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 :2/^^^ €> -e-^ f^/W i^ a-M- f d , 
 
 
 7 
 
TO 
 
 iTi>rs» Clara a. Meaver 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED 
 BY 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
r 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 liY 
 
 MRS. FLEWELLYN. 
 
 " O love ! so hallowing every soil 
 That gives the sweet flower room, 
 Wherever nursed by ease or toil 
 The human heart takes bloom. 
 Plant of lost Eden from the soil 
 
 Of sinful earth unriven, 
 White blossom of the trees of Grod 
 Dropped down to us from heaiven.''~Whittier. 
 
 TORONTO : 
 
 COOPER & CO, PUBLISHERS. 
 
 iMDCCCXCIV. 
 
Kntered, accordinjf to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one 
 thousand eight hundred and ninety-four, by Cooper Sl Co., Toronto, at the 
 Department of Agriculture, at Ottawa. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 ClIAITKK. I'AOE. 
 
 I. Hill-Crest ------ 9 
 
 TI. Mrs. Kenyon 2:5 
 
 ITI. Pride and Poverty 43 
 
 IV. At the Parsonage ----- 56 
 
 V. The Fire 87 
 
 VT. Love's Younc; Dream - - - - - 102 
 
 VTI. "In Prison, and Ye Came Unto Me" - 119 
 
 VIII. In Denver - 138 
 
 IX. "Sick, and Ye Visited Me" - - - 168 
 
 X. Robert McDonell's Story - - - - 186 
 
 XI. "SeaIiching for Silver and Find. . . Jold" 199 
 
 XII. Forgiven - - - . . . - 219 
 
 XIII. At Lake View - - . . . 234 
 
 XIV. Conclusion - 249 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 \ olden times when frioiid would send message to 
 llriend, he took from the cote a dove, and concealing- 
 under its wing the little missive, opened the window 
 and sent it I'oilh, to carry the wor<ls of love or warn- 
 ing : an<l I doul)t not that many a fervent prayer 
 went up into the blue heavens after the (juivering 
 pinions, that the hii'd's Hight might he attended with 
 safety. 
 
 Dear ri'a<ler, from the cote of my experience, where 
 is gatliei*e<l my own bitter trials — my memories, my 
 loves, my ambition — I have taken this little book, 
 and with a tender prayer for its safe arrival, have 
 sent it forth. Under ij)s wing is the message I would 
 
 have you read ; it is tied with the thread of a story : 
 it lies close to the warm, throbbing heart of humanity, 
 
VI 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 hidden among the soft feathers of love and unselfish 
 friendship. 
 
 As it comes to your window tapping for admittance, 
 do not stop to look at its storm-beaten plumage, or 
 question the advisability of taking into your own 
 cosy dove-cote this strange pilgrih of the air. 
 
 The message, I say, is liiddcn ; and if after a caivful 
 search you find and take into your life the swtM't 
 lesson, and it brings to your heart the peace and 
 happiness it has brought to mine, 1 will be fort^vei* 
 thankful that I said to the litth- book, "Go forth." 
 
 ThK AlTHOH. 
 
HILL-CREST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HILL-CllEST. 
 
 HE liouso was ol<l ami fast ^oiii^ to de- 
 cay ; nothing had been done in the 
 way of repairs for the last (jiiarter of 
 a century. The hill on which it stood 
 would have furnished an eligible site 
 lor a palace, whose outlines, viewed from any direction, 
 ^ould have stood out in relief a^^ainst the sky ; and 
 Ihis prominence made all the more marked the ravages 
 >f time and the lack of harmony with the surrounding 
 ^indscape. The present owner had built it accoruing 
 jo his means (a very commendable thing to do) when 
 [he land was cheap, but competent workmen hard to 
 jet ; and having lived there comfortably so long, he 
 'as determined, notwithstanding flattering offers to 
 lell, that he would end his days in the same conspicu- 
 )us habitation. 
 The house, I say, was old. In the time of which I 
 rite, the rough-cast, as it was called, had begun to 
 jet tired of clinging to the lathing so long, and had 
 2 
 
 
 1 
 
 ■ 1. 
 
10 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 broken off in lar^e patches here an<l there, <^ivin^ the 
 oM liouse a most forlorn appearance. The rooms, 
 lai'<;e and with low ceilings, had an air of cosy home- 
 liness eas}^ to feel, ])ut hard to describe. Between the 
 fi'ont of the house and the street, fron) which three 
 steps led up to the ^ate, was a little yard, filled in 
 sunnner with all the old-fashioned varieties of flowers, 
 from spider-eye and bachelor button to h.earts-a- 
 bleedin^ and bottles-of -all-colors. But the ornament 
 ot* the ancient dwelling was the sweet jessamine that 
 completely covered its walls. The long graceful vines 
 wound themselves lovingly around the small-paned 
 windows, and reached up to the roof in a protecting 
 way as if it felt some of the family pride in trying 
 to conceal from inquisitive eyes the real state of 
 delapidation into which the beloved old home had 
 fallen. 
 
 At the back of the house all was difterent ; the hill 
 sloped away from the stone basement, leaving the 
 doors and windows too far up to coax a vine or shrub 
 to reach even the lower casement. Some lilac bushes 
 had been planted in the hope of covering at least the 
 stone wall, but the dryness of the earth at so high 
 an eminence and the strong west winds had been too I 
 much for even these hardy bushes to get above a | 
 stunted growth. The doc^' on this side was like an 
 observatory, yielding a view of the farms and factor- 
 ies, streams and bridges, miles away into the distance. 
 The old grist-mill lying in the valley, with its very 
 high chimne}^ seemed like a doll's house, and the 
 pond at the side a small dish of water. 
 
HTLL-CREST. 
 
 11 
 
 >oiiis, 
 
 oiiie- 
 
 [1 the 
 
 three 
 
 2(1 in 
 
 •wers, 
 
 rts-a- 
 
 iiiient 
 
 e that 
 
 L vines 
 
 paned 
 
 ecting 
 
 trying 
 
 iate of 
 
 16 had 
 
 he liill 
 liX the 
 slirub 
 3ushes 
 ast the 
 o high 
 ;en too 
 bove a 
 like an 
 factor- 
 istance 
 ts very | 
 ,nd the 
 
 ^■ 
 
 A narrow, crooked lane ran along one side of the 
 inounds down into tlie hollow, where it turned and 
 came out by tlie niiil, and joined the main street of 
 the village, with its stores and liotels. So you see 
 that Hill-Crest stood high and dry, not only a})ove 
 its neighbors, but out of the way of the small bustle 
 that was going on in this thrifty little town. 
 
 In winter the boys and girls of the village would 
 bring their sle<ls and ride down hill by the hour, tilling 
 >the frosty air with their mei'iy shouts: an<l on moon- 
 light nights the hill was one moving mass of hiniianity, 
 Jinany of the neiglibors, whose ycjuth was long past, 
 ^heartily joining in the sport, which, they declared, 
 (lid them more good than a doctor's prescription. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe the inside of the 
 house, or to give you a glimpse of the home life, until 
 I you have had an introduction to its inmates. 
 
 Robert McDonell was an Irislnnan ])v birth, but 
 coming to America when a young man, and marrying 
 Mil woman of American birth and parentage, he had 
 very soon dropped his native habits, and with that 
 I adaptability so characteristic of his countrymen, 
 ])ecame an American in every sense of the word, 
 loving the land of his adoption with a loyal patriot- 
 ism that is often found wanting in those born on her 
 isoil. He had never gained nuich of this world's 
 goods. Perhaps it was in part due to his feeling no 
 I need of many luxuries, and having no yearning for 
 [power or fame, he lived an honest, industrious life, 
 frei; from the care and strife that is sure to sur- 
 I round one of higher aspirations. He and his four 
 
12 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 iiujilierUiss (lau<;'hters and a maiden si.stor of his wife 
 constitutt'il the household. We say tluit liis (hiiighters 
 were niotlierless, but Aunt Elizabeth, wlio liad lived 
 with them so long, always declared, when the subject 
 was mentioned, that they had lost nothing in that 
 particular, as she had made so many sacrifices for 
 them and had done so much for their comfort that 
 she was at a loss to know what people meant who 
 sympathized with them. Elizabeth Williams was a 
 " character," a little past middle age, but so well pre- 
 served that she would easily be taken for no more 
 than thirty, tall and graceful, witli black eyes and 
 hair, a clear complexion, and withal that air of 
 queenly dignity which impressed one at first sight 
 with the idea that her life had been spent in wealth 
 and ease. How much she supplied a mother's place 
 in that home our story will serve to determine. 
 
 Kathey, the eldest of the McDonell girls, was the 
 beauty of the family, and consequently the aunt's 
 favorite. She was of medium height, with brown, 
 curling hair and roguish blue eyes, a perfectly rounded 
 form, and so graceful of movement as to draw more 
 than a passing glance. Her father always called her 
 Kathleen, looking at her sometimes in a way that led 
 one to surmise that some other Kathleen in the long 
 agor-perhaps a sister or a friend — had something to 
 do with his christening his first-born by that most 
 poetical of names. 
 
 Edith, the second daughter, was just as unlike her 
 sister as it was possible for anyone to be ; tall and 
 slender, with a grave, gentle face, dreamy blue eyes. 
 
HILL-CREST. 
 
 1^ 
 
 and a ])i-()a(l, Icnv forelu'ad. Tliere was aLoiit lior an 
 air of languor, but never of impatience, and siie was 
 ever ready to take up the next task in life with a 
 self-forgetful diligence that made for her so many 
 friends not only among her own sisters, for whom 
 she always found plenty to do, but also among the 
 sick or suttenng in all the neighborhood. She was 
 eighteen and Kathey twenty, and though so unhke 
 in look and temperament, they w^ere always the best 
 lof friends, clinging together as only motherless girls 
 |will, each preferring the other, and yielding to the 
 )ther the claim of possessing the more beauty. 
 
 Next to Edith, comes Grace. She may be described 
 fas a i"odel of perfect physical health and strength, 
 [just tiiv. right height for her weight of about one 
 hundred and thirty -five pounds; plump but not fat; 
 fair but not chalky ; rosy but not red ; her eyes were 
 dark hazel, and her beautiful hair closely wound 
 about her head. Imagine this picture and you have 
 a perfect conception of what Grace McDonell was at 
 sixteen years of age. In manner she had a certain 
 habit of throwing back her head when engaged in 
 conversation, which gave you the impression that she 
 was pleased with the whole world, and with herself 
 in particular. 
 
 The youngest of the four girls was Bertliy. Nature 
 had evidently exhausted her gifts of grace and beauty 
 on the three elder sisters, and nothing remained for 
 Berthy but a muddy dark complexion and a lot of 
 black hair, always frowsy and untidy. She was 
 fifteen years old, but anyone would have supposed 
 
 I .'i 
 
 I "I- 
 
 ! ' ,1 
 
 ^^W 
 
 i: i 
 
r 
 
 14 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 her several years younger, for slie was so small. As 
 the youngest of the family slie should have been tl' 
 pet and favorite; on the other hand, she was generally 
 neglected by all, and as a result she had formed the 
 habit of going off by herself, making companions of 
 the flowers, talking to imaginary friends, an<l building 
 innumerable air castles. This was why she was called 
 " a queer child." 
 
 It was Berthy who gave to their home, in one of 
 her flights of romantic fancy, the name of Hill-Crest, 
 making all the family roar with laughter at the idea 
 of so high-sounding a title for their rather shabby 
 homestead. 
 
 I have said that Robert McDonell did not care for 
 riches, but he was the only member of the family so 
 minded. While the girls did value their own good 
 names " as above rubi(}s," yet there were times when 
 the economy they were obliged to practice was very 
 galling to their proud natures. But they never said 
 anything to convey the idea to their father that they 
 were not contented with the home he liad provided 
 for them ; and he, coming home at nightfall and 
 finding everything cheerful and pleasant, did not stop 
 to think that nearly all the comforts of his home were 
 due to the busy hands of the daughters he was priding 
 himself on supporting in comfort and ease. 
 
 It was Grace's willing hands and strong arms that 
 hung the paper in the little parlor and made the car- 
 pet that covered the floors, and with the money that 
 Kathey had earned in making a dress for a friend 
 who had admired one of her own which her deft 
 
HILL-CUEST. 
 
 15 
 
 tin<:jors liad planiuHl, slic li{i<l l)()n<:j]it tlio djiinty pic- 
 tures and wliito curtains; and E<litli had netted a 
 U)\v tidies and lainbre(|uins, and so, witli the bright 
 polislied ^rate and a home-made vase tilled with dried 
 ferns and cat-tails which Berthy had gathered, the 
 parlor presented quite a cosy appearance. But when 
 friends complimented the girls on their success, Aunt 
 Elizabeth would lean back in her easy chair and tell 
 them how hard she had worked and planned to bring it 
 aVjout, and end by saying that she did not know what 
 the girls, poor dears, would do if anything happened 
 that she should be obliged to leave them. They all 
 understood perfectly well what the anything was that 
 she w^as referring to, and often wondered themselves 
 why she did not marry and have a home of her own, 
 seeing that she was such an excellent manager. 
 
 Hill-Crest never looked more beautiful than on the 
 June morning of which I write, with the jasmine in 
 full bloom and the sun just peeping at the wild morn- 
 ing-glories that grew abundantly around the east 
 wing of the house. The dainty bell-shaj^ed flowers 
 came out in great profusion long before the dew had 
 dried on leaf or stem. How much these flowers re- 
 mind us of our own plans and aspirations ; how con- 
 fident we are sometimes that we will show to the 
 world all that we think or feel that we are able to do ; 
 and how like the sharp rays of the sun are the criti- 
 cisms that wither by word and glance our best efforts, 
 until in a little while our hopes are all dead as the 
 Howers are faded and forgotten; but the seed germ is 
 there still, which the blazinpf sun serv 
 
 only tc 
 and make fit for the time of gathering by-and-by. 
 
 I pen 
 
 I i^n 
 
 \i4 
 
 
k\ 
 
 16 
 
 HiLL-CKfiST. 
 
 M 
 
 Berthy was up early tliat morning. 8b o did not 
 always rise early, for although she loved the early 
 morning, and would have liked to spend this most 
 delightful time communing with the birds and flowers, 
 yet there was always plenty of work to be done, and, 
 as there was no servant, a large share fell upon her 
 unwilling shoulders. But this morning she was sure 
 that she had heard her father and Kathey talking about 
 a letter and some one coming, and after her father had 
 gone she had heard Kathey sighing several times in a 
 way that had awakened her pity. Stimulated, too, 
 by a little natural curiosity, she was anxious to see 
 what it was all about ; the first thing that caught her 
 eye was the letter, and as there are never any secrets 
 in the McDonell household, we will just look on while 
 Berthy eagerly reads it. 
 
 " Green Cliff. 
 
 " Dear Brother, — It seems a long time since I have 
 heard anything from you or your family, in fact, not 
 since Kathey was here two years ago. I supp ^sed, of 
 course, the young people would keep u^, the corre- 
 spond ^iice, but it seems they have not, and you realize, 
 I am sure, that my time is fully occupied. I write 
 now to ask if it would be convenient to have Gerald- 
 ine and Roger stay with you for a while during the 
 warm weather. They think it would be a great 
 benefit to their health and spirits to spend the summer 
 in the hilly region of your home. 
 
 " Please send reply at your earliest convenience, 
 and oblige, Your Brother, 
 
 "William McDonell." 
 
 To say that Berthy was delighted is but to give a 
 
IllLL-CRfisT. 
 
 17 
 
 I'aint idea of that youn^ lady's ecstasy. She admired 
 and almost reverenced a person of education, and she 
 Is new that Roger had just retiirne<l from college, and 
 h.iving herself such a limited knowledge of college 
 students, she supposed he would be continually talk- 
 ing of what he had learned while there. So holding 
 the let^ er still in her hand, she flew into the kitchen 
 where Kathey had called her sisters together to talk 
 the matter over, and was very much surprised to find 
 tliat what had caused her so much joy Vas a source 
 of grief to the older ones. Kathey was saying as 
 she entered, " I did not want to hurt father's feelings 
 by saying we could not have them, for you know how 
 fond he is of his bi'other, although they don't see 
 each other as often as they might." 
 
 '* Well," said Grace in her practical way, " we shall 
 have to go right to work and get ready for them, that 
 is all." 
 
 " But you girls do not know," said Kathey in a 
 distressed tone, " how perfectly grand their place is, 
 with servants, and horses and carriages ; and Geraldine 
 is one of the kind that really despises a person who 
 is poor and has to work for a living. You remember 
 luy telling you that she said if she were poor and had 
 to work she would shut herself up in a room and 
 starve to death," and Kathey wiped her eyes with so 
 forlorn a look that it seemed as if the starving pro- 
 cess would not cause as much agony as she was called 
 on to endure at this moment. 
 
 Robert McDonell's brother William had begun life 
 in the same humble way as he had, and the woman he 
 
 ■4 " 
 
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 li; 
 
 If 
 
 i1 
 
 ••• ' f 
 
 ;( 1 
 
 m 
 
 \\ 
 
 
 
18 
 
 HILL-CIIEST. 
 
 married was as poor as him.self. But fibont five years 
 before my story opens a rich, miserly old uncle of 
 Mrs. McDonell had died and left her the whole of his 
 property. They had two childi'en at the time, a 
 daughter and a son. What William McDonell lacked 
 in business ability, he made up in conceit. He wanted 
 the whole country to believe him a much wealthier 
 man than he was ; so he built a beautiful residence, 
 hired an army of servants, his own family not lifting 
 so much as a hand to wait upon themselves. While 
 there were plenty to partake of Mr. McDonell's hos- 
 pitality, still there were some hard-headed business 
 men who knew that the factory he owned could 
 not warrant such a system of extravagance, and pre- 
 dicted a " come down " in the near future. If Mr. 
 McDonell had any forebodings he did not take any 
 one into his confidence, or deign to receive any advice 
 or interference in the matter of his affairs ; and so we 
 find him at this time, to all appearance, a very prosper- 
 ous manufacturer, with a supreme disdain for those 
 less fortunate than himself. It is not surprising 
 therefore that the younger members of his brother's 
 family thought of their rich uncle ns a being whom 
 Providence had especially favored. 
 
 " If we could get some new things before they 
 come," suggested Grace, in a more subdued manner, 
 " we could manage the wc k all right. I could do the 
 cleaning, and Bertby could do a good share of the 
 cooking, and Kathey and Edith could entertain the 
 company.'" 
 
 " But how are we to get the new things?" siid Edith, 
 
HILT.-CREST. 
 
 19 
 
 her sad face looklnc^ a shade paler. " You know tliat 
 Aunt Elizabeth .says she has got to have her new silk 
 dress this week, and have it made, and that will take 
 all of the money that father can spare and all of 
 Kathey's time to make it." 
 
 "Just let Aunt Elizabeth wait fo- her dress, the 
 selfish old thing, ' said Berthy, speaking up for the 
 first time. When she did speak, she always talked 
 until she was through, no matter how much her 
 sisters tried to hush her, and there was no exception 
 this time. There never was any love between Aunt 
 Elizabeth and Berthy. Aunt Elizabeth could not 
 admire her looks, and with a nature like hers where 
 beauty was everytliing, it was no wonder that she 
 orew to hate the uncomely girl, and that Berthy, with a 
 child's quick perception, saw why she was disliked, 
 and also its unreasonableness. Accordingly her fiery 
 temper often blazed out in a way that fairly fright- 
 eiuid I^er more docile sisters, and although she rep nted 
 in secret for her harsh and bitter words, yet there 
 was no time in which she felt free to confess her 
 contrition, and so the natural gulf kept widening 
 until it had grown impassable. 
 
 Of course it had to be settled that the cousins 
 would come, for the father wanted them, and that 
 was enough. He had left orders that morning that 
 the required invitation be sent, and when later in the 
 clay Kathey and Aunt Elizabeth went out to select 
 the new dress, Berthy was asked to answer the letter, 
 and to be sure to give them a warm welcome. She did 
 not need this last injunction, for being so interested 
 
 ' 1.:? 
 
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 ■ Hi 
 ii 
 
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 m 
 
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 I 
 
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 'ii. 
 
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 9 
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 20 
 
 HlLL-CREST. 
 
 in tlie college youth slie was only too j^lad to have 
 thoni come. 
 
 In due time the letter was written, and Berthy, in 
 some measure wantin<^ to make up for their poverty, 
 f^ave them a hearty welcome, using all the high-flow- 
 ing language of which she had command, and finished 
 by saying " Welcome, thrice welcome to Hill-Crest." 
 
 Kathey had no idea what kind of letter Berthy 
 would write. She knew it would contain an earnest 
 invitation from a true heart, and that is why she had 
 asked her to write it, for she could not bring her- 
 self to do so hypocritical a thing as ask any one to come 
 to her home whom she did not want. When she re- 
 turned home that afternoon and found that the letter 
 had been written and despatched, she gave herself no 
 more uneasiness on the ibject. 
 
 It was late in the day before Berthy had finished 
 her last household task and was free to roam at her 
 will. The sun was just setting as she ran down the 
 winding hill path, and reaching the little stile below 
 the well, she could not help pausing to admire the 
 scene. Before her all was green and beautiful ; from 
 her seat no home but her own was wholly visible, but 
 the chimnies of others could be seen here and there 
 peeping through the trees. Even the white trodden 
 path down the hillside looked to her (who had seen 
 so little that was beautiful) so picturesque that she 
 fell to wondering why her sisters and aunt were so 
 discontented with everything about the place. 
 
 " If we had a new house like Mrs. Parker's would 
 they like it any better?" she asked herself. "I 
 
1 
 
 HILL-CHEST. 
 
 21 
 
 1 1 
 
 wouM not, and Mrs. Parker said, when .she asked me 
 for suidlower seed and holly-hock roots, tliat hor phxce 
 looked so new it made her home-sick. Why are 
 people always wantinj^ sometliinj^ they cannot f^et ^ I 
 have often heard the ^irls say how nice it would he if 
 I'ncle William and Geraldine and Ro^er would he 
 more friendly with us." 
 
 IJerthy remend)ered well her cousin Roger, who 
 lijid visited them more than five years ago. He was 
 fond of teasing her, but she liked him, and when she 
 lieard that his father had become rich, she was 
 <,dad for his sake, not thinking it would make the 
 slightest difference in their friendship. But she had 
 never seen him since, although his home was only 
 twenty miles away, and Roger had promised her if 
 he ever got rich he would buy a horse and come to 
 see her every week. Then she thought of the time 
 when she heard he had gone to college ; somehow she 
 always cried when thinking of that. It wus hard for 
 her not to be able to have those adva tages which 
 make a person good and wise, and it filled her rebel- 
 lious little heart with bitter thoughts, robbing the 
 landscape and her beloved Hill-Crest of all its beauty. 
 
 The sun had set and the twilight had deepened into 
 dusk, and Berthy was still sitting on the little step 
 that crossed the fence into the lane, her head leaning 
 against the high post. She did not hear the light 
 footsteps coming down the walk until a grey -gloved 
 hand was laid on her hair in a caressing way, and a 
 soft voice said close to her ear, " What is thee dream- 
 ing "about?" 
 
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99 
 
 11 ILL-CREST. 
 
 " Oil ! i.s it you ? I did not hear you coinlnji^," said 
 Borthy, daHhin^ tlio tears from her cheeks for fear 
 her Quaker friend would see them and ask wliy they 
 were there. Hut it was nearly dark, so she was able 
 to hide the traces of her emotion, and she told Mrs. 
 Kenyon of the news at their house, and also explained 
 that she had started to pay her a call but had sat so 
 lon[^ on the fence that she guessed she would ^o in 
 now, because it was almost bedtime. Mrs. Kenyon 
 thought so, too, and so they parted. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 MRS. KENYCJN. 
 
 S Mrs. Kenyon will appear several tin os 
 in connection with the inmates of Hill- 
 Crest, it may be well to give the reader 
 a glimpse of her life. Her maiden 
 name was Peabody. Her father, a 
 minister in the Society of Friends, took great care 
 that liis children should learn early in life not only to 
 believe in God, but to trust in His onniipoten; love 
 und power ; and while he taught them that toil was 
 necessary and beneficial, yet his words to them were 
 {ilways, " Be careful for nothing." One of the favorite 
 pictures in Mrs. Kenyon's house had been given her 
 hy her father, and represented f field of exquisitely- 
 colored lilies, with a group of angels hov3ring over 
 tliem, while beneath was the inscription " ehold the 
 lilies." 
 
 Prudence had grown up with the consciousness of 
 God's watchful care over her so much that now as 
 she began to look forward to life's close, it was not 
 with regret over a life of disappointment and loss, 
 but ever with the feeling that in some way she had 
 
 I 
 
24 
 
 HILL- CHEST. 
 
 been a part of G jd's great plan, working through her 
 for His own great glory and Iter present and future 
 peace and happiness. 
 
 Three beautiful children had blessed her union with 
 Henry Kenyon, a Quaker, like herself. Two of them 
 liad been laid to rest with the father in the quiet 
 cemetery, and the remaining one, a girl of seventeen, 
 was all that was left to cheer the mother in her lone- 
 liness, although through the unselfishness of the 
 Christian woman's heart, the daughter had been 
 allowed to attend an academy many miles distant, 
 that slie might receive an education such as would fit 
 her for L^elf-maintenance, which her mother knew 
 would be necessary. 
 
 When Mr. Kenyon died he left his wife a small life 
 annuity, and the deed of the house and lot she now 
 occupied. Her home during his life had been in 
 Philadelphia, and she had many warm friends there, 
 but when she came to Summerville to dispose of her 
 property she liked the location so well, it seemed 
 pleasant and homelike, that she decided to stay. Ac- 
 cordingly we find her at this time of writing an 
 inmate of the pretty cottage nestled among the trees 
 by the little brook which furnishes the mills and 
 factories with water power, then, flushed with its own 
 importance, it rushes noisily past Mrs. Kenyon's par- 
 lor window, on through the adjoining meadow, and 
 away out of sight to other fields of usefulness. 
 
 Mrs. Kenyon had not lived long in the Brook-side 
 cottage before she made the acquaintance of Berthy 
 McDonell. One day when out in her little garden 
 
MRS. KENYON. 
 
 25 
 
 she heard some one crying, and following the sound 
 had come close to the fence which with a narrow strip 
 of land divided the brook from her own grounds. 
 There, sitting on a mossy stone close by the water's 
 edge, was a little girl that looked not more than 
 ten (although she was fourteen years old at that 
 time), with her face buried in her hands, weeping 
 in a most uncontrollable manner. Mrs. Kenyon 
 knew in a moment that the girl had come here to be 
 alone, and therefore she did not disturb her until she 
 had gone through the gate and sat down by her side, 
 then taking one of her hands from her face, said, in 
 that sweet, coaxing way that was so natural to her — 
 the same gentle tones she had always used to her 
 own little ones : 
 
 " Tell me, my dear, what troubles thee ? " 
 It was like the voice of an angel to Berthy, and in 
 her wild impulsive way she at once told this kind 
 woman a!' of her troubles, how she wanted to go to 
 school, and had to stay at home and do the house- 
 work ; and how hard she tried to be good, and what a 
 miserable failure she made of it ; and what a bad 
 temper she had, and how she thought sometimes that 
 her sisters hated her ; and added that she did not care 
 if Aunt Elizabeth did, because she did not want her 
 to like her. She poured out her grief in a torrent of 
 words that nearly took the breath of the quiet little 
 Quaker woman. 
 
 Mrs. Kenyon let her talk until her very vehemence 
 had exhausted her. When she stopped, after saying 
 she could not be good, Mrs. Kenyon ^aid in th§ 
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 HILL-CREST. 
 
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 simplest manner possible, " Did thee ever ask God to 
 help thee to be good ? " This was something entirely 
 new to Berthy. Of course she thought she knew all 
 about God and religion, and if she had been asked if 
 she said her prayers, could have answered promptly 
 that they were never forgotten. She could have said 
 further that her father always attended church. He 
 had never asked any of his daughters to go with him, 
 perhaps thinking of that subject as he did of education, 
 that it was not needed for girls. Be that as it may, 
 Berthy never had so direct a question put to her, or 
 one that seemed so hard to answer. I do not know 
 that she expected Mrs. Kenyon to speak at all ; she 
 was glad to have some one to tell her own troubles to, 
 but when her listener spoke, there was a tone of mild 
 reproof in her voice that seemed to say, " Are you 
 sure you have left nothing undone on your part ? " 
 In an instant her tears were dried, although their 
 traces were plainly visible on her reddened cheeks. 
 After thinking a few minutes, she said honestly, 
 " Would that do any good ? " 
 
 " He is our Father, thee knows," said Mrs. Kenyon, 
 " and has promised to hear His children when tliey 
 cry unto Him. Thee is trusting Him every moment 
 of thy life." 
 
 " Oh," said Berthy, " I am not trusting Him at all. 
 I do not know how to trust Him." 
 
 " Is thee not sure the sun will rise to-morrow, and 
 is not God able to manage thy little, unruly heart as 
 well as this great universe ? " 
 
 It was all so plain and so easily understood that 
 
Wi 
 
 UBS. KENYON. 
 
 fa 
 
 Berthy wondered why she had never thought of it 
 in that light before. She sat for a long time looking 
 away off over the fields, but not seeing anything 
 before her eyes. All she could think of was the heart 
 that Mrs. Kenyon had spoken of, and she remembered 
 how often it had ached, and how she had wished she 
 knew of some one who she was sure loved her, and 
 who would be patient enough to listen to what seemed 
 to her the experience of a very sad life. But then 
 this dear woman had not offered herself as a friend, 
 but just simply pointed to God in so confident a way 
 that Berthy seemed for a moment to forget her very 
 existence, so intent was she thinking of her great 
 need of that help which had been held out to her. 
 
 With a long, quivering sigh she turned and looked 
 at her companion, and a half smile lit up her face as 
 she said, " I thank you, ma'am, for speaking so kindly 
 to me ; I feel better now, and think I will go home. 
 Would you mind telling me how I can ask God to 
 make my heart better ? " There was something so 
 childlike and innocent in the question that it made 
 ^Irs Kenyon feel for a moment p,s if she herself was 
 not competent to direct this young disciple to Christ. 
 But remembering the blessed words, " My grace is 
 sufficient for thee," she put her arm tenderly around 
 tlie little girl, and told her of tlie many times in her 
 own life when the way had seemed dark, how she 
 had found Jesus such a precious friend, and that 
 alone in her closet, it did not matter what language 
 she used, for she knew that God was looking in the 
 heart, and if we only trust Him He will do more for 
 us than we are able to ask. 
 
 
 
 
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28 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 The touch of the hand, and the pressure of the 
 encircling arm was so new and sweet to the tired, 
 excited cliild that she was completely overcome and 
 dropping her head on the shoulder of the little 
 Quakeress her tears burst forth again, but this time 
 they were refreshing, and relieved her overburdened 
 heart. 
 
 Mrs. Kenyon held her there long after the sobbing 
 had ceased, and then did not seem in any hurry to 
 release her. Taking out her own dainty handkerchief 
 to wipe the tear-stained face, and giving her a little 
 pat on the cheek, she said cheerfully, " Now run home, 
 dear, and when thee feels sad next time seek thy 
 closet instead of this lonely place ; but always remem- 
 ber that God is able and willing to hear thee." 
 
 It is unnecessary to add that after this interview 
 Mrs. Kenyon and Berthy became the best qf friends. 
 The meeting at the brookside was never mentioned 
 between them, but each felt that the other remem- 
 bered it, for Berthy knew that the books her friend 
 gave her to read were selected with especial reference 
 to her need ; and Mrs. Kenyon saw that Berthy was 
 making a superhuman effort to control her temper 
 and also to learn all the precepts and to heed the 
 gentle reproofs she had given her. 
 
 Almost every evening after her work was done 
 Berthy would run down the lane, if only for a few 
 minutes, to talk with Mrs. Kenyon, who soon learned 
 to know from the expressive face of her visitor how 
 things were going at home, and though asking no 
 questions could soon draw put a confession of somQ 
 
Mrs. kenyon. 
 
 2D 
 
 hard-fought battle in which she was sometimes vic- 
 torious, but oftener defeated. 
 
 Her sisters could not imagine why Berthy so much 
 enjoyed her new friend's society, and Aunt Elizabeth 
 said boldly that she ought to be kept away from 
 there, as there never was any style or pride about that 
 "young one," and it would not improve her any to 
 be associated with that plain old woman. But the 
 "plain old woman" did not hear any of these remarks, 
 and the sisters and father were not interested enough 
 in the " young one " to care very much ; consequently 
 the intimacy was kept up to the great joy of Berthy 
 and the entire satisfaction of Mrs. Kenyon. 
 
 After Aunt Elizabeth's new dress had been bought 
 and made, her interest in the expected guests revived 
 somewhat and she told the girls that they indeed 
 had nothing fit to entertain those people with (a fact 
 they very well knew), and she was surprised that 
 their father would expect them to make the attempt. 
 It always hurt them to hear anything said which 
 seemed to cast a reflection on their hard-working 
 father. But Miss Elizabeth Williams did not think it 
 neccL^ary to be careful in her selection of words when 
 anything disturbed her peace of mind, and there was 
 nothing that could so effectually upset her accustomed 
 tranquility of temper as the thought of having to 
 endure what she was pleased to term " a domestic 
 disgrace." 
 
 She became so excited and miserable on the subject, 
 declaring that she must either speak to Robert or 
 
 
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 90 
 
 tllLL-CRfiSt. 
 
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 ..,.1/ 
 
 write to Green Cliff and tell them not to come, that 
 Kathey finally persuaded her to go on a long-promi.sed 
 visit to her cousins in New York and stay the entire 
 sunnner, in which case she at least would be spared 
 the humiliation the remaining members of the family 
 were compelled to undergo. So, taking another por- 
 tion from the already much depleted treasury she 
 started on her journey, saying to her friends, when 
 bidding them good-bye, that she had worked so hard 
 and had so much care on her mind that this visit was 
 absolutely necessary, hinting that it was according to 
 her physician's orders that she was going, although 
 no medical man during the past live years had had an 
 opportunity even to think of her, so perfect had been 
 her health. 
 
 After the departure of this relative the work of 
 getting ready went on with greater rapidity and 
 success, now that the most glaring points of poverty 
 were in a measure allowed to be forgotten and the con- 
 trast likely to be noticed by the more favored guests 
 not spoken of so often. The girls began the prepara- 
 tions as though they were delighted with the prospect 
 of the addition to their home circle. Many things had 
 to be changed and made over to present a suitable 
 appearance, and they all worked with a will, even Mr. 
 McDonell taking hold with an unusual enthusiasm, 
 perhaps learning for the first time how much he was 
 indebted to his daughters' ingenuity and good taste 
 for his home comforts. 
 
 Time passed very rapidly, and the end of June was 
 reached. The first of July had been the time men- 
 
 gom^ 
 prese 
 
 ''If 
 
^■'W 
 
 Mils. KEN YON. 
 
 81 
 
 tioiHid for the carrival of the cousins. Among those 
 at Hill-Crest who had worked hardest to make the 
 old house presentable was Berthy. It seemed that 
 she was responsible for their coming, as she was the 
 only one that from the beoimiing had anticipated any 
 ])leasure in the event. What delightful days those 
 were to her, getting ready for real summci* visitoi's. 
 All the objectionable bits of furniture and odd pieces 
 of old china that were used in the household for 
 economy's sake had been carefully packed away, an<l 
 the best and newest of everything brought out and 
 displayed to the greatest advantage. It gave the 
 home she loved such a holiday appearance that what- 
 ever she was asked to do she did it promptly and 
 well. Her sisters wondered sometimes what could 
 have happened to Berthy to make her so unusually 
 industrious, but they had no time to speculate on so 
 insignificant a subject, so it passed for the most part 
 unnoticed. 
 
