IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) 1.0 I.I iM 112.0 Ui Hi u IL25 i 1.4 I I 1.6 o> ^ '/] -*>. ^ Photographic ^Sciences CorpoMon 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBS''M,N.Y..I4SS0 (716) •72-4503 ? AtA rej>roduites avec le plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition at de la netteti de rexemplaire film*, et en conformity avec les conditions du contrat de filmage. Originel copies in printed paper covers are filmed beginning with the front cover and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All other original copies are filmed beginning on the first page with a printed or illustrated impres- sion, and ending on the last page with a printed or illustrated impression. Les exemplaires originaux dont ia couverture en papier est ImprimAe sont fiimte en commen^ant par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la dernlAre page qui comporte une empreinte d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second plat, salon ie cas. 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Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichA, il est f llmA A partir de I'angle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 S 6 WITHOUT A HOME. BY EDWTAED P. ROE, AUTHOR OF • BARRTBRS BURNED AWAY,' 'OPENING A CHESTNUT BURR,' 'SUCCESS WITH SMALL FRUITS," ETC., ETC. Soronto : ROSE PUBLISHING COMPANY 1883. PBlNTBD AND BOUND BY HUNTER. ROSE & CO., TORONTO. PREFACE. jj^WILL say but a few words in regard to the story con- (^ tained in this volume. It was announced two years ago, but I found that I could not complete it satisfactorily. In its present form it has been almost wholly re-cast, and much broadened in its scope. It touches upon several modern and very difficult problems. I have not in the remotest degree at- tempted to solve them, but rather have sought to direct atten- tion to them. In our society public opinion is exceedingly powerful It is the torrent that sweeps away obstructing evils. The cleansing tide is composed originally of many rills and streamlets, and it is my hope that this volume may add a little to that which at least is irresistible. I can say with sincerity that I have made my studies care- fully and patiently, and when dealing with practical phases of city life I have evolved very little from my own inner conscious- ness. I have visited scores of typical tenements ; I have sat day after day on the bench with the police judges, and have visited the station-houses repeatedly. There are few large retail shops that I have not entered many times, and I have conversed with both the employers and employ^. It is a shameful fact that, in the face of a plain statute forbidding the barbarous re- gulation, saleswomen are still compelled to stand continuously in many of the stores. On the intensely hot day when our mur- dered President was brought from Washington to the seaside, IV PREFACE. I found many girls standing wearily and uselessly because of this inhuman rule. There was no provision for their occasional rest. Not for a thousand dollars would I have incurred the risk and torture of standing through that sultry day. There are plenty of shops in the city which are now managed on the principles of humanity, and such patronage should be given to these and withdrawn from the others as would teach the pro- prietors that women are entitled to a little of the consideration that is so justly associated with the work of the'Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Mr. Bergh deserves praise for protecting even a cat from cruelty : but all the cats in the city unitedly could not suffer as much as the slight growing girl who must stand during a long hot day. I trust the reader will note carefully the Appendix at the close of this book. It will soon be discovered that the modern opium or morphia habit has a larje place in this volume. While I have tried to avoid the style of a medical treatise, which would be poor taste in d work of fiction, I have carefully consulted the best medical works and authorities on the subject, and I have conversed with many opium slaves in all stages of the habit. I am sure I am right in fearin g that in the morphia hunger and consumption one of the greatest evils of the future is looming darkly above the horizon of society. Warnings against this poison of body and soul cannot be too solemn nor too strong. So many have aided me in the collection of my material that any mention of names may appear almost invidious ; but as the reader will naturally think that the varied phases of the opium habit are remote from my experience, I will say that I have been guided in my words by trustworthy physicians like Drs. E. P. Fowler, of New York ; Louis Seaman, chief of staff at the Charity Hospital ; Wm. H. Vail, and many others. I have also read such parts of my MS. as touched on this subject to Dr. H. K. Kane, the author of two works on the morphia habit. PREFACE. I can truly say that I have bestowed more labour on this book than upon any which have preceded it ; for the favour ac- corded me by the public imposes the strongest obligation to be conscientious in my work. CONTENTS. fHAPTElU I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIIT. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. PA«jr, One Girl's Ideal of Life 9 Weakness 15 ConEdential 22 ' Pitiless Waves. ' 2(i The Rudiments of a Man 3C Roger Discovers a New Type 44 Comparisons &0 Changes 64 Neither boy nor man 03 A Council 71 AShadow.... 76 Viewless Fetters 84 A Scene Beneath the Hemlocks 02 The Old Mansion UVi * Welcome Home.' 110 Belle and Mildred 118 Belle Launches Herself 126 * I Believe in You.' 137 Belle Jars the " System." 147 Several Quiet Forces at Work 167 'He's a Man.' 165 Skilled Labour 173 The Old Astronomer 178 Roger Reappears ..». 1 85 The Dark Shadow of Coming Events l!>4 Waxing and Waning Manhood 1*00 If VIU XXVII. XXVIII. XXIX. XXXI. XXXII. XXXIII. XXXIV. XXXV. XXXVI. XXXVII. XXXVIII. XXXIX. XL. XLI. XLII. XLIII. XLIV. XLV. XLVI. XLVII. XLVIII. XLIX. CONTENTS. PAOR A Slave 207 New York's Humanity 212 The Beatitude! of Opium 220 The Secret Vice Revealed 227 An Opium Maniac's Christmas 238 A Black Conspiracy 251 Mildred in a Prison Cell 260 'A Wise Judge' 271 ' I am so Perplexed ' 286 A Woman's Heart 293 Strong Temptation 302 No • Dark Corners ' 312 ' Home Sweet Home ' ■ 321 Neighbours 329 Glints of Sunshine 340 Hopes Given and Slain 346 Belle is Murdered 365 The Final Consolations of Opium 359 Mother and Son 366 A Fatal Error 374 Light at Eventide 382 * Good Angel of God * 393 Home 402 Apfendix 416 WITHOUT A HOME. -•♦♦- CHAPTEU I. ONE girl's ideal OF LIFE. ^T was an attractive picture that Martin Jocelyn looked upon throuiih the open doorway of his parhjur. His daughter Belle had invited half a score of her school- mates to spend the evening, and a few privileged brothers had been permitted to come also. The young people wf re natur- ally selecting those dances which had some of tiie characteris- tics of a romp, for they were at an age when motion means en- joyment Miss Belle, eager and mettlesome, stood waiting for music that could scarcely be lighter or more devoid of moral quality than her own immature heart. Life, at that time, had for her but one great desideratum — fun ; and with her especial favour- ites about her, with a careful selection of * nice brothers,' can- vassed with many pros and cons over neglected French exercises, she had the promise of plenty of it for a long evening, and her dark eyes glowed and cheeks flamed at the prospect. Im- patiently tapping the fl jor with her foot, she looked toward her sister, who was seated at the piano. Mildred Jocelyn knew that all were waiting for her ; she in- stinctively felt the impatience she did not 8ee,and yet could not resist listening to some ^oneyed nonsense that her ' friend ' was saying. Ostensibly, Vinton Arnold was at her side to turn the leaves of the music, but in reality to feast his eyes on beauty which daily bound him in stronger chains of fascina- tion. Her head drooped under his words, but only as the flowers bend under the dew and rain that give them life. His passing compliment was a trifle, but it seemed like the delicate touch to which the subtle electric current responds. From a ,-. -di' • il WITHOUT A HOME. credulous, joyous heart a crimson tide welled up into her face and neck ; she could not repress a smile, though she bowed her head in girlish shame to hide it. Then, as if the light, gay music before her had become the natural expression of her mood, she struck into it with a brilliancy aud life that gave even Belle content. Arnold saw the pleasure his remark had given, and surmised the reason why the effect was so much greater than the appar- ent cause. For a moment an answering gluw lighted up his pale face, and then, as if remembering something, he sighed deeply ; but in the merry life which now filled the apartments a sigh stood littie chance of recognition. The sigh of the master of the house, however, was so deep and his face so clouded with care and anxiety as he turned from it all, that his wife, who at that moment met him, was com- pelled to note that something was amiss. * Martin, what is it ? ' she asked. ifle looked for a moment into her troubled blue eyes, and noted how fair, delicate, and girlish ^he stiil appeared in her evening dress. He knew also that tHe delicacy and refinement of feature were but the reflex of her nature, and, for the first time in his life, he wished that she were a strong, coarse wo- man. * No matter, Nan, to-night. Se^^ that the youngsters have a good time,' and he passed hastily out. * He's worrying about those stupid business matters again.' bhe said, and the thought seemed to give much relief. Business matters were masculine, and she was essentially feminine. Her world was as far removed from finance as her lace from the iron in which her husband dealt. A little boy of four year of age and a little girl of six, whose tiny form was draped in such gossamer-like fabrics that she seemed more fairy-like than human, were pulling at her dress, eager to enter the mirth-resounding parlours, but afraid to leave her sheltering wing. Mrs. Jocelyn watched the scene from the doorway, where her husband had stood, without his sigh. Her motherly heart sympathized with Belle's abound- ing life and fun, and her maternal pride was assured by the budding promise of a beauty which would shine pre eminent when the schocl-girl should become a belle in very truth. I ,i#i^'H»?:; ONE GIRLS IDEAL OF LIFE. li m, was com- :sters have a But her eyes rested on Mildred with wistful tenderness. Her own experience enabled her to interpret her daughter's manner, and to understand the ebb and flow of feeling whose cr.UKe, as yet, waa scarcely recognised by the young girl. The geniality of Mrs. Jocelyn's smile might well assure Vinton Arnold that she welcomed his presence at her daugh- ter's side, and yet, for some reason, the frank, cordial g^^eting in the lady's eyes and manner made him sigh a^^ain. He evi- dently harboured a memory or a thought that did not accord with the scene or the occasion. Whatever it was it did not prevent him from enjoying to the utmost the pleasure he ever found in the presence of Mildred. In contrast with Belle she had her mother's fairness and delicacy of feature, and her blue eyes were not designed to express the exultation and pride of one of society's flattered favourites^ Indeed it was already evi- dent that a glance from Arnold was worth more than the world's homaq;e. And yet it was comically pathetic — as it eve:: is — to see how the girl tried to hide the * abundance of her heart.' * Millie is myself right over again,' though! Mrs. Jocelyn ; * hardly into society before in a fair way to be out of it. Beaux in general have few attractions for her. Belle, howcver, will lead the young men a chase. If I'm any judge Mr. Arnold's symptoms are becoming serious. He's just the one of all the world for Millie, and could give her the hom^ which her style of beauty requires — a home in which not a comBH>n or coarse thing would be visible, but all as dainty as herself. How I would like to furnish her house ! But Martin always thinks he is so poor.' Mrs. Jocelyn soou left the parlour to complete her arrange- ments for an elegant little supper, and she complacently felt that, whatever might be the tribulations of the great iron firm down town, her small domain was serenv") with present happi- ness and bright witii promise. While the vigorous appetites of the growing boys and girls were disposing of the supper, Arnold and Mildred rather neg- lected their plates, finding ambrosia in each other's eyes, words and even intonations. Now that they had the desert- ed parlour to themselves, Mildred seemed under leas constraint. .|r***4-*jS&^, 1 i i: -parsasacE 2235SS!33 i 12 WITHOUT A HOME. * It was very nice of you/ she said, * to come and help me entertain Belle's friends, especially when they are all so young.' ' Yes,' he replied. * I am a happy monument of self-sacri- fice.' * But not a brazen one,' she added quickly. * No, nor a bronze one either,' he said, and a sudden gloom gathered in his large dark eyes. Slie had always admired the pallor of his face. * It set off his superb brown eyes and heavy mustache so finely,' she was accustomed to say. But this evening for some reason she wiihed that there was a little more bronzi on his cheek and decision in his manner. His aristocratic pallor was a trifle too great, and he seemed a little frail to satisfy even her ideal of manhood. * She said, in gentle s)licitude, * You do not look well this sprit. g. I fear you are not very strong.' He glanced at her quickly, but in hbr kindly blue eyes and in every line of her lovely face he saw only friendly regard — perhaps more, for her features were not designed for disguise. After a moment he replied, with a quiet bitterness which both pained and mystified her, * You are right. I am not strong.' ^ But the summer is near,' she resumed earnestly. * You will soon go to the country, and will bring back this fall bronze in plenty, and the strength of bronze. Mother says we shall go to Saratoga. That is one of your favourite haunts, I believe, so I shall have the pleasure, perhaps, of drinking * your very good health' some bright morning before breakfast. Which is your favourite spring ? ' * I do not know. I will de^^lde K.fter I have learned your choice.' ' That's an amiable weakness. I think I shall like Sara- toga. The great hotels contain all one wants for amuseuent. Then everything about town is so nice, pretty, and sociable. The shops, als", are fine. Too often we have spent our sum- mers in places tliat were a trifle dreary. Mountains oppress me with a sense of littleness, and th^ir wildness frightens me. The ocean is worse still. The moment I am alone with it, such a lonely, desolate feeling creeps over me — oh, I can't ttll ONE girl's ideal OF LIFE. 13 of self-sacri- ^k well this you ! I fear you think I am silly and frivolous. You think I ought to be inspired by the si.Pggy raountaii s and wild waves and all that. Well, you may think so— I won't tell fibs. I don't think mother is frivol'»us, and she feels as I do. We are from the South, and like things that are warm, bright, and sociable. The ocean always seemed to me so large and cold and pitiless — to care so little for those in its power.' * In that respect it's like the world, or rather the people init— ' * Oh, no, no ! * she interrupted eagerly ; * it is to the world of people I am glad to escape from these solitudes of nature. As I said, the latter, with their vastness, power, and, worse than all, their indifference, oppress me, and make me shiver with a vague dread. I once saw a ship beaten to pieces by the waves in a storm. It was on the coast near where we were spending the summer. Some of the people on the vessel were drowned, and their cries ring in my ears to this day. Oh, it was piteous to see them reaching out their hands, but the great merciless waves would not stop a moment, even when a little time would have givei the life-boats a chance to save the poor creatures. The breakers just struck and pounded the ship un- til it broke into pieces, and then tossed the lifeless body and broken wood on the shore as if one were of no more value than the other. I can't think of it without shuddering, and I've hated the sea ever since, and never wish to go near it again.' * You have unconsciously described this Christian city,* 8;iid Arnold, with a short laugh. * What a cynic you are to-night ! You condemn all the world, and find fault even with yourself — a rare thing in cynics, I imagine. As a rule they are right, and the universe wrong. ' I have not found any fault with you,' he said, in a tone that caused her long eyelashes to veil the pleasure she could not wholly conceal. * I hope the self-constraint imposed by your courtesy is not too severe for comfort. I also understand trie little fiction of excepting present company. But I cann )t help remembering that I am a wee bit of the world and very worldly ; that is, I am very foud of the world and all its pretty follies. I like 1 1 }: 14 WITHOUT A HOME. nice peoplo much better than savage mountains and heartless waves.' ' And yet vou are not what I should call a society girl, Miss Millie.' * I'm glad you think so. I've no wish to win that character. Fashionable society seems to me like the sea, as restless and unreasoning, always on the go, and yet never going anywhere. I know lots of girls who go here and there and do this and that with the monotony with which the waves roll in and out. Half the time they act contrary to their wishes and feelings, but they imagine it the thing to do, and they do it till they are tired and bored half to death.' * What, then, is your ideal of life ? * Her head drooped a little lower, and the tell-tale colour would come as she replied hesitatingly, and with a slight deprecatory laugh. * Well, I caa't say I've thought it out very definitely. Plenty of real friends seem to me better than the world's stare, even though there's a trace of admiration in it. Then, again, you men so monopolize the world that there is not much left for us poor women to do ; but I have imagined that to create a lovely home, and to gather in it all the beauty within one's reach, and just the people one liked best, would be a very congenial life- work for Rome women. That is what mother is doing for us, and she seems very happy and contented — much more so than those ladies who seek their pleasures beyond their homes. You see I use my eyes, Mr. Arnold, even if I am not antiquated enough to be wise.' His look had grown so wistful and intent that she could not meet it, but averted her face as she spoke. Suddenly he sprang up, and took her hand with a pressure all too strong for the ' friend ' she called him, as he said, ' Miss Millie, you are one of a thousand. Good-night.' For a few moments she sat where he lefc her. What did he mean 1 Had she revealed her heart too plainly ? His manner surely had been unmistakable, and no woman could have doubt- ed the language of his t yes. * But some constraint,' she sighed, ' ties his tongue.' The more she thought it over, however — and what young girl does not live over such interviews a hundred times — the nd heartless WEAKNESS. 15 more convinced she became that her favourite among the many who sought her favour gave as much to her as she to him ; and she was shrewd enough to understand that the nearer two people exchange evenly in these matters the better it is for both. Her lr.3t thought that night was, ' To make a home for him would be happiness indeed. How much life promises me I' CHAPTER II. WEAKNESS. 'INTON ARNOLD'S walk down Fifth Avenue was so rapid as to indicate strong perturbation. At last he entered a large house of square, heavy architecture, a creature evidently of solid wealth in the earlier days of the thoroughfare's history. There was something in his step as he crossed the marble hall to the hat-rack and then up the stairway that caused his mother to pass quickly from her set- ting-room that she might intercept him. After a moment's scrutiny she said, in a low, hard tone, * You have spent the evening with Miss Jocelyn again.' He made no reply. ' Are you a man of honour 1 * His pallid face crimsoned instantly, and his hands clenched with repressed feeling, but he still remained silent. Neither did he appear to have the power to meet his mother's cold, penetrating glance. * It would seem/ she resumed, in the same quiet, incisive, tone, * that my former suggestions have been unheeded. I fear that I must speak more plainly. You will please come with me for a few moments.' With evident reluctance he followed her to a small apart- ment, furnished riclily, but with the taste and elegance of a past generation. Tie had become very pale again, but his face wore the impress of pain and irresolution rather than of sullen defiance or of manly independence. The hardness of the gold w I ; I i S^'^ * I 16 WITHOUl A BOME. that had been accumulating in the family for generations had seemingly permeated the mother's heart, for the expression of her son's face softened neither her tone nor manner. And yet not for a moment could she be made to think of herself as cruel, or even stern. She was simply firm and sensible in the performance of her duty. She was but maintaining the tradi- tional policy of the family, and was conscious that society would thoroughly approve of her course. Chief of all, she sincerely believed that she was promoting her son's welfare, but she had not Mrs. Jocelyn's gentle ways of manifesting solicitude. After a moment of oppressive silence, she began, * Perhaps I can best present this issue in its true light by again asking. Are you a man of honour 1 ' * Is it dishonourable,' answered her son irritably, * to love a pure, good girl 1 ' ' No,' said his mother, in the same quiet, measured voice ; * but it may be very great folly and a useless waste. Tt is dis- honourable, however, to inspire false hopes in a girl's heart, no matter who she 12. It is weak and dishonourable to hover around a pretty face like a poor moth that singes its wings.' In sudden, passionate appeal, he exclaimed, ' If I can win Miss Jocelyn, why cannot 1 marry her 1 She is as good as she is beautiful. If you knew her as I do you would be proud to call her your daughter. They live very prettily, even ele- gantly—' By a simple, deprecatory gesture, Mrs. Arnold made her son feel that it wns useless to add another word. * Vinton,' she said, ' a little reason in these macters is better than an indefinite amount of sentimental nonsense. You are old enough to be swayed by reason, and not to fume and fret after the impossible like a child. Neither your father nor I have acted hastily in this matter. It was a great trial to dis- cover that you had allowed your fancy to become entangled below the circle in which it is your privilege to move, and I am thankful that my other children have been more consider- ate. In a quiet, unobtrusive way we have taken pains to learn all about the Jocelyne. They are comparative strangers in the city. Mr. Jocelyn is merely a junior partner in a large iron firm, and from all your father says I fear he has lived too ele- .. immm m m-M . WEAKNESS. 17 'gantly for his means. That matter will soon be tested, how- ever, for his firm is in trouble and will probably have to suspend. With your health, and in the face of the fierce com- petition in this city, are you able to marry and support a penniless girl 1 If, on the contrary, you propose to support a wife on the property that now belongs to your father and my- self, our wishes should have some weight I tell you frankly that our means, though large, are not sufficient to make you all independent and maintain the style to which you have been accustomed. With your frail health and need of exemp- tion from care and toil, you must marry wealth. Your father is well satisfied that whoever allies himself to this Jocelyn family may soon have them all on his hands to support. We decline the risk of burdening ourselves with these unknown, uncongenial people. Is there anything unreasonable in that 1 Because you are fascinated by a pretty face, of which there are thousands in this city, must we be forced into intimate associa- tions with people that are wholly distasteful to us ? This would be a poor return for having shielded you so carefully through years of ill-health and feebleness.* The young man's h jad drooped lower and lower as his mo- ther spoke, and his wnole air was one of utter despondency. She waited for his reply, but ^or a few moments he did not apeak. Suddenly he looked up, with a reckless, characteristic laugh, and said, * The Spartans were right in destroying the feeble children. Since I am under such obligations, I cannot resist your logic, and I admit that it would be poor taste on my part to ask you to support for me a wife not of your choosing.* * *' Good taste " at least should have prevented such a re- mark. You can choose for yourself from a score of fine girlc of your own station in rank and wealth.' * Pardon me, but I would rather not inflict my weakness on any of the score.* ' But you would inflict it on one weak in social position and without any means of support* * She is the one girl that I have met with who seemed both gentle eiiid strong, and whose tastes harmonize with my own. But you don't know her, and never will You have only learned external facts about the Jocelyns, and out of your 1 ti f 18 WITHOUT A BOME. prejudices have created a family of underbred people that does not exist. Their crime of comparative poverty I cannot dis- pute. I have not made the prudential inquiries which yon and father have gone into so carefully. But your logic is in- exorable. As you suggest, I could not earn enough myself to provide a wife with hairpins. The slight considerations of happiness, and the fact that Miss Jocelyn might aid me in be- coming something more than a shadow among men, are not to be urged against the solid reasons you have named.' ' Young people always give a tragic aspect to these cnide passing fancies. I have known " blighted happiness " to bud and blossom again so often that you must pardon me if I act rather on the ground of experience and good sense. An un- suitable alliance may bring brief gratification and pleasure, but never happiess, never lasting and solid content.' ' Well, mother, I am not strong enough to argue with you, either in the abstract or as to these **wise saws " which so man- gle my wretched self,' and with the air of one exhausted and defeated he languidly went to his room. Mrs. Arnold frowned as she muttered, * He makes no pro- mise to cease visiting the girl.' After a moment she added, even more bitterly, * I doubt whether he could keep such a promise ; therefore my will must supply his lack of decision ; ' and she certainly appeared capable of making good this de- ficiency in several human atoms. If she could have imparted some of her firmness and resolu« tion to Martin Jocelyn, they would have been among the most useful gifts a man ever received. As the stanchness of a ship is tested by the storm, so a crisis in his experience was ap- proaching which would test hi^ courage, his fortitude, and the general soundness of his manhood. Alas ! the test would find him wanting. That night, for the first time in his life, he came home with a step a little unsteady. Innocent Mrs. Jocelyn did not note that anything was amiss. She was busy putting her home into its usual pretty order after the breezy, gusty evening always occasioned by one of Belle's informal com- panies. She observed that her husband had recovered more than his wonted cheerfulness, and seemed indeed as gay as Belle herself. Lounging on a sofa, he laughed at his wife and petted her more than usual, assuring her that her step was as light WEAKNESS. 19 and that she still looked as young and pretty as any of the girls who had tripped through the parlours that evening. The trusting, happy wife grew so rosy with pleasure, and her tread was so elastic from maternal pride and exultation at the prospects of her daughters that his compliments seemed scarcely exaggerated. * Never fear, Nan,' he said,^in a gush of feeling ; ' I'll take care of you, whatever happens,' and the glad smile she turned upon him proved that she no more doubted his words than her I own existence. They were emineiitly proper words for a husband to address to his wife, but the circumstances under which they were uttered made them maudlin sentiment rather than & manly pledge. As spoken, they were so ominous that the loving woman might well have trembled and lost her girlish flush. But even through the lurid hopes and vague prospects created by dangerous stimulants, Mr. Jocelyn saw, dimly, the spectre of comins; trouble, and he added, * But, Nan, we must economise — we really must.' 'Foolish man ! ' laughed his wife; 'always preaching econ- omy, but never practising it .' ' Would to God I had millions to lavish on you I ' he ex- claimed, with tears of mti'.wkish feeling and honest affection mingled as they never should in a true man's eyes. ' Lavish your love, Martin,' replied his wife, ' and I'll be content.' That night she laid her head upon her pillow without mis- believing, Mrs. Jocelyn was the daughter of a southern planter, and in her early home had been accustomed to a condition of chronic financial embarrassment and easy-going, careless abundance. The war had swept away her father and brothers with the last remnant of the mortgaged property. Young Jocelyn's antecedents had been somewhat similar, and they had married much as the birds pair, without know- ing very definitely where or how the home nest wouM be con- structed. He, however, had secured a good education, and was endowed with fair business capacities. He was thus en- abled for a brief time before the war, to provide a comfortable support in a Southern city, for his wife and little daughter 20 WITHOUT A HOME. i Mildred, and the fact that he was a gentleman by birth and breeding gave hira better social advantages than mere wealtli could have obtained. At the beginning of the struggle he wu.s given a commission in the Confederate army, but with the ex- ception of a few slight scratches and many hardships escapene of their two servants was dismissed. Belle pouted over the rigid economy, now enforced all too late. Mildred cried )ver it in secret, but made heroic efforts to be cheerful in the )resence of her father and mother ; but each day, with deeper ■>■>■>-■» i* : J 80 WITHOUT A HOME. chill at heart, she asked herself a thousand times, * Why does not Mr. Arnold come to see me 1 ' Vinton Arnold lyas in even greater distress. Not only had he to endure the pain of a repressed affection, but also a gall- ing and humiliating sense of unmanly weakness. He, of course, learned of the failure, and his father soon after took pains to say significantly that one of the .nembers of ihe iron firm had told him that Mr. Jocelyn had nothing to fall back upon. Therefore Arnold know that the girl he loved must be in sore trouble. And yet, how could he go to her 1 What could he say or do that would not make him appear con- temptible in her eyes 1 But to remain away in her hour of misfortune seemed such a manifestation of heartless indiffer- ence, such a mean example of the world's tendency to pass by on the other side, that ho grew haggard and ghost-like in his self-reproach and self-contempt. At last his parents began to insist that his health required a change of air, and suggested a mountain resort or a trip abroad, and he was conscious of no po^er to resist the quiet will with which any plan decided upon would oe carried out. He felt that he must see Mildred once more, although what he would say to her he could not tell. While there had been no conscious and defi- nite purpose on the part of his parents, they nevertheless had trained him to helplessness in mind and body. His will was as relaxed as his muscles. Instead of wise, patient effort to develop a feeble constitution, and to educate his mind by sys- tematic courses of study, he had been treated as an exotic all his davs. And yet it had been care without tenderness, or much'manifestation of affection. Not a thing had been done to develop self-respect or self-reliance. Even more than most girls, he was made to feel himself dependent on his parents. He had studied but little ; he had read much, but in a desul- tory way. Of business and of men's prompt, keen ways he was lamentably ignorant for one of his years, and the con* sciousness of this made him shrink from the companionship of his own sex, and begat a reticence whose chief cause was tim- idity. His parents' wealth had been nothing but a curse, and they would learn eventually that while they could shield his person from the roughnesses of the world they could not pro- tect his mind and heart from those experiences which ever de* 'PITILESS WAVES.' 31 land manly strength and principle. As a result of their mostly system, there were few more pitiable objects in the city t.han Vinton Arnold as he stole under the cover of night to risit the girl who was hoping — though more faintly after every lay of waiting — that she might find in him sustaining strength land love in her misfortunes. But when she saw his white haggard face and nervous, timid [manner, she was almost shocked, and exclaimed, with impul- Isive sympathy, ' Mr. Arnold, you have been ill. I have done jyou wrong.* He did not quite understand her, and was indiscreet, enough |to repeat, * You have done me wrong, Miss Millie ? ' Pardon me. Perhaps you do not know that we are in deep (trouble. My father's firm has failed, and we shall have to give lup our home. Indeed, I hardly know what we shall do. When in trouble, one's thoughts naturally turn to one*l» friends, I thought perhaps you would come to see me,' and two tears [that she could not repress stood in her eyes. Oh, that I were a man!' groaned Arnold, mentally; and Inever had human cruelty inflicted a keener pang than did jMildred's sorrowful fa j and the gentle reproach implied iu Iher words. I — I have been very ill,' he said, hesitatingly. *Mig8 [Millie,' he added, impulsively, ' you can never know how deep- [ly I feel for you.' She lifted her eyes questiouins^ly to his face, and its expres- Ision was again unmistakable. For a moment she lost control of her overburdened heart, and bowing her face in her hands Igave way to the strong tide of her feelings. * Oh ! ' she s. 'bed, yl have been so anxious and fearful about the future. People have come here out of curiosity, and others have acted as if I they did not care what became of us, if they only obtained the imoney we owed them. I did not think that those who were 80 smiling and friendly a short time since could be so harsh and liiidifTerent. A thousand times I have thought of that poor Isliip that I saw the waves beat to pieces, and it has seemed as lif it might be our fate. I suppose I am morbid, and that some [way will be provided, but some way is not a way.' Instead of coming to her side and promising all that his heart Iprompted, the miserable constraint of his position led him to 82 WITHOUT A HOME. I turn from grief that he was no longer able to witness. He went to the window, and bowing his head against the sash, looked out into the darkness. She regarded him with wonder ns she slowly wiped her eyes. * Mr. Arnold,' she faltered, * I hope you will forgive me for my weakness, and also for inflicting our troubles on you.' He turned and came slowly towards her. She saw that ho trembled and almost tottered as he walked, and that his face had become ashen. The hand he gave her seemed like ice to her warm, throbbing palm. But never could she forget his expression— -the blending of self-contempt, pitiable weakness, and dejection. ' Miss Mildred,' he said, slowly, ' there is no use of disguises. We had better both recognise the truth at once. At least it will be better for you, for then you may find a friend more worthy of the name. Can you not see what I am — a broken reed ? The vine could better sustain a falling tree than I the one I loved, even though, like the vine, my heart clung to that one as its sole support. You suffer ; I am in torment. You are sad ; I despair. You associate strength and help with manhood, and you are right. You do not know that the weakest thing in the world is a weak, helpless man. I am only strong to suffer. I can do nothing ; I am nothing. It would be impossible for me to explain how helpless and de- pendent I am — you could not understand it. My whole heart went out to you, for you seemed both gentle and strong. The hope would grow in my soul that you might be merciful to me when you came to know me as I am. Good-bye, Millie Jocelyn. You will find a friend strong and helpful as well as kind. As for me^ my best hope is to die.' He bowed his head upon the hand he did not venture to kiss, and then almost fled from the house. Mildred was too much overcome by surprise and feeling to make any attempt to detain him. He had the same as ac- knowledged his love for her, but never in her wildest fancy dreamed of so dreary and sad a revelation. Mrs. Jocelyn, perplexed by Mr. Arnold's sudden departure, came in hastily, and Mildred told her, with many tear, all that PITILESS WAVES. S3 had been said. Even her mother's gentle nature could not pre- Ivent harsh consideration of the young man. * So he could do nothing better than get up this little melo- I drama, and then hasten back to his elegant home/ she said, 1 with a darkening frown. Mildred shook her head and said, musingly, * I understand I him better than you do, mamma, and I pity him from the I depths of my heart' I ♦ I think it's all plain enough,* said Mrs. Jocelyn, in a tone I that was hard and unnatural in her. * His rich parents tell him that he must not think of marrying a poor girl, and he is I the most dutiful of sons.* 'You did not hear his words, mamma — you did not see him. Oh, if he should die 1 He looked like death itself,' and she I gave way to such an agony of grief that her mother was alarmed on her behalf, and wept, entreated, and soothed by tnrus until at last the poor child crept away with throbbing temples to a long night of pain and sleeplessness. The wound was one that she must hide in her own heart ; her pallor and I languor for several days proved how deep it had been. But the truth that he loved her — the belief that he could never give to another what he had given to her — had a secret and sustaining power. Hope is a hardy plant in the hearts of the young. Though the future was dark, it still had its possi- bilities of good. Womanlike, she thought more of his trouble than of her own, and that which most depressed her was the fear that his health might give way utterly. * I can bear any- thing better than his death,' she said to herself a thousand times. She made no tragic promises of constancy, nor did she in- dulge in very much sentimental dreaming. She simply recog- nised the truth that she loved him — that her whole woman s heart yearned in tenderness over him as one that was crippled and helpless. She saw that he was unable to stand alone and act for himself, and with a sensitive pride all her own she I shrank from even the thought of forcing herself on the proud, I rich family that had forbidden the alliance. Moreover, she was a good-hearted Christian girl, and perceived clearly that I it was no time for her to mope or droop. Even on the miser- able day which followed the interview that so sorely wounded 34 WITHOUT A HOME. her, she made pathetic attempts to be chrertul and helpful, and as time passed she rallied slowly into strength and patience. The father's apparent efforts to keep up under his misfortune were also a great incentive to earnest effort on her part More than once she said in substance to her mother, ' Papa is so often hopeful, serene, and even cheerful, that we ought to try and show a like spirit. Even when despondency does master him, and he becomes sad and irritable, he makes so brave an effort that he soon overcomes his wretched mood and quietly looks on the brighter side. We /Ught to' follow his example.* It would have been infinitely better had he followed theirs, and found in prayer, faith, and manly courage the serenity and fortitude that were but the brief deceptive and dangerous effects of a fatal poison. It was decided that the family should spend the summer at some quiet farm-house where the board would be very inex- pensive, and that Mr. Jocelyn, in the mean time, should remain in the city in order to avail himself of any opening that he might discover. After a day or two of search in the country, he found a place that he thought would answer, and the family prepared as quickly as possible for what seemed to them like a journey to Siberia. Mildred's farewell to her own private apartment was full of touching pathos. This room was the outward expression not merely of a refined taste, but of some of the deepest feelings and characteristics of her nature. In its furniture and adorn- ment it was as dainty as her own delicate beauty. She had been allowed to fit it up as she wished, and had lavished upon it the greater part of her spending rnoney. She had also be- stowed upon it much thought, and the skilful work of her own hands had eked out to a marvellous extent the limited sums that her father had been able to give her. The result was a prettiness and light airy grace which did not suggest the rest- ing-place of an ordinary flesh-and-blood girl, but of one in whom the spiritual and the love of the beautiful were the ruling forces of life. It is surprising how character impresses itself on one's sur- roundings. Mrs. Arnold's elegant home was a correct expres* * PITILESS WAVES.* 35 iion of herself. Stately, formal, slightly rigihe bestowed upon its costly appointments the scrupulous care rhich she gave to her children, and her manner was much the Isame in each instance. She was justly called a strong charac- Iter, but she made herself felt after the fashion of an artist Iwith his hammer and chisel. Carved work is cold and rigid |at best Mildred had not as yet impressed people as a strong charac- Iter. On the contrary, she had seemed peculiarly gentle and ■yielding. Vinton Arnold, however, in his deep need had in- Istiiictively half guessed the truth, for her influence was like Ithat of a warm day in spring, undemonstrative, not self-assert- ling, but most powerful. The tongue-tied could speak in her ipresence ; the diffident found in her a kindly sympathy which [gave confidence ; men were peculiarly drawn toward her be- Icause she was so essentially womanly without being silly. jAlthough as sprightly and fond of fun as most young girls of her age, they recognised that she was perfectly truthful and loyal to all that men — even bad men— m st honour in a wo- man. They always had a good time in her society, and yet felt the better and purer of it. Life blossomed and grew bright about her from some innate influence that she exerted unconsciously. After all there was no mystery about it. She had her faults like others, but at heart she was genuinely good and unselfish. The gentle mother had taught her woman's best graces of speech and manner; nature had endowed her I with beauty, and to that the world always renders homage. There are thousands of very pretty girls who have no love Ifor beauty save their own, which they do their best to spoil by self-homage. To Mildred, on the contrary, the beautiful was as essential as her daily food, and she excelled in all the dainty handicrafts by which women can make a home attract- live. Therefore her own little sanctum had developed like an exquisite flower, and had become, as we have said, an ex- mression of herself. An auctioneer, in dismantling her apart- ment, would not have found much more to sell than if be 86 WITHOUT A HOME. had pulled a rose to pieces, but left intact it was as full of beauty and fragrance as the flower itself. And yet her own hands must destroy it, and in a brief time she must exchange its airy loveliness for a bare room in a farm-house. After that the future was as vague as it was clouded. The pretty trifles were taken down and packed away, with tears, as if she were laying them in graves. CHAPTER V. THE RUDIMENTS OF A MAN. OTHER, I hain't no unison with it at all,' said Farmer At wood, leaning on the breakfast-table and holding aloft a knife and fork — formidable imple- ments in his hands, but now unemployed through perturbation of mind. ' J hain't no unison with it — this havin' fine city folks right in the family. 'Twill be pretty nigh as bad as visit- ing one's rich relations. I had a week of that once, but, thank the Lord, I hain't been so afflicted since. I've seen 'em up at the hotel and riding by too often not to know 'em. They are half conceit and half fine fv^athers, and that doesn't leave many qualities as are suited to u ". rm-house. Roger and me will have to be — what was it that lecturin' professor called it — '* deodorized" every mornin' after feedin' and cleanin' the critters. We'll have to put on our go-to-meetin's, instead of sittin' down in our shirt-sleeves comfortable like. I hain't no unison with it, and it's been a-growing on me ever since that city chap persuaded you into baing cook and chambermaid for his family.' And Farmer At wood's knife and fork came down into the dish of ham with an onslaught that would have ap- palled a Jew. ' The governor is right, mother,* said the young man refer- red to as Roger. ' We shall all be in straight-jackets for the summer.' THE RUDIMENTS OF A MAN. 37 The speaker could not have been much more than twenty years old, although in form he appeared a full-grown man. As he stood wiping his hands on a towel that hung in a corner of the large kitchen, which, except on state occasions, also served as dining and sitting room, it might be noted that he was above medium height, broad-shouldered, and strongly built When he crossed the room his coarse working dress could not disguise the fact that he had a fine figure and an easy bearing of the rustic, rough-and-ready style. He had been out in the tall, dew-drenched grass, and therefore had tucked the lower part of his trousers into his boot tops, and like his father had dispensed with his coat in the warm June morning. As he drew a chair noisily across the floor, and sat down at the table, it was evident that he had a good though undeveloped face. His upper lip was deeply shadowed by a coming event, to which he looked forward with no little pride, and his well- tanned cheeks could not hide a faint glow of youthful colour. One felt at a glance that his varying expressions could scarcely fail to reveal all that the young man was now or could ever become, for bis face suggested a nature peculiarly frank and rather matter-of-fact, or at least una wakened. The traits of care- less good-nature and self-confidence were now most apparent He had always been regarded as a clever boy at home, and his rus- tic gallantry was well received by the farmers' daught^ei's iu the neighbourhood. What better proofs that he was about right could a young fellow ask 1 He was on such good terms with himself and the world, that even the event which his fa- ther so deprecated did not not much disturb his easy-going assurance. He doubted, in his thoughts, whether the city girls would ' turn up their noses' at him, and if they did, they might, for all that he cared, for there were plenty of rural beauties with whom he could console himself. But, like his father, he felt that the careless undress and freedom of their farm life would be criticised by the new-comers. He proposed, however, to make as little change as possible in his habits and dress, and to teach the Jocelyns that country people had ' as good a right to their ways as city people had to theirs.