go now," said sir richard, rising hastily. "good-night, mrs frog, i shall probably see you again--at least--you shall hear from me. now, di--say good-night to your boy." in a few minutes sir richard stood outside, taking in deep draughts of the comparatively fresher air of the court. "the old screw," growled bobby, when the door was shut. "'e didn't leave us so much as a single bob--not even a brown, though 'e pretends that six of 'em ain't much." "don't be hard on him, bobby," said hetty, drying her eyes; "he spoke very kind, you know, an' p'raps he means to help us afterwards." "spoke kind," retorted the indignant boy; "i tell 'ee wot, hetty, you're far too soft an' forgivin'. i s'pose that's wot they teaches you in sunday-school at george yard--eh? vill speakin' kind feed us, vill it clothe us, vill it pay for our lodgin's!" the door opened at that moment, and number re-entered. "the gentleman sent me back to give you this, mrs frog," laying a sovereign on the rickety table. "he said he didn't like to offer it to you himself for fear of hurting your feelings, but i told him he needn't be afraid on that score! was i right, missis? look well after it, now, an' see that ned don't get his fingers on it." giles left the room, and mrs frog, taking up the piece of gold, fondled it for some time in her thin fingers, as though she wished to make quite sure of its reality. then wrapping it carefully in a piece of old newspaper, she thrust it into her bosom. bobby gazed at her in silence up to this point, and then turned his face to the wall. he did not speak, but we cannot say that he did not pray, for, mentally he said, "i beg your parding, old gen'l'm'n, an' i on'y pray that a lot of fellers like you may come 'ere sometimes to 'urt our feelin's in that vay!" at that moment hetty bent over the bed, and, softly kissing her brother's dirty face, whispered, "yes, bobby, that's what they teach me in sunday-school at george yard." thereafter wealth drove home in a cab, and poverty went to bed in her rags. chapter seven. bicycling and its occasional results. it is pleasant to turn from the smoke and turmoil of the city to the fresh air and quiet of the country. to the man who spends most of his time in the heart of london, going into the country--even for a short distance--is like passing into the fields of elysium. this was, at all events, the opinion of stephen welland; and stephen must have been a good judge, for he tried the change frequently, being exceedingly fond of bicycling, and occasionally taking what he termed long spins on that remarkable instrument. one morning, early in the summer-time, young welland, (he was only eighteen), mounted his iron horse in the neighbourhood of kensington, and glided away at a leisurely pace through the crowded streets. arrived in the suburbs of london he got up steam, to use his own phrase, and went at a rapid pace until he met a "chum," by appointment. this chum was also mounted on a bicycle, and was none other than our friend samuel twitter, junior--known at home as sammy, and by his companions as sam. "isn't it a glorious day, sam?" said welland as he rode up and sprang off his steed. "magnificent!" answered his friend, also dismounting and shaking hands. "why, stephen, what an enormous machine you ride!" "yes, it's pretty high-- inches. my legs are long, you see. well, where are we to run to-day?" "wherever you like," said sam, "only let it be a short run, not more than forty miles, for i've got an appointment this afternoon with my old dad which i can't get off." "that'll do very well," said welland, "so we can go round by--" here he described a route by country road and village, which we pretend not to remember. it is sufficient to know that it represented the required "short" run of forty miles--such is the estimate of distance by the youth of the present day! "now then, off we go," said welland, giving his wheel--he quite ignored the existence of the little thing at the back--a shove, putting his left foot on the treadle, and flinging his right leg gracefully over. young twitter followed suit, but sammy was neither expert nor graceful. true, he could ride easily, and travel long distances, but he could only mount by means of the somewhat clumsy process of hopping behind for several yards. once up, however, he went swiftly enough alongside his tall companion, and the two friends thereafter kept abreast. "oh! isn't it a charming sensation to have the cool air fanning one's cheeks, and feel the soft tremor of the wheel, and see the trees and houses flow past at such a pace? it is the likest thing to flying i ever felt," said welland, as they descended a slight incline at, probably, fifteen miles an hour. "it is delightful," replied sam, "but, i say, we better put on the brakes here a bit. it gets much steeper further down." instead of applying the brake, however, young welland, in the exuberance of his joy, threw his long legs over the handles, and went down the slope at railway speed, ready, as he remarked, for a jump if anything should go wrong. twitter was by no means as bold as his friend, but, being ashamed to show the white feather, he quietly threw his shorter legs over the handles, and thus the two, perched--from a fore-and-aft point of view-- upon nothing, went in triumph to the bottom of the hill. a long stretch of smooth level road now lay before them. it required the merest touch on the treadles to send them skimming along like skaters on smooth ice, or swallows flying low. like gentle ghosts they fleeted along with little more than a muffled sound, for their axles turned in ball-sockets and their warning bells were silent save when touched. onward they went with untiring energy, mile after mile, passing everything on the way--pedestrians, equestrians, carts and gigs; driving over the level ground with easy force, taking the hills with a rush to keep up the pace, and descending on the other sides at what welland styled a "lightning run." now they were skimming along a road which skirted the margin of a canal, the one with hands in his coat-pockets, the other with his arms crossed, and both steering with their feet; now passing under a railway-arch, and giving a wild shout, partly to rouse the slumbering echoes that lodged there, and partly to rouse the spirit of a small dog which chanced to be passing under it--in both cases successfully! anon they were gliding over a piece of exposed ground on which the sun beat with intense light, causing their shadows to race along with them. again they were down in a hollow, gliding under a row of trees, where they shut off a little of the steam and removed their caps, the better to enjoy the grateful shade. soon they were out in the sunshine again, the spokes of their wheels invisible as they topped a small eminence from the summit of which they took in one comprehensive view of undulating lands, with villages scattered all round, farm-houses here and there, green fields and flowering meadows, traversed by rivulet or canal, with cattle, sheep, and horses gazing at them in silent or startled wonder, and birds twittering welcome from the trees and hedge-rows everywhere. now they were crossing a bridge and nearing a small town where they had to put hands to the handles again and steer with precaution, for little dogs had a tendency to bolt out at them from unexpected corners, and poultry is prone to lose its heads and rush into the very jaws of danger, in a cackling effort to avoid it. stray kittens and pigs, too, exhibited obstinate tendencies, and only gave in when it was nearly too late for repentance. little children, also, became sources of danger, standing in the middle of roads until, perceiving a possible catastrophe, they dashed wildly aside--always to the very side on which the riders had resolved to pass,--and escaped by absolute miracle! presently they came to a steep hill. it was not steep enough to necessitate dismounting, but it rendered a rush inadvisable. they therefore worked up slowly, and, on gaining the top, got off to breathe and rest a while. "that _was_ a glorious run, wasn't it, sam?" said welland, flicking the dust from his knees with his handkerchief. "what d'ye say to a glass of beer?" "can't do it, stephen, i'm blue ribbon." "oh! nonsense. why not do as i do--drink in moderation?" "well, i didn't think much about it when i put it on," said sam, who was a very sensitive, and not very strong-minded youth; "the rest of us did it, you know, by father's advice, and i joined because they did." welland laughed rather sarcastically at this, but made no rejoinder, and sam, who could not stand being laughed at, said-- "well, come, i'll go in for one glass. i'll be my own doctor, and prescribe it medicinally! besides, it's an exceptional occasion this, for it is awfully hot." "it's about the best run i ever had in the same space of time," said welland on quitting the beer shop. "first-rate," returned sam, "i wish my old dad could ride with us. he _would_ enjoy it so." "couldn't we bring him out on a horse? he could ride that, i suppose?" "never saw him on a horse but once," said sam, "and that time he fell off. but it's worth suggesting to him." "better if he got a tricycle," said welland. "i don't think that would do, for he's too old for long rides, and too short-winded. now, stephen, i'm not going to run down this hill. we _must_ take it easy, for it's far too steep." "nonsense, man, it's nothing to speak of; see, i'll go first and show you the way." he gave the treadle a thrust that sent him off like an arrow from a bow. "stay! there's a caravan or something at the bottom--wild beasts' show, i think! stop! hold on!" but sam twitter shouted in vain. welland's was a joyous spirit, apt to run away with him. he placed his legs over the handles for security, and allowed the machine to run. it gathered speed as it went, for the hill became steeper, insomuch that the rider once or twice felt the hind-wheel rise, and had to lean well back to keep it on the ground. the pace began to exceed even welland's idea of pleasure, but now it was too late to use the brake, for well did he know that on such a slope and going at such a pace the slightest check on the front wheel would send him over. he did not feel alarmed however, for he was now near the bottom of the hill, and half a minute more would send him in safety on the level road at the foot. but just at the foot there was a sharpish turn in the road, and welland looked at it earnestly. at an ordinary pace such a turn could have been easily taken, but at such a rate as he had by that time attained, he felt it would require a tremendous lean over to accomplish it. still he lost no confidence, for he was an athlete by practice if not by profession, and he gathered up his energies for the moment of action. the people of the caravan--whoever they were--had seen him coming, and, beginning to realise his danger to some extent, had hastily cleared the road to let him pass. welland considered the rate of speed; felt, rather than calculated, the angle of inclination; leaned over boldly until the tire almost slipped sideways on the road, and came rushing round with a magnificent sweep, when, horrible sight! a slight ridge of what is called road-metal crossed the entire road from side to side! a drain or water pipe had recently been repaired, and the new ridge had not yet been worn down by traffic. there was no time for thought or change of action. another moment and the wheel was upon it, the crash came, and the rider went off with such force that he was shot well in advance of the machine, as it went with tremendous violence into the ditch. if welland's feet had been on the treadles he must have turned a complete somersault. as it was he alighted on his feet, but came to the ground with such force that he failed to save himself. one frantic effort he made and then went down headlong and rolled over on his back in a state of insensibility. when sam twitter came to the bottom of the hill with the brake well applied he was able to check himself in time to escape the danger, and ran to where his friend lay. for a few minutes the unfortunate youth lay as if he had been dead. then his blood resumed its flow, and when the eyes opened he found sam kneeling on one side of him with a smelling bottle which some lady had lent him, and a kindly-faced elderly man with an iron-grey beard kneeling on the other side and holding a cup of water to his lips. "that's right, stephen, look up," said sam, who was terribly frightened, "you're not much hurt, are you?" "hurt, old fellow, eh?" sighed stephen, "why should i be hurt? where am i? what has happened?" "take a sip, my young friend, it will revive you," said the man with the kindly face. "you have had a narrow escape, but god has mercifully spared you. try to move now; gently--we must see that no bones have been broken before allowing you to rise." by this time welland had completely recovered, and was anxious to rise; all the more that a crowd of children surrounded him, among whom he observed several ladies and gentlemen, but he lay still until the kindly stranger had felt him all over and come to the conclusion that no serious damage had been done. "oh! i'm all right, thank you," said the youth on rising, and affecting to move as though nothing had happened, but he was constrained to catch hold of the stranger rather suddenly, and sat down on the grass by the road-side. "i do believe i've got a shake after all," he said with a perplexed smile and sigh. "but," he added, looking round with an attempt at gaiety, "i suspect my poor bicycle has got a worse shake. do look after it, sam, and see how it is." twitter soon returned with a crestfallen expression. "it's done for, stephen. i'm sorry to say the whole concern seems to be mashed up into a kind of wire-fencing!" "is it past mending, sam?" "past mending by any ordinary blacksmith, certainly. no one but the maker can doctor it, and i should think it would take him a fortnight at least." "what is to be done?" said stephen, with some of his companion's regret of tone. "what a fool i was to take such a hill--spoilt such a glorious day too--for you as well as myself, sam. i'm _very_ sorry, but that won't mend matters." "are you far from home, gentlemen?" asked the man with the iron-grey beard, who had listened to the conversation with a look of sympathy. "ay, much too far to walk," said welland. "d'you happen to know how far off the nearest railway station is?" "three miles," answered the stranger, "and in your condition you are quite unfit to walk that distance." "i'm not so sure of that," replied the youth, with a pitiful look. "i think i'm game for three miles, if i had nothing to carry but myself, but i can't leave my bicycle in the ditch, you know!" "of course you can't," rejoined the stranger in a cheery tone, "and i think we can help you in this difficulty. i am a london city missionary. my name is john seaward. we have, as you see, brought out a number of our sunday-school children, to give them a sight of god's beautiful earth; poor things, they've been used to bricks, mortar, and stone all their lives hitherto. now, if you choose to spend the remainder of the day with us, we will be happy to give you and the injured bicycle a place in our vans till we reach a cabstand or a railway station. what say you? it will give much pleasure to me and the teachers." welland glanced at his friend. "you see, sam, there's no help for it, old boy. you'll have to return alone." "unless your friend will also join us," said the missionary. "you are very kind," said sam, "but i cannot stay, as i have an engagement which must be kept. never mind, stephen. i'll just complete the trip alone, and comfort myself with the assurance that i leave you in good hands. so, good-bye, old boy." "good-bye, twitter," said stephen, grasping his friend's hand. "twitter," repeated the missionary, "i heard your friend call you sam just now. excuse my asking--are you related to samuel twitter of twitter, slime, and company, in the city?" "i'm his eldest son," said sam. "then i have much pleasure in making your acquaintance," returned the other, extending his hand, "for although i have never met your father, i know your mother well. she is one of the best and most regular teachers in our sunday-schools. is she not, hetty?" he said, turning to a sweet-faced girl who stood near him. "indeed she is, i was her pupil for some years, and now i teach one of her old classes," replied the girl. "i work in the neighbourhood of whitechapel, sir," continued the missionary, "and most of the children here attend the institution in george yard." "well, i shall tell my mother of this unexpected meeting," said sam, as he remounted his bicycle. "good-bye, stephen. don't romp too much with the children!" "adieu, sam, and don't break your neck on the bicycle." in a few minutes sam twitter and his bicycle were out of sight. chapter eight. a great and memorable day. when young stephen welland was conducted by john seaward the missionary into a large field dotted with trees, close to where his accident had happened, he found that the children and their guardians were busily engaged in making arrangements for the spending of an enjoyable day. and then he also found that this was not a mere monster excursion of ordinary sunday-schools, but one of exceedingly poor children, whose garments, faces, and general condition, told too surely that they belonged to the lowest grade in the social scale. "yes," said the missionary, in reply to some question from welland, "the agency at george yard, to which i have referred, has a wide-embracing influence--though but a small lump of leaven when compared with the mass of corruption around it. this is a flock of the ragged and utterly forlorn, to many of whom green fields and fresh air are absolutely new, but we have other flocks besides these." "indeed! well, now i look at them more carefully, i see that their garments do speak of squalid poverty. i have never before seen such a ragged crew, though i have sometimes encountered individuals of the class on the streets." "hm!" coughed the missionary with a peculiar smile. "they are not so ragged as they were. neither are they as ragged as they will be in an hour or two." "what do you mean?" "i mean that these very rough little ones have to receive peculiar treatment before we can give them such an outing as they are having to-day. as you see, swings and see-saws have been put up here, toys are now being distributed, and a plentiful feast will ere long be forthcoming, through the kindness of a christian gentleman whose heart the lord has inclined to `consider the poor,' but before we could venture to move the little band, much of their ragged clothing had to be stitched up to prevent it falling off on the journey, and we had to make them move carefully on their way to the train--for vans have brought us only part of the way. now that they are here, our minds are somewhat relieved, but i suspect that the effect of games and romping will undo much of our handiwork. come, let us watch them." the youth and the missionary advanced towards a group of the children, whose souls, for the time being, were steeped in a see-saw. this instrument of delight consisted of a strong plank balanced on the trunk of a noble tree which had been recently felled, with many others, to thin the woods of the philanthropist's park. it was an enormous see-saw! such as the ragged creatures had never before seen--perhaps never conceived of, their experiences in such joys having been hitherto confined to small bits of broken plank placed over empty beer barrels, or back-yard fences. no fewer than eight children were able to find accommodation on it at one and the same time, besides one of the bigger boys to straddle in the centre; and it required the utmost vigilance on the part of a young man teacher at one end of the machine, and hetty frog at the other end, to prevent the little ragamuffins at either extremity from being forced off. already the missionary's anticipation in regard to the undoing of their labour had begun to be verified. there were at least four of the eight whose nether garments had succumbed to the effort made in mounting the plank, and various patches of flesh-colour revealed the fact that the poor little wearers were innocent of flannels. but it was summer-time, and the fact had little effect either on wearers or spectators. the missionary, however, was not so absorbed in the present but that he felt impelled to remark to welland: "that is their winter as well as summer clothing." the bicyclist said nothing in reply, but the remark was not lost upon him. "now, dick swiller," said the young man teacher, "i see what you're up to. you mustn't do it!" richard swiller, who was a particularly rugged as well as ragged boy of about thirteen, not being in the habit of taking advice, did do it. that is, he sent his end of the plank up with such violence that the other end came to the ground with a shock which caused those who sat there to gasp, while it all but unseated most of those who were on the higher end. indeed one very small and pinched but intelligent little boy, named by his companions blobby, who looked as if time, through the influence of privation and suffering, had been dwindling instead of developing him,--actually did come off with a cry of alarm, which, however, changed into a laugh of glee when he found himself in his teacher's arms, instead of lying "busted on the ground," as he afterwards expressed it when relating the incident to an admiring audience of fellow ragamuffins in the slums of spitalfields. blobby was immediately restored to his lost position, and swiller was degraded, besides being made to stand behind a large tree for a quarter of an hour in forced inaction, so that he might have time to meditate on the evil consequences of disobedience. "take care, robin," said hetty, to a very small but astonishingly energetic fellow, at her end of the see-saw, who was impressed with the notion that he was doing good service by wriggling his own body up and down, "if you go on so, you'll push lilly snow off." robin, unlike dick, was obedient. he ceased his efforts, and thereby saved the last button which held his much too small waistcoat across his bare bosom. "what a sweet face the child she calls lilly snow has--if it were only clean," observed welland. "a little soap and water with a hair brush would make her quite beautiful." "yes, she is very pretty," said the missionary and the kindly smile with which he had been watching the fun vanished, as he added in a sorrowful voice, "her case is a very sad one, dear child. her mother is a poor but deserving woman who earns a little now and then by tailoring, but she has been crushed for years by a wicked and drunken husband who has at last deserted her. we know not where he is, perhaps dead. five times has her home been broken up by him, and many a time has she with her little one been obliged to sit on doorsteps all night, when homeless. little lilly attends our sunday-school regularly, and hetty is her teacher. it is not long since hetty herself was a scholar, and i know that she is very anxious to lead lilly to the lord. the sufferings and sorrows to which this poor child has been exposed have told upon her severely, and i fear that her health will give way. a day in the country like this may do her good perhaps." as the missionary spoke little lilly threw up her arms and uttered a cry of alarm. robin, although obedient, was short of memory, and his energetic spirit being too strong for his excitable little frame he had recommenced his wriggling, with the effect of bursting the last button off his waistcoat and thrusting lilly off the plank. she was received, however, on hetty's breast, who fell with her to the ground. "not hurt, hetty!" exclaimed the missionary, running forward to help the girl up. "oh! no, sir," replied hetty with a short laugh, as she rose and placed lilly on a safer part of the see-saw. "come here, hetty," said john seaward, "and rest a while. you have done enough just now; let some one else take your place." after repairing the buttonless waistcoat with a pin and giving its owner a caution, hetty went and sat down on the grass beside the missionary. "how is bobby?" asked the latter, "i have not found a moment to speak to you till now." "thank you, sir, he's better; much better. i fear he will be well too soon." "how so? that's a strange remark, my girl." "it may seem strange, sir, but--you know--father's very fond of bobby." "well, hetty, that's not a bad sign of your father." "oh but, sir, father sits at his bedside when he's sober, an' has such long talks with him about robberies and burglaries, and presses him very hard to agree to go out with him when he's well. i can't bear to hear it, for dear bobby seems to listen to what he says, though sometimes he refuses, and defies him to do his worst, especially when he--" "stay, dear girl. it is very very sad, but don't tell me anything more about your father. tell it all to jesus, hetty. he not only sympathises with, but is able to save--even to the uttermost." "yes, thank god for that `uttermost,'" said the poor girl, clasping her hands quickly together. "oh, i understood that when he saved _me_, and i will trust to it now." "and the gentleman who called on you,--has he been again?" asked the missionary. "no, sir, he has only come once, but he has sent his butler three or four times with some money for us, and always with the message that it is from miss diana, to be divided between bobby and me. unfortunately father chanced to be at home the first time he came and got it all, so we got none of it. but he was out the other times. the butler is an oldish man, and a very strange one. he went about our court crying." "crying! hetty, that's a curious condition for an oldish butler to be in." "oh, of course i don't mean cryin' out like a baby," said hetty, looking down with a modest smile, "but i saw tears in his eyes, and sometimes they got on his cheeks. i can't think what's the matter with him." whatever mr seaward thought on this point he said nothing, but asked if bobby was able to go out. oh yes, he was quite able to walk about now with a little help, hetty said, and she had taken several walks with him and tried to get him to speak about his soul, but he only laughed at that, and said he had too much trouble with his body to think about his soul--there was time enough for that! they were interrupted at this point by a merry shout of glee, and, looking up, found that young welland had mounted the see-saw, taken lilly snow in front of him, had dick swiller reinstated to counterbalance his extra weight, and was enjoying himself in a most hilarious manner among the fluttering rags. assuredly, the fluttering rags did not enjoy themselves a whit less hilariously than he. in this condition he was found by the owner of the grounds, george brisbane, esquire, of lively hall, who, accompanied by his wife, and a tall, dignified friend with a little girl, approached the see-saw. "i am glad you enjoy yourself so much, my young friend," he said to welland; "to which of the ragged schools may you belong?" in much confusion--for he was rather shy--welland made several abortive efforts to check the see-saw, which efforts dick swiller resisted to the uttermost, to the intense amusement of a little girl who held mrs brisbane's hand. at last he succeeded in arresting it and leaped off. "i beg pardon," he said, taking off his cap to the lady as he advanced, "for intruding uninvited on--" "pray don't speak of intrusion," interrupted mr brisbane, extending his hand; "if you are here as mr seaward's friend you are a welcome guest. your only intrusion was among the little ones, but as they seem not to resent it neither do i." welland grasped the proffered hand. "thank you very much," he returned, "but i can scarcely lay claim to mr seaward's friendship. the fact is, i am here in consequence of an accident to my bicycle." "oh! then you _are_ one of the poor unfortunates after all," said the host. "come, you are doubly welcome. not hurt much, i hope. no? that's all right. but don't let me keep you from your amusements. remember, we shall expect you at the feast on the lawn. you see, sir richard," he added, turning to his dignified friend, "when we go in for this sort of thing we don't do it by halves. to have any lasting effect, it must make a deep impression. so we have got up all sorts of amusements, as you observe, and shall have no fewer than two good feeds. come, let us visit some other--why, what are you gazing at so intently?" he might well ask the question, for sir richard brandon had just observed hetty frog, and she, unaccustomed to such marked attention, was gazing in perplexed confusion on the ground. at the same time little di, having caught sight of her, quitted mrs brisbane, ran towards her with a delighted scream, and clasping her hand in both of hers, proclaimed her the sister of "my boy!" hetty's was not the nature to refuse such affection. though among the poorest of the poor, and clothed in the shabbiest and most patchy of garments, (which in her case, however, were neat, clean and well mended), she was rich in a loving disposition; so that, forgetting herself and the presence of others, she stooped and folded the little girl in her arms. and, when the soft brown hair and pale pretty face of poverty were thus seen as it were co-mingling with the golden locks and rosy cheeks of wealth, even sir richard was forced to admit to himself that it was not after all a very outrageous piece of impropriety! "oh! i'm _so_ glad to hear that he's much better, and been out too! i would have come to see him again long long ago, but p--" she checked herself, for mrs screwbury had carefully explained to her that no good girl ever said anything against her parents; and little di had swallowed the lesson, for, when not led by passion, she was extremely teachable. "and oh!" she continued, opening her great blue lakelets to their widest state of solemnity, "you haven't the smallest bit of notion how i have dreamt about my boy--and my policeman too! i never can get over the feeling that they might both have been killed, and if they had, you know, it would have been me that did it; only think! i would have-- been--a murderer! p'raps they'd have hanged me!" "but they weren't killed, dear," said hetty, unable to restrain a smile at the awful solemnity of the child, and the terrible fate referred to. "no--i'm _so_ glad, but i can't get over it," continued di, while those near to her stood quietly by unable to avoid overhearing, even if they had wished to do so. "and they do such strange things in my dreams," continued di, "you can't think. only last night i was in our basket-cart--the dream-one, you know, not the real one--and the dream-pony ran away again, and gave my boy such a dreadful knock that he fell flat down on his back, tumbled over two or three times, and rose up--a policeman! not _my_ policeman, you know, but quite another one that i had never seen before! but the very oddest thing of all was that it made me so angry that i jumped with all my might on to his breast, and when i got there it wasn't the policeman but the pony! and it was dead--quite dead, for i had killed it, and i wasn't sorry at all--not a bit!" this was too much for hetty, who burst into a laugh, and sir richard thought it time to go and see the games that were going on in other parts of the field, accompanied by welland and the missionary, while hetty returned to her special pet lilly snow. and, truly, if "one touch of nature makes the whole world kin," there were touches of nature enough seen that day among these outcasts of society to have warranted their claiming kin with the whole world. leap-frog was greatly in favour, because the practitioners could abandon themselves to a squirrel-and-cat sort of bound on the soft grass, which they had never dared to indulge in on the london pavements. it was a trying game, however, to the rags, which not only betrayed their character to the eye by the exhibition of flesh-tints through numerous holes, but addressed themselves also to the ears by means of frequent and explosive rendings. pins, however, were applied to the worst of these with admirable though temporary effect, and the fun became faster and more furious,--especially so when the points of some of the pins touched up the flesh-tints unexpectedly. on these occasions the touches of nature became strongly pronounced-- expressing themselves generally in a yell. another evidence of worldly kinship was, that the touched-up ones, instead of attributing the misfortune to accident, were prone to turn round with fierce scowl and doubled fists under the impression that a guilty comrade was in rear! the proceedings were totally arrested for one hour at mid-day, when unlimited food was issued, and many of the forlorn ones began to feel the rare sensation of being stuffed quite full and rendered incapable of wishing for more! but this was a mere interlude. like little giants refreshed they rose up again to play--to swing, to leap, to wrestle, to ramble, to gather flowers, to roll on the grass, to bask in the gladdening sunshine, and, in some cases, to thank god for all his mercies, in spite of the latent feeling of regret that there was so little of all that enjoyment in the slums, and dark courts, and filthy back-streets of the monster city. of course all the pins were extracted in this second act of the play, and innumerable new and gaping wounds were introduced into the clothing, insomuch that all ordinary civilised people, except philanthropists, would have been shocked with the appearance of the little ones. but it was during the third and closing act of the play that the affair culminated. the scene was laid on the lawn in front of mr brisbane's mansion. enter, at one end of the lawn, a band of small and dirty but flushed and happy boys and girls, in rags which might appropriately be styled ribbons. at the other end of the lawn a train of domestics bearing trays with tea, cakes, buns, pies, fruits, and other delectable things, to which the ragged army sits down. enter host and hostess, with sir richard, friends and attendants. (_host_.)--after asking a blessing--"my little friends, this afternoon we meet to eat, and only one request have i to make--that you shall do your duty well." (small boy in ribbons.--"von't i, just!") "no platter shall return to my house till it be empty. no little one shall quit these premises till he be full; what cannot be eaten must be carried away." (the ragged army cheers.) (_host_.)--"enough. fall-to." (they fall-to.) (_little boy_ in tatters, pausing.)--"_i_ shan't fall two, i'll fall three or four." (_another little boy_, in worse tatters.)--"so shall i." (_first little boy_.)--"i say, jim, wot would mother say if she was here?" (_jim_.)--"she'd say nothin'. 'er mouth 'ud be too full to speak." (prolonged silence. only mastication heard, mingled with a few cases of choking, which are promptly dealt with.) (_blobby_, with a sigh.)--"i say, robin, i'm gettin' tight." (_robin_, with a gasp.)--"so am i; i'm about bustin'." (_blobby_, coming to another pause.)--"i say, robin, i'm as full as i can 'old. so's all my pockits, an' there's some left over!" (_robin--sharply_.)--"stick it in your 'at, then." (blobby takes off his billycock, thrusts the remnant of food therein, and puts it on.) enter the brass band of the neighbouring village, (the bandsmen being boys), which plays a selection of airs, and sends a few of the smaller ragamuffins to sleep. (_sir richard brandon_, confidentially to his friend.)--"it is an amazing sight." (_host_.)--"would that it were a more common sight!" enter more domestics with more tea, buns, and fruit; but the army is glutted, and the pockets are brought into requisition: much pinning being a necessary consequence. (_lilly snow_, softly.)--"it's like 'eaven!" (_hetty_, remonstratingly.)--"oh! lilly, 'eaven is quite different." (_dick swiller_.)--"i'm sorry for it. couldn't be much 'appier to my mind." (_host_.)--"now, dear boys and girls, before we close the proceedings of this happy day, my excellent friend, your missionary, mr seaward, will say a few words." john seaward steps to the front, and says a few words--says them so well, too, so simply, so kindly, yet so heartily, that the army is roused to a pitch of great enthusiasm; but we leave this speech to the reader's imagination: after which--_exeunt omnes_. and, as the curtain of night falls on these ragged ones, scattered now, many of them, to varied homes of vice, and filth, and misery, the heavy eyelids close to open again, perchance, in ecstatic dreams of food, and fun and green fields, fresh air and sunshine, which impress them more or less with the idea embodied in the aphorism, that "god made the country, but man made the town." chapter nine. how the poor are succoured. "i am obliged to you, mr seaward, for coming out of your way to see me," said sir richard brandon, while little di brought their visitor a chair. "i know that your time is fully occupied, and would not have asked you to call had not my friend mr brisbane assured me that you had to pass my house daily on your way to--to business." "no apology, sir richard, pray. i am at all times ready to answer a call whether of the poor or the rich, if by any means i may help my lord's cause." the knight thought for a moment that he might claim to be classed among the poor, seeing that his miserable pittance of five thousand barely enabled him to make the two ends meet, but he only said: "ever since we had the pleasure of meeting at that gathering of ragged children, my little girl here has been asking so many questions about poor people--the lower orders, i mean--which i could not answer, that i have asked you to call, that we may get some information about them. you see, diana is an eccentric little puss," (di opened her eyes very wide at this, wondering what "eccentric" could mean), "and she has got into a most unaccountable habit of thinking and planning about poor people." "a good habit, sir richard," said the missionary. "`blessed are they that consider the poor.'" sir richard acknowledged this remark with a little bow. "now, we should like to ask, if you have no objection, what is your chief object in the mission at--what did you say its name--ah! george yard?" "to save souls," said mr seaward. "oh--ah--precisely," said the knight, taken somewhat aback by the nature and brevity of the answer, "that of course; but i meant, how do you proceed? what is the method, and what the machinery that you put in motion?" "perhaps," said the missionary, drawing a small pamphlet from his pocket, "this will furnish you with all the information you desire. you can read it over to miss diana at your leisure--and don't return it; i have plenty more. meanwhile i may briefly state that the mission premises are in george yard, high street, whitechapel, one of the worst parts of the east of london, where the fire of sin and crime rages most fiercely; where the soldiers of the cross are comparatively few, and would be overwhelmed by mere numbers, were it not that they are invincible, carrying on the war as they do in the strength of him who said, `lo, i am with you alway.' "in the old coaching days," continued mr seaward, "this was a great centre, a starting-point for mail-coaches. for nigh thirty years the mission has been there. the `black horse' was a public-house in george yard, once known to the magistrates as one of the worst gin-shops and resort of thieves and nurseries of crime in london. that public-house is now a shelter for friendless girls, and a place where sick children of the poor are gratuitously fed." from this point the missionary went off into a graphic account of incidents illustrative of the great work done by the mission, and succeeded in deeply interesting both diana and her father, though the latter held himself well in hand, knowing, as he was fond of remarking, that there were two sides to every question. checking his visitor at one point, he said, "you have mentioned ragged schools and the good that is done by them, but why should not the school-boards look after such children?" "because, sir richard, the school-boards cannot reach them. there are upwards of , people in london who have never lived more than three months in one place. no law reaches this class, because they do not stay long enough in any neighbourhood for the school-board authorities to put the law into operation. now, nearly three hundred of the children of these wanderers meet in our free ragged day schools twice a day for instruction. here we teach them as efficiently as we can in secular matters, and of course they are taught the word of god, and told of jesus the saviour of sinners; but our difficulties are great, for children as well as parents are often in extremest poverty, the former suffering from hunger even when sent to school--and they never stay with us long. let me give you an instance:-- "one morning a mother came and begged to have her children admitted. she had just left the workhouse. three children in rags, that did not suffice to cover much less to protect them, stood by her side. she did not know where they were to sleep that night, but hoped to obtain a little charing and earn enough to obtain a lodging somewhere. she could not take the children with her while seeking work--would we take them in? for, if not, they would have to be left in the streets, and as they were very young they might lose themselves or be run over. we took them in, fed, sympathised with, and taught them. in the afternoon the mother returned weary, hungry, dejected. she had failed to obtain employment, and took the children away to apply for admission to a casual ward." "what is a casual ward, mr missionary?" asked di. "seaward, my love,--his name is not missionary," said sir richard. "a casual ward," answered the visitor, "is an exceedingly plain room with rows of very poor beds; mere wooden frames with canvas stretched on them, in which any miserable beggars who choose to submit to the rules may sleep for a night after eating a bit of bread and a basin of gruel-- for all which they pay nothing. it is a very poor and comfortless place--at least you would think it so--and is meant to save poor people from sleeping, perhaps dying, in the streets." "do some people sleep in the streets?" asked di in great surprise. "yes, dear, i'm sorry to say that many do." "d'you mean on the stones, in their night-dresses?" asked the child with increasing surprise. "yes, love," said her father, "but in their ordinary clothes, not in their night-dresses--they have no night-dresses." little di had now reached a pitch of surprise which rendered her dumb, so the missionary continued: "here is another case. a poor widow called once, and said she would be so grateful if we would admit her little girl and boy into the schools. she looked clean and tidy, and the children had not been neglected. she could not afford to pay for them, as she had not a penny in the world, and applied to us because we made no charge. the children were admitted and supplied with a plain but nourishing meal, while their mother went away to seek for work. we did not hear how she sped, but she had probably taken her case to god, and found him faithful, for she had said, before going away, `i know that god is the father of the fatherless, and the husband of the widow.' "again, another poor woman came. her husband had fallen sick. till within a few days her children had been at a school and paid for, but now the bread-winner was ill--might never recover--and had gone to the hospital. these children were at once admitted, and in each case investigation was made to test the veracity of the applicants. "of course," continued the missionary, "i have spoken chiefly about the agencies with which i happen to have come personally in contact, but it must not be supposed that therefore i ignore or am indifferent to the other grand centres of influence which are elsewhere at work in london; such as, for instance, the various agencies set agoing and superintended by dr barnardo, whose _home for working and destitute boys_, in stepney causeway, is a shelter from which thousands of rescued little ones go forth to labour as honest and useful members of society, instead of dying miserably in the slums of london, or growing up to recruit the ranks of our criminal classes. these agencies, besides rescuing destitute and neglected children, include _homes for destitute girls_ and for _little boys_ in ilford and jersey, an _infirmary for sick children of the destitute classes_ in stepney, _orphan homes, ragged and day schools, free dinner-table to destitute children, mission halls, coffee palaces_, and, in short, a grand net-work of beneficent agencies--evangelistic, temperance, and medical--for the conduct of which is required not far short of one hundred pounds a day!" even sir richard brandon, with all his supposed financial capacities, seemed struck with the magnitude of this sum. "and where does dr barnardo obtain so large an amount?" he asked. "from the voluntary gifts of those who sympathise with and consider the poor," replied seaward. "then," he added, "there is that noble work carried on by miss rye of the _emigration home for destitute little girls_, at the avenue house, peckham, from which a stream of destitute little ones continually flows to canada, where they are much wanted, and who, if allowed to remain here, would almost certainly be _lost_. strong testimony to the value of this work has been given by the bishops of toronto and niagara, and other competent judges. let me mention a case of one of miss rye's little ones, which speaks for itself. "a little girl of six was deserted by both father and mother." "oh! _poor_ little thing!" exclaimed the sympathetic di, with an amazing series of pitiful curves about her eyebrows. "yes, poor indeed!" responded seaward. "the mother forsook her first; then her father took her on the tramp, but the little feet could not travel fast enough, so he got tired of her and offered her to a workhouse. they refused her, so the tramping was continued, and at last baby was sold for three shillings to a stranger man. on taking his purchase home, however, the man found that his wife was unwilling to receive her; he therefore sent poor little baby adrift in the streets of london!" "_what_ a shame!" cried di, with flashing orbs. "was it not? but, when father and mother cast this little one off, the lord cared for it. an inspector of police, who found it, took it to his wife, and she carried it to miss rye's home, where it was at once received and cared for, and, doubtless, this little foundling girl is now dwelling happily and usefully with a canadian family." "how nice!" exclaimed di, her eyes, lips, and teeth bearing eloquent witness to her satisfaction. "but no doubt you have heard of miss rye's work, as well as that of miss annie macpherson at the home of industry, and, perhaps, contributed to--" "no," interrupted sir richard, quickly, "i do not contribute; but pray, mr seaward, are there other institutions of this sort in london?" "oh! yes, there are several, it would take me too long to go into the details of the various agencies we have for succouring the poor. there is, among others, the church of england `_central home for waifs and strays_,' with a `receiving house' for boys in upper clapton, and one for girls in east dulwich, with the archbishop of canterbury for its president. possibly you may have heard of the `_strangers' rest_,' in saint george street, ratcliff highway, where, as far as man can judge, great and permanent good is being constantly done to the souls of sailors. a sailor once entered this `rest' considerably the worse for drink. he was spoken to by christian friends, and asked to sign the pledge. he did so, and has now been steadfast for years. returning from a long voyage lately, he went to revisit the _rest_, and there, at the bible-class, prayed. part of his prayer was--`god bless the strangers' rest. o lord, we thank thee for this place, and we shall thank thee to all eternity.' this is a sample of the feeling with which the place is regarded by those who have received blessing there. in the same street, only a few doors from this rest, is the `_sailor's welcome home_.' this is more of a home than the other, for it furnishes lodging and unintoxicating refreshment, while its devoted soul-loving manager, miss child, and her assistant workers, go fearlessly into the very dens of iniquity, and do all they can to bring sailors to jesus, and induce them to take the pledge against strong drink, in which work they are, through god's blessing, wonderfully successful. these two missions work, as it were, into each other's hands. in the `rest' are held prayer-meetings and bible-classes, and when these are dismissed, the sailors find the open door of the `welcome home' ready to receive them, and the inmates there seek to deepen the good influence that has been brought to bear at the meetings--and this in the midst of one of the very worst parts of london, where temptation to every species of evil is rampant, on the right-hand and on the left, before and behind. "but, sir richard, although i say that a grand and extensive work of salvation to soul, body, and spirit is being done to thousands of men, and women, and children, by the agencies which i have mentioned, and by many similar agencies which i have not now time to mention, as well as by the band of city missionaries to which i have the honour to belong, i would earnestly point out that these all put together only scratch the surface of the vast mass of corruption which has to be dealt with in this seething world of london, the population of which is, as you are aware, equal to that of all scotland; and very specially would i remark that the work is almost exclusively carried on by the _voluntary contributions_ of those who `consider the poor!' "the little tract which i have given you will explain much of the details of this great work, as carried on in the george yard mission. when you have read that, if you desire it, i will call on you again. meanwhile engagements compel me to take my leave." after luncheon, that day, sir richard drew his chair to the window, but instead of taking up the newspaper and recommending his little one to visit the nursery, he said: "come here, di. you and i will examine this pamphlet--this little book--and i'll try to explain it, for reports are usually very dry." di looked innocently puzzled. "should reports always be wet, papa?" sir richard came nearer to the confines of a laugh than he had reached for a long time past. "no, love--not exactly wet, but--hm--you shall hear. draw the stool close to my knee and lay your head on it." with his large hand on the golden tresses, sir richard brandon began to examine the record of work done in the george yard mission. "what is this?" he said. "_toy classes_,--why, this must be something quite in your way, di." "oh yes, i'm sure of that, for i adore toys. tell me about it." "these toy classes are for the cheerless and neglected," said the knight, frowning in a businesslike way at the pamphlet. "sometimes so many as eighty neglected little ones attend these classes. on one occasion, only one of these had boots on, which were very old, much too large, and both lefts. when they were seated, toys and scrap-books were lent to them. there were puzzles, and toy-bricks, and many other things which kept them quite happy for an hour. of course the opportunity was seized to tell them about jesus and his love. a blessed lesson which they would not have had a chance of learning at home--if they had homes; but many of them had none. when it was time to go they said--`can't we stay longer?' "the beginning of this class was interesting," said sir richard, continuing to read. "the thought arose--`gather in the most forlorn and wretched children; those who are seldom seen to smile, or heard to laugh; there are many such who require christian sympathy.' the thought was immediately acted on. a little barefooted ragged boy was sent into the streets to bring in the children. soon there was a crowd round the school-door. the most miserable among the little ones were admitted. the proceedings commenced with prayer--then the toys were distributed, the dirty little hands became active, and the dirty little faces began to look happy. when the toys were gathered up, some could not be found, so, at the next