 All through the busy weeks of toil Kathey had 
 seemed so depressed in spirits that at last Edith could 
 stand it no longer, and putting her arms around her 
 one night when they had retired to their room after 
 a hard day's work, she asked her if she was tired out, 
 or what was the matter, that made her so unlike her 
 usual bright self. Of course, Edith realized that 
 the strain oii her sister's nerves had been very great, 
 taking the care, as she had been compelled to do, 
 all through the planning and fixing that had been 
 going on. Still she thought that beneath all the 
 present anxiety there was some other reason why her 
 
 
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 HlLL-CHESt. 
 
 face had continually worn that sad, dejected look. 
 This had been a very great mystery to her most 
 anxious sister, and she had kept silent on the sub- 
 ject as long as she could, giving Kathey, as she 
 supposed, time and opportunity to unburden her 
 heart. As time went on and the cloud seemed to 
 grow darker instead of passing away, as Edith had 
 hoped it would, she had on the night mentioned made 
 bold to ask her sister what it was all about, and the "ice 
 being broken," Kathey gladly told the sympathizing 
 one all that oppressed her and made her so miserable. 
 
 When two years before she had visited at her 
 Uncle's home, she had become acquainted with a 
 young man whose name was Harold Huntington. 
 He and his invalid mother lived in a beautiful 
 residence not far from Green Cliff, in a lovely retired 
 spot near the lake, surrounded by delightful grounds 
 and every comfort that his immense wealth and 
 exquisite taste could provide. 
 
 He had formed one of the party which Kathey and 
 her cousins were invited to join ; the chief pleasure of 
 the day had consisted in horse-back riding, and as 
 Kathey was the only girl of the company who had 
 dared to mount his spirited young horse, they had 
 become very good friends. 
 
 They had about four miles to ride on the smooth 
 country road, and when the party was all ready, and 
 when it was discovered that none of the young ladies 
 present but Kathey could be persuaded to ride this 
 high-mettled steed, it was settled at once that no less 
 a personage than the rich and talented Harold Hunt- 
 ington, of Lake View, would be her escort. 
 
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 m 
 
 Mils. KENYON. 
 
 3Ji 
 
 And what a day tliis proved to Katlioy. The 
 weatlier was delightful, riding one of her favorite 
 sj)orts, and then with the novelty of tliis first taste of 
 the congenial r^ociety for which she had lonj^ed, and a 
 <rallant beau at her side, it seemed like a dream of 
 fairy land. As the hojse felt the touch of her dainty 
 whip, he plunged forward in a way that made all the 
 timid lady equestrians utter little screams of fright. 
 
 Kathey was too well balanced, and, in fact, too 
 happy to allow so small a thing to upset her, so set- 
 tling herself more firmly in the saddle, she gave the 
 horse another slight tap with her whip, and away she 
 went flying down the road before any of the gentle- 
 men could even reach her side. But the spirited, hand- 
 some beast was well broken, and as soon as he found 
 that his master was on his back, he became as docile 
 as one could desire. After Kathey had brought 
 him into subjection, she turned round and cantered 
 back to the surprised group, her cheeks flushed with 
 excitement, her curls tossed into careless confusion, 
 her laughing, roguish eyes sparkling with fun. She 
 seemed the picture of girlish innocence and beauty, 
 so at least Harold Huntington thought, as he rode up 
 to her side and congratulated her on her " pluck." 
 How he admired a brave woman, one who is not 
 forever afraid of something. He was a great manly 
 fellow himself, and was willing at all times to 
 render service to the fair sex, but up to his present 
 age, which was twenty-five, he had seen so much 
 of the clinging sort of woman, who seemed to 
 think she was born to be taken care of, and who 
 
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 ■i- : 
 
 '?■ \^-' 
 
34 
 
 hlLL-CllEST. 
 
 proforrod an idle exi.steiice to active UHefulnosH, that 
 it was decidedly refresliin^ to see this yonn^ j^irl on 
 a strong liorse, brin^^ino- liim under her control ho 
 completely. The youn^ people of the party exchanged 
 glances ; they could easily see that this youn^ lady 
 had done in five minutes by her bravery what all the 
 ^irls in the connuiuiity had been trying to do for the 
 last two years with beauty and flattery and money, 
 and that was to win the heart of the young master 
 of Lake View. 
 
 After that day Mr. Huntin<rton was a frecjuent 
 visitor at the home of William McDonell. When he 
 first called, of course Geraldine went into the parlor to 
 receive and entertain him, but after a few minutes he 
 asked for Miss Kathey, and Geraldine discovered that 
 he had not come to see her. Although she did not 
 care particularly for him, still she knew it was the 
 greatest wish of her father's life that she should 
 marry Harold Huntington, and when he showed a 
 decided preference for her cousin, it will not be 
 wondered at that the whole family seemed a little 
 cool towards her. 
 
 Kathey, had come with the intention of staying 
 several months, Mr. McDonell had said to his 
 brother, when he invited her to his place, " Let 
 the girl come, Rob ; it will do her good, and 
 perhaps she may make a good match, for there 
 are a lot of young fellows around here, farmers' 
 sons, you know, who would be able to give her a good 
 home." Kathey had heard nothing of this and came 
 because she was invited, and when her uncle had 
 
Mrs. kenvoK. 
 
 35 
 
 Hcemed to her a little (Hstant, .she did not know that 
 ho was afraid that she was making lier niatcli not 
 (juite to his liking, so she wrote to her father tliat 
 she had stayed lon^ enou<]jli and wante<l to <^o home, 
 and when she left she was not invited to conn* a^ain. 
 
 The evening before she stai'ted for home, Mr. 
 Huntin<.(ton called and sai<l to her, " I came to ask 
 you to ^o with me to my home, my mother is anxious 
 to see you, for she has heard you spoken of so 
 often." 
 
 Katliey felt the blood rush to her face in a most 
 imcomfortable way, but accepted the invitation. She 
 did not exactly want to ask how his mother had 
 heard anything about her, and so she turned the 
 subject and said she was going home the next day. 
 He Heemed very much surprised, but after asking 
 wliere her home was, and how she was going, he 
 offered, in a very polite way, to take her, saying that 
 Geraldine and Roger could go with them, and he 
 would take the large carriage and his dappled team 
 and driver. They would start very early so that 
 he could be at his own home again at night, as his 
 mother's health was so poor he did not want to leave 
 her longer than a day. 
 
 Kathey liked the arrangement, and told him so in 
 her own simple way, and so the plan was left to be 
 settled by her cousin's consent, which she had no 
 doubt would prove satisfactory. They had reached 
 his home by this time, and a more delightful place it 
 had never been Kathey 's good fortune to see. 
 
 Two long rows of locust trees in full bloom 
 
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 HlLL-CRESt. 
 
 bordered the drive-wa^^ from the main road to the 
 liou.se, and the ground oyHttir .shells that the horses 
 were crinichiii^ under their feet, formed a <^listenin^ 
 white road, which led up past the broad shady 
 verandah. Everything was graceful and ai'tistic. 
 A lar^e urn here filled to overflowing with some 
 natural wild flowers, two or three rough grey 
 stones in another place rolled together, held a 
 beautiful pale-green fern spreading its thin hair-like 
 leaves out to catch the sunshine, and a d.trk English 
 ivy clinging around the carved posts of the upper 
 balcony, all gave the impression of natural beauty. 
 
 Kathey's admiration was so genuine and undis- 
 guised that Harold could not help feeling that here 
 was a nature fresh and pure, and it seemed to 
 delight him to be able to give her a glimpse of all 
 he had done in and around his home to make it 
 the lovely place it was. 
 
 When Kathey had heard him spoken of as rich 
 and talented, she did not ask in what line his 
 talents ran. When she had spent an hour in his 
 home, and had seen his work, sketches of landscapes, 
 and bits of statuary, and had listened to his descrip- 
 tion of the work he had planned to do in the future, 
 she did not need to ask why he was called talented. 
 
 His mother, she found in a darkened room, but with 
 everything that loving hands could do, or a devoted 
 son think of to bring comfort to one so fondly cher- 
 ished ; and when, the pale invalid took her hand, and 
 told her in her faint voice, how she had wanted to see 
 her, and said, "I know I will like you, because Harold 
 
 II 
 
MRS. KENYON. 
 
 37 
 
 and myself always like the same people, our tastes 
 are ho much alike." 
 
 And then she referred to her love of flowers, and 
 horses, and in every way j^ave Kathey to understand, 
 much to her delight, that she had been made a 
 subject of conversation betwet i the mother and 
 son. What did it all mean ? She had not dared to 
 ask hersidf why this young man had paid her so 
 much attention since she came into his neighborhood, 
 nor had she trusted herself to think how he had 
 helped to make her visit the dream of bliss it ha<l 
 been. But when she heard his mother say so 
 much about her, that none but he could possibly 
 have told her, it Cashed on Kathey 's mind in a 
 bewildering sense of ecstasy that she was to him 
 perhaps more than a mere friend, and with it came 
 the knowledge that henceforth this man would be a 
 part of her very existence. 
 
 The gathering twilight hid the confused blushes 
 that would have been almost unbearable to* Kathey's 
 sensitive nature. How long this pleasant visit might 
 have lasted, or to what extent the mutual under- 
 standing might have been carried, we can never 
 know, for just as the servant brought in the light, 
 the rumble of wheels was heard, and Mr. McDonell's 
 coachman was announced, saying he had been sent 
 for Kathey, as some young ladies had called to bid 
 her good-bye. 
 
 Harold insisted upon taking her home. But 
 Kathey, knowing well how his mother depended on 
 Jiis company the long evening, said he should not 
 
Vh 
 
 in i'l 
 
 38 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 '■ ■ 
 
 take the trouble, and added playfully that it would 
 be too bad for James to take the empty carriage back 
 to Green Cliff. So Harold handed her into her 
 uncle's carriage, and bade her good-bye, pressing her 
 hand in such a lover-like manner, that Kathey could 
 not but know that had he been permitted to drive 
 
 with her back to her uncle's, that perhaps . She 
 
 did not finish the thought, but leaned back in her 
 seat and indulged in day dreams too pleasant, too 
 sweet for description. 
 
 When Kathey arrived at the McDonell residence, 
 the young ladies had grown tired of waiting for her 
 and had gone home ; and when she very naturally 
 inquired who they were, Geraldine did not make her 
 any satisfactory answer, and seemed so angry about 
 something, that Kathey did not refer to th ^ subject 
 again. 
 
 Before the family retired for the night, Kathey 
 thought it proper to mention the plan that had been 
 arranged for her going home on the following day. 
 It had seemed so delightful that it did not occur to 
 her that any one could object, but no sooner had she 
 mentioned it, than her uncle flew into a spasm of 
 rage. Laying down the paper he had been reading 
 since her entrance, he declared he would have no 
 such fcolishness going on, that he had plenty of 
 horses to take her home, that they had brought her 
 very comfortably, and it would seem very queer if 
 they failed in strength so soon, adding, with that 
 cutting sarcasm that only an Irishman knows how to 
 command : " Of course my horses are ^.ot the blooded 
 
MRS. KENYON. 
 
 39 
 
 II 
 
 beasts that are in the Huntington stables, but they 
 do nie very well, perhaps because I have never been 
 used to any better." 
 
 Kathey could not reply, and felt that in some way 
 she had offended the whole family. Mrs. McDonell 
 arose and swept out of the room, saying to her 
 husband as she was going, " This is just what I 
 expected, but you will never listen to me." Her 
 remark enraged her spouse so much that he walked 
 the floor backward and forward like a caged tiger; 
 and yet he did not seem to care to tell why such a 
 small incident had so shaken him up. But at last 
 stopping in front of the nearly speechless Kathey, 
 and looking at her over the top of his gold-rimmed 
 glasses in a way that was calculated to impress her 
 with the force of the command, said, " Miss Kathleen 
 McDonell, you will find my carriage and horses at 
 the door at six o'clock to-morrow morning ; be ready 
 to go home to your father at that time, and mind 
 that you do not say anything to him of what has 
 occurred to-night," and without any more words he 
 left the room, of which Geraldine and her cousin 
 were now the only occupants. There was a silence 
 of about ten minutes. Kathey could only wonder 
 about all this excitement, over what seemed to her a 
 very natural thing to do. 
 
 She had been so happy in her friendship with Mr. 
 Huntington that she did not fully realise until it 
 had become so noticeable, that Roger had in her 
 presence called his sister to account, saying, " Dene, 
 what is tilt? matter with you ? Don't you know how 
 
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40 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 I'M 
 
 to treat any one decent ? " To which Geraldine had 
 answered, " If folks don't like me they know what 
 they can do." And Kathey had decided then and 
 there what she would do, and had written to her 
 father accordingly. 
 
 As they sat in the parlor, Geraldine was the first 
 to speak. " Kathey," she said, " it would be out of 
 the (juestion for you to take Mr. Huntington to your 
 place, now that you have seen his home, I should 
 think you Vvould realise it. Just imagine his 
 disgust after one look at that old tumble-down 
 castle ; he never knew us before we lived here, and 
 he supposed we and all of our relations were rich, 
 cultivated people. * Of course you have not dressed 
 very well since you came here, but then he might 
 think that was the fault of your taste ; but to take 
 
 him to your place . Oh ! dear me, we shall be 
 
 disgraced forever, and we brought you here for kind- 
 ness, and now to think you would do so mean a 
 thing is too bad, too bad." These words struck 
 Kathey like the lash of a whip. No one could 
 possibly feel the disgrace of poverty more keenly 
 than she did, and the comparison of the old house 
 at home with the elegant residence at Lake View 
 was like the sharp sting of a serpent in her very 
 heart. 
 
 " No," she said, rising to her feet, and speaking for 
 the first time, " Harold Huntington shall never see my 
 liome, nor will I ever bring reproach on my relatives 
 by asking him to go there." 
 
 Her tiruniesH lasted her until she i*eached her owii 
 
11 
 
 I 1 
 
 MRS. KENYON. 
 
 41 
 
 room, and then her courage gave way, and throwing 
 herself on the bed, burst into passionate sobs. 
 
 All the happy weeks of her visit came back to her. 
 Each tone of that one voice seemed to add another 
 poisoned dart to her already acute agony ; and then 
 the thought of that very night, how near she had 
 been hearing from his own lips the words of love her 
 lieart would have so rejoiced to listen to. When she 
 thought of this her tears were dried, and she sat up to 
 try and consider what an awful thing she was saved 
 from. "Ah!" she told herself, "If he, to-night, had 
 asked me to be his wife, and I had consented, as 
 perhaps I should, not thinking of home at all, and 
 he then had found out how poor we were, and had 
 despised me"; and she remembered how he had said 
 once to her, that he could forgive a person for any- 
 thing but deceit ; and then she thought she had acted 
 deceitfully, representing herself as a rich relative of 
 the successful McDonell's. She did not mean to do 
 it, but as Geraldine hinted, folks supposed she was 
 rich, and laid her poor clothes to a lack of taste on 
 her part. The blood rushed to her face, as she 
 thouo^ht of the faultless suits she had seen Mr. Hunt- 
 iiigton wear, and could imagine what he thought of 
 her if, as she supposed, he considered her a young 
 lady of means, who preferred those old-fashioned 
 liome-made dresses to the elegant costumes the other 
 girls wore. 
 
 "Oh! it was terrible;" and Kathey spent the entire 
 night crying over her fate. She did not now blame 
 any of her uncle's family for the position they had 
 
 
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 42 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 taken, and would gladly have told them so if she had 
 had an opportunity. But when after her sleepless 
 night she went down in the morning, only James was 
 to be seen sitting in his place on the carriage-seat, so 
 she was whirled ofi' towards home ; bidding good-bye 
 to all her past pleasure, and resolving that for the 
 future she would try to be a mother to her younger 
 sisters, though for herself love and happiness were 
 at an end. 
 
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 CHAPTER III. 
 
 
 1 
 
 PRIDE AND POVEllTY. 
 
 OW that we have learned a little of 
 the past history of Kathey, we can 
 better understand her thoughts and 
 feelings as she unburdened her heart 
 to Edith. 
 
 " Oh ! Edith," she says, " you know I told you about 
 a young man I n^et at uncle's when I was there, and 
 how he wanted to bring me home, and I stole away 
 for fear he would come ; but I did not tell you all. 
 I did not tell you that I loved him ;" and here she 
 hid her face in her hands and wept aloud. As soon 
 as she became calm again, she told her sister all about 
 her visit to his mother, and his lovely home, and his 
 work as an artist, and she did not forget, girl-like, to 
 mention his fine manly figure and dark expressive 
 eyes, and his good Christian character. While Edith 
 was astonished at this story, she had never heard 
 before, she could not help wondering what all this 
 that happened two years ago }aad to do with her 
 sister's present trouble. But she waited patiently for 
 her t > proceed, knowing very well that now the 
 revelation had begun, nothing would be kept back. 
 
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44 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
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 ■fill 
 
 Kathey continued : After she had come home, she 
 liad bought papers that were published near his place, 
 and had learned that he had taken his mother to a 
 health resort in Germany, and later had read that 
 his mother had died and was buried in that foreign 
 country, it being the lady's wish to be buried where 
 she died. The papers had given full details concern- 
 ing the funeral ; also telling how much the son had 
 done for his invalid mother, and dwelling at length 
 on his estimable character and wonderful talent as 
 an artist ; the next paper had mentioned that he had 
 decided to go to Kome to study the best works of art, 
 and would not return to his native land for a number 
 of years. "And now," said Kathey, her tears gushing 
 forth afresh, " I read in the paper I got the day we 
 received that letter from uncle William, that Mr. 
 Harold Huntington had returned from abroad, but 
 would not be at his home until autumn, as he intended 
 spending the summer with relatives in the vicinity of 
 Summerville ; and to think it should be at just the 
 time that Geraldine and Roger are here, when he 
 might see them and find out where we live, and the 
 old house is a great deal worse looking now than it 
 was then. Oh! dear, it does seem sometimes as if I 
 cannot stand it." 
 
 Edith tried to console her sister as best she could, 
 telling her that very likely these relations of his 
 were some of the Hursts or Jacksons that lived so 
 grandly three or four miles away from the village. 
 But she could not help thinking, and so she told her 
 sister, that if he were such a good Christian as every- 
 
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 A 
 
PRIDE AND POVERTY. 
 
 45 
 
 body called him, perhaps lier heinj^ poor would not 
 make so much diti'erence as she had feared. 
 
 But Kathey would not have it that way at all ; her 
 main thought was to keep him from seein*^ how poor 
 they were, and more especially that they should not 
 be humiliated during their cousins' visit. 
 
 After many weeks of preparation the day arrived 
 for the guests to make their appearance. Everything 
 that could be done to make them comfortable had 
 sbeen done. As the time drew near Bertliy's interest 
 increased until it amounted to a sort of delighted 
 frenzy. She flew hither and thither, collecting all of 
 the presentable books and arranging them in conspic- 
 uous places, to give the college young man the im- 
 pression that there were some members of the family 
 at least that were studious. Of course her books 
 did not please her very well, she would liave been 
 glad to have exchanged Rarey's Modern Art of Horse 
 Taming for a volume of Shakespeare, or Mother 
 Goose, and Anderson's Fairy Tales for a set of 
 Dicken's works or Paradise Lost ; but as that could 
 not be done, she contented herself with turning the 
 titles of the objectionable books toward the wall, and 
 slipping a gay ribbon book-mark between the leaves 
 of the Pilgrim's Progress, thinking that someone 
 might have the idea that her sisters were making it a 
 study, although she very well knew that neither of 
 them had even as much as touched it except when 
 Grace had disturbed the dust on its faded green covei* 
 with her wisp of turkey feathers. 
 
 And now everything w^as ready. Just as Berthy 
 
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46 
 
 ttlLL-CHEST. 
 
 Iiiiiiiiii 
 
 thought of this and st(3])pe(l to take a Icjok around, 
 her eyes fell on lier own form in tlie mirror, and well 
 she might pause, for a more dilapidated-looking little 
 girl itwouldbe hard to find. In her unselfish interest for 
 the comfort of the visitors and the credit of the house- 
 hold, she had completely forgotten herself, a thing she 
 was very apt to do. Often when dressed in her 
 best if anything interested her or enlisted her sym- 
 pathy, she never stopped to think of her clothes until 
 her attention was called to the fact by one of her 
 more careful sisters, who had little patience with her 
 constant forgetfulness of keeping herself neat. But 
 now she surveyed herself in the glass and remembered 
 that she had on her best dress but had worn it all day, 
 and had climbed over the fence to get some wild flags 
 that she had wanted to make a bouquet to put in Ger- 
 ald ine's bedroom, and gone wading through the brook 
 to find some stones to lay inder the parlor table. Within 
 an hour her cousins would be here and she not fit to 
 see them. She was still gazing in the glass when she 
 heard Edith's voice calling her and she turned slowly 
 to obey the sound. 
 
 If she had forgotten herself there was one that had 
 not forgotten her, for going into her sister's room 
 what should she see but a befrilled and beribboned 
 dress lying on the bed ready for her to put on. 
 
 Edith had worked early and late to make it out of 
 one of her own, using some ribbon that Kathey had 
 thrown away, but which dyed over looked very well. 
 
 Berthy's first thought was to throw her arms 
 around her sister's neck and thank her for her thought- 
 
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PRIDE AND POVERTY. 
 
 47 
 
 fiiliiesH, but just at that nionieiit Grace, wlio vva.s 
 standing by and probably tliiiikiiif]^ this a good time 
 to teach her careless sister a lesson, said, in a remon- 
 strating tone, " Now, do see if you cannot be careful 
 of that dress, and not get it all soiled and torn the 
 first time you wear it. 
 
 Berthy's fiery temper was ablaze in a moment. In 
 spite of all her gratitude to Edith her resentment 
 toward Grace was so great that she promptly told her 
 she would not take any better care of this than she 
 ever had of her dresses, and then relapsed into sullen 
 silence, while Edith proceeded to put the dress on her 
 and told her to hurry and get her hair combed before 
 the company came. 
 
 All this spoiled the enjoyment the girl would natur- 
 ally have felt with her new dress, " for now," she 
 argued with herself, " if I am careful Grace will think 
 it is because she told me to be, and I will not be 
 ordered around by her ; and if I am not careful Edith 
 will think I do not care much for her present." 
 
 These were the hard places in Berthy's life, and 
 although her Quaker friend would have told just 
 where to go for strength to decide what to do, still in 
 her rebellious little heart there was so much self-will 
 that she preferred the pain she was suffering to the 
 giving in, as she called it, when her better nature pre- 
 dominated. While making her .slf presentable with 
 brush and comb she heard the tramp of horses' feet 
 on the little bridge, and looking out saw at a short 
 distance down the street her uncle's magnificent 
 carriage and horses approaching. Of course Bertliy 
 
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 expected to see sometlnDf]^ very ^rand in tlie way of a 
 turnout, but tliis was so fai* ahea<l of anything slie 
 liad ever seen tliat her breath was coniph't(^ly taken 
 away. She was very anxious to ^vt a close view and 
 yet, with her natural timidity, <lid not want to be 
 seen. She ran out, and hiding herself in the heavy 
 branches of an old lilac bush growing near the front 
 gate had an opportunity to see all the splendor and 
 not be seen herself. 
 
 She had barely time to reach her hiding place be- 
 fore the spirited team dashed up to the stepping stone, 
 the door flew open and Roger's handsome face looked 
 smilingly out. 
 
 He remembered well when he had visited here in 
 his boyhood, and did not expect to find the place any 
 difTerent, but, with his natural love of fun, he could 
 not let the opportunity pass without teasing his sister 
 on the prospect of a summer outing. 
 
 " Oh ! " he said, springing to the ground, " make 
 haste to alight, we have arrived at Hill-Crest," and 
 striking a theatrical attitude said, in a tragic voice, 
 " Welcome, thrice welcome to Hill-Crest." 
 
 Berthy recognised the words she had used in her 
 letter and knew in a moment that they were being 
 made fun of, and all of her pleasure in their arrival 
 was completely spoiled. She sat still for a long time 
 after the carriage had gone and the guests had been 
 welcomed into the house by her sisters. She did not 
 want to see them now, she felt sure that when Roger 
 saw her he would think of that letter again, and if 
 he did not laugh at her, it would not be because he 
 
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PRIDE AND POVERTY. 
 
 49 
 
 (lid not feci like it: uikI she had bikeii such pains 
 with the writin<j^ and s[)ellin<i^, an<l had copied it over 
 to ^et it Just ri<j^ht, and then to think it should he 
 Ro<;er that made fun of her, Ro<^er, who she had 
 expected would he so ^bid to see her, and from whom 
 she hopt^d to learn so nuich. As usual she blami-d 
 herself for attemptiuf^ to write a letter at all, or for 
 not asking some one to look it over before it was 
 mailed, but now it was too late, and she was reapiiig 
 the reward of her folly. The tears were flowing fast 
 when she heard Roger and Grace talking close to her. 
 (» race was saying, " I cannot imagine where she is ; 
 when we heard the carriage, she was the first to run 
 out to meet you." 
 
 Berthy knew they were talking about her, and it 
 somewhat soothed her grief to know that perhaps 
 Roger had asked for her. So when he and Grace 
 returned to the house she crept out of her leafy bower 
 (but not without tearing one of the bows of ribbon 
 from her dress sleeve) and went quietly into the 
 house. She thought she would go to her room and 
 mend her dress and wash the tear-stains away, but, 
 on reaching die side-door, she met Roger face to face. 
 " Oh ! " said he, " here is the little runaway now. 
 Why were you not on hand to welcome me ? " He 
 did not say anything about " Hill-Crest," or the 
 letter, and he seemed so glad to see her, and so full 
 of life and spirits, that Berthy was soon laughing at 
 his witty speeches, and so thoroughly enjoying his 
 company, that all thoughts of her late vexation were 
 forgotten. 
 
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50 
 
 HILL-CIIKST. 
 
 Roj^in* was a strong, acUvc-h Miking y<>^^"K n"i'^ 
 hutvveeii iiinotccii and twenty. His hlonde liair, 
 cut cl()H(3ly Ik^IiIikI, I'l;!! in cui'ly rin<^H on his broad, 
 full forehead, and hi.s eyes were sucli a dark bhie, 
 tliat with the niiscliief always in them, they appeared 
 almost black. His face was entirely guiltless of 
 beard, and but for the existence of certain weak lines 
 around the mouth and chin, he might be called a tine 
 specimen of young manhood. 
 
 Geraldine was what the world is pleased to call a 
 society belle. Handsome she certainly was. A pure 
 blonde, with a pink and white complexion ; graceful 
 in form, and with such soft beautiful hands, that they 
 made you wonder what they were for. She did 
 not seem to know herself, for she held them in a 
 way that reminded one continually of their useless- 
 ness. 
 
 Strange to say she seemed to be very glad to be at 
 Hill-Crest. She kissed all her cousins, and was so 
 friendly with her uncle, that h lared " she had 
 
 improved very much indeed," .d he thought her 
 
 " a very fine girl." 
 
 Her large trunks were filled with so many elegant 
 dresses, that when they were taken out, there did not 
 seem to be room enough for them in the house. 
 Morning wrappers, with extensive trains ; tea-gowns, 
 that were a perfect bewilderment of lace and ribbon ; 
 heavy satin and velvet carriage dresses, all made the 
 girls wonder when and where she was going to wear 
 them. Then there was such an array of hats and bon- 
 nets and gloves and jewelry, that it seemed as though 
 
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 CI 
 
PKIDE AND POVEKTY. 
 
 61 
 
 a wliolc raiicy stoi'c was jihout to \m) Htjiitc*! in tin; 
 Hinall, sliabby house. All this was a ri'velatioii and a 
 HUpruiiu) delight to JJerthy, who never thou<;ht of 
 contrastintij it with their own scanty wai'(lro})es, 
 until lier attention was called to tlie fact by some 
 remarks from (Jrace. Grace deli<^hted in tine clothes, 
 and often thought if she could have a good supply of 
 well-made dresses of rich material and fashionable 
 cut it would be all she recjuired in this world to 
 make her perfectly happy. Yet that youn*^ ki<^ly ^''i*^ 
 such an adept in arranging her hair, and selecting 
 colors that harmonized with her bright complexion, 
 and fitting her plump form with natty waists and 
 delicate if inexpensive laces, that her friends always 
 spoke of her as stylish, and she herself felt at 
 times, that all the turning and pinching she had to 
 practise, did not matter so long as the result was 
 so gratifying. Then, too, there were no very grandly 
 attired people in Sunnnerville, and that in itself helped 
 to make her more contented with the things in the 
 way of personal adornment which Providence had 
 seen lit to send her. 
 
 But this shower of beautiful finery that Miss 
 Geraldine brought into the humble home completely 
 upset the equilibrium of Grace and Berthy, who 
 looked at it with feelings, if not of envy, at least 
 of longing desire. 
 
 But Kathey and Edith felt it a personal insuP., 
 remembering the sharp things that Geraldine had 
 said to Kathey on the occasion of her visit to Green 
 Cliff; but, of course, this, as well as everything else in 
 
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 o2 HILL-CRE^T. 
 
 connection with the present event, had to be borne 
 with «as ^ood ^race as possible. 
 
 Roger seemed to grasp tlie situation at once, and 
 wlien liis sister floated into the parlor on the evening 
 of their arrival in a superb dinner dress of pearl- 
 grey satin trimmed with point lace and a profusion 
 of coral-pink ribbon, he took occ* ion to say when 
 alone with her, " Dene, if I were you I would not 
 sling on so nuich style, when you know the girls here 
 cannot afford to have such nice dresses as you have ; 
 it is down right mean." 
 
 But this sage advice was lost on the fashionable 
 and selfish Geraldine, wlio only gave her head a toss, 
 and told him she would do as she liked, and when 
 she wanted to hear his opinion on the subject she 
 would ask for it. And though Roger exerted himself 
 to seem very much at home, and kept carefully 
 packed in his trunk his best suit of clothes, he did 
 not succeed in convincing his sister that this display 
 of grandeur was not only contemptible, but was also 
 a breach of etiquette. As she was forever trying 
 to impress on him as a matter of great importance 
 the correct rules of society, it rather pleased the 
 unpolished Roger to refer to her own short-comings 
 in that line. 
 
 After the first day and evening at Hill-Crest, the 
 family seemed to settle down to at least a fair appear- 
 ance of comfort. Grace and Berthy took upon their 
 young but exp rienced shoulders the entire care of 
 the nouse work, leaving Kathe : and Edith the much 
 harder task of entertaining cousin Geraldine. As 
 
PRIDE AND POVERTY. 
 
 53 
 
 for Roger, he kept close to the younger girls, as was 
 evinced by the frequent peals of laughter heard 
 from the kitchen. He proved to be far different 
 from wha-t Berthy had imagined. Instead of the 
 lessons in philosophy and science that she had hoped 
 to learn, she heard how he had beaten the entire class 
 at a rowing match, displaying the prize with a great 
 deal more pride than he manifested in speaking of his 
 scholastic honors, although he had come off* second to 
 none in that line. But, like all young people who are 
 educated for no particular purpose, he did not set a 
 proper value on what would have been a source of 
 pride to some aspiring young student who had been 
 less favored. 
 
 The questions that Berthy had intended to ask were 
 entirely forgotten in the novelty of trying to teach 
 liiin to make a lemon pie or bake a sponge cake. He 
 declared he wanted to know how to cook as he in- 
 tended to take a trip to the Rocky Mountains ; and as 
 he knew he could not get along with the Indian way 
 of doing things, he thought it best to possess a 
 knowledge of cookery before he went. 
 
 This is only a specimen of the way Roger rattled 
 on, telling the girls all sorts of unreasonable things 
 with such a sober face and matter-of-fact air, that 
 sometimes they were led to believe there was some 
 truth in his statement, but when he saw there was 
 any danger of his stories sounding too real he could 
 always add a word or two that settled the question 
 of their veracity at once. He had a wonderful gift 
 of language, and could mimic anyone whom he ever 
 
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 54 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 heard speak, from Edwin Booth in heavy tragedy to 
 ol<l Mrs. Handle calling her chickens, 
 
 Geraldine told Kathey that she was completely 
 discouraged with Roger ; he had not a particle of 
 style about him, and that she did not dare tell him 
 any secret, for as likely as not if she did he would 
 tell on her, and it had made her so much trouble. 
 Kathey wondered why she had any secrets and what 
 they could be to cause her so much vexation. 
 • But, although Roger seemed so boisterous all the 
 girls liked him, for they were learning ' o know his 
 true character and to find that he had a good heart, 
 with tastes and feelings as fine as their own ; and in 
 so far as style was concerned he possessed what was 
 much better, a self-respect that, although undeveloped 
 and without dignity, was so much a part of his gener- 
 ous nature that he despised a mean thing in even h's 
 best friends, and with a decided voice and gesture 
 to match would denounce it or turn it to ridicule on 
 the spot. This was why Geraldine felt so discouraged 
 with him. She had been brought up by her fashion- 
 able mother to believe that a girl's first duty was to 
 marry well ; and that if she used every means in 
 her power to that end, even stooping to deceive and 
 prevaricate, it was all a part of the correct plan to 
 get a husband. Aiming at this mark, it was no 
 wonder that her better nature was stifled an<l her 
 views of life distorted. God pity the children of such 
 mothers. They begin life at a disadvantage, witli 
 wrong ideas of what they owe to themselves and to 
 their Creator, and living as they do in an atmosphere 
 
PRIDE AND POVERTY. 
 
 55 
 
 of deception and false pride, they imbibe so much of 
 its poison that it accompanies them through life and 
 renders them suspicious of others, making a farce of 
 all that is good and holy in this world, and completely 
 shutting out of their hearts all true faith and trust in 
 the divine realities of the world to come. 
 
 In the case of Roger, he had become so surfeited 
 with outward show and the keeping up of appear- 
 ances (as his mother was pleased to call her striving 
 after popularity) that he sought to shake off all 
 restraint by not acceding to any of their plans for his 
 own advancement or his sister's future welfare, and, 
 to use his own words, he had decided " to paddle his 
 own canoe," His mother not (juite understanding 
 what he me .nt by that bit of silly song just left him 
 out of her own and her daughter's confidence, never 
 stopping to consider how much he needed her watch- 
 ful care at this critical period in his life. 
 
 
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 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 ERE is a note for Edith," said Grace, 
 coming into the parlor one morning 
 about a week after the arrival of the 
 cousins. " Where is she ? " 
 
 " In her room," said Kathey, " mak- 
 ing those hats for Mrs. Howell's little girls. I sup- 
 pose the note is from her. They are going away to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Yes, it is from her, and she wants Edith to go 
 over to the parsonage right away," answered Grace, 
 going in search of her sister. 
 
 " Who is Mrs. Howell, and what has Edith got to 
 do with the family at the parsonage ? " asked Gerald- 
 ine, appearing more interested than was usual with 
 her. 
 
 "Oh!" said Kathey, "the minister does not receive 
 a very big salary, and there is quite a large family to 
 support, and, although we are not members of his 
 church, we, or rather Edith, help Mrs. Howell with 
 the children's sewing. They are going away to visit 
 some ****iends, and the two girls had none but their 
 winter hats to wear, and sq Edith undertook to make 
 
 nv 
 
'1 '9 
 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 57 
 
 tliem each one with some material that Mrs. Parker 
 irave her. Mrs. Parker is a member of that church 
 and feels very deeply the disgrace of her pastor's 
 family not being respectably dressed." 
 
 " Well," said Geraldine, " if I were Edith I would 
 not worry myself about their business. It is enough 
 for her to do the sewing for your family without 
 sewing for any poor preacher's children." Just at that 
 moment Edith came into the room dressed for a walk, 
 with a large bandbox in her hand. She looked particu- 
 larly lovely that morning in a pale heliot ope muslin 
 dress, her hair combed back from l\sr broad forehead, a 
 large black chip hat shading her face and giving her 
 an air of quiet modesty which seemed to suit so well 
 with her errand, that Roger could not but enquire, in 
 a sly undertone, as though not meant for Edith to 
 hear, if Mrs. Howell's health was good, and intimated 
 tliat he thought Edith would make a splendid wife 
 for a minister. 
 
 This last remark caused the girls all to roar with 
 laughter, as they thought of the corpulent old parson 
 in connection with Edith. 
 
 The parsonage was some little distance from Hill- 
 Crest beyond the main part of the village. It was set 
 back from the street, shaded by large trees in a little 
 garden, unpretentious but comfortable, and Edith 
 always enjoyed going there. 
 