* Therefore the threatened invasion did not in the least prevent him from making havoc in the substantial breakfast that Mrs. At wood and her daughter Susan had put on the table in a haphazard 38 WITHOUT A HOME. manner, taking it from the adjacent stove as fast as it was ready. A stolid-looking hired man sat opposite to Roger, and shovelled in his food with his knife, with a monotonous assid- uity that suggested a labourer tilling a coal-bin. He seemed oblivious to everything save the breakfast, and with the excep- tion of heaping his plate froih time to time, he was ignored by the family. The men folk were quite well along with their meal before Mrs. Atwood and Susan, flushed with their labours about the stove, were ready to sit down. They were accustomed to hear the farmer grumble, and, having carried tht x point, were in no haste to reply or to tight over a battle that had been won already. Koger led to a slight resumption of hostilities, how- ever, by a disposition —well-nigh universal in brothers — to tease. * Sue,' he said, * will soon be wanting to get some feathers like those of the fine birds that will light in our door-yard this evening.* * That's it,' snarled the farmer ; * What little you make will soon be on your backs or streamin' away in ribbons.' * Well,' said Mrs. Atwood a little sharply, * it's quite proper that we should have something on our backs, and if we earn the money to put it there ourselves, I don't see why you should complain ; as for ribbons. Sue has as good a right to 'em as Koger to a span-new buggy that ain't good for anything but taking girls out in.' ' What made you have the seat so narrow, Roger ? ' asked Sue ; ' you couldn't squeeze three people in to save your life.' ' I'm content with one girl at a time, replied Roger, with a complacent shrug. ' And the same girl only one time, too, from what I hear. You've taken out all there are in Forestville, haven't you 1 * * Haven't got quite around yet. And then some prudent mothers do think the seat a trifle narrow, and the ones I'd like to take out most can't go. But there's plenty that can.' * And one is as good as another,' added his sister, malici- ously, ' if she will only talk nonsense, and let you hold her from falling out when you whisk over the thank-e-ma'ams.' < I didn't have to go from home to learn that most girls talk nonsense,' laughed Roger. * By the way, how did you learn about the thank-e-ma'ams ? I didn't teach you,' TBE KUDIMENTS OF A MAN. S9 < No, indeed ! Sisters may fall out for all that brothers care.' ' That depends on whose sisters they are, said Foger, rising. ' I now perceive that mine has been well taken care of.' ' You think other young men have your pert ways,' retorted Sue, reddening. * My friends have manners.' * Oh, I see. They let you fall out, and then politely pick you up.* ' Come, you are both in danger of falling out now,' said the mother reprovingly. Koger went off whistling to his work, and the hired man lumbered after him. ' Father,' said Mrs. At woo 1, * who'll go down to the river for the trunks 1 ' * Well, I s'pose I'll have to,' grumbled Mr. Atwood. * Roger don't want to, and Jotham can do more work in the cornfield than me.' * I'm glad you're so sensible. Riding down to the river and back will be a good bit easier than hoeing corn all day. The stage will be along about five, I guess, and I'll get supper fur 'em in the sittin'-room, so that you can eat in your shirt- sleeves, if that will quiet your mind. ' With the aspect (»f a November day Mr. Atwood got out the great farm waggon and jogged down to the landing on the Hudson, which was so distant as to insure his absence for several hours. It was a busy day for Mrs. Atwood and Susan. Fresh bread and cake were to be baked, and the room * tidied up ' at once. A pitcher that had lost its handle was filled with old-fashioned roses that persisted in blooming in a grass-choked flower-bed. This was placed in a room designed for Mrs. Jocelyn and the children, while the one flower vase, left unbroken from the days of Roger's boyish carelessness, adorned the smaller apart- ment that Mildred and Belle were tr* occupy, and this was about the only element of elegance or beauty that Susan was able to impart to the bare little room. Even to the country girl, to whom the term ' decorative art ' was but a vague phrase, the place seemed meagre and hard in its outlines, and she in- stinctively felt that it would appear far more so to its occu« pants. 40 WITHOUT A HOME. * But it is the best we can afford/ she sighed ; ' and at the prices they'll pay us they shouldn't complain.' Still the day was full of pleasurable excitement and antici- pation to the young girl. She was aware that her mother's tasks and her own would be greatly increased, but on the other hand the monotony of the farm-house life would be broken, and in the more distant future she saw a vista of new gowns, a jaunty winter hat with a feather, and other like conditions of unalloyed happiness. Susan had dwelt thus far in one of life's secluded valleys, and if she lost much because her horizon was narrow she was shielded from far more. Her fresh, full face had a certain pleasant, wholesome aspect, like the fields about her home in June, as she bustled about preparing for the * city folks ' whom he^ ifather so dreaded. Roger's buggy was not yet paid for. It was the one great extravagance that Mr. At wood had permitted for raany a year. As usual, his wife had led him into it, he growling and protest- ing, but unable to resist her peculiar persistency. Roger was approaching man's estate, and something must be done to sig- nalize so momentous an event. A light buggy was the goal of ambition to the young men in the vicinity, and Roger felt that he could never be a man without one. He also recognised it as the best means of securing a wife to his mind, for courting on a moonlit, shadowy road was far more satisfactory than in the bosom of the young woman's family. Not that he was bent on matrimony, but rather on several years of agreeable pre- paration for it, proposing to make tentative acquaintances, both numerous and miscellaneous. In his impatience to secure this four-wheeled compendium of happiness he had mortgaged his future, and had promised his father to plant and cultivate larger areas. The shrewd farmer therefore had no prospect of being out of pocket, for the young man was keeping his word. The acres of the corn- field were nearly double those of the previous year, and on them Roger spent the long hot day in vigorous labour in pre- ference to the easy task of going to the river for the luggage. Dusty and weary, but in excellent spirits over the large space that he and the hired man had ' hilled up,' he went whistling home through the long shadows of the June evening. The farii-waggon stood in the door-yard piled with trunks. The i THE BUDIUEKtS Of A MAN. 41 iw gowns, a Ifront entrance of the house — rarely used by the family — was )pen, and as he came up the lane a young girl emerged from it, land leaned for a few moments against the outer pillar of the [little porch, unconscious of the picture she made. A climbing Irose was in bloom just over her head, and her cheeks, flushed Iwith heat and fatigue, vied with them in colour. She had ex- ■changed her travelling dress for one of light muslin, and en- Itwined in her hair a few buds from the bush that covered the Iporch. If Roger was not gifted with a vivid imagination Ihe nevertheless saw things very accurately, and before he ■reached the head of the lane admitted to himself that the old J' front steps ' had never been so graced before. He had seen (many a rustic beauty ptanding there when his sister had com* )any, but the city girl impressed him with a difference which |he then could not understand. He was inclined to resent this jundefined superiority, and he muttered, ' Father's right They [are birds of too fine a feather for our nest.' He had to pass near her in order to reach the kitchen door, |or else make a detour which his pride would not permit. In- leed, the youth plodded leisurely along with his hoe on his shoulder, and scrupled not to scrutinize the vision on the porch Iwith the most matter-of-fact minuteness. ' What makes her so *' down in the mouth " ) ' he queried. [< She doesn't fancy us barbarians, I suppose, and Forestville to ler is a howling wilderness. Like enough she'll take me for in Indian.' Mildred's eyes were fixed on a great shaggy mountain in the rest, that was all the more dark and forbidding in its own leep shadow. She did not see it, however, for her mind was Iwelling on gloomier shadows than the mountain cast. As he passed he caught her attention, and stepping toward lim a little impatiently, she said, ' I suppose you belong to the premises 1 ' He made an awkward attempt at a bow, and said stiffly, I'm one of the Atwood chattels.' The answer was not such as she expected, and she gave aim scrutinizing glance. * Surely, if I have ever seen a labourer, )e's one,' she thought, as with woman's quickness she inven- )ried his coarse, weather-stained straw hat, blue cotton shirt BFoased by suspenders mended with strings, shapeless trousers^ 4£ WITHOUT A HOME. once black, bat now of the colour of the dusty cornfield, and shoes such as she had never seen on the avenue. Even if Soger's face had not been discoloured by perspiration and browned by exposure, its contrast with the visage that memory kept before her but too constantly would not have been pleas- ing. Nothing in his appearance deterred her from saying briefly, ' I wish you would briup; those trunks to our rooms. We have already waited for them some little time, and Mr. Atwood sr/id that his man would attend to them when he came borne from his work.' ' That's all right, but I'm not his man,' and with another stiff bow he passed on. * Roger,' called Mrs. Atwood from the kitchen door, * where's J otham ^ ' * Bringing home the cows.' * The ladies want their trunks,' continued his mother, in a sharp, worried tone. ' I wish you men-folks would see to 'em right away. Why couldn't you quit work a little earlier tonight r Roger made no reply, but proceeded deliberately to help himself to a wash-basin and water. * Look here, Roger,' said his mother, in a tone she seldom used, ' if those trunks are not where they belong in ten min- utes, Susan and I'll take 'em up ourselves.' * That would be a pretty story to ^o out,' added his sister. ' Little use your buggy would be to you then, for no nice girl would ride with you.' * Gome, come, what's the use of such a bother ! ' said the young man irritably. * Mother knows that I'd carry the trunks up on Bald-Top before I'd let her touch them. That's tb^ way it will always be with these city people, I suppose. Everybody must jump and run the moment they speak. Father's right, and we'll have to give up our free-and-easy life and become porters and waiting-maids.' ' I've heard enough of that talk,' said Mrs. Atwood ^uipha- tically. * Your father's been like a drizzling north-easter all day. Now I give you men-folks warning. If you want any supper you must wake up and give me something better than grumbling. I'm too hot and tired now to argue over some- thing that's been settled once for all' THE RUDIMENTS OF A MAN. 43 hen he came The * warning * had the desired effect, for Mrs. Atwood was the recognised head of the coraniissary department, and, as such, could touch the secret springs of motives that are rarely resisted. The open kitchen windows were so near that Mildred could not help overhearing this family jar, and it added greatly to her depression. She felt that they had not only lost their own home, but were also banishing the home feeling from another family. She did but scant justice to Mrs. Atwood's abundant supper, and went to her room at last with that most disagree- able of all impr Hsions — the sense of being an intruder. The tired children were soon at rest, for their timo of sleep- less trouble was far distant. Belle's pretty head drooped also with the roses over the porch as the late twilight deepened. To her and the little people the day had been rich in novelty, and the country was a wonderland of many and of varied de lights. In the eyes of children the Garden of Eden survives from age to age. Alas ! the tendency lo leave it survives also, and to those who remain, regions of beauty and mystery too often become angular farms and acres. Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred still more clearly illustrated the truth that the same world wears a different aspect as the con- ditions of life vary. They were going out into the wilderness. The river was a shining pathway, whose beauty was a mock- ery, for it led away from all that they loved best. The farm- house was a place of exile, and its occupants a strange, un- couth people with whom they felt that they would have noth- ing in common. Mrs. Jocelyn merely looked forward to weeks I of weary waiting until she could again rejoin her husband, to whom in his despondency her heart clung with a remorseful I tenderness. She now almost wished that they had lived on bread and water, and so had provided against this evil day of I long separation and dreary uncertainty. Now that she could no longer rest in her old belief that there would be * some way ' / of tiding over every financial crisis, she became a prey to fore- bodings equally vague that there might be no way. That her \ husband could spend day after day seeking employment, offer- ing, too, to take positions far inferior to the one he had lost, was a truth that at first bewildered and then disheartened her 44 WITHOXTT A HOME. beyond measure. She ielt that they must, iudeed, have fal- len on evil times when his services went a-begging. To Mildred the present was dark, and the future most un- promising; but deep in her heart nestled the sustaining thought that she was not unloved, nor forgotten. The will uf others, not his own, kept her lover from her side. His weak- nesses were of a nature that awakened her pity rather than contempt. If he had been a Hercules physically, and a Bacon intellectually, but conceited, domineering, untruthful, and the male flirt genus — from such weaknesses she would have shrunk with intense repugnance. Her friends thought her peculiarly gentle in disposition. They did not know — and she herself might rarely recognise the truth — that she was also strong ; her strength on its human side consisted in a simple, unswerv- ing fidelity to her womanly nature and sense of right ; on the Divine side, God's word was to her a verity. She daily said * Our Father ' as a little child. Has the world yet discovered a purer or loftier philosophy f CHAPTER VI. KOGER DISCOVERS A NEtV TYPfe. 'OUNG Atwood rose with a very definite purpose on the following morning. For his mother's sake he would be civil to their boarders, but nothing more. He would learn just what they had a right to expect in view of their business relations, and having performed all that was * nomi- nated in the bond,' would treat them with such an off-hand independence that they would soon become aware that he, Koger Atwood, w&s an entity that could exist without their admiring approval. He meant that they should learn that the country was quite as large as the city, and that the rural pe- culiarities of Forestville were as legitimate as those which he associated with them, and especially with the young lady who had mistaken him for tho hired man. Therefore after his ROGER DISCOVERS A NEW TYPE. 45 rooming walk in the barn-yard he stalked to the house with the same manner and toilet as on tlie previous day. But there were no haughty citizens to be toned down. They were all sleeping late from the fatigues of their journey, and Mrs. Atwood said she would give the * men-folks their breakfast at the usual hour, because a hungry man aad a cross bear were nigh of kin.' The meal at first was a comparatively silent one, but Roger noted with a contemptuous glance that his sister's hair was arranged move neatly than he had seen it since the previous Sunday, and that her calico dress, collar and cuffs were scru- pulously clean. ' Expecting company ? ' he asked malicioualy. She understood him and flushed resentfully. < If you wish to go around looking like a scarecrow, that's no reason why I should,' she said. * The corn is too large for the crows to pull now, 60 if I were you I would touch myself up a little. I don't wonder that Miss ^ocelyn mistook you for Jotham.' ' It's well,* retorted Roger with some irritation, * that your Miss Jocelyn has no grown bit-others here or you would come down to breakfast in kid gloves. I suppose, however, that I they have insisted on a tidy and respectful waitress. Will you please inform me, mother, what my regulation costume must be when my services are required 1 Jotham and I should have a suit of livery, with two more brass^ buttons on I my coat to show that I belong to the family.' ' I think that a little more of the manner and appearance of la gentleman would show your relationship better than any I amount of brass,' remarked his mother quietly. Roger was almost through his breakfast, and so, at no great lloss, could assume the injured part. Therefore with a dignity Iwhich was somewhat in marked contrast with his rather un- Ikempt appearance, he arose and stalked off to the cornfield lagain. ' Umph,* remarked Mr. Atwood sententiously, as he rose and »llowed his son. Tiiis apparently vague utterance had for his 'ife a definite and extended meaning. She looked annoyed md flurried, and was in no mood for the labours of preparing second breakfast 46 WITHOUT A HOME. 'The men-folks had better not rile me up too much.' she said to her daughter. * If your father had said No ! out and out, I wouldn't have brought strangers into his home. But he kinder wanted me to have their money without the bother of having them around. Now one thii^ is settled — he must either help me make it pleasant for the3e people, or else tell them to leave this very day.' * And how about Roger 1 ' asked Susan, still under the influ- ence of pique. * Oh, Roger is young and foolish. He's a-growing yet,' and the mother's severe aspect relaxed. He was her only boy. Mr. Atwood, brought face to face with the alternative pre- sented by his practical wife, succumbedf with tolerable grace. In truth, having had his grumble out, he was not so very averse to the arrangement. He was much like old Gruff, their watch-dog, that was a redoubtable growler, but had never been known to bite any one. He therefore installed himself as his wife's out-of-door ally and assistant commissary, proposing also to take the boarders out to drive if they would pay enough to make it worth the while. As for Roger, he resolved to remain a farmer and revolve in his old orbit. Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred were listless and depressed, and time hung heavily on their hands. They were in that condi- tion of waiting and uncertainty which renders cheerful or systematic occupation well-nigh impossible. They daily hoped that a letter would come assuring them that Mr. Jocelyn had secured a position that would change all their future for the better, but the letters received recorded futile efforts only, and often despondency ; but occasionally there would come a letter so full of vague, sanguine hopes that first produced elation and then perplexity that nothing came of them. His wife found his dejection contagious. If she had been with him she would have made strenuous efforts to cheer and inspirit, but without an unselfish woman's strongest motive for action she brooded and drooped. Belle's irrepressible vivacity and the children's wild delight over the wonders of the fields and farm-yard jarred upon her sore heart painfully. She patiently tried to take care of them, but in thought and feeling she could not enter into their life as had been her custom. Belle was too young and giddy for responsibility, and Mildred had many a BOOER DISCOVERS A NEW TYPE, 47 weary chase after the little explorers. In spite of his clearly defined policy of indifiereDce, Rogf. "jund himself watching her on such occasions with a growing interest. It was evident to him that she did not in the slightest degree resent !*is daily declaration of independence ; indeed, he saw that she scarcely gave him any thoughts whatever — that he was to her no more than heavy-footed Jotham.' 'She does not evan consider me worth snubbing/ he thought, with much dissatisfaction, about a week subsequent to their arrival. In vain, after the labours of the day, he dressed in his best suit and sported a flaming necktie ; in vain he dashed away in his buggy, and, a little later, dashed by again with a rural belle at his side. He found himself unable to impress the city girl as he desired, or to awaken in her a sense of his import- ance. And yet he already began to feel, in a vague way, thai she was not so distant to him, as distant /rom him. Belle soon formed his acquaintance, asking innumerable questions and not a few favours, ar.d she found him more good-natured than she had been led to expect. At last, to her great delight, he took her with him in his waggon to the post- office. The lively girl interested and ami:b6d him, but he felt himself immeasurably older than she. With a tendency com- mon to very young men, he was more interested in the elder sister, who in character and maturity that comes from experi- ence was certainly far beyond him, Belle he understood, but Mildred was a mystery, and she had also the advantage of being a verv bp»u»,irjl one. As time passed and no definite assurances came from her father, the young girl was conscious of a growing dis- satisfaction with the idle, weary waiting to which she and her mother were condemned. She felt that it might have h^en better for them all to have remained in the city, in spite of the summer heat, than thus to be separated. She believed that she might have found something to do which would have aided in their support, and she understood more clearly than her mother, tha( their slender means were diminishing fast. That she could do anything at a country farm-house to assist her father seemed very doubtful, but she felt the necessity of em- ployment more strongly each day, not only for the sake of the 48 WITHOUT A HOME. money it might bring, but also as an antidote to a growing tendency to brood over her deep disappointment. She soon began to recognise that such self-indulgence would unfit her for a struggle th>».t might be extended and severe, and was not long in coming to the conclusion that she must make the best, of her life as it was and would be. Days and weeks had slipped by and had seen her looking regretfully back at the past, which was receding like the shores of a loved country to an exile. Since the prospect of returning to it was so slight, it would be best to turn her thoughts and such faint hope as she could cherish toward the vague and unpromising future. At any rate she must so occupy herself as to have no time for morbid self-communings. Her first resource was the homely life and interests of those with whom she dweit. Thus far she had regarded them as uncongenial strangers, and had contented herself with mere politeness toward them. In her sad preoccupation she had taken little note of their characters or domestic life, and her mother had kept herself even more secluded. Indeed the poor lady felt that it was hardly right to smile in view of her husband's absence and misfortune, and she often chided Belle for her levity ; but Belle's life was like an over-full fountain in spring time, and could not be repressed. In her deep abstraction Mildred had seen, but had scarcely noted, certain changes in the farm house that would have in- terested and pleased her had her mind b^en at .rest. Almost unconsciously she had revealed her love of that which is pretty and inviting ; therefore Susan, not content with being neat, was inclined to brighten her costume by an occasional ribbon, and to suggest comparisons between her fresh and youthful bloom and an opening flower that she would fasten in her hair as the summer day declined. So far from resenting this imi- tation of her own habits and tastes, Mildred at last recognised the* young girl's awakening perceptions of womanly grace with much satisfaction. Even poor MrSc Atwood exhibited a ten- dency to emerge from her chronic and rather forlorn condition of household drudge. For years she had known and thought of little else save sordid work, early and late. The income from the small farm permitted no extra help except on rare ppcasions, and then was obtained under protpst fpom her h|is- ROGER DISCOVERS A NEW TYPE. 40 16 income I band, who parted with a dollar as he would with a refractory tooth. His strong and persistent will had impressed itself on his family, and their home life had been meagre and uninvit* ing ; the freedom and ease that he and Roeer were so loath to lose, consisting chiefly in careless dress and a disregard of the little refinements and courtesies of life. It was with some self-reproach that Mildred admitted that for nearly a month she had practically ignored these people, and that she was becoming selfish in her trouble ; and yet, not so mu-^h from a sense of duty, as from a kindling zest in life, she began to take an interest in them and their ways. She was still far too young for her spirit to lose its spring, even under a continuous weight of misfortune. Her nature was not morbid, but sunny and wholesome, and when with the children and Belle, unexpected smiles would brighten her face like glints of sunshine here and there on a cloudy day. Deep as had been her wounds, she found that there were moments when she half forgot their pain, and an instinct of self-preser- vation taught her that it would be best to forget them as far as possible. When the thought of trying to refine the somewhat rude household in which she dwelt occurred to her, she discovered that the work was already well begun, for the chief condition of success was present — the disposition to do as she would like. The Atwoods soon surmised that the family was in trouble of some kind, and were able to distinguish between pride of caste and a sorrowful preoccupation. It was scarcely in Mrs. Joce- lyn or Mildred's nature to speak otherwise than gently and kindly, and so without trying they disarmed their hosts and won their sympathy. Notwithstanding their dejection and las&itude, they maintained the habits of their lives, and unwit- tingly gave Mrs. Atwood api her daughter a vague impression that neatness, attractiveness, and order were as essential as good morals. At first Roger had dressed more roughly than ever, in order to assert his right to his old ways, but as Mildred did not pro- test even by a glance, he next took pains to show her that he had ' good «lothes * if he chose to wear them. This fact she also accepted without the faintest interest, and so at last he was ri^ther nonplus8e4. ^P ^^ i^ot accustomed to being poliU ty 50 WITHOUT A HOME. ignored, and since he felt a growing interest in this new type of a girl, he had an increasing desire to make her aware of his existence. * Hang it all,' he would mutter, ' Tm no more to her than Jotham and the other farm animals. What can a fel- low do to make her look at him as if she saw him. She's very kind and polite and all that ; she'd as soon hurt the brindlo cow as me, but this fact is not very flattering. However, I'll find you out, my lady, and you too shall learn that the one whom you now regard as an object merely, has a will and a way of his own.' Therefore it may be guessed that, in Roger, Mildred might discover more docility and plastic readiness than she desired. Only old Mr. Atwood and Jotham seemed incorrigible mate- rial ; but she did not despair even of them, and resolved to set about reclaiming this family from barbarism at once. CHAPTER VII. COMPARISONS. « *^^RS. ATWOOD,* said Mildred, one Saturday evening, jll^ylL * I'll go with you to church to-morrow, if you'll let ^%$^ me. Belle has been once, and it will be my turn to- morrow.' ' Oh, certainly, miss ; you will go with Roger in the buggy, Is'pose, like Miss fiellc.' ' If you please, I would rather go with you.' * Really, miss, the roads have been muddy of late, and the waggon isn't very nice.' ' I would rather go with you,' pleaded Mildred, with an ap- peal in her blue eyes that few resisted. * Father,' said Mrs. Atwood, as soon as her husband came in, * Miss Jocelyn wishes to go with us to meeting to-morrow. Can't you or Roger tidy up the waggon a bit.1 'Tain't fit for her to ride in.' COMPARISONS. 01 ' There 'tis again — more time spent in fixing up and fussing than in looking after the main chance. You are all gettin' too tine for plain farmin' people.' ' 1 don't see why plain farmigg people need enjoy mud more'n rther folks. You ought to be ashamed to ask your wife and Juughter to ride in such ^ waggon.' * I don't know why I should be more ashamed to-morrow than on any other Sunday, and you was never ashamed before. Your boarders don't seem inclined to take any rides and pav for them, so I don't see why I should fix up any more'n usual. Anyhow, it'*s too late now ; Jotham's gone home, I'm too tired, and Roger's dressed to go out. Why can't she go with Roger r ' She says she'd ftither go with us, and if you men-folks let hor ride in that waggon I hope the minister will give you a Bcorching sermon '--and she turned towards her son, who, dre88ed in his rui-al finery, was finishing an early supper. To her surprise, he, frofn whom she expected no aid, gave her a significant nod, and put his finger on his lips. He had already decided upon one bold stratagem, in the hope of opening Mil- dred's eyes, and if this failed, bis mother's words suggested another line of policy. ' Sue,' he said, with affected carelessness, ' I may bring Amelia Stone to spend part of the evening with you.' 'Amelia Stone isn't my style, if the young men do say she's the prettiest girl in town.' ' If you don't treat her well she'll think you're jealous,' said Roger, and with this artful stroke he departed to carry out his experinfient. ' I'll teach my city lady that I'm not a clod- hopper that other girls won't look at,' he thought, as he drove away. Everything went according to his mind, for Amelia broke an engagement in order to come with him, and was very friendly. The young fellow thought that Mildred must see that he was iLot a person to be politely ignored, when so handsome a girl was flattering in her favours. Susan would not be thought jealous for the world, and so was rather effusive over Miss Stone; she also imbibed the idea that it might be a good chance to make Mildred aware that they knew some nice, stylish people; therefore, as the rural beauty mourted the 52 WITHOUT A HOME. Bteps of the porch, she introduced her to Mildred and Belle. Boeer meanwhile stood near, and critically compared the two girls. They certainly represented two very different types, and he might have hrought a sqgre of his acquaintances tliat would have been more to Mildred's taste than the florid beauty whose confidence was boldness, and who had inventoried her own pronounced charms more often than had any of her ad- mirers. One girl was a lily, with a character like a delicate, elusive fragrance ; the other a tulip, very striking, especially at a distance. The one no more asserted herself than did the summer evening ; the manner of the other the same as button- holed all present, and demanded*attention. Her restless black eyes openly sought admiration, and would speedily sparkle with anger and malice should their requeiSt be unrewarded. Boger was quick enough to feel Mildred's superiority, although he coiiid scarcely account for it, and he soon experienced so strong a revulsion of feeling towards his unconscious ally, that he would have taken her home again with a sense of relief. * If Miss Jocelyn thinks that's the style of girl that takes with me, I might as well have remained a scarecrow. Amelia Stone seems loud as a brass band beside her,' acd his gallant- ries perceptibly diminished. True to her nature, Amelia assumed toward him what she imagined were very pretty airs of proprietorship. Roger knew well that ner manner would have been the same toward the youth with whom, from a sudden caprice, she had broken her engagement for the evening. Her habitual coquetry nevertheless unwittingly carried out his original programme with a success that made him grind his teeth with rage, for he supposed that Mildred would gain the idea that they were con- genial spirits drawn together by strong affinities. And she, half divining his vexation, shrewdly increased it by pretending to associate him with the transparent coquette, while at the same time manifesting disapproval of her by a fine reserve. Amelia felt herself scanned quietly, coldly, and half curiously, as if she belonged to some strange and hitherto unknown type, and her vivacious egotism began to fail her. She was much relieved therefore when Mildred excused her- self and went to her room, for careless, light-hearted, and 001916 what ^iddy Belle imposed no restraint I(oger, however, COMPARISONS. 5S did not recover himself, for he saw that he had made a false step in his effort to win recognition from Mildred, and he waited impatiently until his companion should suggest re- turning. This she soon did, and they rode toward her home with a mutual sense of dissatisfaction. At last Amelia broke out, ' I think she's absurdly proud ! ' • Who 1 ' Roger asked demurely. ' You know who well enough. I thank my stars we have no city folks putting on airs around our house. I suppose you think her perfection. You looked as if you did.' ' I'm not acquainted with her,' he said quietly. ' Not acquainted ! Darsn't you -speak to her high mighti- ness then ? ' < Oh, yes, I can speak to her when there is occasion, but that does not make one acquainted. I don't understand her.' ' I do, perfectly. She thinks herself a wonderful deal bet> ter than you or me.' ' Perhaps she is,' he admitted. ' Well ! that's a nice speech to make to^m^ / I was a fool to brei.k my engagement and go with you.' ' ' All right,' responded Roger, with satirical good-nature, as he assisted her to alight ; ' we'll both know better next time.' She would not speak to him again, but he escorted her to her door, and bowed in parting with mocking politeness. In- stead of inviting him in, as was her custom, she closed the door with a sharpness that spoke volumes. 'I don't believe ^iss Jocelyn ever banged a door like that in her life,' he muttered with a smile as he hastened home- ward. Hearing unusual sounds in the farm-yard before retiring, Mildred peeped out from under her curtain. The moonlight revealed that Roger was washing the waggon with a vigour that made her laugh, and she thought, 'After what I have seen this evening, I think I can civilijse him.' 54 WITHOUT A HOME. CHAPTER VIII. CHANGES. -«-» |5> ENT upon carrying out her project of introducing among the Atwoods a more gracious and genial family life, and lured by the fresh coolnesaof the summer morning, Mildred left her room earlier than usual. Mrs. Atwcod, whose one indulger ^ -^as a longer sleep on the day of rest, came down not very long after and began bustling about the kitchen. Hitherto their meals had been served to the Jocelyns in the sitting-room, the farmer and his family eating as before in the kitchen. Mildred felt that they had no right to impose this extra labour on Mrs. Atwood, especially on the Sabbath, and she also thought it would do her mother good to be roused from the listless apathy into which she was sinking. These were her chief motives, but she knew that at no other place could people be taught the refinements of life more effectual- ly than at the table, and it was her plan to bring about the changes she desired, without appearing to be the conscious causa * Mrs. Atwood,' she said, * why can we not all take our breakfast together in the sitting-room this morning ? I have noticed that your hired man is absent on Shindays ' — her zeal for reform would not induce her to sit down with Jotham— ' and I can see no reason why you should have the task to-day of preparing two meala Of course, if this is not agreeable to you let there be no change, but do not put yourself to the extra i/ouble on our account.' * Well, now, miss, you are very kind, and to tell you the truth, I was thinking of this very thing, but we don't wish to intrude.' ' Intrude, Mrs. Atwood I ' exclaimed Mildred, assuming sur- prise. * 1 don't understand you, and shall now feel hurt if w: do not take our meals together to-day.' * It's very good of you to think of us, and Susan and me will have a more restful day. CHANGES. &5 le conscious Mildred gave her one of her rare smiles, which Mrs. At wood iid ' lighted the old kitchen like a ray of sunshine,' and then rent to prepare her mother and sister for the change. Belle ras pleased, as she ever was with novelty. ' Millie,' she cried, * you shall sit next to that great ani- lal, Jobham, and if you don't take care he'll eat you up un- kwares.' ' Jotham is not here to-day, and I'll have him fed in the dtchen hereafter.' < Have you become mistress of the farm-house 1 Has Roger lade proposals ) Won't it be fun to hear Mr. Atwood grum- )le ! There is nothing I enjoy more than to hear him grumble tnd old Gruff growl. They must be chips off the same )lock.' Mrs. Jocelyn shrank from seeing and speaking to anyone, )ut was much too unselfish to impose extra tasks on Mrs. Ltwood. Susan soon came down to assist her mother, and was de- lighted at the prospect of taking her meals in the sitting-room, feeling that it was a decided social promotion. Moreover, like til young girls, she longed for companionship, and believed bhat Mildred would now be more approachable. By and Sy Roger came from the barn-yard in his working- clothes, and seeing no preparations for breakfast in the kitchen, exclaimed, * So we heathen must sit down to the second table to-day.' ' Yes, if you wish. Susan and me are going to take our )reakfast in the sitting-room with Mrs. Jocelyn and her family.' ' Am I not invited 1 ' he asked a littU anxiously. ' There's no need of any invitation. You have as much right there as I have, only I would not come in looking like that.' ' They won't like it — this new arriangement.' ' It seems to me that you have grown very considerate of rhat they like/ put in Susan. ' Miss Jocelyn proposed it herself,' Mrs. Atwood said, ' and If you and father would fix up a little and come in quietly and laturally it would save a deal of trouble. If I can't get a little test on Sunday I'll wear out.' 56 WITHOUT A HOME. Koger waited to hear no more, and went hastily to his room. Mr. Atwood was more intractable. He distinguished the Sabbath from the rest of the week, by making the most of his larger leisure to grumble. *' I'm in no state to sit down with those people/ he growled, after the change and the reasons for it had been explained to kim. ' I'm glad you feel so/ his wife replied ; ' but your old clothes have not yet grown fast to you ; you can soon fix your- self up, and you might as well dress before breakfast as after it' He was perverse, however, and would make no greater con- cession to the unwelcome innovation than to put en his coat. Mildred smiled mentally when she saw him lowering at the head of the table, but an icicle could no more continue freezing in the ?uu, than he maintain his surly mood beforo her genial, quiet greeting. It suggested courtesy so irresistibly, and yet so unobtrusively, that he already repented bis lack of it. Still, not for the world would he have made anyone aware of his compunctions. Mrs. Atwood and Susan had their doubts about Boger, fearing that he would rebel absolutely and compel a return to their former habits. They were all scarcely seated, however, before he appeared, a little flushed from his hasty toilet and the thought of meeting one who had been cold and disapproving toward the belle of Forestville, but Mildred said < good morning ' so affably and naturally, that he was made quite at ease, and Mrs. Jocelyn, who had seemed unapproachable, smiled upon him so kindly that he was inclined to believe her almost as pretty as her daughter. As for Belle and the child* ren, he already felt well acquainted with them. Mrs. Atwood and Susan looked at each other significantly, for Roger was | dressed in his best and disposed to do his best Mildred saw I the glance, and felt that the young fellow deserved some re- ward, so she began talking to him in such a matter-of-course way that before he was aware he was responding with a free- dom that surprised all the family, and none more than himself. Mildred was compelled to admit that the ' young barbarian,' as she had characterized him in her thoughts, possessed, in the item of intelligence, much good raw material He not only CHjINOES. 67 had ideas, but also the power of expressing them with freshness and vivracity. She did not give herself sufficient credit for the effects that pleased her, or understand that it was her good breeding and good will that banished his tongue-tied embar- rassment. The most powerful influences are usually the most subtle, and Roger found, as had Vinton Arnold and others, that for some cause Mildred evoked the best there was in him. Poor Mrs. Jocelyn did not have very much to say. Her depression was too deep to be thrown off appreciably, but she replied to Mrs. Atwood's remarks with her wonted gentleness. Belle's spirits 3oon passed all bounds, and one of her wild sal- lies provoked a grim smile even from Mr. Atwood, and she ex- ulted over the fact all day. In brief, the ice seemed quite broken between the family and the * boarders.' The old farmer could scarcely believe his eyes when he went out to harness the horses to the three-seated waggon, for it was neat and clean, with buffalo robes spread over the seats. * Well,* he ejaculated, * what's a-coming over this family, any- way 1 I'm about all that's left of the old rusty times, and rusty enough I fee!, with everybody and everything so fixed up. I s'pose I'll have to stand it Sundays, and the day'U be harder to git through than ever. To-morrow I'll be back in the kitchen a^ain, and can eat my victuals without Miss Joce- lyn looking on and saying to herself, " He ain't nice ; he don't look pretty ; " and then ashowin' me by the most delicate lit- tle ways how I ought to perform. She's got Roger under her thumb or he wouldn't have cleaned up this waggon in the mid- dle of the night, for all I know, but I'm too old and set to be made over by a girl.' Thus grumbling and mumbling to himself, Mr. Atwood prepared to take his family to the white, tree-shadowed meet- inghouse, at which he seldom failed to appe.^r, for the not very devotional reason, that it helped him to get through the day. Like the crab-apple tree in the orchard, ho was a child of the soil, and savoured too much of his source. Roger was a great advance, and while possessing his father's shrewdness, hard common-sense and disposition to hit the world between the eyes if it displeased him, his nature was ready at slight incentive, to throw cH all coaioiness and vul- 58 WITHOUT A HOME. garity. Tlie greater number of forceful American citizens are recruited from the ranks of just such young men, strong, com- paratively poor, somewhat rude in mind and person at the start, but of such good material that they are capable of a fine finish. Roger had grown naturally, and healthily, thus far. He had surpassed the average boy on the play-ground, and had fallen slightly below him in the school-house, but more from indifference and self-assurance than lack of ability. Even his father's narrow thrift could not complain of his work when he would work, but while a little fellow he was inclined to in^ dependence, and persisted in having a goodiy share of his time for the boyish sports in their season, and tor all the books of travel and adventure he could lay his hands upon. In spite of scoldings and whippings he had sturdily iield his own, and at last his father had aiscovered that he could be led much better than driven, and that by getting him interested, and by making little agreements, like that concerning the buprgy, he could always get the best of the bargain, for the youth would then work with a will and carry out his verbal contracts in a large, good-natured way. Therefore Mildred's belief that he was good raw material for her humanizing little experiment had a better foundation than she knew. Indeed, without in the least intending it, k^he might awaken a spirit that would assert itself in ways as yet undreamed of by either of them. The causes which start men upon their careers are often seem- ingly the most slight and casual. Mildred meant nothing more than to find a brief and kindly-natured pastime in soft- ening the hard lines and in rounding the sharp angles of the Atwood family, and Hoger merely came in for his share of her attention. Flesh and spirit, however, are not wood and stone, and she might learn in deep surprise that her light aesthetic touches, while producing pleasing changes in externals, had also awakened some of ,the (profoundest motives and forces that give shape and colour to life. In smiling ignorance o' such possibilities, she said to him as she came out on the porch dressed for church, ' You have given your mother and me also a pleasant surprise, and we shall en- joy our ride to church far more, not only because the waggon is nice and clean, but ^because of your thoughtfulness for our CHANGES. 