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= ■ 716) 482 - 0300 - Phone

THE MYSTERY OF HORNBY HALL

THE MYSTERY O
HORNBY HALL

ANNA T. SADLIER

N«w YoKK, Cincinnati, Chicago

BENZIGER BROTHERS

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER VAOB

I. .Mayfair 7

II. II .ruby Hall 20

III. Marjoric Describes Her Visit .... 34

IV. The Coming Ma/y Pemberton ... 46
V. Mary Is Introduced to Mayfair ... 59

VI. Mr. end Mrs. Morton Recall the Past . 71

VII. Mr. Morton Fonns a Plan 83

VIII. Mary's First Time at Church .... 95

IX. Mr. Morton Holds a Meeting in Mayfair 106

X. The Long Barn 114

XI. Tlie Loft over the Long Barn and What

Was in It 125

XII. Mrs. MilfS Plays a Comedy .... (38

XIII. Preparations for the Great Event . . 146

XIV. A Delightful Festivity 157

XV. Mary Is a Center of A. : :tion . . . 165

XVL Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate . . . . 175

XVII. Visitors to Hornby Hall 189

XVIII. Mr. Morton's Tale, Which Unveils the

Mystery ... aoo

The Mystery of Hornby Hall.

CHAPTER I.

MAYFAIR.

"¥ wouldn't live at Hornby, with old Mr. Pem-
1 berton, like that poor Mary, for anything!"

The speaker was Marjorie Morton, who nodded
her head till her curls fell in a wild tangle about
her face, though she was a "great girl" now, as
her father told her, and too tall to climb trees.
That was just what she had done, however, at the
moment, and she was seated upon a high bough,
swinging to and fro with the keenest enjoyment.

"She must be a queer sort of girl," said Dick
Dalton, a tall, fair boy, who was just beginning to
be careful about the cut of his clothes and the trim-
ming of his hair. "I should like to see her."

"Well, I wish you could go, then, this afternoon,
. instead of me," responded Marjorie from her
perch.

"Are you going there?" cried Dick, and a chorus
of voices repeated the inquiry.

The two Wallace boys, Ned and George, who had

Mayfair.

been assiduously engaged with Luke Morris in
playing an impromptu game of baseball, stopped to
hear the reply, and so did the Lewis girls, Marie
and Florence, who were busy deciphering a puzzle
which Jack Holland had put on paper for them.
Jack was, at least in his own opinion, a very con-
spicuous figure in the little circle of boys and girls
who were accustomed to meet almost daily in this
pleasant field, with its clump of shade trees, which
they had christened Mayfair. Jack was a slim,
tall, eager-eyed youth, who like his chum Dick
Dalton rejoiced in an immaculate collar of notice-
able height, and had begun to speak of Marjorie
and others of the little group as "kids."

"Hello!" said Jack after a pause, following the
exclamation with a long whistle.

"Why shouldn't I go to Hornby?" asked Mar-
jorie cooly, though she fully enjoyed the sensation
she had created.

"Why?" answered Jack, sharply. There was
something of a feud between him and the girl,
who had not sufficient respect for the young col-
legian's good clothes and grown-up ways. "Why?
Because nobody's set foot there for years and your
folks liave 'Deeii dead cuts wiih liie PeiHUcrtons ever
since."

Mayfair.

"Well, we're going," declared Marjorie, looking
loftily down, with an air which made even the
boy's collar appear insignificant. "We're going to
call. Mothe- has ordered the carriage for three."

"You're going to call!" cried Dick scornfully—
"a kid like you? You mean, I suppose, that Aunt
Lucy's going to call and is taking you with her for
the drive."

"You arc rude, Dick, but boys will be boys,"
retorted Marjorie with dignity. "I am going to
see Miss Mary Pembcrton."

Dick threw himself down upon the grass and
rolled over, laughing, while Jack resented the little
girl's air of superiority and looked angrily at the
dainty figure in the tree. Marjorie, for her part,
rode her mimic horse with perfect equanimity,
shaking the bough of the ancient oak till the tree
leaves danced in the sunlight and a shower fell
upon the grass below. Catching the vexed look
upoi. Jack's face, Marjorie promptly made up a
ball of leaves and aimed it so well at the enemy
that his immaculate collar was struck.

"You stop that!" cried Jack wrathfully, as he
carefully brushed off the leaves and felt the surface
of ills neck-gear, to be sure that tlic celluloid polish
of which he was so proud had not been destroyed.

Mayfair.

"You stop that, I say, Marjorie," he repeated
ans^i ily, as he saw she was about to prepare another
missile. But he thought it prudent to take himself
out of her reach. For he knew that if Marjorie
thought fit to continue the sport he could do
nothing to hinder her. It would be impossible to
fight with a girl, especially as he did not care to
make himself ridiculous before Miss Marie Lewis.

She was the daughter of a wealthy banker, a
comparatively new arrival in the place, and, in a
word, the latest sensation. Having secured him-
self against attack. Jack bent once more over the
puzzle, explaining to Marie and her sister with his
patronizing schoolboy manner exactly how it
should be worked Marjorie felt the futility of
any further warfare in that particular line, but she
had a lively tongue and soon began to pelt her van-
quished foe with a variety of rhyming epithets,
which made the self-conscious lad furious:

"Jack, so handy,
He's a dandy,
Dotes oo candyl"

Jack's silence was intensely dignified, while Mar-
jorie presently made a change in her ditty:

"Jack, be nimble,
Jack, be quick,

Jack, jump over the candlestick I "

Mayfair.

**You were nimble enough getting behind the
tree, Jack," went on Marjorie. "You see, Marie,
he can't have a good, honest fight because >ou're
here. He used to just pelt nie back again with
leaves. But now he's trying to pretend he's grown
up, because he goes to college and wears a collar
so high that it nearly chokes him."

"You little wretch!" Jack muttered under his
breath. "I'll pay you back for this somehow or
another!"

Dick Dalton laughed aloud, as he lay on the grass
looking up at the sky, and Marjorie, unrelenting,

sang on:

"Jack and Jill went up the UO
To fetch a pail of water ;
Jack Ml down and broke his crown.
And JiU cane tmnbUng afierl"

Marjorie broke off with a laugh, as she cried
out: "Oh, wouldn't I love to see Jack tumbling
down a hill. He's so mighty dignified and cca-
ceited."

All the children were laughing by this time, even
Mary Lewis, who was what is generally described as
a "sweet girl" and hated to hurt any one's feelings.

"And you are a rude, a cstable child!" cried
Jack, losing his temper completely. "You ought to
have your ears boxed and be sent off to bed."

Mavfair.

"Softly, Jack," said Dick, turning his head and
looking up lazily at his chum. "I can't stand that,
you know. I won't have you talking that way to

my cousin."

"You won't, eh?" roared Jack. "Well, stand up
and let me thrash you as I can't thrash her."

"I'll fight you any time you like," responded Dick
sternly, "but not before girls."

"Fight?" exclaimed Marie Lewis in distress.
"Oh, surely, you wouldn't do that."

"Oh, certainly not before you!" answered Jack.
"I beg your pardon— I quite forgot myself."

He took off his hat and bowed to her with his
best college air. But Marjorie's sharp eyes saw '
from the tree-top the look Jack gave Dick and that
which Dick returned, and heard the whisper:
"After supper!"

She promptly came down horn her perch, slim
and dainty in her blue chambray frock, and walked
straight up to Jack.

"I was very rude and provoking," she said, hold-
ing out her hand, "but I was only in fun and you
mustn't be angry!"

Jack's anger was very swift and sudden, but it
never lasted. Marjorie had hurt his vanity by her
ill-timed jests before these town-bred girls. Yet he

Maypair.

was easily appeased, the more especially that he
was already sorry for having got into a quarrel
with his best friend, Dick, and with an uncertain
prospect of results, too. For though Jack was no
mean fighter and had plenty of pluck, Dick was
noted for his strong arm and matchless coolness.

"Oh, I suppose it's all right, Marjorie," he an-
swered in an exaggerated tone of patronage ; 'Idds
will be kids, but remember after this that children
should be seen and not heard."

"You are really a ridiculous boy," Marjorie ex-
claimed, eyeing him critically, "but you hear, Dick,
we've made it up. I take back all I sai^ about Jack's
being nimble and a dandy and handy and falling
to break his crown."

There was the light of mirth in her eyes as she
made the apologj"^ and added, speaking for her late
opponent: "And Jack takes back, of course, all
the rude things he said to me."

"I suppose I must," Jack conceded; "and I havv,
no quarrel with you, Dick,"

"That's all .ight, old fellow," responded Dick
heartily, "and I'm glad of it There's always
enough shindies with other chaps to keep one's
hands in."

"I wonder why boys are always wanting to

Mayfah.

fight," observed Marie, with her little, affected voice
which she used on occasions.

''Why do puppies try to bark and dudes to
swim?" answered Marjorie; "it's their nature; they
don't seem happy without fighting and probably it
does them good, once in a while."

Marie opened her blue eyes very wide.

"You surely are not in earnest," she cried. "Oh,
you shocking child!"

"Does that shock you?" Marjorie inquired. "I
can't help it even if it does. I think some boys
would grow into great big bullies if there weren't
other boys to keep them in order. We couldn't do
it, you know."

"I should hope not!" exclaimed Marie, looking
at the boys for sympathy, out of her large, light-
blue eyes, but Dick was chasing a stray cat and Jade
lodced gloomily abstracted. He was not sure that
he had come well out of the affair. The thi-ee
others were busy with their ball.

"Girls are ever so much nicer than boys," Mar-
jorie dedared; "I'm just as glad I've no brothers.
Cousin Dick isn't so bad as soi.ie, but still he's not
nearly so nice as if he were a girl."

Florence Lewis, who had not the china-doll pret-
tiness of her sister, but was of a sociable disposition

Mayvais.

and destined to become a great favorite with the
Mayfair boys and girls before the tummer was
over, answered prcmiptly in her cheerful fashion:

"Boys have their good points, Marj<me. We've
a lot of brothers and I'm only sorry that they're so
mu( ;i away at school."

"Perhaps if I had brothers I might like them bet-
ter," Madge agreed, "and I don't think boys are
so bad till they go to coll^ and b^fin to fancy
themselves men."

Jack thought it wise to take no notice of the in-
sinuation contained in this speech. He let his eager
eyes follow the Wallace boys and Luke Morris in
their game and Dicky in the cat chase. For he was,
after all, a boy at heart and, whatever he might
pretend, was still engrossed with a boy's aims and
interest.

"Good for you, Luke!" he cried, rising to his
feet in the excitement of the game. "A good
catch, old fellow, a good catch!"

His foce lighted up with interest, his eyes flashed,
he clapped his hands with enthusiasm.

"How much better you look, Jack, when you are
just a boy," observed Marjorie, regarding him
sympathetically. "I think you'd make rather a nice
girl, too, you change around so soon."

1 6 Maypaik.

Jack reddened to the eyes and walked away wit!
dignity, and Marjorie laughed as she looked acres
tlie road to the brick-paved stable-yard whicl
flanked the Mortons' house. She jumped u]
hastily.

"My, there's Jerry going to harness the horses!
she cried. "I must run and dress. Going to ca
on people is a bother. I'd rather stay here. Good
bye, girls."

"Good-bye," said Florence; "we'll just be dyin
to hear what that strange place is like."

"Oh, yes," added Marie, "and the girl."

"Unless you get eaten up, come out after suppe
to-night and tell us all about it," Jack called afu
her.

' If children should be seen and not heard, ho
can I tell you 11 about it?" flashed Marjorie ba(
at him from the middle of the road. "I don't b
lieve I'll tell you anything."

"She will though, for all that," Jack declare
confidently. "She's good-natured and never keq
spite. Only she's such a kid and talks thiough h
hat."

As Marjorie was out of hearing, there was i
answer forthcoming, fortunately for the peace
that green and sunny Mayfair, which the half-jes

Mayfais.

v:iy with
:(1 across
i which
iped ui)

horses!"
g to call
e. Good-
be dying

er supper
lied after

ard, how
orie back
don't be-

declared,
vcr keeps
tough her

e was no

peace of
half-jest-

ing squabbles of the young people indeed only
served to jnliven.

So, while the sun shone down through the
branches of the trees overhead, making a checker-
work upon the soft grass underfoot, the boys and
girls turned their eager attention upon the Mortons'
house, which was directly opposite, and presently
they saw the carriage roll out at the gate, and Mar-
jorie sitting up very straight beside her mother. She
looked very well in her soft white dress, the tangle
of curls being smoothed out considerably under
her leghorn hat and a blue sunshade in her hand.

'•Marjorie is like a fairy queen in a book !" cried
Florence, half mischievously, half admiringly.

"She's very pretty," assented Marie.

"Marjorie's well enough," pronounced Dick,
carelessly. "She's lots of fun, though, and looks
don't matter, anyway."

The Lewis girls now left the boys in undisturbed
possession of the field, and soon Jack and Dick had
off their uncomfortable collars, and their jackets
as well, and were as deep in the game of baseball
as any one.

"Girls are a bother anyhow," declared Jack,
abandoning his company manners. "They're a per-
fect pest to have around."

Mayfaxs.

"Marjorie it good fun/' argued Dick, stoutly.
"There's no nonsense about her and she doesn't
care whether we've got collars cm or not"

"Yes. she's the right sort," agreed Ned Wallace,

"and she can throw a ball as wdl as anybody."

"And run," put in George Wallace.

"And play cricket," added Luke Morris.

"Oh, well," commented Dick, "she'll have to
give up all that sort of thing now. She's getting big
and she's to go to boarding-school in September."

"She'll come back just like those stuck-up LewiS
girls, who sit up like dolls, afraid to get their dresses
spoiled," grumbled Luke Morris. "I hate girls like
that."

"Marie Lewis is all right," Jack pronounced,
with some iiv.*mith. "She's a very sweet girl."

"Trying to pretend she's a big lady," grunted
Luke; "she's too sweet to be wholesome."

"Shut up, Luke!" exclaimed Dick, "we don't
want any bickering in Mayfair. We've had a jolly
time so far together."

"That's so," agreed the Wallaces, "I g^ess we'd
miss any of the crowd if they went away."

While this talk was going on in the pleasant
meeting-place of Mayfair, the carriage rolled along
the smooth road, making more than one winding

Maytaib.

and finally turned in at the gate of Hornby Hall,
as the Pemberton residence was called. Why, in
this democratic village in the heart of Penniyl-
vania, the dwelling should have received the aris-
tocratic appellation it yr M hard to say.

Marjorie, who was quite pale with excitement
and something like fear, sat very still by her
mother's side. She trembled when Jerry got down
from the box and mounted the steps. The man
himself was not quite free from apprehension, such
were the tales that were told in all the countryside
about this mysterious dwelling. Marjorie felt as
if her heart would stand still in that breathless
moment after Jerry had rung the bell, and she
fancied that her mother was not altogether at ease
either, which was indeed the case.

"I wish I were back in Mayfair, with the loys
and girls!" she said to herself, recalling how bright-
ly the sun had been shining on the green grass.
Here everything seemed damp and cold and, as
Marjorie expressed i^ ghostly." For no one had
raked up the dead le. es of last auttunn and there
they were on the paths, brown and sere, sending
forth a mouldy odor as they rotted away, and chok-
ing th? fresh shrinfc of grass which vainly attempted
to rear their heads.

CHAPTER II.

HORNBY HALL.

HE bell went clanging-, with harsh, discordant

•»■ sound, through wastes of dreariness. It
seemed to Marjorie as if its angry tones must bt ing
some malign shapes from their lurking-places to
confront the daring intruders. At last the door
was opened by an old woman, with silvery hair and
a peculiar, ashen whiteness of face. It seemed as
if the color of her hair had been bleached out of it
by some special process; and Marjorie wondered
if it could have turned white in a single night. For
surely it had not the natural appearance of hair
that had lost its color in the slow passage of years.

Jerry asked, with a voice which had a tremor in
it, if Mr. Pemberton was at home.

"Mr. Pemberton," responded the woman, with
a ghastly laugh wliicli showed toothless gums,
"where else should he be but at home? He can't
put a foot under him."

Hornby Hall.

Mrs. Morton here bent forward and said to the
old woman:

"Ask if he will see Mrs. Morton and — ^her little
girl, and say also that they would both like to see
Miss Mary Pembcrton."

The woman went away and Mrs. Morton leaned
back in the carriage, with the air of one ;vho is ac-
complishing a dreaded duty, and as she slowly
looked around her she thought of the past, when
Hornby Hall had been a place of merrymaking and
slie a young girl, coming here for a ball, or setting
out upon some expedition with a merry party of
young people from that very hall-door, which now
seemed to frown upon her with gloomy severity.

Marjorie could, of course, have no idea of the
curious sensation with which her mother mounted
those once familiar steps, but she herself felt, as
she afterward explained to an interested audience,
as if she were stepping into an exciting but rather
frightful story-book. What the next page of that
book would disclose she could not guess, but she
presently followed her mother into a dark and
sombre-looking roan. There were pictures of
stern-faced men upon the wall, and one of a girl
in a ball-dress of pink, with a bouquet of roses in
her hand and a certain, delicate charm in features

Hornby Hall.

which yet were irregular, in eyes which must have
been luminous in the living person, and in lips that
smiled, half-parted.

Marjorie stared at ^his portrait with fascination.
It seemed so utterly out of keeping with its sur-
roundings, just sm she felt her own white dress and
dainty ribbons to be. Presently a peculiar, grating
sound came lo the listeners' ears and an old man
was wheeled into the room in an invalid's chair by
a servant white-haired and portentously solemn.

"Everything is so old here," Marjorie thought
whiuisically, "I wonder if the girl will be old, too,
and, 2^ -rhaps, have white hair."

But ijer thoughts were distracted from the girl,
who had not yet appeared, and riveted with a kind
of terror upon the old man, already before her.
His pointed chin and hooked nose, his swarthy
complexion an i sneering smile terrified her. He
sat surveying Marjorie's mother in silence, and the
girl noticed that ihe rich color faded from Mrs.
Morton's cheek under the gaze, which she silently
returned. After a lor<g pause, the old man began,
in a hissing, sibilant voicj that made Marjorie
tremble :

"And so, Lucy Watson— or should I say Lucy
Morton? — you have come at last to see me,"

Hornby Hall.

"I have come, as you say, to see you," Mrs. Mor-
ton responded, "and also to see Mary Pcmberton,
my dead friend's child."

The old man laughed, a low and not unmusical

laugh.

"Put it as plainly as you will," he observed, "that
seeing me is but the necessary step to seeing the
child, Mary Pemberton. As, however, you have
taken this necessary step, your object shall be at-
taiped."

H' touched a bell which stood near him on a
table, emitting a sharp, imperative sound, which
brought the old servant as promptly as though a
spring had impelled him inside the door.

"Let Miss Pemberton come here at once — at once,
I say."

The man withdrew and Mary Pembfr' n ap-
peared, with an almost magical speed it seemed to
Marjorie. A queer fancy came into her mind that
this old man kept all these figures upon springs and
jerked each one into his presence when he willed.

To Marjorie's relief, however, Mary Pemberton
was not old. An involuntary glance at the new-
comer's hair showed it to be of a natural color.
Her face, indeed, was pale, like that of one un-
accustomed to the open air, and beside the rich

Hornby Hall.

brown of Marjorie's own cheeks seemed wan. Mar-
jorie's eyes turned instantly from the face of the
girl to that of the picture. There was a curious
resemblance between the two. It seemed as though
this living Mary Pemberton were a faded image
of the brilliant young figure in the ball-dress.

"This is Mary Pemberton!" announced the old
man, transfixing his granddaughter with a look,
once more giving the impression that he was jerk-
ing her forward by some secret spring. For she
moved mechanically to Mrs, Morton's side. The
latter took her hand and kissed her.

"I was your mother's best friend, my dear," she
said.

The young girl's face took on a startled ex-
pression, like tliat of one awakened from sleep. But
the old man's voice jeiked her round again till she
stood facing him, trembling perceptibly as she met
his cold gaze.

"She is, if you please, Lucy Morton, unaccus-
tomed to sentiment. Sentiment is a weed which
no longer grows at Hornby Hall. We have up-
rooted it with other noxious plants. Mary Pem-
berton, shake hands with that child yonder."

Mary Ponberton advanced toward Marjorie,
who felt about as much pleasure in touching her

Hornby Hall.

hand as if the girl were a ghost. She seemed a
part of the mystery, the terror, the eerie tales which
for inore than a generation had spread about the
countryside. And yet there was a curious interest
and fascination in watching this young plant of an
unreal atmosphere, who sat so still in a dingy-
colored linen frock, neat and fitting well a sym-
metrical little figure, but tmrelieved by any touch
of color. Mary on her part took in with keenly ob-
servant eyes every detail of her visitor's dainty
costume with a curious sickening at heart Those
bright-colored ribbons, that soft, becoming white,
were a revelation to her of possibilities outside the
walls of Hornby.

Mr. Pemberton watched the meeting between
the two girls with a smile that lent a new malignity
to his face and he noted the dissimilarity in their
costumes, remarking upon it in a terse sentence:

"The grub and the butterfly !"

Marjorie, usually glib of tongue, did not know
what to say, especially in presence of the terrible
grandfather, to this unknown quantity of a child,
who might have been a century old so far did she
seem removed from the gay and lighthearted com-
pany of boys and girls fr<»n whom Marjorie had
come.

Hornby Hall.

"Your granddaughter has lived very much
alone/' observed Mrs. Morton.

The old man's face clouded on hearing the title
given the girl.

"Mary Pemberton has, as you say, Hved very
much alone," he said.

"Well, I would like to change all that, if you will
let me," Mrs. Morton pleaded. "I would like to
bring Mary into companionship with other children
of her own age."

"A very doubtful benefit," ccnnmented the old
man, eyeing Mrs. Morton with his cold stare.

"I can not agree with you," Mrs. Morton ex-
claimed warmly, though, indeed, she had very little
hope of persuading the old man to permit such
companionship. Surprises were, however, in store
for her.

"Argument, as you may perhaps remember, was
never tolerated in Hornby Hall," Mr. Pembert* .
reminded her sternly.

Mrs. Morton remembered very well inat by ^
master at least argument had never been tolerated
and, oh, the daric tales that had gathered around
that iron will of his. The au ocrat was silent for
an interval, during which his mind was busy fol>
lowing out an idea which had come to him when

Hornby Hall.

he perceived the contrast between the aDpard of
the two girls and was, moreover, aware that Mary
saw and felt it. At last he spoke:

"To prove that Mary Pemberton is not a
prisoner, as many of you charitable country folk
have conjectured, and that Hornby Hall is not
precisely a jail, whatever you may believe to the
contrary, Mary Pemberton shall accept whatever
invitation you may see fit to extend to her."

Mrs. Morton was silent a moment from sheer
amazement, while the old man, leaning back in his
cnair, toyed with a pair of gold-rimmed glasses
suspended around his neck by a black ribbon, and
regarded her sarcastically. Meanwhile Marjorie
had entered into conversation with the strange
child.

"Do you go to school ?" she asked.

Mary Pemberton shook her head.

"No," she replied, and there was a wistful tone
in her voice. This girl, she reflected, who had come
in from the outer brightness attired like some bril-
liantly colored bird she had seen flitting about the
garden, had beai to school and had played all her
life with other children.

"But how — ^how do you lairn lessons, then?"
Marjorie asked.

Hornby Hall.

"Mrs. Miles teaches me."
"Oh, you have a governess!" Marjorie ex-
claimed, and Mary did not undeceive her, though
that title could scarce have been applied to the
woman in question. "Well, it would be nice in
some ways learning at home, but I think after all
school is more fun."

"I don't know," responded Mary Pembcrton
vaguely, and her eyes sought the ground.

"Mary Pemberton lias not experienced the joys
you speak of, Miss Chatterbox," observed the old
man, suddenly addressing Marjorie. She felt or
fancied she felt a curious, pricking sensation, as if
a snake had stung her, while her eyes were so at-
tracted to the ha d old face that she felt they
could never be withdrawn again. Marjorie had not
known he was listening to her conversation with
Mary. His attention had been apparently engrossed
by what her mother was saying. But Mr. Pember-
ton possessed the faculty of being able to heai two
or three conversations at the same time.

"She is therefore quite unlike your modern young
person," the grandfather went on, "and I am afraid
will not prove very amusing to a young lady of
fashion like yourself."
"Marjorie a young lady of fashion!" Mrs. Mor-

Hornby Hall.

ton cried, with a laugh which sounded unnatural in
th:i' gloomy room, "oh, you should see her climb-
ing a tree or running a race with her cousin."

"Ah !" said the old man, "I am afraid Mary Pem-
berton will be left still farther behind in those
achievements. She has not been permitted any
such unfeminine performances. She has been ac-
customed to measure her steps at Hornby Hall, to
obey without question, to abstain from unseemly
amusements, and in general to order herself by the
laws that prevail here. The breaking of a law
brings swift punishment and Mary has learned that
the way of the transgressor is hard."

He laughed the same mirthless laugh and looked
at Mary, who sat motionless with eyes cast down,
as though by any sudden movement or by an un-
guarded glance she might make herself amenable
to those unwritten, but ever present laws.

"When can she come?" Mrs. Morton asked
shortly. Her old dislike for the man was rising
within her so strong that she could no longer
dissemble.

"I perceive that I have lost nothing of my old at-
traction for you, my dear Lucy Watson," laughed
Mr. Pemberton, '"but in answer to yovu- inquiry I
may say that the c^e will permit the maiden to cs-

Hornby Hall.

cape as early as to-morrow, which is, I believe,
Saturday; and to prove how completely he has
relaxed his grip, you may keep her, if you are so
minded, for a week."

Mrs. Morton could hardly believe her ears and
Marjorie was delighted at the idea of a new com-
panion, even though she was one so different from
ordinary girls. So she whispered to Mary, quite
gleefully, and almost as if the old man were not
there:

"Oh, won't it be nice to have you come to our
house for a whole week. I have such a lot of things
to show you !"

Mary seemed dazed and did not answer. Ivir
Pemberton, touching the spring again by addressing
her, caused the girl to face liim, mechanically

"Do you hear, Mary Pemberton ?" he said. "You
are to bid Mrs. Miles get you ready for to-morrow.
You will go from here at four o'clock in the after-
noon and remain till that day week at precisely th
same hour. See that you are not a minute late, do
you hear? I will wait for you with my watch in
my hand."

Mary Pemberton only bent her head, but all
present knew that the words were engraven on her
mind, to be obeyed with the utmost exactitude.

Hornby Hall.

"Don't speak to me on the subject, and don't let
nie see your face aj;ain till you come back," com-
manded Mr. Pemberton. "Shake hands with the
visitors and go instantly to Mrs, Miles."

She did as directed, gliding at once from the
room after giving her hand to each of the guests.
They were now standing up to go and Mr. Pem-
berton gave Mrs. Morton two icy fingertips.

"You will, I know, relax all discipline," he said,
"and put into the girl's mind sentiment and the sense
of color, which are mis hievotis. They are brjiished
from Hornby Hall, with other pernicious things
which deceive and blind the , Dung especially to the
actual barrenness and drearinen of life. But I am
not afraid to make the experiment. The discipline
of Hornby will soon pluck up all such weeds. Mrs.
Miles can be trusted for that."

He laughed again, that laugh which was not good
lo hear.

"I myself do not interfere. I neither punish nor
reward. I never praise and but seldom condemn.
But I am convinced that Mary Pemberton will better
understand what discipline means when she has been
for a sufficient time surrounded by color and senti-
ment. The young are best taught by contrasts.*'

Mrs. Morton looked at him with a feeling of

32 HOBKBY HaXX.

deadly repulsion, as though he were some adder
which crossed her path. This visit, this holiday,
then, was to serve as a new species of torment, a
wholesome discipline. Still, even a wedc would be
scmiething, an oasis in a desert life.

"I dnire her to grow up in a certain groove,"
Mr. Pemberton said, noticing and appraising at its
full value Mrs. Morton's glance, which gratified
him, as an acknowledgment of power. "She will,
then, be free, I fancy, from vicissitudes, free from
certain tendencies to pleasure and excitement, to
gay apparel and ch'^erful company, which have
mocked some lives v ithin these very walls. She will
expect little of life and get, of cuui^e, i.otiiinj; "

For one brief instant a feeling akin to pity entered
into Mrs. Morton's mind. There was a suggestion
of pathos, of the sad shipwreck which had befallen
this man of commanding gifts, and almost a note
nf explanation or of self-justification. But his icy
words of farewell and the chill of his personality
seemed to follow the mother and daughter out into
the warm air full of life and colored sweetness.