meeting, some of the bigger children were set to watch the smaller ones. presently one little detective said: `please, teacher, teddy's got a horse in his pocket,' and another said that sally had an elephant in her pinafore! occasion was thus found to show the evil of stealing, and teach the blessedness of honesty. they soon gave up pilfering, and they now play with the toys without desiring to take them away." "how nice!" said di. "go on, papa." "what can this be?" continued sir richard, quoting--"_wild flowers of the forest day nursery_. oh! i see--very good idea. i'll not read it, di, i'll tell you about it. there are many poor widows, you must know, and women whose husbands are bad, who have no money to buy food and shelter for themselves and little ones except what they can earn each day. but some of these poor women have babies, and they can't work, you know, with babies in their arms, neither can they leave the babies at home with no one to look after them, except, perhaps, little sisters or brothers not much older than themselves, so they take their babies to this cradle-home, and each pays only twopence, for which small sum her baby is taken in, washed, clothed, warmed, fed, and amused by kind nurses, who keep it till the mother returns from her work to get it back again. isn't that good?" "oh! yes," assented di, with all her heart. "and i read here," continued her father, "that thousands of the infants of the poor die every year because they have not enough food, or enough clothing to keep them warm." "oh _what_ a pity!" exclaimed di, the tears of ready sympathy rushing hot into her upturned eyes. "so you see," continued sir richard, who had unconsciously, as it were, become a pleader for the poor, "if there were a great many nurseries of this kind all over london, a great many little lives would be saved." "and why are there not a great many nurseries of that kind, papa?" "well, i suppose, it is because there are no funds." "no what? papa." "not enough of money, dear." "oh! _what_ a pity! i wish i had lots and lots of money, and then wouldn't i have cradle-homes everywhere?" sir richard, knowing that he had "lots and lots" of money, but had not hitherto contributed one farthing to the object under consideration, thought it best to change the subject by going on with the george yard record. but we will not conduct the reader through it all--interesting though the subject certainly is. suffice it to say that he found the account classed under several heads. under "_feeding the hungry_," for instance, he learned that many poor children are entirely without food, sometimes, for a whole day, so that only two courses are open to them-- to steal food and become criminals, or drift into sickness and die. from which fate many hundreds are annually rescued by timely aid at george yard, the supplies for which are sent by liberal-minded christians in all ranks of life--from mr crackaby with his pounds a year, up through mr brisbane and his class to the present earl of shaftesbury--who, by the way, has taken a deep interest and lent able support to this particular mission for more than a quarter of a century. but the name of sir richard brandon did not appear on the roll of contributors. he had not studied the "lower orders" much, except from a politico-economical-argumentative after-dinner-port-winey point of view. under the head of "_clothing necessitous children_," he found that some of the little ones presented themselves at the school-door in such a net-work of rags, probably infected, as to be unfit even for a ragged school. they were therefore taken in, had their garments destroyed, and were supplied with new clothes. also, that about children between the ages of three and fourteen years were connected with the institution--scattered among the various works of usefulness conducted for the young. under "_work among lads_," he found that those big boys whom one sees idling about corners of streets, fancying themselves men, smoking with obvious dislike and pretended pleasure, and on the highroad to the jail and the gallows--that those boys were enticed into classes opened for carpentry, turning, fretwork, and other attractive industrial pursuits-- including even printing, at a press supplied by lord shaftesbury. this, in connection with evening classes for reading, writing, and arithmetic--the whole leading up to the grand object and aim of all--the salvation of souls. under other heads he found that outcast boys were received, sheltered, sent to industrial homes, or returned to friends and parents; that temperance meetings were held, and drunkards, male and female, sought out, prayed for, lovingly reasoned with, and reclaimed from this perhaps the greatest curse of the land; that juvenile bands of hope were formed, on the ground of prevention being better than cure; that lodging-houses, where the poorest of the poor, and the lowest of the low do congregate, were visited, and the gospel proclaimed to ears that were deaf to nearly every good influence; that mothers' meetings were held--one of them at that old headquarters of sin, the "black horse," where counsel and sympathy were mingled with a clothing club and a bible-woman; that there were a working men's benefit society, bible-classes, sunday-school, a sewing-class, a mutual labour loan society, a shelter for homeless girls, a library, an invalid children's dinner, a bath-room and lavatory, a flower mission, and--hear it, ye who fancy that a penny stands very low in the scale of financial littleness--a farthing bank! all this free--conducted by an unpaid band of considerably over a hundred christian workers, male and female--and leavening the foundations of society, without which, and similar missions, there would be very few leavening influences at all, and the superstructure of society would stand a pretty fair chance of being burst up or blown to atoms--though the superstructure is not very willing to believe the fact! in addition to all this, sir richard learned, to his great amazement, that the jews won't light their fires on the sabbath-day--that is, on our saturday--that they won't even poke it, and that this abstinence is the immediate cause of a source of revenue to the un-jewish poor, whom the jews hire to light and poke their fires for them. and, lastly, sir richard brandon learned that mr george holland, who had managed that mission for more than quarter of a century, was resolved, in the strength of the lord, to seek out the lost and rescue the perishing, even though he, sir richard, and all who resembled him, should refuse to aid by tongue or hand in the glorious work of rescuing the poor from sin and its consequences. chapter ten. balls, bobby, sir richard, and giles appear on the stage. as from the sublime to the ridiculous there is but a step, so, from the dining-room to the kitchen there is but a stair. let us descend the stair and learn that while sir richard was expounding the subject of "the poor" to little di, mr balls, the butler, was engaged on the same subject in the servants' hall. "i cannot tell you," said balls, "what a impression the sight o' these poor people made on me." "la! mr balls," said the cook, who was not unacquainted with low life in london, having herself been born within sound of bow-bells, "you've got no occasion to worrit yourself about it. it 'as never bin different." "that makes it all the worse, cook," returned balls, standing with his back to the fireplace and his legs wide apart; "if it was only a temporary depression in trade, or the repeal of the corn laws that did it, one could stand it, but to think that such a state of things _always_ goes on is something fearful. you know i'm a country-bred man myself, and ain't used to the town, or to such awful sights of squalor. it almost made me weep, i do assure you. one room that i looked into had a mother and two children in it, and i declare to you that the little boy was going about stark naked, and his sister was only just a slight degree better." "p'raps they was goin' to bed," suggested mrs screwbury. "no, nurse, they wasn't; they was playing about evidently in their usual costume--for that evenin' at least. i would not have believed it if i had not seen it. and the mother was so tattered and draggled and dirty--which, also, was the room." "was that in the court where the frogs live?" asked jessie summers. "it was, and a dreadful court too--shocking!" "by the way, mr balls," asked the cook, "is there any chance o' that brat of a boy bobby, as they call him, coming here? i can't think why master has offered to take such a creeter into his service." "no, cook, there is no chance. i forgot to tell you about that little matter. the boy was here yesterday and he refused--absolutely declined a splendid offer." "i'm glad to hear it," returned the cook. "tell us about it, mr balls," said jessie summers with a reproachful look at the other. "i'm quite fond of that boy--he's such a smart fellow, and wouldn't be bad-looking if he'd only wash his face and comb his hair." "he's smart enough, no doubt, but impudence is his strong point," rejoined the butler with a laugh. the way he spoke to the master beats everything. "`i've sent for you, my boy,' said sir richard, in his usual dignified, kindly way, `to offer you the situation of under-gardener in my establishment.'" "`oh! that's wot you wants with me, is it?' said the boy, as bold as brass; indeed i may say as bold as gun-metal, for his eyes an' teeth glittered as he spoke, and he said it with the air of a dook. master didn't quite seem to like it, but i saw he laid restraint on himself and said: `you have to thank my daughter for this offer--' "`thank you, miss,' said the boy, turnin' to miss di with a low bow, imitatin' sir richard's manner, i thought, as much as he could. "`of course,' continued the master, rather sharply, `i offer you this situation out of mere charity--' "`oh! you do, do you?' said the extraordinary boy in the coolest manner, `but wot if i objec' to receive charity? ven i 'olds a 'orse i expecs to be paid for so doin', same as you expecs to be paid w'en you attends a board-meetin' to grin an' do nuffin.' "`come, come, boy,' said sir richard, gettin' redder in the face than i ever before saw him, `i am not accustomed to low pleasantry, and--' "`an' i ain't accustomed,' broke in the boy, `to 'igh hinsults. do you think that every gent what years a coat an' pants with 'oles in 'em is a beggar?' "for some moments master seemed to be struck speechless, an' i feared that in spite of his well-known gentleness of character he'd throw the ink-stand at the boy's head, but he didn't; he merely said in a low voice, `i would dismiss you at once, boy, were it not that i have promised my daughter to offer you employment, and you can see by her looks how much your unnatural conduct grieves her.' "an' this was true, for poor miss di sat there with her hands clasped, her eyes full of tears, her eyebrows disappearin' among her hair with astonishment, and her whole appearance the very pictur' of distress. `however,' continued sir richard, `i still make you the offer, though i doubt much whether you will be able to retain the situation. your wages will--' "`please sir,' pleaded the boy, `don't mention the wages. i couldn't stand that. indeed i couldn't; it would really be too much for me.' "`why, what do you mean?' says master. "`i mean,' says impudence, `that i agree with you. i don't think i _could_ retain the sitivation, cause w'y? in the fust place, i ain't got no talent at gardenin'. the on'y time i tried it was w'en i planted a toolip in a flower-pot, an' w'en i dug it up to see 'ow it was a-gittin on a cove told me i'd planted it upside down. however, i wasn't goin' to be beat by that cove, so i say to 'im, jack, i says, i planted it so a purpus, an' w'en it sprouts i'm a-goin' to 'ang it up to see if it won't grow through the 'ole in the bottom. in the second place, i couldn't retain the sitivation 'cause i don't intend to take it, though you was to offer me six thousand no shillin's an' no pence no farthin's a year as salary.' "i r'ally did think master would ha' dropt out of his chair at that. as for miss di, she was so tickled that she gave a sort of hysterical laugh. "`balls,' said master, `show him out, and--' he pulled up short, but i knew he meant to say have an eye on the great-coats and umbrellas, so i showed the boy out, an' he went down-stairs, quite quiet, but the last thing i saw of him was performin' a sort of minstrel dance at the end of the street just before he turned the corner and disappeared." "imp'rence!" exclaimed the cook. "naughty, ungrateful boy!" said mrs screwbury. "but it was plucky of him," said jessie summers. "i would call it cheeky," said balls, "i can't think what put it into his head to go on so." if mr balls had followed bobby frog in spirit, watched his subsequent movements, and listened to his remarks, perhaps he might have understood the meaning of his conduct a little better. after he had turned the corner of the street, as above mentioned, bobby trotted on for a short space, and then, coming to a full stop, executed a few steps of the minstrel dance, at the end of which he brought his foot down with tremendous emphasis on the pavement, and said-- "yes, i've bin an' done it. i know'd i was game for a good deal, but i did _not_ think i was up to that. one never knows wot 'e's fit for till 'e tries. wot'll hetty think, i wonder?" what hetty thought he soon found out, for he overtook her on the thames embankment on her way home. bobby was fond of that route, though a little out of his way, because he loved the running water, though it _was_ muddy, and the sight of steamers and barges. "well, bobby," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder, "where have you been?" "to see old swallow'd-the-poker, hetty." "what took you there?" asked the girl in surprise. "my legs. you don't suppose i've set up my carriage yet, do you?" "come, you know what i mean." "vell, then, i went because i was sent for, an' wot d'ye think? the old gen'l'man hoffered me the sitivation of under-gardener!" "you don't say so! oh! bobby, what a lucky boy--an' what a kind gentleman! tell me all about it now," said hetty, pressing her hand more tenderly on her brother's shoulder. "what wages is he to give you?" "no wages wotsomever." hetty looked into her brother's face with an expression of concerned surprise. she knew some tradespeople who made her work hard for so very little, that it was not difficult to believe in a gentleman asking her brother to work for nothin'! still she had thought better of sir richard, and expected to hear something more creditable to him. "ah, you may look, but i do assure you he is to give me no wages, an' i'm to do no work." here bobby executed a few steps of his favourite dance, but evidently from mere habit, and unconsciously, for he left off in the middle, and seemed to forget the salient point of emphasis with his foot. "what _do_ you mean, bobby?--be earnest, like a dear boy, for once." "earnest!" exclaimed the urchin with vehemence. "i never was more in earnest in my life. you should 'ave seen swallow'd-the-poker w'en i refused to 'ave it." "refused it?" "ay--refused it. come hetty, i'll explain." the boy dropped his facetious tone and manner while he rapidly ran over the chief points of his interview with sir richard. "but why did you refuse so good an offer?" asked hetty, still unable to repress her surprise. "because of daddy." "daddy?" "ay, daddy. you know he's fond o' me, is daddy, and, d'ye know, though p'r'aps you mayn't believe it, i'm raither fond o' _him_; but 'e's a bad 'un, is daddy. he's bent on mischief, you see, an' 'e's set his 'art on my 'elpin' of 'im. but i _wont_ 'elp 'im--that's flat. now, what d'ye think, hetty," (here he dropped his voice to almost a whisper and looked solemn), "dad wants to make use o' me to commit a burglary on swallow'd-the-poker's 'ouse." "you don't mean it, bobby!" "but i do, hetty. dad found out from that rediklous butler that goes veepin' around our court like a leeky pump, that the old gen'l'man was goin' to hoffer me this sitivation, an 'e's bin wery 'ard on me to accept it, so that i may find out the ways o' the 'ouse where the plate an' waluables lay, let 'im in some fine dark night an' 'elp 'im to carry off the swag." a distressed expression marked poor hetty's reception of this news, but she said never a word. "now you won't tell, hetty?" said the boy with a look of real anxiety on his face. "it's not so much his killin' me i cares about, but i wouldn't bring daddy to grief for any money. i'd raither 'elp 'im than that. you'll not say a word to nobody?" "no, bobby, i won't say a word." "vell, you see," continued the boy, "ven i'd made myself so disagreeable that the old gen'l'man would 'ave nothin' to do with me, i came straight away, an' 'ere i am; but it _was_ a trial, let me tell you, specially ven 'e come to mention wages--an sitch a 'eavenly smell o' roasted wittles come up from the kitchen too at the moment, but i 'ad only to look at miss di, to make me as stubborn as a nox or a hass. `wot!' thinks i to myself, `betray that hangel--no, never!' yet if i was to go into that 'ouse i know i'd do it, for daddy's got sitch a wheedlin' way with 'im w'en 'e likes, that i couldn't 'old hout long--so i giv' old swallowed-the-poker sitch a lot o' cheek that i thought 'e'd kick me right through the winder. he was considerable astonished as well as riled, i can tell you, an' miss di's face was a pictur', but the old butler was the sight. he'd got 'is face screwed up into sitch a state o' surprise that it looked like a eight-day clock with a gamboil. now, hetty, i'm goin' to tell 'ee what'll take your breath away. i've made up my mind to go to canada!" hetty did, on hearing this, look as if her breath had been taken away. when it returned sufficiently she said: "bobby, what put that into your head?" "the 'ome of hindustry," said bobby with a mysterious look. "the home of industry," repeated the girl in surprise, for she knew that institution well, having frequently assisted its workers in their labour of love. "yes, that's the name--'ome of hindustry, what sends off so many ragged boys to canada under miss macpherson." "ay, bobby, it does a great deal more than that," returned the girl. "sending off poor boys and girls to canada is only one branch of its work. if you'd bin to its tea-meetin's for the destitute, as i have, an' its clothin' meetin's and its mothers' meetin's, an--" "'ow d'ye know i 'aven't bin at 'em all?" asked the boy with an impudent look. "well, you know, you couldn't have been at the mothers' meetings, bobby." "oh! for the matter o' that, no more could you." "true, but i've heard of them all many and many a time; but come, tell me all about it. how did you come to go near the home of industry at all after refusing so often to go with me?" "vell, i didn't go because of bein' axed to go, you may be sure o' that, but my little dosser, tim lumpy, you remember 'im? the cove wi' the nose like a button, an' no body to speak of--all legs an' arms, like a 'uman win'-mill; vell, you must know they've nabbed 'im, an' given 'im a rig-out o' noo slops, an' they're goin' to send 'im to canada. so i 'appened to be down near the 'ome one day three weeks past, an' i see lumpy a-goin' in. `'allo!' says i. `'allo!' says 'e; an' then 'e told me all about it. `does they feed you well?' i axed. `oh! don't they, just!' said 'e. `there's to be a blow hout this wery night,' said 'e. `i wonder,' says i, `if they'd let me in, for i'm uncommon 'ungry, i tell you; 'ad nuffin' to heat since last night.' just as i said that, a lot o' fellers like me came tumblin' up to the door--so i sneaked in wi' the rest--for i thought they'd kick me hout if they knowed i'd come without inwitation." "well, and what then?" asked hetty. here our little street-arab began to tell, in his own peculiar language and style, how that he went in, and found a number of ladies in an upper room with forms set, and hot tea and bread to be had--as much as they could stuff--for nothing; that the boys were very wild and unruly at first, but that after the chief lady had prayed they became better, and that when half-a-dozen nice little girls were brought in and had sung a hymn or two they were quite quiet and ready to listen. like many other people, this city arab did not like to speak out freely, even to his sister, on matters that touched his feelings deeply, but he said enough to let the eager and thankful hetty know that not only had jesus and his love been preached to the boys, but she perceived that what had been said and sung had made an unusual impression, though the little ragged waif sought to conceal it under the veil of cool pleasantry, and she now recognised the fact that the prayers which she had been putting up for many a day in her brother's behalf had been answered. "oh! i'm so happy," she said; and, unable to restrain herself, flung her arms round bobby's neck and kissed him. it was evident that the little fellow rather liked this, though he pretended that he did not. "come, old gal," he said brusquely, "none o' that sort o' thing. i can't stand it. don't you see, the popilation is lookin' at us in surprise; besides, you've bin an' crushed all my shirt front!" "but," continued hetty, as they walked on again, "i'm not happy to hear that you are goin' to canada. what ever will i do without you, bobby?" poor girl, she could well afford to do without him in one sense, for he had hitherto been chiefly an object of anxiety and expense to her, though also an object of love. "i'm sorry to think of goin' too, hetty, for your sake an' mother's, but for daddy's sake and my own i _must_ go. you see, i can't 'old hout agin 'im. w'en 'e makes up 'is mind to a thing you know 'e sticks to it, for 'e's a tough un; an' 'e's got sitch a wheedlin' sort o' way with 'im that i can't 'elp givin' in a'most. so, you see, it'll be better for both of us that i should go away. but i'll come back, you know, hetty, with a fortin--see if i don't--an' then, oh! won't i keep a carridge an' a ridin' 'oss for daddy, an' feed mother an' you on plum-duff an' pork sassengers to breakfast, dinner, an' supper, with ice cream for a relish!" poor hetty did not even smile at this prospect of temporal felicity. she felt that in the main the boy was right, and that the only chance he had of escaping the toils in which her father was wrapping him by the strange union of affection and villainy, was to leave the country. she knew, also, that, thanks to the home of industry and its promoters, the sending of a ragged, friendless, penniless london waif, clothed and in his right mind, to a new land of bright and hopeful prospects, was an event brought within the bounds of possibility. that night bob frog stood with his dosser, (i.e. his friend), tim lumpy, discussing their future prospects in the partial privacy of a railway-arch. they talked long, and, for waifs, earnestly--both as to the land they were about to quit and that to which they were going; and the surprising fact might have been noted by a listener--had there been any such present, save a homeless cat--that neither of the boys perpetrated a joke for the space of at least ten minutes. "vy," observed little frog at length, "you seem to 'ave got all the fun drove out o' you, lumpy." "not a bit on it," returned the other, with a hurt look, as though he had been charged with some serious misdemeanour, "but it do seem sitch a shabby thing to go an' forsake my blind old mother." "but yer blind old mother wants you to go," said bobby, "an' says she'll be well looked arter by the ladies of the 'ome, and that she wouldn't stand in the way o' your prospec's. besides, she ain't yer mother!" this was true. tim lumpy had neither father nor mother, nor relative on earth, and the old woman who, out of sheer pity, had taken him in and allowed him to call her "_mother_," was a widow at the lowest possible round of that social ladder, at the top of which--figuratively speaking--sits her gracious majesty the queen. mrs lumpy had found him on her door-step, weeping and in rags, at the early age of five years. she had taken him in, and fed him on part of a penny loaf which formed the sole edible substance for her own breakfast. she had mended his rags to the extent of her ability, but she had not washed his face, having no soap of her own, and not caring to borrow from neighbours who were in the same destitute condition. besides, she had too hard a battle to fight with an ever-present and pressing foe, to care much about dirt, and no doubt deemed a wash of tears now and then sufficient. lumpy himself seemed to agree with her as to this, for he washed himself in that fashion frequently. having sought for his parents in vain, with the aid of the police, mrs lumpy quietly kept the boy on; gave him her surname, prefixed that of timothy, answered to the call of mother, and then left him to do very much as he pleased. in these circumstances, it was not surprising that little tim soon grew to be one of the pests of his alley. tim was a weak-eyed boy, and remarkably thin, being, as his friend had said, composed chiefly of legs and arms. there must have been a good deal of brain also, for he was keen-witted, as people soon began to find out to their cost. tim was observant also. he observed, on nearing the age of ten years, that in the great river of life which daily flowed past him, there were certain faces which indicated tender and kindly hearts, coupled with defective brain-action, and a good deal of self-will. he became painfully shrewd in reading such faces, and, on wet days, would present himself to them with his bare little red feet and half-naked body, rain water, (doing duty for tears), running from his weak bloodshot eyes, and falsehoods of the most pitiable, complex, and impudent character pouring from his thin blue lips, whilst awful solemnity seemed to shine on his visage. the certain result was--coppers! these kindly ones have, unwittingly of course, changed a text of scripture, and, for the words "_consider_ the poor," read "throw coppers to the poor!" you see, it is much easier to relieve one's feelings by giving away a few pence, than to take the trouble of visiting, inquiring about, and otherwise _considering_, the poor! at all events it would seem so, for tim began to grow comparatively rich, and corrupted, still more deeply, associates who were already buried sufficiently in the depths of corruption. at last little tim was met by a lady who had befriended him more than once, and who asked him why he preferred begging in the streets to going to the ragged school, where he would get not only food for the body, but for the soul. he replied that he was hungry, and his mother had no victuals to give him, so he had gone out to beg. the lady went straight to mrs lumpy, found the story to be true, and that the poor half-blind old woman was quite unable to support the boy and herself. the lady prevailed on the old woman to attend the meetings for poor, aged, and infirm women in miss macpherson's "beehive," and little tim was taken into the "home for destitute little boys under ten years of age." it was not all smooth sailing in that home after tim lumpy entered it! being utterly untamed, tim had many a sore struggle ere the temper was brought under control. one day he was so bad that the governess was obliged to punish him by leaving him behind, while the other boys went out for a walk. when left alone, the lady-superintendent tried to converse with him about obedience, but he became frightfully violent, and demanded his rags that he might return again to the streets. finally he escaped, rushed to his old home in a paroxysm of rage, and then, getting on the roof, declared to the assembled neighbours that he would throw himself down and dash out his brains. in this state a bible-woman found him. after offering the mental prayer, "lord, help me," she entreated him to come down and join her in a cup of tea with his old mother. the invitation perhaps struck the little rebel as having a touch of humour in it. at all events he accepted it and forthwith descended. over the tea, the bible-woman prayed aloud for him, and the poor boy broke down, burst into tears, and begged forgiveness. soon afterwards he was heard tapping at the door of the home--gentle and subdued. thus was this waif rescued, and he now discussed with his former comrade the prospect of transferring themselves and their powers, mental and physical, to canada. diverging from this subject to bobby's father, and his dark designs, tim asked if ned frog had absolutely decided to break into sir richard brandon's house, and bobby replied that he had; that his father had wormed out of the butler, who was a soft stupid sort of cove, where the plate and valuables were kept, and that he and another man had arranged to do it. "is the partikler night fixed?" asked tim. "yes; it's to be the last night o' this month." "why not give notice?" asked tim. "'cause i won't peach on daddy," said bob frog stoutly. little tim received this with a "quite right, old dosser," and then proposed that the meeting should adjourn, as he was expected back at the home by that time. two weeks or so after that, police-constable number was walking quietly along one of the streets of his particular beat in the west-end, with that stateliness of step which seems to be inseparable from place, power, and six feet two. it was a quiet street, such as wealth loves to inhabit. there were few carriages passing along it, and fewer passengers. number had nothing particular to do--the inhabitants being painfully well-behaved, and the sun high. his mind, therefore, roamed about aimlessly, sometimes bringing playfully before him a small abode, not very far distant, where a pretty woman was busy with household operations, and a ferocious policeman, about three feet high, was taking into custody an incorrigible criminal of still smaller size. a little boy, with very long arms and legs, might have been seen following our friend giles scott, until the latter entered upon one of those narrow paths made by builders on the pavements of streets when houses are undergoing repairs. watching until giles was half way along it, the boy ran nimbly up and accosted him with a familiar-- "well, old man, 'ow are you?" "pretty bobbish, thank you," returned the constable, for he was a good-natured man, and rather liked a little quiet chaff with street-boys when not too much engaged with duty. "well, now, are you aweer that there's a-goin' to be a burglairy committed in this 'ere quarter?" asked the boy, thrusting both hands deep into his pockets, and bending his body a little back, so as to look more easily up at his tall friend. "ah! indeed, well no, i didn't know it, for i forgot to examine the books at scotland yard this morning, but i've no doubt it's entered there by your friend who's goin' to commit it." "no, it ain't entered there," said the boy, with a manner and tone that rather surprised number ; "and i'd advise you to git out your note-book, an' clap down wot i'm a-goin' to tell ye. you know the 'ouse of sir richard brandon?" "yes, i know it." "well, that 'ouse is to be cracked on the st night o' this month." "how d'you know that, lad?" asked giles, moving towards the end of the barricade, so as to get nearer to his informant. "no use, bobby," said tim, "big as you are, you can't nab me. believe me or not as you like, but i advise you to look arter that there 'ouse on the st if you valley your repitation." tim went off like a congreve rocket, dashed down a side street, sloped into an alley, and melted into a wilderness of bricks and mortar. of course giles did not attempt to follow, but some mysterious communications passed between him and his superintendent that night before he went to bed. chapter eleven. sir richard and mr. brisbane discuss, and di listens. "my dear sir," said sir richard brandon, over a glass of sherry one evening after dinner, to george brisbane, esquire of lively hall, "the management of the poor is a difficult, a very difficult subject to deal with." "it is, unquestionably," assented brisbane, "so difficult, that i am afraid some of our legislators are unwilling to face it; but it ought to be faced, for there is much to be done in the way of improving the poor-laws, which at present tend to foster pauperism in the young, and bear heavily on the aged. meanwhile, philanthropists find it necessary to take up the case of the poor as a private enterprise." "pardon me, brisbane, there i think you are in error. everything requisite to afford relief to the poor is provided by the state. if the poor will not take advantage of the provision, or the machinery is not well oiled and worked by the officials, the remedy lies in greater wisdom on the part of the poor, and supervision of officials--not in further legislation. but what do you mean by our poor-laws bearing heavily on the aged?" "i mean that the old people should be better cared for, simply because of their age. great age is a sufficient argument of itself, i think, for throwing a veil of oblivion over the past, and extending charity with a liberal, pitying hand, because of present distress, and irremediable infirmities. whatever may be the truth with regard to paupers and workhouses in general, there ought to be a distinct refuge for the aged, which should be attractive--not repulsive, as at present-- and age, without reference to character or antecedents, should constitute the title to enter it. `god pity the aged poor,' is often my prayer, `and enable us to feel more for them in the dreary, pitiful termination of their career.'" "but, my dear sir," returned sir richard, "you would have old paupers crowding into such workhouses, or refuges as you call them, by the thousand." "well, better that they should do so than that they should die miserably by thousands in filthy and empty rooms--sometimes without fire, or food, or physic, or a single word of kindness to ease their sad descent into the grave." "but, then, brisbane, as i said, it is their own fault--they have the workhouse to go to." "but, then, as _i_ said, sir richard, the workhouse is rendered so repulsive to them that they keep out of it as long as they can, and too often keep out so long that it is too late, and their end is as i have described. however, until things are better arranged, we must do what we can for them in a private way. indeed scripture teaches distinctly the necessity for private charity, by such words as--`the poor ye have always with you,' and, `blessed are they who consider the poor.' don't you agree with me, mr welland?" stephen welland--who, since the day of his accident, had become intimate with mr brisbane and sir richard--replied that although deeply interested in the discussion going on, his knowledge of the subject was too slight to justify his holding any decided opinion. "take another glass of sherry," said sir richard, pushing the decanter towards the young man; "it will stir your brain and enable you to see your way more clearly through this knotty point." "no more, thank you, sir richard." "come, come--fill your glass," said the knight; "you and i must set an example of moderate drinking to brisbane, as a counter-blast to his blue-ribbonism." welland smiled and re-filled his glass. "nay, i never thrust my opinions on that point on people," said brisbane, with a laugh, "but if you _will_ draw the sword and challenge me, i won't refuse the combat!" "no, no, brisbane. please spare us! i re-sheath the sword, and need not that you should go all over it again. i quite understand that you are no bigot, that you think the bible clearly permits and encourages total abstinence in certain circumstances, though it does not teach it; that, although a total abstainer yourself, you do not refuse to give drink to your friends if they desire it--and all that sort of thing; but pray let it pass, and i won't offend again." "ah, sir richard, you are an unfair foe. you draw your sword to give me a wound through our young friend, and then sheath it before i can return on you. however, you have stated my position so well that i forgive you and shake hands. but, to return to the matter of private charity, are you aware how little suffices to support the poor--how very far the mere crumbs that fall from a rich man's table will go to sustain them i now, just take the glass of wine which welland has swallowed--against his expressed wish, observe, and merely to oblige you, sir richard. its value is, say, sixpence. excuse me, i do not of course refer to its real value, but to its recognised restaurant-value! well, i happened the other day to be at a meeting of old women at the `beehive' in spitalfields; there were some eighty or a hundred of them. with dim eyes and trembling fingers they were sewing garments for the boys who are to be sent out to canada. such feeble workers could not find employment elsewhere, but by liberal hearts a plan has been devised whereby many an aged one, past work, can earn a few pence. twopence an hour is the pay. they are in the habit of meeting once a week for three hours, and thus earn sixpence. many of these women, i may remark, are true christians. i wondered how far such a sum would go, and how the poor old things spent it. one woman sixty-three years of age enlightened me. she was a feeble old creature, suffering from chronic rheumatism and a dislocated hip. when i questioned her she said--`i have difficulties indeed, but i tell my father all. sometimes, when i'm very hungry and have nothing to eat, i tell him, and i know he hears me, for he takes the feeling away, and it only leaves me a little faint.' "`but how do you spend the sixpence that you earn here?' i asked. "`well, sir,' she said, `sometimes, when very hard-up, i spend part of it this way:--i buy a hap'orth o' tea, a hap'orth o' sugar, a hap'orth o' drippin', a hap'orth o' wood and a penn'orth o' bread. sometimes when better off than usual i get a heap of coals at a time, perhaps quarter of a hundredweight, because i save a farthing by getting the whole quarter, an' that lasts me a long time, and wi' the farthing i mayhap treat myself to a drop o' milk. sometimes, too, i buy my penn'orth o' wood from the coopers and chop it myself, for i can make it go further that way.' "so, you see, welland," continued brisbane, "your glass of sherry would have gone a long way in the domestic calculations of a poor old woman, who very likely once had sons who were as fond of her and as proud of her, as you now are of your own mother." "it is very sad that any class of human beings should be reduced to so low an ebb," returned the young man seriously. "yes, and it is very difficult," said sir richard, "to reduce one's mental action so as to fully understand the exact bearing of such minute monetary arrangements, especially for one who is accustomed to regard the subject of finance from a different standpoint." "but the saddest thing of all to me, and the most difficult to understand," resumed brisbane, "is the state of mind and feeling of those professing christians, who, with ample means, give exceedingly little towards the alleviation of such distress, take little or no interest in the condition of the poor, and allow as much waste in their establishments as would, if turned to account, become streamlets of absolute wealth to many of the destitute." this latter remark was a thrust which told pretty severely on the host-- all the more so, perhaps, that he knew brisbane did not intend it as a thrust at all, for he was utterly ignorant of the fact that his friend seldom gave anything away in charity, and even found it difficult to pay his way and make the two ends meet with his poor little five thousand a year--for, you see, if a man has to keep up a fairly large establishment, with a town and country house, and have his yacht, and a good stable, and indulge in betting, and give frequent dinners, and take shootings in scotland, and amuse himself with jewellery, etcetera, why, he must pay for it, you know! "the greatest trouble of these poor women, i found," continued brisbane, "is their rent, which varies from shillings to shillings a week for their little rooms, and it is a constant struggle with them to keep out of `the house,' so greatly dreaded by the respectable poor. one of them told me she had lately saved up a shilling with which she bought a pair of `specs,' and was greatly comforted thereby, for they helped her fading eyesight. i thought at the time what a deal of good might be done and comfort given if people whose sight is changing would send their disused spectacles to the home of industry in commercial street, spitalfields, for the poor. by the way, your sight must have changed more than once, sir richard! have you not a pair or two of disused spectacles to spare?" "well, yes, i have a pair or two, but they have gold rims, which would be rather incongruous on the noses of poor people, don't you think?" "oh! by no means. we could manage to convert the rims into blue steel, and leave something over for sugar and tea." "well, i'll send them," said sir richard with a laugh. "by the way, you mentioned a plan whereby those poor women were enabled to do useful work, although too old for much. what plan might that be?" "it is a very simple plan," answered brisbane, "and consists chiefly in the work being apportioned according to ability. worn garments and odds and ends of stuff are sent to the beehive from all parts of the country by sympathising friends. these are heaped together in one corner of the room where the poor old things work. down before this mass of stuff are set certain of the company who have large constructive powers. these skilfully contrive, cut out, alter, and piece together all kinds of clothing, including the house slippers and glengarry caps worn by the little rescued boys. even handkerchiefs and babies' long frocks are conjured out of a petticoat or muslin lining! the work, thus selected and arranged, is put into the hands of those who, though not skilful in originating, have the plodding patience to carry out the designs of the more ingenious, and so garments are produced to cover the shivering limbs of any destitute child that may enter the refuge as well as to complete the outfits of the little emigrants." "well, brisbane, i freely confess," said sir richard, "that you have roused a degree of interest in poor old women which i never felt before, and it does seem to me that we might do a good deal more for them with our mere superfluities and cast-off clothing. do the old women receive any food on these working nights besides the pence they earn?" "no, i am sorry to say they do not--at least not usually. you see it takes a hundred or more sixpences every monday merely to keep that sewing-class going, and more than once there has been a talk of closing it for want of funds, but the poor creatures have pleaded so pitifully that they might still be allowed to attend, even though they should work at _half-price_, that it has been hitherto continued. you see it is a matter of no small moment for those women merely to spend three hours in a room with a good fire, besides which they delight in the hymns and prayers and the loving counsel and comfort they receive. it enables them to go out into the cold, even though hungry, with more heart and trust in god as they limp slowly back again to their fireless grates and bare cupboards. "the day on which i visited the place i could not bear the thought of this, so i gave a sovereign to let them have a good meal. this sufficed. large kettles are always kept in readiness for such occasions. these were put on immediately by the matron. the elder girls in training on the floor above set to work to cut thick slices of bread and butter, the tea urns were soon brought down, and in twenty minutes i had the satisfaction of seeing the whole hundred eating heartily and enjoying a hot meal. my own soul was fed, too--for the words came to me, `i was an hungered and ye gave me meat,' and one old woman, sitting near me, said, `i have a long walk home, and have been casting over in my mind all the afternoon whether i could spare a penny for a cup of tea on the way. how good the lord is to send this!'" with large, round, glittering eyes and parted lips, and heightened colour and varying expression, sat little di brandon at her father's elbow, almost motionless, her little hands clasped tight, and uttering never a word, but gazing intently at the speakers and drinking it all in, while sorrow, surprise, sympathy, indignation, and intense pity stirred her little heart to its very centre. in the nursery she retailed it all over, with an eager face and rapid commentary, to the sympathetic mrs screwbury, and finally, in bed, presided over millions of old women who made up mountains of old garments, devoured fields of buttered bread, and drank oceans of steaming tea! chapter twelve. sammy twitter's fall. we must turn now to samuel twitter, senior. that genial old man was busy one morning in the nursery, amusing little mita, who had by that time attained to what we may style the dawn-of-intelligence period of life, and was what mrs loper, mr crackaby, and mr stickler called "engaging." "mariar!" shouted mr twitter to his amiable spouse, who was finishing her toilet in the adjoining room. "she's makin' faces at me--yes, she's actually attempting to laugh!" "the darling!" came from the next room, in emphatic tones. "mariar!" "well, dear." "is sammy down in the parlour?" "i don't know. why?" "because he's not in his room--tumti-iddidy-too-too--you charming thing!" it must be understood that the latter part of this sentence had reference to the baby, not to mrs twitter. having expended his affections and all his spare time on mita,--who, to do her justice, made faces enough at him to repay his attentions in full,--mr twitter descended to the breakfast parlour and asked the domestic if she had seen sammy yet. "no, sir, i hain't." "are you sure he's not in his room?" "well, no, sir, but i knocked twice and got no answer." "very odd; sammy didn't use to be late, nor to sleep so soundly," said mr twitter, ascending to the attic of his eldest son. obtaining no reply to his knock, he opened the door and found that the room was empty. more than that, he discovered, to his surprise and alarm, that sammy's bed was unruffled, so that sammy himself must have slept elsewhere! in silent consternation the father descended to his bedroom and said, "mariar, sammy's gone!" "dead!" exclaimed mrs twitter with a look of horror. "no, no; not dead, but gone--gone out of the house. did not sleep in it last night, apparently." poor mrs twitter sank into a chair and gazed at her husband with a stricken face. up to that date the family had prospered steadily, and, may we not add, deservedly; their children having been trained in the knowledge of god, their duties having been conscientiously discharged, their sympathies with suffering humanity encouraged, and their general principles carried into practical effect. the consequence was that they were a well-ordered and loving family. there are many such in our land-- families which are guided by the spirit and the word of god. the sudden disappearance, therefore, of the eldest son of the twitter family was not an event to be taken lightly for he had never slept out of his own particular bed without the distinct knowledge of his father and mother since he was born, and his appearance at the breakfast-table had been hitherto as certain as the rising of the sun or the winding of the eight-day clock by his father every saturday night. in addition to all this, sammy was of an amiable disposition, and had been trustworthy, so that when he came to the years of discretion--which his father had fixed at fifteen--he was allowed a latch-key, as he had frequently to work at his employer's books till a lateish hour,-- sometimes eleven o'clock--after the family, including the domestic, had gone to rest. "now, samuel," said mrs twitter, with a slight return of her wonted energy, "there can be only two explanations of this. either the dear boy has met with an accident, or--" "well, mariar, why do you pause?" "because it seems so absurd to think of, much more to talk of, his going wrong or running away! the first thing i've got to do, samuel, is to go to the police-office, report the case, and hear what they have to advise." "the very thing i was thinking of, mariar; but don't it strike you it might be better that _i_ should go to the station?" "no, samuel, the station is near. i can do that, while you take a cab, go straight away to his office and find out at what hour he left. now, go; we have not a moment to lose. mary," (this was the next in order to sammy), "will look after the children's breakfast. make haste!" mr twitter made haste--made it so fast that he made too much of it, over-shot the mark, and went down-stairs head foremost, saluting the front door with a rap that threw that of the postman entirely into the shade. but twitter was a springy as well as an athletic man. he arose undamaged, made no remark to his more than astonished children, and went his way. mrs twitter immediately followed her husband's example in a less violent and eccentric manner. the superintendent of police received her with that affable display of grave good-will which is a characteristic of the force. he listened with patient attention to the rather incoherent tale which she told with much agitation--unbosoming herself to this officer to a quite unnecessary extent as to private feelings and opinions, and, somehow, feeling as if he were a trusted and confidential friend though he was an absolute stranger--such is the wonderful influence of power in self-possessed repose, over weakness in distressful uncertainty! having heard all that the good lady had to say, with scarcely a word of interruption; having put a few pertinent and relevant questions and noted the replies, the superintendent advised mrs twitter to calm herself, for that it would soon be "all right;" to return home, and abide the issue of his exertions; to make herself as easy in the circumstances as possible, and, finally, sent her away with the first ray of comfort that had entered her heart since the news of sammy's disappearance had burst upon her like a thunderclap. "what a thing it is," she muttered to herself on her way home, "to put things into the hands of a _man_--one you can feel sure will do everything sensibly and well, and without fuss." the good lady meant no disparagement to her sex by this--far from it; she referred to a manly man as compared with an unmanly one, and she thought, for one moment, rather disparagingly about the salute which her samuel's bald pate had given to the door that morning. probably she failed to think of the fussy manner in which she herself had assaulted the superintendent of police, for it is said that people seldom see themselves! but mrs twitter was by no means bitter in her thoughts, and her conscience twitted her a little for having perhaps done samuel a slight injustice. indeed she _had_ done him injustice, for that estimable little man went about his inquiries after the lost sammy with a lump as big as a walnut on the top of his head, and with a degree of persistent energy that might have made the superintendent himself envious. "not been at the office for two days, sir!" exclaimed mr twitter, repeating--in surprised indignation, for he could not believe it--the words of sammy's employer, who was a merchant in the hardware line. "no, sir," said the hardware man, whose face seemed as hard as his ware. "do--you--mean--to--tell--me," said twitter, with deliberate solemnity, "that my son samuel has not been in this office for _two days_?" "that is precisely what i mean to tell you," returned the hardware man, "and i mean to tell you, moreover, that your son has been very irregular of late in his attendance, and that on more than one occasion he has come here drunk." "drunk!" repeated twitter, almost in a shout. "yes, sir, drunk--intoxicated." the hardware man seemed at that moment to mr twitter the hardest-ware man that ever confronted him. he stood for some moments aghast and speechless. "are you aware, sir," he said at last, in impressive tones, "that my son samuel wears the blue ribbon?" the hardware man inquired, with an expression of affected surprise, what that had to do with the question; and further, gave it as his opinion that a bit of blue ribbon was no better than a bit of red or green ribbon if it had not something better behind it. this latter remark, although by no means meant to soothe, had the effect of reducing mr twitter to a condition of sudden humility. "there, sir," said he, "i entirely agree with you, but i had believed-- indeed it seems to me almost impossible to believe otherwise--that my poor boy had religious principle behind his blue ribbon." this was said in such a meek tone, and with such a woe-begone look as the conviction began to dawn that sammy was not immaculate--that the hardware man began visibly to soften, and at last a confidential talk was established, in which was revealed such a series of irregularities on the part of the erring son, that the poor father's heart was crushed for the time, and, as it were, trodden in the dust. in his extremity, he looked up to god and found relief in rolling his care upon him. as he slowly recovered from the shock, twitter's brain resumed its wonted activity. "you have a number of clerks, i believe?" he suddenly asked the hardware man. "yes, i have--four of them." "would you object to taking me through your warehouse, as if to show it to me, and allow me to look at your clerks?" "certainly not. come along." on entering, they found one tying up a parcel, one writing busily, one reading a book, and one balancing a ruler on his nose. the latter, on being thus caught in the act, gave a short laugh, returned the ruler to its place, and quietly went on with his work. the reader of the book started, endeavoured to conceal the volume, in which effort he was unsuccessful, and became very red in the face as he resumed his pen. the employer took no notice, and mr twitter looked very hard at the hardware in the distant end of the warehouse, just over the desk at which the clerks sat. he made a few undertoned remarks to the master, and then, crossing over to the desk, said:-- "mr dobbs, may i have the pleasure of a few minutes' conversation with you outside?" "c-certainly, sir," replied dobbs, rising with a redder face than ever, and putting on his hat. "will you be so good as to tell me, mr dobbs," said twitter, in a quiet but very decided way when outside, "where my son samuel twitter spent last night?" twitter looked steadily in the clerk's eyes as he put this question. he was making a bold stroke for success as an amateur detective, and, as is frequently the result of bold strokes, he succeeded. "eh! your--your--son s-samuel," stammered dobbs, looking at twitter's breast-pin, and then at the ground, while varying expressions of guilty shame and defiance flitted across his face. he had a heavy, somewhat sulky face, with indecision of character stamped on it. mr twitter saw that and took advantage of the latter quality. "my poor boy," he said, "don't attempt to deceive me. you are guilty, and you know it. stay, don't speak yet. i have no wish to injure you. on the contrary, i pray god to bless and save you; but what i want with you at this moment is to learn where my dear boy is. if you tell me, no further notice shall be taken of this matter, i assure you." "does--does--he know anything about this?" asked dobbs, glancing in the direction of the warehouse of the hardware man. "no, nothing of your having led sammy astray, if that's what you mean,-- at least, not from me, and you may depend on it he shall hear nothing, if you only confide in me. of course he may have his suspicions." "well, sir," said dobbs, with a sigh of relief, "he's in my lodgings." having ascertained the address of the lodgings, the poor father called a cab and soon stood by the side of a bed on which his son sammy lay sprawling in the helpless attitude in which he had fallen down the night before, after a season of drunken riot. he was in a heavy sleep, with his still innocent-looking features tinged with the first blight of dissipation. "sammy," said the father, in a husky voice, as he shook him gently by the arm; but the poor boy made no answer--even a roughish shake failed to draw from him more than the grumbled desire, "let me alone." "oh! god spare and save him!" murmured the father, in a still husky voice, as he fell on his knees by the bedside and prayed--prayed as though his heart were breaking, while the object of his prayer lay apparently unconscious through it all. he rose, and was standing by the bedside, uncertain how to act, when a heavy tread was heard on the landing, the door was thrown open, and the landlady, announcing "a gentleman, sir," ushered in the superintendent of police, who looked at mr twitter with a slight expression of surprise. "you are here before me, i see, sir," he said. "yes, but how did you come to find out that he was here?" "well, i had not much difficulty. you see it is part of our duty to keep our eyes open," replied the superintendent, with a peculiar smile, "and i have on several occasions observed your son entering this house with a companion in a condition which did not quite harmonise with his blue ribbon, so, after your good lady explained the matter to me this morning i came straight here." "thank you--thank you. it is _very_ kind. i--you--it could not have been better managed." mr twitter stopped and looked helplessly at the figure on the bed. "perhaps," said the superintendent, with much delicacy of feeling, "you would prefer to be alone with your boy when he awakes. if i can be of any further use to you, you know where to find me. good-day, sir." without waiting for a reply the considerate superintendent left the room. "oh! sammy, sammy, speak to me, my dear boy--speak to your old father!" he cried, turning again to the bed and kneeling beside it; but the drunken sleeper did not move. rising hastily he went to the door and called the landlady. "i'll go home, missis," he said, "and send the poor lad's mother to him." "very well, sir, i'll look well after 'im till she comes." twitter was gone in a moment, and the old landlady returned to her lodger's room. there, to her surprise, she found sammy up and hastily pulling on his boots. in truth he had been only shamming sleep, and, although still very drunk, was quite capable of looking after himself. he had indeed been asleep when his father's entrance awoke him, but a feeling of intense shame had induced him to remain quite still, and then, having commenced with this unspoken lie, he felt constrained to carry it out. but the thought of facing his mother he could not bear, for the boy had a sensitive spirit and was keenly alive to the terrible fall he had made. at the same time he was too cowardly to face the consequences. dressing himself as well as he could, he rushed from the house in spite of the earnest entreaties of the old landlady, so that when the distracted mother came to embrace and forgive her erring child she found that he had fled. plunging into the crowded thoroughfares of the great city, and walking swiftly along without aim or desire, eaten up with shame, and rendered desperate by remorse, the now reckless youth sought refuge in a low grog-shop, and called for a glass of beer. "well, i say, you're com--comin' it raither strong, ain't you, young feller?" said a voice at his elbow. he looked up hastily, and saw a blear-eyed youth in a state of drivelling intoxication, staring at him with the expression of an idiot. "that's no business of yours," replied sam twitter, sharply. "well, thash true, 'tain't no b-busnish o' mine. i--i'm pretty far gone m'self, i allow; but i ain't quite got the l-length o' drinkin' in a p-public 'ouse wi' th' bl-blue ribb'n on." the fallen lad glanced at his breast. there it was,--forgotten, desecrated! he tore it fiercely from his button-hole, amid the laughter of the bystanders--most of whom were women of the lowest grade--and dashed it on the floor. "thash right.