 This morning as she entered the gate, and was seen 
 by the girls bringing the new hats, she was greeted 
 by screams of delight so long and loud that the 
 mother hurried to the front door to see what had, 
 
 t 
 
 i i 
 
 I ' 
 
 -^ I 
 
 ' 4 
 
58 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 happened to her darlings to make them beliave in so 
 unladylike a manner. When she caught sight of her 
 friend's smiling face she laughed, too, and taking her 
 hand led her into the study instead of the parlor, 
 where, to Edith's surprise, she found not only Mr. 
 Howell but a young gentleman seated at the table 
 writing. As soon as the ladies entered and the chil- 
 dren had been sent to the nursery .with the bandbox, 
 Mr. Howell proceeded to shake hands with Edith 
 and introduce Mr. Montgomery to her, and explain, 
 "that this young gentleman, just from the Theo- 
 logical University, would occupy his pulpit during his 
 absence. 
 
 It was all done so quickly that she had scarcely 
 time to think what she was saying or to whom she 
 was speaking until she found herself seated in a cosy 
 chair, with Mrs. Howell telling her why she sent for 
 her and why she wanted her to meet Mr. Montgomery 
 before they went away. " You see," said that lady, 
 " we have a sick family on our hands ; they are mem- 
 bers of our church who joined last winter, and are 
 very poor people, and the worst of it is that there are 
 none of our ladies that feel as if they cared to do any- 
 thing for them, for they think them impostors, you 
 know ; but, of course, they have got to be looked 
 after by some one, and as I am going away for a few 
 weeks, I thought I would just ask you to drop in once 
 in a while to see if there was anything they needed. 
 They live near your place on the commons." 
 
 Edith having recovered her breath by this time, 
 asked Mrs. Howell what th^ n^me of the family was, 
 
Tf 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 50 
 
 tliat she might try and locate them, as they were 
 hving so near her home. " Smith," was the answer, 
 given in so confidential a tone that she laughed 
 outright and was joined by the other occupants of the 
 room. 
 
 But Edith knew very well that the family referred 
 to was none other than the shiftless Josh Smith, 
 I lis wife and little crippled son. They had been the 
 bone of contention in her own family for the past five 
 years. They had insisted upon coming to Hill-Crest 
 for charity whenever they needed it, which was very 
 often ; and, although the girls gladly gave them all 
 they could spare from their own scanty larder, yet 
 Aunt Elizabeth was both indignant and scandalized 
 whenever the shabby mother or the crutches of the 
 cripple were heard at the back door. " We have 
 nothing to giv^e," she argued; " we. haven't enough for 
 ourselves, and it does not look well to see them hang- 
 ing around, and besides the more you give them the 
 less they will work. The father is a lazy, good-for- 
 nothing scoundrel, or he would not let his family 
 beg." Aunt Elizabeth had never seen the man she 
 w as speaking of, for when there was any begging to do 
 he always let his wife or son do it, and as that was the 
 only business they ever had at Hill-Crest, it did not 
 seem necessary that he should become acquainted 
 there himself. He was one of the sort who thought 
 manual labor was the worst of all disgraces, and when 
 from pure necessity he was drivin to it, he tried to 
 make the excuse that he was doing it either to accom- 
 modate his employer, or it was a piece of work that 
 
 '■t 
 
 r I 
 
60 
 
 HILL-CIIEST. 
 
 no one but himself was able to do. Of course he was 
 ridiculed and laughed at by everyone in the village, 
 but it did not make a particle of difference with him. 
 He had a fair education, and what little he did earn 
 was expended on his own wardrobe. He always wore 
 gloves and a necktie, and if what he said could be 
 believed, he had been well brought up ; but he had 
 lost everything except his pride in his position as a 
 gentleman of leisure and in his personal appearance. 
 
 It was rtimored that he was not always honest, and 
 so, when good Mr. Howell succeeded in getting him 
 into the church fold, he felt he had done the com- 
 munity a very great favor, which up to this time 
 they did not seem to fully appreciate. 
 
 Edith congratulated herself that Aunt Elizabeth 
 was not at home, so she could promise freely that she 
 would try to do something for the unfortunate 
 family, especially when she learned that the mother 
 and boy were both ill with pneumonia. 
 
 Mrs. Howell was so gratified when she received 
 her promise, that she thanked her over and over 
 again, and turning to Mr. Montgomery, said in one of 
 her sweetest tones, " Now, Charley, I want you to 
 stand by Miss McDonell, and help her all you can ; 
 that is the reason I brought her in here this morning, 
 80 you could get acquainted a little before I go 
 away." 
 
 Mr. Montgomery answered, with a bow to Editli, 
 " that he would be delighted to be of any assistance 
 to her," and said " he thought the Smiths were fortu- 
 nate in having two such staunch friends as Mrs, 
 
^m 
 
 I 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 61 
 
 Howell and herself." Edith, in thankinf]^ him, 
 ol)served for the first time what a really fine-look- 
 in<^ youn^ man he was. He had a large full fore- 
 head and clear-cut features, a little pale from in- 
 door work, but with a strong, decided look, that 
 made one think that the Church had a minister who 
 would fight for her rights as well as preach the 
 blessed Gospel of Love. As Edith looked into 
 his face, there came to her mind the words that 
 Roger had said less than an hour ago. How 
 provoking to think of them now. It caused her to 
 blush and feel so uncomfortable, that she said she 
 would have to go, as she was very busy with some 
 work at home ; and although Mrs. Howell urged her 
 to stay for lunch, and she would have been delighte<l 
 to accept the invitation, her self-possession was 
 completely gone, and she knew she would be embar- 
 rassed all the time she spent in Mr. Montgomery's 
 company, all owing to that foolish boy Roger. 
 Pshaw ! why did those stupid words- keep in her 
 mind all the way home, and why did they seem to 
 fix themselves on the trees and sky, and every- 
 thing that met her gaze ? And what had Mr. Mont- 
 gomery to do with her ? Perhaps he was married or 
 engaged already. " I am getting foolish, I guess," 
 she said, as she turned into her own home. 
 
 Air castles were an unknown luxury in the Mc- 
 Donell family, where all was labor and plain reality. 
 The many duties lay so thickly in their path that 
 there was no time to step aside for pleasant places 
 or congenial thoughts and fancies. 
 
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 62 
 
 ttlLL-CUEST. 
 
 ! i 
 
 After Editli ha<l bidden her friends at the Parson- 
 age ^ood-bye and gone lionie, Mrs. Howell called the 
 children to show their papa what beautiful hats they 
 had given them. Of course she knew that M!S. 
 Parker furnished her friend the lace and ribbon and 
 flowers that they were made of, but she also knew 
 that it was Edith who had suggested the need of it 
 to the wealthy parishioner, and when the proud 
 mamma had exhausted herself in praising the dainty 
 head-gear and the self-sacrificing friendship of " that 
 dear, lovely Edith," it was Mr. Howell's turn to ask 
 why she did not say those words of commendation 
 while the girl was there to hear them. At this 
 r«jmark his wife held up her hands in astonishment. 
 *' Why, my dear husband, have I not told you often 
 enough that those girls do not like to have anyone 
 refer to their work. You see they are the best, the 
 truest girls I have ever known, but there is just one 
 thing about them that I consider a grievous fault, 
 " and that," said Mrs. Howell, lowering her voice 
 almost to a whisper, " is their pride." " Well," said 
 Mr. Montgomery, leaning back in his chair and fixing 
 his keen black eyes on the face of Mr. Howell, " is 
 that a fault ? " He did not mean to ignore the pas- 
 tor's wife, but that subject was one of so much import- 
 ance to him, and he had studied it so much when 
 alone, that now it had been mentioned in the presence 
 of his old and experienced friend, he was anxious to 
 get some light on this point, and therefore he put the 
 question direct : " Is pride a fault, and how far can 
 that pride be carried safely ? " 
 

 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 63 
 
 Mr. Howell was a little surprised at liis young 
 friend's intense interest, but was always glad to 
 discuss anything with him pertaining to Christian 
 character. 
 
 '* I do not ({uite understand you," he said, '' pride is 
 not always consistent with reason, but you speak of 
 a certain kind of pride, please explain yourself." 
 
 " It is the pride of position, a sort of self-respect," 
 said Mr. Montgomery, rising to his feet, for he felt he 
 could make himself understood better when standing. 
 " Those girls Mrs. Howell spoke of seem to think 
 that their work shows too plainly that perhaps 
 necessity has something to do in making them pro- 
 ficient, and I ask if it is right to nurture such pride, 
 or to try with God's help to root it out of our 
 natures ? " 
 
 " Well," said the old man slowly, " I have thought 
 a great deal on that subject myself, and have come to 
 the conclusion that if there was more of that kind 
 of pride, or independence, we will call it, the world 
 would be the better. That is the stuff in a man that 
 will make him economize rather than parade his 
 poverty. It is what you see in a woman that makes 
 her cover the short-comings of her husband, instead of 
 making it a town scandal ; and, although in some 
 cases it is carried too far, as are a great many 
 admirable traits of character, still, in itself, it is a 
 good thing. Those McDonell girls," he continued, 
 " as I understand it, are very poor. The father, 
 honest and industrious though he is, cannot earn 
 enough to keep them as they should be kept. They 
 
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 itlLL-^RfiSt. 
 
 ar(! willing to do anything to help him along, but in 
 a little place like Suinnierville there is no gi^itecl 
 woi'k foi* young ladies to <lo, and so tlu^y Just stay at 
 home and economize, hiding their poverty ; and I am 
 afraid they are becoming morbidly sensitive about 
 it. Too bad, too bad," said the old man, speaking 
 more to himself than to his companion. 
 
 Just at this time Mrs. Howell, who had left the 
 room when the gentlemen became so much interested 
 in their discussion, appeared again and announced 
 lunch, and so the conversation ended. But Mr. 
 Montgomery's mind had been stirred up and he 'could 
 not forget the young lady whom he had seen and 
 towards whom he felt himself .drawn ; he told himself 
 it was because her life in some respects was so much 
 like his own. Pride and poverty, poverty and pride, 
 it seemed to him, had been his portion all his life 
 through. Poverty he had known in his youth, when 
 he was working hard to get an education ; he 
 succeeded in saving enough to take him into college, 
 but when he could have gone on to the coveted goal 
 his money was all gone, and then came his battle with 
 pride. A young man immensely wealthy had made 
 his acquaintance in the class room ; they had become 
 warm friends, " chums," as they delighted to call each 
 other. He knew in part his friend's difficulty, and 
 offered him the money to take him through, but this 
 the proud Charley would not accept, although he 
 knew very well that he had wounded the feelings of 
 his generous comrade by refusing the offer. 
 
 All these thoughts came back to him now, and 
 
AT tME PARSONAGE. 
 
 65 
 
 o:ccn.sin(^ Inmst'lf from the dining room, hv put on liis 
 hat and wandered otl* down to the brook un<U'r the 
 shade of th(^ trees wliere he couhl think without bein<( 
 disturbed. 
 
 He had conHecrate<l liis life to the ministry, and lie 
 loved the church of his choice with a passicmate 
 devotion. It was not selfish indultj^ence he craved at 
 the hands of fortune. But he could see so many 
 places where, with unlimited means, he could <lo so 
 nmch for his blessed Master, stronc^, persevering 
 ambition seemed sometimes to overwhelm him with a 
 desire for great wealth. He knew that this was not 
 ri<^ht, that the God he was trying to serve would give 
 him all of this world's goods that he needed to make 
 him a useful ambassador in His cause, and would 
 withhold anything that would hinder the free course 
 of the Holy Spirit's desired influence in his heart. 
 
 He knew these things, I say, and yet there were 
 times ^ike the present, when he had become interested 
 in this womanly young girl, that he longed for many. 
 " Why do I want it ? " he asked himself, " surely I am 
 not in love, I do not want a fortune to lay at her feet. 
 And yet he could not but confess to himself that it 
 would be very sweet to feel that she cared for him 
 (just a little) and then with a decided gesture of his 
 closed hand, he said almost aloud, " I will never ask 
 her nor any other woman to share this galling poverty." 
 He had reached the water's edge by this time. The 
 broad smooth surface lay glistening in the afternoon 
 sunshine ; away to the left he could see a part of the 
 busy mill, and hear a faint murmur of its noisy wheel, 
 
 
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ril 
 
 66 
 
 HlLL-CREST. 
 
 and as he looked into the clear water at his feet, he 
 could not but compare the pond to his own life. 
 " Here I am kept in one place. But for the lack of 
 money to finish the studies I have commenced, in a 
 short time I could stand where my voice would be 
 heard and appreciated ; and then with increased 
 influence, how much good I might be able to do. But 
 now, with the exception of a call once in a while to 
 fill a vacancy for a country parson, I am literally 
 standing still, just like this sheet of water held here 
 by that strong stone wall, that the mill wheel may 
 have the benefit of its power." 
 
 He gazed long into the placid depths of the pond 
 The rustling of the leaves overhead, the musical 
 ripple of the tiny wav-elets that flowed along among 
 the smooth little stones, seemed to breath such an air 
 of quiet contentment that even the restless perturbed 
 spirit of the young man became soothed, and sinking 
 down on the green bank he tried to bring his thoughts 
 into subjection to the will of God. For, in spite of 
 all his yearning after knowledge and his ambitious 
 desires, he had a strong faith in the loving hand that 
 was leading him onward and upward, and his constant 
 prayer was to be kept patient and submissive. 
 
 He had learned that a close contact with nature 
 was the best remedy for a discontented mind, and so 
 he staid there communing with nature and with 
 nature's God until the day was far spent. 
 
 When he arose to go, the sun had set, and the 
 twilight was fast deepening into darkness. He had 
 taken no note of time and was surprised to find it so 
 
^Tjr 
 
 'u 
 t 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 67 
 
 late, especially as he remembered that Mr. Howell 
 w{is going away very early in the morning, and would 
 probably have a great many things to tell him 
 concerning the charge he was leaving on his hands. 
 
 The iron foundry with its roaring furnaces had 
 stopped work for the day, but the great archway that 
 crossed the road leading from the brook path to the 
 village was wide open. Two or three tired workmen 
 with empty dinner pails were just leaving the build- 
 ing as Mr. Montgomery passed through on his way 
 to the street, and one of them said to his companion, 
 in a voice loud enough to reach the ear of the young 
 man, " It is very easy for preachers to be telling us 
 how we ought to live, and there that youngster has 
 been sitting on the bank up yonder for the last halt* 
 (lay, doing nothing at all, and just think of the sweat 
 we have dropped in that time, eh. Jack ! " The 
 youngster referred to was pondering the words in his 
 mind and wondering if the mechanic would lik^ to 
 change places with him, when he heard the. sound of 
 carriage wheels crossing the bridge. He stopped to 
 let it pass, but the sleek light-stepping team was 
 Ijrought to a sudden halt, and a familiar voice called 
 out, " Why, Charley Montgomery, what are you doing 
 here ? " 
 
 Peering into the carriage, for it was too dark to see , 
 plainly, he was met by the smiling face of his old college 
 friend, Harold Huntington, who grasped his hand v/ith 
 such fervor that he was in danger of losing that useful 
 member altogether. Mr. Huntington literally dragged 
 his friend into the carriage ; he seemed to think if he 
 
 W 
 
 
' * 
 
 11 
 
 111 I 
 
 liM 
 II llll 
 
 68 
 
 HiLL-CflESf. 
 
 relaxed his hold on his hand, he would disappear into 
 thin air. 
 
 " I knew your figure and walk, old boy, as soon as 
 I caught a glimpse of you. Where have you been 
 keeping yourself ? I have been home from Europe for 
 the last three months, and could not find you any- 
 where. I had a mind to put a detective on your 
 track. 
 
 The joy of the meeting was mutual. Charley 
 Montgomery had no friend he so much loved and 
 respected as this young man ; they had roomed to- 
 gether from choice at the college, both stood equal in 
 honors, and though their positions in life were differ- 
 ent, they never seemed to feel it. 
 
 Harold was the idol of his mother, and with her 
 fond indulgence and the courting he received from 
 society would have been completely spoiled but for 
 the purifying influence of this friend. 
 
 He tried to make Charley know that he was in- 
 debted to him so that he would receive something at 
 his hands, but the pride of the less fortunate one was 
 so great that Harold soon learned it would break 
 up their friendship altogether if he pressed it too 
 much, and so he contented himself by spending his 
 money less lavishly on himself, that his friend 
 might not be made to feel how much difference there 
 was in their worldly advantages. 
 
 As soon as the first greeting was over, Charley told 
 his companion how and where he was employed. He 
 had a position in a university, where he ta^'ght all 
 day and studied half the night, having the use of the 
 
^Wn 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 69 
 
 library, one of the best in the country. Then he 
 added, laughingly, " I get an invitation to fill a 
 vacancy in some country pulpit, and ko I have a 
 chance to try my clerical powers on an unsuspecting 
 congregation of some little church, that is what brings 
 me here now." Harold heaved a sigh and Charley 
 laughed again, saying, " Is that sigh for me or the 
 people of the congregation ? " Just then the car- 
 riage rolled into the street where the parsonage 
 stood, and as it was getting late, he sprang out, pro- 
 mising Harold he would see him again, as not more 
 than half of his time would be taken up by the 
 duty he had to perform during the absence of the 
 minister. 
 
 Harold, of course, had all the time there was, and 
 he looked forward with much enjoyment to the 
 pleasant companionship of his friend. 
 
 " Where are you going, Berthy ? " said Roger, seeing 
 her going out with her hat on. • . 
 
 " To see Mrs. Kenyon," was the answer. " I have 
 not been there for more than a week, and I used to 
 go every day almost before you came." 
 
 " What is the matter with my going, too ? " 
 
 " There is nothing the matter w^ith your going that 
 I know of," said his cousin, laughing, " if you care 
 to go." 
 
 At this Roger snatched his hat, lying on the floor 
 near at hand, and walked out with his cousin. The 
 fact was he was beginning to tire of the (juiet life he 
 was leading at tji 1-Crest, and to wonder why he 
 
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 70 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 came here at all. He had only been home from school 
 a few weeks and was having a jolly time with the 
 boys in his own neighborhood. Nothing to do but 
 enjoy himself. They would take his little steam 
 yacht and sail a few miles up the lake to a large 
 town, where they would tie up and go ashore and 
 attend the theatre ; or if they went in the morning, 
 in time to see a horse race, all the better. There were 
 no ropes on him, he said, and if tliey stayed three 
 days instead of one, it did not make any difference, 
 there were no questions asked at home. But all at 
 once his father had taken a notion that he must go 
 with his sister to visit relations, and he did not under- 
 stand it. Of course he had gotten along pretty well 
 so far, but he was beginning to be restless, and now 
 as he walked along down the green lane at Berthy's 
 side, he said to her in a somewhat absent-minded way, 
 " Don't you get sick of staying in this sleepy little 
 town all the while ? There is nothing going on to 
 interest a fellow. No one does anything but work, 
 so far as I can see." i 
 
 Berthy looked him squarely in the face and 
 answered promptly, " That is just what I think, and 
 Aunt FUzabeth has scolded me often for saying it. I 
 get tired of doing the same things over and over 
 again every day. It seems as if we lived in a little 
 corner of the world, and do not know anything that 
 is going on outside of our home. I feel sometimes 
 tempted to run away ; but when I feel like that. I go 
 and have a nice long talk with Mrs. Kenyon, and she 
 tells me so sweetly that the outside world is full of 
 
ii 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 71 
 
 wickedness, and that I must be contented wliere God 
 has phiced me, that I feel all right again and go on 
 with my work." 
 
 " I hope she will not preach me any sermons on 
 contentment," said Roger, as Berthy rang the door 
 bell, looking as if he had a mind to run, but his cousin 
 assured him that her friend w^as a lovely old woman, 
 and would not say anything to hurt his feelings. It 
 was a delightful summer evening, and the air was 
 filled with the perfume of the roses growing by the 
 porch. Although Berthy w^ent to the front door, she 
 knew very well that she would be apt to find Mrs. 
 Kenyon on the back verandah, where it was always 
 pleasant with the comfortable easy chairs and soft 
 matting under foot, but she had a stranger with her 
 to-night, and so she thought it best to go to the hall 
 door. As the servant girl opened the door, the sound 
 of laughter came to them from the sitting room. 
 
 " I wonder who is here," thought Berthy, as she 
 was ushered into the parlor to await fihe coming of 
 lier hostess. 
 
 " I am glad to see thee, also to greet thy friend," 
 .said the Quakeress, as she entered the room and was 
 introduced to Roger. 
 
 " I have a pleasant surprise for thee, Berthy," and 
 turning to the little girlish figure at her side, said, 
 with a gleam of lovelight in her eyes, " This is my 
 daughter Rachel, just come home to-day from school, 
 after being gone more than a year." 
 
 The young girls greeted each other as old friends 
 might have done, Mrs, Kenyon had mentioned 
 
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72 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
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 Berthy iriany times in her letters, and talked of Rachel 
 so much to Berthy that they were pre})ared to become 
 fast friends as soon as they met. But when the old 
 lady would have introduced Mr. McDonell to her 
 daughter, it was her turn to be surprised, for, as that 
 young man took the hand of the pretty Rachel, he 
 assured her mother that they had had the pleasure of 
 meeting before. 
 
 And then followed an explanation of how Roger 
 had rescued her from a dog that had almost fright- 
 ened her to death ; and another time he had secured 
 for her some wild flowers that she wanted very 
 much, and nearly lost his balance reaching over a 
 cliff to get them. The school that Rachel Kenyon 
 attended and Roger's college were only a short dis- 
 tance apart, and the young people often met at the 
 homes of friends, or at picnics, and so had become 
 very well acquainted. The evening passed away 
 pleasantly. Rachel played and sang delightful little 
 songs, and Roger joined in with his clear tenor, and 
 then Mrs. Kenyon called for some hymns and, of 
 course, they could all sing them. Even Berthy found 
 herself singing heartily Old Coronation and Bethany, 
 with Roger holding the book for her and Rachel 
 playing the accompaniment. It was all like a glimpse 
 of heaven, and when the hour for departing came she 
 was afraid she would awake and find it a dream. 
 
 There were great plans made for the coming weeks, 
 in which the young people would be much together, 
 and it appeared now as if Roger would not find the 
 time hanging heavily on his hands, if he took the 
 girls to all the places he promised, 
 
 i'' ' 
 
:tll 
 
 It 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 73 
 
 " I must spend the most of my time at home as 
 mamma and I have been parted so long," said Rachel, 
 putting her arm lovhigly around her mother's neck. 
 " We will have a great deal of visiting to do in the 
 time to come, but then I do not intend to go away 
 again ev^r, doli* " said the girl, caressing the grey 
 head that leaned against her shouVler. They were 
 all standing Imt Mrs. Kenyon, who sat in an eas\' 
 chair, with hei' daughter near her. There was a 
 sliarp pain in Berthy's heart, as she witnessed this 
 evidence of love between mother and daughter ; and 
 tlie look of sadness was not lost on her Quaker 
 friend, for she put out her hand and drew Berthy to 
 her, as she answered her daughter, " No, we will not 
 l)e parted again very soon I hope, but we must have 
 Berthy with us, for she has been like my own child 
 while thee has Ijeen away." 
 
 These words were ver^^ sweet to the motherless 
 girl, and she tried to thank her friend, but could not 
 say what was in her mind, and so she pressed the 
 kind hand that held hers, and was silent. 
 
 Roger was delighted at having met again with 
 Rachel Kenyon. His boyish heart had gone out to 
 lier at their first meeting — how well he remembered 
 it. Being off on a hunting tour one day with one or 
 tw of his friends, they had become separated. The 
 large fox-hound belonging to one of the professors, 
 bounded on ahead. The dog had never seen a fox in 
 his life, and did not know that the boys brought him 
 along just as they did their guns, to match their 
 shooting jackets and high top-boots. He thought 
 6 
 
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 74 
 
 II ILL-CREST. 
 
 I , :, 
 
 \ :■! 
 
 
 wlieii he saw a little j^irl run I'ruiii liini and climb 
 hastily up into the branches of a tree, that the right 
 thing for him to do was to bark at her with all his 
 might, until some one came to gi\ e him further advice 
 or assistance ; and accordingly when Roger heard 
 him making such a noise and went to see what it was 
 about, he found the pretty brown eyes of the little 
 Quaker lassie streaming with tears, and her white 
 hands clutching the limb of an old tree that 
 threatened every moment to break and let her down 
 into the jaws of what seemed to her the most savage 
 canine she had ever seen. As soon as the dog 
 heard Roger's voice he ran to him, wagging his tail, 
 and jumped up about him, as much as to say, "Tliere 
 is your game, I kept it until you came." Roger pro- 
 ceeded to help the young lady out of her uncomfort- 
 able position, and sympathising with her at being 
 so badly frightened, went with her to a pool of 
 water, and bathed her poor, bleeding hands, and tore 
 his own linen handkerchief in strips to bandage them 
 with, and when he was walking out into the road- 
 way, he realised that he had by his side one of the 
 daintiest little ladies he had ever seen. Her hair was 
 a golden brown, and her complexion clear ; hei' 
 cheeks and lips always rosy, were now a vivid scarlet 
 from her recent excitement. She looked to him the 
 very pink of perfection. 
 
 And was it any wonder that when he met her 
 again, and she recognised him with a little girlish 
 blush, that he should be indeed her devoted knight, 
 risking his very life for the little cluster of wild 
 
 ! 
 
 
AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 
 flowers we have already mentioned, or that simple- 
 hearted Ray should look upon him as the bravest and 
 handsomest youth she had ever met. There was no 
 thought in their innocent young hearts of anything 
 but the present enjoyment in each other's society. 
 
 This all happened a year ago, but now, as they 
 met again, there was a little conscious embarrassment 
 that they had not felt in each other's company 
 before. 
 
 It seemed a new life was opening for Berthy. 
 
 Mrs. Kenyon had intimated that her daughter 
 could consider her a friend, and she was so lovely and 
 sweet. There was only one drawback to her com- 
 plete felicity, and that was her lack of the pretty 
 dresses she already noticed that Rachel wore, which 
 contrasted with her own shabby attire. There were 
 other eyes that had noticed the same thing, for as 
 she and Roger were walking home, he said, in his 
 abrupt way, " Say, cousin, I have never given you a 
 present since I have been liere, have I ? Now, I want 
 to give you one, and I don't know" what you would 
 like best, so here is some money and you can get 
 anything you want," and before Berthy could refuse 
 or accept, he thrust into her hand a bank note. 
 " There, take it for a present you know, yours truly, 
 Roger McDonell," he added with that mock gravity 
 that amused her so much. And so she put the crisp 
 bill into her pocket, telling him she had not expected 
 a present, but thinking all the time how many 
 things she could get for a dollar. 
 
 She hurried into her room on reaching the house, 
 
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 76 
 
 HILL-CKEST. 
 
 and found (Jrace already in bed ; then she tried to 
 tell her all that liad happened that evening, but as 
 the present came last in her recital she could not 
 make a connected story of it. Snatching the money 
 out of her pocket, cried, " There, see what Roger 
 gave me to buy a present with," and unfolding it, 
 disclosed to her sister's gaze, not a one but a ten 
 dollar bill. Hei* surprise was even greater than 
 Grace's, althougli that young lady was neaHy 
 paralyzed. She sat up straight in bed, and they 
 looked at each other in open-eyed wo der for at 
 least two minutes before either could speak, and then 
 Grace, who had recovered her breath first, assured 
 her sister that it was all a mistake, he woidd never 
 have given her so nmch : he probably had taken 
 from his pocket the wrong bill. 
 
 They talked far into the night cm this and kindred 
 subjects. They were good company for each other, 
 f(jr while Grace was always contented with herself 
 and surroundings she, in an indirect way, helped to 
 make the uneasy Berthy see that she might be worse 
 off than she was, and if the thought did not bring 
 content, it at least produced a sort of thankfulness 
 that served to make her less inclined to find fault 
 with her hum-drum life at Hill-Crest. 
 
 When the girls told Roger in the morning of the 
 mistake he had made, he only laughed at them, and 
 insisted upon Berthy 's keeping the money : but just 
 as they were talking Kathey chanced to pass, and 
 hearing them mention the amount shq scolded him 
 soundly for giving away his money, and insisted 
 

 AT THE PAUSONAOE. 
 
 77 
 
 so strongly on liis taking it back, that 1h; was com- 
 pelled to do so : although later in the <lay he gave 
 it again to Berthy, telling her to keep it for him, as he 
 would spend it foolishly if he had it. 
 
 He thought in his heart that she would perhaps 
 huy herself something with the money. He <lid not 
 know how strong the girl was to resist tt^mptation, 
 having all her life been schooled by necessity, nor did 
 he think that the time would come when he would 
 need this money more than Berthy had ever needed 
 it. But we will not anticipate. 
 
 After Harold's first meeting with his friend he did 
 not let a day pass without seeing him. He had come 
 to Sunnnerville for a particular reason, had put up at 
 the best hotel in the place, and spent h's time in 
 walking or driving around the country. The society 
 columns in the paper said he was visiting relatives, 
 and he had not cared to contradict the statement ; 
 the fact was, that since his return froln Europe there 
 had settled on him an uneasiness which his friends 
 attributed to the death of his mother, and he felt that 
 his empty, lonely home had something to ao with it. 
 But his mind, coni^'nually turning toward this little 
 village, told him moro plainly that there was some one 
 there that he very much desired to see, and a mystery 
 that he felt was worth clearing up : but now he was 
 on the ground, he seemed as far as ever from finding 
 out the whereabouts of the one he sought, or the 
 reason of the sudden disappearance of his truant lady 
 love. 
 
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 HILL-CREST. 
 
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 He had asked Geraldine (Jii tlie luoniiiig ot* Kathey's 
 departure wliat it meant, but that diplomatic youn*;' 
 hidy's aiiHVver had never .siiemed (piite Hati.sfactory, 
 and after his pi-ide and indi<^nation had timc^ to 
 cool, he th()u<;ht long and earnestly on the su])ject ; 
 then he resolved to go to Sununerville and stay there 
 until he should arrive at the correct solution of what 
 was to him a very trying problem. He had not 
 lacked attention from charming girls, but there was 
 ever before his mind the bright vivacious Kathey, 
 the saucy curl of the proud lip, and the mischievous 
 sparkle of the blue eyes, with the ready sympathy and 
 reserved modesty that made her, in his opinion, a 
 very queen among women. Then he knew she 
 was one that must be wooed. He did not expect 
 any advances from her, and although he was almost 
 angry at the manner in which she had slipped away 
 from him when she must have known he was on 
 the eve of a declaration, still he was beginning to 
 think there was a mystery about it, and he had set 
 himself to work to find it out. 
 
 " There is no use in my asking Charley anything 
 about a girl," he said to himself one morning as he 
 was going to call on his friend, " for it is not likely 
 he has seen one since he came here, he never did 
 care for the society of the fair sex. What a strange 
 fellow he is. I wonder if it is because he is so much 
 interested in religion. Ah ! hang it, I am going to 
 give him a piece of my mind when I get a chance. 
 Of course, it is all right to belong to a church ; I 
 am a church member myself, but this sacrificing 
 

 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 eveiytliin^' that is pleasant in- 
 
 79 
 
 Hello! old Fellow, 
 T was just ^oinf>^ to your, place, and ^ettin^ my 
 little piece all ready to speak, when 1 saw you," said 
 Harold as hv turned ; corner and met his friend face 
 to face. "Where are you ^oing so early .^" 
 
 "I am goin^- to see a sick woman and her boy.'' 
 " There you ^o again, that is jiist what I was 
 thinking of as I came along. What is the use of 
 your burying yourself alive in this everlasting strife 
 to preach the GospeW" said his friend in a grieved, 
 (juerulous tone of voice, that was very unusual with 
 him. " Stop," he said, as Charley would have answered. 
 " I am going to have my say. There are fifty places 
 you can till just as well as not, and I have influence 
 enough to get you any one of them, if you would give 
 up this wild-goose chase after notoriety in the pulpit. 
 Of course, religion is all right," he added, as he noticed 
 the reproving expression on the young minister's 
 face ; " but you can serve God and be something 
 besides a pale, bloodless expounder of Bible history. 
 What a lawyer you would make, with your fine stage 
 presence, good voice, and masterly command of 
 language. You ought to be pleading at the bar 
 this minute for the life of some poor, condemned 
 wretch." So much in earnest had he become, and so 
 certain that this last argument would turn his friend's 
 mind, that he grasped him by the arm and looked 
 him full in the face, as if demanding an immediate 
 surrender. 
 
 " Oh 1 " said Charley, in a voice as calm as his face 
 was sefeije," I am willing to use all the power I have 
 
 
 
 
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 HILL-CREST. 
 
 
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 in ple.iding the cai*8e of sinners at a higher tribunal 
 than thofje of tliis earth." 
 
 Harold did not answer, there was nothing for him 
 to say. He was not convinced, but he liad so 
 exhausted himself in his own veliement language 
 that he needed time to rest. 
 
 Charley contiinied : " If there wei'e more pleading 
 at the bar of God tliere would be less occasion for 
 it in the unjust courts of meiL But come, do not 
 let us stand here, people will think we are quarrel- 
 ling. I promised Mrs. Howell that I would look 
 after this poor family while she was gone. There 
 is a Miss McDonell, a friend of hers, who is takin< 
 care of them, I believe, and I half expected she would 
 send for me before this time, but as she has not I 
 thought I would go there this morning, Mr. Howell 
 will be home to-morrow, and his wife will think I 
 have not kept my promise to her." When Harold 
 heard the name of McDonell it aroused his interest 
 at once, and when Charley asked him if he cared 
 to go with him he very promptly consented, much 
 to the surprise and amusement of his companion. 
 
 The little house stood alone on the conmions, with- 
 out trees or fence. The broken windows and sagging 
 doors told of extreme poverty an<l destitution. The 
 two young men walked (juietly up to the door, which 
 was opened to Mr. Montgomery's knock by a tall, 
 g"*aceful gixl in a blue gi igiiam dress and white apron, 
 whoni he introduced to Mr. Huntington as Miss Y .- 
 Donell. 
 
 " How are the sick ones to-day :* " asked Charley, 
 in a hushed tone of voici'. 
 
 9 
 
 SOI- 
 
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 t :■ 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGI:. 
 
 81 
 
 " The little l)oy died in tlie iiioht," was the stai-tliiio- 
 answer, " and tlie doctor says that Mi's. Smith cunn()t 
 live lono-. I am so ^hid you came," continued Edith. 
 ]\Irs. Adams and myseH" are all alone, an<l do not 
 know what to do. We have been liere all niiifht. Mrs. 
 Snuth will not let me leave her ;i miinite." 
 
 Harold looked ai-oun<l. It was a strange experi- 
 ence tor him, he had often gi\en money to help the 
 poor, but had vdways been careful not to come in 
 contact with them. Not so with his friend, who 
 seemed to be perfectly at ease, and assurin<i^ the pale, 
 a<j;itated girl that the churcli people would undoubt- 
 edly come to the rescue, he turned to the bed whereon 
 lay the emaciated form of the dying woman. 
 
 " You are very sick, my dear sister," he said, taking 
 her thin hand in his, and speaking in a voice as ten- 
 der as a w^oman's. "Is there anything I can do for 
 you ^ 
 
 " Who are you?" she asked, looking at him in a 
 soi't of dazed wonder. 
 
 " I am the preacher who is taking Mr. Howell's 
 place while he is aw y." 
 
 "Oh ! When is Mr, Howed connna' home ? I wish 
 he was here now." 
 
 " He will be home to-morrcnv." 
 
 " To-morrow ! / shall not be here, 1 shall be dead by 
 that time." She lay for a few moments with closed 
 yes, an<l when she spoke aga'J i her voice sounded a 
 ti'ifle weaker than before. 
 
 "I would like to have Mr. Howell pray for me once 
 more before I go" 
 
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 82 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 " Shall I pray for yon { " said Mr. Montgomery, in 
 a gentle, soothing tone. 
 
 * Yes, yes : but Mr. Howell knew 1 was a poor lost 
 siinier, and his prayei-.s always did nie so much good, 
 but may be God will hear you," and she closed her 
 eyes again and folded her hands on her breast. 
 