"I am afraid of him!" Marjorie murmured, as
she clung close to her mother in the carriage. "He
is like one of those dreadful old men in fairy-tales,
and di, poor, poor Mary."

Hornby Hall.

The h<Mneward drive was a silent <Mie, but as
they drew near the cheerful dwelling of brick, Mar-
jorie said aloud : "I shall never be able to make the
girls and boys understand what it is like at
Hornby."

CHAPTER III.

MARJORIE DESCRIBES HER VISIT.

THE charmed circle of girls and boys who were
privileged to assemble in the pleasant field
dignified by the high-sounding name of Mayfair
had gathered early on that particular evening to
hear of Mar jorie's visit to the Pembertons. And there
were many more who would have liked to hear the
recital, for the news had gone through the village
like wild-fire that Mrs. Morton had gone with her
young daughter to call at Hornby Hall. Her car-
riage had been watched by many curious eyes till
it disappeared up the long, straight avenue with
rows of poplars to the great, staring, white-walled
house, so long a center of mysteries for the village.
The circumstance had set all the elders a-talking.
Not only the gentlefolk, who numbered about a
dozen families in all, but also John Tobin, who kept
the Riverside Hotel, an old resident and a man of
mark after his own fashion, and Jeremiah O'Meara,
the baker, who had come straight f.om Tipperary
to this green village in the heart of the Pennsyl-

Marjorie Describes Her Visit, 35

vania hills, and had served bread and rolls and
cake to gentle and nr.ple alike during a period of
thirty years.

These had n. k:! to say ibout the visit of that
afternoon and tue iuc.>::-'"s to which it gave rise;
and so had the widow McBain, a Scotchwoman,
who sold needles and thread and other small wares
in a very small shop which was a local headquarters
for gossip; and William McTeague, the general
dealer, and Maurice Burke, the carpenter, and Jim
Waller, the cobbler. They formed a coterie of
oldest inhabitants, and meeting, though not at May-
fair, they recalled every old story, whether true or
false, which had been in circulation during a score
or more of years.

Marjorie, however, had her audience, consisting
of her own particular little set : the Lewis girls and
Dolly Martin, who was Marjorie's chum at school
and walked back and 'orth with her during ten
calendar months of the year. Dolly was a plain,
freckled, tall girl, in marked contrast to ^/etty
Marie Lewis, but she was very clever at her studies
and, because of unfailing good humor, a general
favorite. There was also a thin, dark-{a<xd girl,
who had a decidedly Jewish cast of countenance,
though she was an American by birth and, like the

36 Marjorie Describes Her Visit.

others, a Catholic in creed. Her name was Kitty
Hogan.

The Wallace boys and Luke Morris came run-
ning up the road out of breath, so eager were they
to hear the news; after them came Hugh Graham,
a shy, sandy-complexioned boy, tall for his age and
reticent of speech. He in turn was followed by
Jack, and Dick Dalton, who vaulted over the fence
instead of entering by the gate. Dick, by accident
or design, tripped up Jack, who went sprawling
almost at Marie Lewis' feet. He rose making a
wry face, but put on his best college manner, which
Marjorie so much disliked.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Marie," he said, with
quite a lofty air.

"I hope you're not hurt," said Marie, with a
look of concern from her blue eyes which was quite
melting and made the other girls giggle.

"Oh, not at all," Jack answered her, stepping
aside to administer a sly kick to Dick Dalton, who
already was plying Marjorie with questions.

"There's not so very much to tell after all," Mar-
jorie declared slowly. She sat under the spreading
oak, with her tangled curls waving in the breeze
and the departing sun shedding a glory about her
face. She seemed like some priestess of old with

M\RjoRiE Describes Her Visit.

her circle of disciples round her eagerly hanging on
the words of their oracle. Jack's eager eyes were
fixed upon her fa as he sat upon the grass at her
feet side by side with Dick, while the other boys
pressed around in a circle and the girls occupied
the bench with Marjorie in a variety of attitudes,
all expressive of eager attention.

"We drove up the avenue to the door," Marjorie
began, with due solemnity, "and Jerry got down
and rang. The bell sounded just fearful, echoing
through the halls, and then — "

Marjorie paused, overcome by the recollection.

"What?" cried Jack. "Girls take so long to tell
a story."

"Shut up, Jack!" cried Dick emphatically if not
politely.

"Then," continued Marjorie, taking no notice of
the interruption, "an old woman opened the door.
Very old she seemed to be, with crinkled white hair
and a face that looked as if it had been white-
washed."

"Oh!" burst from several of the girls. There
seemed something specially ghastly in the idea.

"When we went into a very dark room, with a
high ceiling and dull paper on the wall, Mr. Pem-
berton was wheeled in. He is old too, and white-

38 Maejorie Describes Her Visit.

haired, and the servant who pushed the chair had
white hair too, and then, and then — Mr. Pembcrton
was rather terrible."

"Terrible!" cried a chorus. "How? What did
he say?"

"It wasn't even what he said," Marjohe ex-
plained, "but his voice and his awful eyes and his

(lark face."

The girls were fairly awestruck ; the boys in their
interest bent forward upon one another's shoulders.

"Stop shoving, there!" cried Jack. "You can
hear just as well without breaking my collarbone."

"Keep still. Jack!" shouted Dick. "We want to
hear. What did he say?"

"Oh, a lot of disagreeable things. He made me
feel as if I had touched a snake. And then Mary
came in."

"What is she like, Marjorie?" cried the Lewis
girls. "She must be very queer living in that awful
place."

"Do you think she is afraid of that dreadful old
man?" Dolly asked in a hushed whisper, as if the
being so described might be somewhere within
hearing.

Marjorie answered both questions together.
"She seemed a good dtal like a wooden doll, and

Marjorie Desciubbs Her Visit. 39

a doll wouldn't show fear," declared Marjorie;
"but I'm sure she is afraid. She's coming to-
morrow, though, and you'll seel"

"Oh, Marjorie!" cried the girls.

"You don't mean that she's coming here, to May-
fair?" broke from Jack.

"She's coming to our house, not to the field,"
answered Marjorie. "You do ask stupid questions
sometimes, Tack, though you are in philosophy. Is
that what you call your class?"

"You wouldn't understand if I told you," re-
torted Jack ; "girls never learn any of those things."

"Weil, they don't want to, anyway," snapped
Marjorie.

"Do stop scrapping with Jack and get on with
your story, Marjorie," interposed Dick.

"There's not much more to tell. Mother says
Mary has had a lonely, miserable life. So you must
all be nice to her. Some of your fine college airs
will do for her. Jack, because she seems almost
grown-up."

Jack reddened, catching Marie Lewis* eye.

"I'm glad to hear she has some sense," replied
Jack; "we have too many kids around here as
it is."

"I don't know whether she has sense or not!"

40 Marjorie Describes Her Visit.

cried Marjorie. "Aii grown-up people arft not
sensible, any more tnan boys that pretend to be."

"Oh, do stop, Marjorie," urged Dick ; "we want
to hear you tell us about this girl. You're all right
so long as you don't get sparring with Jack."

Madge, gratified by this bit of flattery from her
cousin Dick, who was, perhaps, the most popular
boy in Ironton, went on with her story:

"Mary Pemberton is to stay a week and we must
do all we can to make her enjoy herself."

"We'll give her a good time!" cried Dick; "won't
we, Jack?"

"The best we know how," agreed his chum, "but
say, Marjorie, is the girl good-looking or joily?"

"Oh, what do looks matter?" objected Dick.
"And she can't be very jolly living in a hole like
that with that old beast. Marjorie said she was a
good deal like a doll."

"Well, we'll stir her up a bit," declared Jack.
"What do you think, Miss Marie? Ironton's a
pretty good place to have fun in?"

"I'm sure we like it," said Marie, smiling at
him in her sweet-tempered way; "don't we,
Florence?"

Florence assented somewhat hastily. She was
busy questioning Madge on her own account.

Marjorie Describes Her Visit. 41

"You didn't see anything strange or hear any
queer sounds?" she asked.

"I certainly didn't hear anything at all except old
Mr. Pembe-ton's voice and a few words from
Mary, and I saw only what I told you — white-haired
people with pale faces."

"But was the house different from other places —
inside, I mean?"

"It was dark and rather dreary," Marjorie
declared, letting her thoughts go back over the in-
cidents of her short visit; "there was a very big
hall, with a winding staircase like those we read
of in books, and a great clock, but I think it was
stopped; and the room we were in was dark and
rather ghostly too."

"We must find out what kind of girl this Mary
Pemberton really is," observed practical Dolly Mar-
tin, "before we can arrange any plans for her enter-
tainment."

During Marjorie's description of the house Dolly
had been in conference with the boys on this very
subject, for each of them had been suggesting some-
thing which might be done to enliven the time of
Mary's visit.

"You see," she went on, "she may like grown-up
things and not care at all for out-door games. She

42 Makjokie Dbscribbs Her Visit.

may not like Mayfair as well as we do, and she may
not want to go climbing fences and getting her
frocks torn in the woods."

"If she's such a muff as that," grumbled Luke
Morris/'I wish she'd stay at home. It will be a week
wasted and the simimer vacation's short enough."

"Can't you tell us scxnething about her?" in-
quired Jack.

"Just as much as you could tell what was behind
a mask," Marjcrie declared, proud of her distinction
as story-teller.

"Well, it will be rather exciting to find out what
is behind the mask," observed quiet Hugh Graham.

"I bet she won't be much fun!" pronounced Ned
Wallace.

"She'll be a regular wet blanket, I know," added
Luke, the grumbler.

"Shame, Luke," reproved Hugh, "it's mean to
talk about a girl like that and especially before you
know anything about her."

And Hugh flushed up to the roots of his sandy
hair, as he spdce thus generously in defence of
the absent.

"She may be as nice as anything," volunteered
George Wallace, "because everytb'.ig will be new
to her."

Masjoub Dncsnn Hn Vmr. 43

"Whether she's fun or not," said Jack, the
autocrat, "we've got to do the best we can to make
her fed at home."

All agreed with this sentinwnt, and Marjorie, re-
verting to a previous question, declared thought-
fully:

"As for her looks, she's a good deal like the

picture."

"What picture?" cried Jack. "If that isn't like

a girl !"

"The picture that was in the room where we
sat," Marjorie explained, ignoring Jack's insinua-
tion. "It was Mary Pemberton's mother. But she
was young, very young, wearing a ball-dress and
carrying a bunch of roses in her hands."

"Does your mother remember that lady dressed
like that and looking young?" asked Hugh, who
had imagination.

"Yes, mother says she remembers the younger
Mrs. Pemberton loddng exactly like that at a ball
in that very house."

"A ball at Hornby?" sniffed Dick. 'TOiy, Mar-
jorie, you're stuffing us."

"Ask mother, if you don't believe me!"

"Why, I thought it was always shut up, like a
jail," added Luke Morris.

44 Marjorib Describes Her Visit.

"I don't think it was, long ago," Marjoric
declared.

"It's a wonder the old ogre lets the girl out now,"
Jack observed thoughtfully, plucking a dandelion
to pieces.

"He called himself an ogreV cried Marjorie,
laughing at the recollection, "and he is like one."

"Every one says he keeps Miss Mary shut up,"
went on Jack, "and only lets her out into the garden
about three or four times a year."

"Oh, come now, Jack, draw it mild!" objected
Dick ; "I guess he lets her out every day. But the
gard '3 a rum sort of place — ^nothing except
thistles and dog-weed grow there."

"I saw it more than once when I was a boy,"
began Jack.

"Wh( you were a boy!" interrupted Marjorie,
with a isdainful snifif.

"Yes, about your age, Marjorie," Jack went on,
coolly, "do you remember, Dick?"

"Yes, you got up on my shoulder the first time
we went to look over the wall, and you were so
scared that you tumbled down and never gave me
my turn to look over."

"Rot !" cried Jack, reddening. "I saw the old chap
there and I didn't want him to b^n jawing at me."

Marjome Describes Her Visit. 45

"You said it looked like a churchyard and gave
you a chill!" persisted F'^Jc.

"I was a youngster then, and I suppose I had
fancies like other kids," explained Jack, "eh, Mar-
jone?

"You hadn't any like me," cried Marjorie,
quickly, "because you're altogether different.
You're always thinking about yourself, for one

tiling."

"They say children and fools speak the truth,"
declared Dick, with a grin; "so, that's one for you,
Jack, old fellow."

Jack didn't take a joke as well as some of the
others, but there was nothing to be said, so he
turned to find consolation in Marie's little lady-
like sentences and Florence's good-fellowship.

And they all sat a while longer, as the lingering
summer gloaming turned into night, and the stars
began to shine out, with a mellow, golden radiance,
in the deep blue overhead. They fell into a pleasant
talk after fh&t, from which all strife, even of jest,
was banished, and into their minds came the dreams
half-melancholy, half-joyous, which beset the path
of youth. Shadows or premonitions of the
events that are to make up each dawning life.

CHAPTER IV.

THE COMING OF MARY PEMBBRTON.

MARjORiE was dressed early the next afternoon
and out upon the steps, awaiting the ar-
rival of her visitor. It seemed to her that the day
was very long and that the appointed hour would
never come. The old man had mentioned four
o*cIock, and Marjorie knew that Mary would be
fmnctual; but she was not sure whether the little
girl would leave Hornby Hall at the time named
or arrive at their house. She remembered, with a
shiver, the old man's expression as he had declared
that Mary was to return home again the same
day and hour in the following ^^eek

At length the time drew near when the expected
visitor should arrive; Mary left Hornby Hall pre-
cisely at four o'clock and the half-hour which it
took her to reach the Mortons' gate was to the
impatien vlarjorie the longest she had ever known.

Tbb Coming of Maey Pbmbbston. 47

She began even to fear that at the last moment Mr.
Pemberton had kept his grandcliild at home. At
precisely half past four there was the sound of
wheels coming rapidly up the road, a great cloud
of dust, and Marjorie, with beating heart, saw
such a carriage approaching as could have belonged
only to the Pembertons. It was black and dingy,
and suggested nothing so much as a prison van
which Marjorie had once seen in a gr«it city. Such
as it was, it cimt on with sureness to the gate and,
turning in, drove round the pleasa*' .'^ riage drive,
gay with its borders -n flowers.

In this strange vehicle sat Marv Pcmberton, pale
and evidently bev, ildered. She was dressed in a
dull brown frock; her fiair was drawn tight back
from her face in a most unyouthful fashion. But
Marjorie clapped lier hands for glee at the first
sight of Mary, and ran down to open the carriage
door. As a consequence of this impulsive move-
ment, the old white-haired coachman remained
motionless in his seat. Jerry came from the st2i>le-
yard and removed from the back of the carriage
a large valise. Then the old coachman solemnly
touched his hat and drove his lumbering van out
the gate, leaving Mary bewildered at the foot
of the steps. She stood still and looked about her —

48 The Coming of Mary Pemberton.

looked at the flowers in the beds, and the broad,
open field on the opposite side of the road, which
served as a meeting-place for the small circle of
boys and girls who were almost daily associates.
They called the place Mayfair, for some unknown
reason, and in Mayfair a certain number were even
then assembled to watch this marvelous arrival.

Mary at length drew a deep breath as one long
shut up in a dungeon might have done when
restored to the light of day. Then she turned to
Marjorie and spoke the strangest and yet the most
natural words:

"I don't think I can ever go back there!"

"What will you do?" inquired Marjorie, awe-
stricken but sympathetic. "They will come to get
you."

A frightened look passed over Mary's face, as
she said wearily :
"It is no use my saying I won't go back, for, of

course, I shall be forced to go."

"You might hide somewhere," suggested Mar-
jorie, doubtfully.

"Mrs. Miles would find me anywhere," declared
Mary, turning still paler, as if the search had al-
ready begun.

"Who is Mrs. Miles?" Marjorie asked, breath-

The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 49

lessly. She remembered how the old man had
uttered that name.

"Ah, she is — " began Mary, checking herself ab-
ruptly with a shudder. "Perhaps she will hear
even here."

Marjoric looked around her uneasily. It was
quite like living in a story-bode with evil
enchanters or wicked fairies. Decidedly this
strange girl had brought a new and mysterious at-
mosphere into Marjorie's happy but somewhat
prosaic life. At that moment Mrs. Morton ap-
peared upon the teps.

"Welcome, ^* ry, welcome, my dear, for your
dead mother's sv.zt and for your own."

As she kissed her, she added:

"Forget all your troubles for this one week, at
least. Try not to remember that you have any."

"But after that?" inquired Mary, fixing a pair
of solemn eyes upon Mrs. Morton.

"After that, who knows? Something may
happen," cried Marjorie ; "don't let us lose a minute
of your time here. I have so much to show you
and all the girls and boys want to know you and
we're going to do all sorts of jolly things while
you stay."

Marjorie was rather breathless from talking so

50 The Coming of Mary Pemberton.

last, but she held Mary's hand in hers and led
her tip to a pretty room, next to Marjorie's own.
It had pink and vvhite curtains, a chiffonier of the
same colors, a long mirror in a bright frame, half
a dozen pictures, and an atmosphere of brightness
such as Mary had never breathed. She looked
about her with much the same bewildered air as
she had worn on alighting from the carriage. Her
face twitched as if from pain, and the tears forced
themselves frOTi her eyes and fell down her chedcs
to her ugly, dingy ^frock.

"We will never let you go back !" cried Marjoric
impulsively. "You can just let Mr. Pemberton
keep his old money and everything and if Mrs.
Miles comes here — well, I'll get the boys to throw
stones at her."

This was an awful threat but it made Mary
laugh in the midst of her tears.

"You don't know Mrs. Miles!" she cried. A
young maid came in to open the valise, which
Jerry had brought up, and to know if there was
anything else she could do. Pleasant bright faces
everywhere. The gloom and darkness and dreari-
ness all gone, and color, gay, bright color all
around. Marjorie left Mary for a little while to
give her an opportunity to change her clothes, bid-

The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 51

ding her come down to the front steps just as
soon as she was ready. Mary's sallow face grew
red as she turned over her dingy frocks. She had
not even so much as a ribbon with which to brighten
them up. And yet she was only a girl, with a
girl's natural love of pretty things. The feeling
had b^n to awaken within her the moment she
had stepped out of the Pemberton carriage, in
sight of the gay-colored flower beds. She sighed
as she brushed out her long hair, which was glossy
and abundant. She never thought of Ltting it fall
loose about her, after the fashion of Marjorie's.
She braided it up very tightly, as Mrs. Miles had
instructed her to do, drawing it back from the
temples. The eyes that looked out of the pale face
were soft brown, like those of the picture, with
yellow lights in them. The mouth was large and
the nose somewhat out of proportion, defects which
were also visible in the portrait.

Having completed her toilet, Mary went slowly
downstairs. She paused on the broad landing to
stare out from the cheerful window, shaded by
bright-hued curtains and giving view upon a lovely
garden, so unlike that dreary spot which the girl
had known by that name. On the staircase walls
hung pictures, before each of which Mary paused.

52 The Coming of Mary Pembertoh.

Everything here was a revelation to her. At last

she reached the outer steps, where Marjorie sat

impatiently waiting.
"Oh, ist that you, Mary, at last?" she cried.

"Come and sit down a minute till wc decide what

we shall do first"
Mary seated herself beside Marjorie, but it did

not take her very long to decide what she would

prefer to do.

"I would like to go into the garden," she said,

"if it's all the same to you."

This decision came partly from force of habit,
for almost the only pleasure in the girl's dull life,
hitherto, had been her daily walks in that dreary
patch of ground dignified by the name of garden
at Hornby Hall. But it also came from the
glimpses which Mary had had from the stair win-
dow of delightful paths, winding amongst glowing
masses of variegated color, which had made the
Mortons' garden seem like some enchanted region.

"We'll go there first," cried Marjorie, "and,
then, I want you to see my pony. You may ride
him some day, if you're not afraid ; and the rabbits
and the new piggies in the farmyard behind the
stables, and my own big dog, Nero. He's just
splendid."

The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 53

Talking thus, Marjorie reached the garden gate
and presently the two found themselves amongst

the glories of rose-laden bushes, pink and white
and yellow and deep crimson. Carnations were
there in clustering masses, and tulips made rich
spots of color, while lilies of the valley, hyacinths,
heliotrope, and sweet pea, vied with each other in
perfuming the atmosphere. A garden, indeed, is
a wonderful place even to the ordinary observer,
but to this child it was as a new Eden, the dawn-
ing of a new world.

**Pick as many flowers as you like,** Marjorie
exclaimed, "for the gardener says it's better for
the btishes."

"Pick them?" echoed Mary in amazonait "Do
you mean thi-t I can pluck them off the bushes?**

She had not thought it possible to so much as
touch one of these radiant objects. At Hornby it
had been a crime to pick so much as a leaf from a
tree. Once Mrs. Miles had come up suddenly be-
hind the girl and had bent her fingers backward till
she screamed with pain, for the simple offence of
touching the soft, green leaves of a young tree.
The tree had shot up unaccountably, as is some-
times the case, and had seemed to thrive in the un-
promising soil. Mary had loved it as if it were

54 Th« Coming of Mary Pembi»tok.

a living thing. But after that occurrence Mrs.
Miles caused the tree to be uprooted, and the tender
green of the leaves met the tired eyes no more.

"I think I will take one of these," Mary ventured,
pointing to a dark red rose with heart of fire. The
vivid coloring charmed her.

"Take a lot, as many as you like!" cried Mar-
jorie. "And wait, I'm going to fasten a bunch of
them in your frock. They will look so well against
the brown."

Mary blushed, partly with mortification at the
plain appearance of her dress, partly with pleasure
at Marjorie's idea, and she readily submitted to be
decorated by her new friend with some of the
choicest of the red roses.

"I would like to let down your :i'»ir," went on
Marjorie, emboldened Sy the success of her first
experiment; "oh, may I, please? it is such a pretty
color. It will show so much better if I shake it
out loose."

Mary drew back, at first, in terror. What if
Mrs. Miles should see her with loosened hair and
roses at her throat? But she remembered presently
that it was scarcely possible for Mrs. Miles to see
her in the Mortons' garden, and she gave a sigh
of relief.

The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 55

"You are free here and can do as you please,"
urged Marjorie. Mary hesitated for only another
minute; then she sat down upon a garden bench
and let Marjorie unfasten her hair. Down it came
rippling and shimmering over the brown frock,
amid many exclamations of delight from Marjorie.

"Oh, you are such a dear, and you do lo<^ so
pretty now," cried the impulsive girl.

"Pretty, oh, no!" objected Mary.

"Yes, you do look pretty, doesn't she, papa?"
repeated Marjorie, appealing suddenly to a man
who just then came toward the two girls.

Mary started to her feet in terror, while the man
stood looking. She had not yet got over the habit
of being terrified.

"Eh, what?" said the newcomer, advancing
neai-er. ".What did you say, Marjorie, and who
is this?"

Before Marjorie could say a word he answered
his ©wn question.

"Bless my soul, I need not ask. Come and j^ivc me
a kiss, Mary ; your mother was my dearest cousin."

"Cousin!" cried Marjorie, astonished; "I never,
never knew Mary was a relation of ours."

"Yes, she is," declared Mr. Morton, "and, egad,
how the years do pass. I saw you a toddling

56 The Coming of Mary Temberton.

infant and now you are just Bessie over again,
eyes and hair and all." He mentally added : "Only

not so pretty." For Bessie, though no beauty in
reality, had been beautiful in the eyes of her boy
cousin, who had dearly loved her.

"And you have come to make a long stay, I
hope."

"Just a week, sir," Mary answered. Though not
shy, she was more timid with Mr. Morton than
with either Marjorie or her mother.

"A week, and then to go back to Hornby?" Mr,
Morton exclaimed. "We must see if we can not
get a c(»nmutation of sentence."

He laughed and presently added:

"We must really turn the week into a month, if
any magic can do it. Meanwhile, Marjorie, take
good care of my little cousin. Let her have all the
amusement she wants, and, of course, she must
have some pocket-money."

Mary blushed. She had never handled a penny
in her life.

"Old men like your grandfather forget they were
ever young," went on Mr. Morton, "but I know
what it is to be left short of funds. So, my dear,
you'll have to let Cousin Harry play fairy god-
father, or he won't be pleased at all."

The Coming of Mary Pemberton. 57

So saying, Mr. Morton todc from his podwt a
couple of bills and forced them into the girl's hami.
"You may want them in some of the frolics

which Marjorie is going to get up," he dbaerved;
"money always helps along the fun."

He stood thoughtfully a moment with his hands
in his pockets, then suddenly roused himself from
the reverie to say:

"I remember, as if it were yesterday, when your
grandmother, dear old soul, tipped me when I
went to spend my Christmas at Hornby. Dear me !
Dear me!"

As Mr. Mortem spoke, the sdfsame thing
happened as before in the room upstairs. The big
tears streamed down Mary's cheeks, falling upon
her dull frock.

"What, you don't mind, I hope!" cried Mr.
Morton, in consternation. "And you will keep the
bills?"

"Oh, no, I don't mind," cried Mary; "it isn't
that at all. I will keep the money, because I know
you want me to do that and I will be happy for
this week, at least."

"That's right," said Mr. Mortor, a little uneasy
at this outburst, "and I'm to be your banker if you
want any girl's fixings."

58 The Coming of Mary Pemberton.

As Mr. Morton passed on, Mary stood fingering
the bills and smiling softly after the retreating
figure:

"You ought to be very happy, living with people
like that," she said to Marjorie.

"So I am," agreed Marjorie, "except when I
get cross sometimes and imagine that the world's
all upside down."

CHAPTER V.

MARY IS INTKOOUCED TO MAYFAXE.

THERE was intense curiosity amongst the May-
fair boys and girh, as they called themselves,
to see the new arrival. Any one from Hornby was
a novelty not to be ignored and Ironton. like other
villages, was ever on the lookout for anything new.
So that many of the folk who made up its popu-
lation found they had business in the direction of
the Morton house that evening and passed there
in groups, keeping sharp eyes open for a glimpse
of the girl who had been kept ^ many years a
virtual prisoiwr at Hornby. Why, even the ticket-
of-leave man who had passed through the village
a few days bei^. '- was not a greater curiosity, ani
every boy had managed to interview him and every
girl had peeped at him fr<»n secure places, irhile

59 ,

6o Mary is IntkoduoMI to Matvah.

their elders had stare, curioosly at the puor
wretch.

Popular sentiment being thus arotised in that
rustic corner of the w€H*ld, it is little wondc that
the frequenters of Mayfa'r, which was the priv. e
pr<q)erty of the Mortons .nd could not be tres-
passed upon, felt themselves privilege ileed, and
awaited with eager anticipation at coming
amongst th» m )f 'be newly released.

While tl. •> vuitcd. Jack and Die, . who were
older and ha<! heard ore ■■ r the lot ' ■ )ssip, enter-
tained the ot ler- d esj.eci -'I the i^ewis girls,
who were newc >mers. i / reis ir-n ^ ail ihe o 1
tales, some of thetn '.lood-cun' ini,' and of r irse,
man^ false, whicii were told < f iii iby Hall. So
that it was as well the sun was shining and the
birds singing on that lovely d iiemoon of Mary'
coming, or there would have been shivers an*
shakes amongst the s^rls, and possibly sonv th
boys would have run home a little mor it y
than usually and declimd to linger in uit
spots.

"I guess Jaci and I v re pretty th- ; igiiiy
scared one night when wc \ve^ arou. ' here."
honest Di < declared, w-ind 4 iij .1 thr. ui nar-
rative: "1 tell yuu, we cut .ut and ran for 1

Masy is Iwt«ooucid to Mayfaol 6i

Hut T • lour^v 'yny< were never afruiJ," put in
;.inc LcA'is . Ay, "I thought it was only
girls."

Not all girls " '-orrectcd Dick. "Marjorie is
plucky as any boy It \v(Md be pretty hard to
fric ten I but I gu-ss t cn she would be afraid

at i lornby.'