--you're a berrer feller than i took you for," said the sot at his elbow. to avoid further attention sammy took his beer into a dark corner and was quickly forgotten. he had not been seated more than a few minutes when the door opened, and a man with a mild, gentle, yet manly face entered. "have a glass, ol' feller?" said the sot, the instant he caught sight of him. "thank you, no--not to-day," replied john seaward, for it was our city missionary on what he sometimes called a fishing excursion--fishing for men! "i have come to give you a glass to-day, friends." "well, that's friendly," said a gruff voice in a secluded box, out of which next minute staggered ned frog. "come, what is't to be, old man?" "a looking-glass," replied the missionary, picking out a tract from the bundle he held in his hand and offering it to the ex-prize-fighter. "but the tract is not the glass i speak of, friend: here it is, in the word of that god who made us all--made the throats that swallow the drink, and the brains that reel under it." here he read from a small bible, "`but they also have erred through wine, and through strong drink are out of the way.'" "bah!" said ned, flinging the tract on the floor and exclaiming as he left the place with a swing; "i don't drink wine, old man; can't afford anything better than beer, though sometimes, when i'm in luck, i have a drop of old tom." there was a great burst of ribald laughter at this, and numerous were the witticisms perpetrated at the expense of the missionary, but he took no notice of these for a time, occupying himself merely in turning over the leaves of his bible. when there was a lull he said:-- "now, dear sisters," (turning to the women who, with a more or less drunken aspect and slatternly air, were staring at him), "for sisters of mine you are, having been made by the same heavenly father; i won't offer you another glass,--not even a looking-glass,--for the one i have already held up to you will do, if god's holy spirit opens your eyes to see yourselves in it; but i'll give you a better object to look at. it is a saviour--one who is able to save you from the drink, and from sin in every form. you know his name well, most of you; it is jesus, and that name means saviour, for he came to save his people from their sins." at this point he was interrupted by one of the women, who seemed bent on keeping up the spirit of banter with which they had begun. she asked him with a leer if he had got a wife. "no," he said, "but i have got a great respect and love for women, because i've got a mother, and if ever there was a woman on the face of this earth that deserves the love of a son, that woman is my mother. sister," he added, turning to one of those who sat on a bench near him with a thin, puny, curly-haired boy wrapped up in her ragged shawl, "the best prayer that i could offer up for you--and i _do_ offer it--is, that the little chap in your arms may grow up to bless his mother as heartily as i bless mine, but that can never be, so long as you love the strong drink and refuse the saviour." at that moment a loud cry was heard outside. they all rose and ran to the door, where a woman, in the lowest depths of depravity, with her eyes bloodshot, her hair tumbling about her half-naked shoulders, and her ragged garments draggled and wet, had fallen in her efforts to enter the public-house to obtain more of the poison which had already almost destroyed her. she had cut her forehead, and the blood flowed freely over her face as the missionary lifted her. he was a powerful man, and could take her up tenderly and with ease. she was not much hurt, however. after seaward had bandaged the cut with his own handkerchief she professed to be much better. this little incident completed the good influence which the missionary's words and manner had previously commenced. most of the women began to weep as they listened to the words of love, encouragement, and hope addressed to them. a few of course remained obdurate, though not unimpressed. all this time young sam twitter remained in his dark corner, with his head resting on his arms to prevent his being recognised. well did he know john seaward, and well did seaward know him, for the missionary had long been a fellow-worker with mrs twitter in george yard and at the home of industry. the boy was very anxious to escape seaward's observation. this was not a difficult matter. when the missionary left, after distributing his tracts, sammy rose up and sought to hide himself--from himself, had that been possible--in the lowest slums of london. chapter thirteen. tells of some curious and vigorous peculiarities of the lower orders. now it must not be supposed that mrs frog, having provided for her baby and got rid of it, remained thereafter quite indifferent to it. on the contrary, she felt the blank more than she had expected, and her motherly heart began to yearn for it powerfully. to gratify this yearning to some extent, she got into the habit of paying frequent visits, sometimes by night and sometimes by day, to the street in which samuel twitter lived, and tried to see her baby through the stone walls of the house! her eyes being weak, as well as her imagination, she failed in this effort, but the mere sight of the house where little matty was, sufficed to calm her maternal yearnings in some slight degree. by the way, that name reminds us of our having omitted to mention that baby frog's real name was matilda, and her pet name matty, so that the name of mita, fixed on by the twitters, was not so wide of the mark as it might have been. one night mrs frog, feeling the yearning strong upon her, put on her bonnet and shawl--that is to say, the bundle of dirty silk, pasteboard, and flowers which represented the one, and the soiled tartan rag that did duty for the other. "where are ye off to, old woman?" asked ned, who, having been recently successful in some little "job," was in high good humour. "i'm goin' round to see mrs tibbs, ned. d'you want me?" "no, on'y i'm goin' that way too, so we'll walk together." mrs frog, we regret to say, was not particular as to the matter of truth. she had no intention of going near mrs tibbs, but, having committed herself, made a virtue of necessity, and resolved to pay that lady a visit. the conversation by the way was not sufficiently interesting to be worthy of record. arrived at twitter's street an idea struck mrs frog. "ned," said she, "i'm tired." "well, old girl, you'd better cut home." "i think i will, ned, but first i'll sit down on this step to rest a bit." "all right, old girl," said ned, who would have said the same words if she had proposed to stand on her head on the step--so easy was he in his mind as to how his wife spent her time; "if you sit for half-an-hour or so i'll be back to see you 'ome again. i'm on'y goin' to bundle's shop for a bit o' baccy. ain't i purlite now? don't it mind you of the courtin' days?" "ah! ned," exclaimed the wife, while a sudden gush of memory brought back the days when he was handsome and kind,--but ned was gone, and the slightly thawed spring froze up again. she sat down on the cold step of a door which happened to be somewhat in the shade, and gazed at the opposite windows. there was a light in one of them. she knew it well. she had often watched the shadows that crossed the blind after the gas was lighted, and once she had seen some one carrying something which looked like a baby! it might have been a bundle of soiled linen, or undarned socks, but it might have been matty, and the thought sent a thrill to the forlorn creature's heart. on the present occasion she was highly favoured, for, soon after ned had left, the shadows came again on the blind, and came so near it as to be distinctly visible. yes, there could be no doubt now, it _was_ a baby, and as there was only one baby in that house it followed that the baby was _her_ baby--little matty! here was something to carry home with her, and think over and dream about. but there was more in store for her. the baby, to judge from the shadowy action of its fat limbs on the blind, became what she called obstropolous. more than that, it yelled, and its mother heard the yell--faintly, it is true, but sufficiently to send a thrill of joy to her longing heart. then a sudden fear came over her. what if it was ill, and they were trying to soothe it to rest! how much better _she_ could do that if she only had the baby! "oh! fool that i was to part with her!" she murmured, "but no. it was best. she would surely have bin dead by this time." the sound of the little voice, however, had roused such a tempest of longing in mrs frog's heart, that, under an irresistible impulse, she ran across the road and rang the bell. the door was promptly opened by mrs twitter's domestic. "is--is the baby well?" stammered mrs frog, scarce knowing what she said. "_you've_ nothink to do wi' the baby that i knows on," returned mrs twitter's domestic, who was not quite so polite as her mistress. "no, honey," said mrs frog in a wheedling tone, rendered almost desperate by the sudden necessity for instant invention, "but the doctor said i was to ask if baby had got over it, or if 'e was to send round the--the--i forget its name--at once." "what doctor sent you?" asked mrs twitter, who had come out of the parlour on hearing the voices through the doorway, and with her came a clear and distinct yell which mrs frog treasured up in her thinly clad but warm bosom, as though it had been a strain from paradise. "there must surely be some mistake, my good woman, for my baby is quite well." "oh! thank you, thank you--yes, there must have been some mistake," said mrs frog, scarce able to restrain a laugh of joy at the success of her scheme, as she retired precipitately from the door and hurried away. she did not go far, however, but, on hearing the door shut, turned back and took up her position again on the door-step. poor mrs frog had been hardened and saddened by sorrow, and suffering, and poverty, and bad treatment; nevertheless she was probably one of the happiest women in london just then. "_my_ baby," she said, quoting part of mrs twitter's remarks with a sarcastic laugh, "no, madam, she's not _your_ baby _yet_!" as she sat reflecting on this agreeable fact, a heavy step was heard approaching. it was too slow for that of ned. she knew it well--a policeman! there are hard-hearted policemen in the force--not many, indeed, but nothing is perfect in this world, and there are a _few_ hard-hearted policemen. he who approached was one of these. "move on," he said in a stern voice. "please, sir, i'm tired. on'y restin' a bit while i wait for my 'usband," pleaded mrs frog. "come, move on," repeated the unyielding constable in a tone that there was no disputing. indeed it was so strong that it reached the ears of ned frog himself, who chanced to come round the corner at the moment and saw the policeman, as he imagined, maltreating his wife. ned was a man who, while he claimed and exercised the right to treat his own wife as he pleased, was exceedingly jealous of the interference of others with his privileges. he advanced, therefore, at once, and planted his practised knuckles on the policeman's forehead with such power that the unfortunate limb of the law rolled over in one direction and his helmet in another. as every one knows, the police sometimes suffer severely at the hands of roughs, and on this occasion that truth was verified, but the policeman who had been knocked down by this prize-fighter was by no means a feeble member of the force. recovering from his astonishment in a moment, he sprang up and grappled with ned frog in such a manner as to convince that worthy he had "his work cut out for him." the tussle that ensued was tremendous, and mrs frog retired into a doorway to enjoy it in safety. but it was brief. before either wrestler could claim the victory, a brother constable came up, and ned was secured and borne away to a not unfamiliar cell before he could enjoy even one pipe of the "baccy" which he had purchased. thus it came to pass, that when a certain comrade expected to find ned frog at a certain mansion in the west-end, prepared with a set of peculiar tools for a certain purpose, ned was in the enjoyment of board and lodging at her majesty's expense. the comrade, however, not being aware of ned's incarceration, and believing, no doubt, that there was honour among thieves, was true to his day and hour. he had been engaged down somewhere in the country on business, and came up by express train for this particular job; hence his ignorance as to his partner's fate. but this burglar was not a man to be easily balked in his purpose. "ned must be ill, or got a haccident o' some sort," he said to a very little but sharp boy who was to assist in the job. "howsever, you an' me'll go at it alone, sniveller." "wery good, bunky," replied sniveller, "'ow is it to be? by the winder, through the door, down the chimbly, up the spout--or wot?" "the larder windy, my boy." "sorry for that," said sniveller. "why?" "'cause it _is_ so 'ard to go past the nice things an' smell 'em all without darin' to touch 'em till i lets you in. couldn't you let me 'ave a feed first?" "unpossible," said the burglar. "wery good," returned the boy, with a sigh of resignation. now, while these two were whispering to each other in a box of an adjoining tavern, three police-constables were making themselves at home in the premises of sir richard brandon. one of these was number . it is not quite certain, even to this day, how and where these men were stationed, for their proceedings--though not deeds of evil--were done in the dark, at least in darkness which was rendered visible only now and then by bull's-eye lanterns. the only thing that was absolutely clear to the butler, mr thomas balls, was, that the mansion was given over entirely to the triumvirate to be dealt with as they thought fit. of course they did not know when the burglars would come, nor the particular point of the mansion where the assault would be delivered; therefore number laid his plans like a wise general, posted his troops where there was most likelihood of their being required, and kept himself in reserve for contingencies. about that "wee short hour" of which the poet burns writes, a small boy was lifted by a large man to the sill of the small window which lighted sir richard brandon's pantry. to the surprise of the small boy, he found the window unfastened. "they've bin an' forgot it!" he whispered. "git in," was the curt reply. sniveller got in, dropped to his extreme length from the sill, let go his hold, and came down lightly on the floor--not so lightly, however, but that a wooden stool placed there was overturned, and, falling against a blue plate, broke it with a crash. sniveller became as one petrified, and remained so for a considerable time, till he imagined all danger from sleepers having been awakened was over. he also thought of thieving cats, and thanked them mentally. he likewise became aware of the near presence of pastry. the smell was delicious, but a sense of duty restrained him. number smiled to himself to think how well his trap had acted, but the smile was lost in darkness. meanwhile, the chief operator, bunky, went round to the back door. sniveller, who had been taught the geography of the mansion from a well-executed plan, proceeded to the same door inside. giles could have patted his little head as he carefully drew back the bolts and turned the key. another moment, and bunky, on his stocking soles, stood within the mansion. yet another moment, and bunky was enjoying an embrace that squeezed most of the wind out of his body, strong though he was, for number was apt to forget his excessive power when duty constrained him to act with promptitude. "now, then, show a light," said giles, quietly. two bull's-eyes flashed out their rich beams at the word, and lit up a tableau of three, in attitudes faintly resembling those of the laocoon, without the serpents. "fetch the bracelets," said giles. at these words the bull's-eyes converged, and sniveller, bolting through the open door, vanished--he was never heard of more! then followed two sharp _clicks_, succeeded by a sigh of relief as number relaxed his arms. "you needn't rouse the household unless you feel inclined, my man," said giles to bunky in a low voice. bunky did _not_ feel inclined. he thought it better, on the whole, to let the sleeping dogs lie, and wisely submitted to inevitable fate. he was marched off to jail, while one of the constables remained behind to see the house made safe, and acquaint sir richard of his deliverance from the threatened danger. referring to this matter on the following day in the servants' hall, thomas balls filled a foaming tankard of ginger-beer--for, strange to say, he was an abstainer, though a butler--and proposed, in a highly eulogistic speech, the health and prosperity of that admirable body of men, the metropolitan police, with which toast he begged to couple the name of number ! chapter fourteen. number off duty. some time after the attempt made upon sir richard brandon's house, giles scott was seated at his own fireside, helmet and truncheon laid aside, uniform taken off, and a free and easy suit of plain clothes put on. his pretty wife sat beside him darning a pair of very large socks. the juvenile policeman, and the incorrigible criminal were sound asleep in their respective cribs, the one under the print of the queen, the other under that of sir robert peel. giles was studying a small book of instructions as to the duties of police-constables, and pretty molly was commenting on the same, for she possessed that charming quality of mind and heart which induces the possessor to take a sympathetic and lively interest in whatever may happen to be going on. "they expect pretty hard work of you, giles," remarked molly with a sigh, as she thought of the prolonged hours of absence from home, and the frequent night duty. "why, moll, you wouldn't have me wish for easy work at my time of life, would you?" replied the policeman, looking up from his little book with an amused smile. "somebody must always be taking a heavy lift of the hard work of this world, and if a big hulking fellow like me in the prime o' life don't do it, who will?" "true, giles, but surely you won't deny me the small privilege of wishing that you had a _little_ less to do, and a _little_ more time with your family. you men,--especially you scotchmen--are such an argumentative set, that a poor woman can't open her lips to say a word, but you pounce upon it and make an argument of it." "now molly, there you go again, assuming my duties! why do you take me so sharp? isn't taking-up the special privilege of the police?" "am i not entitled," said molly, ignoring her husband's question, "to express regret that your work should include coming home now and then with scratched cheeks, and swelled noses, and black eyes?" "come now," returned giles, "you must admit that i have fewer of these discomforts than most men of the force, owing, no doubt, to little men being unable to reach so high--and, d'you know, it's the little men who do most damage in life; they're such a pugnacious and perverse generation! as to swelled noses, these are the fortune of war, at least of civil war like ours--and black eyes, why, my eyes are black by nature. if they were of a heavenly blue like yours, molly, you might have some ground for complaint when they are blackened." "and then there is such dreadful tear and wear of clothes," continued molly; "just look at that, now!" she held up to view a sock with a hole in its heel large enough to let an orange through. "why, molly, do you expect that i can walk the streets of london from early morning till late at night, protect life and property, and preserve public tranquillity, as this little book puts it, besides engaging in numerous scuffles and street rows without making a hole or two in my socks?" "ah! giles, if you had only brain enough to take in a simple idea! it's not the making of holes that i complain of. it is the making of such awfully big ones before changing your socks! there now, don't let us get on domestic matters. you have no head for these, but tell me something about your little book. i am specially interested in it, you see, because the small policeman in the crib over there puts endless questions about his duties which i am quite unable to answer, and, you know, it is a good thing for a child to grow up with the idea that father and mother know everything." "just so, molly. i hope you'll tell your little recruit that the first and foremost duty of a good policeman is to obey orders. let me see, then, if i can enlighten you a bit." "but tell me first, giles--for i really want to know--how many are there of you altogether, and when was the force established on its present footing, and who began it, and, in short, all about it. it's _so_ nice to have you for once in a way for a quiet chat like this." "you have laid down enough of heads, molly, to serve for the foundation of a small volume. however, i'll give it you hot, since you wish it, and i'll begin at the end instead of the beginning. what would you say, now, to an army of eleven thousand men?" "i would say it was a very large one, though i don't pretend to much knowledge about the size of armies," said molly, commencing to mend another hole about the size of a turnip. "well, that, in round numbers, is the strength of the metropolitan police force at the present time--and not a man too much, let me tell you, for what with occasional illnesses and accidents, men employed on special duty, and men off duty--as i am just now--the actual available strength of the force at any moment is considerably below that number. yes, it is a goodly army of picked and stalwart men, (no self-praise intended), but, then, consider what we have to do." "we have to guard and keep in order the population of the biggest city in the world; a population greater than that of the whole of scotland." "oh! of course, you are sure to go to scotland for your illustrations, as if there was no such place as england in the world," quietly remarked molly, with a curl of her pretty lip. "ah! molly, dear, you are unjust. it is true i go to scotland for an illustration, but didn't i come to england for a wife? now, don't go frowning at that hole as if it couldn't be bridged over." "it is the worst hole you ever made," said the despairing wife, holding it up to view. "you make a worsted hole of it then, moll, and it'll be all right. besides, you don't speak truth, for i once made a worse hole in your heart." "you never did, sir. go on with your stupid illustrations," said molly. "well, then, let me see--where was i?" "in scotland, of course!" "ah, yes. the population of all scotland is under four millions, and that of london--that is, of the area embraced in the metropolitan police district, is estimated at above four million seven hundred thousand--in round numbers. of course i give it you all in round numbers." "i don't mind how round the numbers are, giles, so long as they're all square," remarked the little wife with much simplicity. "well, just think of that number for our army to watch over; and that population--not all of it, you know, but part of it--succeeds--in spite of us in committing, during one year, no fewer than , `principal' offences such as murders, burglaries, robberies, thefts, and such-like. what they would accomplish if we were not ever on the watch i leave you to guess. "last year, for instance, burglaries, as we style house-breaking by night, were committed in london. the wonder is that there are not more, when you consider the fact that the number of doors and windows found open by us at night during the twelve months was nearly , . the total loss of property by theft during the year is estimated at about , pounds. besides endeavouring to check crime of such magnitude, we had to search after above , persons who were reported lost and missing during the year, about , of whom were children." "oh! the _poor_ darlings," said molly, twisting her sympathetic eyebrows. "ay, and we found of these darlings," continued the practical giles, "and of the adults. of the rest some returned home or were found by their friends, but adults and children have been lost altogether. then, we found within the twelve months dead bodies which we had to take care of and have photographed for identification. during the same period, (and remember that the record of every twelve months is much the same), we seized over , stray dogs and returned them to their owners or sent them to the dogs' home. we arrested over , persons for being drunk and disorderly. we inspected all the public vehicles and horses in london. we attended to accidents which occurred in the streets, of which were fatal. we looked after more than , articles varying in value from pence to pounds which were lost by a heedless public during the year, about , of which articles were restored to the owners. we had to regulate the street traffic; inspect common lodging-houses; attend the police and other courts to give evidence, and many other things which it would take me much too long to enumerate, and puzzle your pretty little head to take in." "no, it wouldn't," said molly, looking up with a bright expression; "i have a wonderful head for figures--especially for handsome manly figures! go on, giles." "then, look at what is expected of us," continued number , not noticing the last remark. "we are told to exercise the greatest civility and affability towards every one--high and low, rich and poor. we are expected to show the utmost forbearance under all circumstances; to take as much abuse and as many blows as we can stand, without inflicting any in return; to be capable of answering almost every question that an ignorant--not to say arrogant--public may choose to put to us; to be ready, single-handed and armed only with our truncheons and the majesty of the law, to encounter burglars furnished with knives and revolvers; to plunge into the midst of drunken maddened crowds and make arrests in the teeth of tremendous odds; to keep an eye upon strangers whose presence may seem to be less desirable than their absence; to stand any amount of unjust and ungenerous criticism without a word of reply; to submit quietly to the abhorrence and chaff of boys, labourers, cabmen, omnibus drivers, tramps, and fast young men; to have a fair knowledge of the `three rs' and a smattering of law, so as to conduct ourselves with propriety at fires, fairs, fights, and races, besides acting wisely as to mad dogs, german bands, (which are apt to produce mad _men_), organ-grinders, furious drivers, and all other nuisances. in addition to all which we must be men of good character, good standing--as to inches--good proportions, physically, and good sense. in short, we are expected to be--and blamed if we are not--as near to a state of perfection as it is possible for mortal man to attain on this side the grave, and all for the modest sum which you are but too well aware is the extent of our income." "is one of the things expected of you," asked molly, "to have an exceedingly high estimate of yourselves?" "nay, molly, don't you join the ranks of those who are against us. it will be more than criminal if you do. you are aware that i am giving the opinion expressed by men of position who ought to know everything about the force. that we fulfil the conditions required of us not so badly is proved by the fact that last year, out of the whole , there were officers and men who obtained rewards for zeal and activity, while only one man was discharged, and four men were fined or imprisoned. i speak not of number one--or, i should say number . for myself i am ready to admit that i am the most insignificant of the force." "o giles! what a barefaced display of mock modesty!" "nay, molly, i can prove it. everything in this world goes by contrast, doesn't it? then, is there a man in the whole force except myself, i ask, whose wife is so bright and beautiful and good and sweet that she reduces him to mere insignificance by contrast?" "there's something in that, giles," replied molly with gravity, "but go on with your lecture." "i've nothing more to say about the force," returned giles; "if i have not said enough to convince you of our importance, and of the debt of gratitude that you and the public of london owe to us, you are past conviction, and--" "you are wrong, giles, as usual; i am never past conviction; you have only to take me before the police court in the morning, and any magistrate will at once convict me of stupidity for having married a scotchman and a policeman!" "i think it must be time to go on my beat, for you beat me hollow," said number , consulting his watch. "no, no, giles, please sit still. it is not every day that i have such a chance of a chat with you." "such a chance of pitching into me, you mean," returned giles. "however, before i go i would like to tell you just one or two facts regarding this great london itself, which needs so much guarding and such an army of guardians. you know that the metropolitan district comprises all the parishes any portion of which are within miles of charing cross--this area being square miles. the rateable value of it is over twenty-six million eight hundred thousand pounds sterling. see, as you say you've a good head for _figures_, there's the sum on a bit of paper for you-- , , pounds. during last year , new houses were built, forming new streets and four new squares--the whole covering a length of miles. the total number of new houses built during the last _ten_ years within this area has been , , extending over miles of streets and squares!" "stay, i can't stand it!" cried molly, dropping her sock and putting her fingers in her ears. "why not, old girl?" "because it is too much for me; why, even _your_ figure is a mere nothing to such sums!" "then," returned giles, "you've only got to stick me on to the end of them to make my information ten times more valuable." "but are you quite sure that what you tell me is true, giles?" "quite sure, my girl--at least as sure as i am of the veracity of colonel henderson, who wrote the last police report." at this point the chat was interrupted by the juvenile policeman in the crib under sir robert peel. whether it was the astounding information uttered in his sleepy presence, or the arduous nature of the duty required of him in dreams, we cannot tell, but certain it is that when number uttered the word "report" there came a crash like the report of a great gun, and number of the a division, having fallen overboard, was seen on the floor pommelling some imaginary criminal who stoutly refused to be captured. giles ran forward to the assistance of number , as was his duty, and took him up in his arms. but number had awakened to the fact that he had hurt himself, and, notwithstanding the blandishments of his father, who swayed him about and put him on his broad shoulders, and raised his curly head to the ceiling, he refused for a long time to be comforted. at last he was subdued, and returned to the crib and the land of dreams. "now, molly, i must really go," said giles, putting on his uniform. "i hope number won't disturb you again. good-bye, lass, for a few hours," he added, buckling his belt. "here, look, do you see that little spot on the ceiling?" "yes,--well?" said molly, looking up. giles took unfair advantage of her, stooped, and kissed the pretty little face, received a resounding slap on the back, and went out, to attend to his professional duties, with the profound gravity of an incapable magistrate. there was a bright intelligent little street-arab on the opposite side of the way, who observed giles with mingled feelings of admiration, envy, and hatred, as he strode sedately along the street like an imperturbable pillar. he knew number personally; had seen him under many and varied circumstance, and had imagined him under many others-- not unfrequently as hanging by the neck from a lamp-post--but never, even in the most daring flights of his juvenile fancy, had he seen him as he has been seen by the reader in the bosom of his poor but happy home. chapter fifteen. mrs. frog sinks deeper and deeper. "nobody cares," said poor mrs frog, one raw afternoon in november, as she entered her miserable dwelling, where the main pieces of furniture were a rickety table, a broken chair, and a heap of straw, while the minor pieces were so insignificant as to be unworthy of mention. there was no fire in the grate, no bread in the cupboard, little fresh air in the room and less light, though there was a broken unlighted candle stuck in the mouth of a quart bottle which gave promise of light in the future--light enough at least to penetrate the november fog which had filled the room as if it had been endued with a pitying desire to throw a veil over such degradation and misery. we say degradation, for mrs frog had of late taken to "the bottle" as a last solace in her extreme misery, and the expression of her face, as she cowered on a low stool beside the empty grate and drew the shred of tartan shawl round her shivering form, showed all too clearly that she was at that time under its influence. she had been down to the river again, more than once, and had gazed into its dark waters until she had very nearly made up her mind to take the desperate leap, but god in mercy had hitherto interposed. at one time a policeman had passed with his weary "move on"--though sometimes he had not the heart to enforce his order. more frequently a little baby-face had looked up from the river with a smile, and sent her away to the well-known street where she would sit in the familiar door-step watching the shadows on the window-blind until cold and sorrow drove her to the gin-palace to seek for the miserable comfort to be found there. whatever that comfort might amount to, it did not last long, for, on the night of which we write, she had been to the palace, had got all the comfort that was to be had out of it, and returned to her desolate home more wretched than ever, to sit down, as we have seen, and murmur, almost fiercely, "nobody cares." for a time she sat silent and motionless, while the deepening shadows gathered round her, as if they had united with all the rest to intensify the poor creature's woe. presently she began to mutter to herself aloud-- "what's the use o' your religion when it comes to this? what sort of religion is in the hearts of these," (she pursed her lips, and paused for an expressive word, but found none), "these rich folk in their silks and satins and broadcloth, with more than they can use, an' feedin' their pampered cats and dogs on what would be wealth to the likes o' me! religion! bah!" she stopped, for a voice within her said as plainly as if it had spoken out: "who gave you the sixpence the other day, and looked after you with a tender, pitying glance as you hurried away to the gin-shop without so much as stopping to say `thank you'? she wore silks, didn't she?" "ah, but there's not many like that," replied the poor woman, mentally, for the powers of good and evil were fighting fiercely within her just then. "how do you know there are not many like that?" demanded the voice. "well, but _all_ the rich are not like that," said mrs frog. the voice made no reply to that! again she sat silent for some time, save that a low moan escaped her occasionally, for she was very cold and very hungry, having spent the last few pence, which might have given her a meal, in drink; and the re-action of the poison helped to depress her. the evil spirit seemed to gain the mastery at this point, to judge from her muttered words. "nothing to eat, nothing to drink, no work to be got, hetty laid up in hospital, ned in prison, bobby gone to the bad again instead of goin' to canada, and--nobody cares--" "what about baby?" asked the voice. this time it was mrs frog's turn to make no reply! in a few minutes she seemed to become desperate, for, rising hastily, she went out, shut the door with a bang, locked it, and set out on the familiar journey to the gin-shop. she had not far to go. it was at the corner. if it had not been at that corner, there was one to be found at the next--and the next--and the next again, and so on all round; so that, rushing past, as people sometimes do when endeavouring to avoid a danger, would have been of little or no avail in this case. but there was a very potent influence of a negative kind in her favour. she had no money! recollecting this when she had nearly reached the door, she turned aside, and ran swiftly to the old door-step, where she sat down and hid her face in her hands. a heavy footstep sounded at her side the next moment. she looked quickly up. it was a policeman. he did not apply the expected words--"move on." he was a man under whose blue uniform beat a tender and sympathetic heart. in fact, he was number --changed from some cause that we cannot explain, and do not understand--from the metropolitan to the city police force. his number also had been changed, but we refuse to be trammelled by police regulations. number he was and shall remain in this tale to the end of the chapter! instead of ordering the poor woman to go away, giles was searching his pockets for a penny, when to his intense surprise he received a blow on the chest, and then a slap on the face! poor mrs frog, misjudging his intentions, and roused to a fit of temporary insanity by her wrongs and sorrows, sprang at her supposed foe like a wildcat. she was naturally a strong woman, and violent passion lent her unusual strength. oh! it was pitiful to witness the struggle that ensued!--to see a woman, forgetful of sex and everything else, striving with all her might to bite, scratch, and kick, while her hair tumbled down, and her bonnet and shawl falling off made more apparent the insufficiency of the rags with which she was covered. strong as he was, giles received several ugly scratches and bites before he could effectually restrain her. fortunately, there were no passers-by in the quiet street, and, therefore, no crowd assembled. "my poor woman," said giles, when he had her fast, "do keep quiet. i'm going to do you no harm. god help you, i was goin' to give you a copper when you flew at me so. come, you'd better go with me to the station, for you're not fit to take care of yourself." whether it was the tender tone of giles's voice, or the words that he uttered, or the strength of his grasp that subdued mrs frog, we cannot tell, but she gave in suddenly, hung down her head, and allowed her captor to do as he pleased. seeing this, he carefully replaced her bonnet on her head, drew the old shawl quite tenderly over her shoulders, and led her gently away. before they had got the length of the main thoroughfare, however, a female of a quiet, respectable appearance met them. "mrs frog!" she exclaimed, in amazement, stopping suddenly before them. "if you know her, ma'am, perhaps you may direct me to her home." "i know her well," said the female, who was none other than the bible-nurse who visited the sick of that district; "if you have not arrested her for--for--" "oh no, madam," interrupted giles, "i have not arrested her at all, but she seems to be unwell, and i was merely assisting her." "oh! then give her over to me, please. i know where she lives, and will take care of her." giles politely handed his charge over, and went on his way, sincerely hoping that the next to demand his care would be a man. the bible-woman drew the arm of poor mrs frog through her own, and in a few minutes stood beside her in the desolate home. "nobody cares," muttered the wretched woman as she sank in apathy on her stool and leaned her head against the wall. "you are wrong, dear mrs frog. _i_ care, for one, else i should not be here. many other christian people would care, too, if they knew of your sufferings; but, above all, god cares. have you carried your troubles to him?" "why should i? he has long ago forsaken me." "is it not, dear friend, that you have forsaken him? jesus says, as plain as words can put it, `come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and i will give you rest.' you tell me it is of no use to go to him, and you don't go, and then you complain that he has forsaken you! where is my friend hetty?" "in hospital." "indeed! i have been here several times lately to inquire, but have always found your door locked. your husband--" "he's in prison, and bobby's gone to the bad," said mrs frog, still in a tone of sulky defiance. "i see no sign of food," said the bible-nurse, glancing quickly round; "are you hungry?" "hungry!" exclaimed the woman fiercely, "i've tasted nothin' at all since yesterday." "poor thing!" said the bible-nurse in a low tone; "come--come with me. i don't say more. you cannot speak while you are famishing. stay, first one word--" she paused and looked up. she did not kneel; she did not clasp her hands or shut her eyes, but, with one hand on the door-latch, and the other grasping the poor woman's wrist, she prayed-- "god bless and comfort poor mrs frog, for jesus' sake." then she hurried, without uttering a word, to the institution in george yard. the door happened to be open, and the figure of a man with white hair and a kind face was seen within. entering, the bible-nurse whispered to this man. another moment and mrs frog was seated at a long deal table with a comfortable fire at her back, a basin of warm soup, and a lump of loaf bread before her. the bible-nurse sat by and looked on. "somebody cares a little, don't _you_ think?" she whispered, when the starving woman made a brief pause for breath. "yes, thank god," answered mrs frog, returning to the meal as though she feared that some one might still snatch it from her thin lips before she got it all down. when it was finished the bible-nurse led mrs frog into another room. "you feel better--stronger?" she asked. "yes, much better--thank you, and quite able to go home." "there is no occasion for you to go home to-night; you may sleep there," (pointing to a corner), "but i would like to pray with you now, and read a verse or two." mrs frog submitted, while her friend read to her words of comfort; pleaded that pardon and deliverance might be extended, and gave her loving words of counsel. then the poor creature lay down in her corner, drew a warm blanket over her, and slept with a degree of comfort that she had not enjoyed for many a day. when it was said by mrs frog that her son bobby had gone to the bad, it must not be supposed that any very serious change had come over him. as that little waif had once said of himself, when in a penitent mood, he was about as bad as he could be, so couldn't grow much badder. but when his sister lost her situation in the firm that paid her such splendid wages, and fell ill, and went into hospital in consequence, he lost heart, and had a relapse of wickedness. he grew savage with regard to life in general, and committed a petty theft, which, although not discovered, necessitated his absence from home for a time. it was while he was away that the scene which we have just described took place. on the very next day he returned, and it so happened that on the same day hetty was discharged from hospital "cured." that is to say, she left the place a thin, tottering, pallid shadow, but with no particular form of organic disease about her. she and her mother had received some food from one who cared for them, through the bible-nurse. "mother, you've been drinkin' again," said hetty, looking earnestly at her parent's eyes. "well, dear," pleaded mrs frog, "what could i do? you had all forsaken me, and i had nothin' else to comfort me." "oh! mother, darling mother," cried hetty, "do promise me that you will give it up. i won't get ill or leave you again--god helping me; but it will kill me if you go on. _do_ promise." "it's of no use, hetty. of course i can easily promise, but i can't keep my promise. i _know_ i can't." hetty knew this to be too true. without the grace of god in the heart, she was well aware that human efforts _must_ fail, sooner or later. she was thinking what to reply, and praying in her heart for guidance, when the door opened and her brother bobby swaggered in with an air that did not quite accord with his filthy fluttering rags, unwashed face and hands, bare feet and unkempt hair. "vell, mother, 'ow are ye? hallo! hetty! w'y, wot a shadder you've become! oh! i say, them nusses at the hospital must 'ave stole all your flesh an' blood from you, for they've left nothin' but the bones and skin." he went up to his sister, put an arm round her neck, and kissed her. this was a very unusual display of affection. it was the first time bobby had volunteered an embrace, though he had often submitted to one with dignified complacency, and hetty, being weak, burst into tears. "hallo! i say, stop that now, young gal," he said, with a look of alarm, "i'm always took bad ven i see that sort o' thing, i can't stand it." by way of mending matters the poor girl, endeavouring to be agreeable, gave a hysterical laugh. "come, that's better, though it ain't much to boast of,"--and he kissed her again. finding that, although for the present they were supplied with a small amount of food, hetty had no employment and his mother no money, our city arab said that he would undertake to sustain the family. "but oh! bobby, dear, don't steal again." "no, hetty, i won't, i'll vork. i didn't go for to do it a-purpose, but i was overtook some'ow--i seed the umbrellar standin' handy, you know, and--etceterer. but i'm sorry i did it, an' i won't do it again." swelling with great intentions, robert frog thrust his dirty little hands into his trouser pockets--at least into the holes that once contained them--and went out whistling. soon he came to a large warehouse, where a portly gentleman stood at the door. planting himself in front of this man, and ceasing to whistle in order that he might speak, he said:-- "was you in want of a 'and, sir?" "no, i wasn't," replied the man, with a glance of contempt. "sorry for that," returned bobby, "'cause i'm in want of a sitivation." "what can you do?" asked the man. "oh! hanythink." "ah, i thought so; i don't want hands who can do anything, i prefer those who can do something." bobby frog resumed his whistling, at the exact bar where he had left off, and went on his way. he was used to rebuffs, and didn't mind them. but when he had spent all the forenoon in receiving rebuffs, had made no progress whatever in his efforts, and began to feel hungry, he ceased the whistling and became grave. "this looks serious," he said, pausing in front of a pastry-cook's shop window. "but for that there plate glass _wot_ a blow hout i might 'ave! beggin' might be tried with advantage. it's agin the law, no doubt, but it ain't a _sin_. yes, i'll try beggin'." but our arab was not a natural beggar, if we may say so. he scorned to whine, and did not even like to ask. his spirit was much more like that of a highwayman than a beggar. proceeding to a quiet neighbourhood which seemed to have been forgotten by the police, he turned down a narrow lane and looked out for a subject, as a privateer might search among "narrows" for a prize. he did not search long. an old lady soon hove in sight. she seemed a suitable old lady, well-dressed, little, gentle, white-haired, a tottering gait, and a benign aspect. bobby went straight up and planted himself in front of her. "please, ma'am, will you oblige me with a copper?" the poor old lady grew pale. without a word she tremblingly, yet quickly, pulled out her purse, took therefrom a shilling, and offered it to the boy. "oh! marm," said bobby, who was alarmed and conscience-smitten at the result of his scheme, "i didn't mean for to frighten you. indeed i didn't, an' i won't 'ave your money at no price." saying which he turned abruptly round and walked away. "boy, boy, _boy_!" called the old lady in a voice so entreating, though tremulous, that bobby felt constrained to return. "you're a most remarkable boy," she said, putting the shilling back into her purse. "i'm sorry to say, marm, that you're not the on'y indiwidooal as 'olds that opinion." "what do you mean by your conduct, boy?" "i mean, marm, that i'm wery 'ard up. _uncommon_ 'ard up; that i've tried to git vork an' can't git it, so that i'm redooced to beggary. but, i ain't a 'ighway robber, marm, by no means, an' don't want to frighten you hout o' your money if you ain't willin' to give it." the little tremulous old lady was so pleased with this reply that she took half-a-crown out of her purse and put it into the boy's hand. he looked at her in silent surprise. "it ain't a _copper_, marm!" "i know that. it is half-a-crown, and i willingly give it you because you are an honest boy." "but, marm," said bobby, still holding out the piece of silver on his palm, "i _ain't_ a honest boy. i'm a thief!" "tut, tut, don't talk nonsense; i don't believe you." "vel now, this beats all that i ever did come across. 