 Without any seeming preparation Charley knelt 
 by the poor, shabby bedside and, lifting his face 
 heavenward, poured out his soul in prayer for this 
 woman who had ju-t acknowledged herself " a poor 
 lost sinner." He thanked God for hl.j mercy in taking 
 the little child first, that he might be waiting with 
 his redeemed, blood-bought spirit, freed from the 
 dwarfed-crippled body — waiting ^o receive the care- 
 worn, patient mother to scenes of endless bliss ; and 
 then he asked for a blessing on the lonely father, and 
 prayed that great good might come to him through 
 what seemed a dark cloud of affliction. Nor did he 
 forget the self-sacrificing young girl who had labored 
 so patiently for these, Christ's little ones. 
 
 When he had finished, the pale face of the dying 
 woman was lit up w^ith an almost angelic smile. " I 
 am not afraid to die now ; all seems bright and clear, 
 thank God." 
 
 Edith was weeping softly, and Mrs. Adams, who 
 w^a^ sitting by the dead boy, was sobbing aloud- 
 Harold stood motionless, his eyes riveted upon the 
 floor, his arms folded On his breast. He seemed lost 
 in thought, but when Mr. Montgomery arose to go he 
 seemed to recover himself, ar^d, turning to Edith, said, ■ 
 V I will send the undertaker to do all that is necessary / 
 
AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 88 
 
 here. " At the same time placing in her hand a 
 twenty dollar gold piece, he said, " Buy anything you 
 need to make the woman comfortable while she 
 hves. , , 
 
 When they had reached the street Charley was the 
 first to speak. " I tell you, tiarold, it nuist be an 
 immense amount of satisfaction to be able to do what 
 you did to-day." 
 
 " Don't mention it, Charley ; the undei-taker's bill 
 and that bit of gold were nothing to what you left in 
 tliat house. To see that soul made lit for heaven 
 while you were there on your knees, showed me that 
 I never understood what true religion meant before. 
 Forgive me for what 1 said to you this morning. 
 What is all the wealth of this world to a man who 
 can -pray sucli a prayer as you uttered there at that 
 bedside ; it seemed as if you just grasped the arm of 
 the Almighty." 
 
 As he spoke he looked into the young minister's 
 face, and was surprised to see such a look of pain and 
 sadness when he expected to see him not proud, per- 
 liaps, but at least gratified by his words of apprecia- 
 tion. 
 
 " Harold," and his voice was tremulous with emotion, 
 "I know you say only wliat is in your heart, and I 
 also know that you expect me to be pleased with your 
 words of approval, and thei'e is not a person on this 
 earth whose good opinion I value more than I do 
 yours: and further, if you ^ad said half as much con- 
 cerning a sermon or an article 1 had preached or 
 vvritten, I should be profuse with my thanks, but 
 
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84 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
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 when anyone mentions my prayer it is different. 
 There is a feeling right liere that I caiuiot describe 
 (and he phiced liis hand on Ivis heart), as if you had 
 been eaves-dropping an<l were taunting me with what 
 you liad lieard. Don't tliink I am ungrateful, old 
 friend ; it is only a notion, perhaps no one feels as I 
 do, but you know wiiat a hard life I luive had, and I 
 know, if you don't, how this looking to (jJod in prayer 
 have been all 1 have had sometimes to keep me from 
 suicide, and, though I would be glad to have you de- 
 I'ive the same comfort from it that I have, I could not 
 wish my worst enemy to go down the depths I did in 
 order to find that great and glorious relief. 
 
 " Forgive me if I have hurt your feelings, but I I'eel 
 very strongly on this subject, and sometimes go so far 
 as to think I ought to give up the practice of audible 
 prayer altogether." 
 
 " No, no," said Harold ; " don't think of it for a 
 moment. It is the voice of the tempter." It sounded 
 ({ueer to hear the same young man saying this who, a 
 few minutes before, had tried to persuade his friend 
 to give up his calling, but he was thoroughly in 
 earnest, and neither of them noticed the change that 
 had so quickly taken place. "1 have nevei* heard you 
 preach," he added, " but if you have the same power 
 
 in that " he stopped a little confused. " Well, 
 
 Charley, you have found your vocation, and I will be 
 the last of your friends to disconi-agt^ you from goino- 
 on, even if this blind, blundering worhl does not 
 accord to you the meed of praise that you deserve." 
 
 They had now reached the parsonage, Charley lj«^d 
 
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 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
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 Mm 
 
 to see about the arrangements for Willie Smith's 
 funeral, and Harold walked on to the undertaker's 
 office to tell him to take char<^e of the little boy's 
 remains, and send him the bill. 
 
 He met tlie doctor in the door way, and stopped 
 and asked him how long it would be before Mrs. 
 Smith would require a like service. The little 
 M. D. was so impressed with the tine appearance 
 of Mr. Huntington, that he promised him he w^ould 
 call at the Smith's home and give her case his 
 whole attention, from this time cm; but when he 
 hurried into the dilapidated house a tVnv hours later, 
 liis services were not recjuired, for with the same 
 sweet smile on her face she had worn since morning, 
 her soul had gone up to join the gloritied spirit of her 
 baby, at the feet of their Heavenly Father. 
 
 The mother an<l little l>oy were buried in one coffin. 
 Mr. Howell came home in time to preach the sermon 
 to an overflowing church. All of the mend)ers 
 turned out and expressed their satisfaction that Mrs. 
 Smith, poor soul, had been saved at the recent 
 ivvival. 
 
 Hearse and carriages, and plumes and flowers were 
 not wanting : Mr. Huntington paid for everything 
 without a murmur at the price, even giving the doctor 
 a generous fee. 
 
 When it was all over, and he saw the poor, weak, 
 iiiist'rable Joshua standing by the newly-made grave, 
 he turned to Charle}^ and said, " What can we do 
 i*oi- that poor fellow ^ He is not capabb^ of looking 
 'dhvr himself." 
 
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 HILL -CREST. 
 
 "No," suid Charley, and the people herealumts have 
 no pity for him ; come, K^t us see what he needs most, 
 I know you ai-e just pining to do another generous 
 act." 
 
 When Joshua w^as interviewed he whimpered some- 
 thing al)out having a brother in (volorado, and he 
 would go there if he had the money, wliereupon 
 Harold furnished what was needed, and bidding him 
 God speed, had the satisfaction the next day of seeing 
 him start for the irolden west. 
 
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 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FIRE. 
 
 ERALDINE, <lo you know the young 
 man who paid the funeral expenses 
 for the Smith's is none other than 
 Harold Huntington," said Rcger, the 
 morning following the events recorded 
 in the last chapter. " . .w him last night on the 
 street and told him vou were here, and invited him 
 to call, and he is coming to-night. He had that young 
 preacher with him. Phew! But he is a fine-looking 
 fellow, Harold cannot hold a candle to Kim. I invited 
 him, too, but he said he was going away this morning. 
 The girls heard all this in silence. Roger seemed 
 so perfectly at home in their house that it did not 
 occur to him that he had no right to invite anyone he 
 chose to come there ; but when no one spoke he 
 looked from one to the other in surprise, and said, 
 "bo seemed awfully ijlad to come, and I don't know 
 HiS 1 should have invited him, if he had not given me 
 such broad hints, and then he urged Mr. Montgomery 
 to come, too, but he declared lie would have to go back 
 to his work, saying, duty before pleasure had always 
 
 
 l=, ^4 
 
1 
 
 88 
 
 HILL-CHEST. 
 
 l)eeii liis motto, an<l lie thought it always would be, 
 l)ut h(^ told me to remember him to Miss McDonell.' 
 
 " I suppose that means Kathey, as she is the eldest," 
 said Berthy. Hit just then seeing- the blushing face 
 of Edith, every eye was turned upon her, so much to 
 the discomfort of that young lady that she made hei' 
 exit, followed by Kathey, whose eiubarrassment, 
 though just as great, was uinioticeil , y anyone but 
 Geraldine, and she thought best to make no inference 
 to it. 
 
 When the sisters weiv alone in theii' room they 
 stood for a few moments in confused silence. There 
 had been so nuich to do for the last few davs that 
 they had scarcely time to speak together. Edith did 
 not think she dai'.'d to mention the vouno- minister's 
 name, for wliat was he to her i 
 
 But she knew Kathev's heart secret. She knew 
 how that brave girl had refused to go anywliere this 
 sunnnei- for fear she would chance to see the one who 
 was dealer to her than life. 
 
 Edith had felt all the time that her sister's fears 
 were unfounded, and now that she liad seen and 
 spoken with him, had looked into his face, and had 
 learned by his generosity how truly noble he was, she 
 was glad that there was an opportunity^ for them to 
 meet again. She did not wonder that her sister loved 
 him ; perhaps she too might have admired him more 
 had she seen him alone, but she told herself that with 
 Mr. Montgomery present it was not possible anyone 
 could think much of Mr. Huntington, although he was 
 such a splendid type of manly beauty. 
 
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 [ 
 
 THE FIRE. 
 
 89 
 
 Kathey was the first to speak after they had made 
 sure they were alone. 
 
 " Edith," she said, '* Mr. Huntington must not come 
 here to-night." 
 
 " Oh ! Kathey,' said her sister, impatiently, " You 
 are carrying your pride too far. I met Mr. 
 Huntington — " she paused, not wanting to tell where, 
 " hut," she continued, " I believe he loves you yet, for 
 he seemed so delighted when he was introduced to 
 me, and I know it was not on my account." 
 
 To say that Kathey was surprised would be only to 
 give a faint idea of the emotion her sisters' words had 
 caused. 
 
 " Where did you see him, pray ? " 
 
 Then followed in detail all that had passed at the 
 parsonage and at the house of death. 
 
 Roger's words that morning were the first that 
 Kathey had heard of Harold's whereabouts, and to 
 think that her sister and he should become acquainted 
 under such circumstances was, indeed, remarkable. 
 But although Edith told all this to try to persuade 
 her sister to let him come to their home it was of no 
 use, for she turned to the table and liastily wrote a 
 note, savini^ that it would not be convenient to have 
 him call, as they had other engagements. She said, 
 as she handed it to Edith to post, " I should not care 
 so nmch if it was not for Geraldine, who is forever 
 talking about him, and saying how proud he is, and 
 parading our poverty. I do not believe she would 
 stay here to-night if he came, she would be so 
 mortified." 
 7 
 

 m 
 
 HILL-CHESr. 
 
 If Kathcy liad heard what GeraWine was saying 
 to Roger about that time she wotiM liave changed 
 her rniiid. 
 
 As soon as the girls had left the room Oeraldine 
 tuined to her brother and said, " Oh ! Roger, I am so 
 glad you invited Mr. Huntington here to-night. You 
 know that papa does so want me to encouiage him. 
 He is very rich and could help papa so much, and if 
 he does not get help soon he will have to close the 
 mill, and that means ruin to us ; but if Harold and I 
 could make a match," she added, laughingly, without 
 the least sign of shame at so cold-blooded a transac- 
 tion, " it would be all right and save poor papa from 
 the disgrace of breaking down." 
 
 " So that is what you came here for this sunnner, 
 is it ? Well, if I had known that I would not have 
 come with you. I do liate match-making, and you 
 and father and mother are always at it. You do not 
 love Harold at all, and yet you would marry him just 
 for his money — it is contemptible." 
 
 " Roger McDonell, you are just as hateful as you 
 can be. I cannot tell you anything but you go off 
 in one of your goody, goody spells. A person would 
 think you were a saint to hear you talk. I will 
 never tell you anything again. But," said his sister, 
 changing her voice to a coaxing tone, " you w411 not 
 tell the girls what I said ; promise me, Roger, you will 
 not." 
 
 But Roger would not promise. Although he did 
 not intend to tell, he liked to make his sister think 
 he would, which worried her so much, that when 
 
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THE FIRE. 
 
 91 
 
 Katlu'}/ next looked into tlio I'ooni (icraldine was 
 
 crying, and of* course hei" cousin thought it was 
 
 because of the expected visit that evening, and it 
 
 lu']i)ed to strengthen her detei'niination that the 
 
 offending party should not come, altliough lu^r own 
 
 lieart was bnuikitig for a sight of* the beloved 
 
 face. 
 
 Edith went to the Post-office and saw, Just as she 
 
 was turning the corner, the old stage starting for 
 the depot. Mr. Montgomery had already taken his 
 seat, Mr. Huntington was bidding him good-bye, and 
 ])()th raised their hats to her, and in another moment 
 slie was in the Post-office. A sad, lonely feeling 
 came over her as she heard the rumbHng old stage 
 coach rattle off* up the road, it seemed as if she 
 was angry with some one, but she did not know with 
 wliom it could be. 
 
 Just then Mr. Huntington strolled leisurely in 
 through the broad door-way, and going up to her, 
 offered her his hand in the most cordial manner 
 possible. He never looked to better advantage tlian 
 he did this morning, in his light sunnner suit and 
 soft brown felt hat and gloves to match. He strongly- 
 impressed Edith as a gentleman of wealth and 
 refinement, but there was something so unaffected 
 and natural about him that she could not imagine 
 him looking with critical eyes on those less favored 
 than himself, and when he spoke of parting with his 
 friend, and she saw a suspicious moisture in his big, 
 lionest eyes, it settled the fate of Kathey's note. At 
 once she crushed it back into her pocket, and asking 
 
 
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 92 
 
 HILL-CHEST. 
 
 for some postage stamps, bade the young gentleman 
 good-bye, and going straight liome gave to the 
 kitchen fire what Kathey had intended sliould 
 separate her forever from the man she loved. 
 
 The McDonells always dined at twelve o'clock, 
 which was the hour that the father could best be at 
 home, and so the girls planned to have something 
 choice for that meal. To-day it was a game dinner 
 that was set bL3fore the family. Roger had shot some 
 wild fowl the day before, and he and Berthy had 
 dressed them. Berthy delighted in cooking, which 
 was the only part of house work she cared to do. 
 Perhaps she did not know why she preferred it to 
 any other, but the reader can easily see that with the 
 craving for love that was part of her nature, it was 
 very plain that any triumph in the culinary art 
 would bring forth words of praise that more than 
 repaid her for doing her best in that line. 
 
 Just as the household had all assembled to discuss 
 the mid-day meal there was a sharp knock at the 
 front door, and when it was answered it brought the 
 intelligence that there was a telegram for Roger. It 
 ran thus : " Come home. A fire last night. Mill 
 burned.' Father not expected to live." 
 
 When Geraldine heard it she went into violent 
 hysterics. 
 
 Roger paced the floor not knowing what to do. 
 But Mr. McDonell, though shocked for a moment, 
 (juickly rallied, knowing that prompt action was 
 necessary. He said in a firm voice, " We must go 
 immediately, it is too fq,r to drive. We will take the 
 
HI 
 
 THE FIRE. 
 
 93 
 
 afternoon train, and by wiring aliead, will be able to 
 be at your place to-night. I do not understand how 
 William's life could be endangered by the burning of 
 the mills, but we shall see, as I intend to go with you 
 and Geraldine. Come, girls, get her clothes packed 
 up, there is no time to lose." 
 
 And in less than an hour from the time the news 
 came, Mr. McDonell, Roger and Geraldine were on 
 their way to witness they knew not what. When 
 Geraldine was ready to go, although in such 
 apparent trouble, she said apart to Kathey, " I 
 wonder if Mr. Huntington will care to come now 
 that I am going away." 
 
 " No," said Kathey, " he will not come, I wrote him 
 not to." 
 
 And so Geraldine was satisfied on that score. 
 
 As the anxious party neared the scene of the late 
 conflagration everyone they saw was talking of it, 
 and the remarks caused Robert McDonell so much 
 anxiety that he could not wait until he arrived at 
 his journey's end without making inquiries. 
 
 While waiting at the depot for the carriage, he saw 
 a man who had been at the place, and upon asking 
 him the particulars in regard to the cause of the 
 calamity, this was the story he heard : " You see that 
 woolen mill was supposed to be a big paying thing. 
 W^illiam McDonell was one of those close-mouthed 
 fellows, no one ever knew his business, and then his 
 family putting on so many airs, and all that, made the 
 workmen think he was making a little too much out of 
 their labor ; it don't do to go on in that style, you 
 
 ill 
 
94 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 '$ 
 $ 
 
 I 
 
 III 
 
 
 i 
 
 !if 
 
 know. Well, it was when the son came home from 
 college the trouble commenced : he had to have a 
 steam yacht fitted up For him, and he live<l pretty 
 fast. One day as the men wer(» resting at noon the 
 book-keeper was asking young Ro^er what he intended 
 to do now he had finished his education. 
 
 " Oh ! " said he, "I will not have to do anything. I 
 guess the old man can make enough out of them 
 fellows to keep me without work." He did not know 
 that they heard him, and I don't think he meant it, 
 for he is as good a boy as you will find in a day's 
 travel. But, you see, the men wen* mad in a moment, 
 and one of them particularly, who had known Bill 
 McDonell when he was a poor workmen like himself, 
 had been threatening and trying to set up the men to 
 go out on a strike, and when he heard what Roger 
 said he muttered something b'tween his teeth about 
 pride taking a fall and some one else working for 
 their bread. The men all felt there was something 
 going to happen, and [ guess that McDonell got a 
 hint of it, for he sent his son away about two weeks 
 ago, and thought that would probably put an end to 
 the trouble ; and may be it would, but yesterday he 
 cut the men's wages, and some of them could hardly 
 live on what they got any way. Well the upshot of 
 the matter was, that last night the whole thing was 
 fired, set in two or three places. 
 
 " When McDonell saw the flames he was like a 
 maniac, he rushed from the house (you know it is 
 about a quarter of a mile from the mills) with scarcely 
 any clothes on, made for the office, and before anyone 
 
! 
 
 tHE FIRE. 
 
 »s 
 
 could hold him back, he was inside of the l)uniin<^ 
 building, and wluni he was carried out by th(.' firemen 
 half dead, he wanted to ^o back as soon as he ^ot his 
 l)re:ith, tellint»; the men if he did not save the papers 
 in the office, he was a ruined man. People are 
 bet^iimin^ to find out he was not so prosperous as he 
 made believe. 
 
 " He was as proud as Lucifer, and foolish too, not 
 to let his men know more of his circumstances, and 
 they would have had more sympathy for him, and 
 this thing perhaps would never have happened." 
 
 It was with a heavy heart that Robert McDonell 
 went on to his brother's home. When he got there, 
 the first thing that met his eyes was a heavy knot of 
 crape on the door. It was all over. 
 
 The doctor said it was the intense excitement,as much 
 as his injuries by the fire, that had caused his (U'ath 
 
 Nothing was saved. After the funeral, the house 
 and furniture, horses and carriages, were sold at public 
 auction, and it did not pay half the demands of the 
 creditors. Geraldine and her mother clung together 
 in helpless despair. Some of their friends offered them 
 a temporary home, which they gladly accepted ; and 
 lloger went with a friend of his to a distant town to 
 see if he could find any work, as he realized for the 
 first time that he would have to do something to 
 support himself. 
 
 Hill-Crest seemed very quiet after the departure of 
 the guests. Grace and Berthy felt lonely when they 
 thought of the gay fun-loving Roger, but no one 
 mourned the loss of Geraldine. 
 
 I i I 
 
 Lnilii 
 
 ! t f 
 
 i n ■; i 
 
 1 ^^r^^m 
 
96 
 
 HlLL-CUESt. 
 
 As the afternoon began to wear away, Edith became 
 uneasy. She did not feel that she had done wrong in 
 burning the letter entrusted to her care, and yet her 
 honest nature despised deceit of any kind. Down in 
 lier heart slie felt that if Kathey could see Mr. 
 Huntington, as she had seen him, she would not 
 accuse him of any false pride, for Edith uhought that 
 pride of wealth and surroundings was false ; she 
 remembered, too, how Mr. Montgomery had told her 
 of the friendship that existed between himself and 
 Harold, an<l had dwelt on the <lifFerence in their 
 jiositions, and had said in his enthusiastic convincing 
 way, that liis friend was true-hearted and generous to 
 a fault. It was on the morning of the funeral at the 
 Smith's that they had this talk. Edith had reason, of 
 which Mr. Montgomery knew nothing, to be glad 
 to hear these words of praise for Harold, and 
 when she showed so much interest in what he was 
 saying he felt, perhaps for the first time in his life, a 
 little pang of jealousy; but he quickly put it aside 
 and continued the conversation. 
 
 As they were standing by the aide of the coflin, 
 admiring the beautiful white lilies that lay on the 
 bosom of the unconscious sleepers Charley said, " How 
 like Harold those flowers look ; his seems a soul that 
 prosperity cannot spoil. He has been surrounded all 
 his life with the beauties of nature and art. And all 
 he seems to tliink of is how he can make others happy 
 by sharing his luxuries with them. There is nothing 
 that makes me lose confidence in myself so much as 
 
THE FinE. 
 
 07 
 
 totliink that (Jod has oot to keep me poor that I may 
 be made useful." 
 
 Edith liad pondered lonj^ on tliese wonls, and slie 
 had tried to brin^ lierself to tell her sister all the 
 things he had said concerning Harold, but she could 
 not without disclosin^^ her own feelings regarding this 
 young man : and there seemerl something so sacred in 
 her thoughts of him that she could not tell her sister 
 anything he had said to her, but treasured them in 
 her heart alone. While she w.is thinking of these 
 things, and contemplating the advisal)ility of confess- 
 ing to her sister how she had burned her letter, 
 there came a sharp knock at the <loor, and in a 
 moment Harold was standing in the parlor, holding 
 the hand of the surprised, but evidently pleased 
 Kathey. Edith saw them from her room, and took 
 plenty of time to put away some work she had been 
 engaged upon, and laid aside her apron and arranged 
 her hair a little ; so that at least ten minutes had 
 elapsed before she made her appearance, and then she 
 feigned surprise at finding company. 
 
 Was she a hypocrite ? Well, if so, she was at least 
 a loving one : and it was a long time after before she 
 was permitted to know how much her interest in this 
 love affair interfered with her own. 
 
 Kathey was saying something about it being a dis- 
 appointment for him not to find Geraldine there, 
 when Edith entered, but he assured the young ladies 
 that he had not come expressly to see Miss Geraldine; 
 and then the subject of the fire was talked of a little, 
 but the trio were too happy just at present to dwell 
 
 ■ t 
 
 
 i : 
 
 fW 
 
 tn I: i\ 
 
iff 1= t 
 
 98 
 
 Hir.L-CREST. 
 
 i 
 
 1 ( 
 
 I 
 
 on HO gloomy a subject, and the conversation turnei] 
 very naturally to inoro conji^cnial topics. 
 
 Harold spoke of his friend, and if he and Kathey 
 had been less absorbed in their own affairs they womM 
 have noticed how eagerly Edith listened to everything 
 relatint( to Mr. Montgoineiy's life past and present, 
 and his outlook for the future, which Harold 
 seemed to think was a little dubious. 
 
 " He is one of the men of whom this world is not 
 worthy," he said. " When I look at him and see what 
 a sacrifice he is making for the good of others, just 
 simply that he may save souls and advance the cause 
 of the Gospel, I am lost in wonder There is some- 
 thing in him that ordinary Christians have not. 
 When he was ten years old his father and mother 
 both died. He was adopted by a farmer; he worked 
 in the fields, drove cows and cut wood for the next 
 five years, studying all the time, with the chance of 
 only four months schooling in the winter, until the old 
 farmer told him he had education enough, and he 
 could not go to school any more. This struck him 
 like a thunderbolt. He was only fifteen years old, 
 and had not a friend in the world. He told me it was 
 then he offered his first prayer to God." Harold 
 arose and walked the floor to hide his emotion. " It 
 seemed the turning point in the boy's life," he con- 
 tinued. ' The next morning he left the farm and 
 went to the city, and he has worked his way ever 
 since. Poor Charley, it has had a different effect on 
 him than it would have on most men. I am afraid I 
 
THE FTRK 
 
 99 
 
 .should have come out an infidel instead of the pure, 
 true-hearted Christian he is." 
 
 The ^irla were very much interested in the recital. 
 Katliey had never seen the youn^ man, and she was 
 tliinkin^ more of the way his friend was praising him, 
 and how noble he looke<l at this time, than of the 
 perfections of the less favored Charley. 
 
 " And has he no friends now," asked Edith, witli 
 tears in her eyes, '* who could help him to something 
 better than teaching a class of juniors at the Uni- 
 versity r 
 
 " That is just it," and Harold sat down again. 
 " He is that kind of fellow who often let pride 
 get the better of judgment. Now, I am willing to 
 admit that pride (self-respect as he calls it) is a good 
 tiling, but I know there are those who would deem it 
 a privilege to help him, yet he will not accept one 
 cent for himself. It is all wrong on his part." 
 
 The girls exchanged glances, and Kathey said, in a 
 low, but firm tone, *' I beg pardon, but are you sure 
 that you are competent to sit in judgment in a matter 
 you know so little about ? " 
 
 There was a spirit of antagonism in the sentence, 
 HO new to this petted child of fortune that it 
 awakened in him a keen interest for the girl who 
 dared to say it. 
 
 " Well," said he, " perhaps I am talking . "condom, 
 hut, of course, I can tell what I would do if placed in 
 like circumstances." 
 
 *' What you think you wc ^ do, which you might 
 
 i I i 
 
 ,;p^:i'^ ' 
 
■nnni 
 
 100 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 BSr 
 
 n 
 
 I 
 
 find would be very different from wliat you woul<l 
 really do." 
 
 Mr. Huntinj^ton looke<l a little piqued at her per- 
 siHtent contradiction, but it only increased his love 
 and esteem for her, and made him aware of the fact 
 that she liad improved in strong womanly (jualities 
 as well as in personal appearance, especially when he 
 remembered that she was defending the pride of his 
 absent friend, although a stranger to her. They both 
 laughed now, an<l Harold apologized for becoming so 
 vehement on a subject that could not possibly interest 
 entire strangers as it <lid him. Edith longed to hear 
 more, but did not again refer to the subject. 
 
 When Harold reached his own room that night he 
 felt pretty well convinced that the reason Kathey had 
 slipped away from him two yeai*s ago was in some 
 way cormected with the McDonell's of Green Cliii' 
 Geraldine had said something about Kathey 's being 
 so full of notions and fickle-minded, anci he had taken 
 it for granted that such was the ctise ; but now he 
 found her in her true position, at the head of her 
 father's household, taking the care of a mother on her 
 young shoulders, self-reliant and dignified. He loved 
 her when he knew her at the age of eighteen, a 
 happy, roguish girl, and he would then have made her 
 his wife, and petted and cared for her, not letting a 
 breath of vexation creep into her life, and keeping his 
 own troubles, if he had any, from reaching her. This 
 was the picture he always loved to look at. " But 
 then," he would add, " I want some good, reliable 
 friend to go to when I need counsel and advice, and, 
 
THE FIRE. 
 
 101 
 
 oF courso, slie could not bo of any uhc to me in tliat 
 capacity." 
 
 But now lie thou<^ht differently. *' What better, 
 truer counsellor would a man need than this good, 
 brave woman with no interest apart from his own, 
 standing by his side through life, he to share her 
 cares and anxieties, and she ever ready with counsel 
 and sympathy for him ? Could they not be all in all 
 to each other ;* " 
 
 He believed now, with simple faith, that they had 
 been kept apart by what seemed to him an unjust 
 fate ; then he would have married her ; now they 
 would marry each other. 
 
 1 
 
 w^ 
 
 1 1 
 
 i.Mt 
 
 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LOVES yoUNfi DREAM. 
 
 •JHEN the old sta^e coach turned away 
 towards the depot on the morninj^ of 
 Montgomery's departure he felt h(3 
 was not leaving Sumuierville exactly 
 as he came. He had only been there 
 two weeks, and with the exception of meeting with 
 his old friend Harold, everything had gone just as he 
 expected. As he thought of Harold, he looked back, 
 and saw him talking pleasantly with Edith at the 
 Post-office door. She was looking at the elegant 3^oung 
 man in a way that brought the hot blood rushing to 
 Charley's temples with a force that told him more 
 plainly than words could have done, that there in 
 that door- way, clad in the dainty drab serge walking- 
 dress, was the one who had made his stay in that 
 little village so different from what he had expected 
 it to be ; but he felt he was a fool to think of this 
 young lady as anything but a passing acquaintance. 
 How he chided himself for his folly ; he so poor 
 he could scarcely clothe himself decently, not even 
 respectably, compared with Harold. 
 
 the 
 hii 
 He 
 com 
 
 
■• ■■' I, r 
 
 LOVES Y()ITN(J DUKAM. 
 
 103 
 
 Ho I()()k(Ml away ott* oviir tlu' HcMh, trying to think 
 what a wide worhl this was, ami woiulorin^ if in it 
 soniowhcre there v s not a ])hicH' he niij^ht call honu', 
 ami fool that there was one heart that beat for him 
 alone. 
 
 " Here I am aj^aiii wishing for something that it is 
 not God's will for me to have," he siiid to himself 
 impatiently, as the stage stopped and he walked 
 towards the ticket office. While the agent was mak- 
 ing the change he was thinking how ghul he would 
 he if that ticket would take him to the Pacific coast, 
 instead of to the teaching and studying at the Uni- 
 versity; and yet how ungrateful he was. Had he not 
 ])een very glad when that position was offered him (* 
 And how kind the Professor had been to him, and 
 how kind everyVjody was to him. How the dear 
 Church people in Sunnnerville had said the most 
 flattering things when he bade them good-bye on 
 the last night he had preached to them, and made 
 him promise he would co^ne again at Christmas-time. 
 He had promised then, thinking he would be glad to 
 come, but now he did not want to see Summerville 
 again. It seemed that all the worldly ambition that 
 he had tried so hard to conquer was annoying him 
 since he had come here, and so he decided that he 
 liad better stay away, and he would forget in time 
 all the vexation he had endured. He was on the 
 train by this time, and taking out his Bible he read 
 on and on, finding relief and comfort in the study he 
 so much loved. 
 
 He had an engagement to fill in another small 
 
 •3 
 
 f« 
 
 I i I i 
 
n^ 
 
 I 
 
 104 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 i j.'ti 
 
 place, that would occupy a few weeks of his time 
 before the University opened for the fall term, and 
 he went direct to tliat place now, and did not hear 
 anything from his friend until he arrived at his 
 boarding-house, the week before his regular school 
 work began. There he found two letters aw^aiting 
 him. One he knew was from Harold, and he opened 
 it first. It ran thus : 
 
 " Dear Friend Charlie, — I write to say that I am 
 the happiest fellow alive. 
 
 " Next week I go to my home to make the cage 
 ready for the beautiful wild bird I have been so 
 fortunate as to capture. The old house has been 
 shut up too long, and now I am going to have it 
 opened and made fit for the happy bride who has 
 promised to enliven it with her presence. I suppose 
 you think I have gone daft, as the Scotch say, but if 
 a man has a right to do or say a foolish thing once in 
 his life, I believe when he is in love is the most 
 proper time. Perhaps you would like to know wdio 
 the young lady is that has succeeded in making me 
 so happy. It is none other than Miss McDonell. 
 There is quite a romance connected with our engage- 
 ment, which we will be delighted to tell you when 
 you visit us at our home at Christmas-time. We 
 both join in sending you this invitation with our 
 love. * "^ H. H." 
 
 Montgomery never once raised his eyes from the 
 page until he had finished reading all of his friend's 
 letter, and when he did, it was to go back and read it 
 all over again. He was not surprised, he told him- 
 self, and it wo-s the best thing that could be done foi' 
 
LOVES YOUNG DREAM. 
 
 105 
 
 both of them ; and yet he was not ([uite imsel- 
 fisli enough to say tliat lie was j^'lad, even for their 
 sakes. 
 
 He arose and walked tlie floor for at least an hour. 
 He knew now that he loved Edith McDonell with 
 a love that could never be transferred to an- 
 other: and he had not tlie least doubt that it was 
 slie whom Harold meant. He did not know that she 
 had an elder sister. Mrs. Howell introduced a little 
 c(irl to him in Church one night, and said it was 
 Edith's sister, but he had scarcely thought of her at all, 
 except to notice how unlike EtKth she was, and that 
 was all of the family he had ever seen. " A romance 
 indeed," how it all came back to him now ; how 
 anxious Harold was to go to Smith's cottage as soon 
 as he heard the name of Miss McDonell, and how 
 she started and blushed when she was introduced to 
 him, and how he had almost asked Roger for an in- 
 vitation to call at the house. He threw himself into 
 a chair, and tried to think calmly, what a good thing 
 tliis marriage would be, how much Harold loved her, 
 how could he help it ! Then he arose, and paced the 
 door again. 
 
 Just then there was a tap at the door and his land- 
 lady entered with a pitcher of water, and when she 
 retired, she said to her daughter, " I tell you it is hard 
 work for them teachers, they look as if they wdre 
 worried to death, studying so hard in them fusty old 
 books. Well, I am glad I am not educated, although 
 it does give a sort of polish to a person," and the 
 good soul bustled about and tried to think of some- 
 
 •i. I 
 
 . 
 
 i 
 
illll 
 
 hi 
 
 CH I 
 
 fl 
 
 106 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 thing nice that Mr. Montgomery would like for his 
 supper. When an hour later he came down into the 
 dining-room with the same careworn look on his hand- 
 some face, she hurried to tell him how glad she was 
 to have him back again, at the same time putting on 
 his plate a brown flakey biscuit, with its accompani- 
 ment of clear white honey, that seemed as if it would 
 tempt the appetite of anyone. 
 
 His nature was so transparent that the darkness 
 of his own soul only helped to reflect the good deeds 
 of those around him, and when in the deepest trouble 
 himself, he could see the more plainly the kindness 
 shown him, and he turned on Mrs. Jones so thank- 
 ful a face, that she could not refrain from asking him 
 if anything had occurred to cause him trouble. He 
 bowed his head for a moment, and then said as he 
 looked up, " Oh, I am always wanting something the 
 Lord thinks I am better without : and I am making 
 myself unhappy, when I ought to be singing prais* s 
 to God for His goodness." His supper was soon 
 eaten, and when he went out of the dining-room and 
 met the motherly women again, he grasped her hand 
 and said, with quivering lip, " Pray for me that I may 
 be patient." 
 
 " That I will," she said huskily, wiping her eyes 
 with her apron. 
 
 He did not think of the other letter until he saw 
 it lying on his table unopened the next morning. The 
 hand writing was strange to him ; he opened it with 
 scarcely any curiosity, and glanced at the signature : 
 it was from Joshua Smith. " He needs help, poor 
 
LOVE S YOUNG DREAM. 
 
 107 
 
 fellow, no doubt, but he has applied to the wrong man, 
 it* it is money he wants." This is the letter : 
 
 Rev. Mr. Montgomery: 
 
 "Denver, Colorada. 
 
 " Dear Sir, — I came here, as you know, about two 
 months ago. My brother is in business, but as I 
 could not do anything in his line, he secured for me 
 a very good position with an old gentleman in failing 
 health, who is a namesake of yours. 
 
 "I said to him one day that I knew a man by that 
 name, and told him where. He said he had a brother 
 that died about fifteen years ago ; he had a wife, but 
 he never knew whether they had any children or not; 
 and then I praised you up all I could, and he was so 
 interested that he put it in the hands of a lawyer, 
 and he wrote to the place where Mr. Montgomery's 
 brother lived, and found out that there was a boy ten 
 years oiva and a girl one week old when the mother 
 died. The lawyer told him yesterday that you were 
 found, but that he could not find the girl. Perhaps 
 you know something about her. The old man says 
 lie does not care for the girl, but be wants you to 
 come at once. He is very rich and all alone in the 
 world. 
 
 " You will probably hear from the lawyer, but I 
 wanted to tell you first myself. 
 
 "Yours truly, 
 
 "Joshua Smith." 
 
 Here was great news from an unexpected source. 
 Mr. Montgomery held the open letter in his hand, 
 and did not know whether to believe it or not ; while 
 he sat pondering on the contents and trying to recall 
 to mind something that would help him to the truth 
 of the matter, he heard the postman's whistle, and in 
 
 !t )ii 
 
 ■i [ 
 
 If 
 
 am 
 
 1 ' 
 
 
 i 
 
 i"i 111' i 
 
 i;t! Jj;; j 
 
 II 
 
' 
 
 i' 
 
 i 
 
 |: 
 
 1 
 
 i 1 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 ! 
 