"It wasn i exac hai ve were afraid," . ck
expla red : "it ' rt nervous feeling

'h, t came o u^ old okery. There's

, ! > of ibout the platv Some say it's

ha f »^ .h«u there was a murder corns itted

A r cried Marie Lewis. "How -er-

'v '\n ui!"
"Hu 'lispered Dick, "they're coming
Ja er .yes turned upon the two

just g furth frwn the Mortons* gate. ^
ow; asity overcame his desire still further to
tere and terrify the city girl beside him. For
er SHiart clothes and young lady airs appealed to
more than to any other boy in Ironton. He
jr< nis feet with his con.i i^nions, who were all
ed now. All eyes were turned upon the
sal . faoe and slender fieure of Mary Pemberton.
"Not so bad-looking after all," Dick whispered.

62 Mary is Introduced to Mayfair.

The crimson roses and the excitement had given
color to the dark face and the eyes were glowing,
too, with the influence of the new, happy life
around her.

"She lodes somewhat different frwn what I ex-
pected," replied Jade in the same low voiw, "and
from — ^the rest of the girls,"

He spoke slowly, meditatively, and Mary Pem-
berton having drawn near caught the boy's gaze
fixed upon her. She did not smile, but regarded
h»m gravely and silently. Her eyes travelled from
him to Dicky Dalton, who felt a sudden chivalrous
pity for the poor maiden escaped for this brief holi-
day from the ogre. She next fixed her glance of
quiet scrutiny upon Hugh Graham, who flushed
uncomfortably imder it, and upon the three other
boys, who stood leaning over one another's shoul-
ders to get a good look at her. Marjorie, leading
her forward, introduced her first to the girls, who
all greeted her effusively, offering her a seat
amongst them on the bench and holding her hand,
each in turn, while warm-hearted Dollie Martin
put an arm about her. Then it came the turn of
the boys to be severally presented to her. She
again observed them with a gaze of deliberate ob-
servation. Then she turned to Marjorie, with a

Mary is Introduced to Mayfahl 63

laugh which was low and tremulous, for lat^ter
was new to her though she had inherited fran her
mother a keen sense of humor.

"I never saw a boy before," she remarked, "and
they certainly are odd-looking!"

The boys looked at one another uncomfortably.
Even Jack was disconcerted and the others shifted
uneasily from one foot to the other. It was so
singular, this being inspected by a creature who
had never seen a boy before.

"You,' she said, addressing Jack, "are quite
tall, almost a man."

This speech ticklea Dick so much that he nearly
choked in trying not to laugh alond. He regained
his composure only by a mighty effort which left
him red in the face.

"I wonder," Mary said next, with the same calm
air of one desiring information, "why boys should
wear anything so very tight and high around tfieir
necks. It must be very unccnnfortable, especially
in hot weather."

Her remark was directed with special reference
to Jack, who looked wrathfully around, and seeing
Dick convulsed with laughter managed to give him
a kick. Marjorie clapped her hands in delight and
laughed outright

64 Mary is Introduced to Mayfair.

"Oh, Mary!" she cried, "Jack is awfully proud
of his high collar; he thinks it makes him a man."

"Do you ?" inquired Mary, fixing her grave eyes
steadily upon Jack. She had no thought of turning
him into ridicule, and when the boy's keen glance
had told him that such was the case, he answered
her with the air of jiood-humored patronage he
always used to girls:

"Marjorie will always have her jcAst. You
mustn't mind her. She's such a kid."

"A kid?" Mary repeated, looking around help-
lessly at Marjorie.

The boys, with the exception of Jack, were all
laughing by this time and engaged in various ex-
pedients to conceal the fact. They had never heard
any one talk like this girl before and it struck them
as so very droll that they simply could not restrain
their merriment.

"Mary doesn't know any slang," said Marjorie;
*'I don't suppose she knows even what slang is."

"I know hardly anything," said poor Mary, look-
ing piteously round upon the group, and again the
tears came from her eyes and rolled down her
chedcs, "I have lived so differently from any one
of you."

Let it be set down to the credit of the Mayfair

Mary is Introduced to Mayfaik. 65

boys and girls that the smiles vanislwd from thdr
faces. Every boy present was, moreover, ready
from that moment to be her champion and, as they
expressed it, "to punch any fellow's head that h" 1
a word to say against her."

"Never mind, Mary," spoke out Dick, "we can
soon tell you whatever you want to know and we're
all going to have a jolly time together this week,
anyway."

Mary's face brightened.

"Everything here is lovely and I know I shall
like every one of you," she said, more impulsively
than one would have supposed she could have
spoken. "If only you knew what it is to see the
world for the first time."

This was a view of the case which had not be-
fore presented itself, and scnne of those present
began to r^rd Mary with a new interest, not
untinged with envy. It is to be regretted, too, that
Miss Marie Lewis was omscious of a slight resent-
ment at being thrust into the badcground, whereas
she had for some weeks enjoyed the proud position
of a new arrival fresh from the city, dressed in
lov-'y clothes, and 1 very pretty little girl besides,
the most correct boarding-school manners,
it is rather nice to feel as though you saw

I, .1

III

66 Mary is Introduced to Mayfair.

everything for the first time," remarked Dollie
Martin, who sat close beside Mary and already felt
very kindly toward her. "You see most of us are
rather tired of everything about Ironton."

"But, imagine, I had never seen a girl till
Marjorie came the other day. And I do think
they are so nice, much prettier than boys."

She said this in a low voice, not meant for the
boys' ears, but gleeful Marjorie at once announced
it aloud with a flourish of trumpets. The boys
were, however, very tolerant about it and Mary did
not sink at all in their good graces because of her
preference for girls.

"If only I hadn't to go back!" Mary said with a
sudden pang at the recollection that all this pleasant
warmth and light and cheerful companionship
would soon disappear as i! by magic

"Boys," cried Marjorie, "if only we could invent
a plan to keep Mary here always."

"Oh, look here, you," said Jade, "you'll get into
trouble. They've the law and Miss Pemberton's
natural guardians."

"Unnatural, you mean!" exclaimed impetuous

Marjorie.

"Hush!" whispered Dollie Martin, for she saw
a flush rising to Mary's cheek.

Masy is Introduced to Mayfaik. 67

"Of course/' went on Mary, **what I mean is
it's very lonely at the Hall, with only my grand-
father, who is old, and there is Mrs. Miles — "

She had spoken with a curious dignity which sat
so well upon this grave young girl with the air of
unusual distinction about her, even in her plain and
homely garb, v'lich dwarfed Marie Lewis' pretti-
ness into insignificance and made even Marjorie
seem hoydenish and unformed. But when she
came to the name of Mrs. Miles she stopped, grow-
ing pale and casting a troubled lode about her.

"Who is Mrs. Miles? Oh, do tell us about her?"
cried Ihe girls, while the boys likewise drew near,
with an expressive movement of eager interest

"Oh, she's just Mrs. Miles. No ont could
describe her. She's hateful and terrible. She sees
everythmg, even in the night I bdieve she is like
a cat and can see in the dark. She hears the
smallest sound and comts creeping, creeping, catch-
ing you wh«i you least expect it and hurting you
in whatever way she can."

The children listened with fascinated interest,
their eyes growing rounder and wider. It was like
some tale of witches that had charmed or terrified
their childhood. Though Mary thus discoursed
freely of Mrs. Miles, she felt an odd and newly

68 Mary is Inteoduced to Mayfair,

awakened sense of loyalty, which impelled her to
say nothing against her grandfather, who terrified
her indeed almost as much as did this formidable
woman and was the power behind Mrs. Miles, in-
spiring her acts or, at least, sanctioning them.

"I wish you all could see her and hear her speak
and feel her bony fingers catching you, when you
don't even know she's near," went on Mary.

"I just wish we could catch her!" cried Hugh
Graham, speaking out suddenly, his fair face aglow
with indignation. "I should just like to come up
behind her when she had seized y

"That would be jolly," said Dick; "I should like
to see her forced to dance a witch's dance."

"Or ducked in a horse pond, as they used to do
with witches," added Jack.

"Oh, wouldn't it be fun!" cried the others.
But Marjorie here made a diversion.
*'l don't think it's good for you, Mary, to be
thinking so much of that awful wcmian," she said.
"It would be far better to play while you are here
and enjoy every moment of the time. Let's pUy
Hide and Sedc."

"Yes, and make believe Mrs. Miles is after each
one of us," suggested Luke Morris.

"It wouWn't be much fun if she were," said Ned

Mary is Introduced to Maypair. 69

.Wallace, "but it will give a creepy feeling to the

game."

"I know I shall shriek if any one catches 1
Marie Lewis declared ; "I shall fancy it is she. '

"Let two or three of us hide together," Dolly
said ; "then we can't get nervous. There, Dick hat
to find the rest of us. Come on, Maryf*

The girls acted upon Dolly's suggestion, two or
three of them grouping together in the various
places of hiding they selected and where Dick found
them all in good season and came upon them with
a terrific whoop to represent Mrs. Miles.

So that all the girls did shriek lustily, exceptMary,
who was accustomed to the very useful habit of
self-repression. Jack did not join in the game. He
thought it undignified and that he was getting too
big for such frolics. He took a book out of his
pocket and began ostentatiously lo read, but in spite
of himself his eager eyes would follow every move-
ment of that jovial game in which he had been
wont to join with gusto.

And so came Mary's first visit to Mayfair to an
end, leaving her much exhilarated by the air and
exercise and the society of tiiose of her own age.

"I love Mayfair," she said; "I think it is so nkc
for you all to have this big f^ce to run in."

70 Mary is Introduced to Mayfair.

"Mother says we're all getting to be too Wg
for those games, and that very soon we'll have to
be quite staid and dignified," Marjorie confided to
her new friend. "Won't it be tiresome?"

"Indeed it will," agreed Mary heartily; "I know
what that is, because I always have to be as quiet
as if I were an old woman."

CHAPTER VI.

MR. AND MRS. MORTON RECALL THE PAST.

NOW while Mary was being introduced to her
young fnends in Mayfair, Mr. Morton tat
smoking upon tiie veranda. His wife was near,
enjoying the beauty of the summer's evenhig and
smiling now and then at tiie sounds of merriment
which readied her from the field opposite. As they
sat thus tiidr talk turned naturally upon Mary.

"There never was a child more to be pitied!"
Mrs. Morton declared emphatically.

"I guess you're about right there, Lucy," assented
Mr. Morton ; "old Pemberton always did make my
flesh creep, even as long ago as my college days.
' And yet he was very different then from what he
IS now.

Mr. Morton, becoming reminiscent, blew out a
cloud of smoke, tmder cover of whidi he let his
thOHg^Vi wander back to ^e days when he had

7«

72 Mr. and Mrs. Morton Recall the Past.

been a fresh-cheeked, fair-haired youth, coming out
of college for his vacation. Now he was stout and
middle-aged, his fresh cheeks had become florid
and his hair had a hint of gray about the temples,
but he liked to recall the past, as, indeed, all the
world does.

"Harry," asked his wife, after the pause had
lenghtened as such pauses do between members
of the same family, "do you believe these stories
that are told?"

''Well," said Mr. Morton, "I can't say that I be-
lieve ail of them. In a coimtry place like this there
is stare to be exaggeration. But some of them we
know to be true and we can guess at others.*'

He dropped his voice and looked about him
cautiously as he spoke.

"Of course," said Mrs. Morton, "if we hadn't
known some of them to be true, there would never
have been a break between the families. For
instance, we know or suspect how Bessie was
treated after her husband's death and how fiercely
bitter Mr. Pemberton was against her."

"Poor Bessie!" Henry Morton murmured,
knocking the ashes off his cigar. From the field
beyond came the babel of merry voices, which
broke upon the summer dusk, with the m<moton<»is

Mr. and Mrs. Morton Recall the Past. 73

drone of the Icatydids and the chirp of a belated
bird.

"Wasn't that a dreadful evening, when we first
found out?" Mrs. Morton said, with a tremor in
her voice and a blanching of her cheek. "Do you
remember, we reached the door what a fearful
storm came up? There was a yellow glare in the
sky and a moaning wind howling about the house.
The door was thrown open and the old man him-
self stood upcm the threshold. I oftoi think of his
ghastly face and burning eyes as he said: 'Come
in, till I show you a brave sight — my only son
lying dead.' And we went in and looked at poor
Philip lying in his coffin, smiling and handsome as
ever. It was such a shock. I had spoken to him
only the night before."

"By George, L '.cy. I shall never forget that
night!" cried Harry Morton. "It was sickening."

"And when he told us — the rest," added Mrs.
Morton.

"Hush!" said her husband, "don't mention it,
even here."

"How little poor Philip knew the night before,
when I met him on the staircase. It made me shud-
der to lode at it the other day. He stopped just
on the turn of the stairs to speak to me and

74 M«. AHD Mrs. Morton Recall the Past.

he was jesting about everything, telling about all
the rows he had had with his father all about noth-
ing, and about his debts and the rest of it Only
once he was grave, and I have often told you before
what he said then."

"Yes, I remeniber/' her husband said, "it was

about Mary."

"He said, 'If anything should happen me, my
poor little girl is to go to Harry. I have left it in
my will.' Then I suggested a possible objection to
this from Bessie. 'Bessie knows,' he said, 'Bessie
will be far more free to do what she pleases with
the little -.ne once it is away from Hornby.*

"Just at that moment old Mr. PenAerton ap-
peared at the top of the stairs, but a few paces
away. I do not know whether he had heard what
we said, but his face was very stem. Then Philip
whispered something into my ear, of which I
caught only these words, 'the long barn,' and I,
bowing to old Mr. Pemberton, called back good
night to Philip and went down to where the car-
riage was waiting at the door."

Husband and wife were silent, until Mr. Morton
said:

'I wonder if it was then and there the quarrel
took place."

Mb. and Mrs. Morton Recall the Past. « 5

"I fear so," said his wife, shuddering, "though
we never could get at the details."

"It was a shocking thing," Mr. Morton said,
holding his ci^ suspended and unheeding the fact

that it had guue out.

"Philip's wc rds have always been in my mind,"
Mrs. Morton said, "and I often seem to hear them
even in my sleep. It is a great reproach to me,
t' at we have never done anything, especially after
ail that followed, when Bessie was taken and the
child left alone."

"But, you see, that will of poor Phil Pemberton's
never turned up," Harry observed, "so we are
powerless."

"I am confident that 111 exists, if only it could
be found," Mrs. Mort- 1. . ired.

"Its existence is more v . n doubtful," Mr. Mor-
ton argued ; "it would pr- >bably have been dc-tr<}yf-(\
even if Phil ever made it."

"I am sure he made it," Mrs. Mortor. persisted,
"his look and one were -olemn, an 1 do n^t
think it has been desi.f y.u. Fo even if the
g-andfather is as bad as people say, he would be
afraid that the original of such . document might
be preserved in some law ofiice and turn up un-
expectedly at any time to cause a scandal. He

76 Mr. and Mrs. Morton Recall the Past.

would more likely content himself with hiding it
away, saying that its existence had been unsuspected
till it was called for."

"Well reasoned out, little woman," said Harry
idmiringly, "but it doesn't make things much
better for Mary or for us."

"Harry, I believe that will might be discovered
by diligent search."

"But who is to search? Fancy any one invading
Hornby and looking for anything in the teeth of
old Pemberton and that Argus-eyed old witch he
keeps to do detective duty."

"Stili," said Mrs. Morton, "it seems very dread-
ful to think of this child's going back to that house.
My visit there the other day only confirmed the
fearful impressions I had carried away on that
night long ago. I felt that we should not have left
Bessie's child there all these years without even an
effort to protect, to befriend her. Oh, I can't talk
of it, Harry. I can't sit still and think of it I am
full of self-reproach."

Mr. Morton looked grave.

"My dear," he said, "you are unjust to yourself
and to me. It was a very delicate matter to inter-
fere in. Then we were abroad for some time. You
were ill after that, and even now I fail to see what

Mr. and Mrs. Morton Recall the Past. 77

we can do. Old Pembcrton is not to be thwarted
and he has the legal advantage on his side."

"Harry," whispered the wife, bending toward
her husband so that her voice could reach him
alone, "I do not think he would if all were known."

Harry looked startled.

"Lucy," he cried, "do you mean — ? But that is
impossible. Think of the scandal, the publicity.
My, the Pembertons and the Mortons would be a
nine days' wonder in Ironton and far beyond.
There is talk enough already."

"But have we the right to sacrifice this child to
any idea of that sort?" Mrs. Morton inquired.

Mr. Mcrton pushed back his chair, with a move-
ment of impatience.

"What are you driving at, Lucy?" he said. **You
women are so reckless of consequences, and this
diild has cotm to no harm so far. llie old man
can't live forever. By your own showing, he
looked the other day as if he couldn't hang on
much longer, and then I will be Mary's guardian
and all will come right without any raking up of
dead ashes."

Mrs. Morton sighed, saying presently in a subdued
tone, for Harry, like other men. had his moments
when it is not safe to venture too far in argument :

78 Mr. and Mks. Morton Recall thx Past.

"Could you not hold out some threat which
would make him give Mary up?"

Harry Morton laughed scornfully.

"Threats, indeed. I thought you knew old Pem-
berton better than that. And besides, where are the
witnesses, that woman who used to be about there
— I forget her name — ^not Miles, but the other?"

"Hester Primrose," suggested Mrs. Morton.

"Well, she's gone and so is the Irishman, who
used to work in the garden. He was a fine fellow
and I never believed the trumped-up charge against
him."

"Poor Malachy O'Rourke! I remember him well,"
exclaimed Mrs. Morton — "a cheerful fellow, full
of kindliness and good will, with a song always on
his lips. How different everything was in those
days!"

There was a long pause; then Mrs. Morton
spdce, slowly and deliberately. She was a brave
and resolute little woman, but she knew that her
husband was of the easy-goincr and very practical
stamp. So she hesitated to put her idea into words.

"If that will is non-existent, or if there is no
hope of gcttinjx it — " '^lic hetjan.

"Weil, what then?" iiujuirt^d Ikt hn-ihand, !""!.
ing at her with an indulgent smile. He had a high

Mr. AND Mbs. M<»ton Recall thb Past. 79

opinion of her qualities, menta} and moral. She
was so honest, so full of sterling rectitude and of
faith, so exact in her religious duties, hence a model
wife and mother, training up Madge in htr own
footsteps.

"I should be in favor of keeping the child here,"
she said firmly, "and of letting Mr. Pembertcm take

what steps he will."

"Lucy!" cried Mr. Morton agha^, " yoa know
you would never do that!"

"I know that I can not allow that child to go
back and be subjected, as I fear she has been, to
ill usage or, at all events, to dreariness unspeak-
able and the terrors of that dreadful Hall. Now
that I know her, the eyes so like Bessie's would
haunt me, and we are morally certain that both
her father and mother wished her to be with us."

Mr. Morton whistled, a long, ast<mished whi^.

"By George!" he muttered, staring into the soft
darkness of the stmuner's evening, which began to
overspread all the lan^cape. For he was, as he said
himself, dumbfowi^ at Hib ^» of hb wife's.

Mrs. Mortcai ^«w near.

"You knr?vv we caai't do it," she declared. "You
are Bessie's cousin. You were her friend and boy
champion long before yon kamf imT

8o Mr. and Mrs. Morton Recall the Past.

"Yes!" Harry Morton remembered only too
well, and out of the gathering dusk seemed to come
the slender figure, the appealing cya, the ringing
laugh of that long dead Bessie. He saw her almost
with physical sight in the intensity of his new-
emotions. He was not an imaginative man, but
eminently practical, disposed to let things take their
course, to have no quarrel with his neighbors. He
was, indeed, a typical American of a certain kind,
with whom the world had gone well, who had
family traditions, the feeling of caste, and a strong
sense of the reserve which should enshroud family
affairs.

And here he was called upon to do a most un-
usual thing, to engage in an extraordinary squabble,
in the course of which much that was tmdestrable
might be broi^t to light Yet here was hb wife
resolute, and there was Bessie appealing to hhu
out of the past to protect her child, and then, the
girl herself. He remembered suddenly how she
had looked when he gave her the money.

"We can't let her go back in that dismal prison
van to worse tlian solitary confinement," urged
Mrs. Morton, returning to the attack. "Why, even
this very visit the old wretch — but, there, I mustn't
call names— designed as a new torment. He said

Mr. and Mrs. Morton Rbcall the Past. 8r

Mary would the better understand what discipline
meant and how different his hateful, old Hornby
Hall was from other places, after she had been

away."

Henry Morton looked very grave.
"I will think it all over. Lucy," he decided, "but
we must move very carefully. It is possible, as you
say, that old man Pemberton will not care to go
to law, especially if he knows anything about that
will. He has such a lot of skeletons about the place
that he may not care to set them all loose. Not a
woid, though, to Marjorie or the girl herself. Here
they come, by the way."

The sound of merry voices preceded the boys and
girls as they came streaming out of the field which
they had dignified by the name of Mayfair. Their
gay talk and laughter seemed like a commentary
on the strange conversation which had taken place
between husband and wife. They heard Mary's
name uttered by one after another of the {feasant
young voices. It was plain that each vied with
the other in pleasing the forlorn girl and making
her one of themselves. Somehow, these things went
to the heart of the kindly pair who looked out upon
the swarm of young figures, dimly seen in the
dusk.

8a Ms. AND Mbs. Morton Recall THB Pas).

**Yoa hear?" said Mrs. Morton. ''She has be^^un
to live. We can't aeod her back to living death."

"By George, you're right Something must be
done. We'll keep her, if there were twenty old men
to fight."

CHAPTER VII.

MK. MORTON FORMS A PLAN.

MAKJORIB and Mary bade the others good-night
at the gate and came vip tltt steps onto the
veranda. It seemed already as tl the two girls had
known each other all tiidr life. Marjorie in her
impulsive way and Mary in staid, sober fashion
found a mutual pleasure in each other's society.

"She is like her mother," remarked Mr. Morton
to his wife, as he watched the straight, stoular
figure coming through the dusk.

"In that light she is her very image," Mrs. Mor-
ton agreed, "though Bessie was better-looking."

The elders then fell silent, listening amiably to
the talk of the two girls and putting in an occasional
word. A hay-cart drive had been planned for the
next day and Marjorie was describing the glories
of that partictdar form of merrymaking to Mary,
who was, of course, totally ignorant of all such
things.

84 Mr. Mokton Forms a I'lan.

"We will drive out in a great big cart with lots
of hay on it, to the milestone farm."

"What is that?" Mary asked.

"Oh, a big farmhouse opposite the fifth milestone
from here. We will have berries and cream there,
picking the berries ourselves from the beds, and
then we can roam round the farm awhile and come
back just at sunset, when the air will be lovely."

The two were so interested as they sat together
side by side that Mr. and Mrs. Morton thought
themselves perfectly free to converse withoir fear
of being overheard, and Mr. Morton asked his wife
suddenly:

"Lucy, what do you think PWl Pemberton
meant when he mentioned the *kmg bam' V*

"The long bam?*' cried Mary Pemberton, turn-
ing in her strange, unchildlike way to join in the
conversatimi, much to the surprise of both husband
and wife. For the girl's quick ear had cai f^ht the
familiar word and she seemed eager to tell all she
knew about the subject under disnission,

"Oh, T used to hear so much al n t the long barn.
Grandfather and Mrs. Miles often talked about it.
and I know that Mrs. Miles uset; to go out there
night after night with a lanterr I didn't tliink
grandfather knew that, but I saw iier often, creep-

Ml. Morton Forms a Plan. 85

ing out, when every one was asleep, just like a
ghost. Once she caught me watching her from
the window."

No one inquired what had followed upon that
discovery, but the expression of terror which sud-
denly came into the child's face showed that the
experience had been a fearful one. And it was this
lode of Mary's which caused Mar jorie to exclaim :

**l don't think Mrs. Miles is real. I think she
must be just some witch or UAry that sprang out
of the ground to torment people."

Marjorie's father and mother were meanwhile
exchanging glances.

"What do you think the woman was looking for
in the long barn?" Mr. Morton asked, v/ith ap-
parent carelessness.

"I think, perhaps, slie has been looking lately for
a paper," Mary answered, thoughtfully, "for I
heard her saying to grandpapa that there was not
a scrap of paper in the whole place. But I think
Mrs. Miles keeps a lot of things out there, because
she goes there so often, and grandfather can't go
to see what she has and none of the servants
dares"

Mary paused and her listeners waited, Marjorie,
with breathless awe, lookmg at her friend witl*

Mm. MorroN Fosms a Plan.

interest, as at one who had known ttranfe ex-
periences.

"I saw the door upe.. once and I peeped in, and
another time when I was i little, little girl I heard
a voice, a fearful voi c, crying and groaning.
I ran away quick. I thought it was something
bad."

''Was that Mrs. MQes' voice?" asked Mrs. Mor-
ton.

"No, oh no, it was not like hers at all."

"That is curious," commented Mr. Morton,
gravely. "And you say that is some time ago?"

"Yes, when I was a child."

Mr. and Mrs. Morton smiled.

"That was not so very long ago," Mrs. Morton
said.

"It was the year my father and mother died."

There was silence after this; husband and wife
were reflecting deeply. Nero, roused in his kennel by
some unwonted noise, rose and bayed his deep-
mouthed warning; then lay down again, content
that he had done his best. The elders as well as
the two children wert thinking of the same thing,
the singular being who with a certain, cold malig-
nity seemed to reign over the destinies of Hornby
Hall. She was flesh and blood, indeed, despite

M«. MoiTOW Forms a Plak. 87

Marjorie's surmise, but every atom of human feel-
ing save, perhaps, tliat of hatred had been worn
away by her long years of service in that atmo-
sphere of gloom and dreariness. She had come
there a young girl, and had remained under the
stern tutelage of the autocrat who ruled there, to
become as Mary had described her, merely Mn.
Miles. Every one of the years, aided by a series
of extraordinary events, had taken away some of
her lightheartedness, if ever she had been light-
hearted, some of her natural feeling, if ever she
had possessed any. In that region of cold unbelief
she had lost all faith in the supernatural, and with
it all color and warmth and the joy of living.

At her master's bidding and because, with her
dangerous knowledge, he wanted to bind her to his
service, she had married the butler, who had grown
gray in the service of the Pembertons and was
wholly devoted to them. After a few joyless years,
in which he had been a mere cipher, an aut(»na-
ton moving at the bidding of his iron-willed
master and still more implacable wife, he died, un-
moumed by the w(Mnan who had borne his name
and whom he had married to please his master.
She had remained after that, trusted by the autocrat
as he trusted no other human creature, a part of

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88 Mr. Morton Forms a Plan.

all the dark traditions of Hornby Hall, as im-
movable as one of its walls.

"Do you know!" said Mary, "when she told
grandfather that there was not a scrap of paper in
the bam, I don't think she tc.ld the truth, because
she muttered to herself afterward that the thing
must be there somewhere and that if only she could
chmb up or get a suitable ladder she would find it
The ladder in the granary had been burned I
htard her say these things when she thought I was
asleep."

"By George!" cried Mr. Morton in great excite-
nient. "I know the long bam well and I can judge
the place she wants to get at. It's a loft over one
end of it. We boys used to try long ago to climb
to It and once Phil actually did get up. He thought
It a great feat and used to boast of it for a long
time after. Phil knew the spot, of course, and
would be sure to think of it if he wanted to hide
anythmg."

All this was Greek to Mary, though she had the
premature shrewdness and powers of observation
engendered by her training. Her attention, too
was distracted by Madge's dog, the great Mt. St'
Bernard, who had come slowly round the side of
the house and approached the steps with a joyful

Mr. Morton Forms a Plan. 89

wag of his huge tail at sight of his young mistress.
Mr. and Mrs. Morton, however, continued to dis-
cuss the subject between themselves.

"But why should the woman Miles wish to de-
ceive the old man?" Mr. Morton inquired, doubt-
fully.

"I think the reason is very plain," said Mrs.
Morton ; "she wanted to keep this secret as a power
in her own hands, to be used under certain circum-
stances. That is, if she has been able to find the
will."

"She certainly couldn't climb up to the loft," Mr
Morton said with a laugh, "but she may have had
other means of reaching it, though the child heard
her bemoaning the loss of a ladder. Will you try
to remember," he asked of Mary, breaking in upon
her talk with Marjorie, "every word the old woman
said when she was speaking of the long barn."

"I think, sir, I told you all I remember." answered
Mary. "That night that I heard her sj«aking
about the ladder and being unable to climb she
dropped hot wax from her candle on my face to
see if I was asleep. I had to pretend I was and
to wake up suddenly. The wax burned me so that
my cheek was quite sore for a long time."
"Poor child!" murmured Mrs. Morton.