'ere's a old 'ooman as i tells as plain as mud that i'm a thief, an' nobody's better able to give a opinion on that pint than myself, yet she _won't_ believe it!" "no, i won't," said the old lady with a little nod and a smile, "so, put the money in your pocket, for you're an honest boy." "vell, it's pleasant to 'ear that, any'ow," returned bobby, placing the silver coin in a vest pocket which was always kept in repair for coins of smaller value. "where do you live, boy? i should like to come and see you." "my residence, marm, ain't a mansion in the vest-end. no, nor yet a willa in the subarbs. i'm afear'd, marm, that i live in a district that ain't quite suitable for the likes of you to wisit. but--" here bobby paused, for at the moment his little friend tim lumpy recurred to his memory, and a bright thought struck him. "well, boy, why do you pause?" "i was on'y thinkin', marm, that if you wants to befriend us poor boys-- they calls us waifs an' strays an' all sorts of unpurlite names--you've on'y got to send a sov, or two to miss annie macpherson, 'ome of hindustry, commercial street, spitalfields, an' you'll be the means o' doin' a world o' good--as i 'eard a old gen'l'm with a white choker on say the wery last time i was down there 'avin' a blow out o' bread an' soup." "i know the lady and the institution well, my boy," said the old lady, "and will act on your advice, but--" ere she finished the sentence bobby frog had turned and fled at the very top of his speed. "stop! stop! stop!" exclaimed the old lady in a weakly shout. but the "remarkable boy" would neither stop nor stay. he had suddenly caught sight of a policeman turning into the lane, and forthwith took to his heels, under a vague and not unnatural impression that if that limb of the law found him in possession of a half-crown he would refuse to believe his innocence with as much obstinacy as the little old lady had refused to believe his guilt. on reaching home he found his mother alone in a state of amused agitation which suggested to his mind the idea of old tom. "wot, bin at it again, mother?" "no, no, bobby, but somethin's happened which amuses me much, an' i can't keep it to myself no longer, so i'll tell it to you, bobby." "fire away, then, mother, an' remember that the law don't compel no one to criminate hisself." "you know, bob, that a good while ago our matty disappeared. i saw that the dear child was dyin' for want o' food an' warmth an' fresh air, so i thinks to myself, `why shouldn't i put 'er out to board wi' rich people for nothink?'" "a wery correct notion, an' cleverer than i gave you credit for. i'm glad to ear it too, for i feared sometimes that you'd bin an' done it." "oh! bobby, how could you ever think that! well, i put the baby out to board with a family of the name of twitter. now it seems, all unbeknown to me, mrs twitter is a great helper at the george yard ragged schools, where our hetty has often seen her; but as we've bin used never to speak about the work there, as your father didn't like it, of course i know'd nothin' about mrs twitter bein' given to goin' there. well, it seems she's very free with her money and gives a good deal away to poor people." (she's not the only one, thought the boy.) "so what does the bible-nurse do when she hears about poor hetty's illness but goes off and asks mrs twitter to try an' git her a situation." "`oh! i know hetty,' says mrs twitter at once, `that nice girl that teaches one o' the sunday-school classes. send her to me. i want a nurse for our baby,' that's for matty, bob--" "what! _our_ baby!" exclaimed the boy with a sudden blaze of excitement. "yes--our baby. she calls it _hers_!" "well, now," said bobby, after recovering from the fit of laughter and thigh-slapping into which this news had thrown him, "if this don't beat cockfightin' all to nuffin'! why, mother, hetty'll know baby the moment she claps eyes on it." "of course she will," said mrs frog; "it is really very awkward, an' i can't think what to do. i'm half afraid to tell hetty." "oh! don't tell her--don't tell her," cried the boy, whose eyes sparkled with mischievous glee. "it'll be sich fun! if i 'ad on'y the chance to stand be'ind a door an' see the meetin' i wouldn't exchange it--no not for a feed of pork sassengers an' suet pud'n. i must go an' tell this to tim lumpy. it'll bust 'im--that's my on'y fear, but i must tell 'im wotever be the consikences." with this stern resolve, to act regardless of results, bob frog went off in search of his little friend, whose departure for canada had been delayed, from some unknown cause, much to bob's satisfaction. he found tim on his way to the beehive, and was induced not only to go with him, but to decide, finally, to enter the institution as a candidate for canada. being well-known, both as to person and circumstances, he was accepted at once; taken in, washed, cropped, and transformed as if by magic. chapter sixteen. sir richard visits the beehive, and sees many surprising things. "my dear mrs loper," said mrs twitter over a cup of tea, "it is very kind of you to say so, and i really do think you are right, we have done full justice to our dear wee mita. who would ever have thought, remembering the thin starved sickly child she was the night that sam brought her in, that she would come to be such a plump, rosy, lovely child? i declare to you that i feel as if she were one of my own." "she is indeed a very lovely infant," returned mrs loper. "don't you think so, mrs larrabel?" the smiling lady expanded her mouth, and said, "very." "but," continued mrs twitter, "i really find that the entire care of her is too much for me, for, although dear mary assists me, her studies require to be attended to, and, do you know, babies interfere with studies dreadfully. not that i have time to do much in that way at present. i think the bible is the only book i really study now, so, you see, i've been thinking of adding to our establishment by getting a new servant;--a sort of nursery governess, you know,--a cheap one, of course. sam quite agrees with me, and, as it happens, i know a very nice little girl just now--a very very poor girl--who helps us so nicely on sundays in george yard, and has been recommended to me as a most deserving creature. i expect her to call to-night." "be cautious, mrs twitter," said mrs loper. "these _very_ poor girls from the slums of whitechapel are sometimes dangerous, and, excuse me, rather dirty. of course, if you know her, that is some security, but i would advise you to be very cautious." "thank you, my dear," said mrs twitter, "i usually am very cautious, and will try to be so on this occasion. i mean her to be rather a sort of nursery governess than a servant.--that is probably the girl." she referred to a rather timid knock at the front door. in another second the domestic announced hetty frog, who entered with a somewhat shy air, and seemed fluttered at meeting with unexpected company. "come in, hetty, my dear; i'm glad to see you. my friends here know that you are a helper in our sunday-schools. sit down, and have a cup of tea. you know why i have sent for you?" "yes, mrs twitter. it--it is very kind. our bible-nurse told me, and i shall be so happy to come, because--but i fear i have interrupted you. i--i can easily come back--" "no interruption at all, my dear. here, take this cup of tea--" "and a crumpet," added mrs larrabel, who sympathised with the spirit of hospitality. "yes, take a crumpet, and let me hear about your last place." poor hetty, who was still very weak from her recent illness, and would gladly have been excused sitting down with two strangers, felt constrained to comply, and was soon put at her ease by the kindly tone and manner of the hostess. she ran quickly over the chief points of her late engagements, and roused, without meaning to do so, the indignation of the ladies by the bare mention of the wages she had received for the amount of work done. "well, my dear," said the homely mrs twitter, "we won't be so hard on you here. i want you to assist me with my sewing and darning--of which i have a very great deal--and help to take care of baby." "very well, ma'am," said hetty, "when do you wish me to begin my duties?" "oh! to-morrow--after breakfast will do. it is too late to-night. but before you go, i may as well let you see the little one you are to have charge of. i hear she is awake." there could be no doubt upon that point, for the very rafters of the house were ringing at the moment with the yells which issued from an adjoining room. "come this way, hetty." mrs loper and mrs larrabel, having formed a good opinion of the girl, looked on with approving smiles. the smiles changed to glances of surprise, however, when hetty, having looked on the baby, uttered a most startling scream, while her eyes glared as though she saw a ghostly apparition. seizing the baby with unceremonious familiarity, hetty struck mrs twitter dumb by turning it on its face, pulling open its dress, glancing at a bright red spot on its back, and uttering a shriek of delight as she turned it round again, and hugged it with violent affection, exclaiming, "oh! my blessed matty!" "the child's name is not matty; it is mita," said mrs twitter, on recovering her breath. "what _do_ you mean, girl?" "her name is _not_ mita, it is matty," returned hetty, with a flatness of contradiction that seemed impossible in one so naturally gentle. mrs twitter stood, aghast--bereft of the power of speech or motion. mrs loper and mrs larrabel were similarly affected. they soon recovered, however, and exclaimed in chorus, "what _can_ she mean?" "forgive me, ma'am," said hetty, still holding on to baby, who seemed to have an idea that she was creating a sensation of some sort, without requiring to yell, "forgive my rudeness, ma'am, but i really couldn't help it, for this is my long-lost sister matilda." "sister matilda!" echoed mrs loper. "long-lost sister matilda!" repeated mrs larrabel. "this--is--your--long-lost sister matilda," rehearsed mrs twitter, like one in a dream. the situation was rendered still more complex by the sudden entrance of mr twitter and his friend crackaby. "what--what--what's to do _now_, mariar?" "sister matilda!" shouted all three with a gasp. "lunatics, every one of 'em," murmured crackaby. it is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to add that a full explanation ensued when the party became calmer; that mrs twitter could not doubt the veracity of hetty frog, but suspected her sanity; that mrs frog was sent for, and was recognised at once by mr twitter as the poor woman who had asked him such wild and unmeaning questions the night on which he had found the baby; and that mr and mrs twitter, mrs loper, mrs larrabel, and crackaby came to the unanimous conclusion that they had never heard of such a thing before in the whole course of their united lives--which lives, when united, as some statisticians would take a pride in recording, formed two hundred and forty-three years! poor mrs twitter was as inconsolable at the loss of her baby as mrs frog was overjoyed at the recovery of hers. she therefore besought the latter to leave little mita, _alias_ matty, with her just for one night longer-- only one night--and then she might come for her in the morning, for, you know, it would have been cruel to remove the child from her warm crib at that hour to a cold and comfortless lodging. of course mrs frog readily consented. if mrs frog had known the events that lay in the womb of the next few hours, she would sooner have consented to have had her right-hand cut off than have agreed to that most reasonable request. but we must not anticipate. a few of our _dramatis personae_ took both an active and an inactive part in the events of these hours. it is therefore imperative that we should indicate how some of them came to be in that region. about five of the clock in the afternoon of the day in question, sir richard brandon, his daughter and idol diana, and his young friend stephen welland, sat in the dining-room of the west-end mansion concluding an early and rather hasty dinner. that something was pending was indicated by the fact that little di sat accoutred in her hat and cloak. "we shall have to make haste," said sir richard, rising, "for i should not like to be late, and it is a long drive to whitechapel." "when do they begin?" asked welland. "they have tea at six, i believe, and then the meeting commences at seven, but i wish to be early that i may have a short conversation with one of the ladies of the home." "oh! it will be so nice, and such fun to see the dear little boys. how many are going to start for canada, to-night, papa?" "about fifty or sixty, i believe, but i'm not sure. they are sent off in batches of varying size from time to time." "is the demand for them so great?" asked welland, "i should have thought that canadian farmers and others would be afraid to receive into their dwellings what is often described as the scum of the london streets." "they were afraid at first, i am told, but soon discovered that the little fellows who came from miss macpherson's home had been subjected to such good training and influences before leaving that they almost invariably turned out valuable and trustworthy workmen. no doubt there are exceptions in this as in every other case, but the demand is, it seems, greater than the supply. it is, however, a false idea that little waifs and strays, however dirty or neglected, are in any sense the scum of london. youth, in all circumstances, is cream, and only turns into scum when allowed to stagnate or run to waste. come, now, let us be off. mr seaward, the city missionary, is to meet us after the meeting, and show you and me something of those who have fallen very low in the social scale. brisbane, who is also to be at the meeting, will bring di home. by the way, have you heard anything yet about that poor comrade and fellow-clerk of yours--twitter, i think, was his name-- who disappeared so suddenly?" "nothing whatever. i have made inquiries in all directions--for i had a great liking for the poor fellow. i went also to see his parents, but they seemed too much cut up to talk on the subject at all, and knew nothing of his whereabouts." "ah! it is a very sad case--very," said sir richard, as they all descended to the street. "we might, perhaps, call at their house to-night in passing." entering a cab, they drove away. from the foregoing conversation the reader will have gathered that the party were about to visit the beehive, or home of industry, and that sir richard, through the instrumentality of little di and the city missionary, had actually begun to think about the poor! it was a special night at the beehive. a number of diamonds with some of their dust rubbed off--namely, a band of little boys, rescued from the streets and from a probable life of crime, were to be assembled there to say farewell to such friends as took an interest in them. the hive had been a huge warehouse. it was now converted, with but slight structural alteration, into a great centre of light in that morally dark region, from which emanated gospel truth and christian influence, and in which was a refuge for the poor, the destitute, the sin-smitten, and the sorrowful. not only poverty, but sin-in-rags, was sure of help in the beehive. it had been set agoing to bring, not the righteous, but sinners, to repentance. when sir richard arrived he found a large though low-roofed room crowded with people, many of whom, to judge from their appearance, were, like himself, diamond-seekers from the "west-end," while others were obviously from the "east-end," and had the appearance of men and women who had been but recently unearthed. there were also city missionaries and other workers for god in that humble-looking hall. among them sat mr john seaward and george brisbane, esquire. placing di and welland near the latter, sir richard retired to a corner where one of the ladies of the establishment was distributing tea to all comers. "where are your boys, may i ask?" said the knight, accepting a cup of tea. "over in the left corner," answered the lady. "you can hardly see them for the crowd, but they will stand presently." at that moment, as if to justify her words, a large body of boys rose up, at a sign from the superintending genius of the place, and began to sing a beautiful hymn in soft, tuneful voices. it was a goodly array of dusty diamonds, and a few of them had already begun to shine. "surely," said sir richard, in a low voice, "these cannot be the ragged, dirty little fellows you pick up in the streets?" "indeed they are," returned the lady. "but--but they seem to me quite respectable and cleanly fellows, not at all like--why, how has the change been accomplished?" "by the united action, sir, of soap and water, needles and thread, scissors, cast-off garments, and love." sir richard smiled. perchance the reader may also smile; nevertheless, this statement embodied probably the whole truth. when an unkempt, dirty, ragged little savage presents himself, or is presented, at the refuge, or is "picked up" in the streets, his case is promptly and carefully inquired into. if he seems a suitable character--that is, one who is _utterly_ friendless and parentless, or whose parents are worse than dead to him--he is received into the home, and the work of transformation--both of body and soul--commences. first he is taken to the lavatory and scrubbed outwardly clean. his elfin locks are cropped close and cleansed. his rags are burned, and a new suit, made by the old women workers, is put upon him, after which, perhaps, he is fed. then he is sent to a doctor to see that he is internally sound in wind and limb. if passed by the doctor, he receives a brief but important training in the rudiments of knowledge. in all of these various processes love is the guiding principle of the operator-- love to god and love to the boy. he is made to understand, and to _feel_, that it is in the name of jesus, for the love of jesus, and in the spirit of jesus--not of mere philanthropy--that all this is done, and that his body is cared for _chiefly_ in order that the soul may be won. little wonder, then, that a boy or girl, whose past experience has been the tender mercies of the world--and that the roughest part of the world--should become somewhat "respectable," as sir richard put it, under such new and blessed influences. suddenly a tiny shriek was heard in the midst of the crowd, and a sweet little voice exclaimed, as if its owner were in great surprise-- "oh! oh! there is _my_ boy!" a hearty laugh from the audience greeted this outburst, and poor di, shrinking down, tried to hide her pretty face on welland's ready arm. her remark was quickly forgotten in the proceedings that followed--but it was true. there stood, in the midst of the group of boys, little bobby frog, with his face washed, his hair cropped and shining, his garments untattered, and himself looking as meek and "respectable" as the best of them. beside him stood his fast friend tim lumpy. bobby was not, however, one of the emigrant band. having joined only that very evening, and been cropped, washed, and clothed for the first time, he was there merely as a privileged guest. tim, also, was only a guest, not having quite attained to the dignity of a full-fledged emigrant at that time. at the sound of the sweet little voice, bobby frog's meek look was replaced by one of bright intelligence, not unmingled with anxiety, as he tried unavailingly to see the child who had spoken. we do not propose to give the proceedings of this meeting in detail, interesting though they were. other matters of importance claim our attention. it will be sufficient to say that mingled with the semi-conversational, pleasantly free-and-easy, intercourse that ensued, there were most interesting short addresses from the lady-superintendents of "the sailors' welcome home" and of the "strangers' rest," both of ratcliff highway, also from the chief of the ragged schools in george yard, and several city missionaries, as well as from city merchants who found time and inclination to traffic in the good things of the life to come as well as in those of the life that now is. before the proceedings had drawn to a close a voice whispered: "it is time to go, sir richard." it was the voice of john seaward. following him, sir richard and welland went out. it had grown dark by that time, and as there were no brilliantly lighted shops near, the place seemed gloomy, but the gloom was nothing to that of the filthy labyrinths into which seaward quickly conducted his followers. "you have no occasion to fear, sir," said the missionary, observing that sir richard hesitated at the mouth of one very dark alley. "it would, indeed, hardly be safe were you to come down here alone, but most of 'em know me. i remember being told by one of the greatest roughs i ever knew that at the very corner where we now stand he had _many_ and many a time knocked down and robbed people. that man is now an earnest christian, and, like paul, goes about preaching the name which he once despised." at the moment a dark shadow seemed to pass them, and a gruff voice said, "good-night, sir." "was that the man you were speaking of?" asked sir richard, quickly. "oh no, sir," replied seaward with a laugh; "that's what he was once like, indeed, but not what he is like now. his voice is no longer gruff. take care of the step, gentlemen, as you pass here; so, now we will go into this lodging. it is one of the common lodging-houses of london, which are regulated by law and under the supervision of the police. each man pays fourpence a night here, for which he is entitled to a bed and the use of the kitchen and its fire to warm himself and cook his food. if he goes to the same lodging every night for a week he becomes entitled to a free night on sundays." the room into which they now entered was a long low chamber, which evidently traversed the whole width of the building, for it turned at a right angle at the inner end, and extended along the back to some extent. it was divided along one side into boxes or squares, after the fashion of some eating-houses, with a small table in the centre of each box, but, the partitions being little higher than those of a church-pew, the view of the whole room was unobstructed. at the inner angle of the room blazed a coal-fire so large that a sheep might have been easily roasted whole at it. gas jets, fixed along the walls at intervals, gave a sufficient light to the place. this was the kitchen of the lodging-house, and formed the sitting-room of the place; and here was assembled perhaps the most degraded and miserable set of men that the world can produce. they were not all of one class, by any means; nor were they all criminal, though certainly many of them were. the place was the last refuge of the destitute; the social sink into which all that is improvident, foolish, reckless, thriftless, or criminal finally descends. sir richard and welland had put on their oldest great-coats and shabbiest wideawakes; they had also put off their gloves and rings and breastpins in order to attract as little attention as possible, but nothing that they could have done could have reduced their habiliments to anything like the garments of the poor creatures with whom they now mingled. if they had worn the same garments for months or years without washing them, and had often slept in them out of doors in dirty places, they might perhaps have brought them to the same level, but not otherwise. some of the people, however, were noisy enough. many of them were smoking, and the coarser sort swore and talked loud. those who had once been in better circumstances sat and moped, or spoke in lower tones, or cooked their victuals with indifference to all else around, or ate them in abstracted silence; while not a few laid their heads and arms on the tables, and apparently slept. for sleeping in earnest there were rooms overhead containing many narrow beds with scant and coarse covering, which, however, the law compelled to be clean. one of the rooms contained seventy such beds. little notice was taken of the west-end visitors as they passed up the room, though some dark scowls of hatred were cast after them, and a few glanced at them with indifference. it was otherwise in regard to seaward. he received many a "good-night, sir," as he passed, and a kindly nod greeted him here and there from men who at first looked as if kindness had been utterly eradicated from their systems. one of those whom we have described as resting their heads and arms on the tables, looked hastily up, on hearing the visitors' voices, with an expression of mingled surprise and alarm. it was sammy twitter, with hands and visage filthy, hair dishevelled, eyes bloodshot, cheeks hollow, and garments beyond description disreputable. he seemed the very embodiment of woe and degradation. on seeing his old friend welland he quickly laid his head down again and remained motionless. welland had not observed him. "you would scarcely believe it, sir," said the missionary, in a low tone; "nearly all classes of society are occasionally represented here. you will sometimes find merchants, lawyers, doctors, military men, and even clergymen, who have fallen step by step, chiefly in consequence of that subtle demon drink, until the common lodging-house is their only home." "heaven help me!" said sir richard; "my friend brisbane has often told me of this, but i have never quite believed it--certainly never realised it--until to-night. and even now i can hardly believe it. i see no one here who seems as if he ever had belonged to the classes you name." "do you see the old man in the last box in the room, on the left-hand side, sitting alone?" asked seaward, turning his back to the spot indicated. "yes." "well, that is a clergyman. i know him well. you would never guess it from his wretched clothing, but you might readily believe it if you were to speak to him." "that i will not do," returned the other firmly. "you are right, sir," said seaward, "i would not advise that you should--at least not here, or now. i have been in the habit of reading a verse or two of the word and giving them a short address sometimes about this hour. have you any objection to my doing so now? it won't detain us long." "none in the world; pray, my good sir, don't let me disarrange your plans." "perhaps," added the missionary, "you would say a few words to--" "no, no," interrupted the other, quickly; "no, they are preaching to _me_ just now, mr seaward, a very powerful sermon, i assure you." during the foregoing conversation young welland's thoughts had been very busy; ay, and his conscience had not been idle, for when mention was made of that great curse strong drink, he vividly recalled the day when he had laughed at sam twitter's blue ribbon, and felt uneasy as to how far his conduct on that occasion had helped sam in his downward career. "my friends," said the missionary aloud, "we will sing a hymn." some of those whom he addressed turned towards the speaker; others paid no attention whatever, but went on with their cooking and smoking. they were used to it, as ordinary church-goers are to the "service." the missionary understood that well, but was not discouraged, because he knew that his "labour in the lord" should not be in vain. he pulled out two small hymn-books and handed one to sir richard, the other to welland. sir richard suddenly found himself in what was to him a strange and uncomfortable position, called on to take a somewhat prominent part in a religious service in a low lodging-house! the worst of it was that the poor knight could not sing a note. however, his deficiency in this respect was more than compensated by john seaward, who possessed a telling tuneful voice, with a grateful heart to work it. young welland also could sing well, and joined heartily in that beautiful hymn which tells of "the wonderful words of life." after a brief prayer the missionary preached the comforting gospel, and tried, with all the fervour of a sympathetic heart, to impress on his hearers that there really was hope for the hopeless, and rest for the weary in jesus christ. when he had finished, stephen welland surprised him, as well as his friend sir richard and the audience generally, by suddenly exclaiming, in a subdued but impressive voice, which drew general attention: "friends, i had no intention of saying a word when i came here, but, god forgive me, i have committed a sin, which seems to force me to speak and warn you against giving way to strong drink. i had--nay, i _have_--a dear friend who once put on the blue ribbon." here he related the episode at the road-side tavern, and his friend's terrible fall, and wound up with the warning: "fellow-men, fellow-sinners, beware of being laughed out of good resolves--beware of strong drink. i know not where my comrade is now. he may be dead, but i think not, for he has a mother and father who pray for him without ceasing. still better, as you have just been told, he has an advocate with god, who is able and willing to save him to the uttermost. forgive me, mr seaward, for speaking without being asked. i could not help it." "no need to ask forgiveness of me, mr welland. you have spoken on the lord's side, and i have reason to thank you heartily." while this was being said, those who sat near the door observed that a young man rose softly, and slunk away like a criminal, with a face ashy pale and his head bowed down. on reaching the door, he rushed out like one who expected to be pursued. it was young sam twitter. few of the inmates of the place observed him, none cared a straw for him, and the incident was, no doubt, quickly forgotten. "we must hasten now, if we are to visit another lodging-house," said seaward, as they emerged into the comparatively fresh air of the street, "for it grows late, and riotous drunken characters are apt to be met with as they stagger home." "no; i have had enough for one night," said sir richard. "i shall not be able to digest it all in a hurry. i'll go home by the metropolitan, if you will conduct me to the nearest station." "come along, then. this way." they had not gone far, and were passing through a quiet side street, when they observed a poor woman sitting on a door-step. it was mrs frog, who had returned to sit on the old familiar spot, and watch the shadows on the blind, either from the mere force of habit, or because this would probably be the last occasion on which she could expect to enjoy that treat. a feeling of pity entered sir richard's soul as he looked on the poorly clothed forlorn creature. he little knew what rejoicing there was in her heart just then--so deceptive are appearances at times! he went towards her with an intention of some sort, when a very tall policeman turned the corner, and approached. "why, giles scott!" exclaimed the knight, holding out his hand, which giles shook respectfully, "you seem to be very far away from your beat to-night." "no, sir, not very far, for this is my beat, now. i have exchanged into the city, for reasons that i need not mention." at this point a belated and half-tipsy man passed with his donkey-cart full of unsold vegetables and rubbish. "hallo! you big blue-coat-boy," he cried politely to giles, "wot d'ye call _that_?" giles had caught sight of "_that_" at the same moment, and darted across the street. "why, it's fire!" he shouted. "run, young fellow, you know the fire-station!" "_i_ know it," shouted the donkey-man, sobered in an instant, as he jumped off his cart, left it standing, dashed round the corner, and disappeared, while number beat a thundering tattoo on samuel twitter's front door. chapter seventeen. things become too hot for the twitter family. before the thunder of giles scott's first rap had ceased, a pane of glass in one of the lower windows burst, and out came dense volumes of smoke, with a red tongue or two piercing them here and there, showing that the fire had been smouldering long, and had got well alight. it was followed by an appalling shriek from mrs frog, who rushed forward shouting, "oh! baby! baby!" "hold her, sir," said giles to young welland, who sprang forward at the same moment. welland was aware of the immense value of prompt obedience, and saw that giles was well fitted to command. he seized mrs frog and held her fast, while giles, knowing that there was no time to stand on ceremony, stepped a few paces back, ran at the door with all his might, and applied his foot with his great weight and momentum to it. as the oak is shattered by the thunderbolt, so was samuel twitter's door by the foot of number . but the bold constable was met by a volume of black smoke which was too much even for him. it drove him back half suffocated, while, at the same time, it drove the domestic out of the house into his arms. she had rushed from the lower regions just in time to escape death. a single minute had not yet elapsed, and only half-a-dozen persons had assembled, with two or three policemen, who instantly sought to obtain an entrance by a back door. "hold her, sir richard," said welland, handing the struggling mrs frog over. the knight accepted the charge, while welland ran to the burning house, which seemed to be made of tinder, it blazed up so quickly. giles was making desperate efforts to enter by a window which vomited fire and smoke that defied him. an upper window was thrown open, and samuel twitter appeared in his night-dress, shouting frantically. stephen welland saw that entrance or egress by lower window or staircase was impossible. he had been a noted athlete at school. there was an iron spout which ran from the street to the roof. he rushed to that, and sprang up more like a monkey than a man. "pitch over blankets!" roared giles, as the youth gained a window of the first floor, and dashed it in. "the donkey-cart!" shouted welland, in reply, and disappeared. giles was quick to understand. he dragged--almost lifted--the donkey and cart on to the pavement under the window where mr twitter stood waving his hands and yelling. the poor man had evidently lost his reason for the time, and was fit for nothing. a hand was seen to grasp his neck behind, and he disappeared. at the same moment a blanket came fluttering down, and welland stood on the window-sill with mrs twitter in his arms, and a sheet of flame following. the height was about thirty feet. the youth steadied himself for one moment, as if to take aim, and dropped mrs twitter, as he might have dropped a bundle. she not only went into the vegetable cart, with a bursting shriek, but right through it, and reached the pavement unhurt--though terribly shaken! four minutes had not yet elapsed. the crowd had thickened, and a dull rumbling which had been audible for half a minute increased into a mighty roar as the fiery-red engine with its brass-helmeted heroes dashed round the corner, and pulled up with a crash, seeming to shoot the men off. these swarmed, for a few seconds, about the hose, water plug, and nozzles. at the same instant the great fire-escape came rushing on the scene, like some antediluvian monster, but by that time giles had swept away the debris of the donkey-cart, with mrs twitter imbedded therein, and had stretched the blanket with five powerful volunteers to hold it. "jump, sir, jump!" he cried. samuel twitter jumped--unavoidably, for welland pushed him--just as the hiss and crackle of the water-spouts began. he came down in a heap, rebounded like india-rubber, and was hurled to one side in time to make way for one of his young flock. "the children! the children!" screamed mrs twitter, disengaging herself from the vegetables. "where are they?" asked a brass-helmeted man, quietly, as the head of the escape went crashing through an upper window. "the top floor! all of 'em there!--top flo-o-o-r!" "no--no-o-o! some on the second fl-o-o-or!" yelled mr twitter. "i say _top--floo-o-o-r_," repeated the wife. "you forget--baby--ba-i-by!" roared the husband. a wild shriek was mrs twitter's reply. the quiet man with the brass helmet had run up the escape quite regardless of these explanations. at the same time top windows were opened up, and little night-dressed figures appeared at them all, apparently making faces, for their cries were drowned in the shouts below. from these upper windows smoke was issuing, but not yet in dense, suffocating volumes. the quiet man of the escape entered a second floor window through smoke and flames as though he were a salamander. the crowd below gave him a lusty cheer, for it was a great surging crowd by that time; nevertheless it surged within bounds, for a powerful body of police kept it back, leaving free space for the firemen to work. a moment or two after the quiet fireman had entered, the night-dressed little ones disappeared from the other windows and congregated, as if by magic, at the window just above the head of the escape. almost simultaneously the fly-ladder of the escape--used for upper windows--was swung out, and when the quiet fireman had got out on the window-sill with little lucy in his arms and little alice held by her dress in his teeth, its upper rounds touched his knees, as if with a kiss of recognition! he descended the fly-ladder, and shoved the two terrified little ones somewhat promptly into the canvas shoot, where a brother fireman was ready to pilot them together xxx to the ground. molly being big had to be carried by herself, but willie and fred went together. during all this time poor mrs frog had given herself over to the one idea of screaming "baby! bai-e-by!" and struggling to get free from the two policemen, who had come to the relief of sir richard, and who tenderly restrained her. in like manner mr and mrs twitter, although not absolutely in need of restraint, went about wringing their hands and making such confused and contradictory statements that no one could understand what they meant, and the firemen quietly went on with their work quite regardless of their existence. "policeman!" said sam twitter, looking up in the face of number , with a piteous expression, and almost weeping with vexation, "_nobody_ will listen to me. i would go up myself, but the firemen won't let me, and my dear wife has such an idea of sticking to truth that when they ask her, `is your baby up there?' she yells `no, not _our_ baby,' and before she can explain she gasps, and then i try to explain, and that so bamboozles--" "_is_ your baby there?" demanded number vehemently. "yes, it is!" cried twitter, without the slightest twinge of conscience. "what room?" "that one," pointing to the left side of the house on the first floor. just then part of the roof gave way and fell into the furnace of flame below, leaving visible the door of the very room to which twitter had pointed. a despairing groan escaped him as he saw it, for now all communication seemed cut off, and the men were about to pull the escape away to prevent its being burned, while, more engines having arrived, something like a mountain torrent of water was descending on the devoted house. "stop, lads, a moment," said giles, springing upon the escape. he might have explained to the firemen what he had learned, but that would have taken time, and every second just then was of the utmost value. he was up on the window-sill before they well understood what he meant to do. the heat was intolerable. a very lake of fire rolled beneath him. the door of the room pointed out by twitter was opposite--fortunately on the side furthest from the centre of fire, but the floor was gone. only two great beams remained, and the one giles had to cross was more than half burned through. it was a fragile bridge on which to pass over an abyss so terrible. but heroes do not pause to calculate. giles walked straight across it with the steadiness of a rope-dancer, and burst in the scarred and splitting door. the smoke here was not too dense to prevent his seeing. one glance revealed baby frog lying calmly in her crib as if asleep. to seize her, wrap her in the blankets, and carry her to the door of the room, was the work of a moment, but the awful abyss now lay before him, and it seemed to have been heated seven times. the beam, too, was by that time re-kindling with the increased heat, and the burden he carried prevented giles from seeing, and balancing himself so well. he did not hesitate, but he advanced slowly and with caution. a dead silence fell on the awe-stricken crowd, whose gaze was concentrated now on the one figure. the throbbing of the engines was heard distinctly when the roar of excitement was thus temporarily checked. as giles moved along, the beam cracked under his great weight. the heat became almost insupportable. his boots seemed to shrivel up and tighten round his feet. "he's gone! no, he's not!" gasped some of the crowd, as the tall smoke and flame encompassed him, and he was seen for a moment to waver. it was a touch of giddiness, but by a violent impulse of the will he threw it off, and at the same time bounded to the window, sending the beam, which was broken off by the shock, hissing down into the lake of fire. the danger was past, and a loud, continuous, enthusiastic cheer greeted gallant number as he descended the chute with the baby in his arms, and delivered it alive and well, and more solemn than ever, to its mother--its _own_ mother! when sir richard brandon returned home that night, he found it uncommonly difficult to sleep. when, after many unsuccessful efforts, he did manage to slumber, his dreams re-produced the visions of his waking hours, with many surprising distortions and mixings--one of which distortions was, that all the paupers in the common lodging-houses had suddenly become rich, while he, sir richard, had as suddenly become poor, and a beggar in filthy rags, with nobody to care for him, and that these enriched beggars came round him and asked him, in quite a facetious way, "how he liked it!" next morning, when the worthy knight arose, he found his unrested brain still busy with the same theme. he also found that he had got food for meditation, and for discussion with little di, not only for some time to come, but, for the remainder of his hours. chapter eighteen. the ocean and the new world. doctors tell us that change of air is usually beneficial, often necessary, nearly always agreeable. relying on the wisdom of this opinion, we propose now to give the reader who has followed us thus far a change of air--by shifting the scene to the bosom of the broad atlantic--and thus blow away the cobwebs and dust of the city. those who have not yet been out upon the great ocean cannot conceive-- and those who have been out on it may not have seen--the splendours of a luminous fog on a glorious summer morning. the prevailing ideas in such circumstances are peace and liquidity! the only solid object visible above, below, or around, being the ship on which you stand. everything else is impalpable, floating, soft, and of a light, bright, silvery grey. the air is warm, the sea is glass; it is circular, too, like a disc, and the line where it meets with the sky is imperceptible. your little bark is the centre of a great crystal ball, the limit of which is immensity! as we have said, peace, liquidity, luminosity, softness, and warmth prevail everywhere, and the fog, or rather, the silvery haze--for it is dry and warm as well as bright--has the peculiar effect of deadening sound, so that the quiet little noises of ship-board rather help than destroy the idea of that profound tranquillity which suggests irresistibly to the religious mind the higher and sweeter idea of "the peace of god." but, although intensely still, there is no suggestion of death in such a scene. it is only that of slumber! for the ocean undulates even when at rest, and sails flap gently even when there is no wind. besides this, on the particular morning to which we call attention, a species of what we may call "still life" was presented by a mighty iceberg--a peaked and towering mountain of snowy white and emerald blue--which floated on the sea not a quarter of a mile off on the starboard bow. real life also was presented to the passengers of the noble bark which formed the centre of this scene, in the form of gulls floating like great snowflakes in the air, and flocks of active little divers rejoicing unspeakably on the water. the distant cries of these added to the harmony of nature, and tended to draw the mind from mere abstract contemplation to positive sympathy with the joys of other animals besides one's-self. the only discordant sounds that met the ears of those who voyaged in the bark _ocean queen_ were the cacklings of a creature in the hen-coops which had laid an egg, or thought it had done so, or wished to do so, or, having been sea-sick up to that time, perhaps, endeavoured to revive its spirits by recalling the fact that it once did so, and might perhaps do so again! by the way there was also one other discord, in the form of a pugnacious baby, which whimpered continuously, and, from some unaccountable cause, refused to be comforted. but that was a discord which, as in some musical chords, seemed rather to improve the harmony-- at least in its mother's ears. the _ocean queen_ was an emigrant ship. in her capacious hull, besides other emigrants, there were upwards of seventy diamonds from the beehive in spitalfields on their way to seek their fortunes in the lands that are watered by such grand fresh-water seas as lakes superior and huron and michigan and ontario, and such rivers as the ottawa and the saint lawrence. robert frog and tim lumpy were among those boys, so changed for the better in a few months that, as the former remarked, "their own mothers wouldn't know 'em," and not only improved in appearance, but in spirit, ay, and even to some small extent in language--so great had been the influence for good brought to bear on them by christian women working out of love to god and souls. "ain't it lovely?" said tim. "splendacious!" replied bob. the reader will observe that we did not say the language had, at that time, been _much_ improved! only to some small extent. "i've seen pictur's of 'em, bob," said tim, leaning his arms on the vessel's bulwarks as he gazed on the sleeping sea, "w'en a gen'l'man came to george yard with a magic lantern, but i never thought they was so big, or that the holes in 'em was so blue." "nor i neither," said bob. they referred, of course, to the iceberg, the seams and especially the caverns in which graduated from the lightest azure to the deepest indigo. "why, i do believe," continued bobby, as the haze grew a little thinner, "that there's rivers of water runnin' down its sides, just like as if it was a mountain o' loaf-sugar wi' the fire-brigade a-pumpin' on it. an' see, there's waterfalls too, bigger i do b'lieve than the one i once saw at a pantomime." "ay, an' far prettier too," said tim. bobby frog did not quite see his way to assent to that. the waterfalls on the iceberg were bigger, he admitted, than those in the pantomime, but then, there was not so much glare and glitter around them. "an' i'm fond of glare an' glitter," he remarked, with a glance at his friend. "so am i, bob, but--" at that instant the dinner-bell rang, and the eyes of both glittered-- they almost glared--as they turned and made for the companion-hatch, bob exclaiming, "ah, that's the thing that _i'm_ fond of; glare an' glitter's all wery well in its way, but it can't 'old a candle to grub!" timothy lumpy seemed to have no difference of opinion with his friend on that point. indeed the other sixty-eight boys seemed to be marvellously united in sentiment about it, for, without an exception, they responded to that dinner-bell with a promptitude quite equal to that secured by military discipline! there was a rattling of feet on decks and ladderways for a few seconds, and then all was quiet while a blessing was asked on the meal. for many years miss annie macpherson has herself conducted parties of such boys to canada, but the party of which we write happened to be in charge of a gentleman whom we will name the guardian; he was there to keep order, of course, but in truth this was not a difficult matter, for the affections of the boys had been enlisted, and they had already learned to practise self-restraint. that same day a whale was seen. it produced a sensation among the boys that is not easily described. considerately, and as if on purpose, it swam round the ship