59 ;izen8 are pleasure. The waggon looked so inviting from our windows, that I have induced my mother to go and to take the children. I think they will keep still. We will sit near the door, and I can take them out if they get tired.' ' Yuu gave me a pleasant surprise also/ he said, flushing deeply. ' J r with a questioning glance. 'Yes. You have brought about a pleasant change, and made breakfast something more than eating. Yuu have made me feel that I might be less nigh of kin to Jotham than I feared.' ' I shall imitate your frankness,' she replied, laughing. * You are not so nigh of kin to him as I feared.' ' I have not forgotten that you thought me identical with him,' he could not forbear saying. ' I did not mean to hurt your feelings/ she answered, with deepening colour. ' Oh, you were not to blame in the least,' he said, good- naturedly. ' I deserved it' ' You must remember, too,' she continued, deprecatingly, ' that I am a city girl, and not acquainted with country ways, and so have charity.' Then she added, earnestly, * We do not want to put a constraint on your family life, or make home seem less homelike to you all.' Mrs. Jocelyn with Belle and the children were descending the stairs. *I misunderstood you, Miss Jocelyn,' said Roger, with a penitent look, and he strode hastily away. 'I've disarmed hinfi,' thought Mildred, with a half smile. She had, a little too completely. Belie claimed her old place with Roger, and their ligLt wag- gon was soon lost in the windings of the road. 'Millie,' whispered Belle, as the former joined her at church, ' what could you have said to Roger to make him fiffervesce so remarkably ) I had to remind him that it was Sunday half a dozen times. " What a great boy he k ! ' answered Mildred. ' The idea of my teaching him sobriety seemed to amuse him amazingly.' ' And no wonder. You are both giddy children.' 60 WITHOUT A HOME. * Until to-day, when you have turned his head, he has been very aged in manner. Please let him alone hereafter ; he is my property.' ' Keep him wholly,' and the amused look did not pats from Mildred's face until service began. Dinner was even a greater success than breakfast. Mrs. Jocelyn had become better acquainted with Mrs. At wood dur- ing the drive, and they were beginning to exchange house- keeping opinions with considerable freedom, each feeling that she could learn from the other. Fearing justly that a long period of poverty might be before them, Mrs. Jocelyn was awakening to the need of acquiring some of Mrs. Atwood's power of making a little go a great way, and the thought of thus becoming able to do something to assist her absent hus- band gave her more animation than she had yet shown in her exile. Mildred venturad to fill her vase with some hardy flowers that persisted in blooming under neglect, and to place it on the table, and she was greatly amused to see its effect on Roger and Mr. Atwood. The latter stared at it and then at his wife. ' Will any one take some of the flowers ) ' he asked at last, in ponderous pleasantry.' * I think we all had better take some, father,' said Roger. ' 1 would not have believed that so little a thing could have made so great a diflerence.' * Well, what is the difference 1 * * I don't know as I can express it, but it suggests that a great deal might be enjoyed that one could not put in his mouth or his pocket.' * Mr. Roger, cried Belle, ' you are coming on famousl> . I didn't know that you were inclined, hitherto, to put everything you liked in your mouth or pocket. What escapes some peo- ple may have had.' ' I never said I liked you,' retorted the youth, with a touch of the broad repartee with which he was accustomed to hold his own among the girls in the country. ' No, but if I saw that you liked some one else I might be alarmed' — and she looked mischievously toward Mildred. For reasons inexplicable to himself, he fell into a suddeD confusion at this sally. CHANGES. 61 With a warning glance at the incorrigible Belle, whose vital elements were frolic and nonsense, Mildred began talking to Mr. Atwood about the great hotel a few miles distant. • Would you like to go there 1 ' asked Roger after a little. < No,' she said ; * I have not the slightest wish to go there.' Indeed there was nothing that she shrank from more than the chance of meeting those who had known her in the city. Later in the day Susan said to her mother, with much satis- faction, ' She's not stuck up at all, and we might have found it out before. I can't go back to the kitchen and live in our old haphazard way. I can see now .hat it wasn't nice at all.' ' We'll see,' said the politic Mrs. Atwood. * We mustn't drive father too fast.' Roger felt that at last he was getting acquainted, and he but looked forward to the long summer evenings with much hope. But nothing happened as he expected, for Mildred was silent and preoccupied at supper, and Mis. Jocelyn appeared to have relapsed into her old depression. Instead of going out in his buggy to spend the evening with one of his many favourites, as had been his custom, he took a book and sat down under a tree near the porch, so that he might join Mildred if slie gave him any encouragement to do 80. Belle found him taciturn and far removed from his gay mood of the morning, and so at last left him in peace. Sue was entertaining a rural admirer in the parlour, which was rarely used except on such momentous occasions, and all was propitious for a quiet talk with the object of his kindling interest. His heart beat quickly as he saw her appear on the porch with her hat and shawl, but instead of noticing him she went rapidly by with bowed head and climbed an eminence near the house, from whence there was an extended view to tlie southward. He felt, as well as saw, that she wished to be alone, that he was not in her thoughts, that she was still as distant from him as he had ever imagined her to be. The shadows deepened, the evening grew dusky, the stars came out, and yet she did not return. For a long time he could see her outline as she sat on the hill top, and then it faded. He knew she was in trouble, and found a vague pleasure in watching with her, in remaining within call should she be frightened, knowing, how^ever, that there was little danger of this in quiet 62 WITHOUT A HOME. Forestville. Still, the illusion that he was in some sense her protector pleased hi;n in his sentimental mood, and in after years be often recalled this first faint foreshadowing of bis lot. Could he have seen the poor girl, when at last, conscious of solitude and darkness, she gave way to the passionate grief that, for her mother's sake, she had so long repressed, he would have felt that she was distant indeed- -far removed by experiences, of which he as yet knew nothing. She had been gazing southward, towakd the city in which her father was vainly seeking a foothold on the steep incline up which the un- fortunate must struggle, and in fancy she saw him lonely, de- jected, and deprived of the family life of which ha was so fond. Her sympathy for him was as deep as her trong affection. But in spite of her will her thoughts would recur to the beau- tiful dream which had been shattered at that distant city. Not a word had she heard from Arnold since leaving it, and her heart so misgave her concerning the future that she t\\T°iVf herself on the sod, sobbing bitterly, and almost wishing that she were beneath it and at rest. In the deep abstraction of her grief she had scarcely noted the lapse of time, nor where she was, and the moon had risen when she again glided by Koger, her step and bearing suggesting lassitude and dejection. Soon after he entered the sitting-room, where he found his mother with a troubled look on her face. ' Roger,' she said, * I feel sorry for these people. When I went up stairs a while ago I heard Mrs. Jocelyn crying in her room, and coming down with the lamp I met the young lady on the stairs, and her eyes were very red. It's certain they are in deep trouble. What can it be I It's queer Mr. Jocelyn doesn't come to see them. I hope they are all right' * Mother,' he burst out impetuously, ' they are all right — she is, anyway,' and he went abruptly to his room. * Well,' remarked the bewildered woman sententiously, * there never were such goings on in the old house before.' An event momentous to her had indeed taken place — Roger's boyish days were over. NEITHER BOY NOR MAN. G3 CHAPTER IX. NEITHER BOT NOR HAN. I HE two foAowirig woeks passed uneventfully at the farm- house, but silent forces were at work that were as quiet and effective as those of Nature, who makes her vital changes without ever being observed in ^^e act In respect to the domestic arrangements Mrs. Atwood effected a sensible compromise. She gave the men -folk an early breakfast in the kitchen, so that they might go to their work as usual, aud her boarders were thus not compelled to rise at an unaccus- tomed !iour. She and Susan afterward sat down with them, and Mr. Atwood and Roger joined them at dinner and supper. On the Monday following the scenes described in the last chapter, Mildred and Mrs. Jocelyn were listless and unable to recover even the semblance of cheerfulness, for a letter from Mr. Jocelyn informed them that he was making very little headway, and that some agencies which he accepted yielded but a scanty income. Mildred chafed more bitterly than ever over her position of idle waiting, and even grew irritable un- der it. More than once Roger heard her speak to Belle and the children with a sharpness and impatience which proved her not angelic This did not greatly disturb him, for bo neither ' wanted to be an angel,' nor wished to have much to do with uncomfortable perfection. A human, spirited girl was quite to his taste, and he was quick-witted enough to see that un- rest and anxiety were the causes of her temper. Poor Mrs. Jocelyn was too gentle for irritation, and only grew more de- spondent than ever at hope deferred. ' Millie,' she said, * 1 have dreadful forebodings, and can never forgive myself that I did not think night and day how to save instead of how to spend. W'.at should we do if we had no money at all 1 ' ' fielle and I must go to work,' said Mildred, with a reso- lute face, 'and it's a shame we are not at work oow.' 64 WITHOUT A HOME. * What can you do when your father can do so little t ' * Other people live ; so can we. I can't stand this wretched waiting and separation much longer/ and she wrote as much to her father. In the hope of obtaining a response favorable to her wishes she became more cheerful. One morning she fuund Mr. and Mrs. Atwood preparing to go to the nearest market town with butter, eggs, and other farm produce. She readily obtained permission to accompany them, and made some mysterious purchases. From this time onward Roger observed that she was much in her room, and that she went out more for exercise than from the motive of getting through with the weary, idle hours. Fur some reason she also gained such an influence over thoughtless Belle that the latter took tolerably good care of little Fred and Minnie, as the children were familiarly called. While she maintained toward him her polite and friendly manner, he saw that he was forgotten, and that it had not entered her mind that he could ever do anything for her or be anything more to her than at the present time. But every hour she gained a stronger hold upon his sympathy, and occasionally, when she thought herself unobserved, he saw a troubled and almost fearful look come into her eyes, as if something were present to her imagination that inspired the strongest dread. At such times he was mastered by impulses of self-sacrifice that would have seemed very absurd if put into plain words. He kept his thoughts, however, to himself, and with an instinctive reticence sought to disguise even from his mother, the feel- ings that were so new, and so full of delicious pain. That he was becoming quite different from the careless, self-satisfied yming fellow that he had been hitherto, was apparent to ail, and after his outburst on Sunday evening his mother half guessed the cause. But he misled her to some extent, and Susan altogether, by saying, * Vve had a falling-out with Acbelia Stone.' ' Well, she's the last girl in the world that I'd mope about if I were a man,' was his sister's emphatic reply. * You're not a man ; besides I'm not moping. I'm only cut- tine my wisdom teeth. I want to do something in the world, and I'm thinking about it.' NEITHER BOY NOR MAN. C5 ' Hti's a-growing/ said his mother with a smile, and on this theory she usually explained all of her son's vagaries. He still further misled his unsophisticated sister by making no special effort to seek Mildred's society. After one or two rather futile attempts he saw that he would alienate the sad- hearted girl by obtrusive advances, and he contented himself by trying to understand her, in the hope that at some future time lie might learn to approach her more acceptably. The tlioughf that she would soon leave' the farm-house depressed him greatly. During this period he was under the influence of neither apathy nor dejection. On the contrary, his mind was surging with half-formed plans, crude purposes, and ambitious dreams. His liorizon lifted from the farm and Forestville until the'^^e seemed space for a notable career. His soul kindled at the thought of winning a position that would raise him to Mil- dred'a side. So far from fearing to burn his ships, and strike out unsupported, the impulse grew strongly to make the at- tempt at any cost. He was sure that his father would not lis- ten to the project, and that he would be wholly unaided, but not many days passed before the thought of such obstacles ceased to influence him. ' Til take my way through the world, and cut my own swath,' he muttered a hundred times as he swung the scythe under the Ju^y sun. Moreover, he had a growing belief in his power to climb the heights of success. His favourite books of travel and adventure that he had devoured in boyhood made almost anything seem possible, and the various biographies the vilage library furnished, revealed grand careers in the face of enormous obstacles. His mind was awaking like a young giant eager for achievement. Even after the toil of long, hot days he took up his M scliool- books in th ; solitude of his room, and found that he could review them with the ease that he would read a story. ' I've got some brains as well as muscle,' he would mutter, exultantly. ' The time shall come when Mildred Jocelyn won't mistake me for Jotham.' Poor Mr. Atwood would have been in consternation had he known what was passing in his son's mind ; and Mildred even less pleased, for after all it was she who had inspired the 66 WITHOUT A HOME. thoughts which were transforming him from a simple country youth into an ambitious, venturesome man. He knew of but one way to please her, but he made the most of that, and worked quietly but assiduously whenever he could without exciting his father's opposition. After the day's tasks were over the time was his own. He began by cutting all the weeds and grass in the door-yard and around the house. Palings that had disappeared from the fence were replaced, and all were whitewashed. Mrs. Atwood and Suaan were greatly pleased at the changes, but thought it politic not to say much about them ; one even- ing, however, his father began to banter him, remarking that Roger must be intending to * bring home a wife some fine morning/ The young fellow reddened resentfully, and brusquely retorted that they * had lived in their old slovenly way long enough. People might well think they were going to the bad.' This practical view somewhat reconv*,iled his father to the new ideas, and suggested that Roger was not so daft as he feared. A little time after he was led to believe his son to be shrewder than himself. Needing some money, he took a note to the bank with much misgiving, but was agreeably surprised when one of the officers said affably, * I think we can accom- modate you, Mr. Atwood. I was by your place the other day, and it is so improved that I scarcely knew it. Thrift and credit go together.' But Mildred doubted whether thrift and policy were tht only motives which had led to Roger's unwonted action, and believed rather that he had awakened to a perception of thej value and attractiveness of those things which hitherto he had not appreciated. Toward evening Mildred started out for a walk, but uttered an exclamation of surprise as the flower-borders were bright with verbenas, heliotrope, geraniums, and other bedding plant& Roger's buggy stood near, containing two large empty boxei, as he was ju'^t raking the beds smooth once more in order to finish his task. ' Why, Mr. Atwood !' she cried, * it has long seemed to maj that a good fairy was at work around this house, but this is master-stroke.' NEITHER BOY NOE MAN. < If you are pleased, I am well repaid/ he replied, the coloar deepening on his sunburnt cheeks. ' If I am pleased 1 ' she repeated in surprise, and with a faint answering colour. ' Why, all will be pleased, especially yuur mother and Susan. ' No doubt, but I thought these would look more like what you had been accustomed to.' ' Really, Mr. Atwood, I hope you have not put yourself to all this trouble on my account.' ' I have not put myself to any trouble. But you are in trouble, Miss Jocelyn, and perhaps these flowers may enliven you a little.' ' I did not expect such kindness, such thoughtfulness. I do not see that I am entitled to so much consideration,' she said hesitatingly, at the same time fixing on him a penetrating glanci^ Although he was much embarrassed, his clear black eyes met hers without wavering, and he asked, after a moment, • Could you not accept it, if it were given freely 1 * ' I scarcely understand you,' she replied in some perplexity. < Nor do I understand you, Miss Jocelyn. I wish I did, for then I might do more for you.* •No, Mr. Atwood,' she answered gravely, *you do not un- derstand me. Experience has made me immeasurably older than you are.' 'Very possibly,' he admittei, with a short, embarrassed laugh. * My former self assurance and complacency are all gone.' 'Self-reliance and self-restraint are better than self-assur- ance,' she remarked with a smile. < Miss Jocelyn,' he began, with something like impetuosity, ' I would give all the world if I could become your friend. You could do so much for me.' ' Mr. Atwood,' said Mildred, with ar laugh that was mixed with annoyance, *yt>a are imposed upon by your fancy, and are iaiagining absurd things, I fear. But you are good-hearted and I shall be a little frank with you. We are in trouble. Business reverses have overtaken my father, and we are poor, and may be much poorer. I may be a working woman the rest 68 WITHOUT A HOME. of my days ; so, for Heaven's sake, do not make a heroine out of me. That would be too cruel a satire on my prosaic lot' * You do not understand me at all, and perhaps I scarcely understand myself. If you think my head it filled with senti- mental nonsense, time will prove you are mistaken. I have a will of my own, I can assure you, and a way of seeing what is to be seen. I have seen a great deal since I've known you. A new and larger world has been revealed to me, and I mean to do something in it worthy of a man. I can never go on with my old life, and I will not,' he continued, almost passion- ately. * I was an animal. I was a conceited fool. I'm very crude and unformed now, and may seem to you vt^y ridiculous; but crudity is not absurdity, undeveloped strength .'s not weak- ness. An awakening mind may hn very awkward, but give me time and you will not be ashamed of my friendship.' * Mr. Atwood, I'm sure I wish you twice the success you crave in life, and I've no reason to think you overrate your power to achieve it ; but you greatly overrate me. It would be no condescension on my part to give my friendship ; and no doubt if you attain much of the success you covet, you will be ready enough to forget my existence. What induces you to think that a simple girl like me can help you 1 It seems to me that you are vague and visionary, which perhaps is natural, since you say you are just awakening/ she concluded with a little smiling sarcasm. ' You are unjust both to yourself and me,' he replied firmly, * and I think I can prove it. If I shall ever have any power in the world it will be in seeing clearly what is before me. I have seldom been away from this country town, and yet as soon as I saw you with a mind free from prejudice, I recog- nized your superiority. I brought the belle of Forestvillo and placed her by your side, and I could think of nothing but brazen instruments until I left her loudness at her fathers door. I wcnld not go near her again, if there were not another woman in the world. I saw at a glance that she was darthenware beside you.' Mildred now could not forbear laughing openly. * If you lose your illusions so rapidly,' she said, ' my turn will come soon, and I shall be china beside some fine specimen of majolica.' NEITHER BOY NOR MAN. 69 < You may laugh at me, but you will one day find I am sin* cere, and not altogether a fool.' ' Oh, I'm rea riatui al heroism, nor say 1 like toil and povert)^ On thii vniita T, I think I shrink from such things more than mos; ,U C.o But I don't propose to sit down and wring my hands. I ca, . out them to a better use. We must just ])ut away all talk of pride and sentiment, and remember only our poverty and self-respect. As Christian and sensible people we are bou:id to accept of our life and make the best of it. You an«l mother both know how much this change has cost me,' «:he concluded, with a few half-stitied sobs, ' and if I am willing to enter on a cheerful, patient effort to make the best of life as it is, I think all the rest might, too> If we give way to despondency we are lost. Let us be together again, and pull together as one.' * The idea of Nan and the children coming back to the city in August 1 ' said Mr. Jocelyn dejectedly. * You don't either of you realize what you are talking about. We would have to go into a tenement-house.' * Martin, I do realize it,' replied his wife earnestly, * The country is doing me no good — indeed I'm failing in health. Nothing does us good when we are unhappy and anxious. Find me two rooms in a tenement-house if we cannot afford more, and let us be together as soon as possible.' * VVell,' said Mr. Jocelyn, after a long breath, * with such a wife and such children to work for, a man ought to be able to do great things ; but it's much the same as it was in the army — if one lost his place in the ranks he was hustled about in everybody's way, and if weak and disabled he was left to his fate. The world goes right on and over you if you don't stand aside. I know you've suffered. Nan, and you know that if I had my wish you would never have a care or a pain ; but God knows I've suffered too. After you all were gone and my du* A COUNCIL. 75 ties to my former partners ceased, I began to learn from ex- perience how difficult it is in these cursed times to get a foot- hold, and I became almost sleepless from anxiety. Then set in that villainous neuralgia, which always strikes a man when he's down, and for a week or more it seemed that I would al- I most lose my reason.' ' Oh, Martin, Martin ! ' his wife exclaimed reproachfully, {' and you did not let us know 1 ' ' Why should II It would only have added to your burden, land would not have helped me. I was glad you knew uoth- ling about it.' This is another proof that we must be together,' said his [wife, her eyes filling with tears. * How did ^u come to get I better.* ' Oil, the doctor gave me something that ir de ; sleep, and |I seldom have neuralgia now.' ' Come, papa,' cried Mildred, as she put h ^ prms around his neck and leaned her face against his, * '^here are thousands f^orse otf than we are, and thousands mot r;/e retrieved far foT&Q disasters. Now take courage ; we'll all stand by you, ind we'll all help you. We will one day have a prettier home than ever, and it will be all our own, so that no one can drive IS from it ; ' and with hope springing up in her heart she tried bo inspire hope and courage in theirs. ' Oh Millie,' he said, taking her on his lap, ' when you coax ind pet one you are irresistible. We will begin again, and rin back all and more than we have lost.' Then, partly to amuse her father and mother, but more Ifur the purpose of hastening their departure, Mildred told [rhem of Roger's peculiar mood, and her conscience smote her a little as she caricatured rather than characterised the youth. VIrs. Jocelyn, in her kindliness, took his part, and said, ' Mil- lie, you are satirical and unjust. I'm sure he's a well-mean- [ng young man.' 'The dear little mother ! 'cried Mildred, laughing ; * when she ^an't think of any thing else good to say of a person, she assures 18 that he is " well-meaning." Life may bring me many mis- fortunes, but I shall never marry what mamma calls ' a well- leaning man." * 76 WITHOUT A HOME. * But, Millie, I'm sure he's been very good and kind to us all, and he's kind to his mother and sister, and he seems steady — ' * Well, mamma, admitting it all, what follows )' asked Mil- dred. * It follows that we had better go away,' said Mrs. Jocelyn, with her low, sweet laugh, that had been rarely heard of late ; ' but I don't like you to be unjust to the young fellow. After all, he's not so very much to blame, Millie,' she added with a little nod. ' If I were he, I fear I might be in the same fix.' ' Oh, papa, now we must go ; for if mamma's sympathies are once aroused in behalf of this "steady, well-meaning young man" — there 1 I will talk no more nonsense tonight, althoiigli I often find nonsense a sort of life-preserver that keeps ine from sinking. I admit, mamma, that I have been unjust to Mr. Atwood. He's far more clever than I ever imagined him to be, but he is so different' — she finished the sentence with a little repellent gesture that her mother well understood. CHAPTER XI. A SHADOW. r ^JRS. ATWOOD,' said Mildred the next morning, 'I jJBSgft^ want to thank you for your kindness in giving us ^^^^^^ our supper alone with papa the first evening of his arrival ; but you need not put yourself to any extra trouble to day.' * Roger is the one to thank,' replied Mrs. Atwood. ' He's grown so different, so considerate like, that I scarcely Vnow him any more than I do the old place, he's so fixed up. He says he's going to paint the house after the summer work slacks oif. I don't see what's come over him, but I like the change very much.' Mildred flushed slightly, but said with some constraint, * Please thank him then from papa and mamma, but do not A SilADOW. 77 let us make you furlner t. ouble. We sliall nil return to the city soon, and then you will have easier timei every way.' * I'm very sorry to hear that, Miss Jocelyn, for we shall miss you all very much. You've done us good in more ways than one.' Roger did not appear at breakfast. ' A young horse strayed from the pasture, and Roger is out looking for him,' his mother explained when Mrs. Jocelyn asked after him. Although not a member of any church, Mr. Jocelyn had great respect for his wife and daughter's faith, and accom- panied them to service that morning very readily. Roger ap- peared in time to take Belle, as usual, but she found him so taciturn and preoccupied that she whispered to Mildred, ' You've spoiled him for me. He sits staring like an owl in the sunlight, and seeing just about as much. You ouj;ht to be ashamed of yourself to make him so glum. I intend to have a dozen beaux, and to keep thcin all jolly.' Mildred was obliged to admit to herself that the young fel- low was very undemonstrative at dinner, and that he did not exhibit the rusticity that she half hoped to see. She gained the impression that he was observing her father very closely, and that no remark of his escaped him. ' He has the eyes of a lynx,' she thought, with a frown. Still, apart from a certain annoyance at his deep interest in her and all relating to her, she was rather pleased at the impression which such a man as her father must make on one so unsophisticated. Mr. Jocelyn was a finished man of the world, and his large experience left its impress on all that he said and did. Although a little courtly in manner, he was so kindly and frank in nature that his superiority was not at all oppressive, and with true South- ern honlwmmie he made the farmer's family quite at ease, lead- ing them to speak freely of their rural affairs. Susan soon 80 lost all sense of restraint that she began to banter her brother. ' You must have had a very afflicting time in making up with Amelia Stone to have stayed out so late,' she remarked aoUo voce. * I've not seen Amelia Stone since the evening she was here,* lie answered dryly. n WITHOUT A HOMK. ' Indeed I what other charmer then tied you to her apron- strings so tightly 1 You are very fickle.' ' Now you've hit it/ he answered, with a slight blush. < I was so undecided that I drove by every door, and was nut tied at all.' Belle ' made eyes ' at Mildred, as much as to say, ' It's you who are distracting him.' ' Next time,' Sue continued; ' I think it would be well to make up your mind before Sunday morning.' ' My mind is made up,' replied Roger — Belle looked at Mil- dred with an expression of horror, to her intense annoyance — * I shall trouble nu one,' he added, quietly. Belle now gave such a great sigh of relief that he turned upon her too swift a glance to leave time for disguise. He smiled a little bitterly, and then b^gan talking in an off-hand way to Mr. Jocelyn about the hotel a few miles distant, saying that it had filled up very rapidly of late. As they rose from the table he remarked, hesitatingly, * My horse and wajfgon are at your service this afternoon or evening if you would like to take a drive. Mr. Jocelyn was about to accept, but Mildred trod signifi- cantly on his foot. Therefore he thanked Roger cordially, and said he would spend a quiet day with his family. * I don't wish to be under the slightest obligation to him/ explained Mildred when they were alone ; ' and Belle,' she warned, * you must stop your nonsense at once. I won't en- dure another trace of it.' * Oh, indeed ! I didn't know you were so touchy about him,' cried the girl. * Is it for his sake or your own that you are so careful 1 You're stupid not to let him amuse you, since you've spoiled him for me.' Her sister made no reply, but gave the giddy child a glance that quieted her at once. When Mildred was aroused her power over others was difficult to explain, for, gentle as she W8«, her will at times seemed irresistible. xloger did not need to be told in so many words that his overtures of ' friendship' had been practically declined. Her tones, her polite, but distant manner revealed the truth clearly. He was sorely wounded, but, so far from being disheartened, his purpose to win her recognition was only intensified, A SHADOW. 79 ' I can at least compel her respect and prove myself her equal,' he thought, and instead of lounging or sleeping away th(f Hfternoon, as had been his custom, he took a book and read gteiulily for several hours. At last he left his room to aid his father in the evening labours of the farm yard, and in doing so wuuld have to pass near Mr. Joceyln, who, with his family, wiis seated under a wide-spreading tree. The gentleman evi- (lenlly was in a very genial mood ; iio was caressing his chil- (IrtMi, H!itt4T:ng his wife and Mildred, and rallying Belle after her own frolicsome humour. Roger thought, as he looked at them a few moments through the kitchen window, that he had nevor seen a happier family, and with a sigh wished that it was his privilege to join the^. without being thou'^ht an intruder. Mildred's reserve, however, formed an impassable barrier, and he was hastening by with downcast eyes, when, to his surprise and the young girl's evident astonishment, Mr. Jocelyn arose and said, ' Ah, Mr. Atwood, we're glad to see you. Won't you join our little party 9 I want to thank you again for offering me your horse and carriage, but I assure you that a quiet hour like this with one's family after long separation is happiness enouf^h. Still, as a Southern man, I appreciate courtesy, and am always ready to respond to it in like spirit. Moreover, it gives me peculiar pleasure to see a Northern man developing traits which, if they were general, would make the two great sections of our land one in truth as well as in name.' Roger gave Mildred a quick, questioning glance, and saw that she was regarding her father with much perplexity. * Mr. Jocelyn,' he said quietly, ' the little courtesy of which you speak has cost me nothing, and if it had it would not be worth the words you bestow upon it.* ' I do not think of the act itself so much as the spirit, the disposition it indicates,' resumed Mr. Jocelyn in a manner that was courtly and pronounced, but otherwise natural and quiet f lOugh. * I do not judge superficially, but look past apparent trifles to the character they suggest. Moreover, my wife informs me that you have been very polite to her, and very kind to Belle and the children, whom you havo 'ften taken out to drive wi^thout any compensation whatuver. Since you will not make a business matter of such thingr., X wish to 80 WITHOUT A HOME. repay you in the coin which gentlemen can always receive- that of friendly acknowledgments/ * Then please consider mo amply repaid,' and with a smile and a bow he was about to retire. 'Do not hasten away, sir/ Mr. Jocelyn began again. ' On this day of rest your duties cannot be pressing. I want to assure you further of the pleasure I have in finding a young man who, so far from being rendered v^allous and material by hard and rather homely work, is alive to all refining influences. The changes in this place for the better since I was here, and those pretty flowers yonder all prove that you have an eye for the beautiful as well as the practical. My daughter Mildred also informs me that you are cherishing hopes and ambitions that will eventually enlarge your sphere of life and take you out into the ajreat world.* Hitherto lioger's eyes had been fixed keenly and unwaver- ingly on Mr. Jocelyn's urbane countenance, as if he would de- tect the cause of such unlocked for words, but at the mention of Mildred's name his brow and even neck was suffused. ' Slie must have spoken of me kindly,' he thought, * or her father would not be so friendly.' But when a swift glance around revealed that Mrs. Jocelyn was looking at her husband in per- plexity, that Mildred was not even trying to conceal her vexa- tion and amazement, and that Belle had stuffed her handker- chief into her mouth to p vent laughter, a spark of anger glittered in his eyes. His first thought was that Mr. Jocelyn was indulging in unexpected irony at his expense, and the ready youth whose social habits had inured him to much ch.if fing was able to reply, although a little stifHy and awkwardly, ' I suppose most young men have ambitious hopes of doing something in the world, and yet that does not prevent mine from seeming absurd. At any rate, it's clear that I had better reveal them hereafter by deeds rather than words,' and with a very slight bow he strode away, but not so quickly that lie failed to hear Mildred's voice in the exclamation, ' Oh, paj»:i! how could you,' and then followed a paroxysm of laughter from Belle. Roger was deeply incensed, for he believee tiie stay and support of the whole family. You cannot pre- vent niy friendliness, Miss Jocelyn, any more than you can 82 WITHOUT A HOME. stop the sun from shining, and some day it will melt all your | reserve and coldness.* He took his volume of history out on the sward near the porch, resolving to see the end of the do- i mestic drama. He did not turn many leaves, but he sat with the book inj his lap until long after nightfall. The domestic drama appar- ently bad a very prosaic ending. Mr. Jocelyn and his fainilji returned for a time to their seats under the tree, but all except the little children were apparently under some constraint, rhei latter soon grew sleepy, and Mrs. Jocelyn took them in to bed. Belle was not long in following them, darting an ireful glaticej at Roger in passing, to which he responded by a rather mocking smile. * We were having a lovely time till you came, you olJ| marplot,' she muttered under her breath. Mr. Jocelyn grew more and more quiet until his head sank] on his breast, and it was with difficulty that Mildred arouseii him sufliciently to urge his retir'.ng. At last he took hid daughter's arm and entered the house as if in a dream. Thci young girl's face was downcast and averted. As they passedl between the youth and the still glowing west they cast a taintl shadow npon him. Though by no means imaginative, htj noted the shadow and thought about it. It seemed that ill still rested on hibi after they were gone, and that it nii^lit| never pass away. Soon all were sleeping, and mother and daughter were a1o^^| ' Mamma,' said Mildred, in a low, troubled tone, ' it seemedl to me that papa acted very strangely this afternoon and eveD*! ing. Can he be well 1 ' ' Oh, Millie,' cried the loving anxious wife, ' I fear he is notl well at all ; and no wonder, when we think of the long straiil he has been under. Haven't you noticed that his appetite ii| very poor ? tonight he scarcely ai a mouthful. He has ja«i been trying to keep up ever since he came, and this afteriiooil he made an unusual effort ; reaction of course followed, aixi 4 last he was so weary and troubled that he could not hide irii| feelings from us.' * I suppose you take the right view,' said Mildred hesita ingly, ' but papa has not seemed the same this afternoooti as other times when tired and worried. His gaiety was a litth extrftvagant, ^nd so it mi^ht naturally be if it were furce' A SHADOW. 83 But I can't understand his speaking to young Mr. Atwood as he flid. Papa never showed such a lack of tact or delicacy be- fore. I woiild not da**e tell him things if he spoke of them afterward so inopportunely. I felt as if I could sink into the ground.' Well, Millie, your father is very kind-hearted, and, like all I Southern men, very sensitive to kindnei^s and courtesy. I suppose he thought that you and Belle had not treated Roger well, and that he ought to make amends. The real explana- Ition is that he is overstrained and unhappy, and so cannot act llike himself.' ' I do hope he is not going to be ill,' faltered Mildred. I* Such a dtrange lethar«;y came over him after you left us. Oh, the day is ending horribly, and it leaves a weight of forebod- ling on my mind. I wish we could get-away to-morrow, for I Ifeel that Roger Atwood is watching us, and that nothing es- Icapes liim. I know that papa's manner seemed strange to him las well ns to us, and I almost hate him for his obtrusive and [prying interest. Why can't he see that he's nothing to us, |nor we to him, and let us alone ? She often recalled these words in after years. The wife went to her room and found that her husband was Bleeping quietly. Returning, she said, more cheerily, ' I think papa will be like himself after a good night's sleep, and there's jvery promise now that he'll get it ; so don't look on the dark t^ide, Millie, nor worry about that youns; man. He don't mean Ito be obtrusive, and 1 must say that I think he behaves very |well considering. With troubles like ours, why think of such transient annoyance ? If I only knew just how I could help i^our fatlier I would not think about much else.' It would have been well indeed if she could have known, for she would have taken from his pocketbook a small syringe uid a hottle of Migendie's solution of morphia ; she would liave entreated him upon her knees, she would have bound \\m by the strongest oaths to die rather than to use it again. The secret of all that was peculiar and unnatural in his con- luct can be explained by the fact that early in the afternoon 16 went apart for a moment, and with a little innocent looking instrument he injected into his arm the amount ')f the fatal Irug which he believed he could enjoy without betraying him- Uelf, .S4 WITHOUT A HOME. CHAPTER XII. VIEWLESS FETTERS. LT HOUGH Mr. Jocelyn had retired so early and slept jl;^ heavily until an hour that at the farm-house was late, the reader knows that his sleep was not the natural repose which brings freshness and elasticity. His wife and Mildred, however, did not know this, and his languor, con- tinued drowsiness and depression, which even much elfort could not disguise, confirmed their dread of an impending iii- ness. He saw their anxie'y, and took advantage of their f^ars to hide his weakness. 'Yes,' he sighed, in response to their f]rentle solicitude as lie pushed away his almost untasted breakfa? !, ' I suppose my health has been impaired by worry of mind and the heat in town. I'm better, though, than I have been. I don't see how you are going to endure the city.' They both assured him, however, that they would not even consider any other arrangement except tlsat already agreed upon, and urged that he should return to town that very day, his wife adding that i'lst as soon as he had secured rooms within their mean^ %u«i would join him and prepare them for the family. ' Oh, Nan,* he again said dejectedly, ' it's a cruel fate which compels me to take you to a tenement house in August.' ' It would be far more cruel to leave me here,' his wife answered earnestly. * I could bo happy anywhere if you were your old natural self once more. Millie and I can both see that struggling alone and brooding by yourself over your troubles is not good for you,* and her gentle but determined purpose carried the day. Mr. Jocelyn was then directed to a somewhat distant field, where he found Roger, who readily agreed to take him to tlio steamboat landing in the afternoon. Lifting his eyes from liis work a f *w moments afterward, the youn^ man saw that b'* a severe st !i VIEWLESS FETTERS. 85 visitor, instead of returning to the house, had sat down under a clump of trees and had buried his face in his hands. ' There's a screw loose abuut that man/ he muttered. ' He's too uneven. Yesterday at dinner he was the most perfect gentleman ever I saw ; in the afternoon he had a fit of pom- pous Ikilarity and condescension ; tlien came abstraction, as if his mind had stepped out fur a time ; and now, after twelve hours of sleep, instead of feeling like a lark, he looks as though he might attend his own funeral before night, and walks as if his feet were lead. He mopes there under the trees when he has but a few more hours with his family. If I had such a wife and such a daughter as he has, I'd cut a swath for them, no matter what stood in the way.' But lloger's censure was slight compared with that which Mr. Jocelyn visited upon himself; and in order to understand his feelings and conduct, it will be necessary to relate some experiences which occurred after the departure of his family to the country. Throughout the entire winter he had been under a severe strain of business anxiety, and then had come the cti.l- miiiating scenes of failure, loss of income, and enforced and unhappy separation. His natural depression had been so ii:- creased by the meagre prospect of finding employment which would yield his family an adequate support, that even his in- creased and more frequent indulgence in his morphia powd ts failed to give sufficient hopefulness and courage, while ct U\f same time they began to produce some serious disorders in his system. There is a class of diseases which rarely fails tc t- tack when the system is reduced and enfeebled, and neuralgia began to bind across his forehead a daily press ire of pain that at last became intolerable. Ordinary ren^ lies not giving speedy relief, his physician injected into hih trm a few drops of the solution of morphia. Thus far he had never used the drug in solution hypodermicaily, and he Wits much surprised by the agreeable effects of a very much smaller quantity than he had been accustomed to use on any o e occasion, and nis morphia hunger — already firmly established — immediately sug- gested thai the little syringe might become a far more potent agent than the powders. Therefore he induced the physician to give him an order for the instrument, and to explain more fully the methods of its use, saying that attacks of neuralgia '€^--- 86 WITHOUT A HOME. were generally rather obstinate in hiu case, and that he had neither the time nor the means to seek his services very often. The physician's lew words of warning made but slight im- pression upon the infatuated man at tiie time. Mr. Jocelyn remembered only that he had an intolerable pain in his head and a heavy weight upon his heart. Many a time during the long civil war he had smilingly led charges wherein the chances | of death were greater than those of life, but neither then nor | since had he ever displayed any great aptitude for quiet endur- ance and self-control. Now every day was precious, and he felt he could not give himself up to pain and patient waiting until the disease could be conquered in a slow, legitimate way, when by a wound no more than a pin prick he could cbtaiQ courage, happiness, and profpects illimitable. Having obtained the syringe and a vial of the solution of { morphia, he injected into his arm a much larger quantity than the physician would have dreamed of employing. Not only did the unendurable anguish pass away within a fevir brief mo- ments, but the world was transfigured ; life's grim outlook be- came full of the richest promise, and discouragement and dread | vanished utterly. So far from fearing that he could not pro- vide for his family, h«^ was sure that he could win fortliemj abundance and luxury. A dozen avenues to fortune opened | before hinj, and he felt that his only task was to choose, believ- ing that in some indefinite yet easily '.iscerned way he would achieve more than falls to the lot of most men to accomplish. Instead of a long sleepless night like those which had preceded, his waking dreams ended in quiet and equally pleasant visions — then oblivion, which did not pass away uutil the morning sun was shining. But with the new day came a new access of pain and gloora, and the aid of the magic little instrument was in- voked once more. Again within a few moments the potent! drug produced a tranquil elysium and a transformed world of | gra;.d possibilities. With a vigour which seemed boundless, ALd h ^es which repeated disappointments could not dampen, he .'