 I 
 
 )i 
 
 1 
 'I 
 
 -SiS 
 
 108 
 
 HILI.-CHEST. 
 
 anothei* minute the lawyer's letter was put into his 
 hand. Let us look at this more business-like if less 
 sincere epistle. 
 
 " Denver, Colorado. 
 " Mu. Charles Monkjomerv : 
 
 ''Dear !Sii\ — I write to say that I have been 
 engaged for some time in looking up your relationship 
 with a client of mine in this place, by name John 
 Montgomery, and being satisfied that you are his 
 nephew, son of his brother Charles, I write at his 
 re([uest to inform you that he would like to see you 
 in this city as soon as you can conveniently make the 
 journey. 
 
 "He wishes me to say that it is impossible for him 
 to write, or go to your place, as his health would not 
 permit it. 
 
 " Yours respectfully, 
 
 " Richard Raymond." 
 
 " P. S. — It will be very much to your advantage to 
 come immediately. If you need any pecuniary help 
 I shall be happy to accommodate you." 
 
 This last letter settled all doubts in the mind of 
 the young man, and he began to make his preparations 
 at once. He had not begun his work as teacher for 
 the present term, and so he had no scholars to whom ho 
 must bid good-bye, yet he was pleased and made sad 
 by the warm pressure of the hand he received fnjm 
 the professors s^d teachers, who, though rejoicing in 
 his good luck, much regretted his departure. But he 
 was ready at last ; his List good-bye was to Mrs. 
 o Dnes, who cried outright, assuring him that she 
 would pray for him as long as she lived, and she 
 
love's young dream. 
 
 109 
 
 DO 
 
 aiMed, " I (lid not think there was any real ^ovaI 
 christian preachers until I met you. 1 thouglit them 
 all hypocrites." 
 
 How much he would have liked to see Harold 
 hefore he went so far away. H(^ had been like a 
 })rother to him always, and he had needed liis friend- 
 ship so much ; his own life was so lonely. 
 
 Then he thought of his little sister. Where would 
 he find her ? She must be fifteen if alive. He was 
 at the depot now, and as a group of laughing, merry 
 girls went by, he looked after them wondering what 
 his sister would be like when he should find her. 
 
 He felt that he was going away from whc^e she 
 was most likely to be found, and yet it was all he 
 could do : but he decided as soon as he arrived at his 
 journey's end to begin an active search for the lost 
 one, that she might share the good, if there was any, 
 or at least that he could give her his love and 
 protection, and she in return would love him as a 
 sister. How good the word sounded to him. He had 
 often thought of her, but had never been in a position 
 to do what his heart most craved. 
 
 Now that he is on his way to the bright, beautiful 
 citv of Denver we shall leave him while we look at 
 the inmates of Hill-Crest. 
 
 When we left Harold and Kathe^, they had met 
 for the first time in two years ; now we find them in 
 tile beautiful month of October, all mystei'ies cleared 
 away, and the last preparation completed. To-morrow 
 is to be their wedding day. 
 
 ' I ! 
 
 n 
 
 !| 
 
 i| 
 
 
 uiitr 
 

 1 1. 
 
 r 
 
 1 
 
 
 'A ■ 
 
 ■i 
 
 vi 
 
 
 
 
 ■i 
 
 -' u 
 
 ■■* 
 
 .f < 
 
 I i 
 
 110 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 They do not think, as they sit together in the 
 twilight, that there is an unhappy soul in the 
 universe. It was a warm, pleasant night, so they 
 went out under the shadow of the vines, and seating 
 themselves on a rustic seat, looked at each other as 
 only lovers can. 
 
 In the parlor Edith was trying to entertain a young 
 man whom Harold brought with him that afternoon 
 to act as groomsman at the marriage, Edith being 
 chosen by her sister for bridesmaid. 
 
 Adolphus VanArsdaie was not exactly the kind 
 of man Harold Huntington would have ch sen 
 for an intimate friend, but he had looked on Mr. 
 Huntington as a sort of guide to help him in matters 
 concerning American society, about which he was 
 anxious to learn. 
 
 They had met for the first time in England, and 
 Adolphus, then scarcely nineteen, had been completely 
 taken with the "clever American," as he called him. 
 He tagged him wherever he went," and der»lare ' that 
 when .e was his own boss he would go to the States 
 to live. 
 
 He was a good, respectable young man : had been 
 all his life nurtured by guardians and tutors ; he had 
 no immediate relatives, but had an immense fortune, 
 which would be his own when he was twenty-one 
 years old. He said to Harold, when he bade him good- 
 bye on the wharf at Liverpool, that as soon as he 
 came of age he would turn his property all into money 
 aiid go to America, and settle as close to Mr. Hunting- 
 ton's place as he could get. There were tears in the 
 
LOVES YOUNG DREAM. 
 
 Ill 
 
 boy's eyes as he said this, and TTaroId, knowiiijnr the 
 strong love for friends wlncli exists among the English 
 people, felt sure that he would keep his word ; and 
 therefore, he was not surprised, when going home 
 from SummtTville, he found Adolphus at Lake View, 
 ready to receive him. 
 
 Harold was glad to see him, and felt a certain 
 sense of duty toward the inexperienced youth who 
 iia<l so much money and so little experience. He 
 advised him not to think of buying a house and estab- 
 lishing himself until he became better acquainted 
 with the country. To this Adolphus readily assented. 
 But when he heard that Green Cliff*, the grounds ad- 
 joining Lakeview, were for sale, he became uinnan- 
 ageable, and Harold went with him, and the home of 
 the McDonell's was transferred into the hands of the 
 wealthy young Englishman. Not knowing exactly 
 what step to take next, he accepted his friend's invi- 
 tation to stay for a while at least in his home. And 
 so it came about when Harold had made all other 
 arrangements for the coming wedding, he had written 
 to Edith tl at, with her permission, he would ask 
 Adolphus VanArsdale to act as best man. 
 
 It would be very difficult to tell which of the young 
 men was the more delighted over the coming event. 
 There was nothing too grand for the occasion. Adol- 
 phus felt that this was the highest honor his friend 
 could bestow upon him, and Harold was more than 
 repaid for the favor by the joy the young man 
 evinced. 
 
 They had driven up on the afternoon before the 
 
 
1 
 
 T 
 
 i 
 
 l;i 
 
 lid 
 
 
 III: 
 
 il;. 
 
 112 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 eventful day, and so now we find Kdith niakin<; her- 
 self as agreeable as possible to the guest, while Harold 
 and Kathey, though so absorbed in each other, are 
 not oblivious to the scene before them. 
 
 " If Charley could have answered nie in time I 
 should have offered him Adolphus' place," said Harold 
 to Kathey ; " but he was right in my house, and so I 
 asked him, and he is very much delighted. He is 
 carried away with style, but that is his only 
 fault ; he is honest, an<l his character is as pure 
 as crystal. He will be at our place a great deal and 
 you will use your influence to lea<l him to a higher 
 aim in life, won't you, dai'ling ? " said Harold, leaning 
 his head against the brown curls. " I am not going 
 to be selfish, and I believe I love you better when I 
 think how much you have done for your father's 
 family. It must have been hard to stand in the place 
 you have for the last twelve years. 
 
 " When we see a young mother with a family of 
 children looking to her for guidance it seems perfectly 
 natural, and we expect her mother's love is going to 
 carry her through ; but to see a young girl taking the 
 entire care of a lot of disobedient I'ttle motherless 
 waifs seems too bad, because it is no plan of hers that 
 put this burden upon her." 
 
 These words seemed to Kathey the sweetest that 
 her lover had ever said to her. 
 
 It is good to know for ourselves that we have done 
 our duty, but words of a; ?eciation from lips we love 
 are like springs of cooling water in the barren desert. 
 
 " Oh," said Kathey, " I do not know that I always 
 
,ce 
 
 of 
 
 Loves yol'ng Dheam. 
 
 113 
 
 accepted tliis responsibility in the spirit yon ^ive me 
 cre<lit for ; and although I was vciy anxious that tlu» 
 <rirls should have an education, I think that Edith 
 did more than I for the real comfort of the family. 
 Yet, when I think of it, I f^uess we all contribut«id 
 oui' share, for it is Grace who, for the last few years, 
 has kept father's clothes in ordei" nd always antici- 
 pated liis every wish." 
 
 " And what of Berthy ^ " said Harold, laughing. 
 
 "Oh, i^erthy, Berthy — she is the problem of the 
 family. While we tried to be contented with what 
 we had, she never was, l)ut was always yearning foi- 
 an e<lucation and slipping away with a book that 
 she could not understand a word of, and it made 
 so much trouble. I think she ought to have had an 
 opportunity to go to school, but father and Aunt 
 Elizabeth would not hear of it. When she di<l go it 
 was surprising how rapidly she learned, but she never 
 thought of anything else, not even of her personal 
 apoearance, and that disgusted aunt so much that 
 she would make her stay at home to punish her. I 
 do not know whether it would have been right or not 
 to encourage her in so burying herself in her books." 
 
 Kathey did not tell how hard slje herself had 
 worked to pay for her sister's tuition in a select 
 school, and perhaps would never know how gfateful 
 Berthy was to her for the sacrifice she had made. 
 
 But she talked on of the family at home with a 
 freedom of thought which she would have considered 
 impossible a year ago. 
 
 Harold kept silent, for he liked to hear her talk. 
 
114 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 |l|t: 
 
 There was a pure vein of unselfish wonmnliness in 
 lier conversation which made him congratulate him- 
 self that he had been able to secure so worthy a life 
 companion, and it also made him have a better opinion 
 of his own goodness that he should love this girl as 
 passionately as he did. 
 
 The morning of the wedding was everything that 
 could be desired in the way of beautiful fall weather. 
 The early frost had turned to gold and crimson the 
 maple trees that adorned the village streets. Here 
 and there a sturdy oak and hickory showed more 
 gold and still retained a dash of green ; but the 
 maples had changed their dress at the first intiu.ation 
 of winter, knowing that the beauty of the autumn 
 was largely due to them. Late flowers were bloom- 
 ing in the garden ; dahlias and china-asters had come 
 out late, that Flora's devc jes might not miss so much 
 the fragrant rose or favorite lily. 
 
 The marriage service was to be performed very 
 early in the morning, that the bridal party might 
 liave time to go to Lake View before night, where a 
 reception awaited them. 
 
 Adolphus was up early, for there was so much de- 
 pending on him. His new suit had been taken out 
 the night before, and brushed until not a speck of dust 
 could *be seen on the fine cloth. 
 
 " It is all right," said Grace to Berthy. " I like to 
 see a young man particular about his personal ap- 
 pearance." 
 
 " But," said Berthy," " it is all he thinks about, he 
 has not one moment to spare for anything else. I 
 
 in I) 
 lia( 
 
 SUIIJ 
 ItS( 
 
 it a 
 then 
 depe 
 S( 
 totli 
 
LOVES YOTTNO DREAM. 
 
 115 
 
 <li(l HO wjint to ask liiiii about IhhJoui'iu'V from En^lainl, 
 liut he is HO abnorluMl in InniHelf that lu' nearct'ly 
 knowH a word that anyone says to him. And then 
 he does not appear very well after all : it keeps him 
 all the time brushing; off imaji^inary dust and feelinj^ 
 his hair to see if it is on his head, and he loses sight 
 of everything that is going on around him. No won- 
 der he knows so little, if he is well educated." 
 
 " Well," said Grace, " what is education for if it is 
 not to make a person appear well in society, and if 
 they allow themselves to become a slouch in order to 
 get an education I don't see what use it is to them." 
 
 Berthy was beaten for the time, as she always was 
 by her sister's practical arguments, although it did 
 not make any difference in her way of thinking or 
 habits of dress. 
 
 Aunt Elizabeth had returned home. She had heard 
 of the wedding, and would have liked to make Kathey 
 l)elieve that in some way she had been instrumental 
 in bringing it about ; lait this she could not do, as she 
 ha<l fled from the impending disgract >f the previous 
 sunnner, when Geraldine and Roger were expected. 
 It seemed to her very foolish now, as she thought of 
 it and learned that they were much poorer than 
 themselves, having not even a home, but being 
 dependent on the kindness of friends for a shelter. 
 
 So she had wixtten herself to invite the McDonell's 
 to the wedding, and had received an answer only yes- 
 terday, saying that Geraldine had been so fortunate 
 us to get a position as saleswoman in a dry goods 
 store, where she thought she could earn enough to 
 
 li' 
 
 I 
 
 
 i 
 
 111 
 
 J M 
 
 i^ M 
 
 im 
 
116 
 
 HILL-OHEST. 
 
 support lierself and mother, so slio could not come. 
 Tliere was not a word C()neernin<^ Ro^cr, and Berthy 
 wondered what liad iu'coiiie of h'un. 
 
 Wlieii the wedding f^uests had taken their leave 
 (only a few intimate fi'iends of the families hein^* 
 invited) the house seemecl very lonely. Edith had 
 ^one with her sister to her new honu', nuich to the 
 delight of Mr. VanArsdale, who was tryinj^ his best 
 to fall in love with her. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Howell had linjifered a few moments 
 to talk to Ml". McDonell and the remaining meml)ers 
 uf the family, hut now they, too, had gone. 
 
 Berthy went into the parloi' to get a bouquet she 
 intended to give to Mrs. Kenyon, and was tying it 
 with a bit of white ribl)on, when a shadow in the 
 doorway caused hei* to look up, and there stood 
 Roger, smiling at her in the old, familiar way, just 
 as if three months had not elapsed since he stood 
 there before. 
 
 "Oh, Roger ! how glad I am to see you. Where did 
 you come from ? And why didn't you get here in 
 time for the wedding ? " 
 
 She poured out all she had to say in hei' impulsive 
 way, without giving him time to answer. But h«^ 
 waited until she had finished, and then told her: first, 
 that he had been all over the country since his father 
 died trying to make a living. He had done all kinds 
 of things ; " But I tell you, Berthy," he said, " it comes 
 hard on a fellow to have to work when he does not 
 know how to do anything." 
 
 His cousin could see that there was a great change 
 
I- 
 
 LOVES YOUNG DUKAM. 
 
 117 
 
 in Ro^er, ami, youn^ as she was, h\\v did not think he 
 had ini])r()V(Ml any. 
 
 His clothi'H looked a litth' worn, and he ha<l a sort 
 ol" eai'cK'ss aii* that filh'd the «^iiTs kiml heart with 
 pity. 
 
 " We ivceived a h'ttei' from Geialdine V'estei*(hiv, 
 and she is ^oinj^ to Ik' a saleswoman in a dry goods 
 store," said Berthy. " Why don't you get some such 
 ])()sition :* ' 
 
 '• Oh, I can't sell dry goods : I don't know how, and 
 I get so tired of getting up every moi'ning and going 
 to work, seeing other fellows having a good time, run- 
 ning around witli nothing to <lo. And then, I wonder 
 what is the use of my working since no one cares foi* 
 nie now," said he, despondently. " The very hoys I 
 used to give money to and take them out for a week 
 at a time in my yacht will hardly notice me now, 
 and it makes me mad and discouraged." 
 
 It pained Eerthy to hear him say these things, and 
 slie laid her hand on his (they were sitting on the 
 sofa) and said, " Roger, do not say there is no one to 
 care for you ; you have a mother," and she put great 
 emphasis on the word. It had always seemed to her 
 that to have a mother was th . acme of human bliss. 
 But her cousin only laughed a cold, hard laugh, such 
 as one hears sometimes from an old won v^- worn man, 
 hut seldom from a boy of nineteen. The girl drew 
 hack from him ; she did not understand the meaning 
 of that laugh, but she did not like the sound of it. It 
 seemed so unlike the bright, mirthful merriment that 
 she remembered so well. 
 
 i I 
 
 SI 
 
 ' 
 
 Ifi'l 
 
 ■II" 
 
118 
 
 HILL CRLST. 
 
 11! 
 
 Roger noticed the movement and the expression on 
 her face, and hastened to say, " My mother does not 
 care a straw for me. Two weeks ago I was sick, and 
 went where she and Geraldine have rooms, and she 
 scolded all the time I was there. After I went to bed 
 Geraldine gave me some cough medicine, but mother 
 never came near me, and in the moi'ning I got up and 
 went away. As I was going she said, if I got a situa- 
 tion to let her know, as she had to depend upon 
 Geraldine and me for her support. And she makes it 
 warm for Dene, I tell you. She says if she had tried 
 she might have been married to some rich man by 
 this time, and they might have had a good home. 
 Oh ! when I hear so much talk about ' mother-love,' 
 ii makes me tired. There is just as much difference 
 in women as there is in men, and every one knows 
 that all men are not good fathers." 
 
 " I do not know anything about a mother myself," 
 said Berthy, " only what I have seen of Mrs. Kenyon's 
 love for Ray, and sometimes I have to try real hard 
 to keep from being jealous of her, they seem so happy 
 together." 
 
 " Don't mention her, if you please, as the ordinary 
 mother ; she is the exception, not the rule." 
 
 Roger stayed all night v/ith his uncle, and the girls 
 tried to persuade him to stay longer, but he said he 
 had promised to meet a fellow he knew at a little 
 town about six miles from Summerville, who had said 
 he could help him to make some money, and so Roger 
 must go, as money was the thing he most needed at 
 present. 
 
m 
 
 
 Ifi 
 
 U 
 
 > ! 
 
 >ns 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 "IN "RLSON, AND YE CAME UNTO ME." 
 
 AS there ever a little village without a 
 
 t^ossip ? We have tried so far to 
 
 ignore their very existence ; but candor 
 
 demands that at least Mrs. Crosby be 
 
 brought into this narrative. She lived 
 
 a short distance from Hill-Crest, and although she 
 
 was never invited to call or visit at Mr. McDonell's 
 
 house, yet she contrived to go there once in a while, 
 
 as she told the girls that she believed in-being friendly. 
 
 The fact that Kathey ivas married and gone, and she 
 
 liad never suspected that there w^as a wedding on 
 
 land, would serve to double her diligence in the 
 
 future. 
 
 Aunt Elizabeth was secretly glad to have her come. 
 
 Secretly, I say, because she did not dare to say she 
 
 enjoyed her company, for fear the girls would think 
 
 her coarse and uncultured ; but when the little woman 
 
 came in and revealed some hidden skeleton from a 
 
 • * 
 neighbor's closet, and gave such undivided attention 
 
 to Miss Elizabeth's statements concerning things she 
 
 i-rii iii 
 
 i ( 
 
120 
 
 HILL- (REST. 
 
 wanted the people of the village to know or believe 
 about herself, she was particularly gratiHed, and would 
 say after she was gone, ' Now, Mrs. Crosby will have 
 something to tell : she is a very dangerous person, 
 and you girls nmst be careful what you say to her. 
 Of course I must use her well, she has such a slander- 
 ous tongue, and if she gets angry at anyone there is 
 nothing too bad for her to say." 
 
 About a week after Roger had gone from the home 
 of his uncle, Mrs. Crosb}^ came in one morning to 
 make a call, or rather to get a receipe for ginger 
 cookies. 
 
 Sh? was a first-class housekeeper: every part of 
 her work was done in the right time, with the feeling 
 no doubt that all the neighbors were looking critically 
 at her as she did at them. It behooved her, she 
 thought, to keep her house always ready for 
 inspection. 
 
 " You see," she said this morning, speaking rapidly, 
 " I had a most inagni/icent recipe, but Selina 
 Bonesteel, wluen they had them Rogers to see them 
 this summer, came and borrowed it, and I ran over 
 there this morning, while John was eating his break- 
 fast, to got it. Selina met me at the door (I went 
 around to the front for, as I told John, there was a 
 light there until after twelve o'clock last night, and I 
 thought they might have company again, so if I went 
 to the front door I might perhaps see who it was). 
 As I said, Salina met me and said, kinder short like, 
 that she had lost it, and shut the door bang in my 
 face ; and, Elizabeth Williams, would you believe it," 
 
■ill 
 
 if 
 
 LS). 
 
 "IN PRISON, AND YE CAME UNTO ME." 121 
 
 slie continued, speaking slowly now and emphasizing 
 every word, " that Selina Bonesteel was all dressed up 
 in a netv hroion silk dress. I tell you it means 
 something. John said when I told him, that perhaps 
 her fellow, that young Rogers, was the one that was 
 arrei^ted and brought here to jail yesterday, he heard 
 his name was Rogers, any way. So I hailed the paper 
 boy and bought a paper from him, just to see if it 
 was really so," and Mrs. Crosby produced the morning 
 paper from the depths of her pocket, and handing it 
 to her friend said, " there, read the police news, and 
 tlien we will know all about it." She was not able 
 to read herself, and as Miss Elizabetli could not see 
 the fine print without glasses, and would not let Mrs. 
 (yrosby know she had to wear them, the paper was 
 given to Berthy to read. The two ladies could not 
 stop talking at once, they were "wound up," and had 
 to run a while before they could listen to what Berthy 
 liad to read to them, and it was just as well ; for wJiat 
 the girl saw in the police news so paralyzed her that 
 for a moment she could hardly see the paper, but the 
 women had run down now, and were waiting for her 
 to give them another impetus for talk. But while 
 they waited the sound of wheels were heard, and 
 springing to the window, Mrs. Crosby saw Clinton 
 Rogers and Selina Bonesteel flying past in a carriage, 
 with white veil and gloves, their smiling faces 
 denoting so much happiness, that . she forgot the 
 paper and police column and the ginger cookies 
 entirely, and rushed out of the house to tell Mrs. 
 Moore, her other neighbor, that Selina Bonesteel was 
 
 1 ' 1, 
 
 m 
 
122 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 actually married, and she had seen her weddimj 
 dress, and it was brown siU\ 
 
 Aunt Elizabeth was so much interested herself uhat 
 she ran to the front window to see -i she could get 
 another glimpse of the bride, but they were gone 
 before she could get there, and so she sat down in a 
 rocking chair, to rest from her unusual exertion. 
 
 Berthy was left alone. She clutched the paper in 
 her hand, scarcely daring to believe what her eyes so 
 plainly saw. " Two young men, Walter Rand and 
 Roger McDonell, were arrested at Domimville on 
 Saturday for working a wheel of fortune at the county 
 fair; they were fined ten dollars. Rand paid, but 
 McDonell was brought here and lodged in the jail." 
 This was what Berthy was staring at in the paper 
 when Aunt Elizabeth came bick into the room. 
 
 Seeing the girl still standing where she had left 
 her, she snatched the paper out of her hand with the 
 remark, " It seems to me that when you get hold of a 
 paper or book you don't know what you are doing. 
 It is a blessing that you have some one to keep you 
 from making such a fool of yourself as you would 
 like to, if you had your own way. Now, go and see 
 if you cannot find something to do besides 
 reading." 
 
 It was nothing new for Berthy to have thesu 
 things said to her, and at any other time they would 
 have been met with a re-ponse equally as sharp. 
 But this morning her thoughts were so much taken 
 up with what she had just read that her aunt's 
 rebuke passed unnoticed. Her only thought just 
 
1 
 
 w 
 
 "IN PRISON, AND YE CAME UNTO ME." 123 
 
 now was, how she could keep the terrible disgrace a 
 secret, or how she could help her cousin out of that 
 dreadful place ; it made her shudder to think 
 of it. 
 
 She picked up the paper and went away to her 
 own room, and sat down to think the matter over. 
 Her heart seemed nearly breaking ; Roger had been 
 in prison all night, and whde she was sleeping in a 
 soft bed he was lying on a hard floor. 
 
 " Poor Roger, poor Roger ! " and her tears fell fast 
 as she thought of what he had said about his mother 
 not caring for him. 
 
 " What had he now to live for, with the disgrace of 
 a night spent in prison, always before him. A 
 night ! surely it might be many nights ; and then, like 
 a flash of sunlight, she thought of the ten dollars that 
 RDger had given her. She had it yet, and had 
 intended to give it to him when he was there, but 
 somehow she had been afraid it would hurt his 
 feelings. 
 
 What would she do now ? How could she get the 
 money into his hands ? She was pondering on the 
 subject when Grace came to tell her there was some- 
 one in the parlor who wanted to see her. 
 
 Berthy went slowly out into the dining-room, and 
 stopping at the glass to see how her eyes looked, heard 
 Aunt Elizabeth telling some one that she had more 
 trouble with Berthy than all the rest of the girls. 
 " It's all on account of her being so fond of reading. 
 If she could be kept from seeing a book or paper she 
 might, perhaps, become quite useful. Only this 
 
 i^ll^i \ 
 
 \\ 
 
 i i 
 
 '' 
 
 : :ifii 
 
 
 1 1-,; 
 
 
il 'i 
 
 124 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 morning she stood tor nearly half an hour with t le 
 morning paper in her hand, and when I felt it my 
 duty to remind her of the time she was spending so 
 foolishly she just snatched up the paper and ran into 
 her room, and we could hear her cry with all her 
 might. Oh, she is very hard to manage. I hope, if 
 she ever gets married, her husband will just set dow^n 
 his foot that he will not have a bit of reading 
 matter in the house. It is the only way there is of 
 getting any work out of her." Berthy's first impulse 
 was to rush in and tell the visitor what she had to 
 endure ; but as she opened the door and saw the 
 sweet face of Ray Kenyon, her tempei- cooled some- 
 what, and when that young lady greeted her warmly, 
 giving her a kiss on the cheek, and scolding her at 
 the same time for keeping her waiting so long, 
 Berthy was restored to good humor at once. 
 
 Aunt Elizabeth seemed very angry when she 
 promised to go and spend the day with Mrs. 
 Kenyon, Rachel was obliged to go away and did not 
 want to leave her motht^r all alone. This was her 
 business with Berthy, and as the two girls went away 
 together Aunt Elizabeth vented her wrath by saying 
 she guessed the Kenyon's did not amount to much or 
 they w^ould not be so taken up w^ith Berthy. 
 
 When Rachel had gone and Berthy and Mrs. Ken- 
 yon had settled themselves for an afternoon visit, the 
 keen eyes of the Quaker matron saw in the face and 
 spirit of the young girl, that there was something 
 amiss, and with her usual sagacity set about finding 
 a- way to comfort and instruct. Berthy had seemed 
 
"IN PRISON, AND YE CAME UNTO ME." 125 
 
 I or 
 
 or 
 
 [n- 
 
 he 
 
 ng 
 
 very happy of late, with a prospect of a chance to 
 study all Rachel's books an<l witli the refined com- 
 panionship of these worthy people. And then, too, a 
 bit of good luck had come to her father. About two 
 weeks before Kathey was married a letter had been 
 sent to him, enclosing a check for five hundred dollars, 
 saying that the person sending it owed him a debt of 
 gratitude, and that he should use the money and not ask 
 any questions. And what had surprised his youngest 
 daughter most was that her father insisted on her 
 having a good supply of clothes provided at once. Of 
 -course, she enjoyed this immensely, but would have 
 been indignant had she known that he also hinted 
 that she ought to be sent to school, and that Aunt 
 Elizabeth had used her influence to prevent it. But 
 she had never heard of the good fortune that had 
 nearly fallen into her hands, and so was very happy 
 with what she did receive of the timely present to her 
 father. 
 
 Berthy did not want her old friend to know any- 
 thing concerning Roger's whereabouts, for she thought 
 he and Rachel were more to each other than the 
 mother had ever suspected, and if Rachel found out 
 
 about it . Oh, it made her sick to think of it, and 
 
 it also made her so quiet and absent-minded that 
 afternoon that her hostess finally asked her if there 
 was mything the matter. 
 
 Berthy thought at first she would say there was 
 not, or plead a headache (that " scape goat " that is so 
 universally used for all the heartaches that flesh is 
 heir to), but when she looked in the kind, motherly 
 
 m 
 
 J 
 
I'l: I 
 
 1 
 
 126 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 face, tliere was sometliin^ in it that made a lie impos- 
 sible and wrung from her unwilling lips the whole 
 story of Roger's crime and penalty. 
 
 Mrs, Kenyon had expected to hear some of Berthy's 
 own short-comings told with more than necessary 
 pathos, but here was something that very closely con- 
 cerned herself. She had not been blind to the feeling 
 that the young man had inspired in her daughter, but, 
 like the wise mother that she was, did not seem to 
 notice any growing sentiment between the young 
 people while watching the development of what 
 might in a few years become the turning point in 
 both of their lives. She had liked Roger, and had 
 not regretted the loss of his father's money. " For 
 now," she argued with herself, " he will have an op- 
 portunity to cultivate the talents that I am sure he 
 has, but having his every want supplied his energies 
 would never be used." 
 
 Berthy, in her characteristic way, had told Mrs. 
 Kenyon everything, all Roger had said about his 
 mother and his aimless life. 
 
 It was a revelation to that true Christian woman ; 
 and she thanked God in her heart that she had been 
 kept free from the folly of fashionable life, if it was 
 to rob a mother of her holiest mission — her children's 
 love and welfare. 
 
 " Berthy," said the Quakeress, " what thee has told 
 me has surprised me very much, and I do not know 
 what God would have me to do in this matter, or if I 
 could do anything ; but I will ask thee that thee will 
 not tell Rachel or anyone about it, and if, after taking 
 
 be 
 
rwwm\' 
 
 ! 
 
 ^as 
 
 )ld 
 
 ''IN PRISON, AND YE CAME UNTO ME" 127 
 
 it to God in prayer, I can see any way I can help the 
 poor lad I am wilHnjjf to follow it. It is a very sad affair, 
 and one a woman can hardlv deal with." She looked 
 at the little brass clock on the mantle, and said, in 
 a husiness-like tone of voice, '" Rachel will be home in 
 an hour, and if thee will leave me alone now, I will 
 be prepared by that time to say what can or cannot 
 be done for the V)oy." 
 
 There was no choice for Berth} but to bid her friend 
 good-bye, and take herself back to her home. She felt 
 (juite certain that the conscientious Quakeress would 
 devise some plan for the release of her unfortunate 
 cousin. She knew by wliat she had read in the paper 
 that money would be all that was necessary to get 
 him clear ; but she had not made this known to Mrs. 
 Kenyon, so that lady did not understand fully what 
 would be required ; but, with the habit she had formed 
 early in life of taking all matters to God in prayer, 
 she went to her room as soon as Berthy was gone and, 
 kneeling at her bed-side, asked her 'wise Counsellor 
 what she could do for this worse-than, motherless boy. 
 She felt as she bowed there a great love coming into 
 her heart for the erring one. She felt almost a 
 mother's eagerness that this hour of affliction might 
 be to him an awakening of thoughts that would lead 
 to his soul's salvation. While she prayed there came 
 to her mind thoughts of her own boy, who was sleep- 
 ing now in Peace Cemetery, and she gave a little 
 start as she remembered that to-day was the anniver- 
 sary of his birthday, and if he were living he would 
 be twenty — just about Roger's age. Some friends 
 
 I 
 
 *i' 
 
 :• {I 
 
 n 
 
^ 
 
 !! 
 
 r'i 
 
 ^'' 
 
 r 
 
 
 !! 
 
 128 
 
 bll.L-CltESt. 
 
 had said to lier wlien he died, that perhaps he was 
 .saved from something worse than death, but the fond 
 mother could not believe that any harm could ever 
 come to her l)e loved bal)y with her protecting care 
 always about him; she knew less of the world then 
 than now, and she thought as she looked at her angel 
 child so still and white in his little casket that no- 
 thing could ever reconcile her to his loss ; but now, aftei* 
 a lapse of eighteen years, she bowed her head to God's 
 will, and thanked Him fervently for taking the 
 " sweet innocent " to himself when He did. It was a 
 consoling thought that he was in heaven now, safe 
 from sin or temptation. 
 
 When she arose from her knees there was in her 
 heart an overwhelming desire to do something for the 
 young man in so forlorn a condition. But this good 
 woman did not exactly know what to do. As she sat 
 down in the low chair by the little work table, the Bible 
 that was always lying there caught her eye, and she 
 opened it with the same spirit that had actuated her 
 when she prayed for guidance, just saying as she took 
 the precious book into her hand, " Speak, Lord, for thy 
 servant heareth." As the words of the twenty-fifth 
 chapter of Matthew met her gaze she wondered if she 
 was a wise or foolish virgin, and then read on to the 
 parable of the talents, and asked God in her heart 
 to help her to use ber's aright. This was one of 
 her favorite chapters, and she had nearly forgotten 
 the purpose for which she had taken up the book, 
 when her eyes suddenly came to the appro'priate 
 words, " I was in prison, and ye came unto me," Here 
 
"IN PRISON, AN1) YE (.'AME UNTO ME." 
 
 129 
 
 was the ineHHa^c : it was tlu' voice of the Master, she 
 flared not di.sohey, and a.s she sat there with the hook 
 in her hand her (hin^hter came infco the room. 
 
 " What, mother, are you all alone ^ Where is 
 Berthy i " 
 
 "Oh! she went home some time a^o, hut I have 
 heen reading, and have not been lonely." 
 
 And then Rachel began telling her mother how 
 Fortunate she had l)een to secure the promise of a 
 department in the village school to teach for the com- 
 ing winter. Her mother was sincerely thankful for 
 this, and they sat down to their supper with minds 
 at rest as to the means of the income which it was 
 necessary to provide. 
 
 They had scarcely finished eating when, with a light 
 tap on the sitting room door, Berthy came smilingly 
 in and took a seat with them. 
 
 " You naughty girl," said Rachel, " why did you run 
 away before I came home ? I have a notion now not 
 to tell you what good luck I have ' had this after- 
 noon." 
 
 " Do not blame Berthy," said Mrs. Kenyon, smiling 
 at her daughter's saucy face, " it was my fault, I think. 
 I wanted to read, and so perhaps was not very good 
 company." 
 
 Berthy saw that Rachel did not know anything 
 about their afternoon talk, and thought it best that 
 she should be kept in ignorance as to the cause of it, 
 as long as possible ; and so she began to ask her ques- 
 tions concerning her school. They chatted on for 
 an hour, to all appearances free from any thought 
 
 m 
 
■' I I 
 
 n 
 
 I 
 
 11 ^r^ 
 
 1 i! 
 
 1 
 
 1 r' 
 
 1 r 
 
 1 i*'^ 
 
 1 1" 
 
 II 
 
 11 1 
 
 II 
 
 130 
 
 HILL-CUE^sT. 
 
 beside what they were HtiyiM^, hut Bei*thy\s heart wns 
 heavy all the time, thiiikinj)^ of the inmate of one cell 
 of the county jail. 
 
 Before she went home Mrs. Kenyon took theoj)|)or- 
 tunity (while Rachel ran up stairs to ^vt a hook to 
 show Berthy) to say that she herself would <;o to the 
 jail in the morninf^ and have a talk with Roger. 
 Berthy was very grateful, and shipped into her hand 
 the ten dollar bill, done up in a little package, with her 
 own name written on it. She i.ad no time to give 
 her friend any message for him, as Rachel that minute 
 came back into the room, and after a little more talk, 
 she bade her friends good-bye and went home. 
 
 The next morning about ten o'clock, as Grace was 
 out sweeping off the walk she said to Berthy, " Just 
 look at Mrs. Kenyon going down street. I never saw 
 her look so * Quakery ' as she does this morning, all 
 in grey." And as Berthy looked out, she thought so 
 too, but knew perfectly well why she had taken the 
 pains to appear a little more prim, for did she not 
 realize that the errand she was on demanded the 
 recommendation of that quiet garb ? 
 
 Mrs. Kenyon did not see the girls, but walked on 
 briskly until she came to the large iron gate that 
 closed the yard surrounding the county buildings. 
 It had always been a part of the town that she had 
 carefully avoided. It made her sad to look at those 
 barred windows, and think that anyone was kept 
 here away from liberty ; but now, as she neared the 
 place, although in no hurry to view the misery she 
 expected to see inside, she was, nevertheless, anxious 
 
"IN PRISON, AND YE CAME UNTO ME." 131 
 
 to ^o on her way nnd carry vvlmt consolation she* 
 could to him she had come to cond'ort and advise. 
 