and displayed its gigantic proportions; then it spouted as though to show what it could do in that line, and then, as if to make the performance complete and reduce the westminster aquarium to insignificance, it tossed its mighty tail on high, brought it down with a clap like thunder, and finally dived into its native ocean followed by a yell of joyful surprise from the rescued waifs and strays. there were little boys, perhaps even big ones, in that band, who that day received a lesson of faith from the whale. it taught them that pictures, even extravagant ones, represent great realities. the whale also taught them a lesson of error, as was proved by the remark of one waif to a brother stray:-- "i say, piggie, it ain't 'ard _now_, to b'lieve that the whale swallered jonah." "you're right, konky." strange interlacing of error with error traversed by truth in this sublunary sphere! piggie was wrong in admitting that. konky was right, for, as every one knows, or ought to know, it was not a whale at all that swallowed jonah, but a "great fish" which was "prepared" for the purpose. but the voyage of the _ocean queen_ was not entirely made up of calms, and luminous fogs, and bergs, and whales, and food. a volume would be required to describe it all. there was much foul weather as well as fair, during which periods a certain proportion of the little flock, being not very good sailors, sank to depths of misery which they had never before experienced--not even in their tattered days--and even those of them who had got their "sea-legs on," were not absolutely happy. "i say, piggie," asked the waif before mentioned of his chum, (or dosser), konky, "'ow long d'ee think little mouse will go on at his present rate o' heavin'?" "i can't say," answered the stray, with a serious air; "i ain't studied the 'uman frame wery much, but i should say, 'e'll bust by to-morrow if 'e goes on like 'e's bin doin'." a tremendous sound from little mouse, who lay in a neighbouring bunk, seemed to justify the prophecy. but little mouse did not "bust." he survived that storm, and got his sea-legs on before the next one. the voyage, however, was on the whole propitious, and, what with school-lessons and bible-lessons and hymn-singing, and romping, and games of various kinds instituted and engaged in by the guardian, the time passed profitably as well as pleasantly, so that there were, perhaps, some feelings of regret when the voyage drew to an end, and they came in sight of that great land which the norsemen of old discovered; which columbus, re-discovering, introduced to the civilised world, and which, we think, ought in justice to have been named columbia. and now a new era of life began for those rescued waifs and strays-- those east-end diamonds from the great london fields. canada--with its mighty lakes and splendid rivers, its great forests and rich lands, its interesting past, prosperous present, and hopeful future--opened up to view. but there was a shadow on the prospect, not very extensive, it is true, but dark enough to some of them just then, for here the hitherto united band was to be gradually disunited and dispersed, and friendships that had begun to ripen under the sunshine of christian influence were to be broken up, perhaps for ever. the guardian, too, had to be left behind by each member as he was severed from his fellows and sent to a new home among total strangers. still there were to set off against these things several points of importance. one of these was that the guardian would not part with a single boy until the character of his would-be employer was inquired into, and his intention to deal kindly and fairly ascertained. another point was, that each boy, when handed over to an employer, was not to be left thereafter to care for himself, but his interests were to be watched over and himself visited at intervals by an emissary from the beehive, so that he would not feel friendless or forsaken even though he should have the misfortune to fall into bad hands. the guardian also took care to point out that, amid all these leave-takings and partings, there was one who would "never leave nor forsake" them, and to whom they were indebted for the first helping hand, when they were in their rags and misery, and forsaken of man. at last the great gulf of saint lawrence was entered, and here the vessel was beset with ice, so that she could not advance at a greater rate than two or three miles an hour for a considerable distance. soon, however, those fields of frozen sea were passed, and the end of the voyage drew near. then was there a marvellous outbreak of pens, ink, and paper, for the juvenile flock was smitten with a sudden desire to write home before going to the interior of the new land. it was a sad truth that many of the poor boys had neither parent nor relative to correspond with, but these were none the less eager in their literary work, for had they not miss macpherson and the ladies of the home to write to? soon after that, the party landed at the far-famed city of quebec, each boy with his bag containing change of linen, and garments, a rug, etcetera; and there, under a shed, thanks were rendered to god for a happy voyage, and prayer offered for future guidance. then the guardian commenced business. he had momentous work to do. the home of industry and its work are well-known in canada. dusty diamonds sent out from the beehive were by that time appreciated, and therefore coveted; for the western land is vast, and the labourers are comparatively few. people were eager to get the boys, but the character of intending employers had to be inquired into, and this involved care. then the suitability of boys to situations had to be considered. however, this was finally got over, and a few of the reclaimed waifs were left at quebec. this was the beginning of the dispersion. "i don't like it at all," said bobby frog to his friend tim lumpy, that evening in the sleeping car of the railway train that bore them onward to montreal; "they'll soon be partin' you an' me, an' that'll be worse than wallerin' in the mud of vitechapel." bobby said this with such an expression of serious anxiety that his little friend was quite touched. "i hope not, bob," he replied. "what d'ee say to axin' our guardian to put us both into the same sitivation?" bobby thought that this was not a bad idea, and as they rolled along these two little waifs gravely discussed their future prospects. it was the same with many others of the band, though not a few were content to gaze out of the carriage windows, pass a running commentary on the new country, and leave their future entirely to their guardian. soon, however, the busy little tongues and brains ceased to work, and ere long were steeped in slumber. at midnight the train stopped, and great was the sighing and groaning, and earnest were the requests to be let alone, for a batch of the boys had to be dropped at a town by the way. at last they were aroused, and with their bags on their shoulders prepared to set off under a guide to their various homes. soon the sleepiness wore off, and, when the train was about to start, the reality of the parting seemed to strike home, and the final handshakings and good wishes were earnest and hearty. thus, little by little, the band grew less and less. montreal swallowed up a good many. while there the whole band went out for a walk on the heights above the reservoir with their guardian, guided by a young scotsman. "that's a jolly-lookin' 'ouse, tim," said bob frog to his friend. the scotsman overheard the remark. "yes," said he, "it is a nice house, and a good jolly man owns it. he began life as a poor boy. and do you see that other villa--the white one with the green veranda among the trees? that was built by a man who came out from england just as you have done, only without anybody to take care of him; god however cared for him, and now you see his house. he began life without a penny, but he had three qualities which will make a man of any boy, no matter what circumstances he may be placed in. he was truthful, thorough, and trustworthy. men knew that they might believe what he said, be sure of the quality of what he did, and could rely upon his promises. there was another thing much in his favour, he was a total abstainer. drink in this country ruins hundreds of men and women, just as in england. shun drink, boys, as you would a serpent." "i wouldn't shun a drink o' water just now if i could get it," whispered bobby to his friend, "for i'm uncommon thirsty." at this point the whole band were permitted to disperse in the woods, where they went about climbing and skipping like wild squirrels, for these novel sights, and scents, and circumstances were overwhelmingly delightful after the dirt and smoke of london. when pretty well breathed--our waifs were grown too hardy by that time to be easily exhausted--the guardian got them to sit round him and sing that sweet hymn: "shall we gather at the river?" and tears bedewed many eyes, for they were reminded that there were yet many partings in store before that gathering should take place. and now the remnant of the band--still a goodly number--proceeded in the direction of the far west. all night they travelled, and reached belleville, where they were received joyfully in the large house presented as a free gift to miss macpherson by the council of the county of hastings. it served as a "distributing home" and centre in canada for the little ones till they could be placed in suitable situations, and to it they might be returned if necessary, or a change of employer required it. this belleville home was afterwards burned to the ground, and rebuilt by sympathising canadian friends. but we may not pause long here. the far west still lies before us. our gradually diminishing band must push on. "it's the sea!" exclaimed the boy who had been named little mouse, _alias_ robbie dell. "no, it ain't," said konky, who was a good deal older; "it's a lake." "ontario," said the guardian, "one of the noble fresh-water seas of canada." onward, ever onward, is the watchword just now--dropping boys like seed-corn as they go! woods and fields, and villas, and farms, and waste-lands, and forests, and water, fly past in endless variety and loveliness. "a panoramy without no end!" exclaimed tim lumpy after one of his long gazes of silent admiration. "_wot_ a diff'rence!" murmured bobby frog. "wouldn't mother an' daddy an' hetty like it, just!" the city of toronto came in sight. the wise arrangements for washing in canadian railway-cars had been well used by the boys, and pocket-combs also. they looked clean and neat and wonderfully solemn as they landed at the station. but their fame had preceded them. an earnest crowd came to see the boys, among whom were some eager to appropriate. "i'll take that lad," said one bluff farmer, stepping forward, and pointing to a boy whose face had taken his fancy. "and i want six boys for our village," said another. "i want one to learn my business," said a third, "and i'll learn him as my own son. here are my certificates of character from my clergyman and the mayor of the place i belong to." "i like the looks of that little fellow," said another, pointing to bob frog, "and should like to have him." "does you, my tulip?" said bobby, whose natural tendency to insolence had not yet been subdued; "an' don't you vish you may get 'im!" it is but justice to bobby, however, to add, that this remark was made entirely to himself. to all these flattering offers the guardian turned a deaf ear, until he had passed through the crowd and marshalled his boys in an empty room of the depot. then inquiries were made; the boys' characters and capacities explained; suitability on both sides considered; the needs of the soul as well as the body referred to and pressed; and, finally, the party went on its way greatly reduced in numbers. thus they dwindled and travelled westward until only our friend bobby, tim, konky, and little mouse remained with the guardian, whose affections seemed to intensify as fewer numbers were left on which they might concentrate. soon the little mouse was caught. a huge backwoods farmer, who could have almost put him in his coat-pocket, took a fancy to him. the fancy seemed to be mutual, for, after a tearful farewell to the guardian, the mouse went off with the backwoodsman quite contentedly. then konky was disposed of. a hearty old lady with a pretty daughter and a slim son went away with him in triumph, and the band was reduced to two. "i do believe," whispered bob to tim, "that he's goin' to let us stick together after all." "you are right, my dear boy," said the guardian, who overheard the remark. "a family living a considerable distance off wishes to have two boys. i have reason to believe that they love the lord jesus, and will treat you well. so, as i knew you wished to be together, i have arranged for your going to live with them." as the journey drew to a close, the guardian seemed to concentrate his whole heart on the little waifs whom he had conducted so far, and he gave them many words of counsel, besides praying with and for them. at last, towards evening, the train rushed into a grand pine-wood. it soon rushed out of it again and entered a beautiful piece of country which was diversified by lakelet and rivulet, hill and vale, with rich meadow lands in the hollows, where cattle browsed or lay in the evening sunshine. the train drew up sharply at a small road-side station. there was no one to get into the cars there, and no one to get out except our two waifs. on the road beyond stood a wagon with a couple of spanking bays in it. on the platform stood a broad-shouldered, deep-chested, short-legged farmer with a face like the sun, and a wide-awake on the back of his bald head. "mr merryboy, i presume?" said the guardian, descending from the car. "the same. glad to see you. are these my boys?" he spoke in a quick, hearty, off-hand manner, but bobby and tim hated him at once, for were they not on the point of leaving their last and best friend, and was not this man the cause? they turned to their guardian to say farewell, and, even to their own surprise, burst into tears. "god bless you, dear boys," he said, while the guard held open the door of the car as if to suggest haste; "good-bye. it won't be _very_ long i think before i see you again. farewell." he sprang into the car, the train glided away, and the two waifs stood looking wistfully after it with the first feelings of desolation that had entered their hearts since landing in canada. "my poor lads," said mr merryboy, laying a hand on the shoulder of each, "come along with me. home is only six miles off, and i've got a pair of spanking horses that will trundle us over in no time." the tone of voice, to say nothing of "home" and "spanking horses," improved matters greatly. both boys thought, as they entered the wagon, that they did not hate him quite so much as at first. the bays proved worthy of their master's praise. they went over the road through the forest in grand style, and in little more than half an hour landed bobby and tim at the door of their canadian home. it was dark by that time, and the ruddy light that shone in the windows and that streamed through the door as it opened to receive them seemed to our waifs like a gleam of celestial light. chapter nineteen. at home in canada. the family of mr merryboy was a small one. besides those who assisted him on the farm--and who were in some cases temporary servants--his household consisted of his wife, his aged mother, a female servant, and a small girl. the latter was a diamond from the london diggings, who had been imported the year before. she was undergoing the process of being polished, and gave promise of soon becoming a very valuable gem. it was this that induced her employer to secure our two masculine gems from the same diggings. mrs merryboy was a vigorous, hearty, able-bodied lady, who loved work very much for the mere exercise it afforded her; who, like her husband, was constitutionally kind, and whose mind was of that serious type which takes concern with the souls of the people with whom it has to do as well as with their bodies. hence she gave her waif a daily lesson in religious and secular knowledge; she reduced work on the sabbath-days to the lowest possible point in the establishment, and induced her husband, who was a little shy as well as bluff and off-hand, to institute family worship, besides hanging on her walls here and there sweet and striking texts from the word of god. old mrs merryboy, the mother, must have been a merry girl in her youth; for, even though at the age of eighty and partially deaf, she was extremely fond of a joke, practical or otherwise, and had her face so seamed with the lines of appreciative humour, and her nutcracker mouth so set in a smile of amiable fun, and her coal-black eyes so lit up with the fires of unutterable wit, that a mere glance at her stirred up your sources of comicality to their depths, while a steady gaze usually resulted in a laugh, in which she was sure to join with an apparent belief that, whatever the joke might be, it was uncommonly good. she did not speak much. her looks and smiles rendered speech almost unnecessary. her figure was unusually diminutive. little martha, the waif, was one of those mild, reticent, tiny things that one feels a desire to fondle without knowing why. her very small face was always, and, as bobby remarked, awfully grave, yet a ready smile must have lurked close at hand somewhere, for it could be evoked by the smallest provocation at any time, but fled the instant the provoking cause ceased. she seldom laughed, but when she did the burst was a hearty one, and over immediately. her brown hair was smooth, her brown eyes were gentle, her red mouth was small and round. obedience was ingrained in her nature. original action seemed never to have entered her imagination. she appeared to have been born with the idea that her sphere in life was to do as she was directed. to resist and fight were to her impossibilities. to be defended and kissed seemed to be her natural perquisites. yet her early life had been calculated to foster other and far different qualities, as we shall learn ere long. tim lumpy took to this little creature amazingly. she was so little that by contrast he became quite big, and felt so! when in martha's presence he absolutely felt big and like a lion, a roaring lion capable of defending her against all comers! bobby was also attracted by her, but in a comparatively mild degree. on the morning after their arrival the two boys awoke to find that the windows of their separate little rooms opened upon a magnificent prospect of wood and water, and that, the partition of their apartment consisting of a single plank-wall, with sundry knots knocked out, they were not only able to converse freely, but to peep at each other awkwardly--facts which they had not observed the night before, owing to sleepiness. "i say, tim," said bob, "you seem to have a jolly place in there." "first-rate," replied tim, "an' much the same as your own. i had a good squint at you before you awoke. isn't the place splendacious?" "yes, tim, it is. i've been lookin' about all the mornin' for adam an' eve, but can't see 'em nowhere." "what d'ee mean?" "why, that we've got into the garden of eden, to be sure." "oh! stoopid," returned tim, "don't you know that they was both banished from eden?" "so they was. i forgot that. well, it don't much matter, for there's a prettier girl than eve here. don't you see her? martha, i think they called her--down there by the summer-'ouse, feedin' the hanimals, or givin' 'em their names." "there you go again, you ignorant booby," said tim; "it wasn't eve as gave the beasts their names. it was adam." "an' wot's the difference, i should like to know? wasn't they both made _one_ flesh? however, i think little martha would have named 'em better if she'd bin there. what a funny little thing she is!" "funny!" returned tim, contemptuously; "she's a _trump_!" during the conversation both boys had washed and rubbed their faces till they absolutely shone like rosy apples. they also combed and brushed their hair to such an extent that each mass lay quite flat on its little head, and bade fair to become solid, for the guardian's loving counsels had not been forgotten, and they had a sensation of wishing to please him even although absent. presently the house, which had hitherto been very quiet, began suddenly to resound with the barking of a little dog and the noisy voice of a huge man. the former rushed about, saying "good-morning" as well as it could with tail and tongue to every one, including the household cat, which resented the familiarity with arched back and demoniacal glare. the latter stamped about on the wooden floors, and addressed similar salutations right and left in tones that would have suited the commander of an army. there was a sudden stoppage of the hurricane, and a pleasant female voice was heard. "i say, bob, that's the missus," whispered tim through a knot-hole. then there came another squall, which seemed to drive madly about all the echoes in the corridors above and in the cellars below. again the noise ceased, and there came up a sound like a wheezy squeak. "i say, tim, that's the old 'un," whispered bob through the knot-hole. bob was right, for immediately on the wheezy squeak ceasing, the hurricane burst forth in reply: "yes, mother, that's just what i shall do. you're always right. i never knew such an old thing for wise suggestions! i'll set both boys to milk the cows after breakfast. the sooner they learn the better, for our new girl has too much to do in the house to attend to that; besides, she's either clumsy or nervous, for she has twice overturned the milk-pail. but after all, i don't wonder, for that red cow has several times showed a desire to fling a hind-leg into the girl's face, and stick a horn in her gizzard. the boys won't mind that, you know. pity that martha's too small for the work; but she'll grow--she'll grow." "yes, she'll grow, franky," replied the old lady, with as knowing a look as if the richest of jokes had been cracked. the look was, of course, lost on the boys above, and so was the reply, because it reached them in the form of a wheezy squeak. "oh! i say! did you ever! milk the keows! on'y think!" whispered bob. "ay, an' won't i do it with my mouth open too, an' learn 'ow to send the stream up'ards!" said tim. their comments were cut short by the breakfast-bell; at the same time the hurricane again burst forth: "hallo! lads--boys! youngsters! are you up?--ah! here you are. good-morning, and as tidy as two pins. that's the way to get along in life. come now, sit down. where's martha? oh! here we are. sit beside me, little one." the hurricane suddenly fell to a gentle breeze, while part of a chapter of the bible and a short prayer were read. then it burst forth again with redoubled fury, checked only now and then by the unavoidable stuffing of the vent-hole. "you've slept well, dears, i hope?" said mrs merryboy, helping each of our waifs to a splendid fried fish. sitting there, partially awe-stricken by the novelty of their surroundings, they admitted that they had slept well. "get ready for work then," said mr merryboy, through a rather large mouthful. "no time to lose. eat--eat well--for there's lots to do. no idlers on brankly farm, i can tell you. and we don't let young folk lie abed till breakfast-time every day. we let you rest this morning, bob and tim, just by way of an extra refresher before beginning. here, tuck into the bread and butter, little man, it'll make you grow. more tea, susy," (to his wife). "why, mother, you're eating nothing--nothing at all. i declare you'll come to live on air at last." the old lady smiled benignly, as though rather tickled with that joke, and was understood by the boys to protest that she had eaten more than enough, though her squeak had not yet become intelligible to them. "if you do take to living on air, mother," said her daughter-in-law, "we shall have to boil it up with a bit of beef and butter to make it strong." mrs merryboy, senior, smiled again at this, though she had not heard a word of it. obviously she made no pretence of hearing, but took it as good on credit, for she immediately turned to her son, put her hand to her right ear, and asked what susy said. in thunderous tones the joke was repeated, and the old lady almost went into fits over it, insomuch that bob and tim regarded her with a spice of anxiety mingled with their amusement, while little martha looked at her in solemn wonder. twelve months' experience had done much to increase martha's love for the old lady, but it had done nothing to reduce her surprise; for martha, as yet, did not understand a joke. this, of itself, formed a subject of intense amusement to old mrs merryboy, who certainly made the most of circumstances, if ever woman did. "have some more fish, bob," said mrs merryboy, junior. bob accepted more, gratefully. so did tim, with alacrity. "what sort of a home had you in london, tim?" asked mrs merryboy. "well, ma'am, i hadn't no home at all." "no home at all, boy; what do you mean? you must have lived somewhere." "oh yes, ma'am, i always lived somewheres, but it wasn't nowheres in partikler. you see i'd neither father nor mother, an' though a good old 'ooman did take me in, she couldn't purvide a bed or blankets, an' her 'ome was stuffy, so i preferred to live in the streets, an' sleep of a night w'en i couldn't pay for a lodgin', in empty casks and under wegitable carts in covent garden market, or in empty sugar 'ogsheads. i liked the 'ogsheads best w'en i was 'ungry, an' that was most always, 'cause i could sometimes pick a little sugar that was left in the cracks an' 'oles, w'en they 'adn't bin cleaned out a'ready. also i slep' under railway-arches, and on door-steps. but sometimes i 'ad raither disturbed nights, 'cause the coppers wouldn't let a feller sleep in sitch places if they could 'elp it." "who are the `coppers?'" asked the good lady of the house, who listened in wonder to tim's narration. "the coppers, ma'am, the--the--pl'eece." "oh! the police?" "yes, ma'am." "where in the world did they expect you to sleep?" asked mrs merryboy with some indignation. "that's best known to themselves, ma'am," returned tim; "p'raps we might 'ave bin allowed to sleep on the thames, if we'd 'ad a mind to, or on the hatmosphere, but never 'avin' tried it on, i can't say." "did you lead the same sort of life, bob?" asked the farmer, who had by that time appeased his appetite. "pretty much so, sir," replied bobby, "though i wasn't quite so 'ard up as tim, havin' both a father and mother as well as a 'ome. but they was costly possessions, so i was forced to give 'em up." "what! you don't mean that you forsook them?" said mr merryboy with a touch of severity. "no, sir, but father forsook me and the rest of us, by gettin' into the stone jug--wery much agin' my earnest advice,--an' mother an' sister both thought it was best for me to come out here." the two waifs, being thus encouraged, came out with their experiences pretty freely, and made such a number of surprising revelations, that the worthy backwoodsman and his wife were lost in astonishment, to the obvious advantage of old mrs merryboy, who, regarding the varying expressions of face around her as the result of a series of excellent jokes, went into a state of chronic laughter of a mild type. "have some more bread and butter, and tea, bob and some more sausage," said mrs merryboy, under a sudden impulse. bob declined. yes, that london street-arab absolutely declined food! so did tim lumpy! "now, my lads, are you quite sure," said mr merryboy, "that you've had enough to eat?" they both protested, with some regret, that they had. "you couldn't eat another bite if you was to try, could you?" "vell, sir," said bob, with a spice of the `old country' insolence strong upon him, "there's no sayin' what might be accomplished with a heffort, but the consikences, you know, might be serious." the farmer received this with a thunderous guffaw, and, bidding the boys follow him, went out. he took them round the farm buildings, commenting on and explaining everything, showed them cattle and horses, pigs and poultry, barns and stables, and then asked them how they thought they'd like to work there. "uncommon!" was bobby frog's prompt reply, delivered with emphasis. "fust rate!" was tim lumpy's sympathetic sentiment. "well, then, the sooner we begin the better. d'you see that lot of cord-wood lying tumbled about in the yard, bob?" "yes, sir." "you go to work on it, then, and pile it up against that fence, same as you see this one done. an' let's see how neatly you'll do it. don't hurry. what we want in canada is not so much to see work done quickly as done well." taking tim to another part of the farm, he set him to remove a huge heap of stones with a barrow and shovel, and, leaving them, returned to the house. both boys set to work with a will. it was to them the beginning of life; they felt that, and were the more anxious to do well in consequence. remembering the farmer's caution, they did not hurry, but tim built a cone of stones with the care and artistic exactitude of an architect, while bobby piled his billets of wood with as much regard to symmetrical proportion as was possible in the circumstances. about noon they became hungry, but hunger was an old foe whom they had been well trained to defy, so they worked on utterly regardless of him. thereafter a welcome sound was heard--the dinner-bell! having been told to come in on hearing it, they left work at once, ran to the pump, washed themselves, and appeared in the dining-room looking hot, but bright and jovial, for nothing brightens the human countenance so much, (by gladdening the heart), as the consciousness of having performed duty well. from the first this worthy couple, who were childless, received the boys into their home as sons, and on all occasions treated them as such. martha mild, (her surname was derived from her character), had been similarly received and treated. "well, lads," said the farmer as they commenced the meal--which was a second edition of breakfast, tea included, but with more meat and vegetables--"how did you find the work? pretty hard--eh?" "oh! no, sir, nothink of the kind," said bobby, who was resolved to show a disposition to work like a man and think nothing of it. "ah, good. i'll find you some harder work after dinner." bobby blamed himself for having been so prompt in reply. "the end of this month, too, i'll have you both sent to school," continued the farmer with a look of hearty good-will, that tim thought would have harmonised better with a promise to give them jam-tart and cream. "it's vacation time just now, and the schoolmaster's away for a holiday. when he comes back you'll have to cultivate mind as well as soil, my boys, for i've come under an obligation to look after your education, and even if i hadn't, i'd do it to satisfy my own conscience." the _couleur-de-rose_ with which bob and tim had begun to invest their future faded perceptibly on hearing this. the viands, however, were so good that it did not disturb them very much. they ate away heartily, and in silence. little martha was not less diligent, for she had been busy all the morning in the dairy and kitchen, playing, rather than working, at domestic concerns, yet in her play doing much real work, and acquiring useful knowledge, as well as an appetite. after dinner the farmer rose at once. he was one of those who find it unnecessary either to drink or smoke after meals. indeed, strong drink and tobacco were unknown in his house, and, curiously enough, nobody seemed to be a whit the worse for their absence. there were some people, indeed, who even went the length of asserting that they were all the better for their absence! "now for the hard work i promised you, boys; come along." chapter twenty. occupations at brankly farm. the farmer led our two boys through a deliciously scented pine-wood at the rear of his house, to a valley which seemed to extend and widen out into a multitude of lesser valleys and clumps of woodland, where lakelets and rivulets and waterfalls glittered in the afternoon sun like shields and bands of burnished silver. taking a ball of twine from one of his capacious pockets, he gave it to bobby along with a small pocket-book. "have you got clasp-knives?" he asked. "yes, sir," said both boys, at once producing instruments which were very much the worse for wear. "very well, now, here is the work i want you to do for me this afternoon. d'you see the creek down in the hollow yonder--about half a mile off?" "yes, yes, sir." "well, go down there and cut two sticks about ten feet long each; tie strings to the small ends of them; fix hooks that you'll find in that pocket-book to the lines. the creek below the fall is swarming with fish; you'll find grasshoppers and worms enough for bait if you choose to look for 'em. go, and see what you can do." a reminiscence of ancient times induced bobby frog to say "walke-e-r!" to himself, but he had too much wisdom to say it aloud. he did, however, venture modestly to remark-- "i knows nothink about fishin', sir. never cotched so much as a eel in--" "when i give you orders, _obey_ them!" interrupted the farmer, in a tone and with a look that sent bobby and tim to the right-about double-quick. they did not even venture to look back until they reached the pool pointed out, and when they did look back mr merryboy had disappeared. "vell, i say," began bobby, but tim interrupted him with, "now, bob, you _must_ git off that 'abit you've got o' puttin' v's for double-u's. wasn't we told by the genl'm'n that gave us a partin' had-dress that we'd never git on in the noo world if we didn't mind our p's and q's? an' here you are as regardless of your v's as if they'd no connection wi' the alphabet." "pretty cove _you_ are, to find fault wi' _me_," retorted bob, "w'en you're far wuss wi' your haitches--a-droppin' of 'em w'en you shouldn't ought to, an' stickin' of 'em in where you oughtn't should to. go along an' cut your stick, as master told you." the sticks were cut, pieces of string were measured off, and hooks attached thereto. then grasshoppers were caught, impaled, and dropped into a pool. the immediate result was almost electrifying to lads who had never caught even a minnow before. bobby's hook had barely sunk when it was seized and run away with so forcibly as to draw a tremendous "hi! hallo!! ho!!! i've got 'im!!!" from the fisher. "hoy! hurroo!!" responded tim, "so've i!!!" both boys, blazing with excitement, held on. the fish, bursting, apparently, with even greater excitement, rushed off. "he'll smash my stick!" cried bob. "the twine's sure to go!" cried tim. "hold o-o-on!" this command was addressed to his fish, which leaped high out of the pool and went wriggling back with a heavy splash. it did not obey the order, but the hook did, which came to the same thing. "a ten-pounder if he's a' ounce," said tim. "you tell that to the horse--hi ho! stop that, will you?" but bobby's fish was what himself used to be--troublesome to deal with. it would not "stop that." it kept darting from side to side and leaping out of the water until, in one of its bursts, it got entangled with tim's fish, and the boys were obliged to haul them both ashore together. "splendid!" exclaimed bobby, as they unhooked two fine trout and laid them on a place of safety; "at 'em again!" at them they went, and soon had two more fish, but the disturbance created by these had the effect of frightening the others. at all events, at their third effort their patience was severely tried, for nothing came to their hooks to reward the intense gaze and the nervous readiness to act which marked each boy during the next half-hour or so. at the end of that time there came a change in their favour, for little martha mild appeared on the scene. she had been sent, she said, to work with them. "to play with us, you mean," suggested tim. "no, father said work," the child returned simply. "it's jolly work, then! but i say, old 'ooman, d'you call mr merryboy father?" asked bob in surprise. "yes, i've called him father ever since i came." "an' who's your real father?" "i have none. never had one." "an' your mother?" "never had a mother either." "well, you air a curiosity." "hallo! bob, don't forget your purliteness," said tim. "come, mumpy; father calls you mumpy, doesn't he?" "yes." "then so will i. well, mumpy, as i was goin' to say, you may come an' _work_ with my rod if you like, an' we'll make a game of it. we'll play at work. let me see where shall we be?" "in the garden of eden," suggested bob. "the very thing," said tim; "i'll be adam an' you'll be eve, mumpy." "very well," said martha with ready assent. she would have assented quite as readily to have personated jezebel or the witch of endor. "and i'll be cain," said bobby, moving his line in a manner that was meant to be persuasive. "oh!" said martha, with much diffidence, "cain was wicked, wasn't he?" "well, my dear eve," said tim, "bobby frog is wicked enough for half-a-dozen cains. in fact, you can't cane him enough to pay him off for all his wickedness." "bah! go to bed," said cain, still intent on his line, which seemed to quiver as if with a nibble. as for eve, being as innocent of pun-appreciation as her great original probably was, she looked at the two boys in pleased gravity. "hi! cain's got another bite," cried adam, while eve went into a state of gentle excitement, and fluttered near with an evidently strong desire to help in some way. "hallo! got 'im again!" shouted tim, as his rod bent to the water with jerky violence; "out o' the way, eve, else you'll get shoved into gihon." "euphrates, you stoopid!" said cain, turning his beehive training to account. having lost his fish, you see, he could afford to be critical while he fixed on another bait. but tim cared not for rivers or names just then, having hooked a "real wopper," which gave him some trouble to land. when landed, it proved to be the finest fish of the lot, much to eve's satisfaction, who sat down to watch the process when adam renewed the bait. now, bobby frog, not having as yet been quite reformed, and, perhaps, having imbibed some of the spirit of his celebrated prototype with his name, felt a strong impulse to give tim a gentle push behind. for tim sat in an irresistibly tempting position on the bank, with his little boots overhanging the dark pool from which the fish had been dragged. "tim," said bob. "adam, if you please--or call me father, if you prefer it!" "well, then, father, since i haven't got an abel to kill, i'm only too 'appy to have a adam to souse." saying which, he gave him a sufficient impulse to send him off! eve gave vent to a treble shriek, on beholding her husband struggling in the water, and cain himself felt somewhat alarmed at what he had done. he quickly extended the butt of his rod to his father, and dragged him safe to land, to poor eve's inexpressible relief. "what d'ee mean by that, bob?" demanded tim fiercely, as he sprang towards his companion. "cain, if you please--or call me son, if you prefers it," cried bob, as he ran out of his friend's way; "but don't be waxy, father adam, with your own darlin' boy. i couldn't 'elp it. you'd ha' done just the same to me if you'd had the chance. come, shake 'ands on it." tim lumpy was not the boy to cherish bad feeling. he grinned in a ghastly manner, and shook the extended hand. "i forgive you, cain, but please go an' look for abel an' pitch into _him_ w'en next you git into that state o' mind, for it's agin common-sense, as well as history, to pitch into your old father so." saying which, tim went off to wring out his dripping garments, after which the fishing was resumed. "wot a remarkable difference," said bobby, breaking a rather long silence of expectancy, as he glanced round on the splendid landscape which was all aglow with the descending sun, "'tween these 'ere diggin's an' commercial road, or george yard, or ratcliff 'ighway. ain't it, tim?" before tim could reply, mr merryboy came forward. "capital!" he exclaimed, on catching sight of the fish; "well done, lads, well done. we shall have a glorious supper to-night. now, mumpy, you run home and tell mother to have the big frying-pan ready. she'll want your help. ha!" he added, turning to the boys, as martha ran off with her wonted alacrity, "i thought you'd soon teach yourselves how to catch fish. it's not difficult here. and what do you think of martha, my boys?" "she's a trump!" said bobby, with decision. "fust rate!" said tim, bestowing his highest conception of praise. "quite true, lads; though why you should say `fust' instead of first-rate, tim, is more than i can understand. however, you'll get cured of such-like queer pronunciations in course of time. now, i want you to look on little mumpy as your sister, and she's a good deal of your sister too in reality, for she came out of that same great nest of good and bad, rich and poor--london. has she told you anything about herself yet?" "nothin', sir," answered bob, "'cept that when we axed--asked, i mean--i ax--ask your parding--she said she'd neither father nor mother." "ah! poor thing; that's too true. come, pick up your fish, and i'll tell you about her as we go along." the boys strung their fish on a couple of branches, and followed their new master home. "martha came to us only last year," said the farmer. "she's a little older than she looks, having been somewhat stunted in her growth, by bad treatment, i suppose, and starvation and cold in her infancy. no one knows who was her father or mother. she was `found' in the streets one day, when about three years of age, by a man who took her home, and made use of her by sending her to sell matches in public-houses. being small, very intelligent for her years, and attractively modest, she succeeded, i suppose, in her sales, and i doubt not the man would have continued to keep her, if he had not been taken ill and carried to hospital, where he died. of course the man's lodging was given up the day he left it. as the man had been a misanthrope--that's a hater of everybody, lads--nobody cared anything about him, or made inquiry after him. the consequence was, that poor martha was forgotten, strayed away into the streets, and got lost a second time. she was picked up this time by a widow lady in very reduced circumstances, who questioned her closely; but all that the poor little creature knew was that she didn't know where her home was, that she had no father or mother, and that her name was martha. "the widow took her home, made inquiries about her parentage in vain, and then adopted and began to train her, which accounts for her having so little of that slang and knowledge of london low life that you have so much of, you rascals! the lady gave the child the pet surname of mild, for it was so descriptive of her character. but poor martha was not destined to have this mother very long. after a few years she died, leaving not a sixpence or a rag behind her worth having. thus little mumpy was thrown a third time on the world, but god found a protector for her in a friend of the widow, who sent her to the refuge--the beehive as you call it--which has been such a blessing to you, my lads, and to so many like you, and along with her the pounds required to pay her passage and outfit to canada. they kept her for some time and trained her, and then, knowing that i wanted a little lass here, they sent her to me, for which i thank god, for she's a dear little child." the tone in which the last sentence was uttered told more than any words could have conveyed the feelings of the bluff farmer towards the little gem that had been dug out of the london mines and thus given to him. reader, they are prolific mines, those east-end mines of london! if you doubt it, go, hear and see for yourself. perhaps it were better advice to say, go and dig, or help the miners! need it be said that our waifs and strays grew and flourished in that rich canadian soil? it need not! one of the most curious consequences of the new connection was the powerful affection that sprang up between bobby frog and mrs merryboy, senior. it seemed as if that jovial old lady and our london waif had fallen in love with each other at first sight. perhaps the fact that the lady was intensely appreciative of fun, and the young gentleman wonderfully full of the same, had something to do with it. whatever the cause, these two were constantly flirting with each other, and bob often took the old lady out for little rambles in the wood behind the farm. there was a particular spot in the woods, near a waterfall, of which this curious couple were particularly fond, and to which they frequently resorted, and there, under the pleasant shade, with the roar of the fall for a symphony, bob poured out his hopes and fears, reminiscences and prospects into the willing ears of the little old lady, who was so very small that bob seemed quite a big man by contrast. he had to roar almost as loud as the cataract to make her hear, but he was well rewarded. the old lady, it is true, did not speak much, perhaps because she understood little, but she expressed enough of sympathy, by means of nods, and winks with her brilliant black eyes, and smiles with her toothless mouth, to satisfy any boy of moderate expectations. and bobby _was_ satisfied. so, also, were the other waifs and strays, not only with old granny, but with everything in and around their home in the new world. chapter twenty one. treats of altered circumstances and blue-ribbonism. once again we return to the great city, and to mrs frog's poor lodging. but it is not poor now, for the woman has at last got riches and joy-- such riches as the ungodly care not for, and a joy that they cannot understand. it is not all riches and joy, however. the master has told us that we shall have "much tribulation." what then? are we worse off than the unbelievers? do _they_ escape the tribulation? it is easy to prove that the christian has the advantage of the worldling, for, while both have worries and tribulation without fail, the one has a little joy along with these--nay, much joy if you choose--which, however, will end with life, if not before; while the other has joy unspeakable and full of glory, which will increase with years, and end in absolute felicity! let us look at mrs frog's room now, and listen to her as she sits on one side of a cheerful fire, sewing, while hetty sits on the other side, similarly occupied, and matty, _alias_ mita, lies in her crib sound asleep. it is the same room, the same london atmosphere, which no moral influence will ever purify, and pretty much the same surroundings, for mrs frog's outward circumstances have not altered much in a worldly point of view. the neighbours in the court are not less filthy and violent. one drunken nuisance has left the next room, but another almost as bad has taken his place. nevertheless, although not altered much, things are decidedly improved in the poor pitiful dwelling. whereas, in time past, it used to be dirty, now it is clean. the table is the same table, obviously, for you can see the crack across the top caused by ned's great fist on that occasion when, failing rather in force of argument while laying down the law, he sought to emphasise his remarks with an effective blow; but a craftsman has been at work on the table, and it is no longer rickety. the chair, too, on which mrs frog sits, is the same identical chair which missed the head of bobby frog that time he and his father differed in opinion on some trifling matter, and smashed a panel of the door; but the chair has been to see the doctor, and its constitution is stronger now. the other chair, on which hetty sits, is a distinct innovation. so is baby's crib. it has replaced the heap of straw which formerly sufficed, and there are two low bedsteads in corners which once were empty. besides all this there are numerous articles of varied shape and size glittering on the walls, such as sauce-pans and pot-lids, etcetera, which are made to do ornamental as well as useful duty, being polished to the highest possible degree of brilliancy. everywhere there is evidence of order and care, showing that the inmates of the room are somehow in better circumstances. let it not be supposed that this has been accomplished by charity. mrs samuel twitter is very charitable, undoubtedly. there can be no question as to that; but if she were a hundred times more charitable than she is, and were to give away a hundred thousand times more money than she does give, she could not greatly diminish the vast poverty of london. mrs twitter had done what she could in this case, but that was little, in a money point of view, for there were others who had stronger claims upon her than mrs frog. but mrs twitter had put her little finger under mrs frog's chin when her lips were about to go under water, and so, figuratively, she kept her from drowning. mrs twitter had put out a hand when mrs frog tripped and was about to tumble, and thus kept her from falling. when mrs frog, weary of life, was on the point of rushing once again to london bridge, with a purpose, mrs twitter caught the skirt of her ragged robe with a firm but kindly grasp and held her back, thus saving her from destruction; but, best of all, when the poor woman, under the influence of the spirit of god, ceased to strive with her maker and cried out earnestly, "what must i do to be saved?" mrs twitter grasped her with both hands and dragged her with tender violence towards the fold, but not quite into it. for mrs twitter was a wise, unselfish woman, as well as good. at a certain point she ceased to act, and said, "mrs frog, go to your own hetty, and she will tell you what to do." and mrs frog went, and hetty, with joyful surprise in her heart, and warm tears of gratitude in her eyes, pointed her to jesus the saviour of mankind. it was nothing new to the poor woman to be thus directed. it is nothing new to almost any one in a christian land to be pointed to christ; but it _is_ something new to many a one to have the eyes opened to see, and the will influenced to accept. it was so now with this poor, self-willed, and long-tried--or, rather, long-resisting--woman. the spirit's time had come, and she was made willing. but now she had to face the difficulties of the new life. conscience--never killed, and now revived--began to act. "i must work," she said, internally, and conscience nodded approval. "i must drink less," she said, but conscience shook her head. "it will be very hard, you see," she continued, apologetically, "for a poor woman like me to get through a hard day without just _one_ glass of beer to strengthen me." conscience did all her work by looks alone. she was naturally dumb, but she had a grand majestic countenance with great expressive eyes, and at the mention of _one_ glass of beer she frowned so that poor mrs frog almost trembled. at this point hetty stepped into the conversation. all unaware of what had been going on in her mother's mind, she said, suddenly, "mother, i'm going to a meeting to-night; will you come?" mrs frog was quite willing. in fact she had fairly given in and become biddable like a little child,--though, after all, that interesting creature does not always, or necessarily, convey the most perfect idea of obedience! it was a rough meeting, composed of rude elements, in a large but ungilded hall in whitechapel. the people were listening intently to a powerful speaker. the theme was strong drink. there were opponents and sympathisers there. "it is the greatest curse, i think, in london," said the speaker, as hetty and her mother entered. "bah!" exclaimed a powerful man beside whom they chanced to sit down. "i've drank a lot on't an' don't find it no curse, at all." "silence," cried some in the audience. "i tell 'ee it's all barn wot 'e's talkin'," said the powerful man. "put 'im out," cried some of the audience. but the powerful man had a powerful look, and a great bristly jaw, and a fierce pair of eyes which had often been blackened, and still bore the hues of the last fight; no one, therefore, attempted to put him out, so he snapped his fingers at the entire meeting, said, "bah!" again, with a look of contempt, and relapsed into silence, while the speaker, heedless of the slight interruption, went on. "why, it's a blue ribbon meeting, hetty," whispered mrs frog. "yes, mother," whispered hetty in reply, "that's one of its names, but its real title, i heard one gentleman say, is the gospel-temperance association, you see, they're very anxious to put the gospel first and temperance second; temperance bein' only one of the fruits of the gospel of jesus." the speaker went on in eloquent strains pleading the great cause--now drawing out the sympathies of his hearers, then appealing to their reason; sometimes relating incidents of deepest pathos, at other times convulsing the audience with touches of the broadest humour, insomuch that the man who said "bah!" modified his objections to "pooh!" and ere long came to that turning-point where silence is consent. in this condition he remained until reference was made by the speaker to a man-- not such a bad fellow too, when sober--who, under the influence of drink, had thrown his big shoe at his wife's head and cut it so badly that she was even then--while he was addressing them--lying in hospital hovering between life and death. "that's me!" cried the powerful man, jumping up in a state of great excitement mingled with indignation, while he towered head and shoulders above the audience, "though how _you_ come for to 'ear on't beats me holler. an' it shows 'ow lies git about, for she's _not_ gone to the hospital, an' it wasn't shoes at all, but boots i flung at 'er, an' they only just grazed 'er, thank goodness, an' sent the cat flyin' through the winder. so--" a burst of laughter with mingled applause and cheers cut off the end of the sentence and caused the powerful man to sit down in much confusion, quite puzzled what to think of it all. "my friend," said the speaker, when order had been restored, "you are mistaken. i did not refer to you at all, never having seen or heard of you before, but there are too many men like you--men who would be good men and true if they would only come to the saviour, who would soon convince them that it is wise to give up the drink and put on the blue ribbon. let it not be supposed, my friends, that i say it is the _duty_ of every one to put on the blue ribbon and become a total abstainer. there are circumstances in which a `little wine' may be advisable. why, the apostle paul himself, when timothy's stomach got into a chronic state of disease which subjected him, apparently, to `frequent infirmities,' advised him to take a `little wine,' but he didn't advise him to take many quarts of beer, or numerous glasses of brandy and water, or oceans of old tom, or to get daily fuddled on the poisons which are sold by many publicans under these names. still less did paul advise poor dyspeptic timothy to become his own medical man and prescribe all these medicines to himself, whenever he felt inclined for them. yes, there are the old and the feeble and the diseased, who may, (observe i don't say who _do_, for i am not a doctor, but who _may_), require stimulants under medical advice. to these we do not speak, and to these we would not grudge the small alleviation to their sad case which may be found in stimulants; but to the young and strong and healthy we are surely entitled to say, to plead, and to entreat--put on the blue ribbon if you see your way to it. and by the young we mean not only all boys and girls, but all men and women in the prime of life, ay, and beyond the prime, if in good health. surely you will all admit that the young require no stimulants. are they not superabounding in energy? do they not require the very opposite--sedatives, and do they not find these in constant and violent muscular exercise?" with many similar and other arguments did the speaker seek to influence the mass of human beings before him, taking advantage of every idea that cropped up and every incident in the meeting that occurred to enforce his advice--namely, total abstinence for the young and the healthy-- until he had stirred them up to a state of considerable enthusiasm. then he said:-- "i am glad to see you enthusiastic. nothing great can be done without enthusiasm. you may potter along the even tenor of your way without it, but you'll never come to much good, and you'll never accomplish great things, without it. what is enthusiasm? is it not seeing the length, breadth, height, depth, and bearing of a good thing, and being zealously affected in helping to bring it about? there are many kinds of enthusiasts, though but one quality of enthusiasm. weak people show their enthusiasm too much on the surface. powerful folk keep it too deep in their hearts to be seen at all. what then, are we to scout it in the impulsive because too obvious; to undervalue it in the reticent because almost invisible? nay, let us be thankful for it in any form, for the _thing_ is good, though the individual's manner of displaying it may be faulty. let us hope that the too gushing may learn to clap on the breaks a little--a very little; but far more let us pray that the reticent and the self-possessed, and the oh!