>ni.nufcd his quest for employment until in the declining | djv/ 1 is spiritn and energy ebbed as strangely as they had risen i the morning, and after another night of dreams and stupor hi awoke in torture. The powerful stimulant enabled him to re^ at the experieLces cf the previous day, and for two or] VtEWLESS FETTERS. 87 three weeks he lived in the fatal but fascinating opium para- Idise, gradually increasing the amount of morphia that his sys- Item, (lulled by habit, demanded. In the meantime, by the lav- [ish use of quinine he gradually banished his neuralgia with its iLieriJant pain. It is well known to those familiar with the character of )))ium that its effects are greatly enhanced at first by any de* :'u\fd change in the method ot its use ; also that its most power- and immediate influences can be produced solely by the i)V|)<) |criht'd he had accepted agencies which promised thousands if lie CDuhl sell millions of dollars' worth of goods, and after the |ubtle morphia had infused itself through his system nothing seined easier ; but dreams are not realities, and after grand bopes unfulfilled, and futile efforts, he would sink into despon- lency irum which nothing could lift him save the little syringe Ihat he carried hidden next to his heart. As its magic never liled him, he went on for a time, blind to the consequences. Lt last he began to grow more alarmed than ever before at the scendaiicy of the drug and his dependence upon it, but when ^e tried to discontinue its use he found that he had been liv- ig so lung under the influence of a powerful stimulant that without it he sank like a stone. Then came the usual compro- lise of all weak souls— he would gradually decrease the Imouiit and then the frequency of its use ; but as is generally p case, he put off the beginning of sturdy self denial until the lorrow, and almost every day he poisoned his system with fiat which also poisoned and demoralized his soul. He dimly iw his danger, but did not realize it. With the fatuity of all elf-indulgent natures he thought the day would come when, fith better prospects and health rene'.ved, he would throw ^ay the spell which bound him and become a free man, but iy after day passed and he did not ; his appetite began to &g and his energy also ; he would sit dreaming for hours 88 Wrmo.'JT A HOME. when he might have been at work. At best his tigencies would give him but a acPiity revenue, although pushe^i with extraor. dinary skill and vigour. As it was, they yielded him little more than personal support^ and he began to entertain the hope that if he could only obtain regular employment he could then resume his old regular habits. Therefore he had agreed to accept a position which was little more than a foothold, and yet if he would go to work with a determined and patient in- dustry he might, by means of it, win more than he had lost. Could he do this 1 Tue Sunday he had just spent with his family had awakened him as never before to a sense of his boo'l dage. Even with the society of those he loved to enliven and| sustain he had felt that he could not get through the day with- out the help of atimulant upon which he had grown so depen- dent. While at church it was not the clergyman's voice he I heard, but a low yet imperious and incessant cry for oi»iunj.| A'o he rode home, smilitsg upon his wife and children, and look- ing at the beautiful and diversified country, between them audi the landscape he ev'er saw a little brass instrument gauged at four or five times the amount that the physician had at first inserted in his arm. At the dinner table he had spoken cour- teously and well on many subjects, and yet ever uppermost iaj his mind was one constant thought — opium. The little diabol ical thing itself seemed alive in his pocket, and made its faintl yet potent solicitation against his heart. At last he had niiit-l tered, *I will just take a little of the cursed stuff, and thenlj must begin to break myself in dead earnest.* The reader knows what followed. Moreover, he was ledtol fear that the alternations of moods caused by injections ofl morphia would be so great that they could not fail to excit«| remark. Although the new day brought every motive wliicli can influence a man, Mr. Jocelyn found the path to freedoul 80 steep and difficult that the ascenC seemed well-nigh impossif ble. His muscles were relaxed, his whole frame so wear}' andj limp that he even dreaded the effort required to return to m house were his family was waiting for him. But the physiiil oppression was nothing to that which weighed upon his miiuij The sense of misery and discouragement was paralyzing, andi he wfis fairly appalled by his lack of energy. The means oil escaping from his wretchedness and dejection — from the liorri*! VIEWLESS FETTERS. 89 M ble lassitude of body and soul — could be grasped in a moment and the temptation to use them and become within a few mi- nutes a strong, sanguine, courageous man was almost irresisti- ble ; but he knew well that such an abrupt change friin the heavy, dull-eyed condition in which they had seen him at the breakfast table could not fail to arouse suspicion ; and should they once discern his crime — for crime he now regarded it — he feared his self-respect would be so destroyed that he would never have the pride and strength for the struggle now clearly foreseen ; therefore, with the instinct of self-preservation, and from the impulse of all his native and long-fostered Suutliern pritle, he resolved that they must never know his degradation. Could he break his chain 1 The coming pages of this book will reveal his struggle and its termination. Alas ! it is no fancy sketch, but a record of human experience that is becom- ing sadly frequent. The opium hunger had grown upon Mr. Jocelyn by its almost constant use for nearly two years. During weeks of pain he had almost lived upon the drug, satu- ratin<; his system with it. It had come to him like an angel of light, lifting him on buoyant pinions out of suffering and des- pondency, but the light was fading from the wings and brow of this strong spirit, and it was already seen to be an angel of darkness. Mr. Jocelyn, however, had no thought of despair; he was only surprised, humiliated, and somewhat alarmed; he was satisfied that he must drift no longer, and in perfect sincerity resolved to make the most of his brief separation from his family, hoping that with a physician's advice ho could speedily overcome his morbid craving and distressing need. He left the farm-house with the resolution that he would never touch the drug again, believing that before a week expired the horri- ble depression, both mental and physical, would so far pass away as to excite no further suspicion. For an hour he rode at Roger's side, rigid, taciturn, and pale ; for except when heated by exercise his wonted ruddy colour was passing away from the effects of the poison. Roger drove around to the large hotel, which was not much out of their way, and said, '♦ Mr. Jocelyn, will you please take the lines a few moments 1 I have an * errand here, but it won't keep me long. " 90 WrinOUT A HOME. Having transacted his business he stood in the olBce door watching a young man who sauntered toward him. The Rtran- ger was almost as tall as himself, but much slighter. While hii carriage was easy and graceful, it was marked by an air of lassitude and weariness, and his step lacked firmness. A lieavy mustache relieved his face from efifeminacy, but his large, dark eyes were dull and apathetic. Suddenly they lighted u[) with recognition ; he hesitated, and then hastily advanced toward Mr. Jocelyn, but his steps were speedily checked, for the moment the gentleman recognised him he bowed very ct)l(llj and turned haughtily away. 1 he young man flushed deeply, stood still a moment in irresolution, and then with a swili glance into Roger's interested face turned and quickly disap- peared. Before Roger could resume his place in the waggon the j proprietor of the hotel came out and called him back ; some- thing had been forgotten. This interruption was fatal to Mr. Jocelyn's good resolutions. | Vinton Arnold, who had won his daughter's affection, but who seemingly had not the manhood to be faithful in her adversity, was the one whom he had repulsed, and the thought of his wealth and luxury, while he was on his way to seek a home in a tenement for his be&utiful child, so maddened him that he drove recklessly to an adjacent shed, which shielded him from observation, snatched out his fatal syringe, and in a moment | the poison was diffusing itself through all his system. He in returned again before Roger, who had been detained some mo- 1 ments, reappear*^^, but now his heavy eyes were bright aw fiery, and his wongue unloosed. * Did ycu see that young man to whom I refused to speak I he asked as they drove away. *Ye8.' *"Well, he's a white-livered scoundrel. He's a type ofyourl Northern gentleman. A Southern man would starve ratb^ than act so pusillanimously. Of course I'm not going to talit of family secrets, or say anything not befitting a high toned gentleman, but I taught that snob how a man of honour regardi his cowardice and cold-bloodedness. He was one of our fair- weather friends, who promptly disappeared when the sicjl clooded. Here he is, dawdling around a high-priced liotoi,! while I'm on my way to seek rooms in a tenement for those t«| VIEWLESS FETTERS. 91 II whom he is not worthy to speak ; but the time shall come, and gpi'cdily, too, when even on the base plane of money — the sole claim of his proud family for consideration — we shall meet him and scorn him as his superiorj. I have plans, business pros- l„.ct.s — ' and he launched forth into such a vugue, wild state- ment of his proj(»cts that Roger looked at him in silent amuze- inent, half doubting his sanity. In iiis haste Mr. Jocelyn had not carefully gauged his syringe, and tlie over amount of morphia thrown into his system so Htimuhited him that his wurds appeared exceedingly irrational to the young man, .vhose judgment was bailed on unusual siirewdness and common-sense. He was greatly puzzled by the sudden change in his companion. It was evident that he had not ))een drinking, for his breath was untainted and his utter- an*e was natural. But his face was flushed, and ho seemed {Missessed by a strange, unbalanced mental exaltation which led liini to speak as no sensible man ought in any circumstances, and certainly not to a stranger. Roger therefore interrupted him, saying, ' I shall respect your confidence, Mr. Jocelyn, aiid will never repeat what you have said. Please let me sug- gest, however, that it would be wise not to speak so frankly to others, since they might take advantage of you. ' ' Please let me assure you,' resumet^ Mr. Jocelyn, with the most impressive dignity, ' that I am a man of the world, and that I have seen a great deal of the world. I can read men as you would read a book. If you were not trustworthy 1 would know it at a glance. Did you not see how I treated that young jackanapes 1 His wealth and elegance did not impose upon me in the least. You are trustworthy. You have a large, aspiring mind, and yet you know your station ; you would not dream of presuming. What does it signify that we I are poor for the moment 1 True Southern blood is in our veins, and I have a dozen plans for securing large wealth. When that day comes I shall remember those who basely I turned their backs on us in our brief obscurity; ' and thus he [ramhled on, while Roger listened coldly and in silence. ' There is method in his madness,' he said to himself, ' he lis not so daft but that he hints broadly I roust keei) my sta- tion an I not bo " presuming." His pr jud daughter hints as IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 2.5 ■^ liii M22 lU 14.0 Im! 2.0 1.8 i - i. . ^IIJ4I>4 ^ 6" ► m Va / y ^ Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREH WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)872-4503 4^ >^>" '^ 92 WITHOUT A HOME. much still more plainly. Well, we'll see whose dreams find the larger fulfilment — his or mine.' By the time they reacned the landing the sun was low in the west, and his companion had become comparatively silent, dreamy and abstracted. Half an hour later Roger went on board of the boat with some solicitude to see how he was far- ing. Mr. Jocelyn started out of what appeared a deep reverie as Roger addressed him, and said, after a moment's thought, * Please say to my family that you left me well, and safely on my way,' and with a quiet and rather distant bow he resumed his absorbing thoughts. The steamer moved away, but instead of returning directly | home Roger went back to the hotel. Even amid the hallucin- ations of opium the father had too much instinctive delicacy I to mention Mildred's name or to make any reference to Arnold's intentions ; but the quick-witted fellow gained the impression that the elegant young stranger had been a welcome and favoured suitor in the past better days, and he had a I consuming wish to see and study the kind of man that he sur- mised had been pleasing to Mildred. As he rode along, pity I for the girl took the place of resentment. * Not our plain little farm-house, but the fashionable hotel, is the place where she would feel the most at Jiome,* he thought. 'And yet she is going to a tenement-house I There, too, shi^'ll stay, I fear, forj all that her father will ever do for her. If he's not off his bal-j ance, I never saw a man that was.' CHAPTER XITI. A SCENE BENEATH THE HEMLOCKS. OGER sat out on the dusky piazza of the hotel, looki ing into the large parlour through open windows whicli| came to the floor, bent on making the most of suc^ glimpses as he could obtain of the world to which he felt tli Mildred belonged by right. He saw clearly that she wou A SCENE BENEATH THE HEMLOCKS. 9S appear well and at home amid such surroundings. A young and elegantly dressed woman crossed the wide apart.ment, and he muttered, * Your carriage is very fine and fashionable, no doubt, but Miss Jocelyn would have added grace and nature to your regulation gait. ' He watched the groups at the card- tables with a curious interest, aud the bobbing heads of gossi- ping dowagers and matrons; he compared the remarkable ' make up, ' as he phrased it, of some of them with the unre- deemed plainness of his mother's Sunday gown. * Neither the one nor the other is in good taste, ' he thought. * Mrs. Jocelyn dresses as I intend my mother shall some day. ' He coolly criticised a score or more of young men and women who were chatting, promenading, flitting through the open windows out upon the piazza and back again into the light, as a small stringed orchestra struck into a lively galop or the latest waltz. He saw a general mustering of the younger guests, even down to the boys aud girls, for the Lancers, and followed one and another that caught his eye through the mazy intricacies, mak- ing little gestures of disgust at those who seemed outre and pe« culiar in manner and appearance, and regarding with the clo- sest observation such as exhibited a happy mean between a certain rusticity and awkwardness with which he was well acquainted, and a conventional artificiality which was to him all the more unnatural and absurd because his perception was not dulled by familiarity with society's passing whims. The young stranger whom Mr. Jocelyn hgr! repulsed, and who was the real object of his quest, did not appear among the pleasure-seekers, nor could he discover him on the piazza, in the billiard-room, nor in other places of resort. At last in much disappointment he returned to his seat, from which he commanded a view of the parlour ; and scarcely had he done so before the one he sought mounted the steps near him as if returning from a stroll in the hotel grounds, threw away a cigar, and entered an open window with the same graceful, listless saunter witnessed in the afternoon. He crossed the wide apartment with as much ease and nonchalance as if it had been empty, and sat down on a sofa by a somewhat stout and very [elegantly apparelled gentlewoman. Koger never thought of accounting for ihe intensity of his linterest in this stranger — the young rarely analyze their feel- n 1 H ■ ) V E^B^HI 1 1 Hh M m ™[ ^H S ^fl^R '■■ B wHb ) w iHt ¥ m ^B i* s pB^B tt mm ■'■* 1 iffi iK Wm 1 1 94 WiTHOttT A HOME!. ings — but, obedient to an impulse to learn this man's power to win the favour of one so unapproachable by himself, he scanned with keenest scrutiny everything in his apparance and manner, and sought eagerly to gauge his character. He felt instinctively that the ' cold-blooded snob, ' as Mr. Jocelyn had characterized him, was of the very opposite type from himself. His graceful saunter, which, nevertheless, pos- sessed a certain quiet dignity, suggested a burdensome leisure and an utter lack of purpose to go anywhere or do anything. He dropped on the sofa rather than sat down. The lady at his side spoke rather decidedly to him, and he answered briefly without even looking at her. By and by she spoke again, more energetically ; he then slowly arose, approached a young woman sitting near, who, in response to something he said, sprang up with alacrity, and they glided away in the waltz with an ease and grace scarcely equalled by the others upon the floor. After a few moments they circled around very near Roger's post of observation, and he was able to scan both the features and expression of the man whom he left inclined to hate. But he was disarmed and perplexed, for the stranger showed no more pleasure or animation than would a fallen leaf that was swept here and there by varying eddies of wind. He kept time and step with perfect accuracy, but evidently from such complete familiarity with the form that he gave it not a thought. He danced as easily as a bird flies, avoiding the others without appearing to notice them. No colour came from the exercise, no light kindled in his face. His expression was not blas^ or cynical, but weary and dejected ; the melancholy in his large brown eyes was all the more stricking from contrast with the music, the lighted room, and an amusement suggest* ing gaiety. Pale, utterly unresponsive to the brilliant and mirthful scenes, he glided ghost- like here and there, and before very long seated his companion by the elderly woman whose urgency had led to his automaton-like performance. Then with a slight bow he passed through a window near and disappeared. The two ladies spoke together for a few moments and seemed annoyed, and Roger now noted such a resemblance between them as to suggest that they were mother and daughter. He had seen sufficient to satisfy him, and he went away muttering, * There isn't enough of him to hate ; he's but the A SCENE BENEATH THE HEMLOCKS. 95 I shadow of a man. She fancy him ! I couldn't have believed it; I can't account for it, unless he's very gifted in mind or very different wlien with her. This must be true, and he would be a mummy indeed if she couldn't wake hira up.' Roger rode home, however, ill at ease. * He hasn't forgotten her if he has given her up on account of her poverty, ' he thought. ' He could see as well as I that there was no one there who could compare with her ; but he mopes instead of trying to win her. If he can dance, why can't he work ] I've no reason to complain, however, and I thank my stars that I have muscle and a will. In the mean time I shall come up here and study your tricks of manner, my elegant nonentity. I believe in force. Force moves the world and carries a man through it ; but I now see that it should be well-managed and wellmaimered force. Miss Jocelyn compares me with you, and I seem to her uncouth, unfinished, and crude in the extreme. Litheness and grace need not take an atom from my strength, and the time shall come when I will not fear comparisons. I'll will her yet with your own weapons. ' Although it was rather late before he reached home, he found his mother, Mrs. Jocelyn, and Mildred waiting for him in the sitting room. ' What kept you so V Mrs. Atwood exclaimed. * I stopped a while at the hotel on my return, ' he replied. ' Did my husband send any message ) ' Mrs. Jocolyn asked, with a solicitude she could not disguise. ' He told me to say that I had left him well, and safely on his way to the city. ' ' Did — did he seem well when you left him t ' the anxious wife persisted. * Quite as well as he did yesterday, I think, ' was the reply. ' Mr. Atwood, ' said Mildred, in a tone that startled him a little, and he saw she was looking at him as if she would read his thoughts, 'did my father truly appear well when you parted from him ] ' Roger's eyes fell before hers, but he replied firmly, * I left him sitting quietly on the steamboat's deck, and when I asked him if he had any message for his family, he said the words I have just repeated. He seemed naturally depressed at leaving i\ r-i H 96 WITHOUT A HOME. you all. If he were not well he did not say anything abou^ it ; * and with a bow he passed up to his room., * Mother, ' said Mildred, when they were alone, * was it mere diffidence, or why was it, that he could not look mo in the eyes ? I wonder if he is concealing anything. It was in the afternoon and evening that papa was unlike himself yesterday. I wish I really knew whether or not that young man is hiding anything, for I have an impression that he is. ' ' Oh, it was diffidence, Millie. He would have no motive in hiding the truth from us. I can see that he is both fascinated by you and afraid of you — poor fellow I ' * A few weeks in the cornfield and a few smiles from the girls hereabouts will banish all his nonsense concerning me. I don't give him a thought except that his absurd feelings annoy nie. Oh, mamma, you understand me. What he would like to offer is such a grotesque parody on that which I hoped for, on what I imagined I possessed, that it makes me sick. Oh, oh ! ' she sobbed, ' I must give it all up. Mr. Arnold acts as if I were dead ; and practically I am to him, although he may sigh and mope a little, perhaps. There, I'm wronging him ; I know I wrong him. How can I forget his white, death-like face and look of mortal pain. Oh that he had this young fellow's muscle and courage ! I do not care for his money ; I would be content with him in one bare room. But as it is I fear, I fear ; * and the poor child buried her face in her mother's lap, and cried away some of her weight of foreboding. * Millie, darling, ' faltered her mother, *■ God knows I'd shield your heart with my own if I could, but I don't know how to help you. You are too much like me. Your love is your life, and you can't stop loving just because it would be wise and thrifty to do so. I think of you almost as much as I do of Martin, and I daily pray the merciful Saviour, who was *' tempted in all points like as we are," to sustain and comfort you. I don't see how I can help you in any other way, for my own heart shows me just how you suffer.* * There, little mother, ' said Mildred, raising her head and wiping her eyes, ' I've had my cry, and feel the better for it. I'm going to help you and papa and be brave. I'm glad I'm like you. I'm glad I'm a true Southern girl, and that I can love as you loved ; and I would despise myself if I could invest my A SCEKE BENEATH THE HEMLOCKS. 97 heart and reinvest it like so much stock. Such a woman is cold-blooded and unnatural, and you are the dearest little mo her and wife that ever breathed. ' ' Oh, Millie, Millie, if I had only foreseen ana guarded against this evil day ! ' 'Come, dear mamma, don't always bo blaming yourself for what you did not foresee. You are eager to do your best now, and that is all God or man can ask of us. These clouds will pss away some time, and then the sunshine will be all the briyhter. ' The next few days of waiting: and uncertainty were a severer ordeal to Mrs. Joc»'lyn and Mildred than ever. Mr. Jocelyn, bent on gaining time, kept putting them off. His new duties upon which he had entered, he wrote, left him only the even- ing hours for his quest of rooms, and he had not succeeded iu finding any that were suitable. Thus they expected some- thing definite by every mail, but each day brought renewed disappointment. At last Mildred wrote that she would come down herself if he did not decide upon something at once. The morning after this letter was dispatched the young girl took her work out under some wide-boughed hemlocks that stood beside the quiet country road, along which a farmer occasionally jogged to the village beyond, but which at that hour was usually quite deserted. Fred and Minnie were with her, and amused themselves by building little log huts with the dry sticks thickly scattered around. Roger had been very unobtrusive since her father's depar- ture, and she half consciously gave him credit for this when she thought about him at all, which was but seldom. He had imagined that she had grown less distant and reserved, and once or twice, when he had shown some little kindness to the children, she had smiled upon him. He was a hunter of no mean repute in that region, and was famous for his skill in following shy and scarce game. He had resolved to bring the principles of his woodcraft to bear upon Mildred, and to make his future approaches so cautiously as not to alarm her in the least ; therefore he won the children's favour more thoroughly than ever, but not in an officious way. Ho found Belle mop- ing the evening after her father's departure, and he gave her a swift drive in his buggy, which little attention completely dis- m f ^jm>amm^. 98 WITHOUT A HOME. armed the warm-hearted girl and became the basis of a fast- ripening friendship. ' You need not put on such distant airs/ she had said to Mildred ; * he never mentions your name any more.' But when he asked Mrs. Jocelyn to take a drive with him she had de- clined very kindly, for she feared that he might speak to he: of her daughter in an embarrassing way. Over Belle, Mildred had little control in such matters, but as far as she and her mother were concerned she determined that he should have no encouragement whatever; for, although he made no further efforts either to shun or obtain her society, and had become quite as reserved as herself, he unconsciously, yet very clearly, revealed his state of mind to her womanly in- tuition. * There is one thing queer about Roger Atwood,* said Belle, joining her sister under the hemlocks ; * he now scarcely ever speaks of himself. I suppose he thinks I would be silly enough to go and tell everything as you did.' ' What do you talk about then 1 ' asked Mildred, with a half smile. * Oh, you are a little curious, are you ? perhaps a little jeal- ous too, that he was so very easily cured of his admiration for you. If it were any secret, I wouldn't tell you. We talk about what we see, and it seems to me he sees everything. If a bird flies across the road he will point out its peculiarities, and he knows so much about the trees and bushes and wild flowers and the little creatures in the woods, how they live, and all that. He says that a man's a fool that doesn't see all that's going on around him. Sometimes he makes me ache from laughing over his funny descriptions of the queer characters that live about here. But what interests me most are his ac- counts of the people at the hotel. Oh. I do wish mother would let me go there with him some evening ! He is there nearly every night, and it's as good as a play to hear him take ofi" the afl'ected, snobbish ones. He has caught the English drawl and the " yeh know" of some young fellows to perfection.' ' He is a queer fellow,' mused Mildred. * I wonder what he goes there for ? ' * Oh, Roger Atwood is no fool, I can tell you. He knows country society to perfection, and he would not be long in un- derstanding Fifth Avenue noodledom just as well' A SCENE BENEAtH THE HEMLOCKS. 90 Mildred looked up with a sudden access of interest, and then became silent and abstracted. ' Since the children are quiet here,' continued Belle, * I'll gn back to the house and finish a story in which the hero and heroine are sentimental geese and blind as bats. They misun- derstand each other so foolishly that I'd like to bob their empty heads together,' and away she went, humming . gay song, with as little thought for the morrow as the birds in the fields around her. While Roger paused a moment to wipe the perspiration from his brow, the rustling of the grain ceased, and he heard the footfalls of a horse in the adjacent road. With a start he saw riding by the strangtT who had been the object of his con- tinueil scrutiny at the hotel. The young man restrained to a walk the rather restless horse he bestrode, and seemed musing deeply under the shadow of a broad-brimmed Panama hat. Ho took no notice of Roger, and passing slowly on entered the shadow of the hemlocks, when an exclamation caused him to raise his head. A second later he sprang from his horse, threw the bridle over the limb of a tree, and seized Mildred's hand with an eagerness which proved that she had indeed the power to * wake him up.' Roger was too distant to see just how she greeted her un- looked-for friend of other days, but thought she appeared so startled that she leaned against a tree for support. He saw, however, that the * ghost of a man* was now flesh and blood in his earnestness, and that he retained her hand in both of hia own while speaking rapidly. Before very lonsr, however, the horse became so impatient that he suddenly jerked his bridle loose, wheeled, and came galloping up the road toward Roger, who, after a moment's hesitation, cleared the low stone wall at a bound and stood in the road awaiting him. Mildred's com- panion made a gesture of annoyance, and then said with a shrug • Jjet the beast go. I'm well content to remain here.* When they saw Roger's purpose, however, they stood watching for the outcome of his effort. As Arnold — for he it was — saw the horse, with broken and flying reins, thundering apparenlly right upon the motionless form of a man, he exclaimed, ' By Jove ! but that's a brave fellow.' 100 WITHOUT A HOME. 1 The vicious bruto soon seemed so nearly upon the rash youth that Mil.lrod ^ave a slight scream of terror, but a second later she saw him spring lightly aside, catch one of the flying rt'i?is, hold on for a few yards, half drai^ged, half running, and then the animal yielded to a master. A cloud of dust obscured tliem momentarily ; then the country-bred athlete vaulted li^^'htly into the saddle and came trotting sharply toward them, riding like a centaur. She was enraged at herself that her face shoiihj grow scarlet under his brief glance from one to the other, but without a word he sprang lightly down and began to fasten the horse securely to a tree — an act scarcely necessary, for the ani- mal appeared completely subdued. * By Jove ! my man, that was neatly done,' said Arnold. *Here is a bank-note for your trouble.' * The fact that I have caught your horse does not prove me a hostler,' lioger replied, brusquely, without looking at the speaker. Arnold now recognised the young man whom he had seen witL Mr. Jocelyn, and also at the hotel several times subse- quently. He had learned his name, and therefore began, ' Oh, I beg pardon ; this is Mr. Atwood ; ' but before he could say more a covered barouche came rapidly down the hill from the opposite direction, turned with the angle of the road, and passed into the shade of the hemlocks. Arnold bad become very pale the moment he saw it, and in its occupant Roger recognised the woman whom he had seen at the hotel, and whom he had learned to be the mother of the listless dancer. A brief glance showed him that Mildred knew her also. The lady sharply ordered her coachman to stop, and after a brief but freezing look into Mildred's hot face, she said, in a meaning tone, ' Vinton, I will esteem it a favour if you will accompany me on ray drive.' * I will join yoa presently,' he said, irresolutely. ' I will wait politely, then, until you hav ^ concluded your interview,' the gentlewoman remarked, leaning back in her carriage. Her look, tone and action stung Mildred to the very quick. Gentle and retiring usually, she was capable of a very decided and even an aggressive course under great provocation. For a moment her warm Southern blood boiled at Mrs. Arnold's im- plication that she was so eager to capture her wealthy son that A SCENE BENEATH THE HEMLOCKS. 101 rove nie it was not prudent to leave them alone together a moment. With decision and the dignity of conscious innocence, she said, '(lood morning, Mr. Arnold ;' then taking little Minnie's hand and calling Fred, she led the way toward the house. It hap- pened that the only path of egress led her by the carriage, and the manner in which its occupant ignored her presence was so intolerable in its injustice that slie paused, and fixing her clear, indignant eyes on the flushed, proud face before her, asked, in tones never forgotten by those who heard them, ' Mrs. Arnold, wherein have I wrongeil you or yours 1 ' Tile lady was silent and a little embarrassed. ' I know, and you might know,' Mildred continued, 'if you chose, that you cannot charge me with one unwomanly act, but yonr look and ruanner towards me are both unwomanly and unchristian. You insult me in my poverty and misfortune. Without the shadow of right or reason, you cruelly wound one who was wounded already ;' and she was about to pass on. ' Mother, as you are a woman, do not let her go without a word of respect and kindness,' cried her son, in a hoarse, stifled voice. ' Miss Jocelyn,' began Mrs. Arnold, in a constrained tone, * I mean you no disrespect. Nevertheless — * ' Nevertheless ! ' exclaimed Arnold, wrought to frenzy. * Great God ! are you going to qualify that grudging sen- tence ] ' He struck his hand to his forehead, reeled, and fell prone upon the earth. In a moment Mildred knelt beside him, and Roger saw that she loved him with her whole strong, wo- manly soul. ' Bring water, bring brandy ; mother will give it to you,* she said to him in a low voice, and he dashed off to obey. Mrs. Arnold hastily descended from the carriage and felt her son's pulse with much solicitude. ' He has only fainted/ she said. < He is apt to have such attacks when overwrought. It's a part of his disease. Miss Jocelyn, you see he is a reed that must be supported, not leaned upon,' she added, looking straight into the young girl's troubled eyes. * I mean you kindness as truly as I mean kindness to him. He will soon be better. He has often been in this condition ever since he was a child. With this knowledge you will understand me better. Thomas' — to the coachman — ' lift him into the carriage. He will soon re- r! I' 102 WITHOUT A HOME. gain vive,' she continued to Mildred, ' and at the hotel he shall have the best of care. Relieve me, I feel for you both, but I kiiow what is right and best.' The coachman did as ho was directed, and they drove rapidly away. Mildred put hi^r hand to her side, and then, with pale and downcast face, led the wondering children towards the hoiiHf. Hhe soon met Roger returning, and running like a deer. 'They have taken him away,' she said brietty, without look- ing up. * Please care for his horse and accept my thanks;' and then she hastened to her room, and did not appear a t'lat day. He complied with her request, then went back to his work, and the grain fell as if the reaper were Death himself. The next morning Mildred left her seclusion, and her as pect was pale and resolute, but no reference was made to the events uppermost in the minds of those aware of them. Kveii the children and Belle had been so cautioned that they were reticent. In the evening, however, as Roger was raking the flower-beds over to prevent the weeds from starting, Mildred came out, and joining him said, a little bitterly, ' Well, what did your microscopic vision reveal to you yesterday morning I' * A brave, proud girl, for whom I have the deepest respect,' he replied, looking directly into her eyes. ' Was that all 1 ' *No, indeed.* * Well, what else 1 ' she persisted, in a tone quite unlike her usual accent. ' I saw the merest shadow of a man and the ghost of a wo- man who must weigh nearly two hundred.' She flushed hotly as she said, * You pride yourself on your keen perceptions, but the truth is you are blind,' and she was turning angrily away when he answered, * Time will show how blind I am,' and then he went on quietly with his work. ' Oh, how 1 detest that man ! ' she muttered, as she went up to her favourite haunt on the hilltop looking toward the south. * Why did he, of all others, have to be present with his prying eyes at the odious scene 1 He must know now how j I feel toward Vinton Arnold, and yet he has so little sense and delicacy that he expresses contempt for him to my face. THE OLD MANSION. 103 Brute strength may bo his i«Ieal of manhood, but it's not mine ; and he knows so little of women that he thinks I ought to despise one who is simply unfortunate, and through no fault of his own. Poor, poor Vinton ! Brief as were the moments before we were interrupted, he had time to assure me that life had become a burden bec.iuse of our separation, and yet he said tliat he had no right to see me, no right to send me a li'ie, no right to add his weakness to my other misfortunes. Time shall at least show one thing — that I can be patient and true. That proud, cold woman has no control ^over me, and as long as he is faithful I shall be.' CHAPTER XIV. THE OLD MANSION. ILDRED'S letter to her father brought a request that ■Wjl. ^^® should join him at once, and choose between two ^(^^ sets of rooms of which she had the refusal. She insisted upon going, for she was eager to leave a place that had become hateful to her. She greatly wished to hear of Arnold's welfare before her departure, but would not make any effort to do so. To her surprise, however, Roger handed her a note the fol- lowing morning. She knew the handwriting well, and asked, ' How do you happen to have this, Mr. Atwood 1 ' ' I supposed you would wish to hear from your friend, and so went up to the hotel. As soon as Mr. Arnold saw me, he asked me to give you that letter.' Mildred bit her lip. Was it an officious or a friendly act ? She was beginning to doubt whether she had fully gauged the character of this young farmer, but of one thing she was in- stinctively certain^ — his motive was personal, and sprung from I an interest in her, which was now more repugnant than ever. Whether this instance was an obtrusive meddling in her affairs, I or an act well meant but unwarranted by their relations, shq 104 WITHOUT A HOME. could not tell. However it might be, she wished the letter had come by any other hands than his. She gravely thanked him, and added, * Mr. Atwood, please dc not feel called upon to do anything further for me unless requested.* He grew pale and his lips tightened, for her words and manner huro him. His act had been in tru!;h very generou« {^,nd self effacing, but he merely bowed in seeming aqiiiescence, and turned away. Arnold's letter ran as follows : * The memory of that scene yesterday will oppress me for- ever. Nothing could have happened that would more clearly! convince you that I am unworthy of your thought. And yetj it will be a life-long agony to know that I am unworthy. When I tell you that I love and honour you rtbove all other women, it is but a poor compensation, I fear, for all that I have made j you suffer. My mother has kindly (?) informed me that she told you how feeble I am, and I proved her words true. I feel j that the best service T can render you is to say. Forget me wholly ; and yet you can never know v/hat such words cost me. /shall never forget, unless death is forgetting. If I had the strength to be of any help to you at all, I would break away at once and take the consequences ; but I have been an invalid | all my life, and why I still continue to live I scarcely know. If, however, there should ever be a time when nne so v;eakaj| I am can aid you, give me this one shadowy hopa that you wilij come to me. * Vinton Arnold.' This was Mildred's reply : * It is not in my nature to forget, therefore I cannot. It ii| not my wish to forget, therefore I will not. You will find iiie| ever the same. ' Mildred Jocelyn.' Roger would have taken her reply to the hotel that very! night, so great was her power over him, but for his sake, »] well as her own, she wished to teach him once for all tbir their ways were apart. She dreaded from what he had THE OLD MANSION. 105 that he would follow her to ttie city and renew the unwelcome association of his life with hers. Therefore she engaged heavy, blundering Jotham to deliver the note, giving him a dollar from her slender purse as a reward. He lost the note where it was never found, and stolidly concealed the fact lest he should lose the dollar. The little characteristic missive fell to the earth somewhere like a seed that drops into an un- kindly soil and perishes. Roger only knew that stupid Jotham bad been preferred as her messenger. She made no secret of the fact, but gave the note to the labourer when he came in to his nooning the following day. She knew Roger was watch- ipg her from the front porch, and as she turned towards him she saw she had wounded him so deeply that she had some compunctious; but he avoided meeting her, nor did she find & chance to speak to him again. When, an. hour later, she was ready to depart with Mr. Atwood for the distant landing, Roger was not to be found. Her conscience smote her a little, but slie felt that it would be the best for him in the future, and would probably end all of his nonsense about leaving home and winning fame out in the world. She had a warm, genuine, good- will for Mrs. Atwood and Susan, and even for poor, grumbling Mr. Atwood, at whose meagre, shrivelled li\e she often wondered ; and it would be a source of much pain to her if she became even the blameless cause of Roger'? leaving home in the absurd hope of eventually becoming great and rich, and then appearing to her in her poverty, like a prince in a fairy lore. 'Nothing but the most vigorous snubbing will bring him to his senses,' shf^ thought, and she now believed that he would soon subside into his old life, and be none the >» '>rse for the summer's episode. Therefore, after embracing her mother again and agp.in in her room, she bade Mrs. Atwood and Susan good-by very kindly, and they saw her depart with genuine regret. For Roger there was noth- ing more than the quiet remark to Mrs. Atwood, ' Please say goc'-by for me to your son.* Belle and the children accompanied her to the landing, and I were in great glee over the long drive. Mildred's spirits rose also. She had learned most emphatically that she was not doaJ to her lover, and she thought her words, brief as they I were, would cheer and sustain him and suggest hope for the G if ! I ■ :; i 'r' ' Si K I'M ^1 i-^mmm. •# loo WITHOUT A HOME. future. Although she was a little sorry for Roger, she was glad to think that his dark, searching eyes would no longer follow her, nor ahe ^te compelled from day to day to recognise a curbed but ever-present and uuwelcome regard^ His feeling to'vard her seemed like something pent up, yet growing, and she was alwaj^s fearing it might burst forth. In his mastery of the horse he had shown himself so strong and fearless that, iiot sure of his self-restraint, she dreaded lest in some un- guarded moment he might vehemently plead for her love. The very thought of thi& made her shudder and shrink, and the belief that she would probably never see him again gave de- cided relief. Chief of all, she was glad that her weary waiting and un- certainty were over. She was now on her way to seek inde- pendence and a home. However humble the latter, it would be a place from which could be excluded all strange andpry-^j ing looks. When together and alone again, their sorrors and weaknesses could be hidden or seen only with the eyes of love. The ten days or more that had elapsed since Mr. Jocelyn's departure had made him doubtful whether he could hide his weakness or overcome it very readily. He believed he was gaining ground since he was able to reduce the amount of morphia taken, but in order to keep up he had to employ the stimulant more frequently. By this method he hoped n*^ver 80 to lose self-control as to excite suspicion, and also gradually to wean himself from tue drug altogether. Of the two he would rather meet Mildred than his wife ; the latter must be kept in ignorance, since to destroy her absolute trust was to be destroyed. Mildred would more quickly suspect his fault than would her mother, and if he oould hide his failing from her he surely could from his wife, unti' complete mastery left nothing to be concealed. That day of liberty always seemed but a little in advance. He surely had the will and the strength to give up a mere drug. On the morning of Mildred's arrival, having lifted himself out of his chronic dejuction by the lever of opium, he went to| meet her with the genuine gladness of a proud, loving father,' asserting itself like a ray cf June light struggling whrougM ooxious vapours. She was delighted to find him apparently! THE OLD MANSION. 