90 Mr. Morton Forms a Plan.

"She told me to tell grandfather/' Mary went on,
"that I had been stung by a bee, if he noticed the
spot. But I couldn't, because my own dear mother
told me always to tell the truth. So she made me
sleep in the attic that night, where the bats are ; she
knew I was afraid of bats. She told grandfather
that I had been stung and he said not to let me
come near him till my cheek was well. I was glad
of that and I think Mrs. Miles was, too, because
she was afraid grandfather might ask questions.
I had a fearful week. She made me do lots of dis-
agreeable things."

"The woman ought to be shut up," Mr. Morton
declared, indignantly.

"She is shut up in the worst of all jails," ob-
served Mrs. Morton, with grim satisfaction at the
thought, quite foreign to her usual good nature,
"but the point is not to let Mary be shut up there
again, if we can spirit her away somewhere."

"And go to jail ourselves, perhaps," Mr. Mor-
ton put in, but there was a new look on his face
which bespoke a determination of some kind. After
a while he said to Marjorie :

"Well, Marjorie, my pet, I have something in
my mind which will be much more fun, for the boys
at any rate, than any hay-cart drive. To-morrow's

Mr. Mokton Forms a Plan. 91

Sunday, but early in the week I shall let them have
an adventure."

"An adventure, papa!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Oh,
what fun I but can't the girls be in it, too?"

"Not directly, I fear," said Mr. Morton, "but
if all goes well they'll have some fine doings, too."

"I'm just dying of curiosity," said Marjorie, but
Mary, who was accustomed to repress all emotions,
said nothing. Indeed, when Mr. Morton had made
mention of "early in the week," it had remindea
her that by that time the greater part of her holi-
day would be over. And the reflection saddened
while she trembled in anticipation of how Mrs.
Miles would try to make up in cruelty for the
pleasure she had had.

"She will torment me in a hundied ways," she
thought, in her old-fashioned way, " but still it's
worth it to have come here and to know them all.
She can't stop my thoughts, nor make me forget.
And when it is very lonely and dreary, I can bring
in Marjorie and Dolly and the Lewises and Jack
and Dick and Hugh and all the rest or I can play
that I am in Mayfair. Of course, it will be only
pretending, but it will be better than nothing."

Mrs. Morton here reminded Marjorie that as
the morrow was Sunday it would be well for her

Mr. Morton Forms a Plan.

and Mary to go to bed somewhat earlier than
usually. After the two children had gone, Mrs.
Morton asked her husband :

"What is this plan you have in view for the boys ?"

"Oh, just a frolic, dangerous enough to put
spirit into it."

"What kind of frol' .?"

Mr. Morton looked steadily at his wife before he
replied :

"I am going to organize those boys who can be
trusted into a searrhing party."
"A searching party?"

"Why, Lucy, you are usually quicker of wit than
that," Mr. Morton exclaimed, somewhat im-
patiently.

"Well, I don't understand. What are they going
to search for, and where?" said Mrs. Morton, re-
garding her husband with eyes which sought to

read plainly the mystery in his face.

"What are they going to search for? Why, Phil
Pemberton's will, of course, and where?"

A light broke over the wife's face.

"Oh," she exclainied, "I see! they are going to
search in the long barn!"

Mr. Morton nodded.

"But wctti't it be dangerous?" his wife asked.

Mr. Morton Forms a Plan. 53

grown suddenly timorous. "We can't send other
folks' sons into danger."

"Pooh! pooh!" cried xMr. Morton, "Mrs. Miles
can't do much to half a dozen stirring lads, what-
ever she may do to orphan girls. Old Pemberton
is helpless and the servants, old all of them, are
not likely to be very brave or very alert."

"There might be firearms," Mrs. Morton sug-
gested.

"Who is to use them? Hardly the woman,
thougfh I believe she's capable of anything. But
it wouldn't be her cue, I fancy, to court the inquity
which the shooting of any one would cause. It will
be easy to keep out of range of the old man, even
though he finds out our presence on the premises,
which I shall take every means to prevent. In fact,
I hope to proceed so noiselessly and cautiously
that our v'isit to the barn may never be dis-
covered."

"I am afraid that will be scarcely possible with
the Argus eyes you spoke of on the watch." said
Mrs. Morton, rather faintly, for she began to realize
that if there were danger in the attempt her hus-
band would be in the thick of it. But Mr. Morton
was already a boy again. He had got into the spirit
of the adventure, besides being thoroughly arcMised

94 Mr. Morton Forms a Plan.

<m Mary's behalf, so that he was not to be d*..:erred
by obstacles.

"There is the law, of which you were so much
afraid a while ago," went on his wife.

**A fig for the lawl" said M Morton. "If we
get what we seek, we may sn or fingers at them
and if we don't, why, it can ue set down as a boys'
frolic which can not be taken much more seriously
than their habit of climbing up to look over the
fence. It will be hard to identify any of th boys
and, of course, they will all be pledged to svcrecy.
If all goes well, Mary is ours, once and forever."

CHAPTER VIII.

masy's first time at church.

T^HE following morning was Sunday, the quiet,
A wholesome Sunday of the country. The sun-
shine lying over the land was quiet and oothing,
all labor was suspended, the cattle broused peaceful
in the fields, shops were closed, and the village folks
walked about in their best clothes, seeming some-
how unfamiliar and unreal.
The Mortons were astir early, though they were
' that day to the half past ten o'clock Mass at
fohn*s Church, which was a very little edifice,
indeed, of which Ironton was very proud.

Mary Pemberton went with them, though she
told the astonished Marjorie that she had never been
in church before, except, perhaps, when her mother
was alive and she was a very little girl. Mr. Pem-
berton did not believe in churchgoing and practised
no form of religion himself.
The Mortons' pew was very near the front, and

96 Mary's First Time at Church.

Mary went up with the others, genuflecting
mechanically because she saw her friend doing so
and sitting or standing according as did the rest of
the congregation. But she had no idea at all of
what was going on. She did not know what the
priest was doing at the altar nor why he should be
dressed in that strange shining garment. The lights
and flowers on the altar, the glow of the sanctuary
lamp, the hush, the stillness, the whole atmosphere
of the place enchanted her. To this girl, who had
never to her recollection been inside of a church
before, that High Mass was a /elation, wonder-
ful, as though the gates of paradise had suddenly
been left open and she had peeped into another and
brighter world. She listened entranced to the
music, the solemn and touching Kyrie Eleison, the
gay, jubilant Gloria, the noble Credo an^ the tender
Agnus Dei. They were strains as sweet to her as
if choirs of angels had been singing, and the music
of the organ to her unaccustomed ears was glorious.
The picture over the altar, of John, the beloved dis-
ciple, leaning on his Master's bosom, fascinated her,
though she did not know what it represented nor
who either of the figures was.

The sermon was on charity: "And the greatest
of these is charity." Mary listened, vaguely under-

Maby's First Time at Chu»cii. 97

standing what the preacher meant when he spoke
of the love of God r-nd of one's neighbor, but
realizing that she had suddenly come into a world
very different from that which was inclosed by the
walls of Hornby Hall. Charity and peace and the
glow which religion consciously or unconsciously
gives to life were shut out from there as rigidly
as bright colors and poetry and sentiment. It was
not for many days, however, that Mary put into
words all that was passing in her mind that
memorable Sunday when she had first gone to
church. She sat quiet beside Marjorie, watching
her friend read attentively, with occasional glances
at the altar, out of a pretty book, full of lace
pictures. Once when Marjorie looked back in turn
at Mary, it was suddenly borne in on her how a
girl might feel who had never seen church or altar
or any such things before.

All the boys and girls of Mayfair were there, with
or without their respective families. Jack Holland
was more resplendent than ever in a new suit and
spotless, high collar, with a vivid blue tie and hair
brushed till it shone. Beside him was, of course,
Dick, and they were presently joined by Hugh, the
Wallace boys, and Luke Morris. After Mass Mar-
jorie and Mary very soon met the two Lewises,

98 Maiy's Fimt Time at Church.

Dollie Martin, and Kitty Hopan, and they all
stopped for a chat. Marie Lewis looked very pretty
in her white pique costume, with the dearest blue
sunshade, and Florence wore a very attractive pink
chambray. Dollie looked sweet, as Marjorie said,
though her face was plain and freckled, in a striped
gingham, with a broad new straw hat They looked
very much like a bunch of flowers, as they stood
together; though Marjorie was in her plainest
frock to keep Mary in countenance and Kitty
Hogan was in sober gray. It was pleasant to meet
so many cheerful, smiling faces. Mary thought as
she looked around. Nearly all the congregation of
St. John's knew one another more or less, and Mrs.
Morton had a word for nearly all the women, with
whom she was associatel in confraternities or chari-
table work; and Mr. Morten exchanged a jest
with John Tobin of the Riverside House, or shook
the hand of old Jeremiah O'Meara the baker, and
called out some remark upon the sermon to William
McTcaguc of the general shop. In fact, he knew
every one and every one knew him.

Mary was, though she did not realize it, quite
a center of attraction. The village people lingered
about to catch glimpses of her, and whispered to
cnt another concerning her strange history.

Mary's First Time at Church. 99

"What would ouldMr. Pemberton say at all, at all,
if he seen his granddaughter in a Catholic church?"
rrmarkcd one. "He hates Catholics as he hates — well,
I won't say O'tid Nick, for there . no tellin' how he
stands mi r< -ard to him. But he hates them and
ever and always did, even when he was a young
man, as he was when I first came to Ironton."

"It's no won(u- she's pale and yellow Icokin'
with the life she's led, poor thing," said Mrs. Mul-
vey, an Irishwoman, who washed for moi: of the
families about; "why, beside Miss Marjorie there
and the other young ladies, she looks ghastly, so
she does. But she has a bright eye in her head and
a purty smile, God bless her and take her out of
the ould villain's clutches. For villain I cr'' him."

While this byplay was going on, Jack i. Dick
had drawn near the group of gins, Tactc being
quite proud to be seen on easy torns with Miss
Pemberton from Hornby.

"Suppose .ve all go for a walk in the woods this
afternoon," suggested Jack. "Will you come,
Marjorie and Miss Mary?"

"Oh, don't call her Miss!" cried Marjorie— "it
sounds grown-up and horrid."

Mary looked at him with her steadfast brown
eyes.

100 Mary's First Time at Church.

"I am just Mary Pemberton," she said.

"Well then, Mary, you will come and Marjoric
and Miss Marie."

"I am not going to let you be formal with me
either," interrupted Marie Lewis.

"Well, we're all friends together, then,'* said
Jack, laughing, and coloring a little with pleasure,
for the l ewises were very wealthy and very nice
people and Jack, who was more of a sncb than
most boys of his age, felt the distinction of being
thus admitted to intimacy. "And I suppose all the
rest of you girls will come?"

"I will," answered Kitty Hov,an, "that is, if you
do not start too early. I have first to go with
mother to see grandmamma."

"If you're in Mayfair at four o'clock," Jack de-
cided, "it will do very well."

"We'll all be there!" agreed Marjorie. "It will
be a splendid day for the woods."

"I'll get all the other boys," put in Dick. "Hugh
has gone home. He was too shy to c<Mnc over to
a whole group of girls, and the rest seem to have
cut and rvn. too."

"Tell them all to be sharp on time," cc»nmanded
Jack ; "we won't wait five minutes for any one."
"Listen to the dictator!" laughed Marjorie; "it

Mary's First Tims at Church. ioi

sounds like Napoleon to his army, or some of those
things."

Jade vouchsafed the teasing girl only a scornful
glance, as she explained.:

''We want to have at least an hour and a half
in the woods, and tea's early on Sunday."

"Almost every one in Ironton has tea early on
Sunday," Marjorie told Mary, "because we Catho-
lics go to Vespers and the Rosary on Sunday
evening and the Protestants go to their church at
seven."

"Oh," said Mary vaguely, adding after a pause,
"I like going to church. I shall be glad to go back
this evening. It's all wonderful and lovely."

Marjorie gave her friend a curious glance and
then admitted freely:

"Sometimes I don't feel a bit like going to
church. Still I go, and mother says feeling doesn't
matter so long as we do what's right."

"I think I should always like to go to church,"
declared Mary. "You see I have never been there
before."

"We never value so much what we have," agreed
Marjorie. "Sometimes, though, I love to go to
church, especially on festivals and the first Friday
and all that."

'102 Mary's First Time at Church.

*'What has feeling to do with going to church?"
pronounced the wise Jack, fresh from the lessons
of his professor; "and it's only girls that talk
about it."

"Hear the learned man," sniffed Marjorie ; "as
if I didn't know that I was just telling Mary a
minute ago that feeling doesn't make any difference
so long as people go."

"Stop scrapping, you two," inteq)Osed Dick; "if
you begin that you'll spoil everything."

"I won't go near the kid at all!" declared Jack,
loftily.

"Yes, you will, too," said Marjorie, "for you're
dying to hear everything Mary says, and Mary
will be with me."

Jack colored, for this was true — ^Mary being such
a novelty as had not excited the somewhat dull vil-
lage for many a day; and there was a certain dis-
tinction in knowing the long imprisoned orphan,
who was also young lady of Hornby Hall, and an
unusual interest in hearing her quaint utterances.

"Mary and I will stay with Dick and Dollie and
Hugh," announced Marjorie, contradicting her
previous declaration, "and you and the Wallaces
and Luke can take charge of the Lewises and Kitty
Hogau."

Mary's First Time at Church. 103

For by this time they had left the Lewises at
their house, which was not very far from the church,
and had bade Kitty Hogan "good-by" at a cross-
road where she had to turn off.

"For shame, Marjorie," cried Dick; "that will
be cliquing and Aunt Lucy doesn't allow that."

"That's true," assented Marjorie; "I said it to
tease Jack, We'll just go any way at all, however
it happens, only Mary and I will stay together."

"As if you were going to run the show," gfrum-
bled Jack.

"We can run away from you, anyway, if we
like," retorted Marjorie. She did not dislike Jack,
whom she had always known, but she couldn't
resist teasing him whenever she got a chance.

"Don't you like the tall boy in the high collar?"
asked Mary gravely as Jack movoi scornfully
aside. These grave questions of hers nearly upset
Dicky's gravity every time she uttered them, and
they puzzled Marjorie.

"Oh, I like him well enough," answered Mar-
jorie," but he is so stuck up and thinks himself a
great deal bigger than he is."

"He is big," observed Mary, looking after Jack,
who was stalking ahead.

"Only sixteen!" declared Marjorie

104 Mary's First Time at Churcb.

"And how old are you?"

"I'm fourteen, going on fifteen."

"You are nearly my age," remarked Mary, "at least
I think so, but I'm not quite sure how old I am."

Dicky stared and then, turning away, began to
kick the pebbles out of his path. This was the
strangest girl he had ever met: she didn't know
anything. Yet she was a good sort of girl, eager
to join in every sport and be on the most friendly
terms with all the boys and girls.

"Well," continued Mary, "the tall boy, Jack,
seems a great deal older than you, Marjorie, and he
seems to know a good deal and — "

"He has a higher collar than any other boy,"
interrupted Marjorie, laughing.

There was a gleam of humor in Mary's brown
eyes as she regarded Jack's offending article of
dress, just then being displayed in a rear view.

"Look here!" cried Dick, "Jack's my chum and
he's a good fellow, and I wish you wouldn't be
forever slanging him, Marjorie."

"Well, I'll try not to, Dick," said Marjorie in a
friendly way, "for to-day anyway. I'll not say a
word about his collar, or his new clothes, or his
lordly ways. But he is enraging, Dick, and always
makes me feel like teasing him."

Mary's First Tims at Church.

Jack turned at the moment, seading hh quick,
flashing glance back at tht group. Perhaps he
guessed that he was tmder discussion, but in any
case he quickened his pace, calling bade with affected
carelessness to his chum :

"I say, Dick, don't forget to see the Wallaces and
Graham and Morris."

"All right," responded Uick, "I'll see them and
tell them to be sharp on time. Mayfair at four
o'clock."

CHAPTER IX.

MR. MORTON HOLDS A MEETING IN MAYFAH.

ON the Monday which followed that memorable
Sunday, Mr. Morton called a meeting of
the boys at Mayfair in the evening at 8 o'clock.
Every one was punctual; each boy looking as
solemn and important as if he were going to serve
on a jury in some mighty case. The boys had, in-
deed, been very curious during the time which in-
tervened between the recdpt of the note which Mr.
Morton had punctilliously sent to each and the ap-
pointed time of meeting.

They knew that Marjorie's father was an active
patron of sport, that there never was a football or
baseball match, a golf tournament or a tennis com-
petition in which Mr. Morton had not some part.
The rowing club and the cricket teams knew him
for their benefactor. Mr. Morton was, in fact, a
man who had not as yet survived his boyhood. His

io6

Ma. Morton Holds a Meeting. 107

life had been so easy and free from care that his
interest was still keen in the amusements which had
rejoiced his youth.
The boys naturally concluded, therefore, that it

must be some jollification that was being planned,
but what it was they didn't know. There they were
all grouped about the largest tree, which had that
bench around it f pen which the girls so often were
seated. Mr. Morton itood on this elevation, the
better to make himself heard.

"It isn't politics that I want to talk. Nor foot-
hall, nor yet baseball. It is none of those things,
now. And yet it is sport in a ceri -n sense and very
good sport too."

The eyes that were watching Mr. Morton
gleamed, one and all, with anticipation.

"I believe," went <»i the gentleman, "that you
all take a very kind interest in Miss Mary Pember-
ton?"

There was a general murmur of assent f rcxn the

boys.

"And that you have so far done everjrthing in
your power to make her visit pleasant. Boys, the
powers that be at Hornby Hall have decreed that
that visit shall end on Thursday."

He paused. There was a silence of evident re-

io8 Mr. Morton Holds a Meeting.

grct on the part of the boys. They waited eagerly
for what came next

"What would you say if we should try to prolong
it?" asked Mr. Morton, impressively.

"Oh, yes, yes!" cried the Ironton boys in eager
chorus. For like most other boys who are honest-
hearted and unspoiled they had a fund of sympathy
which was easily stirred.

"You have some idea, I believe, of the loneliness
of Hornby Hall," continued Mr. Morton; "none
of you would like to go and live there."

"I guess not !" rang out Jack's sharp tones, with
which the other voices chimed in.

"Yet it is worse in some ways for a girl," added
Mr. Morton.

This sentiment was not so generally applauded.
Girls were somehow expected to spend more time
indoors and to be content with quieter places.

"In any case," went on Mr. Morton, " you would
help, if you could, to keep Mary Pemberton in
Ironton."

This suggestion astonished the boys. So that
for the moment they were silent.

"Let every boy who is willing to help put up
his right hand," requested Mr. Morton. This time
there was no hesitation. Every hand went up in

Mk. MomTON Holds a Mbbtino. 109

an instant. Shy Hugh Graham jostled Jack in his
hurry, and Dick got ahead even of Jack, pressing
to the front like a chivalrous little knight eager to
assist a distressed maiden.

"Well, I see you are all with me,'* said the orator
of the evening. "Now, the first thing, my fine fel-
lows, is secrecy, absolute secrecy. Without that
nothing can be accomplished, and I will have to
insist on secrecy after as well as before the event.
This is a conspiracy compared to which the con-
spiracy of Cataliue or any other in history is as
nothing."

Now the word conspiracy is dear to every boyish
heart and the idea of secrecy was delightful. Only,
the curiosity of Mr. Morton's listeners was growing
painful. What event, what mysterious happening,
required such secrecy? What, they asked them-
selves, could they have to do with Mary Pembcr-
ton's staying, and where was the sport to come in?

"Each boy must promise secrecy on his word of
honor," resumed Mr. Morton. "I have united here
to-nigb.t only those whom I know well, those who
are the habitual companions of my own little girl
and of her cousin Dick. Therefore T trust you
implicitly and your word will be as good as any
man's oath."

no Mr. Morton Holds a Meeting.

The boys blushed with pleasure.

"A gentleman's word should be always equal to
his oath," declared Mr. Morton, "and the boy who
is to make an3rthing of himself in the world should
respect his own word and hold it sacred. I am not
here to preach, but to tell you how complete is my
confidence in every one of you."

"Thank you, sir!" cried seventl of the boys.

"And now we are not prt«-isely, my young
friends, going to beard the lion in his den, but it
is something very much like it."

The boys' interest grew keener.

"In other words, we are not going, precisely, to
storm Hornby Hall, but to invade the mysterious
territory about it."

The boys, by an involuntary movement, drew
closer t(^ether and nearer to Mr. Morton. Here
was such a bit of fun, of daring, of adventure, as
had never before been offered them. Jack and
Dick remembered the delicious thrill of fear, the
creepiness of even looking over the wall. And now,
under a strong and able leader, they were going
to advance into that hostile, that unknown territory
and do battle in some shape or form for the defence
of tlie weak.

"To-morrow night we shall set out from May-

Ms. Morton Holm a Mirino. hi

fair at ten punctually," announced the leader.
"There is no moon, so the darkness will be our best
friend. We shall proceed to tiie Hall on foot. It
would never do to go in carriages, because should
the affair be discovered, better that it be set down
as a bit of boyish mischief, so that the serious ob-
ject of our expedition may be concealed.

"For we have a serious purpose, though this is
not the time or place to make known to you what
that purpose is. Moreover, my lads, all you who
are determined to go must be strictly punctual. I
have nothing more to say at present."

With these words, Mr. Morton descended from
his elevated position on the bench under the great
tree, and the boys crowded about him, eager, full
of questions, and promising without fail to be
present at the appointed time.

*'You can leave all the details to me," declared
Mr. Morton; "whatever is required for the ex-
pedition will be forthcoming."

"Mr. Morton," urged Jack, somewhat subdued
in speaking to the older man, "why do you come
with us at all ? You can plan everything and leave
us to put the plans into execution."

Mr. Morton fixed his eyes upon the lad, as Jade
continued to explain his idea.

iia Ml. MosTON Holm a Mbruco.

"Because you see it's this way, if anything should
be found out it is better, as you said a while ago,
that it should be charged to the boys."

Mr. Morton still looked thoughtful, but presently
he said :

"Ah, but there's another side to the matter.
Should the affair become serious and have any
grave consequences, which I trust may not be the
case, I must be in a position to say: These boys
were only my instruments ; I accept the responsibil-
ity of what has been done and I am prepared to
give satisfactory reasons for my acts."

Jack's face fell ? little. For, in truth, he was
a boy who liked to act as Icider and was never
quite contentec in being merely a subordinate. How-
ever, it was not a point which admitted of argu-
ment. She iiad run out of the garden, where she
boys and returned to his home. There he found
Marjorie waiting for him in considerable excite-
ment. She had run out of the garden where she
had been playing with Mary and Dolly Martin in
the soft, calm starlight. She had divined that
something unusual was on foot and she was a little
resentful that the girls could have no show in the
frolic of which her father had spoken,

"Never mind, Marjorie, old girl," said the in-

Mr. Morton Holds a Meeting. 113

dulgent parent; "if all goes well we shall have
such a celebration on Thursday night as Ironton
has never seen."

"Thursday, papa? But Mary will be gone."

"And that would ^« to have Hamlet with the prince
of Denmark left out," laughed Mr. Morton, "but,
perhaps, we can manafje to keep her a little longer."

"Oh, do you think so?" questioned Marjorie joy-
fully. Then her face clouded over. She suddenly re-
membered the visit to Hornby Hall and the look and
tone of old Mr. Pemberton as he said to Mary : "You
will return on the same day and hour next week.
I shall wait for you, with my watch in my hand."

"I am afraid her grandfather will be very angry,"
Marjorie suggested, "and that awful Mrs. Miles.
Mary is so much afraid of her."

"We must see if we can't protect Mar> against
this bugaboo Mrs. Miles," said the father, con-
fidently. "So don't worry, little girl. As I said,
if all goes well we shall have our celebration, with
Mafy Pembcrtoj gfuest of honor."

With this Mai rie had to be content, and giving
her father a parting hug, she ran off to join her
friends, followed with great bounds by Nero, who
barked his appreciation of the fun and leaped the
garden fence as if to have his share in the game.

CHAPTER X.

THE LONG BARN.

NOW Mr. Morton, to prevent all anxiety on the
part of parents, had telephoned to each of
the boys' respective households that he was taking
the lads with him on a certain expedition and that
if they were delayed after the usual hour of return-
ing there was no cause for anxiety. He was a
little fearful of the responsibility he was taking,
but he felt that the cause was a good one, justify-
ing some risk, and that there was scarcely a chance
of any harm coming to the devoted little band.
The terrors which they should have to face and
which gave zest to the undertaking would be chiefly
those of the imagination.

The night appointed for the proposed expedition
was as dark as the most romantic lover of ad-
venture could have desired. There was no moon

114

The Long Barn.

and the stars, faint in the haze of heat, gave little
light. The air was still and sultry, as if somewhere
a storm might be lurking, and flashes of sheet light-
ning occasionally lit up the heavens. The boys set
out, resolute and brave, all intensely in earnest,
though they had no idea that anything of conse-
quence was at stake. A stout stick was provided
for each one of the party, and these, with a couple
of dark lanterns and a rope which Mr. Morton
fancied might bt useful, constituted the equipment.

They met, with much secrecy, under the trees in
Mayfair, talking in whispers and feeling generally
as if they belonged to some desperate association
and were setting out upon an expedition of awful
import. Mr. Morton gave the word to move:

"Are all here?" he asked, in a cautious whisper.
"Steady then, lads, and away. Keep close together,
talk little, and be prepared to obey orders.'*

There was a delicious thrill in the breast of every
boy, as they all plunged into the darkness, Jack and
Dick walking ahead with Mr. Morton, whiie Hugh
and the elder Wallace followed close upon tiieir
steps and Luke and George Wallace brought up
the rear.

"Isn't it prime?" whispered Luke. "Mr. Morton's
a brick."

ii6

The Long Barn.

"You bet !" answered Med Wallace sententiously.
"I wonder where we're going!"

"To Hornby Hall," promptly answered Hugh
Graham.

"Not to the house!" chorused the three others
with some awe.

"No, I think net/' admitted Hugh; "I wonder
what we're going to do?"

"We're going to a mighty creepy place, any-
way!" Ned Wallace declared, with a note of exal-
tation iu his voice. "Have any of you fellows been
there after nightfall?"

It transpired that they all had been there, taking
observations from various points.

"I'm not funking, nor anything of that sort,"
went on Ned, "but I'm glad we're not going into
the house."

"I don't know," Hugh said, "I almost wish we
were. It would be so exciting."

For this shy lad had a bold and daring spirit
which would stop at nothirf^.

"Oh, it will be excitini; enough, aH right, when
we get there," Ned predicted with confidence.

"Mr. Morton's lantern and slouched hat make
him look like a burglar," whispered George Wal-
lace to Luke Morris.

The Long Barn.

117

Luke giggled.

"I know we're going in somewhere or we
wouldn't need lanterns," observed Hugh Graham.

"Into some outhouse, I guess," said Ned Wal-
lace, with faint uneasiness. Ned was no coward,
but he did not want to run too great a risk.

As the party neared its destination, all conversa-
tion ceased and the boys pushed on after their leader
in a silence which was full of excitement. The air
grew cooler somewhat as they proceeded, and along
Jie way they were met by the odors of many
gardens and the scent of blossoming trees.

Suddenly, at a turn of the road, Hornby Hall
came into sight, standing far back amongst the
trees, white and cold and ghostly in the tmcertain
light. The band of adventurers stood still a
moment, and after that their movent jnts became
more cautious and furtive. They did not proceed
up the avenue with its stiff rows of poplars, but
struck into a stubble-field which flanked it. They
had now to advance slowly and with the greatest
care, for the ground was uneven and there were
many pitfalls and snares for the footsteps of the
unwary. They reached a point presently where
they had a rear view of the house, the stables and
outhouses, and the high-walled garden.

iiS The Long Barn.

Here they stopped and took observations, each
boy with bated breath and beating heart. Every-
thing lay ghastly white and still. Not a point of
light anywhere, not the slightest movement. Had
Hornby Hall been deserted, it could not have been
more fearfully quiet.

"So far so goodl" said Mr. Morton. "And
now, my lads, over that hedge, and if the courtyard
gate be open our path is clear. If not, we will have
to make a considerable detour to reach the long
bam."

"The long barn!" the boys simultaneously ex-
claimed in a whisper which despite them was
tremulous.

"I can take you there with absolute certainty
if we are not discovered. I know every inch of the
ground. I spent my holidays at the Hall when I
was a boy at college."