--dear--no--you'll--never-- catch--me--doing--that--sort--of--thing people, may be enabled to get up more steam. better far in my estimation the wild enthusiast than the self-possessed and self-sufficient cynic. just look at your gentlemanly cynic; good-natured very likely, for he's mightily pleased with himself and excessively wise in regard to all things sublunary. why, even he has enthusiasm, though not always in a good cause. follow him to the races. watch him while he sees the sleek and beautiful creatures straining every muscle, and his own favourite drawing ahead, inch by inch, until it bids fair to win. is _that_ our cynic, bending forward on his steed, with gleaming eyes and glowing cheek, and partly open mouth and quick-coming breath, and so forgetful of himself that he swings off his hat and gives vent to a lusty cheer as the favourite passes the winning-post? "but follow him still further. don't let him go. hold on to his horse's tail till we see him safe into his club, and wait there till he has dined and gone to the opera. there he sits, immaculate in dress and bearing, in the stalls. it is a huge audience. a great star is to appear. the star comes on--music such as might cause the very angels to bend and listen. "the sweet singer exerts herself; her rich voice swells in volume and sweeps round the hall, filling every ear and thrilling every heart, until, unable to restrain themselves, the vast concourse rises _en masse_, and, with waving scarf and kerchief, thunders forth applause! and what of our cynic? there he is, the wildest of the wild--for he happens to love music--shouting like a maniac and waving his hat, regardless of the fact that he has broken the brim, and that the old gentleman whose corns he has trodden on frowns at him with savage indignation. "yes," continued the speaker, "the whole world is enthusiastic when the key-note of each individual, or class of individuals, is struck; and shall _we_ be ashamed of our enthusiasm for this little bit of heavenly blue, which symbolises the great fact that those who wear it are racing with the demon drink to save men and women, (ourselves included, perhaps), from his clutches; racing with despair to place hope before the eyes of those who are blindly rushing to destruction; racing with time to snatch the young out of the way of the destroyer before he lays hand on them; and singing--ay, shouting--songs of triumph and glory to god because of the tens of thousands of souls and bodies already saved; because of the bright prospect of the tens of thousands more to follow; because of the innumerable voices added to the celestial choir, and the glad assurance that the hymns of praise thus begun shall not die out with our feeble frames, but will grow stronger in sweetness as they diminish in volume, until, the river crossed, they shall burst forth again with indescribable intensity in the new song. "some people tell us that these things are not true. others say they won't last. my friends, i know, and many of you know, that they _are_ true, and even if they were _not_ to last, have we not even now ground for praise? shall we not rejoice that the lifeboat has saved some, because others have refused to embark and perished? but we don't admit that these things won't last. very likely, in the apostolic days, some of the unbelievers said of them and their creed, `how long will it last?' if these objectors be now able to take note of the world's doings, they have their answer from father time himself; for does he not say, `christianity has lasted nearly nineteen hundred years, and is the strongest moral motive-power in the world to-day?' the blue ribbon, my friends, or what it represents, is founded on christianity; therefore the principles which it represents are sure to stand. who will come now and put it on?" "i will!" shouted a strong voice from among the audience, and up rose the powerful man who began the evening with "bah!" and "pooh!" he soon made his way to the platform amid uproarious cheering, and donned the blue. "hetty," whispered mrs frog in a low, timid voice, "i think i would like to put it on too." if the voice had been much lower and more timid, hetty would have heard it, for she sat there watching for her mother as one might watch for a parent in the crisis of a dread disease. she knew that no power on earth can change the will, and she had waited and prayed till the arrow was sent home by the hand of god. "come along, mother," she said--but said no more, for her heart was too full. mrs frog was led to the platform, to which multitudes of men, women, and children were pressing, and the little badge was pinned to her breast. thus did that poor woman begin her christian course with the fruit of self-denial. she then set about the work of putting her house in order. it was up-hill work at first, and very hard, but the promise did not fail her, "lo! i am with you alway." in all her walk she found hetty a guardian angel. "i must work, hetty, dear," she said, "for it will never do to make you support us all; but what am i to do with baby? there is no one to take charge of her when i go out." "i am quite able to keep the whole of us, mother, seeing that i get such good pay from the lady i work for, but as you want to work, i can easily manage for baby. you know i've often wished to speak of the infant nursery in george yard. before you sent matty away i wanted you to send her there, but--" hetty paused. "go on, dear. i was mad agin' you an' your religious ways; wasn't that it?" said mrs frog. "well, mother, it don't matter now, thank god. the infant nursery, you know, is a part of the institution there. the hearts of the people who manage it were touched by the death of so many thousands of little ones every year in london through want and neglect, so they set up this nursery to enable poor widowed mothers and others to send their babies to be cared for--nursed, fed, and amused in nice airy rooms--while the mothers are at work. they charge only fourpence a day for this, and each baby has its own bag of clothing, brush and comb, towel and cot. they will keep matty from half-past seven in the morning till eight at night for you, so that will give you plenty of time to work, won't it, mother?" "it will indeed, hetty, and all for fourpence a day, say you?" "yes, the ordinary charge is fourpence, but widows get it for twopence for each child, and, perhaps, they may regard a deserted wife as a widow! there is a fine of twopence per hour for any child not taken away after eight, so you'll have to be up to time, mother." mrs frog acted on this advice, and thus was enabled to earn a sufficiency to enable her to pay her daily rent, to clothe and feed herself and child, to give a little to the various missions undertaken by the institutions near her, to put a little now and then into the farthing bank, and even to give a little in charity to the poor! now, reader, you may have forgotten it, but if you turn back to near the beginning of this chapter, you will perceive that all we have been writing about is a huge digression, for which we refuse to make the usual apology. we return again to mrs frog where we left her, sitting beside her cheerful fire, sewing and conversing with hetty. "i can't bear to think of 'im, hetty," said mrs frog. "you an' me sittin' here so comfortable, with as much to eat as we want, an' to spare, while your poor father is in a cold cell. he's bin pretty bad to me of late, it's true, wi' that drink, but he wasn't always like that, hetty; even you can remember him before he took to the drink." "yes, mother, i can, and, bless the lord, he may yet be better than he ever was. when is his time up?" "this day three weeks. the twelve months will be out then. we must pray for 'im, hetty." "yes, mother. i am always prayin' for him. you know that." there was a touch of anxiety in the tones and faces of both mother and daughter as they talked of the father, for his home-coming might, perhaps, nay probably would, be attended with serious consequences to the renovated household. they soon changed the subject to one more agreeable. "isn't bobby's letter a nice one, mother?" said hetty, "and so well written, though the spellin' might have been better; but then he's had so little schoolin'." "it just makes my heart sing," returned mrs frog. "read it again to me, hetty. i'll never tire o' hearin' it. i only wish it was longer." the poor mother's wish was not unnatural, for the letter which bobby had written was not calculated to tax the reader's patience, and, as hetty hinted, there was room for improvement, not only in the spelling but in the writing. nevertheless, it had carried great joy to the mother's heart. we shall therefore give it _verbatim et literatim_. brankly farm--kanada. "deer mutrer. wen i left you i promisd to rite so heer gos. this plase is eaven upon arth. so pritty an grand. o you never did see the likes. ide park is nuffin to it, an as for kensintn gardings--wy to kompair thems rediklis. theres sitch a nice little gal here. shes wun of deer mis mukfersons gals--wot the vestenders calls a wafe and sometimes a strai. were all very fond of er spesially tim lumpy. i shuvd im in the river wun dai. my--ow e spluterd. but e was non the wus--all the better, mister an mistress meryboi aint that a joly naim are as good as gold to us. we as prairs nite and mornin an no end o witls an as appy as kings and kueens a-sitin on there throns. give all our luv to deer father, an etty an baiby an mis mukferson an mister olland an all our deer teechers. sai we'll never forgit wot they told us. your deer sun bobby." "isn't it beautiful?" said mrs frog, wiping away a tear with the sock she was darning in preparation for her husband's return. "yes, mother. bless the people that sent 'im out to canada," said hetty, "for he would never have got on here." there came a tap to the door as she spoke, and mrs twitter, entering, was received with a hearty welcome. "i came, mrs frog," she said, accepting the chair--for there was even a third chair--which hetty placed for her, "to ask when your husband will be home again." good mrs twitter carefully avoided the risk of hurting the poor woman's feelings by needless reference to jail. "i expect him this day three weeks, ma'am," replied mrs frog. "that will do nicely," returned mrs twitter. "you see, my husband knows a gentleman who takes great pleasure in getting con--in getting men like ned, you know, into places, and giving them a chance of--of getting on in life, you understand?" "_yes_, ma'am, we must all try to git on in life if we would keep in life," said mrs frog, sadly. "well, there is a situation open just now, which the gentleman--the same gentleman who was so kind in helping us after the fire; you see we all need help of one another, mrs frog--which the gentleman said he could keep open for a month, but not longer, so, as i happened to be passing your house to-night on my way to the yard, to the mothers' meeting, i thought i'd just look in and tell you, and ask you to be sure and send ned to me the moment he comes home." "i will, ma'am, and god bless you for thinkin' of us so much." "remember, now," said mrs twitter, impressively, "_before_ he has time to meet any of his old comrades. tell him if he comes straight to me he will hear something that will please him very much. i won't tell you what. that is my message to him. and now, how is my mita? oh! i need not ask. there she lies like a little angel!" (mrs twitter rose and went to the crib, but did not disturb the little sleeper.) "i wish i saw roses on her little cheeks and more fat, mrs frog." mrs frog admitted that there was possible improvement in the direction of roses and fat, but feared that the air, (it would have been more correct to have said the smoke and smells), of the court went against roses and fat, somehow. she was thankful, however, to the good lord for the health they all enjoyed in spite of local disadvantages. "ah!" sighed mrs twitter, "if we could only transport you all to canada--" "oh! ma'am," exclaimed mrs frog, brightening up suddenly, "we've had _such_ a nice letter from our bobby. let her see it, hetty." "yes, and so nicely written, too," remarked hetty, with a beaming face, as she handed bobby's production to the visitor, "though he doesn't quite understand yet the need for capital letters." "never mind, hetty, so long as he sends you capital letters," returned mrs twitter, perpetrating the first pun she had been guilty of since she was a baby; "and, truly, this is a charming letter, though short." "yes, it's rather short, but it might have been shorter," said mrs frog, indulging in a truism. mrs twitter was already late for the mothers' meeting, but she felt at once that it would be better to be still later than to disappoint mrs frog of a little sympathy in a matter which touched her feelings so deeply. she sat down, therefore, and read the letter over, slowly, commenting on it as she went along in a pleasant sort of way, which impressed the anxious mother with, not quite the belief, but the sensation that bobby was the most hopeful immigrant which canada had received since it was discovered. "now, mind, send ned up _at once_," said the amiable lady when about to quit the little room. "yes, mrs twitter, i will; good-night." chapter twenty two. ned frog's experiences and sammy twitter's woes. but ned frog, with strong drink combined, rendered fruitless all the efforts that were put forth in his behalf at that time. when discharged with a lot of other jail-birds, none of whom, however, he knew, he sauntered leisurely homeward, wondering whether his wife was alive, and, if so, in what condition he should find her. it may have been that better thoughts were struggling in his breast for ascendency, because he sighed deeply once or twice, which was not a usual mode with ned of expressing his feelings. a growl was more common and more natural, considering his character. drawing nearer and nearer to his old haunts, yet taking a roundabout road, as the moth is drawn to the candle, or as water descends to its level, he went slowly on, having little hope of comfort in his home, and not knowing very well what to do. as he passed down one of the less frequented streets leading into whitechapel, he was arrested by the sight of a purse lying on the pavement. to become suddenly alive, pick it up, glance stealthily round, and thrust it into his pocket, was the work of an instant. the saunter was changed into a steady businesslike walk. as he turned into commercial street, ned met number full in the face. he knew that constable intimately, but refrained from taking notice of him, and passed on with an air and expression which were meant to convey the idea of infantine innocence. guilty men usually over-reach themselves. giles noted the air, and suspected guilt, but, not being in a position to prove it, walked gravely on, with his stern eyes straight to the front. in a retired spot ned examined his "find." it contained six sovereigns, four shillings, threepence, a metropolitan railway return ticket, several cuttings from newspapers, and a recipe for the concoction of a cheap and wholesome pudding, along with a card bearing the name of mrs samuel twitter, written in ink and without any address. "you're in luck, ned," he remarked to himself, as he examined these treasures. "now, old boy you 'aven't stole this 'ere purse, so you ain't a thief; you don't know w'ere mrs s.t. lives, so you can't find 'er to return it to 'er. besides, it's more than likely she won't feel the want of it--w'ereas i feels in want of it wery much indeed. of course it's my dooty to 'and it over to the p'lice, but, in the first place, i refuse to 'ave any communication wi' the p'lice, friendly or otherwise; in the second place, i 'ad no 'and in makin' the laws, so i don't feel bound to obey 'em; thirdly, i'm both 'ungry an' thirsty, an' 'ere you 'ave the remedy for them afflictions, so, fourthly--'ere goes!" having thus cleared his conscience, ned committed the cash to his vest pocket, and presented the purse with its remaining contents to the rats in a neighbouring sewer. almost immediately afterwards he met an irishman, an old friend. "terence, my boy, well met!" he said, offering his hand. "hooroo! ned frog, sure i thought ye was in limbo!" "you thought right, terry; only half-an-hour out. come along, i'll stand you somethin' for the sake of old times. by the way, have you done that job yet?" "what job?" "why, the dynamite job, of course." "no, i've gi'n that up," returned the irishman with a look of contempt. "to tell you the honest truth, i don't believe that the way to right ireland is to blow up england. but there's an englishman you'll find at the swan an' anchor--a sneakin' blackguard, as would sell his own mother for dhrink--he'll help you if you wants to have a hand in the job. i'm off it." notwithstanding this want of sympathy on that point, the two friends found that they held enough in common to induce a prolonged stay at the public-house, from which ned finally issued rather late at night, and staggered homewards. he met no acquaintance on the way, and was about to knock at his own door when the sound of a voice within arrested him. it was hetty, praying. the poor wife and daughter had given up hope of his returning at so late an hour that night, and had betaken themselves to their usual refuge in distress. ned knew the sound well, and it seemed to rouse a demon in his breast, for he raised his foot with the intention of driving in the door, when he was again arrested by another sound. it was the voice of little matty, who, awaking suddenly out of a terrifying dream, set up a shrieking which at once drowned all other sounds. ned lowered his foot, thrust his hands into his pockets, and stood gazing in a state of indecision at the broken pavement for a few minutes. "no peace there," he said, sternly. "prayin' an' squallin' don't suit me, so good-night to 'ee all." with that he turned sharp round, and staggered away, resolving never more to return! "is that you, ned frog?" inquired a squalid, dirty-looking woman, thrusting her head out of a window as he passed. "no, 'tain't," said ned, fiercely, as he left the court. he went straight to a low lodging-house, but before entering tied his money in a bit of rag, and thrust it into an inner pocket of his vest, which he buttoned tight, and fastened his coat over it. paying the requisite fourpence for the night's lodging, he entered, and was immediately hailed by several men who knew him, but being in no humour for good fellowship, he merely nodded and went straight up to his lowly bed. it was one of seventy beds that occupied the entire floor of an immense room. police supervision had secured that this room should be well ventilated, and that the bedding should be reasonably clean, though far from clean-looking, and ned slept soundly in spite of drink, for, as we have said before, he was unusually strong. next day, having thought over his plans in bed, and, being a man of strong determination, he went forth to carry them into immediate execution. he went to a lofty tenement in the neighbourhood of dean and flower street, one of the poorest parts of the city, and hired a garret, which was so high up that even the staircase ended before you reached it, and the remainder of the upward flight had to be performed on a ladder, at the top of which was a trap-door, the only entrance to ned's new home. having paid a week's rent in advance he took possession, furnished the apartment with one old chair, one older table, one bundle of straw in a sack, one extremely old blanket, and one brand-new pipe with a corresponding ounce or two of tobacco. then he locked the trap-door, put the key in his pocket, and descended to the street, where at bird-fair he provided himself with sundry little cages and a few birds. having conveyed these with some food for himself and the little birds to his lodging he again descended to the street, and treated himself to a pint of beer. while thus engaged he was saluted by an old friend, the owner of a low music-hall, who begged for a few minutes' conversation with him outside. "ned," he said, "i'm glad i fell in with you, for i'm uncommon 'ard up just now." "i never lends money," said ned, brusquely turning away. "'old on, ned, i don't want yer money, bless yer. i wants to _give_ you money." "oh! that's quite another story; fire away, old man." "well, you see, i'm 'ard up, as i said, for a man to keep order in my place. the last man i 'ad was a good 'un, 'e was. six futt one in 'is socks, an' as strong as a 'orse, but by ill luck one night, a sailor-chap that was bigger than 'im come in to the 'all, an' they 'ad a row, an' my man got sitch a lickin' that he 'ad to go to hospital, an' 'e's been there for a week, an' won't be out, they say, for a month or more. now, ned, will you take the job? the pay's good an' the fun's considerable. so's the fightin', sometimes, but you'd put a stop to that you know. an', then, you'll 'ave all the day to yourself to do as you like." "i'm your man," said ned, promptly. thus it came to pass that the pugilist obtained suitable employment as a peacemaker and keeper of order, for a time at least, in one of those disreputable places of amusement where the unfortunate poor of london are taught lessons of vice and vanity which end often in vexation of spirit, not only to themselves, but to the strata of society which rest above them. one night ned betook himself to this temple of vice, and on the way was struck by the appearance of a man with a barrow--a sort of book-stall on wheels--who was pushing his way through the crowded street. it was the man who at the temperance meeting had begun with "bah!" and "pooh!" and had ended by putting on the blue ribbon. he had once been a comrade of ned frog, but had become so very respectable that his old chum scarcely recognised him. "hallo! reggie north, can that be you?" north let down his barrow, wheeled round, and held out his hand with a hearty, "how are 'ee, old man? w'y you're lookin' well, close cropped an' comfortable, eh! livin' at her majesty's expense lately? where d'ee live now, ned? i'd like to come and see you." ned told his old comrade the locality of his new abode. "but i say, north, how respectable you are! what's come over you? not become a travellin' bookseller, have you?" "that's just what i am, ned." "well, there's no accountin' for taste. i hope it pays." "ay, pays splendidly--pays the seller of the books and pays the buyers better." "how's that?" asked ned, in some surprise, going up to the barrow; "oh! i see, bibles." "yes, ned, bibles, the word of god. will you buy one?" "no, thank 'ee," said ned, drily. "here, i'll make you a present o' one, then," returned north, thrusting a bible into the other's hand; "you can't refuse it of an old comrade. good-night. i'll look in on you soon." "you needn't trouble yourself," ned called out as his friend went off; and he felt half inclined to fling the bible after him, but checked himself. it was worth money! so he put it in his pocket and went his way. the hall was very full that night, a new comic singer of great promise having been announced, and oh! it was sad to see the youths of both sexes, little more than big boys and girls, who went there to smoke, and drink, and enjoy ribald songs and indecent jests! we do not mean to describe the proceedings. let it suffice to say that, after one or two songs and a dance had been got through, ned, part of whose duty it was to announce the performances, rose and in a loud voice said-- "signor twittorini will now sing." the signor stepped forward at once, and was received with a roar of enthusiastic laughter, for anything more lugubrious and woe-begone than the expression of his face had never been seen on these boards before. there was a slight look of shyness about him, too, which increased the absurdity of the thing, and it was all _so natural_, as one half-tipsy woman remarked. so it was--intensely natural--for signor twittorini was no other than poor sammy twitter in the extremest depths of his despair. half-starved, half-mad, yet ashamed to return to his father's house, the miserable boy had wandered in bye streets, and slept in low lodging-houses as long as his funds lasted. then he tried to get employment with only partial success, until at last, recollecting that he had been noted among his companions for a sweet voice and a certain power of singing serio-comic songs, he thought of a low music-hall into which he had staggered one evening when drunk--as much with misery as with beer. the manager, on hearing a song or two, at once engaged him and brought him out. as poor sammy knew nothing about acting, it was decided that he should appear in his own garments, which, being shabby-genteel, were pretty well suited for a great italian singer in low society. but sammy had over-rated his own powers. after the first burst of applause was over, he stood gazing at the audience with his mouth half open, vainly attempting to recollect the song he meant to sing, and making such involuntary contortions with his thin visage, that a renewed burst of laughter broke forth. when it had partially subsided, sammy once more opened his mouth, gave vent to a gasp, burst into tears, and rushed from the stage. this was the climax! it brought down the house! never before had they seen such an actor. he was inimitable, and the people made the usual demand for an _encore_ with tremendous fervour, expecting that signor twittorini would repeat the scene, probably with variations, and finish off with the promised song. but poor sammy did not respond. "i see,--you can improvise," said the manager, quite pleased, "and i've no objection when it's well done like that; but you'd better go on now, and stick to the programme." "i can't sing," said sammy, in passionate despair. "come, come, young feller, i don't like actin' _off_ the stage, an' the audience is gittin' impatient." "but i tell you i can't sing a note," repeated sam. "what! d'ye mean to tell me you're not actin'?" "i wish i was!" cried poor sam, glancing upward with tearful eyes and clasping his hands. "come now. you've joked enough. go on and do your part," said the puzzled manager. "but i tell you i'm _not_ joking. i couldn't sing just now if you was to give me ten thousand pounds!" it might have been the amount of the sum stated, or the tone in which it was stated--we know not--but the truth of what sam said was borne so forcibly in upon the manager, that he went into a violent passion; sprang at sam's throat; hustled him towards a back door, and kicked him out into a back lane, where he sat down on an empty packing case, covered his face with his hands, bowed his head on his knees, and wept. the manager returned on the stage, and, with a calm voice and manner, which proved himself to be a very fair actor, stated that signor twittorini had met with a sudden disaster--not a very serious one-- which, however, rendered it impossible for him to re-appear just then, but that, if sufficiently recovered, he would appear towards the close of the evening. this, with a very significant look and gesture from ned frog, quieted the audience to the extent at least of inducing them to do nothing worse than howl continuously for ten minutes, after which they allowed the performances to go on, and saved the keeper of order the trouble of knocking down a few of the most unruly. ned was the first to quit the hall when all was over. he did so by the back door, and found sam still sitting on the door-step. "what's the matter with ye, youngster?" he said, going up to him. "you've made a pretty mess of it to-night." "i couldn't help it--indeed i couldn't. perhaps i'll do better next time." "better! ha! ha! you couldn't ha' done better--if you'd on'y gone on. but why do ye sit there?" "because i've nowhere to go to." "there's plenty o' common lodgin'-'ouses, ain't there?" "yes, but i haven't got a single rap." "well, then, ain't there the casual ward? why don't you go there? you'll git bed and board for nothin' there." having put this question, and received no answer, ned turned away without further remark. hardened though ned was to suffering, there was something in the fallen boy's face that had touched this fallen man. he turned back with a sort of remonstrative growl, and re-entered the back lane, but signor twittorini was gone. he had heard the manager's voice, and fled. a policeman directed him to the nearest casual ward, where the lowest stratum of abject poverty finds its nightly level. here he knocked with trembling hand. he was received; he was put in a lukewarm bath and washed; he was fed on gruel and a bit of bread--quite sufficient to allay the cravings of hunger; he was shown to a room in which appeared to be a row of corpses--so dead was the silence--each rolled in a covering of some dark brown substance, and stretched out stiff on a trestle with a canvas bottom. one of the trestles was empty. he was told he might appropriate it. "are they dead?" he asked, looking round with a shudder. "not quite," replied his jailer, with a short laugh, "but dead-beat most of 'em--tired out, i should say, and disinclined to move." sam twitter fell on the couch, drew the coverlet over him, and became a brown corpse like the rest, while the guardian retired and locked the door to prevent the egress of any who might chance to come to life again. in the morning sam had a breakfast similar to the supper; was made to pick oakum for a few hours by way of payment for hospitality, and left with a feeling that he had at last reached the lowest possible depth of degradation. so he had in that direction, but there are other and varied depths in london--depths of crime and of sickness, as well as of suffering and sorrow! aimlessly he wandered about for another day, almost fainting with hunger, but still so ashamed to face his father and mother that he would rather have died than done so. some touch of pathos, or gruff tenderness mayhap, in ned frog's voice, induced him to return at night to the scene of his discreditable failure, and await the pugilist's coming out. he followed him a short way, and then running forward, said-- "oh, sir! i'm very low!" "hallo! signor twittorini again!" said ned, wheeling round, sternly. "what have i to do with your being low? i've been low enough myself at times, an' nobody helped--" ned checked himself, for he knew that what he said was false. "i think i'm dying," said sam, leaning against a house for support. "well, if you do die, you'll be well out of it all," replied ned, bitterly. "what's your name?" "twitter," replied sam, forgetting in his woe that he had not intended to reveal his real name. "twitter--twitter. i've heard that name before. why, yes. father's name samuel--eh? mother alive--got cards with mrs samuel twitter on 'em, an' no address?" "yes--yes. how do you come to know?" asked sam in surprise. "never you mind that, youngster, but you come along wi' me. i've got a sort o' right to feed you. ha! ha! come along." sam became frightened at this sudden burst of hilarity, and shrank away, but ned grasped him by the arm, and led him along with such decision, that resistance he felt would be useless. in a few minutes he was in ned's garret eating bread and cheese with ravenous satisfaction. "have some beer!" said ned, filling a pewter pot. "no--no--no--no!" said sam, shuddering as he turned his head away. "well, youngster," returned ned, with a slight look of surprise, "please yourself, and here's your health." he drained the pot to the bottom, after which, dividing his straw into two heaps, and throwing them into two corners, he bade sam lie down and rest. the miserable boy was only too glad to do so. he flung himself on the little heap pointed out, and the last thing he remembered seeing before the "sweet restorer" embraced him was the huge form of ned frog sitting in his own corner with his back to the wall, the pewter pot at his elbow, and a long clay pipe in his mouth. chapter twenty three. hopes revive. mr thomas balls, butler to sir richard brandon, standing with his legs wide apart and his hands under his coat tails in the servants' hall, delivered himself of the opinion that "things was comin' to a wonderful pass when sir richard brandon would condescend to go visitin' of a low family in whitechapel." "but the family is no more low than you are, mr balls," objected jessie summers, who, being not very high herself, felt that the remark was slightly personal. "of course not, my dear," replied balls, with a paternal smile. "i did not for a moment mean that mr samuel twitter was low in an offensive sense, but in a social sense. sir richard, you know, belongs to the hupper ten, an' he 'as not been used to associate with people so much further down in the scale. whether he's right or whether he's wrong ain't for me to say. i merely remark that, things being as they are, the master 'as come to a wonderful pass." "it's all along of miss diana," said mrs screwbury. "that dear child 'as taken the firm belief into her pretty 'ead that all people are equal in the sight of their maker, and that we should look on each other as brothers and sisters, and you know she can twist sir richard round her little finger, and she's taken a great fancy to that twitter family ever since she's been introduced to them at that 'ome of industry by mr welland, who used to be a great friend of their poor boy that ran away. and mrs twitter goes about the 'ome, and among the poor so much, and can tell her so many stories about poor people, that she's grown quite fond of her." "but we _ain't_ all equal, mrs screwbury," said the cook, recurring, with some asperity, to a former remark, "an' nothink you or anybody else can ever say will bring me to believe it." "quite right, cook," said balls. "for instance, no one would ever admit that i was as good a cook as you are, or that you was equal to mrs screwbury as a nurse, or that any of us could compare with jessie summers as a 'ouse-maid, or that i was equal to sir richard in the matters of edication, or station, or wealth. no, it is in the more serious matters that concern our souls that we are equal, and i fear that when death comes, he's not very particular as to who it is he's cuttin' down when he's got the order." a ring at the bell cut short this learned discourse. "that's for the cab," remarked mr balls as he went out. now, while these things were taking place at the "west-end," in the "east-end" the twitters were assembled round the social board enjoying themselves--that is to say, enjoying themselves as much as in the circumstances was possible. for the cloud that sammy's disappearance had thrown over them was not to be easily or soon removed. since the terrible day on which he was lost, a settled expression of melancholy had descended on the once cheery couple, which extended in varying degree down to their youngest. allusion was never made to the erring one; yet it must not be supposed he was forgotten. on the contrary, sammy was never out of his parents' thoughts. they prayed for him night and morning aloud, and at all times silently. they also took every possible step to discover their boy's retreat, by means of the ordinary police, as well as detectives whom they employed for the purpose of hunting sammy up: but all in vain. it must not be supposed, however, that this private sorrow induced mrs twitter selfishly to forget the poor, or intermit her labours among them. she did not for an hour relax her efforts in their behalf at george yard and at commercial street. at the twitter social board--which, by the way, was spread in another house not far from that which had been burned--sat not only mr and mrs twitter and all the little twitters, but also mrs loper, who had dropped in just to make inquiries, and mrs larrabel, who was anxious to hear what news they had to tell, and mr crackaby, who was very sympathetic, and mr stickler, who was oracular. thus the small table was full. "mariar, my dear," said mr twitter, referring to some remarkable truism which his wife had just uttered, "we must just take things as we find 'em. the world is not goin' to change its course on purpose to please _us_. things might be worse, you know, and when the spoke in your wheel is at its lowest there must of necessity be a rise unless it stands still altogether." "you're right, mr twitter. i always said so," remarked mrs loper, adopting all these sentiments with a sigh of resignation. "if we did not submit to fortune when it is adverse, why then we'd have to--have to--" "succumb to it," suggested mrs larrabel, with one of her sweetest smiles. "no, mrs larrabel, i never succumb--from principle i never do so. the last thing that any woman of good feeling ought to do is to succumb. i would bow to it." "quite right, ma'am, quite right," said stickler, who now found time to speak, having finished his first cup of tea and second muffin; "to bow is, to say the least of it, polite and simple, and is always safe, for it commits one to nothing; but then, suppose that fortune is impolite and refuses to return the bow, what, i ask you, would be the result?" as mrs loper could not form the slightest conception what the result would be, she replied with a weak smile and a request for more sausage. these remarks, although calculated to enlist the sympathies of crackaby and excite the mental energies of twitter, had no effect whatever on those gentlemen, for the latter was deeply depressed, and his friend crackaby felt for him sincerely. thus the black sheep remained victorious in argument--which was not always the case. poor twitter! he was indeed at that time utterly crestfallen, for not only had he lost considerably by the fire--his house having been uninsured--but business in the city had gone wrong somehow. a few heavy failures had occurred among speculators, and as these had always a row of minor speculators at their backs, like a row of child's bricks, which only needs the fall of one to insure the downcome of all behind it, there had been a general tumble of speculative bricks, tailing off with a number of unspeculative ones, such as tailors, grocers, butchers, and shopkeepers generally. mr twitter was one of the unspeculative unfortunates, but he had not come quite down. he had only been twisted uncomfortably to one side, just as a toy brick is sometimes seen standing up here and there in the midst of surrounding wreck. mr twitter was not absolutely ruined. he had only "got into difficulties." but this was a small matter in his and his good wife's eyes compared with the terrible fall and disappearance of their beloved sammy. he had always been such a good, obedient boy; and, as his mother said, "_so_ sensitive." it never occurred to mrs twitter that this sensitiveness was very much the cause of his fall and disappearance, for the same weakness, or cowardice, that rendered him unable to resist the playful banter of his drinking comrades, prevented him from returning to his family in disgrace. "you have not yet advertised, i think?" said crackaby. "no, not yet," answered twitter; "we cannot bear to publish it. but we have set several detectives on his track. in fact we expect one of them this very evening; and i shouldn't wonder if that was him," he added, as a loud knock was heard at the door. "please, ma'am," said the domestic, "mr welland's at the door with another gentleman. 'e says 'e won't come in--'e merely wishes to speak to you for a moment." "oh! bid 'em come in, bid 'em come in," said mrs twitter in the exuberance of a hospitality which never turned any one away, and utterly regardless of the fact that her parlour was extremely small. another moment, and stephen welland entered, apologising for the intrusion, and saying that he merely called with sir richard brandon, on their way to the beehive meeting, to ask if anything had been heard of sam. "come in, and welcome, _do_," said mrs twitter to sir richard, whose face had become a not unfamiliar one at the beehive meetings by that time. "and miss diana, too! i'm _so_ glad you've brought her. sit down, dear. not so near the door. to be sure there ain't much room anywhere else, but--get out of the way, stickler." the black sheep hopped to one side instantly, and di was accommodated with his chair. stickler was one of those toadies who worship rank for its own sake. if a lamp-post had been knighted stickler would have bowed down to it. if an ass had been what he styled "barrow-knighted," he would have lain down and let it walk over him--perhaps would even have solicited a passing kick--certainly would not have resented one. "allow me, sir richard," he said, with some reference to the knight's hat. "hush, stickler!" said mrs twitter. the black sheep hushed, while the bustling lady took the hat and placed it on the sideboard. "your stick, sir richard," said stickler, "permit--" "hold your tongue, stickler," said mrs twitter. the black sheep held his tongue--between his teeth,--and wished that some day he might have the opportunity of punching mrs twitter's head, without, if possible, her knowing who did it. though thus reduced to silence, he cleared his throat in a demonstratively subservient manner and awaited his opportunity. sir richard was about to apologise for the intrusion when another knock was heard at the outer door, and immediately after, the city missionary, john seaward, came in. he evidently did not expect to see company, but, after a cordial salutation to every one, said that he had called on his way to the meeting. "you are heartily welcome. come in," said mrs twitter, looking about for a chair, "come, sit beside me, mr seaward, on the stool. you'll not object to a humble seat, i know." "i am afraid," said sir richard, "that the meeting has much to answer for in the way of flooding you with unexpected guests." "oh! dear, no, sir, i love unexpected guests--the more unexpected the more i--molly, dear," (to her eldest girl), "take all the children up-stairs." mrs twitter was beginning to get confused in her excitement, but the last stroke of generalship relieved the threatened block and her anxieties at the same time. "but what of sam?" asked young welland in a low tone; "any news yet?" "none," said the poor mother, suddenly losing all her vivacity, and looking so pitifully miserable that the sympathetic di incontinently jumped off her chair, ran up to her, and threw her arms round her neck. "dear, darling child," said mrs twitter, returning the embrace with interest. "but i have brought you news," said the missionary, in a quiet voice which produced a general hush. "news!" echoed twitter with sudden vehemence. "oh! mr seaward," exclaimed the poor mother, clasping her hands and turning pale. "yes," continued seaward; "as all here seem to be friends, i may tell you that sam has been heard of at last. he has not, indeed, yet been found, but he has been seen in the company of a man well-known as a rough disorderly character, but who it seems has lately put on the blue ribbon, so we may hope that his influence over sam will be for good instead of evil." an expression of intense thankfulness escaped from the poor mother on hearing this, but the father became suddenly much excited, and plied the missionary with innumerable questions, which, however, resulted in nothing, for the good reason that nothing more was known. at this point the company were startled by another knock, and so persuaded was mrs twitter that it must be sammy himself, that she rushed out of the room, opened the door, and almost flung herself into the arms of number . "i--i--beg your pardon, mr scott, i thought that--" "no harm done, ma'am," said giles. "may i come in?" "certainly, and most welcome." when the tall constable bowed his head to pass under the ridiculously small doorway, and stood erect in the still more ridiculously small parlour, it seemed as though the last point of capacity had been touched, and the walls of the room must infallibly burst out. but they did not! probably the house had been built before domiciles warranted to last twenty years had come into fashion. "you have found him!" exclaimed mrs twitter, clasping her hands and looking up in giles's calm countenance with tearful eyes. "yes, ma'am, i am happy to tell you that we have at last traced him. i have just left him." "and does he know you have come here? is he expecting us?" asked the poor woman breathlessly. "oh! dear, no, ma'am, i rather think that if he knew i had come here, he would not await my return, for the young gentleman does not seem quite willing to come home. indeed he is not quite fit; excuse me." "how d'you know he's not willing?" demanded mr twitter, who felt a rising disposition to stand up for sammy. "because i heard him say so, sir. i went into the place where he was, to look for some people who are wanted, and saw your son sitting with a well-known rough of the name of north, who has become a changed man, however, and has put on the blue ribbon. i knew north well, and recognised your son at once. north seemed to have been trying to persuade your boy to return," ("bless him! bless him!" from mrs twitter), "for i heard him say as i passed--`oh! no, no, no, i can _never_ return home!'" "where is he? take me to him at once. my bonnet and shawl, molly!" "pardon me, ma'am," said giles. "it is not a very fit place for a lady--though there are _some_ ladies who go to low lodging-houses regularly to preach; but unless you go for that purpose it--" "yes, my dear, it would be quite out of place," interposed twitter. "come, it is _my_ duty to go to this place. can you lead me to it, mr scott?" "oh! and i should like to go too--so much, so _very_ much!" it was little di who spoke, but her father said that the idea was preposterous. "pardon me, sir richard," said mr seaward, "this happens to be my night for preaching in the common lodging-house where mr scott says poor sam is staying. if you choose to accompany me, there is nothing to prevent your little daughter going. of course it would be as well that no one whom the boy might recognise should accompany us, but his father might go and stand at the door outside, while the owner of the lodging might be directed to tell sam that some one wishes to see him." "your plan is pretty good, but i will arrange my plans myself," said mr twitter, who suddenly roused himself to action with a degree of vigour that carried all before it. "go and do your own part, mr seaward. give no directions to the proprietor of the lodging, and leave sammy to me. i will have a cab ready for him, and his mother in the cab waiting, with a suit of his own clothes. are you ready?" "quite ready," said the missionary, amused as well as interested by the good man's sudden display of resolution. mrs twitter, also, was reduced to silence by surprise, as well as by submission. sir richard agreed to go and take di with him, if giles promised to hold himself in readiness within call. "you see," he said, "i have been in similar places before now, but--not with my little child!" as for loper, larrabel, crackaby, stickler, and company--feeling that it would be improper to remain after the host and hostess were gone; that it would be equally wrong to offer to go with them, and quite inappropriate to witness the home-coming,--they took themselves off, but each resolved to flutter unseen in the neighbourhood until he, or she, could make quite sure that the prodigal had returned. it was to one of the lowest of the common lodging-houses that sam twitter the younger had resorted on the night he had been discovered by number . that day he had earned sixpence by carrying a carpet bag to a railway station. one penny he laid out in bread, one penny in cheese. with the