107 so well. His walk and the heat had brought colour to his face, the drug had bestowed animation and confidence, while his heart gave an honest, loving welcome without the aid of any stimulant. They rode up-town together as happily and hopefully as if the nearly empty car were their own carriage, and they were seeking a home in ^ifth Avenue instead of a tenement-house ; but the hope and happiness of one was based on youth, lov^, faith, courage and inexperience, and of the other on a lurid cloud that would darken steadily except as renewed gleams were shot through it by a light that was in- fernal. Any kindly man or woman would have smiled appre- ciatively to see the handsome father and beautiful daughter apparently as absorbed in each other's plans and interests as a young couple seeking the home in which their future life ffould centre. ' Millie,' said Mr. Jocelyn, * I fear the place to which I shall at first take you may shock you a little. It's an old Revolu- tionary mansion, grey and rather dilapidated, but it reminded me of some of our residences in the South ; and, although per- haps no better — perhaps not so good — it is still qui e unlike the stereotyped tenemnnt-house abomination prevailing in this city. This ancient abode of colonial wealth took my fancy. It suggested our own changed fortunes by its fal' to its pre- sent uses. And yet the carving around and above the doors and windows, much of which still remains, and the lofty ceil- ings all remind one of past days that can never return to the poor house, but which we must bring back as soon as possible.' Her father's opium-tinged description caught Mildred's fancy also, but when she saw the building her heart sank at the prospect. To her a tenement-house was as yet a vague, untested reality, and the one before her was indeed old and dilapidated, grey and haggard with more than a century's ago. ' It makes me think of an old, dying moss-draped white oak standing in the midst of trees of younger and diflferent growth,' said Mr. Jocelyn, as he and Mildred scanned the gable-end of the house. Then they entered by two or three stone steps a narrow passage, ascended a forlorn woode i stairway, covered overhead by a few boards nailed lengthwise, and so reached a small landing, where once had been a stately porch or wide veranda. i* ' ^immt- 108 WITHOUT A HOME. looking no doubt over a broad sweep of lawn and the shining river. A quaint brass knocker which gentlemen — long since dust- had approached wearing lacod three-cornered hats, velvet short- clothes, and silver buckles, and upon which they had rapped announcement of their social claims, still hung on the rest from which they had lifted it. It was not often used at present, for people entered without knocking, and the wide hall within was in a sense but a continuation of the street ; also the wind- ing stairway, with its ancient rail, which started out on one side and wound up to another square hallway. To each of these open spaces the several families had equal rights. The lower had originally extended the whole depth of the building to a rear doorway, equally old-fashioned but less elaborately ornamented, but now a partition crossed the raised circle on the ceiling from which had once hung an ancient chan- delabrum. Upon each hallway opened four suites of two roomg each, and thus the old mansion usually sheltered twelve fami- lies in stead of one. The doors were high, and surmounted by quaint and worm-eaten carved work. These halls seemed very dark and close to Mildred, whc had just come out of the sunlight and from the country, but they were cool and spacious. They were shown by the janitor to a room over twenty feet square on the second story, whose former occupants had left the souvenir of unlimited dirt. * They was dissipated, and we don't let sich stay in the buildinV said the man. Mildred drew a long breath. Could the whole domestic life of the family be carried on in those two rooms ? * I never | realized how thousands of people live,' she sighed. ' It will only be for a little while, Millie,' whispered her | father. The young girl shrank and shivered even in the summtfl morning at the ordeal of crowded life, with only intervening doorways and thin partitions between all sorts of unknoTOJ neighbours. * Suppose, papa, we look at the other rooms of which yoa] have the refusal,' she faltered. Even in his false buoyancy he could not suppress a sigh as j he saw that Mildred, in spite of her determination to makt THE OLD MANSION. 109 the best of everything, had not imagined what a tenement- house was. * We will be back in an hour or more,' he whis- pered to the janitor, for he believed the other rooms would appear still more repulsive. And so they did, for when Mildred had climbed up three stairways in a five-story, narrow house, which even at that hour was filled with a babel of sounds, the old mansion seemed a refuge, and when she had glanced around the narrow room and two dark closets of bedrooms, she shuddered and said, * Papa, can we really afford nothing better 1 ' * Honestly, Millie, we cannot for the present. My income is exceedingly small, although it will soon be increased, no doubt. But if we pay too much for rooms we shall have no- thing to live upon while waiting for better times. Thcbe rooms are fourteen dollars a month. Those in the old mansion are only eight, and the two rooms there give more chance for com- fort than do these three.' ' Oh, yes, yes,* cried Mildred, * 1 could not live here at all Let us go back.' While returning, her father showed her apartments in other tenements for which rents of ten to sixteen dollars were charged, and she saw that she would not obtain any more in space and light than for half the money in the old house, which had been built when that part of the island was open country. * Forgive me, papa,' she said, smiling, * that I shivered a little at the first plunge. We will go to the old house and stay there until we can do better. It was once evidently a beautiful home, and I believe that within it we can make^ a happy home, if we will. These other tenements were never homes, and I don't see how they ever could be. They are angular, patent, human packing-boxes, which mock at the very idea of home coziness and privacy. Next to a quiet way of earning money, Mildred coveted se- chision beyond everything else. There was one deep hope that fed iier life. Her father would work his way up into affluence, and she again could w« Icome Vinton Arnold to hv.r own par- lour. Happiness would bring him better health, and the time wouM come when he could choose and act as his heart dictated. With woman's pathetic fortitude and patience she would hope and wait for that day. ^L^r .^*-i*m» 110 WITHOUT A HOME. li Therefore the rooms in the old mansion were taken. A stout, cheery English woman, who with her plump, red arms was fighting life's battle for herself and a brood of little ones, was engaged to clean up and prepare for the furniture. Mil. dred was eager to get settled, and her father, having ordered such household goods as they required to be sent from their place of storage the following day, repaired to his place of business. ' Now, miss,' said sensible Mrs. Wheaton, * I don't vant lo do any more than yer vants done, but hif I was you I'd give hall these 'ere vails a coat hof lime. Vitevash is 'olesome, yer 'now, and sweetens heverything ; hit'll kind o' take haway the nasty taste those drunken people left.' * Please whitewash, then, and use plenty of lime. If you can sweeten these rooms, do so by all means, but I fear that result is beyond your brush or any other.' * You've seen better days, miss, and I 'ave meself ; but yer mustn't be down arted, yer know. See'ow the sunshine comes in, and ven hit falls hon a carpet, a little furniture and yer hown people, these 'ere rooms vill soon grow 'omelike, and yer'U come back to 'em hafter yer day's vork's hover gladly henougb. I s'pose yer'll vork, since you've come hamong people who must vork hearly and late.' * Yes, indeed, we'll work — that is all we ask for.' * And hit's time I vas habout mine hinstead hof gossiping 'ere. Yer'll soon see how spick and span I'll make heverj- thing.* CHAPTER XV. ' WELCOME HOME.' EILDRED felt that she had become a working- woman in very truth as she cleaned the dingy closets, vindic- tively prying into corners and crevices that had been unmolested by generations of tenants, and the rich colour pro- duced by summer heat and unwonted exertion deepened at the thought^ * What would Vinton Arnold, what woi^H his iiiothef WELCOME HOME.' Ill think if they saw me now ? The latter would undoubtedly remark,' she murmured, in bitterness of spirit, 'that I had at last found my true sphere, and was engaged in befitting tasks ; but would I lose in his eyes 1 ' Indeed she would not, neither in his eyes nor those of any other man capable of appreciating womanly grace. Genuine beauty is a rare and wonderful gift, and like genius, triumphs over adverse circumstances, and is often enhanced by them. Even prosaic Mrs. Wheaton was compelled to pause from time to time, to admire the slender, supple form whose perfect out- lines were revealed by the stooping, twisting and reaching re- quired by the nature of the labour. But the varying expres- sions of her face, revealing a mind as active as the busy hands, were a richer study. The impact of her brush was vigorous, and with looks of aversion and disgust she would cleanse away the grimy stains as if they were an essential part of the moral as well as gross material life of the former occupants. To a refined nature, association forms no slight element in the constitution of a home ; and horrible conjectures concerning repulsive indi- cations of the vulgar people who once kennelled where others would live decently and purely are among the manifold miseries of tenemeit life. In spite of all her will-power, Mildred shud- dered, and shrank from even this remote contact with a phase of humanity peculiarly revolting to her, and the protest of her innate delicacy would often appear strongly upon her face. ' The worst of it is,' she muttered, * that soap and water cannot blot out thoughts of the people who were here before us.* But thoughts of other people, some of whom were very dear to her, brought varying expressions, and once she smiled and said to herself, * Roger Atwood now thinks, no doubt, that in me he has seen another "ghost of a woman," weighing a little less than "two hundred." Of all my little affairs of that nature, his was the most preposterous and absurd. That one human being should expect and seek from another what is so impossible to give, produces a certain half-humorous irritation that is indescribable.' Stout Mrs. Wheaton's mind and fancy were not so busy as her hands, and when twelve o'clock came she knew the hour, although carrying no watch. She had interrupted Mildred's mqsings fron^ tiii^e to time^ but had received rather abseut ^tG' til. J .***.*«* 112 WITHOUT A rOME. plies, for the actual inception of a life of toil occasioned many thoughts. When, however, the practical woman remarked, ' I've a hin- side 'int that it's time we took a bite together,' Mildred awakened to an honest and hungry approval of the suggestion. ' I don't like to intrude upon you, Mrs. Wheaton,' she said. 'Isn't there some place near where I can go ? ' * Hindeed there is — right down to my room, hif ye're not above my company. I can brew yer as good a cup o' tea has hany cook in the land, and ve'll find somethin' nourishin' to go vith hit.' * Mrs. Wheaton, you are a genuine friend. I'm so glad you were here and willing to help me, for you make me feel safer and more hopeful. You seem brave and not afraid of being poor, and I want to learn your courage. So far from being above your company, I am very grateful for it, and I shall try to repay your kindness with like neighbourly return when I can; but when it comes to actual expense you must let me pay my way. How is it you are so brave and cheery when, as you say, you are alone with several children to support 1 ' * I'll tell yer vhile ve heat our dinner ; so lock the door and come vith me.' Mrs. Wheaton's room was plain indeed, but neat and home- like. A variegated and much-patched carpet covered part of the floor, which was bare around the ample cooking-stove, whereon a wholesome dinner soon smoked with appetizing odours. Her daughter, a young girl about twelve years of age, assisted in the preparations, and then went to call the other children, who were playing on the sidewalk. * Ow is it I'm so brave and cheery ? ' Mrs. Wheaton at last answered, with a sunshiny smile. ' I've a stout pair of harms, I've a stout body, and I've a downright belief that the Lord means veil by me and mine. I'm tryin' to do my best, and hit's 'is bizness to take care of the rest. Hand '£ 'as so far. I've been a bit 'ungry meself now and then, but the children halways 'ad enough. So I vork and trust, and lose no time and strength ha- vorrying.' The good woman's stout, cheery spirit an«l homely faith were just the tonics that Mildred needed, and they were all the more effective because combined with the exhilarating tea 'WELCOME HOME.' 113 faith rere all ting tea and wiiolesome food. Therefore instead of a weary and de- pressive day, in which body and spirit acted and reacted on each other until the evening brought shadows deeper than the night, her courage and cheerfulness grew with the hours of sustained and healthful toil, and when her father appeared at six o'clock her smile warmed his heart. At the cost of no slight effort he had so reduced his doses of morphia that nei- ther she nor any one could have detected anything unnatural in his manner. He praised their work unstintedly and thanked Mrs. Wheaton for her kindness with such warm soutl. rn frankness that her eyes grew moist with gratification. Indeed the rooms had grown so clean and wholesome that Mr. Jocelyn said that they looked homelike already. Mrs. Wheaton assured Mildred that if she would be content, she could be made quite comfortable on a lounge in her large liv- ing-room, and the young girl won her heart completely by saying that she would rather stay with her than go to the fifth Avenue Hotel. Her father asked her to resume her travelling dress, and then by a street car they soon reached a quiet restaurant near Central Park, from whence the outlook was upon trees and shrubbery. The people of New York are singularly fortunate in their ability to reach, at slight expense of money and time, many places where the air is pure, and the sense of beauty can find abundant gratification. Mildred felt that only extreme poverty could rob them in summer of many simple yet gen- uine pleasures. When, after their frugal supper, she and her father strolled through a path winding around a miniature lake on which swans were floating, she believed that one of her chief fears might be unfounded. * Papa,* she said * our lives will not be meagre and colourless unless we make them 80. Every tree and shrub — indeed every leaf upon them and every ripple on the water — seems beautiful to me this evening. I do not fear working hard if we can often have these inex- pensive pleasures. The thing in poverty that has most trou- bled me was the fear that one's nature might become blunted, callous, and unresponsive. A starved soul and heart seem to me infinitely worse than a starved body. Thank God, this beautiful place is as free to us now as ever, and I think we en- joy it more than many of those people in yonder carriages.' t^>mmm 114 WITHOUT A HOME. 1 I 'God bless you, Millie,* replied her father. 'We'll try to do just as you suggest.* Nevertheless he sighed deeply. She was free ; he was a slave. In the depths of the placid lake the graceful swans, the pretty wooded shores were faithfully reflected. In Mildred's clear blue eyes the truth of her words, the goodness and sincerity of her heart were revealed with equal certainty. His eyes were downcast and fixed on an abyss which no soul has ever fathomed. 'Great God!' he murmured, *I must escape; I shall, I will escape ;' but while Mildred stepped into a florist*8 shop to buy a blooming plant for Mrs. Wheaton, he furtively took from his pocket a small paper of white looking powder— just the amount which experience had taught him he could take and not betray himself. As a result she was delighted to find him genial and wakeful until they parted rather late in tlioold mansion wherein, she jestingly said, she proposed to build their nest, like a barn swallow, the following day. After a brief consultation with Mrs. Wheaton the next morning, Mildred told her father to send for the rest of tlie family at once, and that she would be ready for them. The household goods arrived promptly from their place of storage, and she was possibly happy while transforming the bare rooms into a home that every hour grew more inviting. They had retained, when giving up their house in the spring, more furniture than was sufficient for the limited space they would taste their now occupy, and Mildred had enough material and from to banish the impression of poverty almost wholly two rooms. * If we should put a crane in the fireplace,' Mr. Jocelyn dreamingly mused, ' I could imagine that we were at my old home in the South ; ' but she had said they could not afford that amount of sentiment, and therefore a stove was obtained of the same model that shrewd Mrs. Wheaton had found so well adapted to varied uses. After two busy days their task was well-nigh completed, and Mildred slept in her own little room, which she was to share with Belle, and her weariness, and the sense that the resting* place was hers by honest right, brought dreamless and refresh- ing sleep. For the sake of * auld lang syne,' her father kindled ^ ^re 01^ the hearth, and sat brooding oyer it, looking regret* 'WELCOME HOME.* 115 fully back into the past, and with distrustful eyes toward the future. The dark commercial outlook filled that future with mmy uncertain elements ; and yet alas ! he felt that he him- self was becoming the chief element of uncertainty in the prob- lem of tlieir coming life. There were times when he could dis- tinguish between his real prospects and his vague opium dreams, but this power of correct judgment was passing from him.| There are a vast number of men and women who ought never to take stimulants at all. They had better die than begin to use them habitually, and even to touch thom is hazardous. There is slumbering in their itures a predisposition toward their excessive use which a slight indulgence may kindle into a consuming, clamorous desire. Opium had apparently found something peculiarly congenial in Mr. Jocelyn's temperament and constitution, and at first it had rewarded him with expe- riences more delightful than most of its votaries enjoy. But it is not very long content to remain a servant, and in many instances very speedily becomes the most terrible of masters. He had already reached such an advanced stage of dependence I upon it that its withdrawal would now leave him weak, helpless and almost distracted for a time. As it was, npidly approaching a point where his habits would become a terrible and uncon- trollable disease, for which he would be morally responsible — a responsibility, however, in which, before the bar of true justice, the physician who first gave the drug without adequate caution would deeply share. He felt his danger as he sat cowering over the dying fire ; even with its warmth added to that of the sum- mer night he shivered at his peril, but he did not appreciate it in any proper sense. He resolved again, as he often had before, that each day should witness increasing progress, then feeling I that he must sleep he bared his arm and sent enough of Magen- Idie's solution into his system to produce such rest as opium be- blows. To her surprise Mildred found the awakening of her father la difficult task the following morning. The boat on which his Iwife and children were to arrive was probably already at the Iwharf, and she had thought he would be up with the sun to meet Ithem, but he seemed oppressed with an untimely stupor. When lat last he appeared he explained that the ^re on tl^e heartU ))£^4 V 310 WITHOUT A HOME. induced a fit of brooding over the past and future, and that he had sat up late. * Here's a cup of coffee, papa,' she said briskly, * and it will wake you up. Til have breakfast ready for you all by the time you can return,, and I a*n so ea<:;er to see mamma that I could fly to her.' Mortified that he should even appear dilatory at such a time, he hastened away, but he was far beyond such a mild stimulant as coffee. Even now, when events were occurring which would naturally sustain from their deep personal interest, he found himself reduced to an almost complete dependence on an unnat* ural support. Before sleeping he had appealed to his dread master, and his first waking moments brought a renewed act of homage. Opium was becoming his God, his religion. Already it stood between him and his wife and children. It was steadily undermining his character, and if not abandoned would soon leave but the hollow semblance of a man. As the steamboat arrived in the night, Mrs. Jocelyn had no sense of disapointment at not being met, and through Mildred's persistency it was still early when her husband appeared. His greeting was so affectionate, and he appeared so well after bis hasty walk, that the old glad, hopeful look came into her eyes. * Well, Nan, we've come down to two rooms in very truth, and in an old, old house, too, that will remind you of some of the oldest in the South,' and he drew such a humorous and forlorn picture of their future abode that his wife felt that he had in- deed taken her at her word, and that they would scarcely have a place to lay their heads, much less to live in any proper sense; and when she stopped before the quaint and decrepit house •without any front door ; when she followed her husband up the forlorn stairway to what seemed a side entrance with its most dismal outlook, she believed that the time for fortitude had come, in bitter truth. The hall was dark to her sun- blinded eyes, as it had been to Mildred's, yet not so dark hot that she saw doors open and felt herself scanned with an un- blushing curiosity by slattern-looking women, her near neigh- bours, and the thought that they were so very near made her shiver. As for Belle, she did not take pains to hide her dii- gust. With a sinking heart and faltering courage the poor gentlewoman mounted the winding stairs, but before she reached WELCOME HOME.' 117 the top there was a rush from an open doorway, and Mildruc clasped her in close embrace. • Welcome home ! ' she cried, in her clear, sweet, girlish voice, ' }Iome, Millie ! what mockery that word is in this strange, strange place I ' she half whispered, half sobbed in her daugh* lor's ear. ' Courage, mamma. We promised papa we'd ask nothing better than he could afford. Mildred murmured. < Don't let him see tears — he has already put Fred down, and is burning to welcome you to the best home he can offer.' Had the rooms been cells only, with but a pallet of straw upon the boards, Mrs. Jocelyn would have responded to that appeal, and she stepped forward resolved to smile and appear pleased with everything, no matter how stifled she might feel for space, air, and light. But when she crossed the threshold into the spacious, sun- lighted room, and looked up at the high ceiling and across iu wide area ; when she had glanced around and seen on every side the results of the strong spells laid upon stout Mrs. Wheaton by Mildred's domestic magic, and the dainty touches with which the solid work had been supplemented, her face lighted up with a sweet surprise. ' Oh, oh, how much better this is than you led me to ex- pect! Is all this really ourst Can we aflord so large a room 1 Here are the dear old things, too, with which I first went to housekeeping.' Then stepping to her husband's side she put her arm around his neck as she looked into his eyes and said, ' Martin, this is home. Thank God, it is home-like after all. With you and the children around me I can be more than content — I can be very happy in this place. I feared that we might bo too crowded, and that the children might suffer.' * Of course you didn't think of yourself, Nan. Millie's the good fairy to thank for all this. The way she and another female divinity have conjured in these rooms for the last three days is a matter wholly beyond the masculine mind.' ' Father did a great deal, too, and did it much better than you could expect from a man. But, come, I'm mistress of this small fraction of the venerable mansion till after break- fast, and then, mamma, I'll put the b&ton of nile in your 118 WITHOUT A HOME. hands. I've burned my fingers and spoiled my complexion over the stove, and I don't intend that a cold breakfast shall be the result.' * Millie/ cried Belle, rushing out of the second room, which she had inspected in her lightning-like w&y before greeting her sister, • our room is loveiy. i ou are a gem, an onyx, a fickle, wild rose. It's all splendid — a perpetual picnic place, to which we'll bring our own provisions and cook 'em our own way. No boss Biddies in this establishment. It's ever so much better than I expected after you once got here; but as the hymn goes, "how dark and dismal is the way !"' It was with difiiuulty that the children, wild over the nov- elty of it all, could be settleed quietly at the table. It was the family's first meal in a tenement-house. The father's eyes grew moist as he looked around his board and said, deep in his heart, ' Never did a sweeter, fairer group grace a table in this house, although it has stood more than a century. If for their sakes I cannot be a man — ' ' Martin,' began his wife, her deliaate features flushing a little, * before we partake of this our first meal I want you all to join me in your hearts while I say from the depths of mine, God bless our home.' An hour later, as he went down town, Mr. Jocelyn finished his sentence. ' If for the sake of such a wife and such children I cannot stop, I'm damned ! ' CHAPTER XVI. BELLE AND MILDRED. |HE cosmopolitan bachelor, living in apartments, knowij far more of Sanskrit than of a domestic woman's feelings j as she explores the place she must call her home. It may be a palace, or it may be but two rooms in a decaying i tenement, but the same wistful, intent look will reveal oneoi the deepest needs of her nature. Eve wept not so much for BELLE AND MILDRED. 119 the loss of Eden as the loss of home — the familiar place whose homeliest objects had become dear from association. The restless woman who has no home hunger, no strong in- stinct to make a place which shall be a refuge for herself and those she loves, is not the woman God created. She is the product of a sinister evolution ; she is akin to the birds that will not build nests, but take possession of those already con- structed, ousting the rightful occupants. Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred were unperverted ; they were womanly in every fibre, and the interest with which they planned, consulted, and dwelt upon each detail of their small household economy is beyond my power to interpret. They could have made the stateliest mansion in the city homelike ; they did impart to their two poor rooms the essential elements of a home. It was a place which no one could enter without iovoluntary respect for the occupants, although aware of no- thing concerning them except their poverty. * Mrs. Atwood and Susan actually cried when we came to go,' Mrs. Jocelyn remarked, as they were all busy together, •and even old Mr. Atwood was wonderfully good for him. He and Roger put a great many harvest apples and vegetables in a large box, and Mrs. Atwood added a jar of her nice butter, some eggs, and a pair of chickens. I told them that we must begin lite again in a very humble way, and they just over- flowed with sympathy and kindness, and I could scarcely in- duce them to take any money for the last week we were there. It was funny to see old Mr. Atwood ; he wanted the money dreadfully — any one could see that, for a dollar is dear to his I heart — but he also wanted to be generous, like his wife, and to show his strong good will. They sent heaps of love to you, Millie, and cordially invited us to visit them next summer ; they also offered to board us again for just as little as they could afford. Even Jotham appeared to have something on his mind, for he was as helpful as an elephant, and stood around, but at last went off muttering to himself.' I ' Millie,' said Belle indignantly, ' I think you treated Roger |8hamefully. After we returned fiom seeing you off, mamma md I went mooning up to that hill of yours looking toward |tbe south, bec.i.use you and papa were in that direction. Sud- Idenly we came upon Roger sitting there with his face buried 1*1 y^i '^11 $ 11 120 WITHOUT A ilOMR in his hands. " Are you ill 1 " mamma asked, as if his trouble might have been a stomach ache. He started up and looked white in the moonlight. " She was cruel," he said, passion- ately; '1 only asked for friendship. I would have given my life for her, but she treated Jotham better than she did me, and she thinks I'm no better than he is — that I'm one of the farm animals." " Mr. Atv/ood," mamma began, " she did not mean to be cruel" — he interrupted her with an impatient gesture. "The end hasn't come yet," he muttered and stalked away.' Mildred sat down with a little perplexed frown upon her face. ' I'm sure I meant him only kindness,* she said, * why will he be so absurd V * You had a queer way of showing your kindness,' snapped Belle. * What would you have me do 1 Encourage him to leave home, and all sorts of fcHy ?' * You can't prevent his leaving home. Mark my words, lle'll soon be in this city, and he'll make his way too. He'sj good, deal more of a man than your lily-fingered Mr. Arnold, and ^ he wants to be friendly to me and take me out some* times, I won't have him snubbed. Of course all my old frien(l%will out me dead.' * Oh, if he will t^-ansfer his devotion to you, Belle, I'll be as friendly as you wish.* * No, you've spoiled him for me or Lay one else. He's fool | enough to think there's not another girl in the world but Mil- dred Jocelyn, and he'll get you if you don't look out, for he hal the most resolute look that I ever saw in any one's eyes. The day before we came away something happened that took awsy my breath. A man brought a young horse which he said no one could manage. Roger went out and looked into the beast's eyes, and the vicious thing bit at him and struck at him with his forefoot. Then as he tried to stroke his back he kicked upj with both hind feet. Oh, he was a verv Satan of a horse, a they had a rope around his head that would have held a ship. Koger went and got what he called a curb-bit, and almost in» twinkling he had slipped it on the horse, and without a mo- ment's hesitation he sprang up on his bare back. The hora then reared so that I thought he'd fall over backward «| BELLE AND MILDRED. 121 Roger. Mamma fairly looked faint — it vivi right after din- ner — Susan and the children were crying, his father and mother, and even the owner of the horse was calling to him to get off, but he merely pulled one rein sharply, and down the horse came on his four feet again. Instead of looking frightened he was coolly fastening the rope so as to have it out of the way. After letting the ugly beast rear and plunge and kick around in the road a few minute?, Koger turned his head toward a stone wall that separated the road from a large pasture field that was full of cows, and he went over the fence with a flying leap, at which we all screamed and shouted again. Then away they went round and round that field, the cows, with their tails in the air, careering about also, as much excited as we were. At last, when the horse found he couldn't throw him, he laid down and rolled. Eoger was off in a second, and then sat on the beast's head for a wV^ile so he couldn't get up when he wanted to. At last he loO the brute get up again, but he was no sooner on his feet than Koger was on his back, and away they went again till tSe horse was all in a foam, &nd Koger could guide him easily with one hand. He then leaped him back into the road and* came trotting quietly to the kitchen door. SpringiLg lightly down, and with one arm over the panting horse's neck,.«he said quietly, * Sue, bring me two or three lumps of sugar.' The horse ate them out of his hand, and then followed him around like a spaniel. His owner was perfectly carried away ; "Jeru- salem !" he exclaimed, " I've never seen the beat of that." I offered you twenty-five dollars if you would break him, and I'll make it thirty if at the end of a month you'll trala him to saddle and harness. He wasn't worth a rap till you took him in hand." *' It's a bargain,"said Roger coolly,and then he whis- pered to me, ♦*That will buy me a pile of books." * That's the I kind of a man that I believe in,' concluded Belle, nodding j her head emphatically, * and I want you to understand that Roger At wood and I are very good friends." Mildred meditatively bit her lip, and her cheeks had flushed I with excitement at Belle's story, but she would make no com- ment upon it in words. * What does he want with so many [books X she asked, after a moment. ^ ' You'll see before you are gray.* H ' m ■■ I. 'm \v i ■^■msm' 122 WITHOUT A HOME. * Indeed ! has he taken you into his confidence, also 1 ' * That*8 my affair. I believe in him, and so will you some day. He already knows more Latin than you do.' ' That's not saying a great deal/ replied Mildred, with a short, vexed laugh. * How came he to know Latin ? ' * He studied it at school as you did. The fact is, you are so prejudiced you know nothing about him. He's strong and brave, and he will do what he attempts.' * He'll find that I am strong, too, in my way,' said Mildred coldly. * He said something that hurt me more than I hurt him, and all I ask of him is to leave me alone. I wish him well, and all that, but we are not congenial. Complete success in his wild ambition wouldn't make any difference. He ought to remain at home and take care of his own people.' * Well, I'm glad he is coming to New .York, and I hope for my sake you'll treat him politely.' * Oh, certainly for your sake, Belle. Let us all stick to that' * Belle's a mere child,' said Mrs. Jocelyn, with her low laugh. ' I'm sixteen years old, I thank you ; that is, I will be soon; and I know a real man from the ghost of one.' fielle,' cried Mildred, in a tone she rarely used, 'I will neither permit nor pardon any such allusions.' * Gome girls,' expostulated their mother, * our nest is too ■mall for any disagreements, and we have a great deal too much to do for such useless discussions. I am sorry with Millie that Bogor is bent on leaving home, for I think his parents need him, "^nd he could do well in the country. The ' i ■ - ' i • ' ■' .t & m ! ! 'M m |,>rS.rSi|j,t;« ; : ^ ■ ' s ■ - 132 WITHOUT A HOME. v^^ealed, well knowing thai; her gentle mother would be inexor- able in her decision that the shop must not even be entered again. The girl was rapidly acquiring a certain shrewd hardi- hood. She was not given to sentiment, and was too young to suffer deeply from regret for the past. Indeed she turned buoyantly toward the future, while at the same time she recog- nised that life had now become a keen battle among others in like condition. * I don't intend to starve,' she said to herself, • nor to bite off my own nose because the world is not just what mother and Millie think it ough*^^ to be. Papa would be inclined to break that man's head if 1 told him what he said and how he looked. But what would come of it 1 Papa would go to jail and we into the street. Unless papa can get up in the world again very fast, Millie and I will find that we have got to take care of ourselves and hold our tongues. I hadn't been around with mamma or\e day before I learned that much. Mamma and Millie were never made to be working-women. They are over-refined and high-toned, but I can't afford too much of that kind of thing on three dollars a week. I'm a " shop lady "— that's the kind of lady I'm to be — and I must come right down to what secures success without any nonsense.' In justice it should be said that Belle's practical acceptance of the situation looked forward to no compromise with evil ; but she had seen that she must come in contact with the world as it existed, and that she must resolutely face the temptations incideiit to her lot rather than vainly seek to escape from them. Alas ! her young eyes had only caught a faint glimpse of the influences that would assail her untrained, half-deve- loped moral nature. Body and soul would be taxed to the ut- most in the life upon which she was entering. On the Sunday following Mr. Jocelyn slept so late that none of the family went to church. Indeed, since their old relations were broken up they scarcely knew where to go, and Mildred no more felt that she could return to the fashionable temple in which Mrs. Arnold worshipped than present herself at the elegant mansion on Fifth Avenue. The family spent the after part of the day in one of the most secluded nooks they could find in Central Park, and Mildred often looked back upon those hours as among the brightest in the shrouded past. Mr. BELLE LAUNCHES HERSELF. 133 Jocelyn gauged his essential stimulant so well that he was geniality itself ; Belle was more exuberant than usual ; Fred and Minnie rejoiced once more in flowers and trees and space to run. Mrs. Jocelyn's low, sweet laugh was heard again and again, for those who made her life were all around her, and they seemed happier than they had been for many a long, weary day, Fur a brief time at least, the sun shone brightly through a rift in the clouds gathering around them. ^ Beyond the fact that Belle had found a place, little was said to Mr. Jocelyn, for the subject seemed very painful to him, and the young girl started off Monday morning in high spir- its. The foreman met her in a curt, business-like way, and assigned her to her place, saying that the girl in charge of the goods would tell her about the marks, prices, etc. This girl and her companions received Belle very coldly, nor did they thaw out before her sunshine. As a matter both of duty and interest the young woman upon whom the task devolved explained all that was essential in a harsh, constrained voice, and the others ignored the new comer during business hours. Belle paid no attention to them, but gave her whole mind to the details of her work, making rapid progress. * I'll have time for them by and by,' she mnttered, ' and can manage them all the belter when I know as much as they do.' She saw, too, that the foreman had his eye upon her and her companious, so she assumed the utmost humility and docility, but persisted in being told and retold all she wished to know. Since she observed that it was the foreman's eye and not good will which constrained the cold, unsympathetic instruction re- ceived, she made no scruple in taxing the giver to the utmost When at last they went to the room in which they ate their lunch, the girls treated her as if she were a leper ; but just to spite them she continued as serene as a May morning, either acting as if she did not see them or treating them as if they were the most charming young women she had ever met She saw with delight Ihat her course aggravated them and yet gave no cause for complaint. As soon as permitted she hastened home, and was glad to lie down all the evening from sheer fatigue, but she made light of her weariness, concealed the treatment she had re- ceived from the girls, and the dejection it was beginning to . 1,^ • tm t M 134 WITHOUT A HOME. ft 'Si i,-!,* occasion in spite of her courage ; she even made the little home group laugh by her droll accounts of the day. Then they all petted and praised and made so much of her that her spirits rose to their usual height, and she said confidently, as she went to a long night's rest, * Don't you worry, little mother : I didn't expect to get broken into my work without a backache.' The next day it was just the same, but Belle knew now what to charge for the ribbons, or, if she was not sure, the others were obliged, under the eye of the inexorable foreman — who for some reason gave this counter a great deal of atten- tion — to tell her correctly, so she began to lie in wait for cus- tomers. Some came to her of their own accord, and they smiled back into her eager, smiling face. In two or three instances her intent black eyes and manner seemed to attract attention and arrest the steps of those who had no intention of stopping. One case was so marked that the alert foreman drew near to note the result. An elderly lady, whose eye Belle had apparently caught by a look of such vivacity and interest that the woman almost felt that she had been spoken to, came to the girl, saying, ' Well, my child, what have you that is pretty today )' * Just what will please you, madam.' * You please me, whether your ribbons wiM or not. It's pleasant for a customer to be looked at as if l le were not a nuisance,*' she added significantly, and in a tone that Belle's companions, with their cold, impassive faces, could not fail to bear. * You may pick out something nice for one of my little granddaughters.' Dimpling with smiles and pleasure, Belle obeyed. Feeling that the eye of the arbiter of their fates was upon them, the young women near might have been statues in their rigid attitudes. Only the hot blood mounting to their faces be- trayed their anger. There was evidently something wrong at the ribbon counter — something repressed, a smouldering and increasing indignation, a suggestion of rebellion. So the fore- man evidently thought, from his frequent appearances ; so the floor-walker clearly surmised, for with imperious glances and words he held- each one sternly to her duty. Belle was smiling and working in the midst of a gathering storm, and she wai BELLE LAUNCHES HERSELF. 135 becoming conscious of it So far from cowering, her indigna- tion was fast rising, and there was an ominous glow kindling in her dark eyes. Their seemingly unwarranted hostility and jealousy were beginning to incense her. She believed she had as much right there as they had, and she resolved to maintain her right. Catching an ireful glance from the girl in charge of the counter, she returned it with interest. Even this spark came very near kindling the repressed fires into an open flame, regardless of consequences. The bread of these girls was at stake, but women pre not calculating when their feelings are deeply disturbed. At last, just as the wretched afternoon was ending, and pre- parations to close was in progress, a pale, thin girl, with a strange and rather reckless look, came in, and, sitting down before Belle, fixed her gaunt eyes upon her. ' So you were heartless enough to take my place away from me 1 ' she said slowly, after a moment. ' I don't know what you mean,' answered Belle indignantly. ' Yes, you do know what she means, you little black snake in the grass,' whispered one of the girls in her ear while pretend- ing to put a box upon the shelf. Belle whirled upon he^: with such a vivid and instantaneous flash of anger that the girl stepped back precipitately and dropped the box. Just at this moment Mr. Schriven, in the act of departure, came out of his office and witnessed the whole scene. He stopped and smiled broadly. The foreman had informed him from time to time of the little ' comedy ' progressing at the ribbon counter, and the two potentates felt quite indebted to Belle for a sensation in the dullest of dull seasons, especially as the girl's conduct was wholly in the line of their wishes, regu- lations and interests. ' She's as plucky as a terrier,' the echo of his chief had said, * and the time will come when she'll sell I more goods than any two girls in the store. You made a ten- I strike in effecting that exchange.' It was rich sport for them to see her fiery spirit arousine land yet defying the intense and ill-concealed hostility of Iher companions — a hostility, too, that was extending beyond Ue ribbon counter, and had been manifesting itself by whisper- f% significant nods, and black looks toward the poor child all : * 1 M\ f 11* ■mibmm^' 136 WITHOUT A HOME. the afternoon ; bnt so far from shrinking before this concen- tration of ill-will Belle had only grown more indignant, more openly resentful, and unable to maintain her resolute and tan- talizing serenity. Feeling that it would compromise his dignity and authority even to appear to notice what was going forward, Mr. Schriven wrapped himsf>lf in his greatness and passed down the shop, sweeping the excited group — that was restrained for tho mo- ment by his presence — with a cold, nonchalant glance, from which, however, nothing escaped. When in the street big characteristic smile reappeared. * By the Lord Harry 1 ' he muttered, * if she isn't the gamiest bit of iiesh and blood that I've seen in a longtime! She's worth looking after.' Since his eye and restraining presence, however, were cow absent from the store, there would have been no small tumult at the ribbon counter had not Belle by her straightforward fear- less manner brought things to a speedy issue. There were now no customers in the. shop, and the discipline of the day was prac. tically over, therefore the girl on whom Belle had turned so passionately, having reached a safe distance, said outspokenly, * I'll say it now, so all can hear, even if I lose my place for it. You are a mean p'isinis's little black snake in the grass. We all know how you got this girl oat of the place she's had for years, and I want you to understand that if you stay you'll have a hot time of it.' * And I want you to understand that if I have a right to stay, I will stay,' cried Belle, in a ringing voice. ' I'm not afraid of you, nor a thousand like you. Either you're all cats to treat a young girl as you treated me the last two days, or else there's something that I don't understand. But I'm going to understand it here and now. You hold your tongue, and let this girl speak who says I've taken her place. She's the one I'm to deal with. But first let me say how I got this place-I asked for it. That's the whole story, and I didn't know that I was taking it from any one else.' Belle's courageous and truth-stamped manner began to ere- 1 ate a diversion in her favour, and all near listened with her to | what the dismissed girl might say. The latter did not in the j least respond to Belle's energy, but after a long, weary sigh si 'I BELIEVE IN TOU,* 137 began, without raising her head from her hand, as she sat ing on the counter, * Whether you're right or wrong, I'm lean- ing on me couiii»er, ' vy ireLiier you re ngub or wrong, I'm too badly 'ised up to quarrel with you or to answer in any such ganpowdery fashion. I'm dead heat, but I thought I'd like to come in and see you all once more, and my old place, and who was standing in it You are at the beginning, my pert one. If I was as young and strong as you I wouldn't come and stand here.' ' How is your mother 1 ' asked the girl in charge of the counter. ' She's dying, starving,' was the reply, in the same dreary, apathetic tone, and black looks were again directed toward Belle. She heeded them not, Iiowever. For a moment her eyes dilated with horror, then she sprang to the girl, and taking her band exclaimed, * Good God I What do you mean 1 Let me go home with you.' The girl looked at her steadfastly, and then said, 'Yes, come home with me. That's the best way to understand it all' ' We'll bring your mother something by and by,' said two or three of the girls as the poor creature rose slowly to follow Belle, who was ready instantly, and whose course compelled a suspension of judgment on the part of those even the most prejudiced against her. CHAPTER XVItL *I BELIEVE IN YOU.