The boys looked at him as if this circumstance
gave him a new and strange interest

"And now, soft and still. I will get over yonder
hedge first to see if the gate is open. If I wave
my lantern, you will all follow at once, and then
comes the greatest point of danger. Inside the gate
there is a passage, rather narrow, leading past some
of the side windows of the house to the courtyard.

The Long Bakn.

119

We have to pass through that, with the fear of
Argus eyes being upon us or our movements over-
heard by ears trained to catch the slightest soimd.
So, soft and still. Hold your very breath !"

Mr. Morton vaulted lightly over the hedge and
instantly waved his unlit lantern. The gate st'~jd
open, a gaunt shape in the darkness, and through
it they passed, with a feeling in the breast of every
boy that he was going to his doom. For the shadow
of the house was upon them, that house of mystery
and horror, and it was so near, so appallingly near.
The windows seemed to look down on them like
frowning, sullen faces. There was the thrill of a
forlorn hope in their veins as they followed Mr.
Morton, with cautious, creeping footsteps, through
that narrow passage, feeling each moment as if a
hand might be outstretched to catch them or a
harsh voice sound in their ears.

At last they reached the courtyard, where, at
least, there was breadth and they could avoid close
contact with the house. Mr. Morton breathed more
freely. The Argus eyes, he thought, must be closed
in a deeper sleep than normal. Still he did not
relax his vigilance. The one who might be watching
them was cunning and would give no sign. The
party passed through the courtyard, however, sciil

I2C

The Long Barn.

undisturbed by sound or sight. Presently there
was the outline of a long, low building, remote from
all the other outbuildings.

"That is the long bam!" announced Mr. Morton,
"and we have come to search the long barn."

There was something delightful and mysterious
in the idea of a search, implying possible strange
discoveries and hidden treasures.

"Keep close now!" commanded Mr. Morton,
"and follow me! The long barn might chance to
have a tenant."

His face looked grim as he said those words and
he grasped the rope more tightly in his left hand.

"A tenant!" he repeated, having before his
mind's eyes the one who might be there. To the
boys the idea suggested was one of nameless horror.
It might be any one or any thing, they thought, with
shivers of the old creepiness which had alwajrs come
over them in their expeditions to Hornby Hall. The
atmosphere seemed suddenly to have a chi?1 ' ■ it,
unwholesome, fetid, as from a swamp. M.. Mor-
ton paused to listen. All was still. He lifted the
latch, while the boys could almost hear the beating
of their own hearts, fearful of w -at might be dis-
closed on opening the door. Even their grown-up
leader felt that it would be, to say the least, un-

The Long Basn.

121

comfortable should he find himself confronted by
the face of Mrs. Miles. Mary had said that she
often visited this place by night. Still, he had in
his mind the plan of action to be adopted in such

an emergency.

When he actually opened the door, the place was
dark and silent. No ray of light came out into the
night, only the smell of hay and flying particles of
grain or dust stirred by the sudden entrance of the
air. Mr. Morton hastily stepped across the threshold,
signaling for the boys to follow him. Wiien the
door was closed again, he cautiously lit one of the
lanterns and took a hasty survey of the big, empty
bam, with its bare walls, its dusty floor, and the
roof overhead, gloomy and impenetrable, wrapped
in darkness.

"We must place a couple of sentries outside,"
Mr, Morton said; "it would never do to let our-
selves be approached unawares."

For Mr. Morton reckoned all the time upon Mrs.
Miles, being desperately cunning, and knew that
she might have been observing their movements for
some time and might, consequently, play them a
trick.

"Who will volunteer for sentry duty ?" he asked.
Now, this was a very hard part of the service, for

122 The Long Barm.

the curiosity of all the boys was at fever heat zsA
they burned to explore this mysterious long bam,
the very name of which was ominous, just as its
interior was sinister and forbidding. Moreover,
it was not the plcasantest thing in the world to be
stationed outside in that chill, unnatural atmo-
sphere, with the chance of being discovered by one
of those dreaded shapes which they vaguely believed
to belong to Hornby Hall. After a moment's
silence, Hugh Graham, who had the spirit of a
hero in him, stepped forward.

"If it is necessary, sir, I will do it," he declared,

simply.

"Thank you, Hugh," Mr. Morton said, with a
grateful glance at the boy's resolute face. "I know
it is hard on you not to be in at the death, when
we have, so to say, run the fox to earth. But, be-
lieve me, you shall know and see whatever we may
discover as soon as that is possible. You will take
the end of the bam near the house and one of t'. ;se
other lads will take the other. You are the tallest
and strongest, Luke Morris, apart from Jack and
Dick, whom I require in the bam."

Luke reluctantly consented to take up a post at
the other end of the barn, and followed Hugh out
into the chill of the night.

The Long Barn.

123

The landscape looked more dreaiy than ever.
There was no smell of flowers or of blossoming
trees to sweeten the air. The wind had freshened
into gusts which sent eddies of dust into the boys*

faces.

"I hope they won't be long in there,'' observed
Luke to his fellow watcher. "I feel as if I'd like
to cut and run."

"A soldier can't desert his post," declared Hugh,
stoutly, "and we're soldiers for the time being. I
don't feel a bit like running. I feel like fighting
and as if I would be rather glad if some one should
come along that a fellow might tackle."

"Don't I" cried Luke. "There isn't any one round
here that could be tackled," and he looked around
him in the darkness as if he fancied that si^ a
wish as his <x»npanion had expressed must be fol-
lowed by the immediate apparition of some one.

"And just think of the girl," said Hugh, in his
fine, manly way, "who has to live here all the time.
If we can help her, I don't mind anything."

With an almost weird vividness the picture of
that girl came up in the minds of both boys. A
something forlorn in her appearance, an appealing
sadness in her brown eyes, which yet could sparkle
with fun, the sober coloring of her clothes, her dif-

124 Thb Lohg Babk.

ference from most girls, seemed to show that slie
bore about her the shadow of this place.

"I guess I wouldn't like to have to live here al- •
ways !" Luke said. He was standing quite dose to
Hugh, thus in a sense deserting his post, while
Hugh stood resolutely upon the spot indicated by
Mr. Morton. "It's the meanest, snakiest place I ever
saw and I guess the folks in it aren't any better."

Here a pair of hands, protruding from some-
where, caught each of the boys in a vise-like grip.
Their heads were brought together and deliberately
knocked very hard. It must be confessed that Luke
collapsed altogether under this attack, which was
all the more dreadful that it was both mysterious
and unexpected. But Hugh's courage rose. He
deliberately struggled bravely in the strong grasp
and called out repeated words of warning in a
high, firm voice. Unfortunately, the warning was
unhJard, and a hand was pressed firmly over his
mouth. Another instant and the hand was re-
placed by a handkerchief, which gagged him com-
pletely. His hands were drawn behind his back
and bound together securely. Luke, who lay upon
the ground, not daring so much as to look up. was
similarly treated and both boys were laid helpless,
side by side, on the ground.

CHAPTER XI.

TBB LOFT OVSR THE LONG BARN aNO WHAT WAS

IN IT.

MEANWHILE Mr. Morton had not been idle
within the ) ^ng bam. He was, !n fact, so
occupied and so engrossed with what was taking
place that Hugh's warn, ig fell upon deaf ears.
"A boy will have to go into that loft," he declared.
Jack and Dick both volunteered immediately, but
Mr. Morton decided the matter in his brisk fashion.

"Dick shall go up," he decided, "and you. Jack,
shall be his ladder. Get up here on this round of
wood."

Jack, who was not altogether pleased with this
subordinate post, stepped onto the round stump of
a tree which had evidently been used for sawing
purposes.

"Now stand firm, brace yourself against the wall
and I will hoist Dick onto your shoulders. Wait

«5

126 The Loft Over the Long Barn

a momtnt. Dick ; here, let me put this rope about
you — it will be useful in coming down."

Dick obeyed and was quickly hoisted into position
on Jack's shoulders, where he was presently stand-
ing upright sustained by Mr. Morton and the wall
in front of him. He was in a position to grasp the
flooring of the loft, and at the word of cOTunand
from Mr. Morton swung himself up. He was too
excited to feel fear of this mysterious region, which
looked so dark and uninviting. Once landed, Mr.
Morton commanded him :

"Reach dowi. now for a lantern!" Dick Dalton
did so, taking the lig'-t from Mr. Morton's hand.

"Now, my boy," t'le leader directed, "leave not
a corner of that loft unsearched. Report to me
every object you find there, and look in every crack
and crevice. For we want to find a will, my boy,
a will that will give us Mary to keep forever."

The boys all were excited by this time and J?ck
looked curiously up at his friend.

"I wish I too could go up, sir! I think I could
manage to climb without assistance," he pleaded.

"You might get up all right," declared Mr.
Morton, "but how about you, or Dicky either, get-
ting down? You see Dick will require a ladder to
get down on."

Akd What Was ik it. 127

Jade was forced to stand discontentedly by while
Dick disappeared in the darkness.

"There seems to be another rooml" he called
down.

"Another room!" exclaimed Mr. Morton.
"Hurry, and tell us whether there is anything in it."

Dick pushed open a door, which gave a strange,
creaking, jarring sound, and he uttered an ex-
clamation of surprise.

"It is full of things!" he called down.

Jack groaned.

"Let us sec some of them," Mr. Monon com-
manded.

Dick, after fumbling about a few moments longer,
presently threw down c; bundle containing what
seemed to be clothes folded loosely together. In
the light of the lantern, there was the sparkle of
something bright about them. Mr. Morton looked
closer.

"By all that's wonderful, a regimental coat!" he
cried. He looked still closer, examining one detail
after another of that strange discovery. Then he
gave a subdued cry.

"Phil Pemberton's uniform!" adding under his
breath, "that he was accused of selling to pay
some debt."

128 The Loft Over the Long Barn

"Uncle Harry!" cried Dick in high excitement
from above, "there's jewelry up here."

"What! Jewelry?" asked Mr. Morton, in quick,
hurried tones. His face was very pale. He seemed
to be on the track of a mystery more singular than
any which had as yet enshrouded Hornby Hall."

"There is a bracelet!" cried Dick, and he drew
near to the edge of the loft, holding up something
which caught the lantern light on a shining
surface.

"An amethyst bracelet?" Mr. Morton inquired,
in the same breathless tone.

"Yes, and a couple of rings, and a watch with
a single diamond in the cover."

"For the stealing of these jewels Hester Prim-
rose and Malachy O'Rourke were brought before
the magistrate," said Mr. Morton in a hushed voice,
as though speaking to himself and forgetting the
presence of the boys. "The man escaped by some
flaw in the evidence and left the country still under
suspicion, and the woman served a term in prison."

Jack and George, made round-eyed with wonder,
gazed in bewilderment at Mr. Morton. They felt
as if they were in a dream and as if their leader
had suddenly become crazy. Meanwhile Mr. Mor-
ton stood as one dazed, recalling with a vividness

And What Was in it. 129

of recollectioi. hat was -r— tling how he. as a boy,
had tried and f r ied to c' mb into that loft, which
was even then a y.:^':" -)<" mystery. Phil Petnberton
alone liad succeeded and had been very proud of
his achievement, describing, with a quite patron-
izing tone, to Harry Morton and the other boys
what the place was like.

"There's a big loft and there's a room oft it that
I guess was meant for a stable boy to sleep in, and
there's a good deal of rubbish lying around. It's
a jolly good hiding-place, anyhow."

Mr. Morton seemed to hear Phil's boyish voice
again, and he recalled how Phil had further con-
fided in him alone : "While I was poking around," he
had said, "my foot knocked against a board in the
far corner of the loft, and when I examined it I saw
it was made almost lil' e a door, with a hinge on it.
I opened it, and there was as neat a little cupboard
as could be."

Phil, the adventurous climber, the gay companion,
had grown into a jovial, generous-hearted, careless
man and was dead long since, while his father had
changed from an ordinary stem man of arbitrary
nature into something terrible and malign. Hornby
had fallen, as it were, under a curse and had become
a byword in the neighborhood.

130 The Loft Over the Long Barn

But that chance discovery o.' Philip Pcmberton's
long ago flashed into Mr. Morton's mind as he
heard Dicky proclaiming that there were heaps of
things above, ladies' dresses, and boxes full of or-
naments and strange-looking toys, but not a bit of
paper anywhere. Mr. Morton drew closer :

"Dick," he said in a whisper, as if he feared the
walls had ears, "go to the right-hand, farthest
comer of the loft and feel about till you find what
seems to be a loose board."

Dick obeyed and Mr. Morton waited with breath-
less attention. Even if the hiding-place could be
found, which F\v\ would probably have thought of
and used when secreting his will, there was just
one chance in a hundred that I^Irs. Miles did not
know of it from the first, or stumble upon it in
some of her excursions to the barn. For it was
evident that she liad frequently visited the loft by
means, no doubt, of the ladder the loss of which
Mary had heard her deploring.

Mr. Morton strongly suspected she had hidden
away there a number of articles — articles the dis-
appearance of which had brought trouble and dis-
grace upon others.

Dick felt about for some time in the dark corner
of the loft, where the cobwebs hung thick and the

And What Was in it. 131

dust almost ch' ''ed him. He set the lantern beside
him upon the floor and passed his hand over every
board, stooping low that he might not strike his
head where the roof of the barn sloped down to the
floor. At first he could find nothing, and Mr. Mor-
ton, waiting, found the time very long. At last
Dick cried out:

"I've got the place, sir. The board opens and—"

"What is there?" questioned Mr. Morton breath-
lessly, "a place like a cupboard?"

His voice was husky with emotion.

"Yes, sir, and there are — papers!"

"Papers!" cried Mr. Morton, fairly tremb' ng
with eagerness. "Take them all, Dicky, every
scrap of them."

Dicky was heard rustling amongst papers. Jack
gave a quick, warning cry, George Wallace some-
thing like a shriek, and Mr. Morton turning sud-
denly found himself confronted by the ghastly face
of Mrs. Miles, whiter than ever, full of a deadly
malignity and an almost insane fury. Such a smile
was upon her face as once seen would be remem-
bered for a lifetime.

Mr. Morton uttered an exclamation, but the
woman spoke no word — simply transfixed him with
that look, which sent the blood curdling in his

132 The Loft Over the Long Barn

veins, brave man that he was. In common with
the other boys and girls, he had feared her in his
childhood, but how much more dreadful she actually
was than the creature of his imagination! It
seemed as if all the evil deeds she had done had
accumulated their traces on her face in broad lines
for all to read. Unlike the others at the Hall, her
hair had not grown gray, but was of a vivid red,
contrasting with small, gray eyes, bereft of lashes,
which somehow gave the effect of being forever
open.

As she looked at Mr. Morton with that evil look
and ugly smile, he saw in her thin, claw-iike hands
a key. He glanced at the door. She had locked it.
Following his glance, she spoke at last. Her tones
were icy and rang hollow through the barn; they
reached upward to the loft, so tliat Dicky when he
heard them shrieked in common with the other boys
below.

"Do you think," she said, "that he will ever come
down from there with his precious find? Do you
think I will let you help him down as you helped
him up ? Do you think that I will be baffled ? No !
I shall do something which will defeat all your
finely laid plans."

"You are mad!" said Mr. Morton, coldly, "and

And What Was in it. 133

probably have been so for years, which may explain
some of your doings."

And yet her threat, vague though it was, made
Mr. Morton feel uneasy, and he wished that they
all were safely out of the business — ^he and these
boys whom he had brought into it. He was not a
pre-eminently religious man. But he was a practical
Catholic and had great faith. So that he immediately
thought of praying, a short but fervent prayer.
His wife was praying at home, he knew, in the
oratory. He could get help from the Sacred Heart
he hottorcd every month by going to communion
with his wife and giving an example to other men
of the place, who argued somewhat in this fashion:

"There's Morton, who is a regular tip-top swell
and a jolly good fellow, as well as a shrewd business
man. He isn't ashamed to be seen going to the
altar."

And this train of reasoning brought others to
the altar, too, just as Jack's and Dick Dalton's
regular attendance at the monthly communion
caused many a boy to do likewise.

Mr. Morton stood, therefore, in that big, dimly
lighted barn and prayed that the schemes of this
wicked woman might be baffled, so that more than
one hidden injustice might be brought to light. And

134 The Loft Over the Long Barn

as he prayed he said as if by inspiration, scarcely
knowing why himself:

"Take care! Remember Mr. Philip and Miss
Bessie Morton, who became his wife, and the others
whom you have wronged !**

The woman cowered as though she had been
struck. She staggered back against the wall, her eyes
staring into Mr. Morton's face, her lips contracted,
the key falling to the floor. Mr. Morton, who had
used the words only in a general and indefinite
sense, could not understand the effect he had pro-
duced, but he took immediate advantage of it.
Quick as a flash he seized the key and then, with-
out violence, but firmly and strongly, he pushed
her through a half open door which led into a
small room partitioned oflf from the barn. He held
the door firmly on the outside while he called to
Jack:

"Quick! The padlock from the outer door!"

This being obtained, it was but the work of a
moment to secVire the entrance to the primitive
compartment.

"Now," he cried, "we must make haste to get
Dicky down and away from this accursed spot as
soon as possible. Never did a darker cloud of
treachery and perhaps worse hang over any place."

And What Was in it. 135

Mrs. Miles within the compartment preserved a
silence which was more awful than any speech
could havw been, and suggested that the fertile
mind of the spider-like woman might be intent upon
some new evil device.

The boys meanwhile stood with white faces,
visibly quaking with fear. For Mrs. Miles' ap-
pearance and manner had been something altogether
outside of their experience, and justified the very
worst they had ever heard concerning Hornby Hall
and its inmates. To get Dicky down was a much
more difficult task than ii had been to get him up,
but it was finally accomplished. Attaching an end
of the rope which Mr. Morton had put round his
body to one of the beams in the ceiling, Dicky let
himself slide down till his feet touched Jack's
shoulders. Mr. Morton seized him and held him
firmly as soon as he came near, for greater security.
Every one drew a breath of relief when Dicky was
landed safe upon the floor. For so strained were
their nerves by the appearance of Mrs. Miles and
the knowledge that she still was near that they
feared there might be an accident.

'T wonder what has become of our sentries !" ex-
claimed Mr. Morton; "surely they did not desert
before the fight was well begun."

136 The Loft Over the Long Bakn

As he spoke thus, he gathered up the rope, the
lanterns, and stored away with the utmost care the
papers Dicky gave him, and which, from a hasty
glance, he believed to be precisely what they had
come to seek. While he was thus occupied there
was heard a curious creaking and straining: sound
from within the adjoining room. After listening
a moment or so, Mr. Morton went over and un-
locked the door. Too late! the place was empty,
a small window which he had forgotten stood open.
With a cry of vexation, he left the barn hastily,
calling upon the boys to put out the lanterns and
follow him at once, keeping very close together.

But outside the long barn was another delay.
The boys they had supposed had run away
lay upon the ground; breathing with some difficulty
because of the bandage over their mouth. Luke
was badly scared, but Hugh got up with a brave
smile.

"Are you hurt ?" Mr. Morton asked eagerly, for-
getting all else.

"Oh, no, just shaken up and out of breath," said
Hugh. "She came upon us so suddenly; I tried
to warn you by calling, till the voman gagged me
and threw me down."

"It wasn't a woman at all !" cried Luke, with a

And What Was in it. 137

shudder. "It was some awful thing. Hugh did
call out as loud as he could."

"I thought I heard a call," said Mr. Morton,
"but we .vere all busy at the moment, hoisting
Dick up, and as it was not repeated, I thought my
ears had deceived me. But it will be all right now,
if we once can get clear of the grounds."

Somehow he felt uneasy indeed, for he knew
that Mrs. Miles was a woman of resources and that
she was just now desperate. He marshalled his
little force in close order, keeping every one under
his immediate eye, aiui so they pushed on till they
found themselves once more in the courtyard. They
crept along in the shado*/ of the outbuildings till
they had almost reached the narrow lane, which
was the point of danger. Suddenly they all stood
still with one accord, their further progress arrested
by a strange sight.

CHAPTER XII.

MRS. MILES PLAYS A COMEDY.

THE whole of Hornby Hall, or at least that
portion of it giving upon the courtyard in
which they actually were and the lane through which
they had to pass, was suddenly lit up as by a flash.
Electric light was comparatively little used, as yet. in
Iron^'^n, and the effect was, to say the least, startling,
th^ ' e so that it proved the household to be on
the alert. The boys drew closer to their leader, with
the flush of the excitement on their cheeks and a
quick beating of the heart. They stood still for
a mom'^ ., when Mr. Morton ordered them, gazing
at that Ill-starred dwelling, with its stem walls look-
ing white and wan in the glare from within. A
sound passed through the poplars, the moaning of
the wind in their tops, which seemed to the excited
fancy of the listeners like some sinister prophecy
of evil. But within the mansion everything seemed
still. Not a sound proceeded from door or window.

Mr. Morton, bidding ♦he boys remain where they
were, crept forward to reconnoitre. He was care-
's*

Mrs. Miles Plays a Comedy. 139

ful to keq> as far as possible out of range of any
concealed weapon which the malice of Mrs. Miles
or the mistake of some one else might aim at him.
For what more likely than that he and his little band
might be mistaken for burglars, even though Mrs.
Miles did not purposely give the alarm?

It did not seem probable to Mr. Morton that Mrs.
Miles would disclose his identity to her master. He
became somewhat assured that there were many
mysteries, from whicli ti'.e curtain had already been
partially lifted that evening, which would prevent
her from so acting. But the woman was one hard
to reckon with, and there was always the possibility
of the master of Hornby hi nself being on the
alert.

However, as everything seemed quiet when he
reached the entrance to the lane, he swung his lan-
tern as a signal for the boys to come. They obeyed,
hastening forward as swiftly and silently as young
Indians. They had got over most of the terror
which had seized them in the long bam at sig^t of
Mrs. Miles, and now some of them were almost
wishing, with the foolish confidence of youth, that
something would ha])pen.

They followed Mr. Morton into the lane, where
they found themselves as before tuicomfortably

140 Mrs. Miles Plays a Comedy.

close to the house, the light now throwing each of
their figures into distinct relief. And when they
had reached about the middle of that narrow
passage, they saw to their dismay the great stone
gate at the end swing to upon its hinges. It coukl
not be opened from the inside, as Mr. Morton well
knew, and he gave a Ic ,v cry of anger.

As they stood still in constertiation. a laugh
which was like no sound the boys had ever heard
suddenly hn^ke on the stillness. Even Mr. Mor-
ton's stout heart quailed at the mocking outburst
which he knew proceeded from the malice of a des-
perate woman. Presently a voice spoke, icy in tone,
with a deadly hissing sound :

"Caught like rats in a trap! Shoot, master, fair
and straight!"

Though the figure of the woman was hidden from
them, a hand was seen outstretched and a long, bony
finger pointed straight at Mr. Morton.

"Don't let him escape!" the voice cried again,
"for he's canying away what you have sought for
many a day. Tell him to drop the papers and you
won't shoot."

Mr. ton only felt in his breast coat-pocket
to be sure that the papers were safe. Then he
crouched down close to the ground, motioning the

Mrs. Milks Plays a Comedy. 141

hoys to do likewise. The unearthly laugh rang out
again with the words :

"Oh, you must wait till they rise, master, or can
you get a good aim there near the ground?"

One of the boys, Georgie Wallace, who was the
smallest of them all, had begun to wiggle toward
the gate. What he meant to do when he got there
he didn't preci?=ely know , hut when he reached it
he found hi. ,ovc I. ad not been such a had one.
The earth had been w.ishcd away vhat by the
rains from one portion of the g^ate ami. seeing tins,
the hoy began to dig with hoi i hands, tlirowing
up showers of taitli iike a little mole. He tried
once to squeeze himself through the aperture, but
it was not large enough, so he went to work again
with a will. lie was in a much safer position than
any of the others, being farther from the window
and less likely to be a target for any invisible marks-
man. And as he worked, he reflected :

"All the others have done something or had some
share in the business. Only I have done nothing.
So if I could get the gate open for them, it would
he a fine thing."

His steady work was rewarded, and in a very
few minutes Georgi- stoo<l panting and breathless
on the other side of the gate.

142 Mhs. Miles Plays a Comedy.

"Shoot some of the rascals — they arc trj'ing to
escape. Shoot at once, master, or it will be too
late," screamed the voice.

And just then there was a diversion. A second
voice was heard within the room and, astounding
sight! an old man was wheeled into the square of
light by a second old man, who moved like an
automaton.

"What is going on here?" cried the man in the
chair. "Why is the house lit up? What comedy
are you playing, Mrs. Miles?"

"It is no comedy, but more like a tragedy," an-
swered the woman, who was evidently disconcerted
by this sudden appearance.

"Tragedy! Pshaw! The tempest in a teapot of
a nervous woman !"

"Tempest in a teapot, if you will, but a man
and half a dozen young rascals have been trying
to — rob the hen-roost."

The lie was told with deliberation, but tiie sneer-
ing voice of the master, so like and yet so unlike
her own. caught at the word.

"The hen-roost, woman, the hen-roost! Is that
a reason I am to be deprived of my rest and Hornby
liall made a beacon for ail the prying knaves in
the country?"

Mrs. Miles Plays a Comedy. 143

The woman was silent, and the master of Hornby
ordered his attendant :

"Wheel me to my room, Hcjjgkins, and you, you
jade, put out these lights as soon as I have reached
there."

"But if it wasn't the hen-roost alone?"

"What, then?"

"Hornby Hall itself might be fair game for a
gang of thieves."

"Hornby Hall! They haven't entered the house?"
"No, but—"

"But — no buts!" cried the despotic old man.
"Some thievish country louts may be lurking about
in search of a fowl or two ! Wheel me away, I say,
Hodgkins!"

The woman made no further attempt to stop
him. Perhaps she was not too anxious for him to
inquire further. When the grating sound of the
invalid chair had died away in the distance, there
was an interval when all was darkness; then the
light blazed out again, and the bony finger pointed.

But the noise of the invalid's chair was followed
by another— the creaking of the great gate upon
its hinges as Georgie Wallace pushed it open from
the outside. And there stood the opening, framed
in its frowning iron. Through it, with a half-sup-

144 Mrs. Miles Plays a Comedy.

pressed shout of exultation, the boys bounded, fol-
lowed by Mr. Morton.

"Bravo, my brave George, bravo!" cried the
leader, and all the boys joined in a chorus of ap-
plause for George's plucky deed.

"She might have kept us there all night," said
Jack to Mr. Morton. That gentleman responded
seriously :

"God knows what she might have done. She
Avould have been capable of doing anything to get
back those papers, but she was foiled at every turn
and she dared not tell the master."

Then they hurried homeward through the deep-
ening darkness of the middle night, a prayer of
thankfulness on their leader's lips and the fragrance
of trees and gardens meeting them once more, with
a twofold force and sweetness because of the rank
atmosphere they had escaped.

And here is what Mr. Morton saw when he
locked himself in his study, with his wife leaning
over his shoulder, to take a hurried glance at the
papers. In the first place, the last will and testa-
ment of Philip Pemberton, which he put aside to
read on the morrow. In the next, a faded and dis-
colored sheet of paper, on which had been hastily
scribbled :

Mrs. Miles Plays a Comedy. 145

"This paper I will put in the hiding-place with
my dear Philip's will. God grant it be found some
day, to explain whatever mystery may be about my
fate. For here I have been shut up by the arch-
fiend of a woman, she having first drugged me, be-
cause I had come to the knowledge of at least one
awful secret, which I shudder to recall."

Husband and wife together, with pale £aces, pro-
ceeded to read the detailed account of certain events
which had followed upon each other. They inter-
rupted their reading with many exclamations of
wonder, of amazement, of horror. What th^ read
shall be explained hereafter in this simple narra-
tive, and shall throw some light on all the darkness
which had enshrouded Hornby Hall.

"This must be laid before old Pemberton," said
Mr. Morton, "at the earliest moment."

His wife assented dumbly. She could not speak
at first. Her agitation was too great Only she
gasped out :

"Thank God, Harry, that you and all the boys
are safe out of that dreadful place."

"And thank God, too, that Mary need never go
back to it," said Harry Morton. "But I will
examine all these papers carefully before any step
is taken."

CHAPTER XIII.

PREPARATIONS FOR THE GREAT EVENT.

IT was not until the following morning that Mr.
Morton could give his wife any details of the
expedition which had ended so fortunately. When
all had been related to her she could not help shud-
dering at thought of some of the events of that
memorable night. She told him in turn how Mar-
jorie and she had gone to the oratory to pray, light-
ing the candles at their little shrine, and that when
all was ready Mar jorie had brought Mary in, amidst
her expressions of the greatest delight and wonder.