remaining fourpence he could purchase the right to sit in the lodging-house kitchen, and to sleep in a bed in a room with thirty or forty homeless ones like himself. on his way to this abode of the destitute, he was overtaken by a huge man with a little bit of blue ribbon in his button-hole. "hallo! young feller," exclaimed the man, "you're the chap that was livin' wi' ned frog the night i called to see 'im--eh! sam twitter, ain't you?" "yes," said young sam, blushing scarlet with alarm at the abruptness of the question. "yes, i am. t-twitter _is_ my name. you're the man that gave him the bible, are you not, whom he turned out of his house for tryin' to speak to him about his soul?" "the same, young feller. that's me, an' reggie north is my name. he'd 'ave 'ad some trouble to turn me out _once_, though, but i've given up quarrellin' and fightin' now, havin' enlisted under the banner of the prince of peace," replied the man, who was none other than our bible-salesman, the man who contributed the memorable speech--"bah!" and "pooh!" at the gospel-temperance meeting. "where are you going?" sam, who never could withhold information or retain a secret if asked suddenly, gave the name of the common lodging-house to which he was bound. "well, i'm going there too, so come along." sam could not choose but go with the man. he would rather have been alone, but could not shake him off. entering, they sat down at a table together near the kitchen fire, and north, pulling out of his pocket a small loaf, cut it in two and offered sam half. several men were disputing in the box or compartment next to them, and as they made a great noise, attracting the attention of all around, north and his friend sam were enabled the more easily to hold confidential talk unnoticed, by putting their heads together and chatting low as they ate their frugal meal. "what made you leave ned?" asked north. "how did you know i'd left him?" "why, because if you was still with him you wouldn't be here!" this was so obvious that sam smiled; but it was a sad apology for a smile. "i left him, because he constantly offered me beer, and i've got such an awful desire for beer now, somehow, that i can't resist it, so i came away. and there's no chance of any one offering me beer in this place." "not much," said north, with a grin. "but, young feller," (and there was something earnestly kind in the man's manner here), "if you feel an _awful_ desire for drink, you'd better put on this." he touched his bit of blue ribbon. "no use," returned sam, sorrowfully, "i once put it on, and--and--i've broke the pledge." "that's bad, no doubt; but what then?" returned north; "are we never to tell the truth any more 'cause once we told a lie? are we never to give up swearin' 'cause once we uttered a curse? the lord is able to save us, no matter how much we may have sinned. why, sin is the very thing he saves us from--if we'll only come to him." sam shook his head, but the manner of the man had attracted him, and eventually he told all his story to him. reggie north listened earnestly, but the noise of the disputants in the next box was so great that they rose, intending to go to a quieter part of the large room. the words they heard at the moment, however, arrested them. the speaker was, for such a place, a comparatively well-dressed man, and wore a top-coat. he was discoursing on poverty and its causes. "it is nothing more nor less," he said, with emphasis, "than the absence of equality that produces so much poverty." "hear! hear!" cried several voices, mingled with which, however, were the scoffing laughs of several men who knew too well and bitterly that the cause of their poverty was not the absence of equality, but, drink with improvidence. "what right," asked the man, somewhat indignantly, "what right has sir crossly cowel, for instance, the great capitalist, to his millions that 'e don't know what to do with, when we're starvin'?" (hear!) "he didn't earn these millions; they was left to 'im by his father, an' _he_ didn't earn 'em, nor did his grandfather, or his great-grandfather, and so, back an' back to the time of the robber who came over with william--the greatest robber of all--an' stole the money, or cattle, from our forefathers." (hear! hear!) "an' what right has lord lorrumdoddy to the thousands of acres of land he's got?" (`ha! you may say that!' from an outrageously miserable-looking man, who seemed too wretched to think, and only spoke for a species of pastime.) "what right has he, i say, to his lands? the ministers of religion, too, are to be blamed, for they toady the rich and uphold the unjust system. my friends, it is these rich capitalists and landowners who oppress the people. what right have they, i ask again, to their wealth, when the inmates of this house, and thousands of others, are ill-fed and in rags? if i had my way," (_hear_! hear! and a laugh), "i would distribute the wealth of the country, and have no poor people at all such as i see before me--such as this poor fellow," (laying his hand on the shoulder of the outrageously miserable man, who said `just so' feebly, but seemed to shrink from his touch). "do i not speak the truth?" he added, looking round with the air of a man who feels that he carries his audience with him. "well, mister, i ain't just quite clear about that," said reggie north, rising up and looking over the heads of those in front of him. there was an immediate and complete silence, for north had both a voice and a face fitted to command attention. "i'm not a learned man, you see, an' hain't studied the subjec', but isn't there a line in the bible which says, `blessed are they that consider the poor?' now it do seem to me that if we was all equally rich, there would be no poor to consider, an' no rich to consider 'em!" there was a considerable guffaw at this, and the argumentative man was about to reply, but north checked him with-- "'old on, sir, i ain't done yet. you said that sir cowley cross--" "crossly cowel," cried his opponent, correcting. "i ax your pardon; sir crossly cowel--that 'e 'ad no right to 'is millions, 'cause 'e didn't earn 'em, and because 'is father left 'em to 'im. now, i 'ad a grandmother with one eye, poor thing--but of coorse that's nothin' to do wi' the argiment--an' she was left a fi' pun note by 'er father as 'ad a game leg--though that's nothin' to do wi' the argiment neither. now, what puzzles me is, that if sir cow--cross--" a great shout of laughter interrupted north here, for he looked so innocently stupid, that most of the audience saw he was making game of the social reformer. "what puzzles me is," continued north, "that if sir crossly cowel 'as no right to 'is millions, my old grandmother 'ad no right to 'er fi' pun note!" ("hear, hear," and applause.) "i don't know nothin' about that there big thief willum you mentioned, nor yet lord lorrumdoddy, not bein' 'ighly connected, you see, mates, but no doubt this gentleman believes in 'is principles--" "of course i does," said the social reformer indignantly. "well, then," resumed north, suddenly throwing off his sheepish look and sternly gazing at the reformer while he pointed to the outrageously miserable man, who had neither coat, vest, shoes, nor socks, "do you see that man? if you are in earnest, take off your coat and give it to him. what right have you to two coats when he has none?" the reformer looked surprised, and the proposal was received with loud laughter; all the more that he seemed so little to relish the idea of parting with one of his coats in order to prove the justice of his principles, and his own sincerity. to give his argument more force, reggie north took a sixpence from his pocket and held it up. "see here, mates, when i came to this house i said to myself, `the lord 'as given me success to-day in sellin' his word,'--you know, some of you, that i'm a seller of bibles and testaments?" "ay, ay, old boy. _we_ know you," said several voices. "and i wasn't always that," added north. "_that's_ true, anyhow," said a voice with a laugh. "well. for what i was, i might thank drink and a sinful heart. for what i am i thank the lord. but, as i was goin' to say, i came here intendin' to give this sixpence--it ain't much, but it's all i can spare--to some poor feller in distress, for i practise what i preach, and i meant to do it in a quiet way. but it seems to me that, seein' what's turned up, i'll do more good by givin' it in a public way--so, there it is, old man," and he put the sixpence on the table in front of the outrageously miserable man, who could hardly believe his eyes. the change to an outrageously jovial man, with the marks of misery still strong upon him, was worthy of a pantomime, and spoke volumes; for, small though the sum might seem to sir crossly cowel, or lord lorrumdoddy, it represented a full instead of an empty stomach and a peaceful instead of a miserable night to one wreck of humanity. the poor man swept the little coin into his pocket and rose in haste with a "thank 'ee," to go out and invest it at once, but was checked by north. "stop, stop, my fine fellow! not quite so fast. if you'll wait till i've finished my little business here, i'll take you to where you'll get some warm grub for nothin', and maybe an old coat too." encouraged by such brilliant prospects, the now jovially-miserable man sat down and waited while north and sam went to a more retired spot near the door, where they resumed the confidential talk that had been interrupted. "the first thing you must do, my boy," said north, kindly, "is to return to your father's 'ouse; an' that advice cuts two ways--'eaven-ward an' earth-ward." "oh! no, no, _no_, i can never return home," replied sam, hurriedly, and thinking only of the shame of returning in his wretched condition to his earthly father. it was at this point that the couple had come under the sharp stern eye of number , who, as we have seen, went quietly out and conveyed the information direct to the twitter family. chapter twenty four. the returning prodigal. for a considerable time the bible-seller plied sam with every argument he could think of in order to induce him to return home, and he was still in the middle of his effort when the door opened, and two young men of gentlemanly appearance walked in, bearing a portable harmonium between them. they were followed by one of the ladies of the beehive, who devote all their time--and, may we not add, all their hearts--to the rescue of the perishing. along with her came a tall, sweet-faced girl. she was our friend hetty frog, who, after spending her days at steady work, spent some of her night hours in labours of love. hetty was passionately fond of music, and had taught herself to play the harmonium sufficiently to accompany simple hymns. after her came the missionary, whose kind face was familiar to most of the homeless ones there. they greeted him with good-natured familiarity, but some of their faces assumed a somewhat vinegar aspect when the tall form of sir richard brandon followed seaward. "a bloated haristocrat!" growled one of the men. "got a smart little darter, anyhow," remarked another, as di, holding tight to her father's hand, glanced from side to side with looks of mingled pity and alarm. for poor little di had a not uncommon habit of investing everything in _couleur de rose_, and the stern reality which met her had not the slightest tinge of that colour. di had pictured to herself clean rags and picturesque poverty. the reality was dirty rags and disgusting poverty. she had imagined sorrowful faces. had she noted them when the missionary passed, she might indeed have seen kindly looks; but when her father passed there were only scowling faces, nearly all of which were unshaven and dirty. di had not thought at all of stubbly beards or dirt! neither had she thought of smells, or of stifling heat that it was not easy to bear. altogether poor little di was taken down from a height on that occasion to which she never again attained, because it was a false height. in after years she reached one of the true heights--which was out of sight higher than the false one! there was something very businesslike in these missionaries, for there was nothing of the simply amateur in their work--like the visit of di and her father. they were familiar with the east-end mines; knew where splendid gems and rich gold were to be found, and went about digging with the steady persistence of the labourer, coupled, however, with the fire of the enthusiast. they carried the harmonium promptly to the most conspicuous part of the room, planted it there, opened it, placed a stool in front of it, and one of the brightest diamonds from that mine--in the person of hetty frog--sat down before it. simply, and in sweet silvery tones, she sang--"come to the saviour." the others joined--even sir richard brandon made an attempt to sing--as he had done on a previous occasion, but without much success, musically speaking. meanwhile, john seaward turned up the passage from which he had prepared to speak that evening. and so eloquent with nature's simplicity was the missionary, that the party soon forgot all about the twitters while the comforting gospel was being urged upon the unhappy creatures around. but _we_ must not forget the twitters. they are our text and sermon just now! young sam twitter had risen with the intention of going out when the missionary entered, for words of truth only cut him to the heart. but his companion whispered him to wait a bit. soon his attention was riveted. while he sat there spell-bound, a shabby-genteel man entered and sat down beside him. he wore a broad wide-awake, very much slouched over his face, and a coat which had once been fine, but now bore marks of having been severely handled--as if recently rubbed by a drunken wearer on whitewashed and dirty places. the man's hands were not so dirty, however, as one might have expected from his general appearance, and they trembled much. on one of his fingers was a gold ring. this incongruity was lost on sam, who was too much absorbed to care for the new comer, and did not even notice that he pushed somewhat needlessly close to him. these things were not, however, lost on reggie north, who regarded the man with some surprise, not unmixed with suspicion. when, after a short time, however, this man laid his hand gently on that of sam and held it, the boy could no longer neglect his eccentricities. he naturally made an effort to pull the hand away, but the stranger held it fast. having his mind by that time entirely detached from the discourse of the missionary, sam looked at the stranger in surprise, but could not see his face because of the disreputable wide-awake which he wore. but great was his astonishment, not to say alarm, when he felt two or three warm tears drop on his hand. again he tried to pull it away, but the strange man held it tighter. still further, he bent his head over it and kissed it. a strange unaccountable thrill ran through the boy's frame. he stooped, looked under the brim of the hat, and beheld his father! "sammy--dear, dear sammy," whispered the man, in a husky voice. but sammy could not reply. he was thunderstruck. neither could his father speak, for he was choking. but reggie north had heard enough. he was quick-witted, and at once guessed the situation. "now then, old gen'lm'n," he whispered, "don't you go an' make a fuss, if you're wise. go out as quiet as you came in, an' leave this young 'un to me. it's all right. i'm on _your_ side." samuel twitter senior was impressed with the honesty of the man's manner, and the wisdom of his advice. letting go the hand, after a parting squeeze, he rose up and left the room. two minutes later, north and sammy followed. they found the old father outside, who again grasped his son's hand with the words, "sammy, my boy--dear sammy;" but he never got further than that. number was there too. "you'll find the cab at the end of the street, sir," he said, and next moment sammy found himself borne along--not unwillingly--by north and his father. a cab door was opened. a female form was seen with outstretched arms. "mother!" "sammy--darling--" the returning prodigal disappeared into the cab. mr twitter turned round. "thank you. god bless you, whoever you are," he said, fumbling in his vest pocket; having forgotten that he represented an abject beggar, and had no money there. "no thanks to me, sir. look higher," said the bible-seller, thrusting the old gentleman almost forcibly into the vehicle. "now then, cabby, drive on." the cabby obeyed. having already received his instructions he did not drive home. where he drove to is a matter of small consequence. it was to an unknown house, and a perfect stranger to sammy opened the door. mrs twitter remained in the cab while sammy and his father entered the house, the latter carrying a bundle in his hand. they were shown into what the boy must have considered--if he considered anything at all just then--a preposterously small room. the lady of the house evidently expected them, for she said, "the bath is quite ready, sir." "now, sammy,--dear boy," said mr twitter, "off with your rags--and g-git into that b-bath." obviously mr twitter did not speak with ease. in truth it was all he could do to contain himself, and he felt that his only chance of bearing up was to say nothing more than was absolutely necessary in short ejaculatory phrases. sammy was deeply touched, and began to wash his dirty face with a few quiet tears before taking his bath. "now then, sammy--look sharp! you didn't use--to--be--so--slow! eh?" "no, father. i suppose it--it--is want of habit. i haven't undressed much of late." this very nearly upset poor mr twitter. he made no reply, but assisted his son to disrobe with a degree of awkwardness that tended to delay progress. "it--it's not too hot--eh?" "oh! no, father. it's--it's--v-very nice." "go at it with a will, sammy. head and all, my boy--down with it. and don't spare the soap. lots of soap here, sammy--no end of soap!" the truth of which mr twitter proceeded to illustrate by covering his son with a lather that caused him quickly to resemble whipped cream. "oh! hold on, father, it's getting into my eyes." "my boy--dear sammy--forgive me. i didn't quite know what i was doing. never mind. down you go again, sammy--head and all. that's it. now, that's enough; out you come." "oh! father," said the poor boy, while invisible tears trickled over his wet face, as he stepped out of the bath, "it's so good of you to forgive me so freely." "forgive you, my son! forgive! why, i'd--i'd--" he could say no more, but suddenly clasped sammy to his heart, thereby rendering his face and person soap-suddy and wet to a ridiculous extent. unclasping his arms and stepping back, he looked down at himself. "you dirty boy! what d'you mean by it?" "it's your own fault, daddy," replied sam, with a hysterical laugh, as he enveloped himself in a towel. a knock at the bath-room door here produced dead silence. "please, sir," said a female voice, "the lady in the cab sends to say that she's gettin' impatient." "tell the lady in the cab to drive about and take an airing for ten minutes," replied mr twitter with reckless hilarity. "yes, sir." "now, my boy, here's your toggery," said the irrepressible father, hovering round his recovered son like a moth round a candle--"your best suit, sammy; the one you used to wear only on sundays, you extravagant fellow." sammy put it on with some difficulty from want of practice, and, after combing out and brushing his hair, he presented such a changed appearance that none of his late companions could have recognised him. his father, after fastening up his coat with every button in its wrong hole, and causing as much delay as possible by assisting him to dress, finally hustled him down-stairs and into the cab, where he was immediately re-enveloped by mrs twitter. he was not permitted to see any one that night, but was taken straight to his room, where his mother comforted, prayed with, fed and fondled him, and then allowed him to go to bed. next morning early--before breakfast--mrs twitter assembled all the little twitters, and put them on chairs in a row--according to order, for mrs twitter's mind was orderly in a remarkable degree. they ranged from right to left thus:-- molly, willie, fred, lucy, and alice--with alice's doll on a doll's chair at the left flank of the line. "now children," said mrs twitter, sitting down in front of the row with an aspect so solemn that they all immediately made their mouths very small and their eyes very large--in which respect they brought themselves into wonderful correspondence with alice's doll. "now children, your dear brother sammy has come home." "oh! how nice! where has he been? what has he seen? why has he been away so long? how jolly!" were the various expressions with which the news was received. "silence." the stillness that followed was almost oppressive, for the little twitters had been trained to prompt obedience. to say truth they had not been difficult to train, for they were all essentially mild. "now, remember, when he comes down to breakfast you are to take no notice whatever of his having been away--no notice at all." "are we not even to say good-morning or kiss him, mamma?" asked little alice with a look of wonder. "dear child, you do not understand me. we are all charmed to see sammy back, and so thankful--so glad--that he has come, and we will kiss him and say whatever we please to him _except_," (here she cast an awful eye along the line and dropped her voice), "_except_ ask him _where--he-- has--been_." "mayn't we ask him how he liked it, mamma?" said alice. "liked what, child?" "where he has been, mamma." "no, not a word about where he has been; only that we are so glad, so very glad, to see him back." fred, who had an argumentative turn of mind, thought that this would be a rather demonstrative though indirect recognition of the fact that sammy had been _somewhere_ that was wrong, but, having been trained to unquestioning obedience, fred said nothing. "now, dolly," whispered little alice, bending down, "'member dat--you're so glad sammy's come back; mustn't say more--not a word more." "it is enough for you to know, my darlings," continued mrs twitter, "that sammy has been wandering and has come back." "listen, dolly, you hear? sammy's been wandering an' come back. dat's 'nuff for you." "you see, dears," continued mrs twitter, with a slightly perplexed look, caused by her desire to save poor sammy's feelings, and her anxiety to steer clear of the slightest approach to deception, "you see, sammy has been long away, and has been very tired, and won't like to be troubled with too many questions at breakfast, you know, so i want you all to talk a good deal about anything you like--your lessons,--for instance, when he comes down." "before we say good-morning, mamma, or after?" asked alice, who was extremely conscientious. "darling child," exclaimed the perplexed mother, "you'll never take it in. what i want to impress on you is--" she stopped, suddenly, and what it was she meant to impress we shall never more clearly know, for at that moment the foot of sammy himself was heard on the stair. "now, mind, children, not a word--not--a--word!" the almost preternatural solemnity induced by this injunction was at once put to flight by sammy, at whom the whole family flew with one accord and a united shriek--pulling him down on a chair and embracing him almost to extinction. fortunately for sammy, and his anxious mother, that which the most earnest desire to obey orders would have failed to accomplish was brought about by the native selfishness of poor humanity, for, the first burst of welcome over, alice began an elaborate account of her dolly's recent proceedings, which seemed to consist of knocking her head against articles of furniture, punching out her own eyes and flattening her own nose; while fred talked of his latest efforts in shipbuilding; willie of his hopes in regard to soldiering, and lucy of her attempts to draw and paint. mr and mrs twitter contented themselves with gazing on sammy's somewhat worn face, and lying in watch, so that, when alice or any of the young members of the flock seemed about to stray on the forbidden ground, they should be ready to descend, like two wolves on the fold, remorselessly change the subject of conversation, and carry all before them. thus tenderly was that prodigal son received back to his father's house. chapter twenty five. canada again--and surprising news. it is most refreshing to those who have been long cooped up in a city to fly on the wings of steam to the country and take refuge among the scents of flowers and fields and trees. we have said this, or something like it, before, and remorselessly repeat it--for it is a grand truism. let us then indulge ourselves a little with a glance at the farm of brankly in canada. lake ontario, with its expanse of boundless blue, rolls like an ocean in the far distance. we can see it from the hill-top where the sweet-smelling red-pines grow. at the bottom of the hill lies brankly itself, with its orchards and homestead and fields of golden grain, and its little river, with the little saw-mill going as pertinaciously as if it, like the river, had resolved to go on for ever. cattle are there, sheep are there, horses and wagons are there, wealth and prosperity are there, above all happiness is there, because there also dwells the love of god. it is a good many years, reader, since you and i were last here. then, the farm buildings and fences were brand-new. now, although of course not old, they bear decided traces of exposure to the weather. but these marks only give compactness of look and unity of tone to everything, improving the appearance of the place vastly. the fences, which at first looked blank and staring, as if wondering how they had got there, are now more in harmony with the fields they enclose. the plants which at first struggled as if unwillingly on the dwelling-house, now cling to it and climb about it with the affectionate embrace of old friends. everything is improved--well, no, not everything. mr merryboy's legs have not improved. they will not move as actively as they were wont to do. they will not go so far, and they demand the assistance of a stick. but mr merryboy's spirit has improved--though it was pretty good before, and his tendency to universal philanthropy has increased to such an extent that the people of the district have got into a way of sending their bad men and boys to work on his farm in order that they may become good! mrs merryboy, however, has improved in every way, and is more blooming than ever, as well as a trifle stouter, but mrs merryboy senior, although advanced spiritually, has degenerated a little physically. the few teeth that kept her nose and chin apart having disappeared, her mouth has also vanished, though there is a decided mark which tells where it was--especially when she speaks or smiles. the hair on her forehead has become as pure white as the winter snows of canada. wrinkles on her visage have become the rule, not the exception, but as they all run into comical twists, and play in the forms of humour, they may, perhaps, be regarded as a physical improvement. she is stone deaf now, but this also may be put to the credit side of her account, for it has rendered needless those awkward efforts to speak loud and painful attempts to hear which used to trouble the family in days gone by. it is quite clear, however, when you look into granny's coal-black eyes, that if she were to live to the age of methuselah she will never be blind, nor ill-natured, nor less pleased with herself, her surroundings, and the whole order of things created! but who are these that sit so gravely and busily engaged with breakfast as though they had not the prospect of another meal that year? two young men and a young girl. one young man is broad and powerful though short, with an incipient moustache and a fluff of whisker. the other is rather tall, slim, and gentlemanly, and still beardless. the girl is little, neat, well-made, at the budding period of life, brown-haired, brown-eyed, round, soft--just such a creature as one feels disposed to pat on the head and say, "my little pet!" why, these are two "waifs" and a "stray!" don't you know them? look again. is not the stout fellow our friend bobby frog, the slim one tim lumpy, and the girl martha mild? but who, in all london, would believe that these were children who had bean picked out of the gutter? nobody--except those good samaritans who had helped to pick them up, and who could show you the photographs of what they once were and what they now are. mr merryboy, although changed a little as regards legs, was not in the least deteriorated as to lungs. as granny, mrs merryboy, and the young people sat at breakfast he was heard at an immense distance off, gradually making his way towards the house. "something seems to be wrong with father this morning, i think," said mrs merryboy, junior, listening. granny, observing the action, pretended to listen, and smiled. "he's either unusually jolly or unusually savage--a little more tea, mother," said tim lumpy, pushing in his cup. tim, being father-and-motherless, called mr merryboy father and the wife mother. so did martha, but bobby frog, remembering those whom he had left at home, loyally declined, though he did not object to call the elder mrs merryboy granny. "something for good or evil must have happened," said bobby, laying down his knife and fork as the growling sound drew nearer. at last the door flew open and the storm burst in. and we may remark that mr merryboy's stormy nature was, if possible, a little more obtrusive than it used to be, for whereas in former days his toes and heels did most of the rattling-thunder business, the stick now came into play as a prominent creator of din--not only when flourished by hand, but often on its own account and unexpectedly, when propped clumsily in awkward places. "hallo! good people all, how are 'ee? morning--morning. boys, d'ee know that the saw-mill's come to grief?" "no, are you in earnest, father?" cried tim, jumping up. "in earnest! of course i am. pretty engineers you are. sawed its own bed in two, or burst itself. don't know which, and what's more i don't care. come, martha, my bantam chicken, let's have a cup of tea. bother that stick, it can't keep its legs much better than myself. how are you, mother? glorious weather, isn't it?" mr merryboy ignored deafness. he continued to speak to his mother just as though she heard him. and she continued to nod and smile, and make-believe to hear with more demonstration of face and cap than ever. after all, her total loss of hearing made little difference, her sentiments being what bobby frog in his early days would have described in the words, "wot's the hodds so long as you're 'appy?" but bobby had now ceased to drop or misapply his aitches--though he still had some trouble with his r's. as he was chief engineer of the saw-mill, having turned out quite a mechanical genius, he ran down to the scene of disaster with much concern on hearing the old gentleman's report. and, truly, when he and tim reached the picturesque spot where, at the water's edge among fine trees and shrubs, the mill stood clearly reflected in its own dam, they found that the mischief done was considerable. the machinery, by which the frame with its log to be sawn was moved along quarter-inch by quarter-inch at each stroke, was indeed all right, but it had not been made self-regulating. the result was that, on one of the attendant workmen omitting to do his duty, the saw not only ripped off a beautiful plank from a log, but continued to cross-cut the end of the heavy framework, and then proceeded to cut the iron which held the log in its place. the result, of course, was that the iron refused to be cut, and savagely revenged itself by scraping off, flattening down, turning up, and otherwise damaging, the teeth of the saw! "h'm! that comes of haste," muttered bob, as he surveyed the wreck. "if i had taken time to make the whole affair complete before setting the mill to work, this would not have happened." "never mind, bob, we must learn by experience, you know," said tim, examining the damage done with a critical eye. "luckily, we have a spare saw in the store." "run and fetch it," said bob to the man in charge of the mill, whose carelessness had caused the damage, and who stared silently at his work with a look of horrified resignation. when he was gone bob and tim threw off their coats, rolled up their sleeves to the shoulder, and set to work with a degree of promptitude and skill which proved them to be both earnest and capable workmen. the first thing to be done was to detach the damaged saw from its frame. "there," said bob, as he flung it down, "you won't use your teeth again on the wrong subject for some time to come. have we dry timber heavy enough to mend the frame, tim?" "plenty--more than we want." "well, you go to work on it while i fix up the new saw." to work the two went accordingly--adjusting, screwing, squaring, sawing, planing, mortising, until the dinner-bell called them to the house. "so soon!" exclaimed bob; "dinner is a great bother when a man is very busy." "d'ye think so, bob? well, now, i look on it as a great comfort-- specially when you're hungry." "ah! but that's because you are greedy, tim. you always were too fond o' your grub." "come, bob, no slang. you know that mother doesn't like it. by the way, talkin' of mothers, is it on wednesday or thursday that you expect _your_ mother?" "thursday, my boy," replied bob, with a bright look. "ha! that _will_ be a day for me!" "so it will, bob, i'm glad for your sake," returned tim with a sigh, which was a very unusual expression of feeling for him. his friend at once understood its significance. "tim, my boy, i'm sorry for you. i wish i could split my mother in two and give you half of her." "yes," said tim, somewhat absently, "it is sad to have not one soul in the world related to you." "but there are many who care for you as much as if they were relations," said bob, taking his friend's arm as they approached the house. "come along, come along, youngsters," shouted mr merryboy from the window, "the dinner's gettin' cold, and granny's gettin' in a passion. look sharp. if you knew what news i have for you you'd look sharper." "what news, sir?" asked bob, as they sat down to a table which did not exactly "groan" with viands--it was too strong for that--but which was heavily weighted therewith. "i won't tell you till after dinner--just to punish you for being late; besides, it might spoil your appetite." "but suspense is apt to spoil appetite, father, isn't it?" said tim, who, well accustomed to the old farmer's eccentricities, did not believe much in the news he professed to have in keeping. "well, then, you must just lose your appetites, for i won't tell you," said mr merryboy firmly. "it will do you good--eh! mother, won't a touch of starvation improve them, bring back the memory of old times-- eh?" the old lady, observing that her son was addressing her, shot forth such a beam of intelligence and goodwill that it was as though a gleam of sunshine had burst into the room. "i knew you'd agree with me--ha! ha! you always do, mother," cried the farmer, flinging his handkerchief at a small kitten which was sporting on the floor and went into fits of delight at the attention. after dinner the young men were about to return to their saw-mill when mr merryboy called them back. "what would you say, boys, to hear that sir richard brandon, with a troop of emigrants, is going to settle somewhere in canada?" "i would think he'd gone mad, sir, or changed his nature," responded bob. "well, as to whether he's gone mad or not i can't tell--he may have changed his nature, who knows? that's not beyond the bounds of possibility. anyway, he is coming. i've got a letter from a friend of mine in london who says he read it in the papers. but perhaps you may learn more about it in _that_." he tossed a letter to bob, who eagerly seized it. "from sister hetty," he cried, and tore it open. the complete unity and unanimity of this family was well illustrated by the fact, that bob began to read the letter aloud without asking leave and without apology. "dearest bob," it ran, "you will get this letter only a mail before our arrival. i had not meant to write again, but cannot resist doing so, to give you the earliest news about it. sir richard has changed his mind! you know, in my last, i told you he had helped to assist several poor families from this quarter--as well as mother and me, and matty. he is a real friend to the poor, for he doesn't merely fling coppers and old clothes at them, but takes trouble to find out about them, and helps them in the way that seems best for each. it's all owing to that sweet miss di, who comes so much about here that she's almost as well-known as giles scott the policeman, or our missionary. by the way, giles has been made an inspector lately, and has got no end of medals and a silver watch, and other testimonials, for bravery in saving people from fires, and canals, and cart wheels, and--he's a wonderful man is giles, and they say his son is to be taken into the force as soon as he's old enough. he's big enough and sensible enough already, and looks twice his age. after all, if he can knock people down, and take people up, and keep order, what does it matter how young he is? "but i'm wandering, i always do wander, bob, when i write to you! well, as i was saying, sir richard has changed his mind and has resolved to emigrate himself, with miss di and a whole lot of friends and work-people. he wants, as he says, to establish a colony of like-minded people, and so you may be sure that all who have fixed to go with him are followers of the lord jesus--and not ashamed to say so. as i had already taken our passages in the _amazon_ steamer--" "the _amazon_!" interrupted mr merryboy, with a shout, "why, that steamer has arrived already!" "so it has," said bob, becoming excited; "their letter must have been delayed, and they must have come by the same steamer that brought it; why, they'll be here immediately!" "perhaps to-night!" exclaimed mrs merryboy. "oh! _how_ nice!" murmured martha, her great brown eyes glittering with joy at the near prospect of seeing that hetty about whom she had heard so much. "impossible!" said tim lumpy, coming down on them all with his wet-blanket of common-sense. "they would never come on without dropping us a line from quebec, or montreal, to announce their arrival." "that's true, tim," said mr merryboy, "but you've not finished the letter, bob--go on. mother, mother, what a variety of faces you _are_ making!" this also was true, for old mrs merryboy, seeing that something unusual was occurring, had all this time been watching the various speakers with her coal-black eyes, changing aspect with their varied expressions, and wrinkling her visage up into such inexpressible contortions of sympathetic good-will, that she really could not have been more sociable if she had been in full possession and use of her five senses. "as i had already," continued bob, reading, "taken our passages in the _amazon_ steamer, sir richard thought it best that we should come on before, along with his agent, who goes to see after the land, so that we might have a good long stay with you, and dear mr and mrs merryboy, who have been so kind to you, before going on to brandon--which, i believe, is the name of the place in the backwoods where sir richard means us all to go to. i don't know exactly where it is--and i don't know anybody who does, but that's no matter. enough for mother, and matty, and me to know that it's within a few hundred miles of you, which is very different from three thousand miles of an ocean! "you'll also be glad to hear that mr twitter with all his family is to join this band. it quite puts me in mind of the story of the pilgrim fathers, that i once heard in dear mr holland's meeting hall, long ago. i wish he could come too, and all his people with him, and all the ladies from the beehive. wouldn't that be charming! but, then,--who would be left to look after london? no, it is better that they should remain at home. "poor mr twitter never quite got the better of his fire, you see, so he sold his share in his business, and is getting ready to come. his boys and girls will be a great help to him in canada, instead of a burden as they have been in london--the younger ones i mean, of course, for molly, and sammy, and willie have been helping their parents for a long time past. i don't think mrs twitter quite likes it, and i'm sure she's almost breaking her heart at the thought of leaving george yard. it is said that their friends mrs loper, mrs larrabel, stickler, and crackaby, want to join, but i rather think sir richard isn't very keen to have them. mr stephen welland is also coming. one of sir richard's friends, mr brisbane i think, got him a good situation in the mint-- that's where all the money is coined, you know--but, on hearing of this expedition to canada, he made up his mind to go there instead; so he gave up the mint--very unwillingly, however, i believe, for he wanted very much to go into the mint. now, no more at present from your loving and much hurried sister, (for i'm in the middle of packing), hetty." now, while bob frog was in the act of putting hetty's letter in his pocket, a little boy was seen on horseback, galloping up to the door. he brought a telegram addressed to "mr robert frog." it was from montreal, and ran thus: "we have arrived, and leave this on tuesday forenoon." "why, they're almost here _now_," cried bob. "harness up, my boy, and off you go--not a moment to lose!" cried mr merryboy, as bob dashed out of the room. "take the bays, bob," he added in a stentorian voice, thrusting his head out of the window, "and the biggest wagon. don't forget the rugs!" ten minutes later, and bob frog, with tim lumpy beside him, was driving the spanking pair of bays to the railway station. chapter twenty six. happy meetings. it was to the same railway station as that at which they had parted from their guardian and been handed over to mr merryboy years before that bobby frog now drove. the train was not due for half an hour. "tim," said bob after they had walked up and down the platform for about five minutes, "how slowly time seems to fly when one's in a hurry!" "doesn't it?" assented tim, "crawls like a snail." "tim," said bob, after ten minutes had elapsed, "what a difficult thing it is to wait patiently when one's anxious!" "isn't it!" assented tim, "so hard to keep from fretting and stamping." "tim," said bob, after twenty minutes had passed, "i wonder if the two or three dozen people on this platform are all as uncomfortably impatient as i am." "perhaps they are," said tim, "but certainly possessed of more power to restrain themselves." "tim," said bob, after the lapse of five-and-twenty minutes, "did you ever hear of such a long half-hour since you were born?" "never," replied the sympathetic tim, "except once long ago when i was starving, and stood for about that length of time in front of a confectioner's window till i nearly collapsed and had to run away at last for fear i should smash in the glass and feed." "tim, i'll take a look round and see that the bays are all right." "you've done that four times already, bob." "well, i'll do it five times, tim. there's luck, you know, in odd numbers." there was a sharpish curve on the line close to the station. while bob frog was away the train, being five minutes before its time, came thundering round the curve and rushed alongside the platform. bob ran back of course and stood vainly trying to see the people in each carriage as it went past. "oh! _what_ a sweet eager face!" exclaimed tim, gazing after a young girl who had thrust her head out of a first-class carriage. "let alone sweet faces, tim--this way. the third classes are all behind." by this time the train had stopped, and great was the commotion as friends and relatives met or said good-bye hurriedly, and bustled into and out of the carriages--commotion which was increased by the cheering of a fresh band of rescued waifs going to new homes in the west, and the hissing of the safety valve which took it into its head at that inconvenient moment to let off superfluous steam. some of the people rushing about on that platform and jostling each other would have been the better for safety valves! poor bobby frog was one of these. "not there!" he exclaimed despairingly, as he looked into the last carriage of the train. "impossible," said tim, "we've only missed them; walk back." they went back, looking eagerly into carriage after carriage--bob even glancing under the seats in a sort of wild hope that his mother might be hiding there, but no one resembling mrs frog was to be seen. a commotion at the front part of the train, more pronounced than the general hubbub, attracted their attention. "oh! where is he--where is he?" cried a female voice, which was followed up by the female herself, a respectable elderly woman, who went about the platform scattering people right and left in a fit of temporary insanity, "where is my bobby, where _is_ he, i say? oh! _why_ won't people git out o' my way? _git_ out o' the way," (shoving a sluggish man forcibly), "where are you, bobby? bo-o-o-o-o-by!" it was mrs frog! bob saw her, but did not move. his heart was in his throat! he _could_ not move. as he afterwards said, he was struck all of a heap, and could only stand and gaze with his hands clasped. "out o' the _way_, young man!" cried mrs frog, brushing indignantly past him, in one of her erratic bursts. "oh! bobby--where _has_ that boy gone to?" "mother!" gasped bob. "who said that?" cried mrs frog, turning round with a sharp look, as if prepared to retort "you're another" on the shortest notice. "mother!" again said bob, unclasping his hands and holding them out. mrs frog had hitherto, regardless of the well-known effect of time, kept staring at heads on the level which bobby's had reached when he left home. she now looked up with a startled expression. "can it--is it--oh! bo--" she got no further, but sprang forward and was caught and fervently clasped in the arms of her son. tim fluttered round them, blowing his nose violently though quite free from cold in the head--which complaint, indeed, is not common in those regions. hetty, who had lost her mother in the crowd, now ran forward with matty. bob saw them, let go his mother, and received one in each arm-- squeezing them both at once to his capacious bosom. mrs frog might have fallen, though that was not probable, but tim made sure of her by holding out a hand which the good woman grasped, and laid her head on his breast, quite willing to make use of him as a convenient post to lean against, while she observed the meeting of the young people with a contented smile. tim observed that meeting too, but with very different feelings, for the "sweet eager face" that he had seen in the first-class carriage belonged to hetty! long-continued love to human souls had given to her face a sweetness--and sympathy with human spirits and bodies in the depths of poverty, sorrow, and deep despair had invested it with a pitiful tenderness and refinement--which one looks for more naturally among the innocent in the higher ranks of life. poor tim gazed unutterably, and his heart went on in such a way that even mrs frog's attention was arrested. looking up, she asked if he was took bad. "oh! dear no. by no means," said tim, quickly. "you're tremblin' so," she returned, "an' it ain't cold--but your colour's all right. i suppose it's the natur' o' you canadians. but only to think that my bobby," she added, quitting her leaning-post, and again seizing her son, "that my bobby should 'ave grow'd up, an' his poor mother knowed nothink about it! i can't believe my eyes--it ain't like bobby a bit, yet some'ow i _know_ it's 'im! why, you've grow'd into a gentleman, you 'ave." "and you have grown into a flatterer," said bob, with a laugh. "but come, mother, this way; i've brought the wagon for you. look after the luggage, tim--oh! i forgot. this is tim, hetty--tim lumpy. you remember, you used to see us playing together when we were city arabs." hetty looked at tim, and, remembering bobby's strong love for jesting, did not believe him. she smiled, however, and bowed to the tall good-looking youth, who seemed unaccountably shy and confused as he went off to look after the luggage. "here is the wagon; come along," said bob, leading his mother out of the station. "the waggin, boy; i don't see no waggin." "why, there, with the pair of bay horses." "you don't mean the carridge by the fence, do you?" "well, yes, only we call them wagons here." "an' you calls the 'osses _bay_ 'osses, do you?" "well now, _i_ would call 'em beautiful 'osses, but i suppose bay means the same thing here. you've got strange ways in canada." "yes, mother, and pleasant ways too, as i hope you shall find out ere long. get in, now. take care! now then, hetty--come, matty. how difficult to believe that such a strapping young thing can be the squalling matty i left in london!" matty laughed as she got in, by way of reply, for she did not yet quite believe in her big brother. "do you drive, tim; i'll stay inside," said bob. in another moment the spanking bays were whirling the wagon over the road to brankly farm at the rate of ten miles an hour. need it be said that the amiable merryboys did not fail of their duty on that occasion? that hetty and matty took violently to brown-eyed martha at first sight, having heard all about her from bob long ago--as she of them; that mrs merryboy was, we may say, one glowing beam of hospitality; that mrs frog was, so to speak, one blazing personification of amazement, which threatened to become chronic--there was so much that was contrary to previous experience and she was so slow to take it in; that mr merryboy became noisier than ever, and that, what between his stick and his legs, to say nothing of his voice, he managed to create in one day hubbub enough to last ten families for a fortnight; that the domestics and the dogs were sympathetically joyful; that even the kitten gave unmistakeable evidences of unusual hilarity-- though some attributed the effect to surreptitiously-obtained cream; and, finally, that old granny became something like a chinese image in the matter of nodding and gazing and smirking and wrinkling, so that there seemed some danger of her terminating her career in a gush of universal philanthropy--need all this be said, we ask? we think not; therefore we won't say it. but it was not till bob frog got his mother all to himself, under the trees, near the waterfall, down by the river that drove the still unmended saw-mill, that they had real and satisfactory communion. it would have been interesting to have listened to these two--with memories and sympathies and feelings towards the saviour of sinners so closely intertwined, yet with knowledge and intellectual powers in many respects so far apart. but we may not intrude too closely. towards the end of their walk, bob touched on a subject which had been uppermost in the minds of both all the time, but from which they had shrunk equally, the one being afraid to ask, the other disinclined to tell. "mother," said bob, at last, "what about father?" "ah! bobby," replied mrs frog, beginning to weep, gently, "i know'd ye would come to that--you was always so fond of 'im, an' he was so fond o' you too, indeed--" "i know it, mother," interrupted bob, "but have you never heard of him?" "never. i might 'ave, p'r'aps, if he'd bin took an' tried under his own name, but you know he had so many aliases, an' the old 'ouse we used to live in we was obliged to quit, so p'r'aps he tried to find us and couldn't." "may god help him--dear father!" said the son in a low sad voice. "i'd never 'ave left 'im, bobby, if he 'adn't left me. you know that. an' if i thought he was alive and know'd w'ere he was, i'd go back to 'im yet, but--" the subject was dropped here, for the new mill came suddenly into view, and bob was glad to draw his mother's attention to it. "see, we were mending that just before we got the news you were so near us. come, i'll show it to you. tim lumpy and i made it all by ourselves, and i think you'll call it a first-class article. by the way, how came you to travel first-class?" "oh! that's all along of sir richard brandon. he's sitch a liberal gentleman, an' said that as it was by his advice we were goin' to canada, he would pay our expenses; and he's so grand that he never remembered there was any other class but first, when he took the tickets, an' when he was show'd what he'd done he laughed an' said he wouldn't alter it, an' we must go all the way first-class. he's a strange man, but a good 'un!" by this time they had reached the platform of the damaged saw-mill, and bob pointed out, with elaborate care, the details of the mill in all its minute particulars, commenting specially on the fact that most of the telling improvements on it were due to the fertile brain and inventive genius of tim lumpy. he also explained the different kinds of saws--the ripping saw, and the cross-cut saw, and the circular saw, and the eccentric saw--just as if his mother were an embryo mill-wright, for he _felt_ that she took a deep interest in it all, and mrs frog listened with the profound attention of a civil engineer, and remarked on everything with such comments as--oh! indeed! ah! well now! ain't it wonderful? amazin'! an' you made it all too! oh! bobby!