* '•Y^OME,* cried Belle impatiently, as they made their way ^^S5 down Sixth Avenue, which was crowded at that ■ hour ; ' why do you walk so slowly 1 If my mother was as badly off as you say yours is, I'd fly to her.' * No, you wouldn't, if you had scarcely eaten anything for two days.* I 138 WITHOUT A HOME. *-, Sf'4 * What ! ' Belle exclaimed, stopping short and looking at her companion to see if she were in earnest Something in her expression caused the impulsive child to seize her hand and drag her into a bakery near. Then snatching out her little purse she thrust ic into the girl's hand and said, ' Here, take all I have, and buy what you like best.' But i'^stead of buying anything, the stranger looked wist- fully into the excited and deeply sympathetic face, and said slowly, * I don't believe you're bad after all.' ' Oh, I'm bad enough — bad as most girls of my age,' said the innocent girl recklessly, * but I'm not bad enough to keep back a penny if I knew any one was hungry. Stop look- ing at me and buy what you like, or else let me do it. Take home some of this jelly cake to your mother. That would tempt my appetite if it ever needed any tempting. 1 half be- lieve you are shamming all this, you act so queer.' * Come with me,' said the girl, for the people in the store were looking at them curiously. When in the street she con* tinned, * You are not bad. What is your name 1 ' * Be'le Jocelyn.' * My name is Clara Bute. I am hungry. Fm faint for food, but may it choke me if I eat any before I take something home to mother ! Cake is not what either of us need, although it made me ravenous to see it. You haven't much money here, Belle, and small as the sum is, I don't know when I can repay it.' * Oh, stop that kind of talk,' cried Belle ; * you'll drive me wild. Let us get what your mother does want and take it to her without another word.' They purchased bread and milk, a little tea, a bit of beef, a bundle of kindling-wood, and then Belle's slender funds gave out With these they turned into a side street and soon reached a tall tenement. , Oh,' sighed Clara, * how can I climb those dreadful stairs! We live at the top.* * Drink some of the milk,' said Belle kindly, ' and then let me carry everything.' ' I guess I'll have to or I'll never get up at all.' Slowly and painfully she mounted flight after flight, sitting down at last and resting between each ascent. * I did'nt — ^realize — I was so weak ' she panted. *I BELIEVE IN YOU.* 139 ' Tell me your room,' said Belle, * and I'll come back and help you.' ♦ It's the last one — back — top floor. I've given out.' Belle left her sitting on the stairs and soon reached the door, which had been left slightly ajar for air, for the evening was sultry. She pushed it open with her foot, since her hands were so full, and with her eyes fixed on the articles she was carrying so as to drop nothing, she crossed the small room to a table and put them down before looking around. * There's some — mistake,' said a very low, hollow voice. Belle was almost transfixed by eyes as black as her own, gleaming out of cavernous sockets and from the most emaciated face she had ever seen. It seemed as if the dead were speaking to her. At any rate, if the woman were not dead she soon would be, and the thought flashed through Belle's mind that she would be the cause of her death, since she had taken her daughter's place and robbed them of sustenance. She who had heen ready to face a whole sliopful of hostile people with un- daunted eyes was seized with a remorseful panic, and ran sob- bing down to Clara, crying, * Oh, do come — let me carry you ;' and this she half did in her excitement. * Give your mother something to make her better right away. Let me help you— tell me what to do.' Clara went to her mother and kissed her tenderly, whisper- ing, 'Courage, momsy, I've got something nice for you.' Then she turned ard said, * You are too excited. Belle. I'll do every tiling, and make the little we have go a great way. You would waste things. I know just what to do, only give me time/ and she soaked some of the bread in the milk and be- gan feeding her mother, who swallowed with great difficulty. 'I'll take no more — till — I see you — eat something,' gasped the poor woman. * Who gave you all this 1 Who's that 1 ' pointing feebly at Belle. ' I'm the girl that took Clara's place,' Belle began, with a fresh burst of sobs. * I didn't know I was doing it, and now I'll never forgive myself.' Clara looked at h<^r wonderingly as she explained : ' The foreman said you asked Mr. Scriven tj make a place for you, but I don't believe you meant that he should " sack" me to do it. Why you are nothing but a great, warm-hearted child. iLS LI*,t^H|||M||W^ 140 WITHOUT A HOME. The girls said you were " knowing," and could " play as deep a game as the next one," and that the foreman about the same as owned it to them. It's all his doing and his master's. They b<»th care more for a yard of ribbon than for a girl, body and soul' * Well,' said Belle, with bitter emphasis, * I'll never work for them again — never, never. * Don't say that,' resumed Clara, after coaxing her mother to take a little more nourishment, and then sitting down to eat something herself. ' If you are poor you must do the beet you can. Now that I know you I'd rather you had my place than any one else, for ' — she gave a swift glance at her mother's closed eyes, and then whispered in Belle's ear — * I couldn't keep it much longer. For the last few weeks it has seemed I'd drop on the floor where you stood to-day, and every night I've had harder work to climb these stairs. Oh, Lord ! I wish mother and I could both stay here now till we're carried down together feet foremost.' * Don't talk that way,' pleaded Belle, beginning to cry again. * We'll all do for you now, and you both will get better.' * Who's " we all ? " Would you mind telling me a little about who you are, and how you came to get my place 1 ' Belle's brief sketch of herself, her history, and how the re- cent events had come about, was very simple, but strong and original, and left no doubt in her listener's mind. * My gracious ! ' Clara cried, as the room darkened, * your folks '11 be wild about you. I've nothing to oflTer you but your own, and I've kept you talking when you must have been tired and hungry, but you are so full of life that you put a bit of life in me. It's ages since I felt as you do, and I'll never feel so again. Now run home with your mind at rest. You have done us more good than you have harm, and you never meant us any harm at all.' * Indeed 1 did not,' cried Belle, * but I'm not through with you yet. I'll bring Millie back with me and a lot of things,' and she darted away. The inmates of the two rooms at the Old Mansion were, in- deed, anxious over Belle's prolonged absence. Her father had gone to the shop. Mrs. Wheaton with her apron thrown over her head, was on the sidewalk with Mildred, peering up *I BELIEVE IN YOU.* 141 down through the dusk, when the half-breathless girl appeared. Her story was soon told, and Mrs. Wheuton was taken into their confidenc** From trembling apprehension on Belle's be- half, kind Mrs. j jcelyn was soon deep in sympathy for the poor woman and her daughter, and offered to go herself and look after them, but Mildred and Mrs. Wheaton took the matter into tlieir own hands, and Belle, after gulping down a hasty supper, was eager to return as guide. Mr. Jocelyn, who had returned from the closed store on a run, had so far recovered from his panic concerning his child that he said he would bring a physician from the dispensary, and, taking the number, went to do his part for those who had become * neighbours unto them.* A woman on the same floor offered to look after Mrs. Wheaton's children for an hour or two, and the two sis- ters and the stout English woman, carrying everything they they could think of to mako the poor creatures comiortable, and much that they could ill spare, started on their errand of mercy. It never occurred to them that they were cnj^aged in a charity or doing a good deed. They were simply following the impulses of their hearts to help thost of whose sore need they had just learned. Mildred panted a little under her load before she reached the top of those long, dark stairs. * I could never get to heaven this way,' muttered Belle, upon whom the day of fatigue and excitement was b^.ginning to tell. ' It's up, up, up, till you feel like pitching the man who built these steps head first down 'em all. It's Belle, Clara,' she said, after a brief knock at the door ; then entering, she added, ' I told you I'd come back soon with help for you.* ' I'm sorry I've nothing to make a light with,' Clara an- swered ; * the moon has been so bright of late that we did without light, and then I got all out of money. We either had to pay the rent or go into the street, unless some one took us in. Besides, mother was too aick to be moved.' •I've brought two candles,' said Mrs. Wheaton. *The're heasier managed on a 'ot night,' and she soon had one burn- ing on the table and another on the mantel. * I vant to see vat's to be done,* she continued, ' because 1 must <;;\ve yer a arty lift in a jiffey and be back to my children hagain.' Then going to the sick woman she took her hand and felt her pulse. ''Owdo yer find yerself, mumT she asked. FfW, . M mm 1 "1 1 ■ ** ,f w .-ii'-k.i- ■ ■'.' \X % mm Imf't^'Km IK " ! ill 142 WITHOUT A HOME. ' Oh, I'm much — better — I shall — get well now,' the poor soul gasped, under the strange hallucination of that disease which, although incurable, over promises speedy health to its victims. * That's splendid ; that's the way to talk,' cried Belle, who had been oppressed with the fear that the woman would die, and that she in some sense would be to blame. ' Clara, this is sister Millie that I told you about,' and that was all the introduction the two girls ever had. * Vy didn't yer send yer mother to a 'ospital ] ' Mra. Wheaton asked, joining the girls at the table. * Don't say "hospital" so mother can hear you. The ve^y word would kill her now, for there's nothing on earth she dreads more than that they'll separate us and send her to a hos- pital. I've sometimes thought it would have been best, and then it seemed it would kill her at once, she was so opposed to it. That we might keep together and to buy her delicacies I've parted with nearly everything in the room, as you see,' and it was bare indeed. A bed from which the element of comfort bad long since departed, two rickety chairs, a pine table, a rusty stove, and a few dishes and cooking utensils were about all there was left. With eyes slowly dilating, Mildred took in the bleak truth, but said only a few gentle words and was very busy. She lifted Mrs. Bute's head, while Clara gave her a little bread soaked in wine, and then aided Mrs. W heaton in making the room and bed a little more like what they should be by means of the urticles they had brought. Clara wonder- ingly saw that her ii'utle closet was stocked with supplies for days to como. Her mother's preternaturally brilliant eyes fol- lowed every movement, also, with a dumb but eager ques- tioning. Tired Belle in the meantime had drawn a chair to the table, and with her head resting on her arms had dropped asleep in a moment. * Why should your sister work in a store if you're not poor f Clara asked Mildred. ' You can't be poor and spare all these things.' * Yes, we're poor, but not so poor as you are,* said Mildred simply. ' Belle touched our hearts in your behalf, and we see you need a little neighbourly help.' * I BELIEVE IN YOU.* 143 < Well, I was never so mistaken in any one in my life/ Clara exclaimed, looking at the sleeping girl, with a remorseful gush of tears. * There isn't a had streak in her.' At this moment the door opened, and two girls who had been Clara's companions at the shop, appeared with a few meagre parcels. Before asking them in she pulled them hack in the hall and there were a few moments of eager whispering. Then they all came in, and looked at Belle, and Clara stooped down and kissed her lightly, at which the girl smiled and mur- mured,* Dear little mother —always brooding over her chicks.' ' She thinks she's home,' explained Mildred, with moist eyes. < This is her sister,' said Clara, ' and this lady is a friend of theirs. I know they have rohhed themselves, they've brought so much. < Vun's honly to come to Hameriker ter be a lady,'chuckled Mrs. Wheaton under her breath. * We won't wake your sister,' said one of the girls. ' She's tired, and no wonder. We haven't treated her right at the store, but we wasn't to blame, for we did't know her at all. Please tell her that we'll give her a different reception to-mor- row,' and after another season of whispering in the hall they departed, leaving the simple off'erings gleaned from their poverty. Mr. Jocelyn and the physician soon appeared, and after a brief examination the latter called Mr. Jocelyn aside and and said, * Her pulse indicates that she may die at any hour. There is no use of trying to do anything, for the end has come. It has probably been hastened by lack of proper food, but it is too late now to give muph, for there is no power of assimi- lation.' ' You had better tell the poor girl the truth then/ said Mr. Jocelyn. Clara was called, and heard the verdict with a short, convul- sive sol: then was her weary, quiet self again. * I feared it was 80,' was all she said. She now became aware that Mildred was beside her with an encircling and sustaining arm. * Don't/ she whispered ; ' don't be too kind or I'll break down utterly, and I do not want to before mother. She don't know — she never will believe she can die, and I don't want her to know. I'll have time enough to cry after she's gone.' m ii 144 WITHOUT A HOME. * I feel I must stay vith yer to-night/ warm-hearted Mrs. Wheaton began ; 'and if Miss Jocelyu villlook haftermy chil- dren I vill.' ' No, Mrs. Wheaton/ said Mildred decidedly, * I'm going to stay. You ought to be with your children. Don't tell Hellc, papa, and take the poor child home. Clara and I can now du all that can be done. Please don't say anything af^ainst it, for I know I am right/ she pleaded earnestly in answer to her father's look of remonstrance. * Very well, then, I'll return and stay with you,' he said. The physician's eyes dwelt on Mildred's pale face in strong admiration, as he gave her a few directions. ' That's right, Millie, make her well for mercy's sake, or I'll have the horrurs/ Belle whispered as she kissed her sister good-night. Soon Clara and Mildred were alone, watching the gasping fitful sleeper. 'After all that's been done — for me — to-night I'll — surely get well,' she had murmured, and she closed her eyes without an apparent doubt of recovery. Mildred furtively explored the now dimly lighted room. * Merciful Heaven,' she sighed, ' shall we ever come to this? ' Clara's eyes were fixed on her mother's face with pa- thetic intensity, watching the glimmer of that mysterious thing we call life, that flickered wore and more faintly. The differ- ence between the waste J form, with its feeble animation, and what it must soon become would seem slight, but to the daughter it would be wide indeed. Love could still answer love, even though it was by a sign, a glance, a whisper only; but when to the poor girl it would be said of her mother, ' She's gone,' dim and fading as the presence had been, mani- fested chiefly by the burdens it imposed, its absence would bring the depths of desolation and sorrow. Going the poor creature evidently was, and whither 1 The child she was leaving knew little of what was bright and plea- sant in this world, and nothing of the next. ' Miss JocelyD,' she began hesitatingly. ' Don't call me Miss Jocelyn ; I'm a working-girl like your- self.' * Millie, then, as Belle said V •Yes.' 'I BEUEVE IN YOU.* 145 * Millie, do you believe in a heaven ? ' 'What is it like r ' I don't know very well. It's described to us under every gmnd and beautiful image the world affords. I think we'll find it what we best need to make Us happy.' M)li, then it would be rest for mother and me/ the girl sighed wearily. * It's surely rest, ' Mildred replied quickly, * for I reroem- ber a place in the Bible where it says, *' There remaiueth a rest for the people of God." ' ' That's it,' said Clara with some bitterness ; ' its always he people of God. What remains for such as we, who have always been so busy fighting the wolf that we've thought little of God or church 1 ' ' You've been no poorer, Clara, than Christ was all His life, and were He on earth now as He was once, I'd bring Him. here to your room. He'd come too, for He lived among just such people as we are, and never once refused to help them in their troubles or their sins.' * Once—once,' cried Clara with a gush of tears. * Where is He now 1 ' ' Here with us. I know it, for we need Him. Our need is our strongest claim — one that He never refused. I have en- treated Him in your behalf and your mother's, and do you ask Him also to put heaven at the end of this dark and often thorny path which most of us must tread in this world.' 'Oh, Millie, Millie, I'm as ignorant as a heathen. I did have a Bible, but I sold even that to buy wine to save mother's life. I might better have b«^en thinking of saving her soul. She's too sick to be talked to now, but surely she ought to find at least a heaven of rest. You could never understand the life she's led. She hasn't lived — she's just been dragget) throucrh the world. She was born in a tenement-house. "The little 'A3l\ she ever had was on sidewalks and in the gutters ; she's scarcely ever seen the country. Almost before she knew ho v to play she began to work. When she was only seventeen a coarse, bad man married her. How it ever came about I never could understand. I don't believe he knew anything more of love than a pig ; for he lived like one and died like one, only •^i . U\ U,^l m ■if u 146 WITHOUT A HOME. he didn't die soon enough. It seems horrible that I should speak in this way of my father, and yet why should I not, when he was a horror to me ever since 1 can remember ? In- stead of taking care of mother, she had to take care of him. He'd take the pittance she had wrung from the washtub for drink, and then come back to repay her for it with blows and curses. I guess we must have lived in fifty tenements, for we were always behind with the rent and so had to move here and there, wherever we could get a place to put our heads in. Queer places some of them were, I can tell you — mere rat-holep. They served one purpose, though — they finished off the chil- dren. To all mother's miseries and endless work was added the anguish of child-bearing. They were miserable, puny, fret- ful little imps, that were poisoned off" by the bad air in which we lived, and our bad food— that is, when we had any — after they had made all the trouble they could. I had the care of most of them, and my lifb became a burden before I was seven years old. I used to get so tired and faint that I was half-glad when they died. At last, when mother became so used up that she really couldn't work any more, father did for us the one good act that I know anything about — he went off on a big spree that finished him. Mother and I have clung together ever sinca We've often been hungry, but we've never been separated a night. What a long night is coming now, in which the doctor says we will be parted ! ' and the poor girl crouched on the floor]where her mother could not see her should she open her eyes, and sobbed convulsively. Mildred did not try to comfort her with words, but only with caresses. Christ proved centuries ago that the sympathetic touch is healing. * Oh, Millie, I seem to feel the gentle stroke of your hand on my heart as well as on my brow, and it makes the pain easier to bear. It makes me feel as if the coarse, brutal life through which I've come did not separate me from one so good and dif- ferent as you are ; for though you may be poor, you are m much of a lady as any I've ever waited on at the store. And then to look at your father and to think oC mine. I learned to hate men even when a child, for nearly all I ever knew either abused me or tempted me ; but, Millie, you need not fear to touch me. I never sold myself, though I've been faint fiELLE JARS THE 'SYSTEM.* 147 hanger. I'm ignorant, and my heart's been full of bitterness, b t I'm an honest girl* ' Poor, poor Clara ! ' said Mildred brokenly, * my heart aches for you as I think of all you've suffered.' The girl sprang up, seized the candle, and held it to Mildred's face. ' My God,' she whispered, * you are crying over my trou- bles.' Then she looked steadfastly into the tearful blue eyes and beautiful face of her new friend for a moment, and said, Millie, I'll believe any you,' faith youHl teach me, for / believe in CHAPTER XIX. BKLLE JARS THE 'SYSTEM.' OME orthodox divines would have given Clara a version of the story of life quite different from that which she received from Mildred. Many divines, not orthodox, would have made the divergence much wider. The poor girl, so bruised in spirit and broken in heart was not ready for a system of theology, or for the doctrine of evolution ; and if any one had begun to teach tlie inherent nobleness and self- correcting power of humanity, she would have shown him the door, feeble as she was. I3ut when Mildred assured her that if Christ were in the city, as He had been in Capernaum, He would climb the steep, dark stairs to her attic room and say to her, • Daughter, be of good comfort' — when she was told that Holy Writ declared that He was the * same yesterday, to- day, and forever ' — her heart became tender and contrite, and therefore ready for a Presence that is still * seeking that which was lost.' Men may create philosophies, they may turn the Gospel it- self into a cold abstraction, but the practical truth remains that the Christ who saves, comforts, and lifts the intolerable burden of sorrow or of sin, comes now as of old — comes as a living, loving^ personal presence, human in sympathy, divine in power. As Mildred had said, our need and our consciousness of it ■ ^M' IIMI^.^j^'< 148 WITHOUT A HOME. form our strongest claim upon Him and the best preparation for Him. Clara was proving the truth of her words. Life could never be to her again merely a bitter, sullen struggle foi bread. A great hope was dawning, and though but a few lays yet quiv- ered through the darkness, they were the earnest of a fuller light. Before midnight Mr. Jocelyn joined the watchers, and seated himself unobtrusively in a dusky corner of the room. Clara crouched on the floor beside her mother, her head resting on the bed, and her hand clasping the thin fingers of the dying woman. She insisted on doing everything the poor creature required, which was but little, for it seemed that life would waver out almost imperceptibly. Mildred sat at the foot of the bed, where her father could see her pure profile in the gloom. To his opium-kindled imagination it seemed to have a radiance of its own, and to grow more and more luminous until, in iU beauty and light, it became like the countenance of an accusing angel ; then it began to recede until it appeared infinitely far away. * Millie,* he called, in deep apprehension. * What is it, papa ? ' she aske^d, springing to his side and putting her hand on his shoulder. ' Oh ! ' he said shudderingly. *I had such a bad dream ! Yoo seemed fading away from me, till I could no longer see your face. It was so horribly real ! ' She came and sat beside him, and held his hand in both of hers. * That's right,' he remarked ; * now my dreams will be pleasant.' * You didn't seem to be asleep, papa,' said the girl in some surprise ; ' indeed, you seemed looking at me fixedly.' ' Then I must have been asleep with my eyes open,' he answered, with a trace of embarrassment. * Poor papa, you are tired, and it's very, very kind of you to come and stay with me, but I wasn't afraid. Clara says it's a re- spectable house, and the people, though very poor, are quiet and well-behaved. Now that you have seen that we are safe, please go home and rest,' and she coaxed until he complied, more from fear that he would betray himself than from any other motive. BELLE JARS THE 'SYSTEM.' 149 In the deep hush that falls on even a great city before the early life of the next day begins, Mrs. Bute opened her eyes and called 'Clara!' * Right here, momsy dear, holding your hand. ' ' It's strange — I can't see you — I feel so much better, too— sort of rested. It does — seem now — as if I — might get — a little rest. Don't wake me — child — to give me — anything— and rest yourself. ' She smiled faintly as she closed her eyes, and very soon Clara could never wake her again. Mildred took the head of the orphan into her lap, and the poor girl at last sobbed herself to sleep. We will not attempt to follow Mildred's thoughts as she tried to keep up through the long hours. The murmured words, ' I would watch more patiently over Vinton Arnold, did not his proud mother stand between us,* suggests the cha- racter of some of them. At last, when she was faint from weariness, she heard steps coming up the stairs, and her mother entered, followed by Mrs. Wheatou. ' My dear, brave child, this is too much for you. I'd rather it had been myself a thousand times, ' Mrs. Jocelyn exclaimed. ' It's all right, mamma, but the sight of you and good Mrs. Wheaton is more welcome than I can tell you, for I was getting very lonely and tired.' ' I'll stay now hand tend to heverything,' sai4 Mi's. Wheaton, with a stout, cheery kindness that could not be disguised, even in her whisper ; but Clara awoke with a start and said, ' What is it, momsy.' Then she sprang up, and after a brief glance at her mother, threw herself with a long, low cry on the lifeless form. ' Leave hall ter me,' said Mr& Wheaton decidedly, * and take Miss Jocelyn 'ome, for this'U be too much for 'er." ' Ah, mamma dear,' sobbed Mildred, ' my heart would be broken indeed if that were you.' 'Millie, if you love me,come home at once,' Mrs. Jocelyn urged. It was quite light when they gained the street,and after reaching home Mildred was given a warm cup of tea, and left to sleep until late in the day. While she slept, however, there occurred some rather stirring scenes. : i l Hit ■ { .! ; 1 1-., , :^m\ 150 WITHOUT A HOME. Belle, too, blept rather late, but a portentous gloom came into her eyes when told that Mrs. Bute was dead. She did not say very much, but her young face grew older and very reso- lute while she hastily ate her breakfast. Then she carried something nice to Clara, and found that Mrs. Wheaton had left, a neighbour from the tall tenement having taken her place Boile looked at the bereaved girl with half-fearful eyes ag if she expected reproaches, and when Clara kissed her in greet- ing she said ' Don't,' so sharply as to* excite surprise. ' Belle,' said Clara gently, * mother's at rest.' * That's more than I am,' muttered the girl. * Oh, Clara, I didn't mean to bring all this trouble on you. That man just caught me in a trap." * Belle, Belle! why do you blame yourself for all this? It would have come just the same, and probably just as soon, and if it hadn't been for you I'd been alone, with no friends and no hope.' * Oh, don't talk to me !' Belle cried ; * your mother might have been alive if I hadn't taken your place. I want to see her.' Claiu turned back the covering, and the young girl looked at the dead face with a stern, frowning brow. * Starved !' she muttered. * I understand why they all looked so black at me now ; but why couldn't some one have told me. He shall know the truth for once; he's more to blame than I,' and she abruptly departed. Very little later the foreman of the shop on Sixth Avenue was astonished to see her passing hastily toward the private office, regardless of the looks of surprise and interest turned to- ward her on every side, for the events of the night had been very generally whispered around. * Mr. Schriven's engaged,' he said sharply. * What do yea want ? Why are you not in your place ? ' *I am \n my place, but you are not. Stand aside, for I will see Mr. Shriven at once.' * I tell you some one is with him.* * I don't care if the king's with him,' and darting on one side she reached tHe oftice door, and knocked so sharply that the BELLE JARS THE 'SYSTEM.' 151 ireful potentate within sprang up himself to see who the incon* siderate intruder was. < Oh, it's you/ he said, half inclined to laugh in spite of his anger. ' I thought I said that, if I employed you, you were not to come to ray office again unlet^s I sent for you ] ' ' I'm not in your employ.' * Indeed ! How's that 1 * he asked very sharply. 'That is just what I came to explain/ was the unflinching reply. ' By -by,' remarked Mr. Schriven's visitor maliciously ; * I see you are to be interviewed.' ' Very briefly, I assure you. Good morning. Now, miss, I give you about one minute to transact your business with me, then the cashier will pay you for two days' wc:k.' ' No, sir, he will not. Do you think I'd take money stained with blood r ' What do you mean ? What kind of a girl are you any- way?' ' I am an honest girl ; I believe in God and the devil — I be- lieve in them both too well to have anything more to do with you unless you can prove you didn't know any more than I did. You think to frighten me with black looks, but I have just come from a greater presence than yours — the presence of one who'll soon be your master — Death, and death for which you are responsible.' ' Good God ! what do you mean V ' What did you mean by turning off without a word a poor girl- one who for years had done her best for you 1 What did you mean by making a place for me in that way 1 Her mother died last night — starved — and I'd have you know that I'd have starved before I'd have taken her place had I known what I know now. Go look at your work at the top of a tenement house ! There's more flesh on your arm than on that dead woman's body, and the poor girl herself hadn't eaten anything for two days when she came here last night. She'd have died, too, if sister Millie hadn't stayed with her last night. I hope you didn't know any more than I did. If you did you've got to settle with God and the devil before you're through with this kind of business.* The man was frightened, for he had meant no deliberate I cruelty. He was only practising the sound political economy 152 wrrnouT a home. of obtaining the most for the least, but in the words and stem face of the child, be saw how his act must appear to a mind un- warped by interest and unhardened by selfish years. Moreover he could not bluster in the presence of death, and the thought that his greed had caused it chilled his heart with a sudden dread. He caught at the extenuation her words suggested, and said gravely. 'You are right : I did not know. I would send food from my own table rather than any one should go hungry. I knew nothing about this girl, and no one has told me of ber need until this moment. A man at the head of a great busi- ness cannot look after details. The best he can do is to manage his business on business nrinciples. To prove that I am sin- cere, I'll take the girl bacK again at her old wages, although I do not need her.' The man lied in giving a false impression. It was true that he did not single out individuals as objects of intentional cruelty, but his system was hard and remorseless, and crushed like the wheels of Juggernaut, and he purposely shut his eyes to all questions and consequences save those of profit and loss. When compelled to face, through Belle's eyes, an instance of the practical outcome of his system, he shuddered and trem- bled, tor the moment, and was inclined to ease his conscience by a little ostentatious kindness, especially as the facts in the case bade fair to become known. Men who, unlike Belle, have little fear of God or the devil, do fear public opinion. The girl interpreted him, however, after her own warm, guileless heart, and in strong revulsion of feeling said, tearfully, * Please forgive me, sir, for speaking as I have. I've done you wrong, and I acknowledge it frankly, but I was almost be- side myself. We didn't either of us mean them any harm.' The man could not repress a smile at Belle's association of herself with him in the guilt of the affair. In fact, he rather liked the idea, for it made his own part seem quite venial after all — an error of ignorance like that of the child's — so he said kindly, * Indeed, we did not, and now we'll make amends. You go and see what is needed and let me know, and to-mor- row, if you wish, you can take your own place and not any one's else. You are a smart, good-hearted girl, and by and by I can give you better wages.' BELLE JARS THE 'SYSTEM.' 153 ' I did you wrong, sir/ repeated Belle remorsefully, ' and now that you will *ake Clara back, I'd work for you almost for nothing. When and where shall I comeT she added humbly ; ' I don't wish to seem rude any more.' 'Come to my house this evening,' and he gave her his number. * I beg your pardon for what I said. Good-by, sir,' and with tearful eyes and downcast face she went to the street, withQub a glance on either side. The man sat for a few moments with a heavily contracting brow. At last he stretched out his hand and sighed, * I'd give all there is in\t Those who woulu save and bless the world can accomplish far more by making sale channels than by building embankments, since almost as many are ruined by undue and unwise repression as by equally unwise and idiotic indulgence. For the first week or two Belle was glad to rest in the even- ings from the intolerable weariness caused by standi g all day, but the adaptivity of the human frame is wonderful, and man at last becomes accustomed, and, in some sense, inured to that which was torture at first. Belle was naturally strong and vigorous, and her compact, healthful organism endured the cruel demand made upon it far better than the majority of her companions. Nature had endowed her with a very large appe- tite for fun. For a time her employment, with its novelty, new associations, and small excitements, furnished this, but i^-m IH\ 4 :5v- r\ ;>* ml 160 WITHOUT A HOME. now her dutips were fading into prosaic work,and the child was looking round for something enlivening. Where in the great city could she find it ? Before their poverty came there were a pcore of pretty homes like her own in which she could visit schoolmates; her church and Sabbath-school ties brought her into relation with many of her own age; and either in her own or the homes of her friends she took part in bretzy little festivities that gave full and healthful scope to her buoyant natura She was not over fastidious now, but when occasion- allv she went home with some of her companions at the shop, she returned dissatisfied. The small quartera in which the girls lived rendered little confidential chats — so dear to girls- impossible, and she was brought at once into close contact with strange and often repulsive people. It seemed that the street furnished the only privacy possible, except as she brought girls to her own abode. Her mother and sister were very considerate in this respect, and welcomed all of her ac- quaintances who appeared like good, well-meaning girls ; and Mildred would either give up her share of their little room for the time, or else take part in their talk in such a genial way as to make the visitors at home as far as they could bs with one in whom they recognised their superior. Their light talk and shop gossip were exceedingly tiresome to Mil- dred, but she felt that Belle needed every safeguard within their power to furnish. And this privilege of welcoming the best companions her circumstances permitted was of great help to Belle, and, for a time, prevented her restless spirit from longing for something more decided in the way of amuse- ment. Of necessity, however, anything so quiet could not last ; but where could the girl find pteasurei more highly col- oured] Occasionally she would coax or seed her father into taking her out somewhere, but this occurred less and less fre- quently, for she was made to feel that his health required absolute rest when his business permitted it. If she had had kind brothers the case would ha\ e been greatly si!npli- fied, but thousands of working-girls have no brothers, no male companions save those acquaintan( as that it is their good or, more often, their evil fortune to muke. To a certain extent this need of chengeand cheerfnl recre- ation is supplied in connection with seme of the mission cba- SEVERAL QUIET FORCES AT WORK. 161 pels, and the effort is good and most commendable as far as it goes ; but as yet the family had formed no church relations. Mildred, Belle, and occasionally Mrs. Jooelyn, had attended Sabbath service in the neighbourhood. They shrank, how- ever, 80 morbidly from recognition that they had no acquaint- ances and had formed no ties. They had a prejudice against mission chapels, and were not yet willing to identify them- selves openly with their poor neighbours. As yet they had in- curred no hostility on this account, for their kindly ways and friendliness to poor Clara had won the good will and sympathy of all in the old mansion. But the differences between the Jocelyns and their neighbours were too great for any real as- similation, and thus, as we have said, they were thrown mainly on their own resources. There is one amusement always open to working-girls if they are at all attractive — the street flirtation. To their honour it can be said that comparatively few of the entire number indulge in this dangerous pastime from an improper motive, the majority meaning no more harm or evil than their more fortu- nate sisters who can enjoy the society of young men in well-ap- pointed parlours. In most instances this street acquintance, although unhedged by safe restrictions, is by no means indfs- crimiuata The young men are brothers or friends of com- panions, or they are employed in the same establishment, or else reside in the neiQ;hbourhood so that usually something is known of their characters and antecedents, and the desire to become friendly is similar to that influencing the young people of country neighbouhoods. Asa rule these young peo- ple have few opportunities of meeting, save in the streets and places of public resort The conditions of life in a great city, however, differ too widely from those of a village or country town, where every one is well known and public opinion is quick and powerful in its restraints. Mildred's dangers were quite different from those which as- sailed Belle, and yet they were very grave ones. Her mind and heart were preoccupied. She was protected from even the de- sire of perilous associations and pleasures by the delicacy and refinement of her nature and her Christian principle. She shrank from social contact with the ruder world by which she was now surrounded ; she felt and liyed like one in exile, aQ4 *ir' 7J 162 WITHOUT A HOME. her hope was to return to her native land. In the mean time she was growing pale, languid, morbid, and, occasionally, even irritable, from the lack of proper exercise and change. She was not discouraged as yet, but the day of deliverance seemed to grow more distant. Her father apparently was declining in energy and health, and his income was very small. She worked \onff hours over her fancy work, but the prices paid for it at the shops were so small that she felt with a growing despon- dency it was but a precarious means of support. Their first month in the old mansion was drawing to a close, and tliey had been compelled to draw slightly on the small sum of ready money still remaining after paying for their summer's board. They still had a few articles in storage, having retained them in hope of moving, at no dista.it time, into more commodious quarters. In their desirv^ for economy they also fell into the very common error of buying bait fish and meat, and other articles of food that were cheap and easily prepared, rather than nutritious, and Belle was inclined to make her lunch on pastry and cake instead of food. In teaching them a better way, Mrs. Wheaton proved herself a very useful friend. * Vat yer vant is somethiok that makes blood an' stands by von,' she said ; ' an' this 'ere salt, dry stuff an' light baker's bread and tea and co£fee don't do this hat halL They's good henough as relishes an' trimmins an' roundins hoff, but they hain't got the nourishin' in 'em that vorking people vants. Buy boat meal an' corn meal — make good bread of yer hown. Buy good but cheap chunks of beef an' mutton an' vegetables, an' make stews an' meat pies an' rich soups, an' say yer prayers hag«inst hall trashy things as hain't vorth the trouble of heatin'. Heggs, too, ven they're plenty, hare first rate, an' milk is so much better than so much tea an' coffee, heven if the milkman do spill it in the brook an' pick it hout hagain before ve get it. Vorkin' hon tea an' coffee is like keepin' the 'orse hagoin' on a vip instead of boats.' Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred were sensible enough to take her advice, and although Belle complained at first over the more simple and wholesome diet, she soon felt so much the better fpr it that she made no further trouble, SEVERAL QUIET FORCES AT WORK. 163 As had been the case at the farm-house, Mildred at last awakened to the evils of a depressed and sedentary life, and felt that she must look around for objects of interest. She began to spend more time with Mrs. Wheaton, and found con siderable amusement in her homely common-sense. The good woman was all the more companionable for the reason that she never presumed on a coarse familiarity or indulged in a prying interest. Mildred also aided the Wheaton children in their lessons, and gave more time to her own little brother and sister, taking them out to walk in the cool of the day, and giving much thought, while she plied her needle, to various little expedients that would keep them content to remain a^ay from the street and the rude children that often made the old house resound with boisterous sport. Mrs. Wheaton's children were in the main well behaved, and there was much visiting back and forth among the little people of the two families, but here the line was drawn, and generally with very good reason. After all, perhaps, the chief horror of tenement life to a family like the .Tocelyns consisted in the fact that just outside their door were hordes of prowling little savages ignor- ant in the main of civilization, but prematurely enlightened as to its rices. To prevent the inevitable contamination which would result from indiscriminate association, and to interest Fred and Minnie in their daily lessons, was the constant effort of both Mildred and Mrs. Jocelyn. And yet, as at the farm- house, Mildred's conscience began to reproach her for keeping too much aloof from the people who dwelt with her in the old mansion. It was not necessary to make companions of them in order to do them some good, and in aiding them to bear their burdens she might in part forget her own. Mrs. Whea- ton's hearty kindness permeated the house like an atmosphere, and from her Mildred learned the character and circumstances of each family quite correctly. * I can get hon with 'em hall hexcept a hold daft German on the top floor, oos a bit crazy hover the 'evens, but don't stand much chance of hever gettin' bup hinto 'em. You've hoften seen 'im a-lookin' at the stars an' things on the roof. 'E 'alf starves 'is family to buy books an' maps an' a telescope. 'E ates me cos I tried to talk religion to 'm vonqe ven 'e vas sick, t^n' cos I told 'im 'e 'ad no bijjnesQ ■•|BWk»» 164 WITHOUT A HOME. to take his death a' cold on the roof o' vinter nights ; an' 'veD 'e vonce gf'*« a giydge hagainst yer 'e never lets hup.