"I never saw any beautiful pictures like those,"
Mary had said, pointing to the pictures of Christ
and the Mother of Sorrows. "I would like to know
who they are."

"Marjorie was quite scandalized at first," Mrs.
Morton said; "she could not understand such
ignorance. Mary exclaimed that no one ever prayed
at Hornby Hall. I can see that religion is as

146

Preparations for the Great Event. 147

carefully shut out from that place as poetry or
sentiment or anything that makes live beautiful."

"It was high time she was removed from that
atmosphere," remarked Mr. Morton, "and I certainly
will never permit her to cross its threshold again,
unless perhaps, if many things are cleared up, as
a guest. But now we must get to work, for I am
determined to have our great celebration no later
than Thursday night.'*

"Thursday will not be long in coming," suggested
Mrs. Morton, doubtfully. "Would it not be better
to postpone it a few days?"

"No, no!" I promised Marjorie and the boys,"
persisted Mr. Morton, "and it can be done by rush-
ing things a little. By the way, won't Mary need
some g'rls' fixings for the party?"

"I have thought of that," declared Mrs. Morton ;
"I sent some measurements to Wanamaker some
days ago, with all details as to how I wanted a
frock made. A very pretty white dress arrived half
an hour ago. With some vivid scarlet flowers from
the garden to brighten her up, Cinderella will be
quite transformed. I am going to ask her to try it
on this afternoon, so that Julie can make any
necessary alterations. I ordered some smaller things
as well, shoes, and ribbons, and gloves."

148 Preparations for the Great Event.

"Capital!" exclaimed Mr. Morton, rubbing his
hands in great delight. "I'm as big a boy as any
of the Mayfair crowd, and I feel as if I couldn't
wait till Thursday to see the girl in her new finery.
By George! it's like living in a fairy tale just
now."

He hurried off to the garden, where his personal
supervision was urgently required in the great prepa-
rations that were being made. One or two of
the tallest trees had to be sacrificed, and a platform
for the musicians had to be erected over some
flower beds so carefully as not to damage tliein.
Another and larger platform was also erected
whereon games might be played and the dancing
take place, which was to consist of Virginia reels
and old-fashioned quadrilles calculated to delight
the souls of these Ironton boys and girls. For they
were, in fact, boys and girls, and not little old men
and women, as is too often the case. Even the older
boys with their college airs had wholesome and
simple instincts and could enjoy any form of fun.

Mr. Morton devoted himself all that day and the
next to the decoration of the garden. In this he
was ably assisted by the Mayfair boys. Chinese
lanterns of glowing red were hung upon the trees.
Amongst the rose-bushes and flowering shrubs were

Preparations for the Great Event. 149

placed smaller lights, which would give a delight-
ful effect when the great day arrived.

Fancy booths decorated in the daintiest of colors
were erected for the serving of ices and fruits, cakes
and confections of all sorts, bonbons innumerable,
and such iced drinks as were suitable for young
and old. It was sorely against Marjorie's will that
she and Mary were excluded from all these outdoor
preparations, for Mr. Morton Avished the scene in
the garden to be as complete a surprise as possible.
With this object in view, Mary had to be kept in
the house and excluded from that region of delight.
She and Mar jorie were very honorable about it, and
when they passed the stair window, which would
have given them an excellent view of all that was
going on, they resolutely shut their eyes. One
thing, however, irritated Marjorie very much, and
that was the sound of Jack's eager voice in the
garden below.

"Won't he give himself airs after this," she
cried, "with his patronizing 'we did this' and 'we
did that'."

Mrs. Morton set the girls to work making
mottoes for her, giving them for materials colored
paper to fashion into shape, and a great box of
small candies and sheets of old-fashioned verses to

ISO

Preparations for the Great Event.

I '

wrap and arrange. This they found a delightful
occupation which whiled away the time till that
other event to which Marjoric was looking forward
and in which neither Jack nor any other boy could
have a part. That was the trying on of Mary's new
frock, whose very existence was still a secret to its
fortunate owner. So, as she sat and snipped at the
paper, fingering out the ends of the mottoes care-
fully so that they might be as nearly as possible like
the old-fashioned ones in use in Mrs. Morton's
schoolgirl days, Marjorie kept a watchful eye upon
the clock.

In a flash a sudden recollection had come to
Mary. She laid down her scissors and let the
colored paper fall from her hand.

"What is it?" a^ed Marjorie, lodcing up quiddy
and sympathetically.

"Oh, Marjorie!" cried poor Mary, "Thursday is
so near. Won't it be dreadful !"

"Mary," said Marjorie solemnly, "I'm sure my
father doesn't intend to let you go back till the next
day, anyhow."

"Oh, I can't stay another day — they would kill
me," wailed Mary, "and yet I feel as if I jould
never go back."

"Do you think if my father thought of letting

Preparations for the Great Event. 151

you go he would have had the party on Thursday

night?"

Mary's face brightened a little, but she was not
very hopeful. To her, Mrs. Miles and the dreadful
grandfather were omnipotent. They could not be
defied. Just then Mrs. Morton came in to get the
two girls. They were almost finished with their
task of motto-making, so she sat down for a few
minutes and helped them in the cutting and snipping
to hasten matters.

Then they all went up to Mary's room, where
Julie, the French maid, with a genius for needle-
work, was in waiting. There was^a large box on
the bed.

"You may wait in Miss Marjorie's room, Julie,
till I call!" said Mrs. Morton, and when the door
had closed on the woman's somewhat reluctant
figure, for she was human and would willingly have
assisted at the little scene which followed, Mrs.
Morton said:

"Mary, you know there is to be a party to-mor-
row night."

"But I shall be back at Hornby," Mary sighed,
"Not quite so soon, my dear," protested the good
lady; "that will, however, be e3q>lained later."
She was interrupted by a voice from without :

152 Preparations for the Great Event.

"Hurry up, in there! and get the child into her
fixings. I want to come in and have a share of
the fun."

Mrs. Morten smiled.

"At a party," she explained to Mary, "every
one will be gaily dressed. Marjorie is going
to wear pink muslin."

Mary's face turned crimson.

"I, I, am afraid I can't be at the party. I should
look awful, for I, I haven't any dress like that."

"Well," said Mrs. Morton, "your grandfather
would naturally never give any attention to such
things, but a woman like myself who has a daugh-
ter knows all about it. So I chose this frock for
you, my dear. The best I could do in a short time.
Come over and look at it."

Mary went forward mechanically and stood be-
side her kind friend. The box was opened and the
gown lifted out. Mary btood stupefied. Even Mar-
jorie had nothing so pretty. Tliat same convulsive
working of the face which marked her deep emotion,
and the slow dropping of the tears, were Mary's
answer, as she turned grateful eyes to Mrs. Morton.

"Oh, it is too b^utiful for me to wear!" she said
at last. "I have never had anything like it, never
anything at all but dull gray and brown."

Preparations for the Great Event. 153

"Well, this is your very own and you are going
to try it on now, at once, so that Julie may see if it
needs any alteration," said Mrs. Morton.

There was another impatient thump on the door
from Mr. Morton. His wife hastened to help Mary
into her new finery, while Marjorie hopped from
one foot to the other in glee, admirinj^ the gown
and its transforming effect upon her friend. Then
she rushed to the door to admit her father, who
laughed in his whole-hearted way and rubbed his
hands, declaring that Mary was like a fairy queen.
After that there was more diving into the box,
which gave forth gloves, fans, bright-colored rib-
bons, and other pretty knick^nacks, that fairly be-
wildered poor Mary.

"And," said Mr. Morton, "I may as well tell you
that you are not going back to Hornby on Thurs-
day, no, nor on any other day that I know of."

"I am not going back to Hornby 1" Mary
repeated, slowly.

"Not if I kn'- > 't. Not even if you wish to pj!"
cried Mr. Morton, laughing. "You are my prisone-
now and I'll keep you more securely than your last
jailer did. So just make up your mind. Miss iJary
Pemberton, to senle down here in this little room
beside our Marjorie."

154 Preparations for . ie Great Even r.

With that, Julie came in for some final touches
to the co' tunie and M- . M irton went away When
Marjor:e ,:m1 Mary fin tlly wore left a ) Marjort*'
huggc .N! I' • deliglredly. claiming gleefullv :

"Oh. imV' ^ splcTK'id tha* you are H e here
alway- sn.l M never go back to thai iwful Mrs.
Miles and L irnby!"

Mary ecu >i only \.\u^ and cry ani! repeat over
and over that she cc In't '.elieve i* tr e, that she
knew she wouid \u c to jo ba k, a d that her
grandfather and Mrs. Miles would be terribly
angry.

When Mr. M(»tc»i descended to the garden he
was greeted hj Jack Hdland, eager and full of
enthusiasm.

"I tell you, sir, it's going to be a regular tip top
affair," he cried, "the finest that has ever been ir
Ironton."

"We've got up about u > hundre ' 1. lu
ready," annou iced Dick, wli face w - .
and whose han(". were soilr with earth n ,.i
was seen In the distance iigg- : L ik-; Mor-
ris was ui a tree with hi mo ::tii fuli •^acks
and his hands of twine anc' die Wallace boy: e-e
handing him up lanteras.

"Oh, I say, Uncle Harr ' went on Dick "it

PRBPftRATf'^' > FOR THE GrEAT EvENT. 15$

prime, and ing ready is just as much fun as
the party."

"More, perhap " a=;serted Mr. Morton, "anti-
cipat m ttn s so uuc; 1 v-ait till you fellows
- e I ' girl ;)-'■ hr rej»cue, all fixed up in hrr

ne\ t Tgery And 'e I .nk of it, I want i

a,, to e hen ' f k si rp to-morrow,

Tht -su at' • .1 yo .vant to feel a

ail h -r agreed Jack, though, as Mr.
vlor p 1 no further, he was rather in the
da 'k dS t ; i V ason for the invitation and the htnt
-'h. ft hone? pride. He thought the glow w= ^
ne in be - about 8 P. M., when the resu ^
their 1- be ou' ! be apparent to at least half
popula i Ironton. He made no remark, bv
' ent o work, like the rest, with curiosity un-
sfieii

vVhe Mrs. Morton came down to take a final
"v of the garden, she was delighted. Only, she
rem '"f^ 1 to her husband, witi. •. little doubtful air:
^ur, it almost seems as if Aiis would have
becii )re appropriate when everything is cleared
up .itkI the battle fought and won."

"I want it to come now !" declared Mr. Morton.
"I want to blow a whole blast of victory before the

156 Preparations for the Great Event.

fight begins. I guess the news of Thursday night's
doings will penetrate even into Hornby Hall."

So Mrs. Morton said no more, but continued her
preparations within doors. For she had a couple of
pastry-cooks up from Philadelphia who were
making many delicacies in the house, though many
things were coming up by train on the day of the
festivity. For the Mortons were not people to do
things by halves; and though it was first of all a
children's party, all the old, gray-headed children
who had kept enough youth about them for such
frolics had been bidden to the feast by the swift
feet of the Mayfair boys, who acted as mercuries.

CHAPTER XIV.

A DELIGHTFUL FESTIVITY.

ON Thursday afternoon by four o'dodc every-
thing was in readiness for the w<mderful
festivity < f tiie evening. But an event was yet to
happen which while it lasted dulled the keen edge
of anticipation. Mr. and Mrs. Morton waited at
the head of the steps, surrounded by all the boys
and girls, forming a circle around Mary. The little
girl was pale and faint, and despite her kind pro-
tectors seemed oppressed with fear. She knew and
they did not the powers against which they were
contending. All the vague terrors and mysteries
which, more even than positive ill-treatment,
weighed upon her at Hornby Hall seemed to con-
centrate about her in those momoits of suspense.
The unfortunate child felt that Fate, which was
represented to her by Mt^. Miles, must be against
any efforts for her rescue.

«S7

{

158 A Deughtful Festivity.

There was silence in the group. No one could
speak till that critical moment had come and gone.
It was on the stroke of four. T* e hush, which had
seemed to deepen, was broken by the noise of wheels
upon the road. The same premonitory cloud of
dust arose as before from the highway and the
lumbering van-like carriage of Hornby Hall rolled
on steadily toward the Mortons' gate.

Involuntarily the boys and girls closed in around
Mary, as though forming a bodyguard for her de-
fense. The carriage entered at the gate and drove
slowly around the drive, stopping at the foot of the
steps. The white-haired coachman touched his
hat and in the manner of an automaton addressed
Mr. Morton.

"For the young lady, sir," was all he said, after
which he sat staring motionless before him, as
though he saw some strange object which riveted
his attention.

"You can return to Hornby as you camel" said
Mr. Morton. The man stared.

"Mr. Pemberton bade me say he is waiting with
his watch in his hand for the young lady," he
mumbled in a listless tone.

"I am afraid his hand will get very tired if he
does that," commented Mr. Morton; "so you had

A Delightful Feshvity.

159

better make haste back to tell him that the young
lady is not returning to Hornby at four o'dodc to-
day, nor on any other day or at any hour that I
know of."

Here was defiance. Mary gazed at the carriage
with distended, frightened ey*s. The boys held their

breath. In fact, they seemed to have been doing so
ever since Mr. Morton told them what he wanted
of them at the particular hour of four. The coach-
man touched his hat again, but instead of turning
away, began to drive slowly up and down before
the door, as if waiting for some one who must surely
come out of the house and get into the carriage.
Mary felt in this the relentless purpose which
seemed to pursue her and which would ultimately
triumph, / t length Mr. Morton spoke to the
automaton on the box of the coach :

"You had better go back and relieve Mr. Pem-
berton's anxiety."

"I daren't, sir, without the young lady."

*T think the old gentleman's anger will not grow
less if you keep him waiting after the hour."

This argument seemed to have some weight with
' man. He gave a curious, questioning loc4c at

.ry, where she stood amongst the girls and boys.

"You had better come, Miss," he declared.

i6o A Deughtful Festxvity.

quietly. "Your grandfather and Mrs. Miles arc
waiting for you."

Mary trembled all over, and so strong was the
force of habit that if left to herself she would as-
suredly have got into that dreary van, and have
been driving away staring straight before her in an
intensity of mental anguish. Nor would this latter
feeling have been lessened by the thought that her
grandfather's watch would have shown her to be
several minutes late.

"You, you, had better go!" cried Mr. Morton,
more sternly than before. "Mr. Pemberton and
Mrs. Miles may want you."

The automaton reflected a moment more, then
he touched his hat and drove away, slowly until he
was nearly out of sight of the house. Further on
he was seen to urge his horses to their fullest speed.
After that the boys and girls sat for some time
quite still, vaguely sharing Mary's terror. The
sights and sounds which the boys, at least, re-
membered since their nocturnal visit to the Hall
did not tend to reassure them.

Something of the chill of Hornby Hall had crept
into the atmosphere, and the face of Mrs. Miles,
as they recalled it, sent a coldness even to the bravest
hearts. It seoncd, too, as if that dreadful poten-

A Delightful Festivity. i6i

tate, who had ruled at the dreary dwelling so long,
must despatch some messenger of evil to avenge
his discomfiture, and as if the iron will, which had
ordered events so long, must in the end prevail.
Mr. Morton himself was paler and graver than
usually he was and ^'^s. Morton was visibly fright-
ened, but the former laid a reassuring hand on
Mary's shoulder.

"You see the old shandrydan didn't swallow you
up after all. You don't belong to sotic enchanted
palace in the olden time, but to the land of the free.
Vou may be certain, my dear, that from this day
forth you will be as free as it is well for a good.
Catholic girl to be."

Mrs. Morton put an arm round Mary and
wiMspered :

"You poor dear! you poor dear I" Marjorie and
Dollie were very near crying.

"And now, boys, for the glow of honest pride!"
cried Mr. Morton. "Don't you fed it in your
sturdy, American hearts? You have helped me to
make this thing possible and to show cause for my
act. You have saved Mary frmn Hornby Hall.
W'liile you know a little of the matter yourselves and
have helped so well in what has been accompUshed,
I cannot as yet give you all d^ils. So three dwers

i62 A Delightful Festtvity.

for Mary Pemberton, and away with you all, to
make ready for to-night."

The three cheers were lustily given. They may
have reached the driver of the dismal van if he was
not too far off, and they certainly rang through
Ironton with a sound to make men and women
raise their heads and ask : "What's going on up to
Mortons' ?"

There were great things going on, in truth, and
after that first shiver of natural fear, the boys were
exultant, proud of what they had done, and of the
very secret, which though it was c. the tip of their
tongue th^ had to keep for the present. Their
mothers and fathers could not Imagine what it all
meant and what was the matter amongst the boys.
Dicky Dalton, when he had completed his toilet for
the party and stood before his mother to display his
finery, suddenly exclaimed:

"Mr. Morton's a brick, I tell you. Just wait till
you see Mary!"

"Is she a brick, too?" inquired the mother.

Dicky reflected. He was a very loyal-hearted
boy and he felt very sorry for Mary, but he was
not quite sure that so strong an adjective c»uld be
applied to her. It would be far more suitable, he
thought, for Marjorie. He <»uld hardly explain

A Delightful Festivitv. 163

the difference to himself. Yet he liked Mary and
felt sure he would like her even better when she
had been longer a member of the Mayfair circle.

"Mary isn't exactly a brick," he replied to bis
mother's question.

"What, then?"

"Oh, I don't know, mother dear. Wait till you
see her and hear all about her."

This was pretty much the burden of all the boys*
talk, though Jack was more patrmiizing and der-
matic in his expression of opinion: "Mary isn't a
half-bad sort of girl, c(msidering the rum life she
has led, and she has a good deal of style and lodes
like a lady."

W^ith all of them, including those college youths
of pretensions, eight o'clock upon that memorable
evening seemed a very long way off. At last it
rring out from the belfry of the Presbyterian
Church, its strokes falling impressively on the air,
as though they were saying:

"Now it is time! Now it is time!"

Dick Dalton had an uncomfortable feeling that
they said more than that.

"Hornby Hall! Hornby Hall! Hornby Halir*
sounded in his ears at every peal. He moitioned
this fancy of his to Jack and certain others of the

i64 A Delightful Festivity.

boys, but they promptly silenwd him, for it gave
them an uncomfortable, creepy feeling. And that
when they all were setting out in their best clothes
along a very dark road to that wonderful festival
of the Mortons. Dick was glad when the bell
stopped ringing, though by that time he and his
companions were drawing near to the Mortons*
gate. The older people were invited for an hour
later, as the host and hostess had decided that the
young folks should have things all their own way
for a while. When the boys entered that dazzling
garden, they looked about them dazed, though they
themselves had helped to produce the effect DMcy
cat^ht Jack by the sleeve.

"Look there!" he cried excitedly, "lode there!"

And both turned their eyes to where Mary stood
in one of the fairy-like marquees, receiving with
Mrs. Morton and Marjorie.

CHAPTER XV.

If ARY IS A CENTER OF ATTRACTION.

FOLLOWING Dick's example. Jack stood quite still
and looked at Mary. In all the wonderful
scene before them there was nothing so wonderftd
as the transformation of that girl. Her slender,
upright figure was fitted to perfection by the pretty,
yet not too daborate gown. Her chedcs glowed
like the scarlet geraniums at her neck and in her
belt, her dark eyes shone with happiness and the
excitement of the occasion. For she was happy.
She seemed to have cast oflf every fear and to enter
into the enjoyment around her with a zest and
relish which no other girl or boy amongst all those
who filled the garden could imagine. For the others
had experienced something of the sort before, had
been in gaily dressed crowds and had seen young
people of their own age enjoying themselves to
the full

i66 Mary is a Center of Attraction.

"Dick!" whispered Jack, "she looks like some of
those girls in the Arabian nights, or those sort of
things."

"Yes," said Dick, "she's like those enchanted
princesses we used to read about when we were
kids. I hardly dare speak to her."

"But we must, you know," declared Jack, with
that self-confident manner which he used at col-
lege when acting as usher on festive occasions. Didc
followed him silently, and as they neared where
Mary stood Jack plucked a flower.

"Mary," he said, **htre is a very nice, sweet-
smelling rose. I hope you will wear it at your
belt."

"Thank you!" said Mary, simply. "It is very
kind of you," while Jack looked round to note how
many persons saw and approved his act of gal-
lantry.

Mr. Morton was in the thick of the fun now,
calling upon all the boys and girls to join in a great
Virginia Reel and making Mary dance with him
because she didn't know a step. Or again, he led
a jovial Blind Man's Buff, or started Musical
Chairs and Hunt the Slipper.

Mary, it must be owned, had been completdy
dazed on coming into the garden. She had stood

Mary is a Center of Attractioit. 167

very white and still, her hands clasped, looking as
if she could never look enough. The countless
lights flashed upon her with a marvelous brilliancy,
softened yet not obscured by the foliage; the lan-
terns in the trees seemed like great gldbes of fire
and those hting on the buslws threw into relief the
rich coloring or the delicate whiteness of the
flowers. It was a gorgeous effect of light and color
and warmth, all of which elements had been want-
ing in Mary's narrow life, while the ridi perfume
of many flowers and blossoming trees, blended with
the exquisite strains of the ordwstn, rendered it
all the more dream-like.

After a time, as the boys and girls whom she
knew came in, she was conscious of a pleasant sense
of companionship, fcciing that they all were her
friends, while they, in turn, vied with one another
in the warmth of their greetings, just as if they
had known her all tlieir life. Mary entered very
quickly and fully into the spirit of the games and
delighted in the intricacies of the various dances,
which she fdlowed lightly and gracefully* laughing
hmrtily when she made a mistake. She seemed to
have entirely shaken off, for the first time in her
life, the malign shadow of Mrs. Miles, behind which
sat her grandfather, and she felt as if in reality

1 68 Maky is a Centsk of ATTHAcnow.

a new life had begun for her and the old one had
been left behind forever.

She went about with her friends to the various
tents, tasting the delicious lemonade and sweet
things. The ices she thought were too beautiful
almost to touch, varying in design from a bird of
paradise, with its tail of flaming gold, to a basket
of pink roses on a high-turreted castle. She parti-
cularly enjoyed playing hostess with Marjorie to
the groups of smaller children, pressing upon them
the various dainties, which many of this smaller
contingent eyed with wistful wonder. Mr. Morton
had invited the children of all d^eei, without
distinction as to classes.

Also when the "grown-ups" arrived it was seen
that notes of invitation had been sent not only to
the Pomeroys and the Gerards and the Carpenters
and a score or so of other families who represented
the gentility of the place, but also to John Worth,
and Jeremiah O'Meara, and various other local
worthies. It was a sort of patriarchal festival, the
first of its kind ever given by the Mortons, who
were exclusive and conservative to a marked
d^ee. Every one felt very much at home, for
they all knew one another after a fashion. The
wealthier folks showed the a>rdial courtesy of their

Maky is a Ce-nter of Attraction. 169

good breeding to their humbler neighbors, whc-
returned it in kind, with a pleasant geniality and
a hearty, if somewhat rough good will. Most of
the latter, inde*-.., departed somewhat early in the
evening, so that <he intimates were left behind to
wind up the affair in a great frolic.

When all were assembled, however, and before
any one had left, Mr. Morton presented Mary as
the guest of honor and announced that she, being
his ward, was hereafter to remain under his guard-
ianship. This caused a great sensation amongst
the older folks, and brought joy to the hearts of
the Mayfair boys and g^rls. Mr. Morton had to
,.ieet a shower of question from his friends as to
the new state of affairs, w .0 how he had ever
persuaded old Pembertoii to give up his gran*'
daughter. Little groups likewise discussed in ri;
bred whispers the past relations between ..ic
Pembertons and Mortons, the break that h?.i cume.
which had been t,cnerally sitiij >sed would je pc -
manent.

Mary's looks and bearing were much comnwnted
, upon, some seeing a resemblance in the girl to her
I mother and others vowing she was a Pemberton.
Mary shook hands with every one presoit, showing
a grave friendliness and interest in all. Singular

170 Mary is a Center of Attraction.

as it may seem, she was by no means shy. She
returned the cordial pressure of old Jeremiah
O'Meara's hand as warmly as she did the greeting
of the dignified gentleman with gold-rimmed spec-
tacles and imposing air who offered a friendly, if
somewhat pompous recognition to the daughter of
a once prominent house. In fact, Mary rather pre-
ferred Jeremiah of the two, because the other in
some remote way reminded her of her grandfather,
whom he spoke of familiarly as Tom. Mary, trans-
fixed by the gold spectacles, wondered vaguely if
the speaker knew Mrs. Miles as well.

"Tom Pemberton. your grandfather, my dear,"
began the old gentleman, pausing to clear his throat,
while Mary, gazing fixedly at the spectacles, thought
there was something strange in calling her grand-
father Tom, and intimating that he had ever been
a boy or had other than white hair.

"Tom Pemberton was a gay lad," the old gentle'
man went on, chuckling to himself, "eh, you remem-
ber, O'Meara?"

■ "I do that, sir," rq>lied Jeremiah ; " a fine young
gentleman he was when first I came to the

place."

"Just so," the old gentleman agreed, "and a wild
blade, up to his ears in every kind of mischief."

Mary is a Center of Attraction. 171

Mary could scarcely believe her ears. It was
monstrous. The old gentleman must be dreaming.

"A wild blade!" she repeated mechanically to
herself. She did not know what the word meant
thus applied, but she concluded it was something
which did not fit her grandfather. She knew what
mischief meant. Mrs. Miles had often given that
name to smne of her own most innocent acts and
had accused her of being up to mischief. But that
her grandfather should be similarly accused seemed
incredible.

"Oh, I could make you laugh," continued the old
gentleman, "at some of his pranks at college. For
we were in the same year and I sat close beside him.
I remember him, for example, riding round the
room upon a make-believe hobby-horse and upset-
ting the Professor who chanced to be coming in
the door."

This was too dreadful. It seemed like profan-
ation and as if she would be punished for hearing
such things said. She continued to look solemnly
at the old gentleman, who laughed immoderately,
supported by Jeremiah, at the picture he had con-
jured up. Suddenly, Mary's face rdaswd and she,
too, joined in the laugh. For the sense of humor
inherited iram her mother made her suddenly aware

172 Mary is a Center of Attraction.

that it was intensely funny so to imagine her gfrand-
father. She laughed and la ighed till the tears ran
down her cheeks, and people began to stare at the
spectacle of the two old men and the grave child
laughing together uncontrollably. The more she
laughed the more they laughed, too, and others
joined, without understanding the jest, but from
the simple contagion of merriment, till there was
quite a laughing chorus.

In the main, Mary liked all the guests, just be-
cause they were real persons, persons who had been
so long a mystery to her, represented to her as they
were only by Mrs. Miles, her grandfather, and
the servants, who seldom spcdce. Probably, hov--
ever, the best part of the evening was when all were
gone except the Mayfair boys and girls, who stayed
a while after the others and talked things over.
Meeting every day in that pleasant place, amongst
the trees and in the long grr^ss. hey had all their
amusements in common. Somehow, tlioy seemed
to fit in together; they wrre sworn comrat'e^ all
and their chaff hil,'^ of each other was nearly aKvav>
good-natured; and they had ihe same jcsfs and, to
a great extent, the same way of looking at things.
Mary felt they all were her brothers and sisters,
ready to stand by her till the end.

Maky is a Center of AxTRAcnoN. 173

Even Marie Lewis forgot her young lady airs
with Mary and was as simple and natural a'tnost as
Marjorie, and Florence was fast developing into
the sort of girl like Dollie Martin, whom every one
liked. Kitty Hogan was the newcomer's devoted
champion and would not hear a word said deroga-
tory to her looks or her manners or her speech. So
they all sat and talked in that lovely garden,
which was now a "banquet-hall deserted." Every
detail of the evening's festivity was discussed and
they sang a few jolly choruses, winding up with that
old and familiar ditty, applied now to Mr. Morton:

"He's a joll} good felknr.
Which nobodjr can deny."

Many of the revelers who had not yet reached
liome raught the well-known strain and joined in
it, to the confusion of the quiet village of Ironton
and the few stay-at-homes who for one reason or
another had not heen present. It also set many a dog
barking.as ev*- in their - anine way they, too, desired
to join in the chorus. Even tlie staid old Mt.
St. Bernard caim out of his hamtl and solemnly
bayi^ at the foolish onet wtK> did not know at
what ttui^ were harking. Hut scat U»'^rnt 'w^
B pLfOKf§m of laufffoter, ate which 4ie htmed

174 Mary is a Center of Attraction.

Mary and said she was "a dear" and that "it was
lovely to think she would always be with them."