--and other more or less appropriate phrases. on quitting the mill to return to the house they saw a couple of figures walking down another avenue, so absorbed in conversation that they did not at first observe bob and his mother, or take note of the fact that matty, being a bouncing girl, had gone after butterflies or some such child-alluring insects. it was tim lumpy and hetty frog. and no wonder that they were absorbed, for was not their conversation on subjects of the profoundest interest to both?--george yard, whitechapel, commercial street, spitalfields, and the sailor's home, and the rests, and all the other agencies for rescuing poor souls in monstrous london, and the teachers and school companions whom they had known there and never could forget! no wonder, we say, that these two were absorbed while comparing notes, and still less wonder that they were even more deeply absorbed when they got upon the theme of bobby frog--so much loved, nay, almost worshipped, by both. at last they observed mrs frog's scarlet shawl--which was very conspicuous--and her son, and tried to look unconscious, and wondered with quite needless surprise where matty could have gone to. bobby frog, being a sharp youth, noted these things, but made no comment to any one, for the air of canada had, somehow, invested this waif with wonderful delicacy of feeling. although bob and his mother left off talking of ned frog somewhat abruptly, as well as sorrowfully, it does not follow that we are bound to do the same. on the contrary, we now ask the reader to leave brankly farm rather abruptly, and return to london for the purpose of paying ned a visit. chapter twenty seven. a strange visit and its results. edward frog, bird-fancier, pugilist, etcetera, (and the etcetera represents an unknown quantity), has changed somewhat like the rest, for a few years have thinned the short-cropped though once curly locks above his knotted forehead, besides sprinkling them with grey. but in other respects he has not fallen off--nay he has rather improved, owing to the peculiar system of diet and discipline and regularity of life to which, during these years, he has been subjected. when ned returned from what we may style his outing, he went straight to the old court with something like a feeling of anxiety in his heart, but found the old home deserted and the old door, which still bore deep marks of his knuckle, on the upper panels and his boots on the lower, was padlocked. he inquired for mrs frog, but was told she had left the place long ago,--and no one knew where she had gone. with a heavy heart ned turned from the door and sauntered away, friendless and homeless. he thought of making further inquiries about his family, but at the corner of the street smelt the old shop that had swallowed up so much of his earnings. "if i'd on'y put it all in the savin's bank," he said bitterly, stopping in front of the gin-palace, "i'd 'ave bin well off to-day." an old comrade turned the corner at that moment. "what! ned frog!" he cried, seizing his hand and shaking it with genuine goodwill. "well, this _is_ good luck. come along, old boy!" it was pleasant to the desolate man to be thus recognised. he went along like an ox to the slaughter, though, unlike the ox, he knew well what he was going to. he was "treated." he drank beer. other old friends came in. he drank gin. if good resolves had been coming up in his mind earlier in the day he forgot them now. if better feelings had been struggling for the mastery, he crushed them now. he got drunk. he became disorderly. he went into high street, whitechapel, with a view to do damage to somebody. he succeeded. he tumbled over a barrow, and damaged his own shins. he encountered number soon after, and, through his influence, passed the night in a police cell. after this ned gave up all thought of searching for his wife and family. "better let 'em alone," he growled to himself on being discharged from the police-office with a caution. but, as we have said or hinted elsewhere, ned was a man of iron will. he resolved to avoid the public-house, to drink in moderation, and to do his drinking at home. being as powerful and active as ever he had been, he soon managed, in the capacity of a common labourer, to scrape enough money together to enable him to retake his old garret, which chanced to be vacant. indeed its situation was so airy, and it was so undesirable, that it was almost always vacant. he bought a few cages and birds; found that the old manager of the low music-hall was still at work and ready to employ him, and thus fell very much into his old line of life. one night, as he was passing into his place of business--the music-hall--a man saw him and recognised him. this was a city missionary of the john seaward type, who chanced to be fishing for souls that night in these troubled waters. there are many such fishermen about, thank god, doing their grand work unostentatiously, and not only rescuing souls for eternity, but helping, more perhaps than even the best informed are aware of, to save london from tremendous evil. what it was in ned frog that attracted this man of god we know note but, after casting his lines for some hours in other places, he returned to the music-hall and loitered about the door. at a late hour its audience came pouring out with discordant cries and ribald laughter. soon ned appeared and took his way homeward. the missionary followed at a safe distance till he saw ned disappear through the doorway that led to his garret. then, running forward, he entered the dark passage and heard ned's heavy foot clanking on the stone steps as he mounted upwards. the sound became fainter, and the missionary, fearing lest he should fail to find the room in which his man dwelt--for there were many rooms in the old tenement--ran hastily up-stairs and paused to listen. the footsteps were still sounding above him, but louder now, because ned was mounting a wooden stair. a few seconds later a heavy door was banged, and all was quiet. the city missionary now groped his way upwards until he came to the highest landing, where in the thick darkness he saw a light under a door. with a feeling of uncertainty and a silent prayer for help he knocked gently. the door was opened at once by a middle-aged woman, whose outline only could be seen, her back being to the light. "is it here that the man lives who came up just now?" asked the missionary. "what man?" she replied, fiercely, "i know nothink about men, an' 'ave nothink to do with 'em. ned frog's the on'y man as ever comes 'ere, an' _he_ lives up there." she made a motion, as if pointing upwards somewhere, and banged the door in her visitor's face. "up there!" the missionary had reached the highest landing, and saw no other gleam of light anywhere. groping about, however, his hand struck against a ladder. all doubt as to the use of this was immediately banished, for a man's heavy tread was heard in the room above as he crossed it. mounting the ladder, the missionary, instead of coming to a higher landing as he had expected, thrust his hat against a trap-door in the roof. immediately he heard a savage human growl. evidently the man was in a bad humour, but the missionary knocked. "who's there?" demanded the man, fiercely, for his visitors were few, and these generally connected with the police force. "may i come in?" asked the missionary in a mild voice--not that he put the mildness on for the occasion. he was naturally mild--additionally so by grace. "oh! yes--you may come in," cried the man, lifting the trap-door. the visitor stepped into the room and was startled by ned letting fall the trap-door with a crash that shook the whole tenement. planting himself upon it, he rendered retreat impossible. it was a trying situation, for the man was in a savage humour, and evidently the worse for drink. but missionaries are bold men. "now," demanded ned, "what may _you_ want?" "i want your soul," replied his visitor, quietly. "you needn't trouble yourself, then, for the devil's got it already." "no--he has not got it _yet_, ned." "oh! you know me then?" "no. i never saw you till to-night, but i learned your name accidentally, and i'm anxious about your soul." "you don't know me," ned repeated, slowly, "you never saw me till to-night, yet you're anxious about my soul! what stuff are you talkin'! 'ow can that be?" "now, you have puzzled _me_," said the missionary. "i cannot tell how that can be, but it is no `stuff' i assure you. i think it probable, however, that your own experience may help you. didn't you once see a young girl whom you had never seen before, whom you didn't know, whom you had never even heard of, yet you became desperately anxious to win her?" ned instantly thought of a certain woman whom he had often abused and beaten, and whose heart he had probably broken. "yes," he said, "i did; but then i had falled in love wi' her at first sight, and you can't have falled in love wi' _me_, you know." ned grinned at this idea in spite of himself. "well, no," replied the missionary, "not exactly. you're not a very lovable object to look at just now. nevertheless, i _am_ anxious about your soul _at first sight_. i can't tell how it is, but so it is." "come, now," said ned, becoming suddenly stern. "i don't believe in your religion, or your bible, or your prayin' and psalm-singin'. i tell you plainly, i'm a infidel. but if you can say anything in favour o' your views, fire away; i'll listen, only don't let me have any o' your sing-songin' or whinin', else i'll kick you down the trap-door and down the stair an' up the court and out into the street--speak out, like a man." "i will speak as god the holy spirit shall enable me," returned the missionary, without the slightest change in tone or manner. "well, then, sit down," said ned, pointing to the only chair in the room, while he seated himself on the rickety table, which threatened to give way altogether, while the reckless man swung his right leg to and fro quite regardless of its complainings. "have you ever studied the bible?" asked the missionary, somewhat abruptly. "well, no, of course not. i'm not a parson, but i have read a bit here and there, an' it's all rubbish. i don't believe a word of it." "there's a part of it," returned the visitor, "which says that god maketh his rain to fall on the just and on the unjust. do you not believe that?" "of course i do. a man can't help believin' that, for he sees it--it falls on houses, fields, birds and beasts as well." "then you _do_ believe a word of it?" "oh! come, you're a deal too sharp. you know what i mean." "no," said his visitor, quickly, "i don't quite know what you mean. one who professes to be an infidel professes more or less intelligent disbelief in the bible, yet you admit that you have never studied the book which you profess to disbelieve--much less, i suppose, have you studied the books which give us the evidences of its truth." "don't suppose, mr parson, or missioner, or whatever you are," said ned, "that you're goin' to floor me wi' your larnin'. i'm too old a bird for that. do you suppose that i'm bound to study everything on the face o' the earth like a lawyer before i'm entitled to say i don't believe it. if i see that a thing don't work well, that's enough for me to condemn it." "you're quite right there. i quite go with that line of reasoning. by their fruits shall ye know them. a man don't usually go to a thistle to find grapes. but let me ask you, ned, do you usually find that murderers, drunkards, burglars, thieves, and blackguards in general are students of the bible and given to prayer and psalm-singing?" "ha! ha! i should rather think not," said ned, much tickled by the supposition. "then," continued the other, "tell me, honestly, ned, do you find that people who read god's word and sing his praise and ask his blessing on all they do, are generally bad fathers, and mothers, and masters, and servants, and children, and that from their ranks come the worst people in society?" "now, look here, mr missioner," cried ned, leaping suddenly from the table, which overturned with a crash, "i'm one o' them fellers that's not to be floored by a puff o' wind. i can hold my own agin most men wi' fist or tongue. but i like fair-play in the ring or in argiment. i have _not_ studied this matter, as you say, an' so i won't speak on it. but i'll look into it, an' if you come back here this day three weeks i'll let you know what i think. you may trust me, for when i say a thing i mean it." "will you accept a testament, then," said the missionary, rising and pulling one out of his pocket. "no, i won't," said ned, "i've got one." the missionary looked surprised, and hesitated. "don't you believe me?" asked ned, angrily. "at first i did not," was the reply, "but now that i stand before your face and look in your eyes i _do_ believe you." ned gave a cynical laugh. "you're easy to gull," he said; "why, when it serves my purpose i can lie like a trooper." "i know that," returned the visitor, quietly, "but it serves your purpose to-night to speak the truth. i can see that. may i pray that god should guide you?" "yes, you may, but not here. i'll have no hypocritical goin' down on my knees till i see my way to it. if i don't see my way to it, i'll let you know when you come back this day three weeks." "well, i'll pray for you in my own room, ned frog." "you may do what you like in your own room. good-night." he lifted the trap-door as he spoke, and pointed downward. the missionary at once descended after a brief "good-night," and a pleasant nod. ned just gave him time to get his head out of the way when he let the trap fall with a clap like thunder, and then began to pace up and down his little room with his hands in his pockets and his chin on his breast. after a short time he went to a corner of the room where stood a small wooden box that contained the few articles of clothing which he possessed. from the bottom of this he fished up the new testament that had been given to him long ago by reggie north. drawing his chair to the table and the candle to his elbow, the returned convict opened the book, and there in his garret began for the first time to read in earnest the wonderful word of life! chapter twenty eight. the great change. punctual to the day and the hour, the missionary returned to ned's garret. much and earnestly had he prayed, in the meantime, that the man might be guided in his search after truth, and that to himself might be given words of wisdom which might have weight with him. but the missionary's words were not now required. god had spoken to the rough man by his own word. the holy spirit had carried conviction home. he had also revealed the saviour, and the man was converted before the missionary again saw him. reader, we present no fancy portrait to you. our fiction had its counterpart in actual life. ned frog, in essential points at least, represents a real man--though we have, doubtless, saddled on his broad shoulders a few unimportant matters, which perhaps did not belong to him. "i believe that this is god's word, my friend," he said, extending his hand, the moment the missionary entered, "and in proof of that i will now ask you to kneel with me and pray." you may be sure that the man of god complied gladly and with a full heart. we may not, however, trace here the after-course of this man in detail. for our purpose it will suffice to say that this was no mere flash in the pan. ned frog's character did not change. it only received a new direction and a new impulse. the vigorous energy and fearless determination with which he had in former days pursued sin and self-gratification had now been turned into channels of righteousness. very soon after finding jesus for himself, he began earnestly to desire the salvation of others, and, in a quiet humble way, began with the poor people in his own stair. but this could not satisfy him. he was too strong both in body and mind to be restrained, and soon took to open-air preaching. "i'm going to begin a mission," he said, one day, to the missionary who had brought him to the saviour. "there are many stout able fellows here who used to accept me as a leader in wickedness, and who will, perhaps, agree to follow me in a new walk. some of them have come to the lord already. i'm goin', sir, to get these to form a band of workers, and we'll take up a district." "good," said the missionary, "there's nothing like united action. what part of the district will you take up yourself, ned?" "the place where i stand, sir," he replied. "where i have sinned there will i preach to men the saviour of sinners." and he did preach, not with eloquence, perhaps, but with such fervour that many of his old comrades were touched deeply, and some were brought to christ and joined his "daniel band." moreover, ned kept to his own district and class. he did not assume that all rich church-goers are hypocrites, and that it was his duty to stand in conspicuous places and howl to them the message of salvation, in tones of rasping discord. no, it was noted by his mates, as particularly curious, that the voice of the man who could, when he chose, roar like a bull of bashan, had become soft and what we may style entreative in its tone. moreover, he did not try to imitate clerical errors. he did not get upon a deadly monotone while preaching, as so many do. he simply _spoke_ when he preached-- spoke loud, no doubt, but in a tone precisely similar to that in which, in former days, he would have seriously advised a brother burglar to adopt a certain course, or to carefully steer clear of another course, in order to gain his ends or to avoid falling into the hands of the police. thus men, when listening to him, came to believe that he was really speaking to them in earnest, and not "preaching!" oh! that young men who aim at the high privilege of proclaiming the "good news" would reflect on this latter point, and try to steer clear of that fatal rock on which the church--not the episcopal, presbyterian, or any other church, but the whole church militant--has been bumping so long to her own tremendous damage! one point which told powerfully with those whom ned sought to win was, that he went about endeavouring, as far as in him lay, to undo the evil that he had done. some of it could never be undone--he felt that bitterly. some could be remedied--he rejoiced in that and went about it with vigour. for instance, he owed several debts. being a handy fellow and strong, he worked like a horse, and soon paid off his debts to the last farthing. again, many a time had he, in days gone by, insulted and defamed comrades and friends. these he sought out with care and begged their pardon. the bulldog courage in him was so strong that in former days he would have struck or insulted any man who provoked him, without reference to his, it might be, superior size or strength. he now went as boldly forward to confess his sin and to apologise. sometimes his apologies were kindly received, at other times he was rudely repelled and called a hypocrite in language that we may not repeat, but he took it well; he resented nothing now, and used to say he had been made invulnerable since he had enlisted under the banner of the prince of peace. yet, strange to say, the man's pugilistic powers were not rendered useless by his pacific life and profession. one day he was passing down one of those streets where even the police prefer to go in couples. suddenly a door burst open and a poor drunken woman was kicked out into the street by a big ruffian with whom ned was not acquainted. not satisfied with what he had done, the rough proceeded to kick the woman, who began to scream "murder!" a crowd at once collected, for, although such incidents were common enough in such places, they always possessed sufficient interest to draw a crowd; but no one interfered, first, because no one cared, and, second, because the man was so big and powerful that every one was afraid of him. of course ned interfered, not with an indignant statement that the man ought to be ashamed of himself, but, with the quiet remark-- "she's only a woman, you know, an' can't return it." "an' wot 'ave _you_ got to do with it?" cried the man with a savage curse, as he aimed a tremendous blow at ned with his right-hand. our pugilist expected that. he did not start or raise his hands to defend himself, he merely put his head to one side, and the huge fist went harmlessly past his ear. savagely the rough struck out with the other fist, but ned quietly, yet quickly put his head to the other side, and again the fist went innocently by. a loud laugh and cheer from the crowd greeted this, for, apart altogether from the occasion of the disagreement, this turning of the head aside was very pretty play on the part of ned--being a remarkably easy-looking but exceedingly difficult action, as all boxers know. it enabled ned to smile in the face of his foe without doing him any harm. but it enraged the rough to such an extent, that he struck out fast as well as hard, obliging ned to put himself in the old familiar attitude, and skip about smartly. "i don't want to hurt you, friend," said ned at last, "but i _can_, you see!" and he gave the man a slight pat on his right cheek with one hand and a tap on the forehead with the other. this might have convinced the rough, but he would not be convinced. ned therefore gave him suddenly an open-handed slap on the side of the head which sent him through his own doorway; through his own kitchen--if we may so name it--and into his own coal-cellar, where he measured his length among cinders and domestic _debris_. "i didn't want to do it, friends," said ned in a mild voice, as soon as the laughter had subsided, "but, you see, in the bible--a book i'm uncommon fond of--we're told, as far as we can, to live peaceably with all men. now, you see, i couldn't live peaceably wi' this man to-day. he wouldn't let me, but i think i'll manage to do it some day, for i'll come back here to-morrow, and say i'm sorry i had to do it. meanwhile i have a word to say to you about this matter." here ned got upon the door-step of his adversary, and finished off by what is sometimes styled "improving the occasion." of course, one of the first things that ned frog did, on coming to his "right mind," was to make earnest and frequent inquiries as to the fate of his wife and family. unfortunately the man who might have guided him to the right sources of information--the city missionary who had brought him to a knowledge of the truth--was seized with a severe illness, which not only confined him to a sick-bed for many weeks, but afterwards rendered it necessary that he should absent himself for a long time from the sphere of his labours. thus, being left to himself, ned's search was misdirected, and at last he came to the heart-breaking conclusion that they must have gone, as he expressed it, "to the bad;" that perhaps his wife had carried out her oft-repeated threat, and drowned herself, and that bobby, having been only too successful a pupil in the ways of wickedness, had got himself transported. to prosecute his inquiries among his old foes, the police, was so repugnant to ned that he shrank from it, after the failure of one or two attempts, and the only other source which might have been successful he failed to appeal to through his own ignorance. he only knew of george yard and the home of industry by name, as being places which he had hated, because his daughter hetty was so taken up with them. of course he was now aware that the people of george yard did good work for his new master, but he was so ignorant of the special phase of their work at the beginning of his christian career that he never thought of applying to them for information. afterwards he became so busy with his own special work, that he forgot all about these institutions. when the missionary recovered and returned to his work, he at once--on hearing for the first time from ned his family history--put him on the scent, and the discovery was then made that they had gone to canada. he wrote immediately, and soon received a joyful reply from hetty and a postscript from bobby, which set his heart singing and his soul ablaze with gratitude to a sparing and preserving god. about that time, however, the robust frame gave way under the amount of labour it was called on to perform. ned was obliged to go into hospital. when there he received pressing invitations to go out to canada, and offers of passage-money to any extent. mrs frog also offered to return home without delay and nurse him, and only waited to know whether he would allow her. ned declined, on the ground that he meant to accept their invitation and go to canada as soon as he was able to undertake the voyage. a relapse, however, interfered with his plans, and thus the visit, like many other desirable events in human affairs, was, for a time, delayed. chapter twenty nine. home again. time passed away, and bobby frog said to his mother one morning, "mother, i'm going to england." it was a fine summer morning when he said this. his mother was sitting in a bower which had been constructed specially for her use by her son and his friend tim lumpy. it stood at the foot of the garden, from which could be had a magnificent view of the neighbouring lake. rich foliage permitted the slanting sunbeams to quiver through the bower, and little birds, of a pert conceited nature, twittered among the same. martha mild--the very embodiment of meek, earnest simplicity, and still a mere child in face though almost a woman in years--sat on a wooden stool at mrs frog's feet reading the bible to her. martha loved the bible and mrs frog; they were both fond of the bower; there was a spare half-hour before them;--hence the situation, as broken in upon by bobby. "to england, bobby?" "to england, mother." martha said nothing, but she gave a slight--an almost imperceptible-- start, and glanced at the sturdy youth with a mingled expression of anxiety and surprise. the surprise bob had expected; the anxiety he had hoped for; the start he had not foreseen, but now perceived and received as a glorious fact! oh! bobby frog was a deep young rascal! his wild, hilarious, reckless spirit, which he found it so difficult to curb, even with all surroundings in his favour, experienced a great joy and sensation of restfulness in gazing at the pretty, soft, meek face of the little waif. he loved martha, but, with all his recklessness, he had not the courage to tell her so, or to ask the condition of her feelings with regard to himself. being ingenious, however, and with much of the knowing nature of the "stray" still about him, he hit on this plan of killing two birds with one stone, as it were, by briefly announcing his intentions to his mother; and the result was more than he had hoped for. "yes, mother, to england--to london. you see, father's last letter was not at all satisfactory. although he said he was convalescent and hoped to be able to travel soon, it seemed rather dull in tone, and now several posts have passed without bringing us a letter of any kind from him. i am beginning to feel anxious, and so as i have saved a good bit of money i mean to have a trip to old england and bring daddy out with me." "that will be grand indeed, my son. but will mr merryboy let ye go, bobby?" "of course he will. he lets me do whatever i please, for he's as fond o' me as if he were my father." "no; he ain't that," returned mrs frog, with a shake of the head; "your father was rough, bobby, specially w'en in liquor, but he 'ad a kind 'art at bottom, and he was very fond o' you, bobby--almost as fond as he once was o' me. mr merryboy could never come up to 'im in _that_." "did i say he came up to him, mother? i didn't say he was as fond o' me as my own father, but _as if he was_ my father. however, it's all arranged, and i go off at once." "not before breakfast, bobby?" "no, not quite. i never do anything important on an empty stomach, but by this time to-morrow i hope to be far on my way to the sea-coast, and i expect martha to take good care of you till i come back." "i'll be _sure_ to do that," said martha, looking up in mrs frog's face affectionately. bob frog noted the look, and was satisfied. "but, my boy, i shan't be here when you come back. you know my visit is over in a week, and then we go to sir richard's estate." "i know that, mother, but martha goes with you there, to help you and hetty and matty to keep house while tim lumpy looks after the farm." "farm, my boy, what nonsense are you talking?" "no nonsense, mother, it has all been arranged this morning, early though it is. mr merryboy has received a letter from sir richard, saying that he wants to gather as many people as possible round him, and offering him one of his farms on good terms, so mr merryboy is to sell this place as soon as he can, and tim and i have been offered a smaller farm on still easier terms close to his, and not far from the big farm that sir richard has given to his son-in-law mr welland--" "son-in-law!" exclaimed mrs frog. "do you mean to say that mr welland, who used to come down an' preach in the lodgin'-'ouses in spitalfields 'as married that sweet hangel miss di?" "i do mean that, mother. i could easily show him a superior angel, of course," said bob with a steady look at martha, "but he has done pretty well, on the whole." "pretty well!" echoed mrs frog indignantly; "he couldn't 'ave done better if 'e'd searched the wide world over." "there i don't agree with you," returned her son; "however, it don't matter--hallo! there goes granny down the wrong path!" bob dashed off at full speed after mrs merryboy, senior, who had an inveterate tendency, when attempting to reach mrs frog's bower, to take a wrong turn, and pursue a path which led from the garden to a pretty extensive piece of forest-land behind. the blithe old lady was posting along this track in a tremulo-tottering way when captured by bob. at the same moment the breakfast-bell rang; mr merryboy's stentorian voice was immediately heard in concert; silvery shouts from the forest-land alluded to told where hetty and matty had been wandering, and a rush of pattering feet announced that the dogs of the farm were bent on being first to bid the old gentleman good-morning. as bob frog had said, the following day found him far on his way to the sea-coast. a few days later found him on the sea,--wishing, earnestly, that he were on the land! little more than a week after that found him in london walking down the old familiar strand towards the city. as he walked slowly along the crowded thoroughfare, where every brick seemed familiar and every human being strange, he could not help saying to himself mentally, "can it be possible! was it here that i used to wander in rags? thank god for the rescue and for the rescuers!" "shine yer boots, sir?" said a facsimile of his former self. "certainly, my boy," said bob, at once submitting himself to the operator, although, his boots having already been well "shined," the operation was an obvious absurdity. the boy must have felt something of this, for, when finished, he looked up at his employer with a comical expression. bob looked at him sternly. "they were about as bright before you began on 'em," he said. "they was, sir," admitted the boy, candidly. "how much?" demanded the old street boy. "on'y one ha'penny, sir," replied the young street boy, "but ven the day's fine, an' the boots don't want much shinin', we gin'rally expecs a penny. gen'l'min _'ave_ bin known to go the length of tuppence." bob pulled out half-a-crown and offered it. the boy grinned, but did not attempt to take it. "why don't you take it, my boy?" "you _don't_ mean it, do you?" asked the boy, as the grin faded and the eyes opened. "yes, i do. here, catch. i was once like you. christ and canada have made me what you see. here is a little book that will tell you more about that." he chanced to have one of miss macpherson's _canadian homes for london wanderers_ in his pocket, and gave it to the little shoe-black,--who was one of the fluttering free-lances of the metropolis, not one of the "brigade." bob could not have said another word to have saved his life. he turned quickly on his heel and walked away, followed by a fixed gaze and a prolonged whistle of astonishment. "how hungry i used to be here," he muttered as he walked along, "so uncommon hungry! the smell of roasts and pies had something to do with it, i think. why, there's the shop--yes, the very shop, where i stood once gazing at the victuals for a full hour before i could tear myself away. i do think that, for the sake of starving boys, to say nothing of men, women, and girls, these grub-shops should be compelled to keep the victuals out o' the windows and send their enticing smells up their chimneys!" presently he came to a dead stop in front of a shop where a large mirror presented him with a full-length portrait of himself, and again he said mentally, "can it be possible!" for, since quitting london he had never seen himself as others saw him, having been too hurried, on both occasions of passing through canadian cities, to note the mirrors there. in the backwoods, of course, there was nothing large enough in the way of mirror to show more than his good-looking face. the portrait now presented to him was that of a broad-chested, well-made, gentlemanly young man of middle height, in a grey tweed suit. "not _exactly_ tip-top, a , superfine, you know, bobby," he muttered to himself with the memory of former days strong upon him, "but--but-- perhaps not altogether unworthy of--of--a thought or two from little martha mild." bob frog increased in stature, it is said, by full half an inch on that occasion, and thereafter he walked more rapidly in the direction of whitechapel. with sad and strangely mingled memories he went to the court where his early years had been spent. it was much the same in disreputableness of aspect as when he left it. time had been gnawing at it so long that a few years more or less made little difference on it, and its inhabitants had not improved much. passing rapidly on he went straight to the beehive, which he had for long regarded as his real home, and there, once again, received a hearty welcome from its ever busy superintendent and her earnest workers; but how different his circumstances now from those attending his first reception! his chief object, however, was to inquire the way to the hospital in which his father lay, and he was glad to learn that the case of ned frog was well-known, and that he was convalescent. it chanced that a tea-meeting was "on" when he arrived, so he had little more at the time than a warm shake of the hand from his friends in the home, but he had the ineffable satisfaction of leaving behind him a sum sufficient to give a sixpence to each of the miserable beings who were that night receiving a plentiful meal for their bodies as well as food for their souls--those of them, at least, who chose to take the latter. none refused the former. on his way to the hospital he saw a remarkably tall policeman approaching. "well, you _are_ a long-legged copper," he muttered to himself, with an irrepressible laugh as he thought of old times. the old spirit seemed to revive with the old associations, for he felt a strong temptation to make a face at the policeman, execute the old double-shuffle, stick his thumb to the end of his nose, and bolt! as the man drew nearer he did actually make a face in spite of himself--a face of surprise--which caused the man to stop. "excuse me," said bob, with much of his old bluntness, "are not you number ?" "that is not my number now, sir, though i confess it was once," answered the policeman, with a humorous twinkle of the eye. bobby noticed the word "sir," and felt elated. it was almost more than waif-and-stray human nature could stand to be respectfully "sirred" by a london policeman--his old foe, whom, in days gone by and on occasions innumerable, he had scorned, scouted, and insulted, with all the ingenuity of his fertile brain. "your name is giles scott, is it not?" he asked. "it is, sir." "do you remember a little ragged boy who once had his leg broken by a runaway pony at the west-end--long ago?" "yes, as well as if i'd seen him yesterday. his name was bobby frog, and a sad scamp he was, though it is said he's doing well in canada." "he must 'ave changed considerable," returned bob, reverting to his old language with wonderful facility, "w'en number don't know 'im. yes, in me, robert frog, esquire, of chikopow farm, canada vest, you be'old your ancient henemy, who is on'y too 'appy to 'ave the chance of axin your parding for all the trouble he gave you, an' all the 'ard names he called you in days gone by." bobby held out his hand as he spoke, and you may be sure our huge policeman was not slow to grasp it, and congratulate the stray on his improved circumstances. we have not time or space to devote to the conversation which ensued. it was brief, but rapid and to the point, and in the course of it bob learned that molly was as well, and as bright and cheery as ever--also somewhat stouter; that monty was in a fair way to become a real policeman, having just received encouragement to expect admission to the force when old enough, and that he was in a fair way to become as sedate, wise, zealous, and big as his father; also, that little jo aimed at the same honourable and responsible position, and was no longer little. being anxious, however, to see his father, bob cut the conversation short, and, having promised to visit his old enemy, hastened away. the ward of the hospital in which bob soon found himself was a sad place. clean and fresh, no doubt, but very still, save when a weary sigh or a groan told of suffering. among the beds, which stood in a row, each with its head against the wall, one was pointed out on which a living skeleton lay. the face was very very pale, and it seemed as if the angel of death were already brooding over it. yet, though so changed, there was no mistaking the aspect and the once powerful frame of ned frog. "i'd rather not see any one," whispered ned, as the nurse went forward and spoke to him in a low voice, "i'll soon be home--i think." "father, _dear_ father," said bob, in a trembling, almost choking voice, as he knelt by the bedside and took one of his father's hands. the prostrate man sprang up as if he had received an electric shock, and gazed eagerly into the face of his son. then, turning his gaze on the nurse, he said-- "i'm not dreaming, am i? it's true, is it? is this bobby?" "whether he's bobby or not i can't say," replied the nurse, in the tone with which people sometimes address children, "but you're not dreaming-- it _is_ a gentleman." "ah! then i _am_ dreaming," replied the sick man, with inexpressible sadness, "for bobby is no gentleman." "but it _is_ me, daddy," cried the poor youth, almost sobbing aloud as he kissed the hand he held, "why, you old curmudgeon, i thought you'd 'ave know'd the voice o' yer own son! i've grow'd a bit, no doubt, but it's me for all that. look at me!" ned did look, with all the intensity of which he was capable, and then fell back on his pillow with a great sigh, while a death-like pallor overspread his face, almost inducing the belief that he was really dead. "no, bobby, i ain't dead yet," he said in a low whisper, as his terrified son bent over him. "thank god for sendin' you back to me." he stopped, but, gradually, strength returned, and he again looked earnestly at his son. "bobby," he said, in stronger tones, "i thought the end was drawin' near--or, rather, the beginnin'--the beginnin' o' the new life. but i don't feel like that now. i feel, some'ow, as i used to feel in the ring when they sponged my face arter a leveller. i did think i was done for this mornin'. the nurse thought so too, for i 'eerd her say so; an' the doctor said as much. indeed i'm not sure that my own 'art didn't say so--but i'll cheat 'em all yet, bobby, my boy. you've put new life into my old carcase, an' i'll come up to the scratch yet--see if i don't." but ned frog did not "come up to the scratch." his work for the master on earth was finished--the battle fought out and the victory gained. "gi' them all my love in canada, bobby, an' say to your dear mother that i _know_ she forgives me--but i'll tell her all about that when we meet--in the better land." thus he died with his rugged head resting on the bosom of his loved and loving son. chapter thirty. the new home. once again, and for the last time, we shift our scene to canada--to the real backwoods now--the brandon settlement. sir richard, you see, had been a noted sportsman in his youth. he had chased the kangaroo in australia, the springbok in africa, and the tiger in india, and had fished salmon in norway, so that his objections to the civilised parts of canada were as strong as those of the red indians themselves. he therefore resolved, when making arrangements to found a colony, to push as far into the backwoods as was compatible with comfort and safety. hence we now find him in the _very_ far west. we decline to indicate the exact spot, because idlers, on hearing of its fertility and beauty and the felicity of its inhabitants, might be tempted to crowd to it in rather inconvenient numbers. let it suffice to say, in the language of the aborigines, that it lies towards the setting sun. around brandon settlement there are rolling prairies, illimitable pasture-land, ocean-like lakes, grand forests, and numerous rivers and rivulets, with flat-lands, low-lands, high-lands, undulating lands, wood-lands, and, in the far-away distance, glimpses of the back-bone of america--peaked, and blue, and snow-topped. the population of this happy region consists largely of waifs with a considerable sprinkling of strays. there are also several families of "haristocrats," who, however, are not "bloated"--very much the reverse. the occupation of the people is, as might be expected, agricultural; but, as the colony is very active and thriving and growing fast, many other branches of industry have sprung up, so that the hiss of the saw and the ring of the anvil, the clatter of the water-mill, and the clack of the loom, may be heard in all parts of it. there is a rumour that a branch of the great pacific railway is to be run within a mile of the brandon settlement; but that is not yet certain. the rumour, however, has caused much joyful hope to some, and rather sorrowful anxiety to others. mercantile men rejoice at the prospect. those who are fond of sport tremble, for it is generally supposed, though on insufficient grounds, that the railway-whistle frightens away game. any one who has travelled in the scottish highlands and seen grouse close to the line regarding your clanking train with supreme indifference, must doubt the evil influence of railways on game. meanwhile, the sportsmen of brandon settlement pursue the buffalo and stalk the deer, and hunt the brown and the grizzly bear, and ply rod, net, gun, and rifle, to their hearts' content. there is even a bank in this thriving settlement--a branch, if we mistake not, of the flourishing bank of montreal--of which a certain mr welland is manager, and a certain thomas balls is hall-porter, as well as general superintendent, when not asleep in the hall-chair. mrs welland, known familiarly as di, is regarded as the mother of the settlement--or, more correctly, the guardian angel--for she is not yet much past the prime of life. she is looked upon as a sort of goddess by many people; indeed she resembles one in mind, face, figure, and capacity. we use the last word advisedly, for she knows and sympathises with every one, and does so much for the good of the community, that the bare record of her deeds would fill a large volume. amongst other things she trains, in the way that they should go, a family of ten children, whose adoration of her is said to be perilously near to idolatry. she also finds time to visit an immense circle of friends. there are no poor in brandon settlement yet, though there are a few sick and a good many aged, to whom she ministers. she also attends on sir richard, who is part of the bank family, as well as a director. the good knight wears well. his time is divided between the children of di, the affairs of the settlement, and a neighbouring stream in which the trout are large and pleasantly active. mrs screwbury, who spent her mature years in nursing little di, is renewing her youth by nursing little di's little ones, among whom there is, of course, another little di whom her father styles di-licious. jessie summers assists in the nursery, and the old cook reigns in the canadian kitchen with as much grace as she formerly reigned in the kitchen at the "west-end." quite close to the bank buildings there is a charming villa, with a view of a lake in front and a peep through the woods at the mountains behind, in which dwells the cashier of the bank with his wife and family. his name is robert frog, esquire. his wife's name is martha. his eldest son, bobby--a boy of about nine or ten--is said to be the most larky boy in the settlement. we know not as to that, but any one with half an eye can see that he is singularly devoted to his mild little brown-eyed mother. there is a picturesque little hut at the foot of the garden of beehive villa, which is inhabited by an old woman. to this hut bobby the second is very partial, for the old woman _is_ exceedingly fond of bobby--quite spoils him in fact--and often entertains him with strange stories about a certain lion of her acquaintance which was turned into a lamb. need we say that this old woman is mrs frog? the bank cashier offered her a home in beehive villa, but she prefers the little hut at the foot of the garden, where she sits in state to receive visitors and is tenderly cared for by a very handsome young woman named matty, who calls her "mother". matty is the superintendent of a neighbouring school, and it is said that one of the best of the masters of that school is anxious to make matty and the school his own. if so, that master must be a greedy fellow--all things considered. there is a civil engineer--often styled by bob frog an uncivil engineer--who has planned all the public works of the settlement, and is said to have a good prospect of being engaged in an important capacity on the projected railway. but of this we cannot speak authoritatively. his name is t lampay, esquire. ill-natured people assert that when he first came to the colony his name was tim lumpy, and at times his wife hetty calls him lumpy to his face, but, as wives do sometimes call their husbands improper names, the fact proves nothing except the perversity of woman. there is a blind old woman in his establishment, however, who has grown amiably childish in her old age, who invariably calls him tim. whatever may be the truth as to this, there is no question that he is a thriving man and an office-bearer in the congregational church, whose best sabbath-school teacher is his wife hetty, and whose pastor is the reverend john seaward--a man of singular good fortune, for, besides having such men as robert frog, t. lampay, and sir richard brandon to back him up and sympathise with him on all occasions, he is further supported by the aid and countenance of samuel twitter, senior, samuel twitter, junior, mrs twitter, and all the other twitters, some of whom are married and have twitterers of their own. samuel twitter and his sons are now farmers! yes, reader, you may look and feel surprised to hear it, but your astonishment will never equal that of old twitter himself at finding himself in that position. he never gets over it, and has been known, while at the tail of the plough, to stop work, clap a hand on each knee, and roar with laughter at the mere idea of his having taken to agriculture late in life! he tried to milk the cows when he first began, but, after having frightened two or three animals into fits, overturned half a dozen milk-pails, and been partially gored, he gave it up. sammy is his right-hand man, and the hope of his declining years. true, this right-hand has got the name of being slow, but he is considered as pre-eminently sure. mrs twitter has taken earnestly to the sick, since there are no poor to befriend. she is also devoted to the young--and there is no lack of them. she is likewise strong in the tea-party line, and among her most favoured guests are two ladies named respectively loper and larrabel, and two gentlemen named crackaby and stickler. it is not absolutely certain whether these four are a blessing to the new settlement or the reverse. some hold that things in general would progress more smoothly if they were gone; others that their presence affords excellent and needful opportunity for the exercise of forbearance and charity. at all events mrs twitter holds that she could not live without them, and george brisbane, esquire, who owns a lovely mansion on the outskirts of the settlement, which he has named lively hall, vows that the departure of that quartette would be a distinct and irreparable loss to society in brandon settlement. one more old friend we have to mention, namely, reggie north, who has become a colporteur, and wanders far and near over the beautiful face of canada, scattering the seed of life with more vigour and greater success than her sons scatter the golden grain. his periodical visits to the settlement are always hailed with delight, because north has a genial way of relating his adventures and describing his travels, which renders it necessary for him to hold forth as a public lecturer at times in the little chapel, for the benefit of the entire community. on these occasions north never fails, you may be quite sure, to advance his master's cause. besides those whom we have mentioned, there are sundry persons of both sexes who go by such names as dick swiller, blobby, robin, lilly snow, robbie dell, and little mouse, all of whom are grown men and women, and are said to have originally been london waifs and strays. but any one looking at them in their backwoods prosperity would pooh-pooh the idea as being utterly preposterous! however this may be, it is quite certain that they are curiously well acquainted with the slums of london and with low life in that great city. these people sometimes mention the name of giles scott, and always with regret that that stalwart policeman and his not less stalwart sons are unable to see their way to emigrate, but if they did, as bobby frog the second asks, "what would become of london?" "they'd make such splendid backwoodsmen," says one. "and the daughters would make such splendid wives for backwoodsmen," says another. mr merryboy thinks that canada can produce splendid men of its own without importing them from england, and mrs merryboy holds that the same may be said in regard to the women of canada, and old granny, who is still alive, with a face like a shrivelled-up potato, blinks with undimmed eyes, and nods her snow-white head, and beams her brightest smile in thorough approval of these sentiments. ah, reader! brandon settlement is a wonderful place, but we may not linger over it now. the shadows of our tale have lengthened out, and the sun is about to set. before it goes quite down let us remind you that the diamonds which you have seen dug out, cut, and polished, are only a few of the precious gems that lie hidden in the dust of the great cities of our land; that the harvest might be very great, and that the labourers at the present time are comparatively few. the end.