 When she made known hei* errand to the man in 
 charge^ she was handed over to the turnkey, who 
 received her very politely, and led the way to the 
 inner court He was a tai", tinely-huilt youn^ man, 
 and as he walked before Mrs. Kenyon throuMj the 
 lontr, narrow passa^^e that separated the court-house 
 from the outer door of the jail, she could Uv.^t hut 
 notice how proudly he carried himself, with his 
 shoulders thrown hack and head ercict. She wondei'ed 
 if this was so respcmsihle and exalted a position that 
 he could possibly feel the dignity of it enough to 
 cause that coii .cious importance. But when, with a 
 great clanging of keys and unbolting of bars, they 
 were at last admitted into the corridor, and she had 
 time to witness the shrinking servitude of the men 
 and l)oys that were there, she did not wonder that 
 this young official felt his position as one of personal 
 honor, seeing so many submitting daily to his 
 authority. 
 
 Roger was in his cell. Although the door was 
 open he did not care to come out and mingle with the 
 others, some ot. whom had been there before so many 
 times that they did not mind the confinement, and 
 had ceased to care for the disgrace. 
 
 He was lying on his couch, but sprang up as the 
 turnkey slapped him on the shoulder and said in a 
 sharp voice, " Here, young man, is a lady come to see 
 you." Mrs. Kenyon was trembling violently. When 
 she entered the prison-door it seemed so strange that 
 
 '!! It 
 
 !l K 
 
 
 111 
 
 1 ' 
 
 \^P 
 
132 
 
 HILL-CREST, f 
 
 she should be in such a place at all, and stranger still, 
 that she had come to see 'i young man whom a lew 
 months before sh^ had invited to her house as an 
 equal in social standing with her own family ; and 
 when she saw him now, in that little dark hole, it 
 seemed to her that what strength she had summoned 
 to her aid would utterly forsake her. 
 
 Roger was the first to speak. He had learned a 
 good many things since he had been here. On Sun- 
 day a minister and some young men from a Christian 
 society had come to the jail, and had sung and prayed 
 with the prisoners. Roger, at home, had been taught 
 to believe that all a preacher wanted was money and 
 popularity, and as he knew very well that there was 
 neither of these to be found in this place he was 
 beginning to learn that there were other motives 
 deeper and more sacred. So he was not so much 
 surprised to see this little Quaker woman standing in 
 his cell as she was to find herself there, and yet he 
 would rather have had almost anyone else see his 
 misfortune than the mother of Rachel. He thought 
 that she, too, knew of his disgrace, and had perhaps 
 asked her mother to come. The thought cut his pride 
 like the sharp edge of a knife, but he would not seem 
 ungrateful, and so he held out his hand to her, and 
 said in a choking voice, " You are very kind to come 
 and see a poor fellow like me." 
 
 As Mrs. Kenyon took his hand in hers and sat 
 down on the hard couch by his side all her embarrass- 
 ment left her, and she talked to him freely of the 
 situation, listening patientij to the story that sounded 
 
I'JrM tl 
 
 "IN PRISON, AND YE CAME UNTO ME." 
 
 133 
 
 SO reasonable. He had all his life seen these different 
 modes of gambling used at public gatherings; had 
 heard people say that there was a law against them, 
 but it was .never enforced, and perhaps it would not 
 have been in his case, but some young farmer, who 
 wanted to make a " haul," as he expressed it, had bet 
 heavily on the turn of the wheel. Fortune had gone 
 against him, and so out of revenge he had suddenly 
 become wonderfully conscientious, saying, " That this 
 sort of lawlessness ought to be punished." Therefore 
 the wheel-of-fortune boys were handed over to the 
 proper authorities, with what result we already know. 
 
 Roger had acknowledged his part in the affair, but 
 did not tell his friend how sorely he needed the 
 money that he expected to make out of the transac- 
 tion, nor did he mention how his partner had paid 
 his own fine and gone on, leaving him to serve out 
 his time in prison. 
 
 After they had talked over the misfortune, and 
 Mrs. Kenyon had heard and sympathized with all 
 that Roger had to te?l her, she took out her little 
 Bible, and said in her sweetest tone, " Now we will 
 try and find out in what way God is using this cir- 
 cumstance to bring a blessing to thee. For, of course, 
 thou and I know we are children of a wise Father, 
 and he never does anything without a purpose, and 
 though it seems to us now, there is nothing in this 
 hut dire aflfliction, yet it is done to benefit us in some 
 way. We will first seek the cause, and then prayer- 
 fully accept tlie lesson." And opening the Book at 
 the 69th Psalm, she read of David's affliction. As 
 
 ' \ 
 
 J : '8 
 
 M 
 
 ■i 1 
 
"'TM 
 
 134 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 she read the eighth verse, " I am become a stranger 
 unto my brethren, and an alien unto my mother's 
 children," Roger buried his face in his hands, and his 
 whole frame shook with intense emotion. 
 
 She read on until the twentieth verse, " Reproach 
 hath broken my heart, and I am full of heaviness. I 
 looked for some to take pity but there was none, and 
 for comforters but I found none." 
 
 Then turning to the one hundred and third Psalm 
 she read the encouraging words written there in a 
 cheerful voice, at the same time smoothing the curly 
 locks of the bowed heal with her soft hand, saying, 
 when she was through, " This is what God intends 
 you to receive. Remember the words : ' Like as a 
 father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them 
 that fear him.' Those that fear and love God are his 
 own children, and he will take care that no harm 
 comes to them, or any trouble that He will not give 
 them grace to bear." 
 
 They sat in silence for some time, and then Roger 
 raised his head and looked into the face of the woman 
 by his side. " Do you think if I prayed to God He 
 would hear me and make me as good a Christian as 
 you are ? " he said, speaking so earnestly that it 
 thrilled her heart with pity. 
 
 "Yes, yes ,a better Christian, a more useful one. A 
 young man like thee, with bright talents, and good 
 health and a finished education, what might thee not 
 hope to do for Christ, besides merely being saved thy- 
 self r 
 
 "Oh!" said Roger, "if I could only save myself 
 
IN PRISON, AND YE CAME UNTO ME. 
 
 >» 
 
 135 
 
 from ever committing any more sin and keep clear of 
 ba<l company, and — and — "he said, " if I only had a 
 friend or money to help me, then I would have some- 
 thing worth living for, but the way seems so dark." 
 And he dropped his head in his hands again 
 
 " Thee cannot save thyself, but if thee will look to 
 Christ and trust in Him, He will be the best friend 
 to thee." 
 
 She intended to pray with the penitent once before 
 she went, but just then the turnkey made his appear- 
 ance, again telling them that the time was up, and 
 stood there rattling his bunch of keys, while Mrs. 
 Kenyon bade Roger good-bye and put into his hand 
 the package that Berthy had given her for him, and 
 in another moment she was out in the yard. She was 
 crying softly, and as the official was leaving her he 
 said, " It is too bad the chap can't raise the money to 
 pay his fine. He could soon earn it if he once got 
 out." 
 
 Mrs. Kenyon turned an enquiring face on the man, 
 and he saw that she did not fully understand what 
 lie meant, for she said : " I thought he was put in for 
 the crime of gambling!" 
 
 " So he was, Mrs., but you see if he had the money, 
 ten dollars, as the other fellow had, he could have 
 paid his fine and he need not have come here. ' 
 
 " So he was put in prison for his poverty, not for 
 
 lis cnme 
 
 » 
 
 " Well — not exactly that," said the man getting 
 very red in the face. " Of course that is the law, ten 
 
'!!' 
 
 136 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 !fl| 
 
 dollars tine or sixty days' imprisonment. He had no 
 money, so he had to be sent up." 
 
 " Poor boy ! No money, no friends," said Mrs. 
 Kenyon, at the same time taking out her little pocket- 
 book and giving to the official the required ten dollars. 
 " Here, pay the fine and let him go, but it does seem a 
 queer way to raise the moral standard of* a com- 
 munity." 
 
 When Roger was left alone it did seem to him that 
 his burdens were greater than he could bear. He 
 threw himself on his bed, if a prison cot can be called 
 by so respectable a name, and gave an almost heart- 
 broken wail. He realized for the first time that what 
 he had lacked all his life was the Christian influence 
 of a good mother. How well he remembered that the 
 boys used to say to him, " I tell you, McDonell, you 
 have got the right kind of an old woman at your 
 house. She is not forever worrying about your long 
 goings and short comings, like ours." And he had 
 thought himself it was kind of jolly that she let him 
 have his own way so much. But now he knew if she 
 had loved him as she ought she would have been 
 anxious on his account, as any fond mother is ; and 
 now that he was in trouble, how sweet it would be to 
 feel her caressing hand on his head as he had felt the 
 hand of that blessed old woman as she sat by his side. 
 There was a great diflference between these two 
 women, and it suddenly dawned on his mind that 
 it was the love of God in the heart of one and the 
 love of the world in the heart of the other that made 
 the difference 
 
ini 
 ibe 
 en 
 nd 
 to 
 Ithe 
 de. 
 wo 
 Ihat 
 the 
 lade 
 
 "IN PRISON, AND YE CAME UNTO ME." 137 
 
 All the afternoon Roger wrestled with himself, the 
 conviction growing stronger in him each moment that 
 he ought to make a complete surrender of his will to 
 the will of God. As the shadows began to creep into 
 the corner of the old jail and the last ray of sunlight, 
 fade away it seemed his life was going out forever, 
 and falling on his knees in his darkened cell he cried 
 to God for mercy and forgiveness in so contrite a 
 heart and voice that the angels at the throne of 
 heaven must have heard and bewailed his agony. 
 Half the night his soul was bowed before God in 
 humble submission ; but at last a great peace came to 
 him, and he felt his prayers had been answered, and 
 he lay down on his couch to rest in the consciousness 
 that there was before him a new life opening. And 
 he was comforted in the thought that henceforth he 
 was God's child, and as his eyes closed in sleep the 
 last words he thought of were those of the Psalm : 
 " Like as a father pitieth his children." 
 
 As the morning sun peeped through the grated 
 window of the prison and shone into cell No. 4 it lit 
 up with a halo the curly locks of hair that lay on the 
 peaceful sleeping brow of Roger McDonell, and there 
 we will leave him for the present. 
 
 Mil 
 
 : a 
 
 
 * ii ?;•:!. 'I 
 
 'I 1 
 
 10 
 
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 n 
 
 i'ii 
 
 
 1 1 
 
 i 
 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IN DENVER. 
 
 HEN we last saw Charley Montgomery 
 he was on his way to claim relationship 
 with an old man whom he had never 
 seen. It seemed a very proper thing 
 to do, however, as this friendless uncle 
 of his needed his companionship, and if he liked him 
 and would help him to pursue his studies by the aid 
 of the money he was reported to have such an abund- 
 ance of there would be in reality mutual benefit. 
 
 As he entered the depot on the day and hour desig- 
 nated in his last letter the first face he saw was that 
 of Josh Smith. It was well that he knew the features, 
 for his appearance was so changed that I think there 
 were times when Joshua himself found it difficult to 
 recognize in the well-dressed and stylish gentleman 
 the shabby-genteel individual of Summer ville noto- 
 riety. Certain it was that, although he never for a 
 moment was ashamed of the name of Smith, he 
 declared he had long been disgusted with the old- 
 fashioned cognomen of Joshua, and begged his friends 
 
IN DENVER. 
 
 139 
 
 to call him Tlieodore instead. So wlieii Charley met his 
 friend and was handed a card, bearing the inscription 
 on its smoothly polished surface, "Theodore J. Sndth, 
 Esq.," he grasped the situation and Theodore's hand 
 at the same time and said, " I am glad to see you, Mr. 
 Smith." A carriage and span of glossy black horses 
 were in waiting to take them to the residence of John 
 Montgomery, a beautiful brown-stone house in the 
 vicinity of Highland Park. Its solid grandeur told of 
 the wealth of the retired inmate. 
 
 As he was shown into tlio broad hall a servant met 
 him with the request that he would go at once to her 
 master's room. Charley demurred at this, as he was 
 dusty and scarcely felt that he was presentab^3 in a 
 gentleman's drawing room ; but the woman came 
 close to him and said in a whisper, " You had better 
 go just as you are, he is very odd and may not like 
 to be kept waiting." In the carriage Theodore had 
 said to him, " You will find the old man very odd." 
 But as he did not say any more, Charley had entirely 
 forgotten it, until he got this reminder from the 
 woman at the door. So he stopped for a moment at 
 the mirror resting on the hands of a marble cherub 
 in the hall, brushed his hair, and then signified to the 
 servant his readiness to be led in to meet his august 
 relative. 
 
 The room occupied at present by Mr. Montgomery, 
 senior, was at the very back of the house, but on the 
 ground floor. There was a long hall almost as dark 
 as night and several richly furnished rooms through 
 which to pass. At last a large baize-covered door 
 
 .,1' it! 
 
f 
 
 P! 
 
 I''. 
 
 140 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 was carefully opened, and a rush of sunlight revealed 
 to the young man the interior of his uncle's private 
 apartment. Reclining on a sofa was an old man, 
 probalply seventy-five years of age, and in another 
 part of the room, sitting in a stiff high-backed chair, 
 was a younger man. They were both dressed in 
 black, and seemed very much excited about some- 
 thing at the moment the visitor entered. The woman 
 that had shown Mr. Montgomery into the i-oom closed 
 the door behind him, and retired saying not a word. 
 It was a very embarrassing position for a stranger, 
 and Charley felt just a little vexed at being used in 
 this way. To be ushered into this elegantly furnished 
 parlor without having time given him to prepare a 
 suitable toilet, and to be left standing in the middle 
 of the floor without so much as an introduction 
 seemed to him as though he was being treated as 
 an intruder, and he was ready to resent it. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, addressing the elder 
 man, " I understood this was the apartment of John 
 Montgomery, am I right ? " 
 
 " You are, sir, and is this Charles Montgomery ? " 
 " It is," said Charley, " at your service." 
 " Humph 1 " said his uncle, " sit down until I look 
 at you," at the same time shoving a chair toward him 
 with his foot. 
 
 It was all so strange a proceeding that it became 
 ludicrous, and Charley laughed as he took his seat 
 preparatory to being looked at. 
 
 " Does my personal appearance have anything to 
 do with my identity," he said good humoredly. 
 
IN DENVER. 
 
 141 
 
 " No, not your personal appearance, perhaps," was 
 the gruff answer, " but your personal inclinations 
 have got a sight to do with nie ; and I may as well 
 tell you at once that if what I have heard about you 
 of late is true I will have nothing to do with you, if 
 you are my brother's son." 
 
 " And what have you heard, may I ask ? " said 
 Charley, his face reddening at the implied insult. 
 
 " Well, I have heard that you were studying to be 
 a preacher, and if that is so you will have to give it 
 up, that is all," he said, modifying his first assertion 
 somewhat. 
 
 " Well, you have heard the exact truth, I have been 
 studying now for two years, and in another year I 
 shall be ordained. If my life is spared it will be 
 devoted to this work, and I trust that nothing will 
 prevent my finishing the course I have mapped out." 
 He said it in a proud, independent manner, as one 
 who liad no idea of changing his mind or purpose. 
 
 The old man arose from his seat on the sofa and 
 stood before his nephew, his tall form bent forward 
 and his keen black eyes shining with suppressed 
 passion. 
 
 " Do you mean by that, that you will not give up 
 preaching for anything I can offer ? Do you realise 
 what you are throwing away ? " 
 
 " This is not the first time in my life that I have 
 been tempted with gold, a "»d I say to you now what 
 I have said before, that no mere worldliness can 
 tempt me to disobey the call of the Gospel." 
 
 " Bosh," said the old man, " I hate preachers, and I 
 
 i>i 
 
I 
 
 14^ 
 
 hill-crest, 
 
 lil 
 
 
 hate the churches, and I hate everything." He threw 
 himself back in a big chair, and unbuttoned his coat 
 and vest, and breathed hard, as tliougli liis last 
 remark ha<l somehow smotliered him. Charley felt 
 a growing pity for the man, here in his old age 
 saying he hated everything, and he looked at the 
 other gentleman in an inquiring way, which made 
 him feel that he was called upon for an explanation 
 the old gentleman did not seemed inclined to give. 
 
 " You see, sir, my friend here has very peculiar 
 views in regard to religion," said that gentleman in a 
 smooth low voice. " and we were speaking before you 
 came in concerning your profession. It seems that 
 Theodore did not mention it when he was telling Mr. 
 Montgomery about you. You say you have not been 
 ordained yet; now, let me advise a compromise." 
 
 Charley by this time surmised that the man was 
 Richard Raymond, the lawyer, and he was right. 
 He had been the friend and business manager of 
 John Montgomery for the last ten years, and had got 
 along with the peculiar, passi6nate old man as no one 
 else had been able to do. When the latter heard that 
 his only brother's son was alive and would come and 
 live with him he was delighted, but he gave Mr. Ray- 
 mond to understand that his business would still be 
 in his hands as formerly. 
 
 When the shrewd lawyer advised a compromise it 
 was only to give the younger man a hint to leave the 
 subject of contention out of the question for a while, 
 for it was very plain that his uncle could not live long, 
 and with the possession of the immense wealth he would 
 
 (( 
 
wv 
 
 IN DENVER. 
 
 143 
 
 md 
 
 be 
 
 the 
 
 undoubtedly receive lie could then pursue whatever 
 he cliOHe. He evidently did not know Charley in 
 thinking he could prevaricate in any way. The young 
 preacher did not seem to notice the remark of Mr. 
 Raymond about a compromise, but was very anxious 
 concerning the condition ot* the infuriated old 
 man. 
 
 " I should be glad," said the lawyer, arising and 
 throwing open the window, "to be able to see you 
 at peace on this point, for I think you could be of 
 great help and comfort to each other, and the subject 
 at issue is too trifling a one to cause a rupture of 
 friendship, not to say a severing of relationship." 
 
 " It is no trifling subject to me," said John 
 Montgomery, his breath coming easier, " I have been 
 imposed upon and cheated and robbed by Christians 
 all my life. This city is full now of rascally 
 preachers, going around building high churches 
 and begging for the poor, and putting the money in 
 their own pockets, the lazy scoundrels." Charley 
 knew there was no use in arguing, for the man was 
 not in the mood to listen to reason, so he sat 
 silent. 
 
 " How did it ever happen that you thought of being 
 a preacher ? " and his uncle's voice sounded a little 
 more composed, but still scornful. 
 
 How gladly at any other time, in a more congenial 
 company, would Charley Montgomery have told how 
 he had heard the call, and how successful he had been 
 in the little time he had devoted to this work. Had 
 not his friend Harold said to him that he did not 
 
 , 
 
 I'" I ^n 
 
 u- 
 
 I' 
 
144 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 >l " 
 
 );. :?J 
 
 understand true religion, until he saw him in the 
 miserable .home of the Smith's? He could count a 
 score of young men that ha<l accepted Christ through 
 his instrumentality. Did lu; want any better proof 
 that he nnist continue in the way which the Lord had 
 marked out for him ^ Of course there were times 
 when the way seemed closed up, but he had always 
 found that it was his own fault in something he had 
 done or said in an unguarded moment that had caused 
 what he was sometimes tempted to attribute to divine 
 Providence. 
 
 With the sceptical sneering face of his uncle so near 
 him waiting for a reply to his own impudent question, 
 he did not purpose to lay himself open to further 
 ridicule, so he arose to his feet in a calm, dignified 
 manner and said, " It is my calling, that is all." 
 There was something in the tone he used that 
 forbade further (juestionings, and, he continued, 
 addressing his uncle, '* I believe there is no use of 
 prolonging this interview. I am free to say we 
 have both been disappointed ; you have probably 
 been to great expense oking me up, and I have 
 
 lost an opportunit" ,vork in coming here, which 
 
 I will not be likely oo get again ; but we both have 
 lived long enough to know that life is made up of 
 just such vicissitudes, so we can only make the 
 best of this experience, and profit by its lesson if 
 possible." And turning to the lawyer he said, in 
 the same calm voice, " Will you please ring for 
 some one to show me out ? " There was a tone of 
 command and settled purpose in the request, that. 
 
 livi] 
 
m DENVER. 
 
 145 
 
 jilthou^li trivial, must be obuycMl, and nce()r<lin<^ly a 
 woman soon appeared to take tlie youn^" man ont 
 of the houHe, wiiicK he lia<l entered less than an 
 hour before with tlu^ feeHn<^ that it was to be his 
 liome for tht^ future. He did not spend a moment 
 in biddinjj^ his ii^exl relative ^ood-bye, but just 
 bowed himself out in the same way he would have 
 done from the presence of a mere stran<i^er ; and in 
 a few minutes mon^ was on the street. 
 
 The afternoon was far spent, an<l as Charley 
 found himself standing' alone in that strange city 
 a feeling of utter desolation took possession of him. 
 He had not been prepared for any such calamity as 
 this. To come here and be companion to his father's 
 only brother had been all he had thought of. Now, 
 here he was among perfect strangers, no place to go, 
 and with scarcely any money. 
 
 To do him justice he had not thought of himself 
 while his uncle was berating the religion he professed, 
 but now as he had time to consider his situation he 
 found it very discouraging indeed. 
 
 He stood for a few moments looking up and down 
 the street; here and there a light flashed out> 
 warning him of the approach of night. Where would 
 he go, what would he do ? He now remembered 
 that perhaps the servants would see him standing 
 there and wonder at it ; so he walked away, thinking 
 how very surprised they looked when he came out. 
 But he had no time to think of these insignificant 
 matters ; the question was, " What shall I do to get a 
 living here, and where shall I stay to-night ^ " As h*^ 
 
146 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 I 
 
 thought of this he drew from his pocket the last of 
 his money, only two or threo dollars, which would 
 soon disappear ; but he would not despair, the text 
 came to him almost like a human voice, " I will never 
 leave thee, nor forsake thee." He strode on the length 
 of one block, and had just turned the corner, when he 
 heard his name called, and turni g hastily saw, a few 
 steps behind him, his uncle's lawyer. 
 
 As that gentleman overtook him he said, good 
 naturedly, " You are a very fast walker ; I have almost 
 had to run to keep up with you. I want you to come 
 with me to my home, where we can talk this matter 
 over without the fear of interruption. Your uncle is 
 a very queer old man, but very good at heart, and I 
 think if you could thoroughly understand each other, 
 there would be no difficulty at all between you. Of 
 course, you will both have to give up some personal 
 preferences, but that is always expected in a case of 
 comradeship. For instance, you have set your mind 
 on making the ministry your calling in life, and your 
 uncle does not approve of it ; on the other hand, he is 
 very much prejudiced against religion in general. 
 My advice to both of you would be, for you to give 
 up the study of the gospel, and for Mr. Montgomery 
 to respect your feelings in regard to your duty as a 
 private member of a church, and as time goes on 
 you wi/I be more likely to come into the same 
 way of thinking than if either of you adhered to 
 youi- own personal views." 
 
 *' Yes," said Charlie, " we should in that way, as 
 you say, be very likely to have the same views, but 
 
 hu] 
 
 his 
 
 moi 
 
 had 
 
 and 
 
' 'ill ijl'^'i: 
 
 to 
 
 IN DENVER. 
 
 147 
 
 which do you think would be the more apt to kad 
 the other ? " 
 
 Mr. Eaymond did not like this way of putting it, 
 but he was too agreeable to appear to notice the 
 reproof of his companion's remark, and very adroitly 
 turned the subject. 
 
 At this moment they reached his door. As he rang 
 the bell, a smile lit up his naturally grave face, and 
 he said, in a rather apologetic tone, '' My family do 
 not expect anyone with me, and you must excuse any 
 confusion you may have to encounter." It was well 
 he mentioned it as he did, for at that moment the 
 door was thrown open, and a boy and girl and dog 
 all rushed into his arms at once. " Oh, papa, Paddy is 
 home ! Paddy is home ! " the children both screamed 
 at once, the dog in the meanwhile trying to drown 
 their voices with his own loud bark. Mr. Raymond 
 pushed and carried the trio into the house, laughing, 
 perhaps, more at the expression on Mr. Montgomery's 
 face than at any joy he might feel at the return of 
 the said " Paddy." , As soon, however, as the young 
 people realized that a stranger was present they 
 betook themselves into the back parlor, and Mr. 
 Raymond conducted his friend upstairs and showed 
 him into an elegantly appointed chamber, telling him 
 to make himself as much at home as possible, and 
 hurried away downstairs, just as Charley discovered 
 his own large travelling trunk. He stood for a 
 moment perplexed, but quickly remembered that he 
 had left it standing in the hall at his uncle's house, 
 and had forgotten to order it to be removed, and when 
 
 f M 
 
 l;i'« 
 
148 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 
 ilT: 
 
 m 
 
 Mr. Raymond had invited him to his home he had 
 probably seen to it that his belongings were sent with 
 him. Without any more speculation, Charley pro- 
 ceeded to dress himself in the line suit of black 
 he had bought when he decided to come to Denver. 
 He sighed now as he put it on, for he regretted this 
 expenditure, since his present position was sc» different 
 from what he had anticipated. When he was dressed, 
 however, with a change of clean linen, the effect was 
 so gratifying that he would have been more than 
 human not to have been pleased with his personal 
 appearance. As he went downstairs, his host met 
 him in the hall, and said, with a mischievous twinkle 
 in his eye, " You found everything all right, did you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Charley ; " I was surprised that you 
 had my trunk sent here, for I confess I had forgotten 
 it myself, and was very glad to get something I 
 needed out of it." 
 
 " Well, I thought it would be a little time before 
 we could settle this business of yours, and in the 
 meantime I wanted you near me, and I thought you 
 might perhaps have in your trunk a sermon or two 
 which would prevent your uncle from sleeping if he 
 knew they were in his house." 
 
 They both laughed as they entered the parlor, 
 where they found Mrs. Raymond and her two daugh- 
 ters and niece talking gaily on some interesting 
 theme. As Mr. Raymond presented Mr. Montgomery 
 to his wife he noticed what an elegant-looking 
 woman she was, and how proud her husband seemed 
 to be of her. 
 
 his 
 
IN DENVER. 
 
 149 
 
 She was some years younger than he. Her silvery- 
 gray hair was rolled in a high puff' above a broad, 
 intellectual forehead. She had a sweet, cheerful expres- 
 sion in lier face that won her way to a stranger's 
 heart at once. Her daughters were two beautiful girls 
 in their teens, and the niece, who looked like her aunt, 
 w^as also a very handsome young lady. Altogether 
 they formed a delightful company. There w^as no con- 
 fused silence after the gentlemen entered. The ladies 
 invited Mr. Montgomery into their conversation by 
 asking him which he thought was nicer for a gradu- 
 ating dress, Japanese silk or Swiss muslin. Of course 
 Charley gave his advice in a way that he knew would 
 cause them to laugh at his ignorance of the entire 
 subject. Miss Maud Raymond had graduated the 
 year before and Ethel would graduate this year, so 
 the matter of a suitable dress was of great importance 
 to them. Just here dinner was announced. Mr. 
 Raymond offered his arm to his niece, Charley took 
 Mrs. Raymond, and the girls foUow'ed, talking wi Ji 
 each other still about the dress. How" pleasant it all 
 seemed to him, and how different his legal friend 
 appeared here, in the genial atmosphere of his own 
 home, from what he had supposed him to be when 
 he first saw him sitting in that stiff-backed chair at 
 his uncle's house. 
 
 After the meal was over and the ladies had gone 
 back into the parlor, Mr. Raymond asked his guest 
 into the library, that they might talk freely on the 
 subject that brought them together. 
 
 " Now," said the lawyer, as soon as they were 
 
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 150 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 seated in tlie cosy room, " we may as well look at 
 the matter squarely. Your uncle cannot live long. 
 I would not say this to you in this way if I had 
 reason to believe that there was any love between 
 you, but I know you are comparative strangers." 
 Charley knew this, too, and could not take exception 
 to the lawyer's words ; still it seemed a cold-blooded 
 transaction to sit there and discuss the old man's 
 length of days ; but he bowed assent, and his legal 
 adviser continued. " He has changed his will at least 
 five times. Once it was to a college that he was 
 going to leave his money, and then for some reason 
 he decided to change it, and leave it to endow a public 
 library to be called by his name; then a charity home 
 received his sympathies for a short time, and the 
 document was made in their favor ; again, just before 
 you came, he gave a large sum to one of the churches 
 for the purchase of a chime of bells, and intended to 
 leave the same denomination the balance of his 
 wealth. Then he heard that one of the trustees had 
 inquired of his physician how long he was going to 
 live, and, of course, he was mad at once, and changed 
 the will in your favor ; and I suppose it will have to 
 be changed again to-morrow, unless you succeed in 
 making friends with him." 
 
 Mr. Raymond waited for Charley to speak, but 
 after a few moment's pause he resumed by saying, 
 " He is, of course, a very obstinate old man, and it will 
 take a great deal of thoughtfulness on your part to 
 y "ng about a reconciliation, after what transpired 
 tg-day. What is your plan ? " 
 
IN DENVER. 
 
 151 
 
 bo 
 id 
 
 to 
 ed 
 
 *' I have not formed any plan at all. What has 
 occupied my thoughts most of the time since I left 
 his house, was whether I had better stay here and 
 try to get work or to go directly back." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense, nonsense," said his companion, you 
 have no idea how wealthy your uncle is. It is well 
 worth taking a little trouble for ; but, as I say, he is 
 peculiar, and will have to be managed carefully. I 
 suppose you thought showing him your independent 
 spirit would bring him to terms, but pardon me if 
 I tell you that I do not think it was e:.:ictly the best 
 plan with him, though with s^me men it would have 
 done." 
 
 " Mr. Raymond," said Charley, leaning towards 
 him with a flushed face, " let us thoroughly under- 
 stand each other before we go any farther. My uncle 
 said plainly that he hated churches and preachers 
 and would have nothing to do with them. And I, for 
 my part, have decided to make the Church my life 
 work, and all he can say or offer will not shake 
 my determination or change my purpose in the 
 least. . And as I have reason to believe he will not 
 alter his views any, I cannot see how a reconcilia- 
 tion is going to be brought about." 
 
 " You do not pretend to say that you will absolutely 
 throw up all hopes of your uncle's money for the 
 sake of preaching the gospel ? " and the lawyer stared 
 at the young man as if he were a natural curiosity. 
 . "I mean that identical thing,'' said Charley, setting 
 his lips firmly together. There was silence for a few 
 minutes, for this was something new for his lawyer- 
 
 '!<■'! 'i 
 

 I 
 
 11 
 
 
 (IS. 
 
 152 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 ship. Money liad been his own aim in life, and 
 though he now possessed many tliinti^s tliat money could 
 not buy, still he considered it was one ot* the most im- 
 portant agencies for the promotion of happiness, and 
 could not understand why anyone in his senses could 
 put so insignificant a thing as religious preference in 
 the way of the vast wealth of which this young man 
 was so nearly in possession. 
 
 " There is just one thing that would tempt me to 
 make another appeal to my uncle, and that is if I 
 thought I might be of any use to him. It is a very 
 sad thing to see a man of his age crying out against 
 all foims of religion and churches, when he will be 
 called upon so soon to try their realities. I do not 
 remember my father very plainly, for I was only ten 
 years old when he died, but theru was something in 
 the voice and manner of my uncle that reminded me 
 of hiui, and has saddened me ever since." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Raymond, brightening up at this 
 concession from his companion, " that is just what I 
 said. If you would give up to your uncle's way of 
 thinking, until you got into his good graces, you 
 might be able to do him a great deal of good, and for 
 yourself perhaps find a true friend. 
 
 " Yes, I might, as you say, make for myself a good 
 friend and benefactor, and if he would remember me 
 in his will it would be indeed a good thing for me ; 
 but I am afraid that leaning toward his views would 
 do iiie and the cause I represent more harm than his 
 money could balance." 
 
 "I don't believe I understand you clearly. I 
 
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 LIS 
 
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 rOVL 
 
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 luld 
 his 
 
 IN DENVER, 
 
 153 
 
 supposed when you stood up so manfully for religion 
 this afternoon that you did it to test your uncle's love 
 for you, or to make him feel a sort of reverence for 
 your opinion, but now when I hear you weighing his 
 money against your prospects as a preacher it seems 
 to me ludicrous ; you must realiz*^ that the income 
 from your uncle's estate is more than thrice the 
 amount of any clergyman's salary in this country." 
 
 Mr. Raymond arose as he spoke, and thrusting his 
 hands into his pockets strode rapidly up and down the 
 room in a most excited manner. " And," he continued, 
 as he came to a halt in front of this improvident 
 young man, " if after his death you cared to make 
 for yourself a name as a minister or a philanthropist, 
 what an excellent opportunity you would then 
 have." 
 
 This last sentence stung Charley into almost 
 uncontrollable anger. " I can see, Mr. Raymond, that 
 you do not understand me yet, if you think for a 
 moment that I have chosen this profession for the 
 sake of popularity. It has been very far from my 
 thoughts ; but I can excuse you on the ground that 
 you first made my acquaintance as a fortune-seeker, 
 and I will explain right here that I received your 
 letter at a time when I was smarting under a deep 
 disappointment and was pining for a change. So I 
 . gladly caught at the opportunity it offered of putting 
 a number of miles between myself and the existing 
 surroundings. I hope you will give me the credi^, at 
 least, of being truthful, when I say to you that I did 
 not give the money a thought, but did feel that I 
 U 
 
 iii 
 
 I 
 
 Ir fH 
 
 I 
 
i 
 
 M 
 
 i 
 
 154 
 
 HILL CREST. 
 
 would perhaps have the comforts of a home. But, 
 how much I regret coming here and losing the place 
 I was in (which, though not very lucrative, was at 
 least independent) God and myself only know." He, 
 too, was standing as he said this to the lawyer, and 
 his fine voice and earnest manner gave an expres- 
 sion of determination to his words that made 
 further argument seem out of the question. 
 
 " When I said just now," he continued, " that I 
 might be of some use to my uncle, I had no thought 
 of bringing down my standard of principle, for I 
 think he has seen too much of that, and it has 
 helped to make a sceptic of him. When Christians 
 say in church that the world cannot offer anything to 
 compare with the riches of the Gospel, and the next 
 day sell their birth-right for a mess of pottage, they 
 prove one of two things, that there is no God, or that 
 they have never known him, and are merely repeat- 
 ing what they have heard some one else say." 
 
 Mr. Raymond could not but confess to himself that 
 his young friend's place was in the pulpit. But this 
 matter of reconciliation with the uncle was his 
 business, and he must see to it. 
 
 So he took his seat again and said, " You are 
 right when you say the poor old man has been 
 made a sceptic by half-hearted Christians. There 
 is a point right here that a great many good people 
 lose sight of, and that is, that the rich see more of 
 the bad side of humanity than they do of the good ; 
 they never need charity, and therefore they never get 
 a sight of its beauty. 
 
'iill 
 
 IN DENVER. 
 
 t " " 
 loo 
 
 "If they are treated kindly by anyone it is gener- 
 ally followed by a request for help of some kind, and 
 if they do give anything to the poor or unfortunate 
 it is not received very gratefully, from the fact that 
 the recipient knew that it did not require any self- 
 denial on the part of the donor. How often you 
 hear it said of such gifts, ' Oh ! they did not feel it ; 
 they could have given twice as much if they had 
 wanted to.' Do you see ? " said Mr. Raymond, looking 
 his companion sharply in the face, as if he would 
 compel him to see as he did, " I suppose it is the price 
 that mortal men have to pay for their luck in getting 
 so much of the desired dust." 
 
 It seemed now that these two men were better 
 friends since they had shown to each other some of 
 their own convictions of conscience, but they were 
 no nearer an agreement than before they entered the 
 library. Just at this moment Lulu put in her curly 
 golden head and said, in her sweet, baby voice: " The 
 two hours are up, and now yon must come and play 
 chess with cousin Blanche ; you know you promised, 
 and she is waiting for you." 
 
 Mr. Raymond was the father of his family in an 
 instant. The sight of that chubby, dimpled face 
 could drive out of his mind at any time the most 
 intricate legal question. He caught the little girl in 
 his arms and kissed her passionately, and turning to 
 Charley, said proudly, " I tell you, Montgomery, there 
 are things in this hard, old world that are dearer than 
 gold." to which his friend bowed assent as they 
 entered the parlor. 
 
 wm 
 
 li 
 
 11! 
 
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 IPTT 
 
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 1 ;'! 
 