The lanterns were extinguished at last, the
orchestra had ceased, darkness and silence fell over
that scene of abounding glow and glory and over
the tranquil village. Upon the serene mountain
heights and river the stars looked calmly down,
twinkling in the blue depths of the sky.

The echo of that festivity and of Mr. Morton's
announcement had already reached even the
seclusion of Hornby. A rare occurrence indeed,
one of the Hall servants was sent into the village,
ostensibly to buy some utensil, in reality to pick up
news. And as he had hung about till a rather late
hour, lie heard the g.eat news from some of those
homeward bound. Mrs. Miles had kept the intelli-
gence to herself, but a lamp burned late in
her room that night, and her ghastly face might
have been seen staring out vengefully in the direc-
tion of Henry Morton's house. For she, too, had
heard in the evening's festivity the first bugle call
of battle and the clarion note of tiie enem/s ulti-
mate victory.

CHAPTER XVI.

MRS. MILES GROWS DESPERATE.

NEXT afternoon most of the boys and girls as-
sembled in Mayfair to talk over the previous
night's fun. The boys lounged about in various
attitudes upon the grass. Marjorie was in her
favorite perch on the branch of a tree. Mary sat
sedately on the bench with Marie Lewis on one
side of her and Dollie Martin on the other. Marie
was teaching Mary Pemberton to crochet in bright-
colored wools, which was a new and fascinating
employment which she learned with wonderful
facility.

"They teach us such a lot of things at the con-
vent," observed Marie, in her slightly affected voice.

"The convent, what's that?" inquired Mary.

Marie looked at her in surprise. None of the
girls or boys could get quite accustomed to her
phenomenal ignorance.

>75

176 Mks. Miles Grows Desperate.

"Oh, it's where we go to school," explained Ma-
rie, "where nuns teach, don't you know?"

Mary looked more puzzled than ever.

"Is a nun a woman?" she asked.

There was a choking sound from the grass and
Dick Dalton turned away a very red face, while
Ned Wallace clapped his hand over his mouth and
Luke Morris snidcered audibly. The tree-top shook
vigorously just then, which fact suggested the idea
that the boys' mirth might have got up there and
infected Marjorie. But Marie Lewis managed to
preserve her gravity. She was a very well-bred
girl. Dollie Martin only smiled.

"Oh, yes, nuns are women," Marie explained,
quite seriously. "But you must come and see them
sometime."

"Perhaps you'll be going with me to school at
the convent in September," suggested Marjorie
from above.

Mary flushed with pleasure. She was eager to
learn, for Mrs. Miles' teaching had been rather
elementary and the girl keenly felt how much less
she knew than any of these boys and girls of her
own age.

"Won't that be lovely!" chimed in the other girls.
"We shall all be there together."

Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate. 177

For the next few minutes the convent fornwd
a deeply interesting topic. That mysteriotis r^on
elicited many inquiries from Mary and very soon
she knew the names of the different teachers and
of a number of the pupils. Marjorie descended
from the tree in the interests of the theme and
talked away hard and fast, joining in all that gos-
sip of school life which is so fascinating to convent-
bred girls. The trivial incidents, the harmless jokes,
the current events were all minutely chronicled. The
day was recalled when Marjorie had been admitted
to the Sodality of the Blessed Virgin, while Marie
Lewis was made Vice-President and Florence Lewis
would not be let in at all for six months, because
she persistently talked in the halls and classrooms.

The boys soon wearied of a conversation from
which they found themselves excluded and tried a
little desultory talk amongst themselves on the more
congenial topics of football and baseball, but they
showed signs of boredom. Dicky Dalton got up
and strolled down the road, saying he would prob-
ably look in again later. The girls paid no heed
to his going, so engrossed were they in convent
recollections, and the birds in the tree-tops did not
chatter more briskly than did they. Suddenly there
was an interruption. The sound of wheels was

178 Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate.

heard and all craned their necks to see what heavy
vehicle might be approaching. It was obscured, at
first, by a cloud of dust, then Marjorie and Jack,
the keen-eyed, uttered a simultaneous exclamation.

"Oh, Mary!" cried Marjorie, drawing near and
putting an arm protectingly about her.

"I say," shouted Jack, forgetting manners i'l
his excitement, "it's the carriage from Hornby! I
see the old driver's white head !"

There was a moment of blank consternatioi in
the group. No one had anticipated sach a thing.
Even Mr, Morton had taken it for granted that
the affair was settled or, at least, that he should
hear frcrni Mr. Pemberton through his lawyers.
Therefore no such event had be«i expected and no
preparation made for the emergency.

Mary turned as pale as death, Imt stood quite
still, saying nothing.

"Father is gone to town !" exclaimed Marjorie
in a li ii.>-h<xl tone of dismay. Mr. " irton had, in-
deed. gOTic '.<'■ Philadelphia on that viry hiisine;'^. to
see his lawyeis and have everything: concerning ins
guardianship of Mary put on a lega basis, and M s.
Morton had gone with him to do s. ine shopping.

The Mayfair girls, who all were present except
Kitty Hogan, gathered helplessly around Mary, and

Mks. Miles Grows Desperate. 179

the boyt prepared gallantly to protect her. The
carriage drove straight in through the Mortons'
gate. The children in Mayfair had, for the
moment, passed unnoticed, for they were keeping

very quiet under the trees.

Was there an occupant of the carriage? The
children held their breaths. They watched to see
the white-haired coachman alight and ascend the
steps. But he did not do so. Instead, the carriage
door was opened and a woman heavily veiled
stepped out

"Mrs. Miles!" cried Mary, with a shuddering,
sickening terror in her voice.

Jack Holland did not stop to think. Moved by
a sudden impulse, he took Mary's hand.

"Come," he exclaimed, "you can't face her!"

For lie had seen Mrs. Miles on the memorable
night in the long barn, and he knew whereof he
spoke. Mary, wild with terror, seized the out-
stretched i and and Heel, keeping pace with the fleet-
footed Jack, who was the swiftest nnincr at col-
lege. When tiu'v were in the heart of the w(^od,
which lay at some distance up on a height over-
looking Mayfair, Jack stopped.

"Sit down," he said, and as Mary leaned back
exhausted against a tree he fanned her with his hat.

i8o Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate.

"She'll never find you here," he said, re-
assuringly. He felt sorry for "the kid" as he
glanced at her wan and terror-stricken face.

"If she should come—" Mary cried, locking up
at the tall figure of the boy where he stood, erect
and vigorous, his eager face flushed by the exertion
of running.

"Oh, at the worst, I think I can take care of
you." declared Jack, manfully. "She can't bully
me, and I'd like to see her lay a finger on you
when I'm around."

For all his airs, he was an honest-hearted, manly
fellow, with a protective feeling toward whatever
was weak, and he was full of indignation against
the woman who made this poor girl's life miserable.
Being courageous, he was also strong and athletic.
Mary's own courage rose a little when she looked
up at him. During this past dream-like week she
was experiencing the new sensation of havmg
people to protect her and stand between her and
evil.

She had been so forlorn, left to the tender mercies
of Mrs. Miles, who I. ad made it her delight to in-
vent new and cruel methods of "disciplining her,"
as the ph.rase liad been at I! iv ;hy Hall. So she
rested in the pleasant coolness of the i^ood, where

Mis. Miles Grows Desperate. i8i

the glare of the sun was shut out by the green trees
overhead, with a feeling of comparative security.

"I guess the other fellows will show fight down
there, all right enough." Jack thought. But he
was, in truth, a little anxious and extrtmely curious
to see the upshot of the aflfair. At first, those of
the boys and girls who remained were very averse
indeed to showing fight, with the solitary exception
of Hugh. He restrained the rest when they would
have run after Mary and Jade to the woods, sayii^
that Mrs. Miles would probably follow and that,
as she couldn't hurt any of them, they had better
stay and face her.

This seemed reasonable, though not altogether
satisfactory, and the little band stood still awaiting
Mrs. Miles, who had been ringing the Mortons'
door-bell. She was met at the door with the in-
formation that Mr. and Mrs. Morton were out. and
Miss Pemberton too. The maid, who knew some-
thing of the affair, especially after a startled glance
at the eyes which seemed to bum through the veil,
did not think it necessary to say anything about
Mayfair. But Mrs. Miles, turning to go down the
steps, cast her sharp eyes around and pierced the
group of boys and girls under the trees. She made
directly for them, passing out of the gate with her

1 82 Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate.

swift, cat-like tread, and across the road. Mary's
companions waited for the woman with trembling
fascination as they saw her draw nearer and nearer.

There was something terrifying about the woman,
something weird and eerie, to which Mary's terror
at the very mention of her name and their own
imaginations added indescribably. Luke Morris,
who had felt the clutch of her bony fingers and
had seen her evil face close to his in the shadow of
the long barn, gave vent to his feelings in a
groan. He was admonished by Hugh Graham to
"shut up."

Yet even Hugh's stout heart quailed within him
as 'Mrs. Miles came near. He thought it would be
less fearful if she were not veiled, if that face he
too had seen, ghastly in the darkness, could be
revealed, clearly and plainly. She entered at the gate,
and seemed to bring something of the chill and
dark atmosphere of Hornby Hall into the pleasant
field of Mayfair, strewn with daisies and butter-
cups upon which the sun shone down so warmly.

Mrs. Miles came close to the trembling group
"and suddenly raised her veil. She had often punished
Mary simply by standing before her, especially
at night, and glaring at her. So she glared on the
present occasion, speaking no word for fully five

Mss. Miles Grows Desperate. 183

minutes. Marjorie could not endure it and shud-
deringly hid her face on DoUie Martin's shoulder,
while the Lewis girls and Luke Morris turned away
and fled ignominiously. They took care, however,
not to betray Mary's whereabouts by going in the
direction she had taken.

"Gosh!" cried Luke, apologetically, when the
two stopped at last for breath. "I couldn't
stand it!"

Marie looked at him with a smile in which there
was some contempt. Timid herself, she admired
courage in others, especially in a boy. Luke read
the glance and, feeling ashamed, managed to stam-
mer out : ^

"If you had got the fright I did the other night,
when I was sentry at the long bam, you wouldn't
wonder that I ran away."

Marie, who was not outspdcen like Marjorie,
merely said : "She is very terrible and I am never
brave. I'm a wretched coward."

"I'm not always a coward," pleaded poor Luke.
"You can ask the other fellows."

"Oh, I'm sure you're not!" Marie murmured in
her gentle voice. "This fearful woman is enough
to frighten any one. Think of poor Mary's having
to live in the house with her."

i84 Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate.

"She won't any more," Florence Lewis remarked.
"Mr. Morton says he is going to keep her here.
But do you know, I think it was dreadful of us to
run away and leave them."

There was an expression of real r^et on her
honest face as she spoke.

"Well, it can't be helped now !" Marie exclaimed,
rather shortly, "and I think we'd better get away
from her or the carriage may be coming."

This thought sent all three homeward as speedily
as possible.

Meanwhile Hugh Graham manfully stood his
ground, well to the front of the group, and the Wal-
lace boys, though in fear and trembling, for they
were neither very big nor very brave, supported
him. Marjorie and DoUie, it must be confessed,
kept behind the tall figure of their young protector.
Mrs. Miles let her cold eyes, fierce with a terrible
malignity, travel from face to face. Then she said,
in the hissing, icy tones which Mary had always
found so terrible:

"So the bird is flown !"

This being undeniable, no one said anything.

"But do you think I will go back without her?"
she inquired, striking her umbrella upon the ground,
as if it were an oaken staff.

Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate. 185

'Even if Miss Pcmberton were here," declared
Hugh, firmly, "we couldn't let her go bade without
Mr. Morton's knowledge."

**Oh, you couldn't!" cried the woman, drawing
so near to Hugh that it seemed she meditated doing
him violence.

And then a sudden courage came into Mar-
jorie's heart. She was after all the daughter of
the house. It was for her to speak and she had
been taught never to shirk doing the right thing.
She stepped forward, throwing back her iiead with
its tangled curls, and took her place by Hugh Gra-
Iiam's side.

"I am Mr. Morton's daughter," she announced.

"You are Mr. Morton's daughter, are you?"
Mrs. Miles repeated, wagging her head frcmi side
to side and advancing closo to the girl. "You are
Mr. Morton's daughter?"

The words, as they were uttered, sounded por-
tentous, and there was a new gleam of deadly mal-
ignity in the woman's eyes. For at that moment
a sudden resolution took possession of Mrs. Miles
and she stood still, weighing the chances for and
against her plan, in the dark recesses of her mind.

"And Hugh is quite right," Marjorie went on,
resolutely; "even if Mary were here we couldn't

i86 Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate.

let her go with you, for my father says she is never
to go back to Hornby Hall."

"If she's not to go b. ck to Hornby Hall," cried
the woman, clutching Marjorie with almost insane
fury, "how would you like to go in her place? Here,
Silas Greene!"

The white-haired coachman sprang from the
box, just as Mrs. Miles raised Marjorie in her
strong arms.

"Take care of that young fool there " she cried,
pointing to Hugh, "till I get this wildcat into the
carriage."

Silas Greene, rushing at Hugh, grappled with
him, tripping up Ned Wallace by a dexterous move-
ment of his foot as he sought to interfere, so that
he fell sprawling on the ground. George Wallace,
leaping the fence, made a rush across the road
toward the Morton ', and DoUie Martin ran for
Jack, screaming at the top of her voice. Jack heard
and came down at full speed, at the very instant
that Dick Dalton strolled in at the gate.

They lost not a moment in words, but made a
"simultaneous rush toward Mrs. Miles, seizing and
holding her, while Jack sternly bade her put down
the young lady. She stood still, only tightening
her grasp upon Marjorie.

Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate. 187

"Dick, you hold her, and I'll soon make her give
up her prize!" said Jack, and in another moment

Marjorie stood flushed, indignant, terrified, but free.

"Get into the house as quick as you can," ordered
Jack. "We'll hold her till you're perfectly safe."

Marjorie's flying feet crossed the road at the
very time that George Wallace's frantic pounding
upon the door had been heard. The frightened
women servants were now seen upon the steps,
deploring the fact that Jerry was away and had
taken the dog with him.

Mrs. Miles, seeing that Marjorie had escaped,
stood the picture of sullen and baffled rage.

"Put me into the carriage!" she ordered in a
hard voice. "Silas Greene, drop that fool and come
on.

The coachman did as he was told, relaxing the
iron grip he had taken of Hugh Graham, for he
was a powerful fellow despite his white hair. He
mounted the driver's seat and prepared to drive off.
Mrs. Miles' face was terrible to behold. Her hair
streamed down from under her bonnet, which with
the veil had fallen off. Her eyes glared, and she
'vas more livid of color than ever. She was a bold
and desperate woman, and it Imd seemed possible
to her by securing possession of Marjorie to

1 88 Mrs. Miles Grows Desperate.

effect a compromise with Mr. Mortt .i, whom she
guessed was in possession of much information
concerning her. And it would be, moreover, a de-
lightful revenge upon her enemy. All her plans
had been upset by the ' ^Id and resolute action of
the two lads. She . now nursing a sullen
fury, which threatened to break forth into fierce
imprecations.

'* You fools ! you vipers !" she cried, shaking her
fist at the boys, "I'll be even with v i yet, and as
for that bird that's out of the cage, x U never rest
til! she's in it again."

By this time the cook and the housemaids, with
Julie at their head, were running distracted across
the road agitated and curious. Mrs. Miles never
deigned them a Word or glance :

"Drive on, Silas Greene!" she commanded.
And the lumbering, van-like vehicle drove away
down the dusty highway. The boys stood, and
looked after it, as it took that awful presence from
their sight and lives forever.

CHAPTER XVII.

VISITORS TO HORNBY HALL.

WHEN Mr. Morton returned home and heard
what had occurred, his indignation was so
great that he was narrowly restrained y Mrs. Mor-
ton from going directly to Hornby Hail.

"I would not go to-day," urged the wife; "your
right to the child is now clearly established, and
when once that is made known to Mr. Pemberton,
the woman Miles will hardly care to put herself in
pposition to the law. Moreover — "

"Yes, I know," interrupted Mr. Morton, grimly,
"\ve may be able to draw her claws effectively when
I have had that interview with old Pemberton."

"I would wait, then, till you are perfectly cool
and collected."

"I am cool enough now. for that matter!'' cried
Mr. Morton, wiping his brow, but his wife only
smiled and laid a hand upon his arm, and he had to

189

I9G Visitors to Hornby Hall.

smile, too. It was agreed, however, that Mr. and
Mrs. Morton should go together and literally beard
the lion in his den. They felt confident lliey would
be able to clear up, once and forever, the mystery
which had so long cast its dark shadow over Hornby
Hall.

It was certain that, in any event, Mary was to
remain with the Mortons, to go to the convent with
Marjorie in the autumn, and to be at once instructed
in her father's faith, in which, it had been definitely
understood at the time of the marriage, she was to
be brought up. It w^-Ud depend entirely on the
dispositions of her grandfather after he heard Mr.
Morton's tale whether or not Mary should be
allowed any further communication with the home
which had been little more to her than a cruel prison.

When the next morning dr vned, bright and fair,
Mr. Morton wandered about aimlessly, unable to
settle to anything until that critical interview was
over. The carriage was ordered for two o'clodc
precisely, and into it stepped the husband and wife.
All the boys and girls had assembled in Mayfair,
having some idea of what was going on.

"I leave Mary in your care," Mr. Morton
cautioned the young folks, "but if there should be
any sign whatever of Mrs. Miles or of the carriage

Visitors to Hornby Hall. 191

from Hornby, go instantly into the house, where
admittance will be refused Mrs. Miles or any
strangers. And there is one addition to your circle
I would suggest."

"Who is that, papa?*' asked Marjorie, wonder-
ingly.

Mr. Morton pointed to the kennel, whence pro-
truded the head of the Mt. St. Bernard. The dog
got up lazily, as if aware that he was being made

the subject of the conversation, yawned, stretched
himself and advanced, slowly wagging his Sfrfendid

tail as if it were a plume.

"He will he your best protection," went on Mr.
Morton. "With him stretched at Marjorie's feet,
well! even Mrs. Miles will hardly dare lay a finger

any one of you."

This proposal was hailed with satisfaction,
though the older boys asserted they could take care
of the girls without assistance. Jack, in particular,
was somewhat boastful, in consequence of the hap-
penings of the previous day, and poor Luke Morris,
reddening to the ears, could scarce raise his head.
The group, indeed, ranged themselves in order of
battle, but as the afternoon wore on without any
signs of the enemy, they engaged in a game of tag.
They were careful always, however, to keep a sharp

. (

t >

192 Visitors to Hornby Hall.

lookout. Nero, synipatlietic clog that he was, joined
i„ the sport, leaping over the daisy- and buttercup-
strewn grass in ungainly frolics, barking joyfully
and otherwise showing his good will. Or, again,
he lay down upon the grass, under the tree, watch-
ing with benevolent eye his young mistress and her
companions, all of whom, in his wise dog-fashion,
he regarded as persons to be trusted.

When tired of the game, the circle reformed on
the benches in the shade and talked over late events,
in that pleasant, confidential manner into which
children, as well as their elders, occasionally glide,
particularly when any grave crisis is at hand. For
the hoys and girls all felt that there was something
unusual in the air, and the stress of the last few
days had united them wonderfully. All was peace
and harmony, like that between the grass and the
flowers, or the birds and the leafy tops of the trees.
Even Jack and Marjorie refrained from their ever-
lasting strife of tongues. All the children knew
that Mr. and Mrs. Morton had gone to Hornby
Hall and that Mary's fate trembled in the balance,
. and this made them thoughtful. But they did not
fail to look up and down the road occasionally, lest
Mrs. Miles should steal upon them stealthily.

Mrs. Miles, however, was meditating no such

Visitors to Hornby Hall.

193

attempt. She was peering from an upper window

of Hornby Hall, behind a dingy shutter, at the car-
riage which drove rapidly in at the aveni gate.
It turned its course through the stiff lines of poplars
a- surely and steadily as fate. Once at the house,
the bell jingled sharply at Mr. Morton's ring, and
the woman with the white, scared face opened the
door at the summons and returned to inform her
master. The liusband and wife waited in that once
familiar room. It was now both dreary and ghostly,
with the dank chill coming in irom the weed-
grown garden without Mr. Morton stood before
the picture of his cousin Bessie, and forded it
with the wistful gaze which maturity gives to that
which recalls youth.

He was thus occupied v;hen the grr ig of the
invalid chair was heard on the polishet loor and
Mr. Pemberton was wheeled into tiiC room. He
was cold, impassive as r- er, but ' eyes burned in
his grim countenance v.. 1 a baicful light. Mr.
Morton turned from the contemplation of the
picture and bowed to the old man. Mrs. Morton
s; luted him with equal formality. Mr. Pemberton
began, in that metallic voice which so grated upon
the ear:

''And so, Mr. Henry Morton, you have been

194 Visitors to Hornby Hall.

striving to distinguish yourself in a new role, that
of kidnapper."

"I have simply done my duty, sir, a duty too long
delayed," responded Mr. Morton, gravely.

"I trusted to your honor," began the old man,
and broke off speaking with a bitter laugh. "Honor,
I might have known, is what it means to most men,
fiction, a veil of respectability thrown over doubt-
ful deeds. It ranks in my mind with religion, a
conventional cloak of hypocrisy."

"That, sir," interposed Mr. Morton, "I refuse to
discuss with you. Religion, thank God, is with me
and mine an integral part of life. You will permit me
to say that the want of it has darkened your own
life and occasioned many of its worst misfortunes."

Mr. Pemberton took a pinch of snuff, and looked
at the speaker with a sardonic smile.

"You are a bold fellow. Henry Morton." he ex-
claimed, "to come into my presence with such
language. But what I want to hear instead, and
what is so vitally important that I shall insist upon
hearing it. is when you are going to restore the girl
, /'o went from this house to yours and who happens
to be my grandchild. I have permitted the farce
to go on for a day or two, but you and she shall
dearly rue your part in it."

Visitors to Hornby Hall.

195

"I will tell you at once and frankly," declared
Mr. Morton, speaking now without a shadow of
fear or hesitation, "that as the guardian at law of
Mary Pemberton, appointed by her father and
mother, I can no longer delegate that trust to any
one."

"The gtiardian at law," repeated Mr. Pemberton,
sarcastically. "You were a very long time in claim-
ing that title, and you will be a still longer time in
proving your claim."

"That point had better be settled at once!" de-
clared Mr. Morton, coolly. And he drew from his
pocket a document at sight of which a slight tremor
of uneasiness passed over the old man's face.

"This is a copy," continued the visitor, "of a will
executed in due form by your son, Philip Pember-
ton. The original I have deposited with my at-
torney in Philadelphia."

Mr. Pemberton shaded his eyes with his hand,
as though the light hurt him, but he did not remove
his keen and hawk like gaze from the younger
man's face.

"Would you care to examine into the provisions
of that will?" inquired Mr. Morton, extending the
parchment toward the recumbent figure in the chair.
But Mr. Pemberton waved it aside.

196 Visitors to Hornby Hall.

"My solicitor will do that," he replied curtly,
"and believe me, he will subject to a rigid scrutiny
the provisions of a document which has been resur-
rected from no one knows where so very oppor-
tunely."

"It has been unearthed, as you say, opportunely,"
responded Mr. Morton, quietly, "under somewhat
peculiar circumstances, which I am prepared to ex-
plain."

The old man sat waiting, but there was some-
thing strained and unnatural in his attitude.

"It is well, however," resumed Mr. Morton, "to
make clear, in the first place, another clause in the
document."

"And that is?" inquired the metallic voice.

"That not only does Mary Pemberton pass under
my guardianship, but that she is constituted heir
at law to a very considerable fortune. A portion
of this fortune belonged to her mother and another
portion to her father, inherited from his mother."

"It is false!" cried the old man, trying to rise
.in his chair and falling back helplessly. "It is a
conspiracy to defraud me. to get control for your-
selves of this property which you claim for the child."

A dark flush mounted to Mr. Morton's very fore-
head, and he repressed his anger by a strong effort.

Visitors to Hornby Hall. 197

"You are an eld and helpless man, sir/' said he,
**but you must not forget to whom you are speak-
ing."

The tone and manner had some effect upon Mr.
Pemberton and he strove to restrain the fury which
possessed him.

"This will shall be investigated," he cried,
"examined in every detail. That hated child shall
not possess the property. Hated ! Yes, in all these
years, during which she came into my presence a
white martyr, with eyes like those of the picture,
upbraiding, and with a turn of the head and a
movement of the hand so like another. She spdce
no word, but the voice of her attitude spoke
volumes ; and each time I gave her up to Mrs. Miles,
to see if tfiat wonderful creature could overcome
her mute obstinacy."

Husband and wife exchanged a glance of horrOT,
as the weird figure before them seemed oblivious
for the moment of their presence. Mr. Morton,
however, rallied the old man's scattered senses by
a question.

"You remember, perhaps, on a late occasion,
when your rest was disturbed toward midnight?"

"Well, if it were so, what of that?" asked Mr.
Pemberton, his attention immediately arreted.

198 Visitors to Hornby Hall.

"You found the house brilliantly illuminated and
Mrs. Miles playing a comedy, as you declared, for
some who were outside."

"You heard these words! You were there! You
were listening!" cried the old man, highly excited.

"I heard those words. I was there. I was listen-
ing," ad.nitted Mr. Morton, quietly. "Mrs. Miles
spoke to you of chicken thieves as a possible ex-
planation. She further hinted at attempt of bur-
glary. But Mrs. Miles knew very well that the
hen-roost and Hornby Hall were equally safe from
thcie outside. She was aware of what that band
of resolute fellows had come to seek, of the identity
of the'.* leader, and both facts she kept from your
knowledge."

Mr. Ponberton's face had changed, stiffened, as
he listened. Here was concealment, at least, if not
treachery in the only being he had for many long
years trusted.

"I presume," he observed at length with an effort,
but it was more as though he were arguing with
himself than addressing his listeners, "I presume
.she did not wish do disturb my rest with the tales."

"She did not wish you to know that the missing
will had been taken from its hiding-place in the
long barn."

Visitors to Hornb*: Hall. 199

"What do you mean? What are you talking
about?" cried the old man, in visible agitation. "She
told me she had searched the long Harn and there
was not so much as a scrap of paper there."

"There were a good many others," said Mr, Mor-
ton, significantly, "even if the particular scrap o'
paper she was in search of failed to reach her eyes."

"Explain yourself, and at once!"

"That I am about to do, if you will give me your
attention."

"One moment," interrupted Mr. Pemberton, and
he impatiently touched the bell, which jerked his
attendant into the room. "Shut out some of that
light," he commanded.

The man obeyed, drawing down the Venetian
blind so that the last rays of the afternoon sun
should not fall across the aged face, to display its
changes. That sole ray of heaven's blessedness
that ever entered Hornby being «hut out. the room
took on an indescribable dinginess and a sinister
dartcness.

"Now, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Pemberton, and the
tale was begun.

CHAPTER XVIII.

iiR. Morton's tale, which unveils the

MYSTERY.

"J WAS the leader in that enterprise," began Mr.

1 Morton, "of the other night. I had been
given a clue to the mystery of years, and had some
reason to believe that your — that Philip — "

The old man started as if an adder had stung
him.

"Spare me," he cried, "as much as possible all
reference to Philip Pemberton."

"I am afraid," objected Mr. Morton, "that his
name must necessarily come into my narrative, but
I beg of you to hear me out patiently. I am con-
vinced that you will not r^et having done so."

"Begin, then, that you may the sooner end,"
snapped Mr. Pemberton, irritably.

"It is my firm belief that in concealing his last
•will and testament in the long barn, Philip Pem-
berton so acted because he feared and distrusted
Mrs. Miles."

200

Mr. Morton's Tale. 201

Mr. Morton paused. In the dimness he could
not see the old man's face, and only a harsh "Go
on !" greeted the remark.

"He hid it away, then, and it remained in the

hiding-place till I discovered it. In the many visits
which Mrs. Miles paid secretly and by night to the
long barn, that providence which protects the in-
nocent concealed from her this document, which
she would assuredly have destroyed, with another to
which we shall come later."