* Mildred had already become more interested in this old man than in any other of her neighbours except Mrs. Whea* ton, but had found him utterly unapproachable. Not un- frequently she spent part of the hot evenings on the platform built over the old hip-roof, and had invariably seen him there on cloudless nights studying the t kies with a telescope that appeared to be by no means a toy instrument ; but he always took possession of the fai end of the platform, and was so savage when anyone approached that even Belle was afraid of him. His wife, ibr a wonder, was a slattern German, and she spoke English very imperfectly. With her several small children she lived in a chaotic way, keeping up a perpetual whining and fault-finding, half under her breath from fear of her irascible husband, that was like a ' continual dropping on a very rainy day.' Every now and then, Mrs. VVheaton said, he would suddenly emerge from his abstraction and break out against her in a volley of harsh, guttural German oaths that were * henough to make von's 'air riz.' Therefore it very natu- rally happeiied that Mildred had become acquainted with all the other families before she had even spoken to Mr. or Mrs. Ulpb. On the other inmates of the mansion her influence soon began to be felt ; for almost unconsciously she exercised her rare and subtle power of introducing a finer element into the lives of those who were growing sordid and material. She had pre- sented sever il families with a small house-plant, and 8ug cause they were not altogether orthodox in their views.' It would seem that this worthy person had taken literally the promise of his Master, — * I will make you fishers of men,' for he was quite content to be a fisher. Let us hope that occa- sionally, as by a miracle, his lenient Master enabled him to catch some well-disposed sinner ; but as a rule his mannerism, his set phrases, his utter lack of magnetism and appreciation of the various shades of character with which he was dealing, repelled even those who respected his motive and mission. Sen- sitive, sad-hearted women like Mrs. Jecelyn and Mildred could no more open their hearts to him than to a benevolent and im- personal board of trustees sitting around a green baize table. That detestable class, however, who thrive on opening their hearts and dilating on their spiritual experiences, could talk to him, as he would say, in a * most edifying and godly manner/ and through him, in consequence, reap all the pecuniary advan- tages v;ithin hie power to bestow. It is not the blatant and plausible poor who suffer, but those who hide their poverty, and will starve rather than trade on their laith ; and too often Christian and charitable organization!! prove they are not the * children of this world' by employing agen&s so lacking in fitness for the work that a commercial firm, following a like policy, would soon compaiis its own fail- ure. The Church deserves slight progress to the degree that it fails to send its best and most gifted men and women among the poor and vicious. Mr. Woolling was a aincdre, well-mean- ing man, but no more knew how to cat^h men with a Chriit- HES A MAN. 167 like magnetism and guile than how to render one of Beeth- oven's symphonies ; and he was so constituted that he could never learn. It was an open question whether he did not do more harm than good ; and those who employed him might and ought to have known the fact. Fortunately for the Jocelyns, there were other workers in that part of the vineyard, and Mrs. Wheaton had said to her- self more than once, * Yen my young lady comes 'ome she'll git 'old of these 'ere people and make things better for 'em.' One day, about the middle of September, there was a light knock at the door of the large living-room that had been made 80 inviting. Mildred opened it and admitted a young woman, who appeared not very much older than herself, and whom ahe saw at a glance was of her own class in respect to refine- ment and cultivation. Although entire strangers the eyes of the two girls met in women's intuitive recognition. 'This is Miss Jocelyn, I think/ said the visitor in an accent that to the poor girl sounded like her native tongue, so long unheard. • You are correct,' replied Mildred, with exploring eyes and a quiet and distant manner. < Will you please be seated,' she added after a moment, as the young lady evidently wished to enter. It was in the afternoon, and the room had its usual pretty order at that hour. Fred and Minnie were seated by Mrs. Jocelyn, who was giving them their daily lesson from an illus- trated primer ; and they, with their mother, turned question- ing eyes on the unexpected guest, who won their good-will almost instantly by a sunshiny smile. Then turning to Mildred she began, with a quiet, well-bred ease which made her visit seem perfectly natural. ' We are now strangers, but I trust we shall not remain such very long. Indeed, I am already sure that you can help me very much.' (This asking help in- stead of offering it was certainly adroit policy.) * I am a Chris- tian worker in this district. My name is Alice Wetheridge. I am well acquainted with Mrs. Wheaton, and the little she has told me about you has made me wish to know you well ; and I trust you will meet me with the spirit in which I come — that of honest friendliness and respect. I shall be just as frank with you as you wish, and I know you have just as much right i I 1 wmk*-^^'Mf i 168 WITHOUT A HOME. to jour feelings and views as I have to mine. It is our plan of work to co-work cordially, asking each one to choose her own place and kind of effort. I have been around among some of my families in this house, and, if you will permit me to say it, I have seen your influence, and I think it is most Christian and womanly. You can scarcely blame me, then, if I hupe to find in you a congenial fellow- worker.' These remarks contained no hint of poverty or inferiority, and might have been made to Mildred in her old home. The sweet, low voice in which they were spoken was soothing and winning, while her visitor's gaze was direct and sincere. Mildred smiled with a little answering friendliness as she said, * Please do not expect much from me. I fear I shall disap- point you. ' I shall not expect anything more than your own feelings prompt and your own conscience can warrant. I and some friends have classes at a mission chapel not far from here, and all I ask at first is that you and Mrs. Jocelyn attend service at the chapel, and see how you like us and how you like our minister.' * Is — is his name Mr. Woolling ] ' faltered Mildred. A slight evanescent smile flitted across the visitor's face. ' No,' she said, < that is not his name. Our minister has just returned from Europe, where he has taken a well-deserved vacation. I, too, have only come to town within the last few days, otherwise I do not think you would have escaped us so long,' she concluded with a bright smile, but after a moment she added earnestly, ' Please do not think that we will try to force upon you associations that may not be pleasant We only ask that you come and judge for yourselves.' ' What you ask is certainly reasonable,' said Mildred thoughtfully, and with an inquiring glance at her mother. * 1 agree with you, Millie,' her mother added with gentle emphasis, for she had been observing her visitor closely; 'and I think we both appreciate Miss Wetheridge's motive in call- ing upon us, and can respond in like spirit.' * I thank you,' was the cordial reply. * On this card is writ' ten my address and where to find our chapel, the hours of ser- vice, etc. Please ask for me next Sabbath aftcraoun, and I will sit with you, so you won't feel strange, you know. After 'he's a MAIt' IGD 11 her some ) say istian pe to lorily, The ig and incere. disap- ;eelings id some jre, and rvice at like our >r's face, has jast leserved ast few ed us 80 moment ill try to We ouly Mildred her. h gentle \y ; ' *"*^ [e ia call- is writr irs of sei: ^n, andl Aftei the service is over we will remain a few moments, and I will introduce you to our minister. As I said at first, if you don't like us or our ways you must not feel in tl>^ least trammelled. However that may be, I trust you will -e. me come and see you sometimes. It was my duty to call u ">n you because you were in my district ; but now it will be a pleasure to which I hope you will let me look forward.' * You will be welcome,' said Mildred smilingly. * I can at least promise that much.' Miss Wetheridge had slipped off her glove while talking, and in parting she gave a warm, friendly palm to those she wished to win. She had intended only a smiling leave-taking of the children, but thev looked so pretty, and were regarding her with such an exr sf'^n of shy, pleased interest, that she acted on her impulsd ar kissed them both. * I don't often meet such kissable >ila.cn,' she said, with a bright flush, 'and I couldn't rep' ' t © temptation.' The room seemed ghter the rest of the day for her visit. If she had kissed t' ^^ children out of policy Mrs. Jocelyn would have 'een resentft .j aware of the fact ; but they ivere ' kiss- able ' children, and no one knew it better than the fond mother, who was won completely by the spontaneity of the act. ' Millie, I think Fd go to her church, even if Mr. Woollin^ were the minister,' she said, with her sweet laugh. ' Soft-hearted little mother !* cried Mildred gaily ; * if people only knew it, you have one very vulnerable side. That was a master-stroke on the part of Miss Wetheridge.' ' She didn't mean it as such, and if some good people had kissed the children I'd have washed their faces as soon as they had gone. The visit has done you good, too, Millie.' ' VVell, I admit it has. It was nice to see and hear one of our own people, and to feel that we were not separated by an impassable gulf. To tell the truth, I feel the need of something outside of this old house. I am beginning to mope and brood. I fear it will be some time before the way opens back to our former life, and one grows sickly if one lives too long in the As the evening grew shadowy, Mildred took the children out for their walk, and prompted by considerable curiosity, she led K :, I pi mn I m 1 1- i i3:, 11 HmrnftliUf"' 170 WIXHOUT A HOME. the way to Fifth Avenue, and passed the door on which was inscribed the number printed on Miss Welheridge's carrts of her own ; therefore it was with some trepidation that she saw Mr. Wentworth giving her an occasional side glance whilo talking to her mother. 8he was about to bow very for- mally when introduced, but a smile broke over the man's rug- ged features like a glow of sunshine, as he held out his liHrnl and said, 'Mias Balle, I know you and I would be good friends if we had a chance.' The girl's impulsive nature responded as if touched by an electric spark, and with her usual directness the words in her mind were spoken. ' I like you already,' she said. ' The liking is mutual then,' was Mr. Wentworth's laugliing reply ; * I'm coming to see you.* ' But, sir,' stammered the honest child, ' I'm not good like my sister.' The clergyman now laughed heartily. * All the more reason I should come,' he said. ' Well, then, please come in the evening, for I wouldn't rvm your visit for the world.' ' 1 certainly shall,' and he named an evening early in the week ; * and now,' he resumed, * my friend Miss Wetheridge here has informed me of the conditions on which you have vis- ited our chapel. We propose to carry them out in good faith, and not put any other constraint upon you beyond a cordial invitation to cast your lot with us. It's a great thing to have a church home. Y^ou need not feel that you must decide at once, but come again and again, and perhaps by and by you will have a home feeling hore.' * I'm coming whether the rest do or not,' Belle remarked emphatically, and Mr. Wentworth gave her a humorous look which completed the conquest of her heart. ' Miss Wetheridge knows that my decision was already made,' said Mildred quietly, with an intelligent glance to- wards her friend ; * and if there is any very, very simple work that I can do, I shall feel it a privilege to do the best I can.' She never forgot bis responsive look of honest friendliness as he answered, ' The simplest work you do in that spirit will beh more now talkii ing I Mr telligi Bel exclai —lie'a her prot gain Ml some g( she indt fully in secret je that Vir agreeah]( speaking Bi>l\t rar That t the poor, apparent design to J"paid d; W'ith her ^^T ediica '»g excepi ^oyf in sej SKILLED LABOUR. 173 be blessed. Miss Wetheridgo, I hope, you will soon 6nd some more people like Mrs. Jocelyn and her daughters. Ooodby now for a short time/ and a moment later Mildred saw him talking just as kindly, but differently, to a very shabby-look- ing man. Mr. Wentwortl) was also a ' fisher of men,' but he fished in- telligently, and caught them. Helle could hardly wait until she was in the street before exclaiming, ' He isn't a bit like our old minister. Why — why —he's a man.' CHAPTER XXH. SKILLED LABOUR. ISS WETHERIDGE'S visit bade fair to occasion im- portant changes for the better in Mildred's prospects. From Mrs Wheaton the young lady had learned of ]ieT protegee's \onghonTa of ill-repaid toil. She was eager to gain Mildred's confidence to an extent that would warrant some good advice, and after another call early in the week she induced the girl to come and see her and to open her heart fully in the privacy thus secured. Of course there was one secret jealousy guarded, and the reader can well understanc* that Vinton Arnold's name was not mentioned, and the dis- agreeable episode of Roger Atwood was not deemed worth speaking of. He was now but a fast-fading memory, fo'" even Belle rarely recalled him. That the Jocelyns did not belong to the ordinary ranks of the poor, and that Mildred was not a commonplace girl, was apparent to Miss Wetheridge from the first ; and it was her design to persuade her friend to abandon the overcrowded and ill-paid divisions of labour for something more in accordance with her cultivation and ability. Mildred soon proved that her education was too general and superficial to admit of teach- ing except in the primar\ department , and as the schools were now in session it might, be many mor?thR before any opening 174 WITHOUT A HOME. would occur. With a mingled sigh and laugh she said, * The one thing I know how to do I shall probably never do — I could make a home, and I could be perfectly happy in taking) care of it' * Pardon me ! ' cried Miss Wetheridge roguishly, * that seems to me your inevitable fate, sooner or later. We are only coun- selling together how best to fill up the interval. My friend almost made me jeal.as by the way he talked about yuu the other evening.* A faint colour stole into Mildred's face. ' All that's past, I fear,' she said with low, sad emphasis, ' and I would never marry merely for the sake of a home. My future is that of a working-woman unless papa can regain his former means. Even then I would not like to live an idle life. So the ques- tion is. What kind of work shall I do ) How can I du the most for the family, for I am troubled about papa's health, and mamma is not strong.' Her warm-hearted friend's eyes grew moist as she looked in- tently and understandingly into the clouded and beautiful face. In one of her pretty impulses that often broke through her polite restraint she exclaimed, ' Millie, you are a true woman. Please pardon my familiarity, but I can't tell you how much you in- terest me, how I respect you, and — and — how much I like you.' *Ng. can I tell you,' responded Mildred earnestly, 'how much hope and comfort you have already brought me.' * Come,' said Miss Wetheridge cheerily, * we will go down to the rooms of the Young Women's Christian Association at once. We may get light there. The thing for you to do is to master thoroughly one or more of the higher forms of labour that are as yet uncrowded. That is what I would do.' While she was preparing for the street she observed Mild- red's eyes resting wistfully on an upright piano that formed part of the beautiful furniture of her private sanctum. * You are recognising an old friend and would like to renew your ac- quaintance,' she said smiLngly. * Won't you play while I am changing my dress ? ' 'Perhaps I can best thank you in that way,' answered Mildred, availing herself of the permission with a pleasure she SKILLED LABOUR. 175 could not disguise. ' I admit that the loss of my piano haa been one of my greatest deprivations.' . Miss Wetheridge's sleeping apartment opened into her sit- ting room, and, with the door open, it was the same as if they were still together. The promise oi thanks was well kept as the exquisite notes of Mendelssohn's ' Hope ' and ' Consola- tion ' tilled the rooms with music that is as simple Skud endur- ing as the genuine feeling of a good heart. ' I now understand how truly you lost a friend and com- panion in your piano,' said Miss Wetheridge, ' and I want you to come over here and play whenever you feel like it, whether I am at home or not.' Mildred smiled, but made no reply. She could accept kind- ness and help from one who gave them as did Miss Wetheridge, but she was too proud and sensitive to enter upon an intimacy that must of necessity be so one-sided in its favours and ad- vantages, and she instinctively felt that such wide differences in condition would lead to mutual embarrassments that her enthusiastic friend could not foresee. It was becoming her fixed resolve to accept of her lot, with all that it involved, and no amount of encouragement could induce her to renew asso- ciations that could be enjoyed now only by a certain phase of charity, however the fact might be disguised. Mildred at once became a member of the Young Women's Association, and its library and reading room promised to be- come a continued means of pleasure and help. From among the several phases of skilled labour taught under the auspices of the Association, she decided to choose the highest —that of stenography — if her father thought he could support the fam- ily without much help for a few months She was already very rapid and correct in her penmanship, and if she could become expert in taking short-hand notes she was assured that she could find abundant and highly remunerative return for her skill, and under circumstances, too, that would not involve unpleasant publicity. She thought very favourably, also, of the suggestion that she should join the bookkeeping class. With her fine mental capacity and previous education. Miss Wetheridge believed that Mildred could so far master these two arts as to be sure of an independence, and her kind friend •V •!•! *Pi I « mmmM';^^&^- 176 WITHOUT A HOME. proposed to use no little influence in finding opportunities for their exercise. Mildred, naturally, lost no time in explaining her prcjects to her father, and it so happened that she spoke at a niomtnt of peculiar exhilaration on his part. ' If it would give you pleasure,' he said, * to learn these two accomplishnients, yon may do so, of course, but I foresee no probability of you ever putting them to use. I now have prospects/ etc. etc. .Soon after he was in a deep sleep. Belle vas in quite a flutter of excitement on the evening named for Mr. Wentworth's visit, and the genial elergyman would have laughed again could he have heard one df her reasons for welcoming him. ' He is so deliciously lioniely,' she said, ' I like to look at him.' He came at the hour ap- pointed, and his visit was truly a ' spiritual * one, if enlivened spirits, more hopeful hearts, and a richer belief in their Divine Father's good-will towards them all were the legitimate result of a spiritual visit. Mr. Jocelyn, in expectancy of the guest, had carefully prepared himself in guilty secrecy, and a|>j>eared unusually well, but he was the only one who sighed deeply after the good man's departure. Kising from the depths of his soul through his false exhilaration was a low, threatening voice saying, ' That man is true ; you are a sham, and your hollowness will become known.* Indeed, Mr. Wentworth went away with a vague impression that there was something unreal or unsound about Mr. Jocelyn, and he began to share Mrs. Wheaton's painfull forebodinj,'s for the family. Belle enjoyed the visit greatly, for the minister was an apostle of a very sunny gospel, and she was then ready for no other. Moreover, the healthful, unwarped man delighted in the girl's frolicsome youth, and no more tried to repress her vivacity than lie would the bubble and sjjarkle of a spring. Indeed he was sensible enough to know that, as the spring keeps pure by flowing and sparkling into the light, sc Iter na- ture would stand a far better chance of remaining untainted if given abundant yet innocent scope. His genial words had weight with her, but her quick intuition of his sympathy, his sense of humour, which was as genuine as her own, had far more weipht, and their eyes rarely met without responsive smUes. There was nothing trivial, however, in their interplay SKILLED LABOUR. 177 of mirthfulness — nothing that would prevent the child from coming to him should her heart become burdened with sin or sorrow. She was assigned to Miss Wetheridge's class, and goon became warmly attached to her teacher. Mildred, to her great surprise, was asked to take a class of rude-looking, half- grown boys. In answer to her look of dismay, Mr. Went worth only said, smilingly, 'Try it ; trust my judgment; you can do more with these boys than I can.' ' Were it not for my promise to Miss Wetheridge, I wouldn't even dare to think of such a thing,' she replied; 'but I now feel bound to attempt it, although I hope you will soon give me some very, very little girls.' • In complying, you show a high sense of honour, Miss Jocelyn. I will relieve you after a time, if you wish me to ; ' and the student of human nature walked away with a peculiar smile. 'When I was a harum-scarum boy,* he muttered, 'a girl with such a face could almost make me worship her. I don't believe boys have changed.' She was shrewd enough not to let the class see that she was afraid, and being only boys, they saw merely what was apparent —that they had the prettiest teacher in the room. Her beauty and refinement impressed them vaguely, yet powerfully ; the incipient man within them yielded its involuntary homage, and she appealed to their masculine traits as only a woman of tact can, making them feel that it would be not only wrong but un- gallant and unmannerly to take advantage of her. They all speedily succumbed except one, whose rude home associations and incorrigible disposition rendered futile her appeals. After two or tliree Sabbaths the other boys became so incensed that lie should disgrace the class that, after school, they lured him into an alley-way and were administering a well-deserved casti- gation, when Mildred, who was passing, rescued him. His fear induced him to yield to her invitation to accomp'iny her home; and htT kindness, to which he knew he was not entitled, com- bined with the wholesome effect of the pummelling received from the boys, led him to unite in making the class — once known as 'the Incorrigibles'— the best behaved in the school. Mildred found time between her lessons to aid her mother and also to do a little fancy work, for which, through the aid H I ^■A fi I a \i I ^.-M^^am^'i^. 178 WITHOUT A HOME. of Miss Wetheridge, she fomd private customers who were willing to pay its worth. Thus the month of October was passing rapidly and rather hopefully away. They received letters from Clara Bute occa- sionally, wherein she expressed herself well content with the country and the situation Mrs. Atwood had obtained fur her. ' I'm getting as plump and rosy as Susan,' she wrote, < and I'm not coming back to town. Going up and down those ttne- ment stairs tired me more than all the work I do here. Still, I work hard, I can tell you ; but it's all sorts of work, with plenty of good air and good food to do it on. I'm treted bet- ter than I ever was before — just like one of the family, and there's a young farmer who takes me out to ride sometimes, and he acts and talks like a man.' Whether this attentive friend were Roger or a new acquaint- ance ^he did not say. For some reason a reticence in regard to the former characterized her letters. CHAPTER XXIII. THIS OLD ASTRONOMER. NE Saturday night Mildred wab awakened from time to time by the wailing of a child. The sounds came from the rooms of the Ulphs, which were direcJy overhead, and by morning she was convinced that there was a case of serious illness in the German family. Led by her sympathies. and also by the hope of thawing the reserve of the eccentric old astronomer, she resolved to go and ask if she conld be of any help. In response to her light knock a shock-headed, unkempt boy opened the door and revealed a state of chaos that might well have driven mad any student of the heavenly bodies with their orderly ways. There seemed to be one place for ever)- thing — the middle of the floor — and about everything was in this one place. In the midst of a desolation anything but pic- THE OLD ASTRONOMER. 179 turesque, Mrs. Ulph sat before the fire with a little moaning baby upon her lap. ' I heard your child crying in the night/ said Mildred gently, ' and as we are neighbours I thought I would come up and see if I could help you.' The woman stared a moment and then asked, * you Miss Schoslin 1 ' * Yes, and I hope you will let me do something, for I fear you've been up all night and must be very tired.' 'I'm shust dead ; not vou vink of schleep haf I had all der night He shust cry and cry, and vat I do I don't know. I fear lie die. Der fader gone for der doctor, but he die 'fore dey gets here. Schee, he getten gold now.' Truly enough, the child's extremities were growing chill indeed, and the pecuHar pinched look and ashen colour which is 80 often the precursor of death was apparent. • Let rne call my mother,' cried Mildred, in much alarm. 'She knows about children.' Mrs. Jocelyn soon became convinced fiom the mother's account that the child's disease was cholera infantum, and some previous experience with her own children taught her just what to do. Before very long th .^ little me gave evi- dence of a change for the better. After tho cri.ics of danger was past, and while her mother and Mrs. Ulpn were working over the infant, Mildred began quietly io put Uie room into something like order, and to dress the th^^r jiiildren that were in various transition states betwtu •. lags und nakedness As the German woman emerged from a «ymi-paralyzed con- dition of alarm over her child she began vj talk and complain as usual. 'It vas von shudgme' on der fader,' she said queruloufjiy. ' He care more for der schpots on der sun dan for his schilder. For der last veek it's all peen schpots on der sun, netting put schpots. Vat goot dey do us ? Dr.re's peen light to vork py, put efry minit he scl op vork to run tc uer roof und see dem schpots vot he says on der sun. He says dere ish — vat you call him — pig virl a-rounds up dere dat vou Id plow all der beo- ples otf tier earth in von vink, und ven I tells him dat he ish von pig virl-a-round himself, runnin' und runnin', uud lettin' ': U 180 WITHOUT A HOME. der vork schtand, den von of der schpots come outen on him und I dink he plow my hed offen.' By and by she began again : * If it ish not schpots it ish someding else. Von year he feel vorse dan if I die ppgoge vat you call a gomet did not gome ven he said it vould gome. He near look his eyes outen for it, und he go efry luorninf; 'fore preakfast for der bapers to get void of dat goniet. I dought ve all schtarve 'fore he got done mit dot gomet, and ven he give oup all hope of him, he feel vorse dan he vould if dis schild die. He vas so pad to me as if I eat der gomet oup, und ve had not mooch elf^e to eat till he sure der gomet gone to der djiy vU. It migh'j haf peen vorse if der gomet gome , vat he done den der goot Lord only know — he go olF mit it if he gould. He tink notting of sittin' oup mit a gomet, ])ut he get der schpots on him ven I ask to nurse der sch id in der night.' Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred paid little attention to her plaints; and the former, having douv^ what she could, returned to her own family cares. Mildred took the little sick boy in lier arras, saying that she would hold him while Mrs. Ulph prepardi breakfast. It was at this stage of affairs that the door opened, and the pinched and grizzled visage of Mr. Ulph appeared, followeil by the burly form of a German physician whom he liad in- sisted on find" ig. The former stopped short and stared at Mildred, in grim hesitation whether he should resent an in- trusion or acknowledge a kindness. His wife explained rapidly in German, with a deferential manner, but in a sub- acidulous tone. * I do not wish to intrude, but only to help as a neighbour should,' Mildred began, during a lull between Mrs. I Iph'i shrill notes. * I fear your little boy was very ill when f first came — indeed my mother thought he was dying. She know?, I think, for my little brother nearly died of an attack like this.' Beyond her explanation of Mildred's presence he seemingly had given no heed to his wife's words, but now he starifd and exclaimed, * Mein Gott ! Vat you say 1 Die ? ' and he turned M'ith intense anxiety to the doctor, who without cere- mony began to investigate the case, asking the mother qu* THE OLD ASTRONOMER. 181 tions and receiving answers that Mildred did not understand. The woman evidently claimed all the credit she deserved fur her care of the patient in the night, and suggested that Mr. Ulpli liad been very oblivious until the child seemed sinkings for the old man grew excessively impatient during the ii>ter- rogatioiis. As if unconscious of Mildred's ignorance of their language, he said earnestly to her, ' I did not know — I vould gif my life for der schild — der boor leedle poy — I no dink dat he vas so sick,' and his eager words and manner convinced Mihired that his wife misrepresented him, and that his inter- est in the mystery of the comet's fate would be slight compared with that which centred in his son. Tlie plilegmatic physician continued his investigations with true (ifrman thoroughness and deliberation. It was well that the child's worst symptoms had been relieved before he came, fur he seemed bent on having the whole history of the case down tu the latest moment before he extended his heavy hand to the aid of nature, and he questioned Mildred as minutely as had Mrs. Ulph, while she, unlike the former, did not take any credit to herself. If the doctor was a little slow, he was sure, for he said some- thing emphatically to the father, who in turn seized Mildred's hand, exclaiming, with explosive energy, ' Gott pless you 1 Gott pless you ! ' • But it was mamma who did everything,' protested the young girl. • Yah, I know, I know ; but who prought mamma 1 Who listen yen der boor leetle poy gry in der night ? Who gome in der morning 1 Mine paby would haf ben ded if you haf not gome. CJott pless you ; Gott pless your uioder. 1 vant to dank her mooch.* The grateful father had called down God's blessings so lavish- ly that Mildred very naturally said, * You have more reason to thank God than any one else, Mr. Ulph, tor no doubt it was His blessing on our efforts that has made your child better. The disease is such a dangerous one that the best human skill is often in vain.' The pliysician shrugged his shoulders and looked signifi- cantly at Mr, Ulph, whose visage wrinkled into an odd gnmace. h ill I I'll i m 182 WITHOUT A HOME. * You may dink vat you please and say vat you please, Miss Schoslin. Men dink different of dese dinks vrom vomaiis. I haf a vay off saying Gott pless beoples ven I feels gouc do- wards 'era, put I means 'em no harm. Vat you American beo- ples soraodimes say— dank my schtars 1 Dat will do shust so veil for me. It vas dis vay : der schild vas seek ; yo und your moder gome, and you make gauses and dere are der evvects. I perlieve in gause and evvect, and you vas a very goot gause.' * Wo certainly would be very poor neighbours had we not come and done all wo could, and with your permission mother and I will help your wife to-day so she can get some rest.' * I dank you vrora mine heart. You make me dink off der heafenly podies — you moke order put no noise. I vill do for you vatefer you vish und be honest.' Mildred now believed that she had gained the key to the old German's character, and such a hold upon his feeUngsthat he would eventually permit her to become his companion in his star-gazing on the roof. Denied so much of the beauty she craved on the earth, she believed that she could find in an in- telligent study of the skies a pleasure that would prove an antidote for the depressing circumstances of her lot. She had often longed with intense curiosity to look through his telescope, and to penetrate some of the bright mysteries that glittered above her with such tantalizing suggestion. She was adroit, however, and determined that the invitation should come unsolicited from him, so that his suspicious and cynical nature could give no sinister interpretation to her kindness. The physician evidently shared in Mr. Ulph's estimate of the mother of the child, for he explained to Mildred how the remedies ho left should ba used. She and Mrs. Jocelyn acted as nurse most of the day, and the patient improved steadily. After her return from the chapel in the afternoon, INIildred found the old German smoking his pipe in quite a placid raoo perlieve all der vable you vish : und I vill dells you more vables apout der schtars dat ish shust so goot und shust so old.' ' But you will tell me the truth about them, too, won't you 1 * pleaded Mildred, with a smile that would have thawed a colder nature than Mr. Ulph's. * I want to learn a wee bit of what you know. I have so little that is bright and pretty in my life now that I just long to catch some glimpses of what you 6«« in the skieo. Perhaps I could help you by writing down f] mi I ' i « >«» fa 'W' ^ llu M w 184 WITHOUT A HOME. your observations. I would ask questions only when you said I might/ * Veil, now, dot's a goot idea. Mine eyes vas getten old, und you vas young, put it von't last ; you vas a youiij^'din;;, und girls vas vlightly and vant — vat you call him ?— peaux und vrolict ven der night vas goot and glear.' *Try me,' said Mildred, with a little emphatic nod. * Veil, you don't seem likes von silly girl, and I vill dry you; put yoo moost pe very schteady and batient, und but down shust vhat I say. Von leetle schlip, und I vas all vrong in my vigiirf>. Von preadth off hair down here his oh— so vide oop dere. I'nd now gome, I tells you about der schpots, — der sun schpots, and with many odd gesticulations and contortions of his quaint vis- age he described the terrific cyclones that were sweeping over the surface of the sun at that time, and whose corresponding perturbations in the astronomer's mind had so exaspeiated his wife. She and the sick child were now sleeping, and tlie other children, warned by the threatening finger of the father, played quietly in a corner. It was an odd place to conjure up images of whirling storms of fire so appallingly vast that the great earth, if dropped into one of them, would be fused instantly like a lump of ore in a blast furnace ; but the grotenque little man was so earnest, so uncouth, yet forcible, in his suggestions as he whirled his arms around to indicate the vast, restless sweep of the unimaginable force working their wild will mil- lions of miles away, that their truth and reality grew painfully vivid CO the young girl, and she trembled and shuddered, The roar of the wildest storm, he told her, and the bellowing of mountainous waves combined, would be but a murmur com- pared with the far-reaching thunder of a sun hurricane as it swept along hundreds of times faster than clouds are ever driven by an earthly tornado. There was nothing in her nature which led her to share in his almost fierce delight in the far away disturbances, and he suddenly stopped and said kindly, ' Vy, I vrighten you mit sooch pig gom motions ? You shust von leedle schild off a voman ; und I likes you pecause you haf prain so you see und know what I say. You see him too mooch, und so you dremble. Dot's goot. If you vas silly you vould giggle. Der schpots ish a goot way offen, and vill nefer virl you away ; und next dime I dells you schmooth und britty/ something ROGER REAPPEARS. 185 III said 'n olil, -peaux ryyou; I'll bhusl vigiirf?, ?. Und lols, and laint vis- ing over iponding rated his the other T, played ip images the great instantly ique little U'^estions |t, restless will mil- painfully Ihuddered. bellowing ■raiir coin- lane as it Lire ever .g in her [deligbt in and said Insi ^'ou ivi pecause (U see him |u vas silly and vill CHAPTER XXIV. ROGER REAPPEARS. [somethiDi OGER ATWOOD had entered Mildred's mind as a part of a grotesque dream, but he had no place in her wak- ing thoughts. With Vinton Arnold, however, it was very different, and scarcely an hour passed that she was not wondering where he was, and again questioning his prolonged silence. Often her heart beat quick as she imagined she caught a glimpse of him in the street ; and it must be admitted that she looked for him constantly, although she took pains never to pass his residence. Could he be ill, or was he pa- tiently waiting like herself, secure in her good faith ] She longed to see him, even though unseen herself, and one Sunday early in November she yielded to her strong desire to look upon one in reality who had become an abiding presence in her mind. She believed that from a certain part of the gallery in the church they both had attended in former days she could look down upon the Arnold pew. If he were not ill she felt quite sure he would be in his old place. It was almost with a sense of guilty intrusion that she cross- ed the threshold of her old church-home and stole to the thinly occupied gallery. She saw familiar faces, but shrank from recognition in almost trembling apprehension, scarcely feeling secure behind her thick veil. The place, once so familiar, now seemed as strange as if it belonged to another world ; and in a certain sense she felt that it was part of a world with which she would never willingly identify herself again. It was a place where fashion was supreme, and not the spirit of Christ, not even the spiiit of a broad, honest, and earnest humanitj The florid architecture, the high-priced and elegantly uphol- stered pews, sparsely occupied by people who never wished jO be crowded under any possible circumstances, and preferred not to touch each other except in a rather distant and conv*?n- tional way, the elaborately ritualistic service, and the cold, L ■ ! f »• , l-W^li ll m IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) e.-.^ 1.0 I.I liilM 12.5 no Itt 1^ ■ 2.2 ii& 1 L25 Iju u^ < 6" ► *^ f /: V /A Photographic Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. M5M (716) 872-4S03 ^ ^:^ 186 WITHOUT A HOME. superficial religious philosophy taught, were all as far removed from the divine Son of Mary as the tinsel scenery of a stage differs from a natural landscape. Mildred's deep and sorrow- ful experience made its unreality painfully apparent and un< satisfactory. She resolved, however, to try to give the sacred words that would be uttered their true meaning ; anc*,, in fact, her sincere devotion was like a simple flower blooming by the edge of a glacier. She felt that the human love she brought there and sought to gratify was pure and unselfish, and that in no sense could it be a desecration of the place and hour. To a nature like hers, her half-pitying love for one so unfortunate as Vinton Aiiiold was almost as sacred as her faith, and therefore she had no scruple in watching for his appearance. Her quest was unrewarded, however, for no one entered the pew except Mr. Arnold and one of his daughters. The absence of Mrs. Arnold and the invalid son filled her with forebodings and the memory of the past ; the influence of the place com- bined with her fears were so depressing that by the time the service ended her tears were falling fast behind her veil. \Vi»h natural apprehension that her emotion might be observed sLe looked hastily around, and, with a start, encountered the eyes of Roger Atwood. Her tears seemed to freeze on her cheeks, and she half shuddered in strong revulsion of feeling. She had come to see the man she loved ; after months of patient wait* ing she had at last so far yielded to the cravings of her heart as to seek but a glimpse of one who fed her dearest earthly hope ; but his place is vacant In his stead she finds, almost at her side, one whom she hoped never to see again ; and she knew he was oflering through his dark eyes a regard loathed in her inmost soul. She was oppressed with a sudden, superstitious fear that she could not escape him — that he was endowed with such a remorseless will and persistance that by some strange necessity she might yield in spite of herself. Belle's words, *He'll win you yet ' seemed like a direful prophecy. How it could ever be fulfilled she could not imagine ; but his mere presence caused a flutter of fear, and the consciousness that she was followed by a man pre-eminently gifted with that subtle power before which most obstacles crumble made her shiver with an undefined dread. ROQEB BEAPPEARS. 187 She believed her veil had been no protection — that he had seen her emotion and devined its cause, indeed that nothing could escape his eyes. She also felt sure that he had come to the city to carry out the projects which he had vaguely out- lined to her, and that henceforth she could never be sure, when away from home, that his searching eyes were not upon her. However well-intentioned his motive might be, to her it would be an odious -ystem of espionage. There was but one way in which she could resent it — by a cold and steadily maintained indifference, and she left the church without any sign of recog- nition, feeling that her lowered veil should have taught him that she was shunning observation, and that he had no right to watch her. She went home not only greatly depressed, but incensed, for it was the same to her as if she had been intruded upon at a moment of sacred privacy, and coldly scrutinized while she was giving way to feelings that she would hide from all the world. That he could not know this, and that it was no great breach of delicacy for a young man to sit in (he same church with a lady of his acquaintance, and even to regard her with sympathy, she did not consider. She was in no mood to do him justice, and circumstances had imbued her mind with intense prejudice. She was by no means perfect, nor above yielding to very unjust prejudices when tempted to them by so unwelcome an interest as that entertained by Roger Atwood. ^ What's the matter, Millie ? ' her mother asked, following her into her room, where Belle was writing a letter to Clara Bute. Mildred concluded to tell all, for she feared Roger might soon appear and occasion awkward explanations, so she said : ' 1 felt, this morning like having a glimpse of our old church and life. I suppose it was very weak and foolish, and I was well punished, for toward the end of the service I was thinking over old times, and it all very naturally brought some tears. I looked around, and who, of all others, should be watching me but Roger Atwood.' Belle sprang up, and clapped her hands with a ringing laugh. ' That's capital I ' she cried. * Didn't I tell you Millie, you couldn't escape him 1 You. might just as well give in first as last.' A 1 'A 188 WITHOUT A HOME. * Belle/ said Mildred, in strong irritation, * that kind of talk is unpardonable. I won't endure it ; and if such nonsense is to be indulged in, Roger Atwood cannot come here. I shall at least have one refuge, and will not be persecuted in my o\rn home.' * Bblle,' said Mrs. Jocelyn, gravely, * since Mildred feels as she does, you must respect her feelings. It would be indelicate and unwomanly to do otherwise.' * There, Millie, 1 didn't mean anything,' Belle said, sooth- .ingly. ' Besides, I want Roger to come and see us, for he can be jolly good company if he has a mind to ; and I believe he will come this afternoon or evening. For my sake you must all treat him well, for I want some one to talk to once in a while — some one that mamma will say is a "good, well- meaning young man." The Atwoods have all been so kind to us that we must treat him well. It would be mean not to do so. No doubt he's all alone in the city, too, and wUl be lonely.' * There is no need of his being in the city at all,' Mildred protested. ' I ve no patience with his leaving those who need him so much.' * Millie, you are unreasonable,' retorted Belle. 'Why hasn't Roger Atwood as good a right to seek his fortune out in the world as other young men ) Papa didn't stay on the old plantation, although they all wanted him to.' It was difficult to refute Belle's hard common sense, and her sister could only protest, ' Well, he has no right to be stealthily watching me, nor to persecute me with unwelcome attentions.' * Leave it all to me, Millie,' said her mother gently. ' I will manage it so that Belle can have his society occasionally, and we show our good-will toward those who have been kind to us. At the same time I think I can shield you from any- thing disagreeable. You give to his feelings more importance than they deserve.' * I suppose T do,* Mildred replied musingly, * but he makes upon me the queer impression that he will never leave me alone — that I can never wholly shake him off, and that he will appear like a ghost when I least expect it' Belle smiled significantly. * There, you might as well speak plainly as look in that way,' Mildred concluded irritably. ' I nOGER REAPPEARS. 189 foresee how it will be, but must submit and endure as best I can, I suppose.' Belle's anticipation proved correct, for just as they were about ready to start for the chapel Roger appeared, and was a little awkward from diffidence and doubt as to his reception. Mrs. Jocelyn's kindness and Belle's warm greeting somewhat reassured him, and atoned for Mildred's rather constrained po- liteness. While answering the many and natural questions about those whom he had left in Forestville, he regained his self-possession and was able to hold his own against Belle's sallies. ' You have come to the city to stay ? ' she asked point- blank. ' Yes,' he said briefly, and that was the only reference he made to himself. She soon began vivaciously, * You must go with us to church and Sunday-school. Here you are, an innocent and unprotect- ed youth in this great and wicked city, and w^e must get you under good influences at once.' ' That is my wish,' he replied, looking her laughingly in the face, ' and that is why I came to see you.* * Mr. Wentworth's hair would rise at the idea of my teach- ing theology or anything ; but 1*11 look after you, and if you get any fast ways I'll make you sorry. No, I'm only a scholar. Millie has a class of the worst boys in school, and if — ' A warning glance here checked her. 'Well, then, can't I join your class V 'Oh, no, we are all girls, and you'll make us so bashful we wouldn't dare say anything.' ' I think Mr. Atwood had better go with us to the chapel, accepting the conditions on which we first attended/ suggested Mrs. Jocelyn. ' If he is pleased, as we Were, he can then act accordingly. * Yes, come,' cried Belle, who had resumed at once her old companionable and mirthful relations with Ro^er. ' I'll go with you, so you won't feel strange or afraid. 