 156 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 It was a custom in the Raymond household to 
 spend an hour in the latter part of the evening 
 together, and while Mr. Raymond and Miss Blanche 
 played chess, Mr. Montgomery found himself very 
 well entertained by tlie other members of the family. 
 Little Dick, or " Richard the Second," as his sisters 
 called him, told the guest how Paddy the dog had ran 
 away, and his father had found him down the street 
 and sent him home. And Lulu explained that his 
 name was Padreweska, and they called him Paddy 
 for short, and said he belonged to her uncle who was 
 now dead, and that was why they all loved him so 
 much. They were a pleasant, intelligent family, and 
 as Charley looked at the smooth-faced lawyer, sitting 
 there seemingly so absorbed in that innocent amuse- 
 ment, his wife near him and his children there, all 
 enjoying the peace and blessedness of this delightful 
 home, it occurred to him that here was an incentive 
 to work which many men lacked. Men in this 
 position sometimes soothe their consciences with the 
 thought that if the greed for gain does seem to be a 
 mania with them, the way they are using it, in 
 bringing so much comfort to those dependent on 
 them, is a good excuse for its indulgence. 
 
 The next morning as Charley was leaving the 
 dining-room Mr. Raymond said to him, " I have my 
 phaeton at the door, would you like to go for a drive 
 with me ? It is a nice morning, and a good time for 
 you to see more of the city." 
 
 Charley thanked him, and in a few moments they 
 were moving along the streets behind a swift pair 
 
IN DENVER. 
 
 157 
 
 of handsome chestnut horses. Mr. Raymond himself 
 hohling the reins and enjoying the praise that Mont- 
 gomery was bestowing on the span of well-kept 
 trotters. He was an active, industrious man, and 
 when he went out for pleasure he did not want any 
 one to drive his horses but himself. He had intended 
 when he started out that morning, to have a further 
 talk with Charley concerning his prospects, and if he 
 found him relenting toward his uncle they would then 
 drive around to the old man's residence, and perhaps 
 be able to fix up matters between them without any 
 more delay. Mr. Raymond knew John Montgomery 
 thoroughly (or thought he did), and was convinced 
 that the " giving-in " would have to be on the part of 
 his nephew ; so he had taken this drive with the 
 intention of talking over the young man, if possible, 
 to be more amenable to his uncle's views. 
 
 They whirled along the avenue, and were just 
 turning off toward the river when Mr. Raymond 
 heard his name called, and stopped his horses by 
 the side of the Rev. Mr. Darlington's vehicle. 
 
 " Good morning," said that gentleman to his 
 lawyer friend, "I suppose you have not heard of 
 the distressing news I received from Canada ? " 
 
 " No ; is it anything serious ? " 
 
 " I had a telegram this morning that my brother 
 was dying, and I must go immediately." 
 
 " That is very sad. Is there something I could do 
 for you to help you off, or attend to some of your 
 lousiness here while you are obliged to be away ? " 
 
 " No, I cannot think df any service you could 
 
 I 
 
 ^T 
 
 1 ^ 
 
 ii" 
 
I 
 
 158 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 
 
 
 render me, though I thank you for the kind offer. I 
 am in a strait, however. You know I am without a 
 colleague at present, and cannot think ot anyone 
 that I can get to fill my place in the church to- 
 morrow. I have never left my congregation without 
 providing for them a pastor, and although this is an 
 extreme case, yet I hesitate to close my church. 
 There are a great many strangers in the city, and all 
 of the churches will be well filled. I have no time 
 to see anyone, and I must take the twelve o'clock 
 train to-day. He seemed to be speaking to himself 
 more than to his listeners, not thinking that his friend 
 could be of any use to him in a matter of this kind, 
 and was surprised when Mr. Raymond said, " Per- 
 haps my friend here could assist you, as he is one of 
 your fraternity. Mr. Darlington let me introduce to 
 you Mr. Montgomery." The carriages stood very 
 close together, so the gentlemen shook hands cordially. 
 
 " I should deem it a great favor to myself and 
 congregation, Mr. Montgomery, if you would occupy 
 my pulpit to-morrow." 
 
 " I am not an ordained minister yst, and am only a 
 student, though, if I can fill your place to-morrow I 
 should be only too glad. As you go away so soon I 
 shall have to trust to our mutual friend here for 
 guidance." 
 
 " That is all right," said Mr. Darlington, " I will 
 leave all necessary orders with the sexton, and Mr. 
 Raymond will take you to the church. I shall have 
 to leave you now, as my time is very limited; good- 
 bye, and thank you very much." 
 
I 1 
 
 m DENVER. 
 
 159 
 
 While tlio men were talking the lawyer was think- 
 ing, and the result wa.s that he did not say anything 
 to Charley about his uncle that day, but assured him 
 that he and his family would be very glad to enter- 
 tain him for a few days, especially as he had promised 
 to do so great a favor for their friend and pastor, 
 Mr. Darlington. As Charley sat in his cosy room 
 preparing his sermon for the next day, it came to his 
 mind how fortunate it was that he had provided 
 himself with a new suit of clothes, that he might 
 appear respectable to the fashionable congregation he 
 expected to address the following day ; surely there 
 was the hand of God in all his ways. 
 
 About an hour before the family were ready for 
 church, Mr. Raymond said to them, " I have to go out 
 for a walk this morning before church time, and I do 
 not think I can be back in time to go with you, but I 
 shall probably be at the church, as I want to hear Mr. 
 Montgomery." The girls pouted and said it was just 
 too mean for anything, but Mrs.- Raymond assured 
 them that they would do nicely, as one gentleman in 
 the carriage was sufficient, and laughingly declared 
 that she would sit by Mr. Montgomery herself, just to 
 make them jealous. 
 
 The heavy tones of the grand organ were pealing 
 softly as Charley ascended the steps that lead to the 
 pulpit. He knew that the large church was full, and 
 that every eye was on him. The galleries far up in a 
 circle were one mass of faces. He did not look to see 
 this, for there was no need ; the flutter of fans, the 
 gentle rustle of silk, the light but firm tread of the 
 
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 1 
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 ' 4 
 
 I' '!.-.■ 
 
1f)0 
 
 HtLL-CRtSt. 
 
 Hi' 
 
 III > 
 
 !■ ':■* 
 
 ushers, all told him that this magnificent edifice was 
 filled to repletion with human souls like his own. 
 
 As he bowed his head in prayer for a few moments, 
 he asked that to each waiting heart his words might 
 bring a message of peace or warning as they most 
 needed. There was a certain satisfaction to him in 
 the silent prayer he offered before that vast assembly; 
 he wanted them to know where he looked for the 
 words of strength that he intended to give them. 
 
 When he turned his face toward the people his 
 mind was so taken up with his subject that he had no 
 thought of wlio were his listener's. Once he thought 
 of the Raymond's as Lulu's curly heail bobbed up in 
 her seat, and at another time in a stream of purple 
 light that came in through the stained glass windows 
 he thought he saw the face of Mr. Raymond, but he 
 was too busy with the temptations of Christ as com- 
 pared with our own to think of any individual. He 
 had chosen this subject because he knew he could do 
 it justice, having gone through so many temptations. 
 How well he could sympathize with the human side 
 of his blessed Master ! 
 
 He felt, as his congregation did, that he was at his 
 best. Some would say that it was the bracing Rocky 
 Mountain air, others that the high arched roof made 
 it '^asy to be heard ; but he knew by experience that 
 when God had a great work for him to do. He fitted 
 circumstances to aid him in the completion of that 
 work. 
 
 When the family returned and were going in to 
 dinner, Mr. Raymond came home, seemingly in the 
 
In DENVEll. 
 
 lf)l 
 
 best of spirits, and whon he congnitulatcMl the 
 preacher on his sermon, the hitter was much surprised, 
 and said, *' 1 did not know you were there, although I 
 remember thinking I saw you ; but the cliurch was 
 so dark that the faces were too indistinct for me to 
 recognize anyoiu; but Luhi, whose yellow curls looked 
 like little dancing stars," and Charley pulled one of 
 the silken ringlets to make her hear what he was 
 saying ; whereupon she said promptly, '* I think it is 
 naughty for folks to talk about <lancing on Sunday." 
 
 When they were coming home from the evening 
 service Mr. Raymond said to hinj, " Is there any 
 danger of a preacher becoming vain C' 
 
 " Not unless he is very handsome," said Charley. 
 
 " No, but I mean when a large crowd comes out to 
 hear him, so that people stand and many are turned 
 away, as happened to-night, does it not make him 
 vain of his powers ? " 
 
 "That is a subject I do not study very n^ach. 
 When a farmer has a good crop of corn he is glad, 
 but not vain, for he knows too well who sends the 
 sunshine to m.ake it grow." 
 
 Mr. Raymond was silent for p, few moments, and 
 then said abruptly, " Did you know that your uncle 
 was at church this morning and heard your sermon?" 
 
 " No," said Charley, starting up in his seat, " was 
 he?" 
 
 " Yes, he was ; and I do not know whether I did 
 right or wrong in taking him. When you promised 
 Mr. Darlington yesterday that you would preach for 
 him, I thought while you were talking that I would 
 
I 
 
 ^iJ, 
 
 ^i 
 
 162 
 
 HlLL-CREST. 
 
 persuade him to go and hear you. So, this morning I 
 went over to his place and, after a good deal of coax- 
 ing, he at last got ready and went with me." 
 
 " Well," said Charley, when his friend stopped, 
 " what did he say ? " 
 
 " That is the strangest part of it ; he did not say a 
 word all the way back to his house. I said pleas- 
 antly, as we got into the carriage, in an ofF-hand way, 
 ' The lad is pretty smart after all, isn't he ? ' He 
 mumbled something under his breath and never said 
 another word. When I got out of the carriage at 
 the street corner he said, in an absent-minded way, 
 ' Bring him around to-morrow.* Of course I knew he 
 meant you, and I was glad to hear him say that much ; 
 but to-night as I came out of church I met Theodore, 
 and asked him how Mr. Montgomery was, and he said 
 he had kept his bed all day, would not eat nor have 
 the doctor, and so I say I am afraid I did wrong in 
 taking him out this morning. It seems strange for 
 him not to want the doctor, as that is generally the 
 first one he wants to see if he is ai all sick." 
 
 " We had better go there now, perhaps," said Char- 
 ley, " before we go to your place." 
 
 " No, I guess not. He said I should come to-morrow 
 and bring you with me, and he is always so particular 
 about those little matters." 
 
 " You can do as you like, but I feel it my duty to 
 go there to-night. He is an old man, and if anything 
 should happen to him I would never forgive myself 
 for neglecting this opportunity of seeir^ him, now 
 that he has expressed a willingness to have me come." 
 
IN DENVER. 
 
 163 
 
 " But it would make no difference with you, as his 
 will is made in your favor and he has not had it 
 changed." 
 
 "It is not my prospects, but his own that I am 
 thinking of," said Charley, trying to speak calndy, 
 for he knew the lawyer did not intend those personal 
 remarks as an insult, and yet he could scarcely 
 receive them in any other light. He called to the 
 driver to let him out at the next turning, for he was 
 determined to see his uncle that night. 
 
 But Mr. Raymond stopped him, saying, " Oh ! if 
 you will go, I am going with you, but I give you 
 warning that you may not be allowed to see him 
 to-night, or to-morrow either for that matter, since 
 you will not obey his commands." 
 
 " I will take the chances so far as I am concerned, 
 though I do not want to be the cause of any trouble 
 between yourself and him. You have been his friend 
 and counsellor so long." 
 
 ** Set yourself at rest on that sc6re. I will keep in 
 the background, so that he shall not know that I am 
 here. I am too well acquainted with him to rush 
 uninvited into his presence." This last hint was lost 
 on Charley, who was so intent on trying to do some- 
 thing for the soul's good of this irate old man. They 
 had reached the house now, and were going up the 
 steps when they met Theodore coming out. It was 
 fortunate, and Charley hastened to ask him concern- 
 ing his uncle's health. 
 
 " He is still in bed, very restless, talking to himself 
 all the time. < thought I heard him praying, but as 
 
 iii 
 
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 I: 
 
 
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 1 ",)■ 
 
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164 
 
 HiLL-CRfiST. 
 
 iS' 4 
 
 he never does that, I must have been mistaken. I 
 was just going to tell the doctor how he is and ask 
 his advice. He has not been sent for." 
 
 " Then, do not go for the doctor until I have seen 
 him," said Charley eagerly. " I am going in now, 
 and vvant you to take me to his room." 
 
 " Oh," said Theodore, " I could never do that," 
 holding up his hands, " it would be more than my 
 place is worth." 
 
 Charley looked helplessly about him. Was every- 
 one so much afraid of this man ? Mr. Raymond 
 rather enjoyed the situation, and he thought his 
 obstinate friend would be able to see what kind of 
 man he had to deal with. They were in the hall 
 now, and Charley took from his pocket a card, and 
 wrote on it, 
 
 " I v/ant to see you to-night ; I go east early in the 
 morning. 
 
 " Charley Montgomery." 
 
 And handing it to the half -frightened man, he said, 
 a trifle impatiently, " Give him that, and I will abide 
 by his decision." 
 
 The man took it and disappeared through the 
 draped doorway. 
 
 " I wrote that I wanted to see him to-night, as I 
 was going east in the morning," said Charley, turning 
 to the lawyer, who, he thought, had a right to know 
 all that was said or ^one on this occasion. 
 
 " But you do not intend to go?" said that gentleman, 
 a little testily. 
 
FT" I 
 
 IN DENVER. 
 
 165 
 
 " I certainly do if I cannot see him now. There is 
 no use in my staying here any longer. I may be able 
 to get back the work I laid down when I came here, 
 and it is the best thing I can expect at present." 
 
 As Mr. Raymond was going to speak the curtains 
 parted, and the face of Theodore was seen, with his 
 hand beckoning, and in another moment the lawyer 
 was alone in the hall, and seated himself to await 
 further developments. 
 
 When Theodore presented himself at the bedside of 
 his master, it was with great trepidation, and he 
 hardly dared speak ; but Mr. Montgomery looking up 
 at him, asked what he wanted. 
 
 And so of course he had to tell, and knowing that 
 the old man could not read the writing in the dim 
 light with his old eyes, read for him the message, 
 adding in a trembling voice, "He is waiting in the 
 hall." 
 
 " Tell him to come," was all the old man said. But 
 it was enough, and he guided his friend through the 
 winding halls and up the cushioned stairs, and 
 brought him to the bedside of his aged relative, 
 where, closing the door carefully, the two men were 
 left alone. 
 
 It was a time long to be remembered by them both. 
 As Charley approached the bed wliereon the old man 
 was lying there was nothing in his heart but pity for 
 him, who, andd all the grandeur of his surroundings, 
 was alone and friendless. 
 
 As the invalid saw the strong, manly figure of the 
 young man near his bedside, there came to him an 
 
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 ,'ii'!i, 
 'ii 
 

 166 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 overwhelming sense of his own weakness, and he 
 stretched out his trembling hand toward his nephew 
 in a way that showed how much he needed his pro- 
 tection and kindly sympathy. 
 
 Charley took the cold, quivering hands between his 
 own warm palms, and said, anxiously, " Are you feel- 
 ing sick to-night ? " 
 
 His uncle said in answer, " I have been sick ever 
 since you came. I thought you ought to give up 
 everything if I willed you my money, and I thought 
 you a fool because you wanted to preach ; but when I 
 heard you this morning talk of how much Christ had 
 sacrificed for us, and how he was tempted, and had 
 resisted for our sakes, as I sat there I knew you felt 
 every word you said. Oh ! my old heart is broken. 
 He added bitterly, " I have spent my whole life get- 
 ting gold, and now it mocks me. I could not look at 
 the silver on my dinner-table to-day, its glitter seemed 
 like evil faces grinning at me. I would be glad to 
 die, but I know I am not fit to be in the presence of 
 the man Christ that you pictured so plaiidy to me 
 this morning. I have said and done all in my power 
 all my life against the Church of God, and now I feel 
 that the worst hypocrite whose name is on her books 
 is better prepared for heaven than I am. I could go 
 down on my knees to ask your pardon for what I said 
 to you the other day." 
 
 " No, no," said Charley, his voice husky with 
 emotion ; " you shall not ask my pardon for anything 
 you said to me, for at the time you were saying it I did 
 not feel it a personal matter ; but you will understand 
 
IN DENVER. 
 
 167 
 
 me now when I tell you that anything uttered against 
 the Church that I love so much is like another cruel 
 thorn in the crown of my blessed Lord." He regretted 
 this remark as soon as it had left his lips, for it 
 seemed to cause so much agony of soul to his already 
 heart-broken listener. 
 
 But the young man himself was deeply moved by 
 this ^confession from his uncle, and could not be 
 expected to exercise much self-control on an occ; non 
 like this ; however, there was a feeling of exultation 
 in his heart to see that the man before him was so 
 deeply penitent, and he hastened in his next words to 
 show him how willing and glad Christ would be to 
 receive him in the contrite spirit he now manifested. 
 
 It was nearty an hour since they came 
 together, and they were still holding each other's 
 hands, when Theodore made his appearance and 
 asked if Mr. Raymond's carriage should wait any 
 longer. 
 
 John Montgomery said promptly : " No, send it 
 away, we do not want it to-night." And Mr. 
 Raymond knew when Theodore told him what his 
 master said, and how he was holding his nephew's 
 hand and looking into his face, that Charley 
 Montgomery had made no mistake in choosing the 
 Gospel in preference to his uncle's money, for now he 
 was sure of both. 
 
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 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " SICK, AND YE VISITED ME." 
 
 IVE long years, freighted with joy Miid 
 sorrow and vahiable experience, have 
 passed over the heads of the family 
 at Hill-Crest, and over those of their 
 friends whose hearts and fortunes are 
 connected with them. 
 
 Harold and his happy wife and family are living 
 in their beautiful home at Lake View, the family now 
 consisting of a strapping boy and a baby girl^ 
 whose blue eyes had only seen the light two short 
 months ago, the care and admiration of their proud 
 parents. When Kathey became mistress of Lake 
 View her first visitors were Geraldine and her mother. 
 They had both felt it very deeply that Kathey had 
 taken the man for her husband whom it seemed to 
 them a richer girl ought to have had ; and if their 
 position in society had been what it once was they 
 would probably have carried their resentment to the 
 point of an actual simb. But, as it was, their best course 
 was one of intimacy with Kathey, who felt very sorry 
 
i«i; 
 
 "SICK, AND YE VISITED ME.*' 
 
 169 
 
 ivmg 
 now 
 girl, 
 
 for her aunt and cousin when they told her how home- 
 sick they had been, and how hard it was for them to 
 l)e ranked with working-people. Of course she 
 remembered tliat Geraldine had once said tliat she had 
 rather die than work for a living, and she believed her, 
 but was too kin<l to mention it now, knowing that life 
 is sweet, an<l rather to be preferred than death by 
 starvation. 
 
 Harold did not tell his wife how much her cousin 
 liad done to prevent his ever seeing her, nor how slight- 
 ingly she had always spoken of her to him; but when 
 Kathey said one day that, with his consent, she would 
 offer them a home, he told her he was afraid her kind 
 heart was blinding her eyes. "For," he added, "you 
 cannot help but see they are jealous of you, and you 
 know it is never safe to have in your home a jealous 
 person ; for your very kindness to them only serves 
 to luu'tui-e the green-eyed monster, and give him more 
 power for an attack." So, accordingly they went their 
 way, working at what they could get to do and doing 
 without what they were not able to earn. 
 
 At Hill-Crest there was very little change. 
 Robert McDonell was five years older, but was not 
 much changed in appearance. To his friends his 
 tongue had a little more of the Irish brogue of former 
 days, but he still declared himself as young as 
 ever. 
 
 Edith spent a good portion of her time with 
 
 her sister at Lake View, and could have been 
 
 mistress of Green Cliffe had she accepted the 
 
 many offers that Adolphus delighted to give her. I 
 12 
 
 I 
 
 '}' 
 
 i '•:■,, 
 
170 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 !/rt" 
 
 I M 
 
 11 'V 
 
 §m 
 
 say the many, for they had become periodical. He 
 declaring that " No " was not an answer to his 
 proposition, and would immediately say (after receiv- 
 ing what to anyone else would have been a final 
 dismissal) that he would come again for an answer, 
 and then go off for another trip or tour of inspection, 
 as he called it. It was well known \:\ the vicinity of 
 Lake View that Edith could at any time call to her 
 side the wealthy Adolphus, for he did not try to conceal 
 his feelings in regard to the matter, and some of her 
 friends thought her very foolish not to accept so good 
 an offer. But when she heard any of those disagree- 
 able hints, she thought of the face of a certain college 
 student which her brother-in-law had painted and 
 hung in his home, and which she often said was his 
 best piece of work ; that gentleman felt flattered by 
 the words of praise, and never surmised that it was the 
 subject and not the workmanship that called her so 
 often to look at the handsome portrait. 
 
 There was not so much change in Grace as in 
 the other McDonell girls, for she was always contented 
 with what she had, and the last few years being more 
 prosperous than formerly, there were in the home at 
 Hill-Crest many new comforts and even luxuries. 
 
 Berthy was less absorbed in study than formerly. 
 She was now ^learning that it is more noble to 
 put in practice what we do know than to strive 
 unceasingly for knowledge with no particular object 
 in view. Her life was broadening out. There had 
 come to her opportunities to do good to others, which 
 she had gladly accepted. A class of unruly boys in the 
 
: !l: 
 
 "SICK, AND YE VISITED ME." 
 
 171 
 
 Sabbath School had been taken by her, in the Hpirit of 
 self- forgetful devotion, and the niiniHter praised her for 
 the success she had in subduinor their turbulent 
 natures to a fair degree of order. But, as usual, at 
 home there was a misunderstanding. Her own 
 family could not see why, if she wanted to be so 
 good, she could not find more to do in the household, 
 where so many little things needed her care ; and she 
 did not realize herself that it was her craving for 
 appreciation and words of praise which she never 
 received at home that made her so willing to work 
 outside. 
 
 Here, though she often found much to discourage 
 her efforts, there was always that courteous, respectful 
 treatment which was so satisfactory to her nature 
 and made her so happy. 
 
 Her friendship for the Kenyon's had increased as 
 the years had passed, and Rachel and herself had be- 
 come more to each other than they could themselves 
 demonstrate. Mrs. Kenyon had in the last two years 
 failed in health very rapidly ; her daughter had begged 
 her to have a consultation of doctors, other than those 
 living in Sunnnerville, but the peaceful x^uiet woman 
 dreaded to alan^i her daughter by having physicians 
 who would tell her what the real cause of her sickness 
 was, and believing herself that there was no cure for 
 her complaint, she did not want to disclose to her 
 affectionate daughter that a creeping but almost pain- 
 less cancer was eating her life away. But, as the 
 beautiful fall weather came on and she did not get any 
 better Rachel would not be silent any longer, butwent 
 
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II 
 
 I 
 
 
 1.. 
 
 172 
 
 HILL-CKEST. 
 
 to the family phy.sieianherHelf, and said: "I nniHt have 
 aiiotlicr <l()ct()i', unless you can <1() my mother more 
 good than you are now doing." 
 
 "Miss Kenyon, there is only one tiling that will save 
 your mother's life, and I am afraid that it is too late 
 for that; I mean an operation." 
 
 "For what?" said Rachel, staring at him like one 
 in a dream. 
 
 " For the cancer that she has had for a " — hut he did 
 not finish the sentence, for the girl lay prone at his 
 feet. " Oh, oh," sai<l the little man, " I di<l not realize 
 what I was saying." 
 
 After he brought her back to consciousness he told 
 her tenderly that he himself had been trying to per- 
 suade her mother to subnnt to an operation ; and 
 added, that if she could be taken to a good private 
 hospital she would have better care and would be 
 more likely to rally from the shock, which would be 
 attended by the most danger. 
 
 Rachel knew the very place, near their old home 
 in Philadelpliia, and when she mentioned the name it 
 so pleased the doctor that she seemed herself quite 
 encouraged. When she bade him good-bye they had 
 both decided that her mother must go the following 
 week, as every day they delayed but lessened her 
 chance for recovery. 
 
 When Rachel told her mother what the doctor had 
 said, and what she so much desired her to do, and 
 the girl seemed so confident of success, she said, in 
 her own quiet way: " Well, if thee thinks best I will 
 go. I want to be buried in the cemetery by my 
 
 1!! 
 
"SICK, AND YE VISITED ME." 
 
 173 
 
 ! 
 
 loved ones, an<l I will be there if tiie optn'ation does 
 not prove HUCceH.sful." She was looking- out of the 
 window, thi'on^'h the branches of the waving* willow 
 tree as she spoke, tid <lid not see the an<^uish on her 
 daughter's face that her words were causing, until a 
 low cry made her turn and I'ealize how teri'ihle a thin"' 
 it would l)e to this lonely ^irl for her mother to die. 
 
 " ])() not weep, my darling. Forgive n»e for saying 
 this to thee to hui't thy feelings. It is selfish of me I 
 know to want to go and leave thee, hut I have been 
 parted so long from thy father an<l the babes that it 
 seems to me that I am counting the days until 1 see 
 them again, and when I think of })eing with Christ, 
 and seeing Him face to face, when I have felt His 
 presence near me so many times, it is such rapture, 
 that I find myself saying, 'Oh, that I had the wings 
 of a dove, for tlien would I fly away and l)e at rest.'" 
 Her arms were around her daughter as she spoke, her 
 face was lifted up, and a glow" was on every feature 
 that seemed to come from the very skies. It was hard 
 to mourn for such as she. The gaunt spectre of death 
 does not seem to have anything to do with their de- 
 parting souls, and Rachel felt that she herself was the 
 solfish one for wanting to keep her dear mother here, 
 within the very sight of the heavenly home. 
 
 It was a great shock to Berthy when she heard the 
 true cause of Mrs. Kenyon's sickness, but her young, 
 hopeful nature thought her life might be spared, and 
 urged Rachel to take her at once to Philadelphia, that 
 she might receive the treatment and cure that they 
 thought w^ould spare to them, for a few" years at least. 
 
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 '11 
 
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I •III I i 
 
 '.mi 
 
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 II, 
 
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 1^4 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 the life of one HO (l(!arly loved, for it wuh hanl 
 to tell wliieli of the ^irls had tl)(; ^r<;at(ii' elaiin on the 
 affection of tlic; moth(!rly Quak<n'eHH. Berthy felttliat 
 but for ]u'r kind, rcHti'ainin^' hand sh(; would never 
 have found for lier soul tin; strength and conifoi't of a 
 religious experience, and the Christian saint knew that 
 she was wi(3ldin^ an influence for ^ood on the fassion- 
 at(;, wilful girl that she hei xdf could not realize ; and 
 then, too, there was room in her heart for more tlian 
 her own belov(;d daughter and she had taken in the 
 poor, misuiKhiJ'stood child, and felt thankful that God 
 had given lier this w(jrk to do for His sake. 
 
 Ill a wc'ik from the day that Racliei liad called on 
 the doCiOJ" all the arnmgeriients wen; made, and they 
 vv(jre ready to start for tl^e gn^at '' /' tliat w(juld hold 
 for tfiem the ))alance of lif(3 an(i death. 
 
 The school tliat Rachel liad taugfit so accc^ptahly foi' 
 more than four yeai's (and out of th(; salary r«;ceiv(H] 
 she liad laid hy tin; sum that would now pay th(;ir 
 expenses in the months to come;) had been provided 
 with another tfjaclier. 1'he litthi cottag<; was close' and 
 the canary bij-d and Maltese cat w<;i'e taken by Bi^rthy 
 to her liome, to be car(;d for until they returnel. 
 
 It seeuKsd vttry lonely rt Hiil-(yr<;st wh(!n(;ver B(;rthy 
 th<jught of or looked toward tin; empty houK; of Ray 
 Kenyon and her mothei'. 
 
 Sho had promised to look aft(;r eveiything about 
 the liouse, and many tim<;s she went tluii**; a.V'ne, un- 
 lock(;d t)i(3 door, an<l sat for a wliih; in th<; cnair that 
 they had said so many times was li<;rs n^ad fiom 
 Rachel's b(K)ks, and brushed the dust off the fm-niture, 
 
"SICK, AND YE VISITED ME. 
 
 175 
 
 and (jiico or tvvic<! IjjuI vvrittciii a lett(;r to lier friend on 
 her own writing desk, saying in it, "1 can almost see 
 you moving around tlie }iouse,(jveryt}nn<^ is so ufitui'al." 
 She was lio[>in^ to hf^ar ^oo<l news all tli<; tinu;, and 
 tlie first two or three lettei's W(;r(i full of (;ncoura^-e- 
 inent, ])ut th(ii-<j oairu; a time wlw^n she did not receive 
 any woi'd for a week, and she vvi'()te and did not ^et 
 an answer. But on(; morning a letter, ))lu)'red and 
 l)lotte<l toi'l h<!r that Iwaclnjl's moth<!r was fast sinkin<^, 
 and the ('loctor's j^avc Imm- no hoj)e, and {uMcmI, " I wish 
 you wei-c with wic." About m, w(H;k h<!fon; this lett(!i' 
 cam(} Fj(!rthy had rec(5iv(Ml nin('t(M;n ^ohi dollai"s as a 
 bir'thdaypi'esciut from Harold and Kathey.sayino- it was 
 one for each year of hei' life. She kn(;vv they liad put 
 it in this way so that she would not feel ofi'ended he- 
 cause they had f^iv<'n hei* mont.'y, instead of something 
 else. How much morci pleasfjd she wouhl have been 
 with som(3 article that they liad chos<;n to suit In^r 
 taste, showing that they harl studi(;d her wisJKjs. TlK'y 
 ha<l bi'ou^lit (jJrace on her biithday a pi'ctty blu<! silk 
 dress, and Kathc^y ha<l said, whim sh(i thanked In^r for* 
 it: " W(; knev. you W(.uld be deli^htrd with it, foi' you 
 WitVii always fond of l>iu(!, and you nev(!r hav<; had a 
 silk <lr<iss; now, liave it ir)ad(;^to suit you and it will 
 1)(; lovely." 
 
 Herthy I'ejoiced with her sist(;)' and thought of lier 
 own birthday so close at hand, an<I »vond(;red wliat 
 they would l)ring lier. But wh(;n the day came and 
 sIk; ^ot a letter and a little box containing the ^old, 
 sIh; was sadly disappr>int»;d. ^J'h(; letter said: "Wc; did 
 not know what yon would lik(; to have.' "Why did 
 
 lit 
 
I: P 
 
 ■« M 
 
 176 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 tliey not know ? There are many things I love : 
 one of Harold's little rustic landscapes, or r book." 
 Then when she thought of it, it seemed queer that 
 none of her family had ever given her a book, and 
 they all knew that she loved books so much. But 
 they had sent her a present, and she would not appear 
 ungrateful, so she took the little box containing the 
 money and showed it to her father and the rest of the 
 family, and tried to seem interested. 
 
 Edith advised her to Imy a nice silk dress ; her 
 father told her to put it in the ])ank, and Grace said : 
 " I know what you will buy witli it, you will spend it 
 all for books." 
 
 " Yes," said Aunt Elizabeti , " and not comb her hair 
 or change her dress until they are all read througli. ' 
 
 And so her present brought her more sorrow than 
 joy, and when she laid it away it was with the feeling 
 that she never wanted to see the hateful gold again. 
 But, now as she sat crying with Ray Kenyon's letter 
 in her hand, she remembered that the money would 
 take her to Philadelphia, and she would be able to see 
 Mrs Kenyon before she died, and be near Ray to com- 
 fort her. When she mentioned her intention to 
 the rest of the family they thought her crazy to go 
 off there. Why, the Kenyon's were no relations of 
 theirs ; what in the world did she want to go there for ? 
 Of course they knew she had the money: l)ut, as Grace 
 said, it would take all that to Iniy her a tea-gown to 
 wear in the sick room and a suitable dinner dress to 
 appear at the table in the boai'ding-house. And Aunt 
 Elizabeth said, " Oh, she doesn't care how she looks." 
 
"Ill 
 
 f1 
 
 SICK, AND YE VISITED ME. 
 
 177 
 
 \m 
 
 But the father stopped them by saying, " She can go 
 if she wants to : Berthy is not like the rest of you, and 
 there is no use in contradicting her all the time and 
 making' her an<l yourselves trouble." 
 
 So the next morning, without any extra prepara- 
 tion, Berthy set off to see her friends and stay by 
 them in their deep affliction. 
 
 Rachel did not thiidv when she said in her letter 
 that she would like to have her there that Bertliy 
 would come, but when on the evening of the next day 
 she was greeted by her friend her heart was tilled 
 with thankfulness. 
 
 She had come straight to the private hospital, 
 which she found to be a large house with everything 
 so quiet and homelike that she felt comfortable at 
 once, and proceeded to make herself as useful as pos- 
 sible. She told the matron why she came, and said, 
 " If I can help nurse Mrs. Kenyon I shall be glad, as 
 she has been a mother to me ever since I have known 
 her." 
 
 To this the woman replied, " We need more nurses 
 than we have and will gladly find you work to do." 
 At the end of a week Berthy had proven herself such 
 good help, and as Mrs. Kenyon did not need all of the 
 girl's time, she was asked to put on the grey dress 
 and white cap of the institution and go into the 
 adjoining room and wait on a young man <lying with 
 consumption, telling her that the nurse's dress kept 
 the sick ones from asking questions, as they would be 
 likely to do if she wore her own clothes. 
 
 As she dressed herself in that prim costume she 
 
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 4 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 ■i 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 "^1 
 
 178 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 smiled, thinking how it contrasted with the outfit 
 Grace thought it necessary for her to have. She 
 knew now she could stay as long as Mrs. Kenyon 
 lived, and be near Rachel when the end came. 
 
 Poor Ray ! Those were sad days for her, waiting for 
 the visit of the death angel. Her mother never said 
 a word to her about dying after the talk they had in 
 their own home, but she knew that her mother had 
 no thought or desire to get well. Rachel read to her 
 and watched by her in the night when she seemed to 
 be sleeping sweetly, and tried to feel, as slie knew her 
 mother did, that it was God's will that she should go 
 home first. 
 
 Once she had asked her daughter to sing to her, but 
 Rachel could not keep her voice steady, and so she 
 had not asked her again. The next morning after 
 Berthy had taken charge of the young man as his 
 nurse, he said to her: "I expect a friend of mine to- 
 day. He comes every Thursday and stays all the 
 afternoon with me. The other imrse used to take 
 that time to rest or go out, for we like to be alone, 
 you know ; he is a good hand to give medicine, and 
 then he is such a nice singer all of the patients like to 
 hear him. He has been out of town for four weeks, 
 but he is home again now, and will l)e here to-day." 
 
 '' I will be glad," said Berthy, " to spend my time in 
 Mrs. Kenyon's room. It is 'he next to yours, and I 
 suppose 1 can hear your friend sing to you when he 
 comes." 
 
 So she got everytliing ready for the use of die 
 young man's friend, and when she lieard him coming 
 
 M 
 
"SICK, AND YE VISITED ME." 
 
 179 
 
 up the stairs she slipped into the next room and pre- 
 pared to spend a quiet afternoon witli lier friends. 
 Mrs. Kenyon seemed better than usual to-day and was 
 inclined to talk a little. 
 
 The girls would sometimes borrow hope when those 
 days came to her, but they were generally followed 
 by several days of extreme lassitude, and then they 
 thought they would never be deceived again. But now 
 they were building hope on the same shaky founda- 
 tion, and really became quite cheerful themselves when 
 they saw the invalid in such good spirits. They were 
 talking on some interesting subject w^hen their 
 attention was called from what they w^ere saying by 
 the sound from the next room of a soft, tenor voice 
 singing the old familiar hynni, " Abide with Me." 
 Thev listened as the comfortinfic words were so dis- 
 tinctly heard. Mrs Kenyon clasped her hands and 
 closed her eyes and seemed to be drinking in all of 
 its loveliness; as the last verse was sung, 
 
 
 Swift to its close ebbs out life's little dav, 
 Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away, 
 Heavyn's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee ; 
 In life and death, O Lord, abide with me ! 
 
 lounng 
 
 she drew a long (juivering sigh, not of sorrow but of 
 ecstacy. Then followed other hymns, sometimes all 
 the words would be sung, but often one verse only. 
 As the singer began the first verse of Bethany, Rachel 
 leaned towar<l her friend and said, in a low voice : 
 " vVhose voice is that like ^ It is just the way he used 
 to speak the words." Berthy knew whonu»he meant, 
 
 I'iM 
 
II n -TT" 
 
 <\ 
 
 180 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 l)ut (lid not speak. Ah the 113^1111 was finished Mrs. 
 Kenyon opened her eyes and asked who it was that 
 was singing, and Berthy told her all slie knew about it. 
 