"You have made quite a number of gratuitous
assertions," interrupted Mr. Pemberton, "some of
which you may later be called upon to prove ; but,
proceed to fact."

"Now, though Mrs. Miles did not discover the
document, she was quite familiar with the loft above
the long bam, which she used, indeed, for a variety
of purposes. As it was a place impossible of access
without a ladder, it was her custom to carry thither
a light ladder from the neighboring granarv. This
ladder was destroyed by fire when the barn was
burned, and Mrs. Miles had been thus far unable
or unwilling to replace it by another. Perhaps she
was afraid that such a proceeding on her part might
awaken suspicion or attract some one else's at-
tention to the long barn. But as I have reason to

202 Mr. Morton's Tale,

think, it was a source of anxiety to her that she no
longer had access to the loft, where, indeed, she
had much at stake. She had her own secrets there
and an accumulation of evidence against herself.
This was one of those errors of judgment on the
part of the wicked, which seem to be permitted for
useful ends. She trusted to the fact that the
servants of the Hall were old and slow-witted, com-
pletely subservient to her will, and that no stranger
frequented the premises. So, in the loft of the long
bam was discovered the other night the key to the
mystery, to the chain of mysteries, which so long
seemed to encircle Hornby Hall."

Old Mr. Pemberton was erect, eager, by this
time, but he gave no sign, save a tremulous move-
ment of his hands-on the arm of his invalid-chair.

"To recur to the past," Mr. Morton resumed
after a pause, "Philip Pemberton was not always
as prudent or economical in financial affairs as his
father might have desired, but he was with all his
faults the soul of honor and it cut him to the quick
when, on one occasion, he was accused of having
• sold his militia uniform to pay some debt."

"He did dispose of it," interposed the old man,
sharply and decidedly.

Mr. Morton shook his head.

Which Unveils the Mystery. 203

"In view of Philip's own positive denial and my
knowledge of his character, I never believed that
he did so," Mr. Morton declared; "the proof has
come to hand. The uniform, rolled into a bundle,
was found in the loft of the long bam."

Mr. Pemberton started.

"Impossible!" he cried, harshly.

"It can be produced," said Mr. Mort(»l.

"WIio could have put it there?"

"Who, but one bearing enmity against Philip
and seeking to put enmity between him and his
father?"

"And that was?"

"Mrs. Miles; at least everything points to such
a conclusiiMi," declared Mr. Morton. "But to pro-
ceed : This matter of the uniform was one of many
incidoits which set father against son. These differ-
ences culminated in a quarrel, and a blow and a fall
which were supposed to have caused Philip's death."

"Supposed?" gasped the old man.

"Falsely supposed," resumed Mr. Morton. "The
fall would have been quite insufficient to cause
death. A sleeping powder was administered secretly
by Mrs. Miles. The patient never awoke."

Mr. Pemberton gave a cry, which those who
heard it would remember to their dying day.

204 Mr. Morton's Tah,

"Mrs. Miles was caught in the act by Bessie Pem-
berton. She fled from the room to summon aid,
but was seized and overpowered by Mrs. Miles and
her husband and conveyed to the loft over the long
bam, where she was detained a prisoner. In the
end, she partially lost her reason and was persuaded
by Mrs. Miles to go abroad in the care of her maid,
where, as you know, she died."

"Stop, sir, stop!" interrupted Mr. Pemberton.
"This is a romance you are constructing. Bessie
Pemberton, having been witness to the blow and
the fall, accused me in her heart of having killed
her husband and my son. She fled from the house,
forgetful of long years of kindness, without giving
me an opportunity to explain. She fled, as you say,
to Europe, where she died."

"That is whn you believed, what you have been
led to believe ali these years," corrected Mr. Morton,
**but my story is nevertheless the true one and I have
it here in writing, from Bessie Pemberton herself."

"You have it there in her writing?" echoed the
old man, passing his hand over his head, as one
• bewildered.

"Yes, in her writing, which I know well," replied
Mr. Morton, taking from his breast pocket a worn
and soiled piece of paper. "This was found by me

Which Unveils the Mystery. 205

in the same secret hiding-place which contained
Philip's will, and, as you will see, it refers to the
circumstance of the will's concealment there."

Me handed the paper to the old man, who took it
with trembling fingers and began to read. All was
as Henry Morton had said. The paper, as follows,
began with the solemnity of legal form and ended
in a hurried scrawl:

"I, Bessie Pemberton, being now of sound mind,
but not knowing how long my reason may stand
the strain of these terrible events, desire to place on
record my knowledge of all that has recentV oc-
curred, and to assure Philip's father, who has been
ever my kind friend, that he is quite innocent of
having caused his son's death. The blow and the
accidental fall which followed were declared by the
doctors insufficient to cause serious injury. When
this decision was made known, Mrs. Miles instantly
resolved, as I myself heard her say to her husband,
to administer something to Philip which should be
a quietus. For she feared that on his recovery there
might be a complete reconciliation between father
and son.**

Mr. Pemberton could read no further; the paper
fell from his shaking hand.
"ShaU I finish it?" asked Mr. Morton.

206

Mm. MoRTOit's Tali,

Mr. Pcmbcrton nodded mechanically.
"Having detected the woman in the act, and
heard her avowal of the deed, alas, too late to save
Philip, I was seized by Mrs. Miles, with the aid of
her husband, conveyed to this dreadful place,
whence she may never let me go alive."

What followed was merely a recapitulation of
details, and the scrawl at the end became faint, and
difikult to read.

Mr. Morton, having folded the paper and given
it to Mr. Pembcrton, continued:

"In our midnight raid we discovered the ex-
planation of some minor mysteries, which are of
interest at this late date chielly because they bear
upon those of greater importance. You may re-
member, perhaps, Mr. Pemberton, the case of
Hester Primrose, who was charged with the theft
of certain articles of jewelry and served a term in
the county jail, after which she disappeared."

"I remember very well," assented Mr, Pember-
ton in a strained, unnatural voice, "and up to the
time of the theft Hester Primrose had been, as . e
supposed, a faithful servant."

"Well, the ring and the brooch and the bracelet,
which she was accused of stealing, are there in the
loft"

Which Unvbils thb Mystiky. J07

Mr. Pemberton gasped.

"You may remember, possibly, a certain Malachy
O'Rourke, who worked in the garden."

"Oh, yes. he was an Irishman lately landed,"
cried Mr. Pemberton, with some return of his
sardonic expression, "a liar and a hypocrite, pre-
tending to be religious, and to be devoted to his
master, but turning out in the end a drunken, lying,
worthless wretch."

"Malachy O'Rourke," said Mr. Morton, "like
Hester Primrose, became acquainted in tomt way
with some of the facts above related."

Here the clock in the hall tolled out the hour,
with a deep-sounding toll which seemed an in-
tolerable impertinence and an unb-iarable delay to
the old man. For he was leaning fr -ward with
parted lips, his eyes alert and eager b' ; touched
with a strange bewilderment.

"Malachy O'Rourke," went on the narrator, "was
dismissed peremptorily from the Hall on charges
made by Mrs. 1 ''es, all of which were untrue. He
sought, as you iay remember, an interview with
his master, which was refused. He even managed
to convey to you a note declaring that he suspected
foul play in mort than one direction."

"I received that note," the old man admitted.

208

Mr. Morton's Tale,

"but as Mrs. Miles agreed with me, and as I sup-
posed, it was a bare attempt of a wretch who had
been found out to blacken the character of others."

"It was, on the contrary, a part of the whole
scheme, a determination on the part of Mrs. Miles
to rid herself of all who could possibly bear witness
against her. Malachy O'Rourke will in due time
be produced to corroborate what I have stated and
to prove his own continued respectability by testi-
monials from all his employers."

"It has been all a dream, a hideous nightmare 1"
exclaimed Mr. Pembcrton.

"There is one person more," went on Mr. Mor-
ton, "who knows something, if not all, of the truth.
She is Hannah Barton, still in your employ. Her
curiosity was awakened concerning the long barn.
In a spirit of mischief, she went there one evening,
just as the dusk was falling. She had a wager with
T^Ialachy O'Rourke that she would find out what
was going on there. She peered through cracks
and crannies, and was caught in the act by Mrs.
Miles, who punished her by shutting her up in a^
small room which opens off the IcMig bam. There'
she was compelled to listen all night to sighs and
groans which she believed to be supernatural. Her
hair turned white during those hours of captivity.

Which Unveils the Mystery. 209

By morning she was Mrs. Miles' slave, though she
discovered with the daylight that it was no ghost
in the loft above, but Mrs. Philip, whom she sup-
posed from Mrs. Miles' account to be deranged.
She never, as far as is known, from that day to this
recovered from the fright nor spoke a word to any
one of what she had discovered. Eyt Bessie Pem-
berton recorded the circumstance and no doubt it
can be presently substantiated from the wcnnan's
own Hps."

Mr. Pemberton asked no further question. His
head sank upon his breast and he seemed lost in a
kind of stupor.

"What I learned from my cousin Bessie's manu-
script was in part, at least, substantiated by my
chance meeting with Malachy O'Rourke, who has
lately returned to Philadelphia. He thinks he could
put his finger on Hester Primrose, if required, who
is living in misery in Liverpool. She can give proof
as to what Mrs. Miles is."

"That woman I that fiend I" cried Mr. Pemberton,
with a sudden despairing rage in his voice. "When
I think of the years of suffering she has made me
endure, the maddening, cruel years which turned me
to stone and made me hate even my son's child —
oh, lest I do her an injury, let her depart swiftly

2IO Mr. Morton's Tale,

from within these walls, which she has made ac-
cursed, from the house which she has turned into
a byword."

"Have we the right to turn such a woman out
upon the world unpunished, to be a menace to
society and to our own peace?" Mr. Morton asked,
gravely.

"But we can not make public these things, these
fearful, monstrous things," cried Mr. Pemberton
m agony. "We can not lay bare to the mockery
of the world secrets so long buried."

"We can have this woman arrested on a specific
charge," suggested Mr. Morton.

"I et her go, let her go !" cried the old man, and
for one brief moment he stood erect, an awful
spectacle of despairing grief.

Mrs. Morton, who had remained silent through-
out that painful interview, now hastened to the old
man's side. AU other feeling was swallowed up in
pity.

"Bring her here first," he commanded, "that I
may confront her vitii the ruin she has caused !"

The bell was rung anc! Mrs. Miles was summoned.
But her room was empty, and it was evident
from its disorder that she had fled. She had stolen
down, indeed, and listened at the closed door behind

Which Unveils the Mystery. an

which her life-story was being told. As each dark
page was unfolded, she clenched her hands convul-
sively, her ashen face contorted into a fearful
passion of baffled rage and hate. When she learned
that Malachy O'Rourke and Hester Primrose were
available as witnesses, in addition to those palpable
evidences of guilt found in the loft, she waited no
longer.

She stole back to her room, put into a satchel
a few of her effects, together with the savings of
years. But before she departed from Hornby Hall,
of which she had been the evil genius, she paused
upon the threshold, and laughed her mirthless,
soundless laugh.

"I came here,*' she said, "a young girl, full of a
fool's piety, believing in a God and in a lot of other
things. The master himself by his ',neers and his
jibes destroyed my belief. I heard him laugh at
Mrs. Philip, who would never give up her faith.
Day after day, year after year, I heard him call
those fools who believed in what they couldn't see.
Drop by drop, I drank it in and I began to see like
him that we all were deceived, that there is no other
world and no God. After that I was free to do as
I pleased, and I did so. I gave up Church and priests
and God, and I became what I am."

212 Mr. Morton's Tale,

She laughed again, then looked back into the
hall with a shuddering cry.

"But there is a God, and He has made known
what I thought the grave had hidden."

With a light almost of insanity in her eyes, she
sped down the steps and away, away from Hornby
forever. She walked to the nearest railroad station
and there, under cover of the darkness, took the
train which would lead her to town, thenceforth to
lose herself in the world's great whirlpool. She
had little fear of pursuit. She knew her master
well and that he dreaded pubUcity as he dreaded
death.

When the place had been searched and it was
evident that Mrs. Miles had really gone, wltl. no
intentions, as was evident from her preparations,
of coming back, relief was in every heart. And as
Henry Morton and his wife stood beside the old
man, he said, in a voice that was already changed
and softened: "Send for her now! for Maryl"

Mr. Morton hesitated.

"Not to keep her— I do not mean that," Mr.
Pemberton declared; "she shall never spend a night
under this ill-starred roof. But that I may see her
in the light of this new knowledge. See Philip's
child, knowing that I was innocent of her father's

Which Unveils the Mystery. 213

death. See Bessie's child, knowing that the mother
never doubted me. Ah, that faith which she held,
and which I strove to destroy, kept her warm and
true, a beautiful nature. She would have uplifted
Philip too had I let her, and they would have been
happy.*'

The carriage was sent bade for Mary, and while
it was gone Mrs. Morton opened doors and windows
and let in the air and sunshine. She bade Hannah
Barton be merry for that Mrs. Miles would come
back no more. And in some mysterious way she
imparted a new touch of cheerfulness to all the sur-
roundings. When Mary came back, trembling and
despairing, believing that she was to be delivered
up, there was the door of her unloved home stand-
ing open and the irreverent sun straying in, like a
careless child, making patterns upon the floor.
Mary was hugged by Mrs. Morton and brought
straight to her grandfather, who stretched out
tremulous, eager arms to her and, then, thrust her
backward that he might gAze into her face.

"Bessie's child!" he murmured, "Philip's child!
My child !"

After which he cried out to her with a strange,
eager earnestness, as if warning against an instant's,
delay :

214 Morton's Talk.

"Make haste to learn your religion, child, your
mother's religion, and grow up like her to be a
pure, sweet, true-hearted woman."

When they all drove away that evening, it was
only to return every day to cheer the desolate old
man, who was now faithfully tended, not only by
his own attendant, but by Hannah Barton and
Malachy O'Rourke. The latter was set to work to
make the garden beautiful again, for its old-time
beauty had been ruthlessly destroyed. And many
a snatch of the cheerful and heart-stirring melodies
of his native land did the gardener sing under the
master's window.

The boys and girls of Mayfair, during each
summer vacation, were often found upon the lawn
at the bidding of Mr. Pemberton, where bountiful
refreshments were served and all games provided
for their amusement. Mary was in their midst,
cordial and friendly as ever, and quite regardless
of her heirship, not only to this great houSi% but
much more besides. By common cons- a> he p =
was never touched upon in that little intimate cii
and the countryside at large began in the course
of years to forget that there had ever been a mystery

at Hornby Hall.

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NAji'ESTllA'FLIVS Df CATBOUC

OUR OWN ST. RFTA. Cok»«aii,

PATRON SAINTS FOR CATHOLIC
YOUTH. By M. E. Mannix. tach
life Mpafatdy in attractive colored
paper cover with Hlustration on froot
cover. Each lo cents postpaid; per
as copies, »»5orte<I, mi. $i-7S. "»
copies, as.v>rted, nd, $f. 75- ""'y
in packages containiag s copies of
•Bc title.

For Boys: St. Joseph; St. Aloysius;

St. Anthony; St. Bernard; St.

Martin; St. Michael; St. Francis

Xsvier: St. Patrick; St. Charles;

St. Philip. , , . . ,

The above can be had bound in i vol-
ume, clrth, ^ , .

For Girls; St. Ann; St. ARnes; St.

Teresa; St. Rose of Lima; l^t.

CecUia; St. Helena; St. Bridget;

St. atheriae; St. Eliiabeth; St.

Margaret. , . . , ,

The above can be had bouod IB I vol-
ume, cloth, net, %i oo. _ ,
riCTORlAL LlVtS OF THE SAINTS.
With ne«rly 400 illustrations and over

POn;EAR Mffe*SrST. TERESA.
1/abbk Joseph, nrt. $0.8=;.

PRINCIPI.KS^ ORIGIN AND ESTAR-
LlSHMENf OF THE CATHOLIC
SCHOOL SYSTEM IN THE UNITED
STATES. Btnuif, C.S.C. ii«l,$».SO.

RAMBLES IN CATHOLIC LANDS."

Barritt.O.S.B. Illustrated. n,$j.50.
ROMA. Pacut Sttblcmnean and Mod-
em Romein Word and Picture. By
Rev. Alhert Kubn. O S.B . D.D.
Preface by Cabdinal Gibbons. 617
pages. 744 illustrations. 48 full-page
mserts, 3 Plao» ^
Six 13 inches. Red im. leather, fOM

side nfl $n 00.

ROMAN CI KIA AS ITNOW EXBTS.

Martin, S.J. net, $2.50.
ST. ANTHONY. Wamd. nd. •o.Sj.
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISL Dinoo.

S.M mt, $0.85. , „ . _
ST. JO.\NOFARC. Lyhcii,S.J. IBu*.

trited. tie<, $;.7>;. . _
ST. JOHN BERCHMANS. Di-
iKnAvt. S.T.-Semple, S J. nil. $1.50.
SAINTS AND PLAC ES. By JoM
Avscoccn. Ulu'tratcd. net, 93-00.
SHORT LIVEo OF THE SAINTS.

DoyNKl.LY. nft, $o.no.

STORY OF THE DIVINE CHILD.

Told for Chit 'rrn. LlNCS. nei, to.to.
STORY OK THE ACTS OF THE
APOSTLES. Lynch, S.J. lUua-

trafed. nrt, ti-T!- ,

WOMEN OF CATHOUCITY. Sa»-

UF.a. net, $0.85. _
WONDER STORY. THE, Taooak.
Illustrate<I. Board covers, ut, $o.af ;
rer 100, $2a.5o. Also an editioa in
French and Polish at aama pricaa.

VI. JUVENILES

FATHER FINN'S BOOKS.
Each, nel, Sr.oo.

ON THE RUN. _
BOBKY IN MOVIELAND.
FACING DANGER.
HIS LUCKIEST YEAR. AS««wlt0

" Lurky Bob."
LUCKY BOB. .
PERCY WYNN; OR. MAKINO A

BOY OF HIM.
TOMPLAYFAIR; OR. MAKING A

START

CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT; OR. HOW
THE PROBLEM WAS SOLVED.
HARRY DEE; OR, WORKING IT

ETHELRET) PRESTON; OR.'!™?
ADVENTURES OF A NEW-
COMFR. «T^
THE BEST FOOT FORWARD;

AND OTHER STORIK.
* BUT THY LOVE AND THY
GRACE."

CUPID OF C.MiriON.

THAI" FOOTBALL GAME, AND

WH.\T CAME Ol- i r.
THE FAIRY OF THE S.NOWS.
THAT OFFICE BOY.
HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEAR-

MOSTIA^BOYS. SHORT STORIES.

FATHER SPALDING'S BOOKS.

Each, net, Si oo-

SIGNALS FROM THE BAY TREE.
rtELD IN THE EVERGLADES.
AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND-

HILLS.

THE CAVE BY THE BEECH

FORK

THE SHERIFF OF THE BEECH

FOR K.

THE CAMP BY COPPER RIVER,
THE RACE FOR COPPEiySLAJia
THE MARKS OV THE BBAl
CLAWS.

TBB OLD MUX ON THB WITH-

ROSE

THE SUGAP \ M! AFTTR.
ADVENTURE HlHJtAPACHr?

Fuay. ntt, r,i.->o.
ALTUEA. Nil lUNrra.
AS GOLD L THE FURl^Ai «.

Copot, S.I. • a. ) I.3C.
AS TRUE AS t Cl U M Aviojf.

S0.60.

AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND-
HILLS. Spalding, S.J. net, ii.~jo.
BELL FOUNDRY. Schacbinc. ntl,

BERJaEYS, THE. Wight. im/.Io.So.
BEST TOO r FORWARD, THE. Flioi.

AUUZKLC.

S.J. n4t, ti.oo.
ETW

BETWEEN FRIENDS.

ml, $0.85.
BlsTUURl. Melandri. net, $0.60.
BLISSYLVANIA POST-OFFICE.

1 AOnAIT. ,'M<, $0.60.

BOBBY In MOVIELAND. Finh, S.J.
fwl, Si.oo.

BOBO'LLVK. Waooamam. im/, to.6o.
BROWNIE AND I. AvMmLB. «,|e.8s.
BUNT AND BILL. UviMOUMtD.

•M(, $0 60.

"BUT THV LOVE AND THY
GRACE." FiN.M, S.J. lul, $1.00.

BY BRAM3COME RIVER. Tagcam.
ml. $0.00.

CAMP BY COPPER RIVER. Spald-

rao. S.J. Htl, $1 00.
CAPTAIN TEn. Wacoamam. n.Sx.is-
CAVE BY THE BEECH FORK.

SpaujDig, S.J. «/, $1.00
CHILDREN OF CUP A. Mamox. ntl,

«o.6o.

CHILDREN OF THE LOG CABIN.
DlLA^KE. net, $0.85.

CLARE LORAINE. " Lee.' b, $0.8
"CLAUDE L

CLAUDE LlGHfFOOT. Finn, S

COBkA ISLAND. Bottom, SJ. na,

•x-i$.

COPA REVISITED. Mammix. ml,
ie.6a

COTID OF CAMPION. FDn, S.J.

DADDY DAN. Waocamam. ntt,
$•.60.

DEAR FRIENDS. NikouNOU. tM(,

D^tlNCS SUCCESS. Mvunt.-

LAHD. net, |o.6a
ETHELRED PRESTCm. FBm, S.J.

K^Y-SkY GIRL, AM. Cwmn.

FACING DANOBR. tam. SJ. Mfb

fairy" OF THE SNOWS. Fom. SJ.

riNDLNG OF TONY. WAOOAMAif.

nv^ BIRiisiNANEST. Dsuuuu.
ttM %o 85

Fivi O'CLOCK STORIES. Wr m

RcUfioui. mt. to.ii.
FLOWER OF TUB TLOCK. BOMT.

ntt, $1.15.

FOR THE WHITE ROSE HoRtOM.
ntl, $0.60.

FRED'S LITTLE DAUGHTER.

Sum. Mt, te.6a
FREDDY CARR'S ADVENTURES.

Gaerolo, S.J. net, 80.85.
FREDDY CARR AND HIS FRIENDS.

Gauolo, S.J. net, 80.85.
GOLDEN LILY, THE. ifunaoM. mi.

to.6o.

GREAT CAPTAIM, THE. H»k«om.
ntl, $o.6e.

H.\LDEMAN CHILDREN, THE.

Mannix. mH, I0.60.
HARMO.NY FLATS. Wimiiu. ntt,

808s.

HAKRY DEE. Fmn, S.J. fw/, 81.00.
HARRY RUSSELL. Co»o», S.J. m*,

HEIR OF DREAMS, AM. Ollikun.

n«<, 80.60.

HELD IN THE EVERGLADES

Spalding, S.J. net, >'i m.
HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEAR.

ANCE. Finn, S.J. «<, 81 00.
HIS LUCKIEsT YEAR. Fisn, SJ.

<»*<, ti.oo.

HOSTAGE OF WAR, A. Boioutul.
net. 80.60.

HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY.

Egan. net, 80.85.
IN QUEST OF .ADVENTURE. Utm-

mx. net, 80.6a
IN QUEST OF T^T GOLDEN

CHEST. B ARTON. ,tCt, 8o.8(.

Hfl, 80.60.

JACK HILDRETH ON THE NILS.

Taotart. net, 80.85.
JUNIORS OF ST. BEOE'S. Bctmk.

JUViNILk ROUND TABLE. Fln8

SeriM. net, 8c Sr.
JUVENILE koUND TABU.

SeriM. nei, 80.85.
KLONDIKE KohCA.

LEGENDS AND STORIES OF THE
HOLY CHILD JESUS. Low. nsl,
io.&s-

LITTLE APOSTLE ON CRUTCHES.

UiaAiiABE. net V0.60.
LITTLE GIRL FROM BACK EAST.

KoHRBTS. rut, to.6o.
UriLK LADV OF THE HALL.

RYKi4.\N. n'f, $0 60

UTTLE MAR5HALLS AT THE
LARE. NixoN'RouuT. iM<,ta85.

LITTLE Missy. Waccaman. n*t,
$060.

LOV \L BLUE AND ROYAL SCAR-
LET. Tagoart. ntl, $1.2$.

LUCKY BOH. FiNM,S.J. ii«<.$i.oe.

MADCAP SE r A r sr. ANNE'S. tau-
NOWE. net, %o.6o.

MAD KNIGHT, THE. Schachinc.
net, $0.60.

MAKING OF MORTLAKE. Cores,

S.J. nf/, $i.a.s.
MAN FRO.VI NOWHERE. Saduer.

net. $0.8 ^.

MARKS OF THE BEAR CLAWS.

Spaujing, S J. net. tt.oa.
MARY TRACY'S FORTUNE. Sab-

LIER. net, $0.60.
MILLY AVELINO. Smith. N«.So.8j.
MIRALDA. John.son. net, $0.60.
MORE FIVE O'CLOCK STORIL5.

Fy a ReliRious. net, $0.85.
MOSTLY BOYS. inn, S.J. $1.00.
MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. Saduzr.

net. $0.60.

MYSTERY OF HORNBY HALL.

S.ADLIF.R. net, $0.85.
MYSTERY OF CLEVERLY. Barton.

net, $0.85.

NAN NOUODV. Wagcamam. m. $0.60.
NEU RIEDER. Weus. to.8s.
NEW SCHOLAR AT ST. ANNE'S.

Brl'NOae. net, to.&<(.

OLD CHARLMONT'S SEED-BED.
SuiTB. net, $0.60.

OLD MILL ON THE WTTHROSE.
SpALDisc, S.J. net, «i oi-

ON THE OLD CAMPING GROUND.
Maniox. net, $0.85.

ON THE RUN. Finn, S.J. «<,$t.oo.

PANCHO AND PANCHITA. Man-
nix net, $0.60.

PAULINE ARCHER. Saduer. «-/,

PERC VWYNN. FiNN.S.J. w/.$i.oo.
PERIL OK DIONYSIO. Mannix.
ntl, $0.60,

PETRONILLA. DomnUT. <w(,9o.8s.
PICKLE AND PEPPER. Dousv.

PILGRIM FROM IRELAND. CMi

MOT. net, $0.60.
PLAY WATER PLOT, THE. "'Aoai-

UAN. net, $1.25.
POLLY DAY'S ISLAND. Robbbts.

net. $0.85.

POVERINA. BucKENBAM. M(,9a85.
QUEEN'S PAGE, THE. Hinksoh. net,
$060.

QUEEN'S PROMISE, THE. Waoca-

MAN. <M<, $I.>5.

QUEST OF MARY SELWYN. Ctu-

KNTIA. nd, $i.;a
RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND. Smu-

INC, S.J. net. 9i 00.
RECRUIT TOMMY COLLINS.

B iNEsTEKL. net, $0.60.
ROMANCEOFTHE SILVER SHOON.

Beak.nk, S.J. ml, $i.js.
ST. CUTHCERT'S. Copos, S.J. nel,

SANDY JOE. Wagoaman. ««<, $1.25.
SEA GULL'S ROCK. Sandiao. ntl,

SE^EN LITTLE MARSHALLS.

NixoH -RouLCT. mt, $0.60.
SHADOWS LIFTED. Cowa, S.J.

net, %t.3S.

SHERIFF OF THE BEECH FORK.

SPAtDiNO, S.J. net, ti.oo.
SHIPMATES. Wagoaman. naA}.tJL
SIGNALS FROM THE BAY TRE£

Spalding, S.J. net, $1.00.
STRONG ARM OF AVALON. Wm>

G AUAN. net, $1.1$.
SUGAR CAMP AND AFTER. SPAI»-

INO, S J. net, Ir.oo
SUMMER AT VVOODVILLE. S*».

UER. net, $0.60.
TALES AND LEGENDS OF THE

MIDDLE ACES, os Capella. n^ti,

So.Ss.

TALIS.MAN, THE. Saduer. «k/.$o.8?
TAMING OF P(^LLY. Dorsry. net
»i.JS-

THA r FOOTBALL GAME. FiKU, S.J,
net, Si.oo.

THAT OFFICE BOY. FINN, S.J, ml,

Jt.oo.

THREE GIRLS AND ESPEOALLT

ONE. Taooabt. tM<,|o.6o.
TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. Sujokm.

net, $0.85.

TO.M LOS ELY; BOY. Copos, S.J
net, ti.};.

TO.M PLAYFAIR. Finn, S.J. ml,

%l.OO.

TOM'S LUCK-POT. Wao«>aman. m<,
I0.60.

TOQRALLADDY. Waus. m$,Mm