1 want you to understand,' she continued, as they passed down the quaint old hallway, ' that we belong to the aristocracy. Since this is the oldest house in town, we surely should be regarded as one of the old families.' n'^ 4 ' i^H i m 190 WITHOUT A HOME. ' By what magic were you able to make so inviting a home in such >i place 1 ' he asked. ' Oh, that's Millie's work,' she replied. ' I might have known that/ he said, and a sudden shadow crossed his face. Quickly as it passed away, she saw it. * Yes,' she resumed in a low, earnest tone — for she had no scruple in fanning the flame of his love, which she more ilian half believed might yet be rewarded — * Millie is one of a mil- lion. She will be our main dependence, I fear. She is so strong and sensible.' * Ts — is not Mr. Jocelyn well 1* he asked apprehensively. * I fear he isn't well at all,' she answered with some despon- dency. * He is sleeping now ; he always rests Sunday after- noon, and we try to let him rest all we can. He sleeps, or rather dozes, a great deal, and seems losing his strength and energy/ and she spoke quite frankly concerning their plans, -projects, and hopes. * Yes,' said Roger, in low, sad emphasis, * your sister is in- deed one in a million, and my chance of winning one friendly thought from her also seems but one in a million. Belle, let us understand each other from the start. I have come to the city to stay, and I intend to succeed. I have an uncle in town who has given me a chance, and he'll do more for me, I think. He's peculiar, but he's shrewd and sensible, and when he is convinced that I intend to carry out certain plans, he will aid me. He is watching me now, and thinks I am here only from a restless impulse to see the world ; by and by he will know better. He has the obstinate Atwood blood, and if he takes a notion to give me a chance to get a first-class educition, he will see me through. I'm going to have one any way ; but of course I'd rather be able to get it in five or six years than in eight or ten years, as would be the case if I had to work my own way. I am now employed in his commission store P£ARS. 191 come and see you and go out with you now and then ; and if you and your — well, ycur family, should ever need any ser- vice that it was in my power to render, I should like you all to feel that I am not altogether unfit to give it, or to be your associate.' • You needn't talk that way,' said Belle ; you are up in the world compared with us.' * I mean every word I say. I respect your mother as I do my own, for I have seen her beautiful life and beautiful face for weeks and months. I never expect to see a more perfect and genuine lady. I am not well versed in society's ways, but 1 assure you I would make every effort in my power to act as she would think a young man ought to act.' Tears of gratified feeling were in Belle's eyes, but she said brusquely, * Not versed in society's ways ! Account, then, for that fashionable suit of clothes you are wearing.' ' Tliey were not cut in Forestville,' he replied dryly. ' Roger,' she said impulsively, * I'm wonderfully glad you've come to New York to live, for I was dying for a little society and fun that mother and Millie wouldn't disapprove of. They are so particular, you know, that I fairly ache from trying to walk in the strait and narrow path which is so easy for them. I want a lark. I must have a lark before long, or I'll explode. When I come home, mamma often looks tired and sad, for this life is wearing on her, and she is worrying in secret over papa's health. Millie, too, is tired and downhearted in spite of her trying to hide it. She won't go out anywhere because she says there are no places where young girls can go unattended that are within our means. I've got tired of the other shop girls. A few of them are nice ; but more of them are stupid or coarse, so I just sit around and mope, and go to bed early to get through the time. Now is it natural for a young girl little more than sixteen to live such a life ) ' * No, Belle, it is not, and yet I have seen enough of the city during the week that I have been here to know that your mother and sister are right in their restrictions.' * Well, then, it's a burning shame that in a city called Chris- tian a poor girl is not more safe outside of her own door than if she were in a jungle. Do you mean to say that girls, situ- M, M\ .i| 192 WITHOUT A HOME. ated as Millie and I are, must remain cooped up in liitlo rooms the year round when our work is over ? ' ' The street is no place for you take recreation in after night- fall ; and where else you can go unattended I'm sure I don't know. If there is any place, I'll find out, for I intend to study this city from top to bottom. A lawyer is bound to know life as it is, above all things. But you needn't worry about this question in the abstract any more. I'll see that you have a good time occasionally. Your sister will not go with me, at least not yet — perhaps never — but that is not my fault. I've only one favour to ask of you. Belle, and I'll do many in re- turn. Please never, by word, or even by look, make my pres- ence offensive or obtrusive to Miss Mildred. If you will be caieful I will not prove so great an affliction as she fears.' * Koger At wood, do you read people's thoughts I ' ' Oh, no, I only see what is to be seen, and draw my conclu- sions,' he said, a little sadly. * Well, then, if you can have the tact and delicay to follow such good eyesight, you may fare better than you expect,' she whispered at the chapel door. He turned toward her with a quick flash, but she had stepped forward into the crowd passing through the vestibule, Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred followed half a block away, and the former said to her daughter : * There they go, Millie, chattering together like two children. You surely take this affair too seriously. His sudden and boyish infatuation with you was the most natural thing in the world. He had never seen a girl like you before, and you awoke in him something like manhood. Very young men are prone to fall in love with women older than themselves, or those who seem older, and speedily to fall out again. Martin has often said his first flame is now a gray-headed lady, and yetfhe was suro at onetime he he never could endure life without her.' * 1 hope that you are right, mamma. It seems as if I ought to laugh at the whole affair and good-naturedly show him his folly, but for some reason I can't. He affects me very strange- ly. While I feel a strong repulsion, I am beginning to fear him — to become conscious of his intensity and the tenacity and power of his will. I didn't understand him at first, and I HOQEH REAPPEARS. 103 don't now, but if he were an ordinary, impulsive young fellow he would not impress me as he does.' ' Dun't you think him true and good at heart 1 ' ' I've no reason to think him otherwise. I can't explain to you how I feel, nor do I understand it myself. He seems the embodiment of a certain kind of force, and I always shrank from mere force, whether \n nature or people.' ' I can tell you how it is, Millie. Quiet and gentle as you seem, you have a tremendous will of your own, and very strong-willed people don't get on well together.' ' Astute little mother ! Well explain it in any way that pleases you, only keep your promise not to let him become the bane of my life.' ' I am not at all sure but that Belle will soon usurp your place in his regard, nor would I object, for I am very anxious about the child. I know that her present life seems dull to her, and the temptations of a city to a girl with a nature like hers are legion. He can be a very useful friend to her, and he seems to me manly and trustworthy. I am not often deceived in my impressions of people, and he inspires me with confi- dence, and has from the first. I never saw anything under- hand in him at the farm.' ' Chant his praises to Belle, mamma, and she will greatly ap- preciate this last proof of his superiority. To me he seems like his clothes — a little too new. Still I admit that he can be of very great service to Belle ; and if he will restrict his atten- tions to her I will be as polite as either of you can wish. I too, feel a very deep sympathy for Belle. She is little more than a child, and yet her life is imposing upon her the mono- tonous work of a middle-aged woman, and I fear the conse- quences.' ' Well, Millie dear, we won't cross any bridges till we come to them/ 4 i it] 194 WITHOUT A HOMR. CHAPTER XXV. THE DARK SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS. URING the sermon it must be admitted that Belle's thoughts waudered from the text and its able devr^ lopment by Mr. Wentworth. In fact she was develop- ing a little scheme of her own, and as the result, whispered at the close of service, ' Mamma, Roger and I are going to take a walk in the Park. Can't I ask him home to supper 1 This is his first Sunday in town, and it will be so dismal — ' * Yes, child, go and have a good time.' Within the next idve minutes radiant Belle was an uncoi- scions embodiment of foreordination to Roger. He had had no idea of going to the Park, but Belle had decreed he should go, and as he smilingly accompanied her he certainly remaiDed a very contented free agent. It was a clear, bracing afternoon and evening, wherein were blended the characteristics of both autumn and winter, and the young people returned with glowing cheeks and quickened pulses. * Oh, Millie ! ' cried Belle,* *such a walk as I have had would make you over new. I felt as if I were a hundred this morn- ing, but now I feel just about sixteen — that was my last birth- day, wasn't it, mamma ) ' Roth mother and sister smiled to see her sparkling eyes and bubbling happiness ; and the latter thought, * For her sake I must certainly either master or conceal my dislike for that young fellow.' Indeed, she herself appeared sadly in need of a little vigor- ous exercise in the frosty air. The events of the day had been exceedingly depressing ; despondency had taken the place of the irritation and the hopes and fears that had alternated in the morning hours ; but she unselfishly tried to disguise it, and to aid her mother in preparing an inviting supper for Belle and her guest. cravings more i THE DARK SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS. 195 Mildred was obliged to admit to herself that Roger had very little of the appearance and manner of an uncouth countryman. There was a subtle, half-conscious homage for her mother in his every look and word, and for herself a politeness almost as distant and unobtrusive as her own Once, when a sigh escaped her lis she was busy about the room, she looked apprehensively at him, and, as she feared, encountered a glance from which nothing could escape. Suddenly the thought occurred to her : ' I will learn from his microscopic eyes how papa appears to others not blinded by love as we are ; for, in spite of all my efforts to look on the hright side, I am exceedingly ill at ease about him. I fear he \i failing faster than we think — we who see him daily, Mr. Attwood has not seen him for months, and the least change would be apparent to him.' Immunity from business induced Mr. Jocclyn to gratify his cravings more unstintedly on Sunday ; and as he was often exceedingly irritable if disturbed when sleeping off the effects otan extra indulgenee, they usually left him to wake of his own accord. Unfortunately the walls of his apartment were but curtains, and his loud breathings made it necessary to rouse him. This Mrs. Jocelyn accomplished with some difficulty, but did not mention the presence of Roger, fearing that in his half- wakened condition he might make some remark which would hurt the young man's feelings. She merely assisted him to I arrange his disordered hair and dress, and then led the way to tlie supper-table, he in the mean time protesting petulantly that he wished no supper, but would rather have slept. As he emerged from the curtained doorway, Mildred's eyes were fastened on Roger's face, determined that nothing in its expression should escape her. He at the moment was in the midst of a laughing reply to one of Belle's funny speeches, but he stopped instantly and turned pale as his eyes rested OQ the visage of her father. Had that face then changed 80 greatly 1 Had disease made such havoc that this compara- tive stranger is aghast and cannot conceal the truth that he is I shocked ? It was with sharp anguish that these queries flashed through Mildred's mind, and, with her own perceptions sharpened and quickened, she saw that her father had indeed changed very 'I" m a'J 100 WITHOUT A HOME. groatly ; he had grown much thinner ; his complexion liaii an unnatural, livid aspect ; his old serene, frank look was al>M m, and a noticeable contraction in the pupils of his eyes gave an odd, iinister aspect to his expression. There were other changes that were even more painful to witness. In former days he had been the embodiment otj^enial Southern hospitality ; but now, although he made a visible effort for self-control, his whole body seemed one diseased ir- ritable nerve. Roger almost instantly overcame his pained siirpi ise, yet not so quickly but that it was observed by all, and even hy him who had been the cause. * I am very sorry to learn you are iuot in good health,' he was indiscreet enough to say as lie offered his hand in greeting. * From whom have you learned this ? ' demanded Mr. Joce- lyn, looking angrily and suspiciously around. ' I assure yoo that you are mistaken. I never was in better health, and I am not pleased that any one should gossip about me.' They sat down under a miserable constraint — Belle flushed and indignant, Mildred no longer disguising her savlness, and poor Mrs. Jocelyn with moist eyes making a painful attempt to restore serenity so that Belle's happy day might not become clouded. Roger tried to break the evil spell by giving hii j impressions of the Park to Mrs. Jocelyn, but was interrupted | by her husband, who had been watching the young man with a perplexed, suspicious look, vainly trying to recall the name of one whose face was familiar enough, remarking at but very satirically, 'Has it ceased to be the style to introdaoi people, especially at one's own table 1 I might appreciate tbii| gentleman's conversation better if I knew his name.' They all looked at each other in sudden dismay, for theyl could not know that opium impairs memory as well as healtkl and manhood. * Martin,' cried his wife, in a tone of shaijl distress, 'You are ill, indeed. There is no use of trying t«| disguise the truth any longer. What 1 don't you remembtrj Roger Atwood, the son of the kind friends with whom wj spent the summer ) ' and in spite of all effort tears blinded b(r| eyes. The wretched man's instinct of self-preservation was arous He saw from the looks of all about him that he was betrayii THE DARK SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS. 197 hiniBelf— that he was wholly off his balance. While vividly tnd painfully aware of his danger, his enfeebled will and opium-clouded mind were impotent to steady and sustain him or to direct his course. He had much of the terror and all the sense of helplessness of a man who finds himself in deep water and cannot swim. He trembled, the perspiration started out on his brow, and his one impulse now was to bo alone with his terrible master, that had become the sole source of his gfinhlance of strength as well as of his real and fatal weakness. ' I— I fear I am ill,' he faltered. ' I'll go out and get a little air/ and he was about to leave the room almost precipitately. ' Oh, Martin,* expostulated his wife, * don't go out — at least not alone.' Again he lost control of himself, and said savagely, ' I will. Don't any one dare to follow me,' and he almost rushed away. For a moment Mrs. Jocelyn tried to bear up from instinctive politeness, but her lip quivered like that of a child ; then the tide of her feeling swept her away, and she fled to the adjoin- ing apartment. Mildred followed her at once, and Belle, with a white, scared face, looked into Roger's eyes. He rose and came directly to her and said, ' Belle, you know you can always count on me. Your father is so ill that I think I had better follow hira. I can do so unobserved." •Oh, Roger — why — is — is papa losing his mind 1 ' His quick eye now noted that Fred and Minnie had become 1 10 impressed that something dreadful had happened that they wpre about to make the occasion more painful by their out- cries, and he turned smilingly to them, and with a few reassur- ing words and promises soon quieted their fears. ' Be a brave little woman. Belle,' he at last said to her. 'There is my ad- jdress, and please promise to let me know if I can do anything [for you and for— for Mrs. Jocelyn.' 'Don't go — please don't go yet,' Belle pleaded. * Papa's ' I and words to-night fill me with a strange fear as if some- hing awful might happen.' ' Perhaps, if 1 follow your father I may prevent — * * Oh, yes, go at once.' He was intercepted at the door by the entrance of Mr. Jocelyn, who had had ample time in the few brief minutes that '' elapsed to fill his system with the subtle stimulant He *• » i til m 1' i %^, 198 WITHOUT A HOME. m.. now took Koger by the hand most cordially^ and said, ' Pardon me, Mr. Atwood. My health has become somewhat impaired of late, and I fear I have just had a rather bad turn ; but the air has revived me, and the trouble now has passed. I insist that you stay and spend the evening with us.' * Oh, papa,' cried Belle, rushing into his arms, 'how you frightened us ! Please go in my room, there, and comfort mamma by telling her you are all well again.' This he did so effectually that he soon led her out smiling through her tears, for her confidsnce in him was the growth and habit of years ; and anything he said to her seemed, for the moment, true. Mildred made great effort to be cheerful for her f-ither'g sake, but the pallor did not pass from her face, nor the look of deep anxiety from her eyes. The shadow of coming trouble had fallen too heavily upon her, and that the marked exhibi- tion of her father's failing powers should have occurred at this time added to the impression that Roger Atwood was their evil genius. She recalled the fact that he seemingly had been the first exciting cause of her father's unnatural behaviour, and now his reappearance was the occasion of the most c >nvincing proof they had yet received that the one upon whom they all depended was apparently failing in both mind and body. Even now, while he was doing his best to reassure and render his family happy, there was to. her perception an unreality in his words and manner. She almost imagined, too, that be feared to meet her eye and shunned doing so. Not in the re- motest degree, however, did she suspect the cause of bi^j suddenly varying moods and changed appearance, but regan all as the result of his misfortunes; and the miserable pre- j sentiment grew strong upon her that soon — alas! toosoou-j she would be the slender reed on which they all would lean. The night was clear and beautiful, and Roger and Belle went! up to the platform built over the root Not long afterwtfd there was a knock at the door, and Mr. Ulph appeared. 'Dtf night vas goot,' he said to Mildred, * and I vill gif you von I leedle glimpse off hefen if you vould like him.' . The poor girl felt that she certainly needed a glimpse wj something bright and reassuring, and wrapping herself wanniyj she followed her quaint friend to the roof. ■ Pardon mpaired but the I insist bow you comfort t smiling le growth iemed, for Br f-ither's the look ing trouble ted exhibi- rred at this 1 was their ly had been iaviour,and c >nvincing lom they all and body. and Tender unreality in 00, that be ot in the re- ^ause of hi»^j [but regarded miserable pre- 1 1 toosoott-j 'ouldlean. .a Belle went! ,2 afterward I [eared. M gif you vott la glimpse fj lerself warffllji THE DARK SHADOW OF COMING EVENTS. 199 Roger grew tacituru as ho watched the dim outline of her form and her white, upturned face. She seemed as cold and distant to him as the stars at which he gazed, and he thought dejectedly, * The least of them have an interest for her greater than I shall eyer be able to inspire.' He overrated her interest in the stars on that occasion, how- ever, for though she did her best to follow the old astronomer's words, her heart was too sorrowful and preoccupied, and her eyes too often blinded by tears, which once glittered so dis- tinctly in the rays of a brilliant planet that he stopped in the midst of a sentence and looked at her keenly. ' You vas not hahby; my leetle schild,' he said kindly. * Dere's someding droubling you heart ; put you gan no see vay inter der hefens drew dears do' dey vas glear as der lens of my ' I fear I shall have to see through tears very often, if I see at all,' Mildred replied, with a low suppressed sob. * Forgive me tonight. I do feel grateful that you are willing to show me —but— I — I — well, I am troubled to-night about something, and I can't control myself. To-morrow night I'll be braver, and will help you. Please don't feel hurt if I leave you now.' 'Ab, mine leetle girl, learn vrom der schtars dot der great laws moost be opeyed, and don't you vorry and vret ober vat you gannot nnlp. Shust you go along quiet und easy like Shupiter oup dere. Lots off dings vill dry to bull dis vay and dot Vay outen der right orpit, put dond you mind 'em, und chust go right sc^rait along und not care. You veels too mooch apoutoder beoples.' She might have reminded him that, if she had acted upon this cold and selfish philosophy, his little child would now be sleeping in a distant cemetery instead of in his warm crib, but she only said, ' Good-night, Mr. Ulph ; I'll do better next time,' and she hurried away. She felt that the sun and centre of their family \ih was passing under a strange and lasting ec lipse, and the result might be darkness — chaos. M 200 WITHOUT A HOME. CHAPTER XXVI. WAXING AND WANING MANHOOD. [^ OTH Belle and Roger saw that Mildred had not been reassured by ?*ir. Jocelyn's return and manner ; and as they thougiit it over they found it difficult to ac- couno for his strangely varying moods. After a rather lame efifort to chat cheeriW, Roger bade Belle good-night, and as- sured her that she now bad a friend always within call. His uncle's modest residence was in a side street and not far away, but the young fellov7 walked for hours before apply- ing his niglit-key to the door. V7hat he had seen and heard that day touched his heart's core, and the influences that were so rapidly developing hid manhood were greatly strengthened. For Belle he now had a genuine liking and not a little respect. He aa^v her foibles clearly, and understood that she was still more a child than a woman, and so should not be judged by the standards proper for those of mature age ; but he also sav the foundations on which a noble womanhood might be built. She inspired a sence of comradeship and honest friendliness which would easily deepen into fraternal love, but Mrs. Joce- lyn's surmise that ahe might some day touch that innermost spring which controls the entire man had no true basis. Nor would there hav* been any possibility of this had he never seen Mildred. A true mifn — one governed by heart and mind, not passion — meets many women whom he likes and admires ex- ceedingly, but who can never quicken his pulse. On MiHred, however-— although she coveted the gift so liutle— was be- fitowed the power to touch the most hidden and powerful prin- ciples of his being, to awaken and stimulate every faculty he possessed. Her words echoed and le-eohoed in the recesses of hid soul ; even her cold, distant glances were like rays of a tropical sun to which his heart could oflfer no resistance; and yet they were by no means enervating. Some natures would have grown despondent over prospects seemingly so ' but lio^ feeling c tion anc purpose terminat A few natured, came, wi him a lat we find J but Jet 80 an energy tiofls take when nati ceming th of the qui( the farthes their powe and combii from age tc But in t ment takes the limitati however sti %er Atw the world \ his tendenc oW boyish i accurate ohi After Mil pifiis in a of ^*) his unclel g'e or alonel gested that H therefore byl heved he co^ not unreasoi «nce his ne| we world, U "D'i most bl WAXING AI^D WAITING MANHOOD. 201 but Uoger was of a different typa His deep and unaccepted feeling did not flow back upon his spirit, quenching it in dejec- tion and despair, but it became a resistless tide back of his purpose to win her recognition and respect at least, and his de- termination tv» prove himself her peer. A few months before, Roger seemingly had been a good- natured, pleasure-loving country youth, who took life as it came, with little thought for the morrow. Events had proved him a latent and undeveloped force. In the material world we find substances that apparently are inert and powerless, but let some other substance be brought sufficiently near and an energy is developed that seems like magic, and transforma- tions take place that were regarded as supernatural in times when nature's laws were little understood. If this be true con- cerning that which is gross and material, how much more true of the quick, informing spirit that can send out its thoughts to the farthest star ! Strong souls-'-once wholly unconscious of their power — at the touch of adequate motives pass into action and combinations which change the character of the world from age to age. But in the spiritual as in the physical world, thi? develop- ment takes place in accordance with natural law and vyithin the limitations of each character. There is nothing strange^ however strange it may appear to those who not understand. Roger Atwood was not a genius that would speedily dazzle the world with bewildering coruscations. It would rather be his tendency to grow silent and reserved with years, but his old boyish alertness would not decline, nor his habit of shrewd, accurate observation. Af -er Mildred's departure from the country he carried out his plf>as in a characteristic way. He wrote frankly and decidedly to his uncle that he was coming to the city, and would strug« gle or alone if he received no aid. At the same time he sug- gested that he had a large acquaintance in his vicinity, and therefore by judicious canvassing among the farmers he be- lieved he could bring much patronage with him. This looked not unreasonable to the shrewd commission merchant, and, since his nephew was determined to make an excursion into the world, he concluded it had better be done under the safest and most business-Uke circumstances. He therefore wrote 202 WITHOUT A HOME. to Roj^er that, if his parents were willing, he might secure what trade he could in farm produce and make the trial. At first Mr. and Mrs. At wood would not hear of the plan, and the father openly declared that it was ^ those Jocelyn girls that had unsettled the boy.' * Father,' said Roger, a little defiantly and sarcastically, ' doesn't it strike you that I'm rather tall for a boy ? Did you never hear of a small child, almost of age, choosing his own course in life 1 ' * That is not the way to talk,' said his mother reprovingly. < We both very naturally feel that it's hard, and hardly right, too, for you to leave us just as we are getting old and need some one to lean on, * Do not believe, mother, that I* have not thought of that,' was the eager reply ; < and if I have my way you and father, and Susan too, shall be well provided for.' * Thank you,' Mr. At wood snarled contemptuously. ' I'll get what I can out of the old farm, and I don't expect any provis- ion from an overgrown boy whose head is so turned by two city girls that he must go dangling after them.' Roger flushed hotly, and angry words rose to his lips, but he restrained them by a visible effort After a moment he said quietly, * You are my father, and may say what you please. There is but one way of convincing you whether I am a boy or a man, and I'll take it. You can keep me here till I'm twenty- one if you will, but you'll be sorry. It will be so much loss to me and no gain to you. I've often heard you say the Atwoods never " drove well," and you found out years ago that a good word went further with me than what you use d to call a " good thrashing." If you let me have my way, now that I'm old enough to choose for myself, I'll make your old age cozy and comfortable. If you thwart me, as I said before, you'll be sorry,' and he turned on his heel and left them. Politic Mrs. Atwood had watched her son closely for weeks and knew .that something was coming, but with woman's pa tience she waited and was kind. No one would miss him so much as she, and yet, mother-like, she now took sides against her own heart. But she saw that her husband was in no mood to listen to her at present, Jind nothing more was said that day. in the spring gave a grudg ^Dgraciouj porous, thoroi house and pa tnown before a consideratio changsd from 'lean see 8*78 and does musing, 'and' intuition was ( * man as Mild »i«o true that t wns already m was a uhildleBS man, and if Roger had it in hioi to ' climb the ladder/ as he expressed it to himself, ' it might pay to give him the chance.' But the power to climb would have to be proved al- most to a demonstration. In the meantime Roger, well watch- ed and much mistrusted, was but a clerk in his store near Washington Market, and a student during all spare hours. He had too much sense to attempt superficial work or to seek to build his fortunes on the slight foundation of mere smartness. It was his plan to continue in business for a year or more and then enter the junior class of one of the city col- leges. By making the most of every moment and with the aid of a little private tutoring he believed he could do this, for he was a natural mathematician, and would find in the classics his chief difficulties. At any rate it was his fixed resolve not to enter upon the study of the law proper until he had broadened his mind by considerable general culture. Not only did his ambition prompt to this, but he felt that if he developed nar- rowly none would be so clearly aware of the fact as Mildred Jocelyn. Although not a highly educated girl herself, he knew she had a well-bred woman's nice perception of what con- stituted a cultivated man ; he also knew that he had much prejudice to overcome, and that he must strike at its very root In the meantime poor Mildred, unconscious of all save hi< unwelcome regard, was seeking with almost desperate earnestness to gain practicable knowledge of two humble arts, hoping to be prepared for the time — now clearly foreseen and dreaded— when her father might decline so far in mind and health as to fail them utterly, and even become a heavy burden. She did not dream that his disease was a drug, and although some of his associates began to suspect as much, in spite of all his pre- cautions, none felt called upon to suggest their suspicions to his family. Causes that work steadily will sooner or later reach their legitimate results. The opium inertia grew inevitably upon Mr. Jocelyn. He disappointed the expectations of his employ* er to that degree that they felt that something was wrong, and his appearance and manner often puzzled them not a little, ''O WAXING AND WANING MANHOOD. 205 even ihoueh with all the cunning which the habit engenders ha sought to hide his weakness. One day, late in November, an unexpected incident brought matters to a crisis. An experienced medical acquaintance while making a call upon the firm, caught sight of Mr. Jocelyn and his practised eye detected the trouble at once. *That man is an opium-eater,' he said in a low tone, and his explanation of the effects of the drug was a diagnosis of Mr. Jocelyn's symptoms and appearance. The firm's sympathy for a man seemingly in ]^oor health was transformed into dis- gust and antipathy, since there is less popular toleration of this weakness than of dt-inking habits. The very obscurity in which the vice is involved makes it seem all the more unnatu- ral and repulsive, and it must be admitted that the fullest knowledge tends only to increase this horror and repugnance, even though pity is awakeTied fur the wretched victim. But. Mr. Jocelyn's employers had little knowledge of the vice, and they were not in the least inclined to pity. They felt that they had been imposed upon, and that too at a time when all business men were very restless under useless expenditure. It was the man's fault and not misfortune that he had failed so signally in securin^^ trade from the South, and, while they had paid him but a small salary, his illdi xcted and wavering eflorts had involved them in considerable expense. Asking the physician to remain, Mr. Jocelyn was sumn med to the private office, and directly charged with the excessive and habitual use of opium. The poor man was at first greatly confused, and trembled as in an ague fit, for his nerve power was already so shattered that he had little self-control in an emergency. This, of course, was confirmation of guilt in their eyes. ' Gentlemen you do me a great wrong,' he managed to say, and hastily left the office. Having secreted himself from ob- servation he snatched out his hypodermic syringe, and within six minutes felt himself equal to any crisis. Boldly returning to the office he denied the charge in the most explicit terms, and with some show of lofty indignation. The physician who was still present watched him closely, and noticed that the cuif on his left hand was somewhat crumpled, as if it had been recently pushed back. Without a word he seized Mr. Jocelyn's W. I' I 1 I i 20G WITHOUT A HOME. arm and pulled back his coat and shirt-sleeve, revealing a bright red puncture just made, and many others of a remoter date. ' There is no use of lying about such matters to me/ said the physician. * How much morphia did you inject into your arm since you left us ) ' * I am a victim of neuralgia,' Mr. Jocelyn began, without any hesitation, * and the cruel and unreasonable charge here made against me brought on an acute paroxysm, and there- fore I—' * Stop that nonsense,' interrupted the doctor, roughly, * Don't you know that lying, when lying is of no use, is one of the characteristic traits of an opium-eater 1 I am a physician, and have seen too many cases to be deceived a moment. You have all the symptoms of a confirmed morphia consumer, and if you ever wish to break your chains you had better tell doctors the truth and put yourself under the charge of one in whom you have confidence.' ' Well, curse you I ' said Mr. Jocelyn savagely, * it was through one of your damnable fraternity that I acquired what you are pleased to call my chains, and now you come cruaking to my employers, poisoning their minds against me.' * Oh, as to poisoning;' remarked the physician sarcastically, * I'll wager a thousand dollars that you have absorbed enough morphia within the last twenty-four hourti to kill every one in this ofiicd. At the rate you are going on, as far as I can judge from appearances, you will soon poison yourself out of exis- tence. No physician ever advised the destroying vice you are practising, and no physician would take offence at your words any more than at the half-demented ravings of a fever patient You are in a very critical condition, sir, and unless you can wake up to the truth and put forth more will power than most men possess you will soon go to the bad.' * I sincerely hope you will take this experienced physician's advice,' said the senior member of the firm very coldly. ' At any rate we can no longer permit you to jeopardise our inter- ests by your folly and weakness. The cashier will settle with you, and our relations end here and now.' * You will bitterly repent of this injustice,' Mr. Jocelyn re- plied haughtily. * You are discharging a man of unusual busi- A SLAVE. 207 ness capacity — one whose acquaintance with the South is well nigh universal, and whose combinations were on the eve of securing enormous returns.' ' We will forego all these advantages. Good-morning, sir. Did you ever see such effrontery 1 ' he continued, after Mr. Jocelyn had departed with a lofty and contemptuous air. ' It's not effrontery — it's opium/ said the physician sadly. < You should see the abject misery of the poor wretch after the efifects of the drug have subsided.' ' I have no wish to see him again under any aspect, and heartily thank you for unmasking him. We must look at once into our offairs, and see how much mischief he has done. If he wants the aid and respect of decent men, let him give up this vile practice.' ' That's easier said than done,' the physician replied. * Very few ever give it up who have gone as far as this man.' CHAPTER XXVII. A SLAVE. I HE physician was right A more abject and pitiable spectacle than Mr. Jocelyn could scarcely have been found among the miserable unfortunates of a city noted for its extremes in varied condition. Even in his false excite- ment he was dimly aware that he was facing a dreadful emer- gency, and, following an instinctive desire for solitude so char- acteristic of those in his condition, he took a room in tui obscure hotel and gave himself up to thoughts that grew more and more painful as the unnatural dreams inspired by opium shaped themselves gradually into accord with the actualities of his life. For a month or two past he had been swept almost unre- sistingly down the darkening and deepening current of his sin. Whenever he made some feeble, vacilating effort to reduce his allowance of the drug, he became so wretched, irritable, and unnatural in manner that his family were full of perplexed li4 m m 208 WITHOUT A HOME. wonder and solicitude. To hide his weakness from bis wife was his supreme desire ; and yet, if he stopped — were this possible — the whole wretched truth would be revealed. J'jich day he had been tormented with the feeling that something must be done, and yet nothing had been done. He had only sunk deeper and deeper, as with the resistless force of gravi- tation. His vague hope, his baseless dream that something would occur which would make reform easier or the future clearer, had now been dissipated utterly, and every moment with more terrible distinctness revealed to him the truth that he had lost his manhood. The vice was already stamped on his face and manner, so that an experienced eye could detect it at once ; soon all would see the degrading brand. He who had once been the soul of honour and truth, had lied that day again and again, and the thought pierced him like a sword. A few opium consumers can go on for years in comparative tranquillity if they will avoid too great excess, and carefully increase their daily allowance so as not to exhibit too marked alternations of elation and depression. Now and then, persons of peculiar constitution can maintain the practice a lon^ time without great physical or moral deterioration ; but no Jiahltue can stop without sufferings prolonged and more painful than can be described. Sooner or later, even those natures which offer the strongest resistance to the ravages of the poison suc- cumb, and pass hopelessly to the same destruction. Mr. Joce- lyn's sanguine, impulsive temperament had little capacity for resistance to begin with, and he had during the last year used the drug freely and constantly, thus making downward ad- vances in months that in some instances require years of mode- rate indulgence. Moreover, as with alcohol, many natures nave an unusual and morbid craving for opium after once ac- quiring the habit of its use. Their appetite demands it with an imperiousness which will not be denied, even while in soul they recoil and loathe the bondage. This was especially true of Mr. Jocelyn. The vice in his case was wrecking a mind and heart naturally noble and abounding in the best impulses. He was conscious, too, of this demoralization, and suffered almost as greatly, as would a true, pure tvonian, if, by some fatal noces- gity, she were compelled to live a life of crime, A SLA'E. 209 He had already begun to shrink from the companionship of hig family. The play and voices of his little children jarred his ghattered nerves almost beyond endurance ; and every look of love ai.d act of trutt became stinging irritants instead of the grateful incense that had once filled his home with perfume. In bitter self-condemnation he saw that he was ceasing to be a protector to his daughters, and that unless he could break the dark, self-woven spells he would drag them down to the depths of poverty, and then leave them exposed to the peculiar temp- tations which, in a great city ever assail girls so young, beauti- ful, and friendless. Mildred, he believed, would die rather than sin ; but he often groaneid in spirit as he thought of Belle. But the thought of his loving, trusting, patient wife was thu most unendurable of all. He had loved her from the first as his own soul, and her love and respect were absolutely essen- tial to him, and yet he was beginning to recoil from her with a strange and unnatural force. He felt that he had no right to touch her while she remained so true and he was so false. He dreaded her loving gaze more than a detective's cold, searching eye. He had already deceived her in regard to the marks of the hypodermic needle, assuring her that they were caused by a slight impurity in his blood, and she never questioned any- thing he said. He often lay awake through interminable nights —the drug was fast losing its powder to produce quiet sleep- trembling and cold with apprehension of the hour when she would become aware that her husband was no longer a man but the most degraded of slaves. Could he go home now and reveal his degradation 1 Great drops of cold perspiration drenched him at the bare thought. The icy waters, the ooze and mud of the river seemed prefer- able. He could not openly continue his vice in the presence of his family, nor could he conceal it much longer, and the at- tempt to stop the drug, even gradually, would transform him almost into a demon of irritability and perhaps violence, so irightful is the rebellion of the physical nature against the ab- stinence essential to a final cure. At last he matured and carried out the following plan : Re- turning to the firm that had employed him, he told them of ijis purpose to go South among his old acquaintances an there was a elight muscular tremor, or beating sens? tion, and her step faltered from weakness. NEW YORK S HUMANITY. 215 To hide the truth from her despondent mother was now her chief hope and aim. Her fatigue she would not attempt to disguise, for that would be unnatural. It was with difficulty she climbed the one flight of stairs that led to their room, but her wan face was «miling as she pushed open the door and kissed her mother in greeting. Then throwing herself on the lounge she cried gaily, ' Come little mother, give me an old maid's panacea for every ill of life — a cup of strong tea.' ' Millie,' cried Mrs. Jocelyn, bending over her with moist eyes, 'you look pale and gone like — ' ' Oh no, mamma, I'm here — a good hundred and ten pounds of me, more or less.' ' But how did you get through the day 1 * ' You will hardly believe it,' was the reassuring reply ; ' I've been promoted already from work that was hard and coarse to the lace-counter, which is near the door, where one can breathe a little pure air. If the goods were as second-hand as the air they would not have a customer. But, come, mam- ma deaf) I'm too tired to talk, and would rather eat, and espe- cially drink. These surely are good symptoma' ' Millie, you are a soldier, as we used to say during the war/ said Mrs. Jocelyn, hastening the preparations for supper ; * but you cannot deceive a mother's eyes. You are more exhausted than you even realize yourself. Oh, I do wish there was some other way. I'd give all the world if I had Mrs. Wheaton's stout red arms, for I'd rather wash all day and half the night than see you and Belle so burdened early in life.' 'I wouldn't have my beautiful mamma changed oven by one gray hair,' was the very natural response. Belle nearly rendered futile all of Mildred's efforts to hide the worst from her mother ; for, after her duties were over, she went eagerly to the shop where she expected to find her sister. Having learned that Miss Jocelyn had fainted and had gone home some time in the afternoon, she sped almost breath- lessly after her, and burst into the room with the words, * Mil- lie !MilUe I' Fortunately Mrs. Jocelyn was busy over the stove at the moment and did not see Mildred's strong cautionary gesture ; bat Belle's perceptions were almost instantaneous, and with one significant glance of her dark eyes she entered into the loving conspiracy. lit '^HKi BBBH iiHBpP h 216 WITHOUT A HOME. * What is it, Belle 1 ' was Mrs. Jocelyn's anxious qiury. * I'm wild to know how Millie has got on the first day, and whether she has as big a fight on her hands as I had. It' she has, I declare war, too, against all the powers and principalities— not of the air, for there wasn't a breath of it in our store to- day. We've had a crush, and I'm half dead from trying to do two days' work in one. Ten minutes for lunch. Scores of cross customers all wanting to be waited on at once, the floor- walkers flying around like hens bereft of heads, which, after all, are never of much use to either. In spito of all, here we are mamma, ready for a cup of your good tea and other fixias. Now, Millie, it's your turn. I've let oif enough steam to be safe till after supper. Have you made cruel enemies tonlay, from whom you desire my protection 1 ' * No, Belle,' said Mildred, laughing ; * I haven't your force and brilliancy, and have made but a humdrum beginning. I was so stupid at one counter that they transferred me to another, and I'm glad of it, for laces are pretty, and taking care of them wouldn't seem like drudgery at all. Best of all, it's near the door, and every customer will give me a sustaining breath.' ' Millie is standing it capitally for a beginner,' Belle re- marked, with an air of a veteran, as Mildred eagerly drank her cup of tea and asked for more. ' I was so tired the first night that it seemed as if I could scarcely swallow a mouthful.' Thus they carried out the little ruse, careful not to exagger- ate, for Mrs. Jocelyn's intuitions were quick. As it was she looked at her child with many misgivings, but she tried for their sakes to be cheerful, and praised the courage and spirit of both the