 Tliere was a longer pause and the sick woman 
 seemed impatient to have it begin again. " Berthy," 
 she said, " will thee ask that young man to come in 
 here and sing to me ? There are some hymns that I 
 think of that he has not sung, and I want to hear 
 them." 
 
 Rachel's cheeks were flushed and lier eyes were 
 sparkling like <liamonds. " Yes, go," she said, and 
 Berthy went. 
 
 As she closed the door behind her and stepped into 
 the other room, her felt slippers made no noise on the 
 floor, and she had time to look at the occupant of the 
 chamber before he was aware of her presence. Stand- 
 ing at tlie window measuring out a dose of medicine 
 was a tall, broad-shouldered, light-complexioned young 
 man, older than Berthy had expected to see, for the 
 sick boy, who was scarcely eighteen, had called him 
 his friend : but this man must have been twenty-five, 
 for a heavy blonde moustache completely covered his 
 mouth and part of his chin. His profile was all that 
 could be seen as he was standing between the window 
 and the door, and now he turned to the bed to 
 administer the dose that he liad prepared, he raised 
 the sick boy up carefully, holding his head against his 
 broad breast, until a coughing spell had passed away, 
 and then gave him the medicine, with the remark, 
 " Now, you are all right, old man." Berthy recognize<l 
 the voice in an instant, and as he turned away from 
 
\i 
 
 ct 
 
 SICK, AND YE VISITED ME 
 
 j> 
 
 181 
 
 
 the bed and faced her it proved to he, as she expected, 
 none other than her cousin, Roger McDonell. He was 
 perhaps more surprised to see her in a nurse's gai'h 
 than slie was to find liini deahng out medicine and 
 singing' in a hospital: but he had more presence of 
 mind tlian slie had, and, after shaking hands with her, 
 said to the sick boy, " This is my cousin, I have not 
 seen her for five years ; we will take a walk on the 
 balcony, and will come in again soon," and not giving 
 her time to speak, drew her hand through his arm 
 and stepped out on the verandah. 
 
 " Now," said he as they were alone, " I want to 
 ask what brought you here in this dress ; is it 
 necessity, or only a fad ? " 
 
 It sounded so like the Roger of old, to have him 
 saying this to lier. , ■ i she laughed at his look of 
 surprise, but when she stopped to explain why she 
 was here there was no thought of merriment for either 
 of them. She told her story as briefly as possible, 
 and added that Mrs. Kenyon had sent her in to ask 
 him to come and sing to her. 
 
 " And she did not know who I was, and Ray is 
 here with her mother ? " he said, speaking as to 
 himself, " Berthy,'' and he turned a white^agitated 
 face to his cousin, " I cannot go in there until they 
 know who it is they have asked to come. Go and 
 tell them and I will await your return here. I never 
 expected to see Ray Kenyon again when I left 
 Summerville." 
 
 Berth}^ did not make him any answer, but went 
 into Mrs. Kenyon's room, and told her who it was 
 
 i-iijij 
 
182 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 I..1 
 
 tliat liad charmed tlieiu with his Hweet voice, and 
 waited for further orders. Rachel w^as out of the 
 room and Mrs. Kenyon said simply, " It seems strange 
 that he should be here at this time, but his songs 
 were for Christ," and she paused a moment, and 
 then said, " tell him I want him to come in and 
 see me." 
 
 It seemed an age to Roger ^cfore Berthy came 
 back ; he paced up and down the l)alcony, not 
 daring to hoj^e and yet wishing every moment that 
 he might be permitted to speak for himself words 
 that he felt would exonerate him in the eyes of 
 his quaker friend at least, if not those of her 
 daughter. His cousin touched him on the arm and 
 told him to come, and together they went into the 
 adjoining room. 
 
 Mrs. Kenyon stretched out her hand to him, and 
 said, in a voice full of hidden meaning, " I was sick, 
 and ye visited me." Roger could not reply, but 
 pressed the white liand he held to his lips tenderly 
 and reverently. Slie saw that he was deeply moved, 
 and liked him better for the feeling he manifested. 
 Racliel thought his emotion was due to a feeling 
 of mef at the sig^ht of her mother's sickness. 
 When he greeted her she could not restrain her 
 tears, and turning away she buried her face on the 
 shoulder of the faithful Berthy, and wept bitterly. 
 It was a sad meeting for them all. Many times 
 Roger had thought of these kind friends ; he was 
 so young and light-hearted when he first knew 
 them, and he had g;one through so nmch since 
 
"SICK, AND YE VISITED ME." 
 
 183 
 
 then of bitter experience. He knew lie had profited 
 by the lesson his youthful folly had taught him, 
 but down deep in liis lieart were the wounds 
 unhealed, an<l though he valued more tlie sootliing 
 bahn of friendship on that sore place, yet it was 
 always tender to the sharp stabs of unkind or 
 unthinking thrusts of sarcasm. He did hot know 
 now how far Mrs. Kenyon intended to trust him. 
 She had invited him to-day into the compau}^ of 
 her daughter, but he could not take advantage of 
 the whim of an invalid to further his own wishes. 
 He realized as he sat tliere that his boyish love for 
 this girl had grown a\ ith his growth, although five 
 years had elapsed since they last met, and now 
 when he had found her again he did not think he 
 was worthy to so much as look at her pure 
 loveliness. He was too honorable to attempt to 
 renew her ac([uaintance until she knew him as he 
 now was, and yet he shrank from the thought of 
 her knowing of that dreadful night in Sunnnerville 
 jail. 
 
 There was no singing that afternoon, but when 
 he was going away Mrs. Kenyon made him promise 
 to come again soon. He promised her, but added, 
 " I cannot neglect the boy in the other room, for 
 he is all alone in the world, and the doctor says he 
 cannot live the week out." The next afternoon 
 saw him back at the hospital again; he could not 
 stay away now. 
 
 Arthur Wade did not expect him so he Avent 
 directly to Mrs. Kenyon's room. One of the hired 
 
 ! ' '!■ 
 
 
 II 
 
 ' 'il iH 
 

 m ^ti'^ 
 
 IC 
 
 184 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 nurses was with lier. They had persuaded Rachel 
 to go and lie down as slie had been up so much 
 tlie nio-lit before. Mrs. Ivenyon had been veiy tii'ed 
 all the morning, but felt a little stronger now, and 
 was glad to see her young frien<l again. When he 
 was seated by her bed si<le, she said to the nurse, 
 " Thee can go away and I'est. I will sen<l for thee 
 when Roger goes home." 
 
 As soon as they were alone she looked at him 
 and said, " ] can see there is a change in thee, tell 
 me how it came about." 
 
 Roger was glad she asked the (juestion, and 
 proceeded at once to thank her for the part she 
 had taken in securing his release and also told her 
 how he ha<l wrestled with himself and had come 
 oft' conqueror. Then he told her of the money that 
 Berthv had sent him, addinii' that he thought when 
 he opened the little package and found the same 
 ten dollar bank note that he had given her, that she 
 meant it as a I'eminder that she never wanted to see 
 him again, because of his disgrace. He went on 
 rapidly to relate all his adventures, how he tried 
 to get work, and how he had failed many times, until 
 at last he got a situation unpacking boxes in a 
 wholesale stoie, and the proprietor found out that 
 he was well educated and w^as trying to live a Christian 
 life among the rough men and boys he was working 
 with, and he had sent him ^ "^ to keep books in 
 a branch store. " After that," continued Roger, " I 
 got right along. I am leader now in the church 
 choir, and I have lots of friends among the boys. 
 
"SICK, AND YE VISITED ME." 
 
 185 
 
 vhen 
 
 same 
 she 
 
 o see 
 oil 
 ,rie(l 
 intil 
 in a 
 that 
 stian 
 
 rkiiig 
 iks in 
 
 ;r, " I 
 hurch 
 boys. 
 
 Wl hoM a mission meeting every Sunday afternoon. 
 It was at one of these that I became ac(|uainte(l 
 with Artliur, wlio is sick in there, and when I 
 found out he had no friends, I tell you I knew 
 how to pity him : and so I got him in here, and 
 we fellows chip in and pay his way." 
 
 Mrs. Kenyon would have corrected anyone else for 
 using these slang phrases in her presence, but in 
 Roger she seemed to think there was nothing to 
 blame. She saw a very great improvement in his 
 speech and manner, so she could afford to wait until 
 his own good sense taught liim better words to use. 
 While they were talking Rachel came into the room. 
 Her (juick blush on seeing who was there told her 
 mother very plainly that the old preference for this 
 young man had not entirely died out, and some look 
 or manner conveyed to Roger evidently the same 
 idea, for he prolonged his stay and looked so jubilant 
 when he went away that a casual oV)server would have 
 thought he had been attending a wedding reception 
 instead of calling on the sick. 
 
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 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ROBERT m'DONELL's STORY. 
 
 HERE is a gentleman in the parlor asking 
 to see father, said Grace McDonell one 
 morning to Edith, as that young lady 
 was trying to teach her little nephew to 
 read. " Will you go in ? I am so busy 
 I cannot sit there until father comes, and it would not 
 look well to leave a stranger alone." 
 
 So Edith arose to go, but Master Harry did not 
 like to be left in this unceremonious manner, and 
 boldly declared his intention of going also. Accord- 
 ingly he went, but when he got inside the door his 
 boldness forsook him somewhat, and he clung bash- 
 fully to his aunt's dress skirt. 
 
 Sitting with his back to the light Edith saw, as she 
 thought, a perfect stranger, and said by way of 
 apology for coming in, " You were waiting to see Mr. 
 McDonell, were you not ? " 
 
 '' Yes," said the gentleman, rising and advancing a 
 few steps towards her, " I received a letter from him, 
 
she 
 of 
 Mr. 
 
 ROBERT M'DONELL's STORY. 
 
 187 
 
 and came to see hiiii as he requested." The boy hanging 
 to her hand, made E<lith feel a Htth^ embarrassed, and 
 she liad not looked the caller in the face, but when 
 she heard the clear, strong voice she knew so well, 
 she looked up quickly and met the dark, earnest eyes 
 of her old friend, Mr. Montgomery. He did not otter 
 her his hand until she gave him hers, and then he did 
 not seem particularly glad to see her. But she was 
 glad to see him, and begging him to be seated, took a 
 chair herself, with Harry still by her side, and said 
 cordially, "I did not know you were in Summerville. 
 When did you come ? " 
 
 " Last night," he said shortly, and there was silence. 
 
 " You have been living in Denver, we heard." 
 
 " Yes, I have lived there since I went from here, 
 five years ago." 
 
 " You like the West better than you do this part of 
 the country ? " And Edith glanced at him shyly, 
 thinking how handsome he had grown, and wonder- 
 ing, with a little heartache, if he was married. 
 
 " Yes, I like the West very much." 
 
 He was thinking how little change there had been 
 in Edith. He had expected to see her looking well, 
 for he thought as Harold's wife her life would be all 
 sunshine, but he was not prepared to see this young, 
 girlish wife of five years, and, of course, that must be 
 her boy. How much he looked like Harold, and how 
 proud the father must be of him. 
 
 The silence grew oppressive, and Edith made one 
 more attempt to converse with her companion. 
 
 " You have not seen Harold since you came, have 
 
 I 
 
 
 hi 
 I 
 
 r.i' : 
 
1^ 
 
 \ 
 
 188 
 
 Hri.L-CREST. 
 
 you ? This is his boy, do you think he looks like 
 him ? " 
 
 To this long sentence he replied, " No, I«have not 
 seen him ; i!& he in Summerville ? " 
 
 " Yes, he and Kathey came yesterday. They are in 
 the dining-room ; I will call him." And in a few 
 moments Harold came into the parlor. 
 
 Charley did not know whether he was glad or sorry 
 to see his friend; he had never answered his last 
 letter, and when he had written and congratulated 
 him on his marriage, it had only been a few lines, 
 nothing like the long letters they had always 
 exchanged. But now, as he saw him coming leisurely 
 through the doorway, all his old love for him returned 
 in an instant, and following his first impulse he 
 grasped him by the hand, to the surprise of Harold, 
 saying, " How are you," before that gentleman could 
 think who was greeting him so warmly. * 
 
 " Well, if this is not a genuine surprise party I 
 would like to know what it is." 
 
 " You are evidently the surprised party, for your 
 wife told me you were here, so I am not surprised." 
 
 Just then Kathey came into the room, and Harold 
 said, " You have met my wife, you say ? " 
 
 But Charley was a little mixed, as the boy ran to 
 his mother and said, " Oh, mamma, who is dat man 
 papa is so glad to see." 
 
 "I do not believe I have," said the perplexed 
 preacher, getting very red in the face, and feeling that 
 he had got turned around somehow ; but his confusion 
 passed unnoticed. 
 
< '! ifl 
 
 ROBERT M'DONELl/s STORY. 
 
 189 
 
 Mrs. Huntington said very sweetly: "I have lieard 
 my husband speak of you so often that I seem to know 
 you very well. I do not remember you when you 
 were staying at Mr. Howell's here in the village, but 
 my sister met you, I believe." 
 
 He was soon at ease chatting with Harold and the 
 ladies. They were all talking at once, as friends long 
 parted do, when Mr. Mcl3onell made his appearance. 
 
 " Father, this is Mr. Montgomery ; he has called to 
 see you," said Edith. 
 
 As the old man took the hand of the younger he 
 was trembling visibly, and his face was very pale. 
 
 " You are the son of Charles Montgomery, are you ? 
 I need not ask, for you are exactly like him." 
 
 " Did you know my father so well ? " asked Charley 
 eagerly, not answering the first question. 
 
 " Know him ? Do I know myself ? There was 
 never a man I knew better ; we crossed the ocean 
 together, and together faced the hardships of a new 
 country. I did not feel I could give up to you what 
 he had entrusted to my care until I saw you and made 
 sure you were enough like him to do the right thing." 
 
 Harold arose and said to his wife and Edith, " We 
 will leave them alone." 
 
 "No," said Mr. McDonell, "you may as well all know 
 what it is that brings this young man here. Sit down ; 
 it is not a very long story," and he went to the door 
 and called Grace. " I want them all to hear what I 
 have got to say." When they were all seated, he 
 continued: "I and Charles Montgomery came to this 
 country together all alone, and we managed to keep 
 
 m 
 
 I f . 1 
 
T# 
 
 II 
 
 f 
 
 
 190 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 as close to each other as possible until he was 
 married. The little farm he got with his wife was in 
 the State of Pennsylvania. I came here, and we 
 were parted for the first time, but we kept up a 
 correspondence, and once in a while we visited each 
 other. He married a Quaker preacher's daughter, 
 whose name was Rachel Peabody. She was a little 
 pale, sickly woman, but as good as gold." Charley 
 listened eagerly to these words of praise of his 
 sainted mother. " It is nineteen years ago last 
 month since I and my wife went to pay a visit to 
 Charles Montgomery. We had not heard from him for 
 quite a while, and thought to surprise them. When 
 we got there we found the little woman very sick, 
 with a baby girl only a few days old. Well, we got 
 there on Wednesday, and on Sunday night she died, 
 leaving her baby and her older boy. That boy was 
 you," he said, looking at Charley. " The question 
 was, Who would take the baby ? Poor Monty, as I 
 always called him, was nearly crazy ; his love for his 
 wife was more like worship than anything else, and 
 now she was gone he did not know what to do. 
 Then my wife said to me, * Bob, let us take the baby. 
 He will be better satisfied to give it to us than to 
 anyone else, and he has the boy to look after.' My 
 wife was kind-hearted, the tears were streaming 
 down her cheeks when she said this, for she thought 
 of the little mother's regrets at leaving the baby, and 
 she had promised her she would see that the child 
 should be well taken care of. So, you see, she thought 
 it her duty to take the child. There is only one thing, 
 
""1 
 
 II 
 
 tlOBfiRT M'DONELLS STORY. 
 
 191 
 
 I said, that prevents me from taking har, and that is 
 the talk of the neighbors at home, who will say w^e 
 had enough of our own without adopting another. 
 * Oh,' said she, ' we will fix that, let us go to my 
 brother's and stay a while longer, and when we go 
 home, we will tell the folks it is my own, and so it is, 
 for the dying woman gave it to me.' Thus it was 
 ^ arranged, and in less than a year your father was 
 killed by being thrown from a horse, and was buried 
 before I heard of it. A farmer, I believe, took the little 
 farm, and was to keep the boy until he came of age." 
 " That is the old scoundrel that would not let you 
 go to school," broke in Harold, but Charley cast a 
 look of reproach on him, and Mr. McDonell con- 
 tinued, " I never heard of you until three weeks 
 ago, when I read in the paper that the Rev. Charles 
 Montgomery wanted to know of the whereabouts of 
 his sister, and I answered the advertisement, not 
 letting anyone of my family know anything about 
 it. Of course, I had some faith in the reverend that 
 was to your name, but still I wanted to see you, for 
 your father's sake." 
 
 The girls were waiting in breathless suspense to 
 hear what had become of the sister their guest had 
 been searching so long for, and listened intently to 
 the next words of their father, " Oh," he said, 
 suddenly, as if remembering something, " I did get 
 a letter that I supposed to be from you. About 
 five years ago I got five hundred dollars and a letter 
 that said it was from some one that owed me a debt 
 of gratitude." 
 
 L 
 
II 
 
 19^ 
 
 tilLL-CRIiST. 
 
 \ 
 
 " It was not from me," said Charley. 
 
 " Then, I do not know who sent it, unless it was 
 the farmer, as he had all of the property that your 
 father left." 
 
 Harold seemed a little uneasy when the money 
 was first mentioned, though, if the credit of it would 
 be given to his friend Charley, he could keep silent, 
 but to have that rascally old farmer pose as a man 
 who would give back to the orphan daughter of 
 Charles Montgomery the rightful share of her father's 
 property, and to hear him praised for the magnani- 
 mous deed, was too much ; he could not stand it, 
 and said abruptly, " Do not worry about that money, 
 the man that sent it to you ow^ed you another debt 
 of gratitude, very different from the one you are 
 thinking of." And all of the company knew in an 
 instant where the money came from. 
 
 Mr. McDonell was confused for a moment, but 
 seeing the look of intense interest on all their faces, 
 said, " I suppose you are anxious to know where the 
 girl is now ? Well, she is in Philadelphia, visiting a 
 sick friend." 
 
 "Berthy, Berthy," burst from the lips of all the 
 family at once, and when the father bowed his 
 head in assent, there was a hush for at least three 
 minutes. 
 
 " I am disappointed at not finding her here now," 
 said Charley, a little surprised at the consternation the 
 girls seemed to manifest at the thought that this girl 
 was his sister. There was nothing said in reply, until 
 he said again, " When do you expect her home ? " 
 
In 
 
 ill 
 
 llOBERT M'DONELL's STORY. 
 
 193 
 
 36 
 
 >> 
 
 " When is she coming," said Mr. McDonell, turning 
 to Edith. 
 
 " We do not know exactly. The woman she went to 
 see is very sick in a hospital, and when Berthy wrote, 
 she said she would stay until the end, and, of course, 
 the end meant her death." 
 
 " In a hospital," said Charley, " is she acting as a 
 nurse ? " 
 
 They knew so little about it, that none of them 
 attempted to answer his eager question. 
 
 Finally Mrs. Huntington tried to explain the 
 situation, seeing the embarrassment of the others, 
 but could not throw much light on the subject, 
 and Mr. McDonell only complicated matters by say- 
 ing, in a tremulous tone of voice, " I have done the 
 best I could for the girl, but she was never like my 
 own, always different." Charley did not say any- 
 thing more concerning her, but asked for the address 
 of the place where she was staying, and declared his 
 intention of going there immediately, to which there 
 was no reply. He thought there was something 
 wrong. When he listened to his old friend's story of 
 his adopting the little girl, he thanked God in his 
 heart that she had been allowed the companionship 
 of this refined family, and but for the close resem- 
 blance of Grace to her father, he might have thought 
 her the one he was looking for, but x^^ w he learned 
 that his sister was away in a large city, all alone, 
 with strangers in a hospital. They did not know 
 what position she occ» d, for in giving him her 
 address, Edith had said, • 1 do not think she is board- 
 
 .1 
 
 .(;■ Ml 
 
194 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 i: Fi 
 
 
 iV 
 
 
 . I, I 
 
 ing out of the institution, but I do not know ; you 
 will find the Kenyons there, and they will know all 
 about her." 
 
 Ah he was taking his departure Harold said to him, 
 " Mr. McDonell feels sorry that you should not find 
 your sister here when you came. He said they did 
 not want her to go, but she had taken such a liking 
 to that Kenyon girl and wanted to be with her, he 
 had finally given his consent." 
 
 " But that is four weeks ago, and, as I understand 
 it, she cannot stay in the hospital, and they do not 
 know where she is l)oarding, and then there is such 
 an air of mystery about the whole thing I am filled 
 with apprehension." 
 
 " O ! " said Harold, seeing his friend's look of con- 
 cern, " She is all right. I guess those people she is 
 with are nice, respectable folks." 
 
 " You guess ? Then you do not know them?" The 
 expression of disdain and contempt in his voice was 
 like a sharp blow, and Harold recoiled as if he had, 
 indeed, been struck. 
 
 "Well, as Mr. McDonell says, she is not like the 
 other girls, and I suppose she would have her own 
 way.'* 
 
 " I will find out by to-morrow at this time where 
 she is and what she is like. Poor, little sister ! her 
 path, too, has been rough to her feet." There were 
 tears in Harold's eyes as he bade his friend good-bye? 
 but he could not think of any words of comfort. 
 
 After Mr. Montgomery was gone there was a great 
 deal of speculation concerning his first impression of 
 
ROBERT M'DONELI/S STORY. 
 
 195 
 
 Berthy. Grace declared that if she had taken her 
 advice and got Hoine good clothe.s she would present 
 (juite a nice appearance before her new V)rother. 
 But Edith said: " You forget that if she had got the 
 clothes she would not have gone at all, for it would 
 have taken all her money." The father shook hia 
 head and seemed sad. Only Kathey said there was 
 nothing to regret, they had done all they could for 
 the girl they had supposed to be their sister. 
 
 It was with a heavy heart that Charley Montgom- 
 ery turned his face toward the city of " Brotherly 
 Love." Late in the afternoon he took his seat in the 
 train. He could have waited until morning, but when 
 he was alone and had time to think he Ijecame so 
 restless that he thought it would be better for him to 
 keep in motion. He was sorry now that he had not 
 been more considerate when at the home of his 
 father's friend, who had done so much for his friend- 
 less sister. 
 
 But why did they all act so queer when they found 
 out that he was her brother, and acknowledged them- 
 selves that they were scarcely at all acquainted with 
 the people they had let her go to visit, not one of 
 them being sure what disease the woman was dying 
 with. Berthy was only nineteen years old and, 
 brought up in that select household, would have very 
 little experience and certainly no clear views as to the 
 propriety of forming new friends. It was a problem 
 that he could not solve, and it only increased his 
 desire to see and judge for himself. He could not be 
 blamed for not looking after her earlier, for he 
 
 
 If 
 
 ■,r- 
 
I 
 
 lOG 
 
 HILL-OIIESH 
 
 m' 
 
 had heard for the firHt time to-day that his father 
 had left something for his chihh'tin. Tlie Mr. 
 Brooks that he lived with had always made him feel 
 that the home he had with him was one of chanty ; 
 and when the little boy ran away he said to himself, 
 " The first money I earn I will send to pay him for 
 taking care of me." But as he grew old<'r and under- 
 stood better the value of labor, he knew i it the close- 
 fisted old man had made enough out of him to pay for 
 all he had ever given him. Through the yeai-s that he 
 had been trying to support himself and get the educa- 
 tion that was as necessary to his existence as the air he 
 breathed, he could not spare the time or money to 
 make the search that was required. During the five 
 years that he had been in Denver his thoughts had 
 been almost constantly with his sister, who, he felt, 
 had just as good a right as he had to the advantages 
 and luxuries he was enjoying; but whenever the sub- 
 ject was mentioned to his uncle the old man would 
 say, " Oh ! Charley, don't bring a girl here, for we are 
 happier by ourselves. I will soon be gone, and then 
 you can find her and make a great lady of her if you 
 wish to." And so it went on until a year before, when 
 John Montgomery died. 
 
 The first work Charley began after his uncle's 
 death, although now a regularly ordained min- 
 ister with a large church on his hands, and with 
 all the work and anxiety that the position implies, 
 was to consult his lawyer in regard to the best method 
 of finding his sister. Richard Raymond did not at- 
 tempt to advise him to leave the girl alone and keep 
 
ROBERT M'DONELL's STORY. 
 
 197 
 
 for himself her share of his uncle's money. He knew 
 him well enough now to know that such advice would 
 be thrown n ,• v.and he advised his friend that the best 
 course would be to advertise in the State and county 
 papei*s where his father lived and died. So it came 
 about, after a year's advertising^, that Mr. McDonell 
 had seen the name in a paper, and had sent an answer 
 with the result above recorded. 
 
 As the train neared the great city and the night be- 
 gan to give place to dawn there was scarcely a person 
 awake in the compartment that Charley occupied. 
 He took from his pocket the address of the hospital, 
 and reading it again, put it back. He could not think 
 of anything wilfully wrong in the life or inclinations 
 of this sister he ha(i so longed to see, and he remem- 
 bered how glad he was to find that the McDonell's 
 knew about her. All the wav from his home to theirs 
 he had pictured to his mind a refined, graceful young 
 lady, who would be a joy to him, and he could be to 
 her what he thought every woman was entitled to, a 
 natural protector. It never occurred to him that his 
 sister could have unsatisfied ambitions like his own. 
 If he had found her in the McDonell home /ith a 
 dainty piece of crochet in her hand and a neat morning 
 costume like he had seen Edith wearing, there would 
 never have entered his masculine heart a l)it of sym- 
 pathy for her, but he would almost have envied her 
 the peaceful life she had lived while he was battling 
 through a selfish world for the education and privi- 
 leges he felt his due. He leaned back in his seat and, 
 with closed eyes, waited for the end of the journey. 
 
 
 I \ 
 
 ' '^ il 
 
 I 'I 
 
 m 
 
198 
 
 HILL-CRKST. 
 
 They had been running very fast all night. This 
 suited the impatient traveller, but now as his stopping 
 place was so close at hand he listened eagerly to hear 
 if there was any slacking of speed. He never remem- 
 bered what he thought just then, for a great clash 
 and roar made him start up, and a whizzing sound as 
 of escaping steam — then all was a blank. 
 
Tf 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " SEARCHING FOR SILVER AND FINDING GOLD." 
 
 HEN Charley Montgomery again tried 
 to open his eyes he found that a thick 
 bandage was tied very tightly over 
 them, and the hand he raised to remove 
 it was taken gently by a soft one and 
 held down, so that he could not move it again ; and 
 when he would have raised his left hand he discovered 
 that the pain caused by the movement was so severe 
 that he was compelled to groan aloud. 
 
 " Where am I and what is the matter ? " he asked, 
 feeling that the owner of the soft hand was somewhere 
 within sound of his voice. 
 
 " You have been very sick and are in the home of 
 kind Friends, who will take care of you until you get 
 well. Now, do not talk or try to move, for your arm 
 and head have been hurt, and you will get well more 
 quickly if you keep quiet." 
 
 There w^as only one thing for him to do, and that 
 was to obey, and so he lay still for a few minutes. A 
 drowsy feeling came over him and he slept until he 
 
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I 
 
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 1''' ! 
 
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 r! 
 
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 ^'iM 
 
 : 
 
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 1,9 If 
 
 fl: 
 
 200 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 was awakened by some one talking near him. He 
 recognized the voice as the one he had heard 
 before, but the other was strange to him; it was a low,- 
 girlish tone that said, " You know in novels the young 
 men always fall in love with their nurses." 
 
 *' Perhaps this one will as his eyes are bandaged so 
 he cannot see her," said the voice he remembered 
 so well, and then they both laughed in a smothered 
 tone, as if holding something over their mouths. 
 
 " Come, let us sit by the window, he is sleeping, and 
 I can watch him from there." And Charley could 
 hear all they said though some distance off*. " The 
 doctor says he can sit up and have his eyes unbandaged 
 to-morrow, if I can keep him quiet to-day. It is a 
 week yesterday since he was brought here, and if he 
 sits up to-morrow in another week he will be able to 
 go away." 
 
 " Will you be glad or soriy to have him go ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know, I suppose he will be glad to 
 see that sister he is talking about all the time. The 
 doctor said it was probably something he had on his 
 mind that kept him delirious so long." 
 
 " Why, what did he say about her ? " 
 
 " He kept saying ' I will find her and take her home 
 with me,' and then he would start up and say ' You 
 have got to tell me all about her.' And again he 
 would say so pitifully, 'Poor, little sister! I will take 
 care of you.' Yesterday he tried to sing the doxology, 
 and this morning he said ' Let us all unite in 
 prayer.' " 
 
 " Perhaps he is a preacher, or travelling evangelist," 
 
'11 niTiiB 
 
 to 
 
 ?" 
 
 ome 
 You 
 he 
 ake 
 
 ogy, 
 
 in 
 list," 
 
 " SEARCHING FOR SILVER AND FINDING GOLD." 201 
 
 said the other :" hut, what can he mean hy talking^ 
 ahoiit his sister?" 
 
 " I do not know, unless it is some one that has run 
 away, and he is looking for her." 
 
 " It does not seem to me that I would want to run 
 away from such a hrother as he." 
 
 Said the nurse, " How strange it nuist seem to have 
 a brother, 1 often thought I would like to have one." 
 
 " That is another one of your aspirations, is it ? 
 
 You are always wishing for something you cannot 
 
 ' have, and now you have thought of something that is 
 
 an utter impossibility." And they both laughed 
 
 again. 
 
 And the nurse said again, " I have not done so much 
 wis^ lUg since I came here, have I ? To tell the truth, 
 I am uappier than I ever was in my life." 
 
 " Well, you are a strange girl, if waiting on the sick 
 makes yovi happy," said the other. 
 
 And the nurse spoke again and said, " Do not 
 misunderstand me, please. I do not think nursing my 
 vocation, but it is better than housework and the 
 hum-drum existence I have always led." 
 
 Charley thought just here that he was eaves-drop- 
 ping, and so made a move to let his nurse know he 
 was awake. 
 
 She came to the bed innnediately, and raising up 
 
 his head gave him a dose of bitter medicine, and then 
 
 shook up his pillows in a tender motherly way, and 
 
 laid him down again. It was a novelty to lie here 
 
 and be waited on by a woman he had never seen. 
 
 The visitor went out of the room, and he could feel 
 14 
 
 'lAi 
 
 ill 
 
 I'll 
 
 m I 
 
 ' f 
 
 1, 
 
Jif 
 
 II'! 
 
 202 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 the soft cool hand of his niUT;e on his forehead, and 
 the breatli of a gently swayed fan on his fevered face. 
 So lie spoke in spite of the ordei's he had received, ar' ^ 
 begged for a drink. He was not very thirsty. l)ut he 
 wanted to let his attendant. know that he had returned 
 to consciousness, and perhaps he did enjoy being 
 waited upon by the un.seen presence at his bed side. 
 A cool refreshing glass of water was brought in, and 
 while drinking it a step was heard, and a low, but 
 distinct voice said close to him, " Oh ! I see he is better," 
 and his wrist was grasped by the unmistakable touch 
 of a doctors hand. " Yes, 3^es, much better." 
 
 " Well, my friend," speaking to the patient, " how 
 do you find yourself to-day ? " 
 
 "It is ichere I find myself that puzzles me most." 
 " Ha, Ha ? " laughed the doctor, in a voice he would 
 not have allowed anyone else to use in a room occupied 
 by the sick. " That is what you are thinking about 
 is it ? Then your nurse has not enlightened you. 
 Well you were one of those unfortunate ones in the 
 late railway accident, and had a cut between your eyes 
 and an arm broken. We could not find any address 
 about you, only a little slip of paper, on which was 
 written the name of this hospital. I said when I 
 found it, ' here is a young man that has provided for 
 his own entertainment, but when you were brought 
 here none of the people knew anything about you, but 
 they very kindly allowed you to stay. And this young 
 lady has taken such good care of you, that you are 
 much better to-day than I expected to find you at the 
 end of another week." 
 
fl 
 
 it 
 
 SEA.RCHING FOR SILVER AND FINDING GOLD 
 
 M 
 
 203 
 
 ace. 
 
 t he 
 med 
 ieir»j»; 
 side. 
 , and 
 , but 
 tier," 
 touch 
 
 " how 
 
 )Bt." 
 
 rvvould 
 iupied 
 about 
 d you. 
 in the 
 r eyes 
 ddress 
 ;h was 
 hen I 
 ed for 
 rought 
 ou, but 
 young 
 ou are 
 at the 
 
 " Is it necessary for me to keep this bandage over 
 my eyes any longer ?" said Cliarley, remembering the 
 girl's words concerning its removal. 
 
 " Now you speak of it, 1 did intend to take it otf 
 to-morrow, but as you are so much better, I believe I 
 will try the effect of a dim light. Close the blinds, 
 please, miss," said the doctor, and he proceeded to 
 untie and unpin the troublesome bandages. " There," 
 he said, as the large l)lack eyes opened and looked him 
 full in the face, " I guess you will not want that on 
 again," handing the folded napkin to the nurse. 
 " Now, bring me a bowl of water and towel, hold it 
 please on this side," motioning her to a place close to 
 him. " I will not trouble you long," and he proceeded 
 to wash the wound on the pale forehead. While the 
 practised hand of the doctor was thus performing its 
 duty, the newly opened eyes were looking at the girl 
 holding the bowl. What he saw was a small, dark 
 face with a pair of earnest brown eyes, full of 
 sympathy and anxiety. The white cap above 
 the black hair added to the raven hue of the 
 latter. Her figure was small and plump, and 
 fitted by the plain grey dress, with its tight sleeves, 
 showed only the costume of a hospital nurse. But 
 this was the girl that wished she had a brother, and 
 had said she did not like housework. It was a 
 revelation to Charley ; he thought all women liked the 
 care of a house, and regretted the necessity of having 
 to leave it for anything else. 
 
 The doctor was through with his call and ready to 
 
 !i 
 
204 
 
 HILL CREST. 
 
 ilii 
 
 go, when Charley asked him how long it would be 
 before he could sit up. 
 
 " Oh, you can sit up any time now, there is nothing 
 to prevent you. Of .course, you will have to be care- 
 ful of your arm ; it is broken above your elbow, but 
 it is doing nicely, and in a few weeks you will be as 
 good as new," and laughing at his own wit, he bowed 
 himself out of the room. The i?urse felt safe now to 
 leave her patient for a little while, so when she heard 
 the bell ring, she went to the dining-room, and after 
 eating her own supper brought to him a dainty lunch 
 on a tray. She was surprised when she entered the 
 room to find the bed vacated. As she stopped in 
 wonder, a voice from the arm-chair said, " The man is 
 clothed and in his right mind," and looking towards 
 the window she saw her patient dressed and sitting 
 there, evidently enjoying himself. She, too, enjoyed 
 the joke, although at her own expense, and drew a 
 small table to his side and proceeded to give him his 
 supper. 
 
 " ^low long have I been here, said her companion. 
 
 " One week yesterday. I did not think you would 
 be able to wait on yourself so soon after being so 
 sick." 
 
 Charley laughed. " Oh, I have my right arm and 
 can stand on my feet, and now I can see, I will not 
 trouble you for so much attention, as I suppose your 
 services are needed by those less fortunate." 
 
 " I am not a regular nurse, but have taken charge 
 of this room because the one that had it was away to 
 recuperate her own health." 
 
" SEARCHING FOR SILVER AND FINDING GOLD." 205 
 
 ■] ^'If 
 
 irge 
 
 Charlr'y looked at lior wlnlo slu' was speaking, an<l 
 a thought caiue to liini that ina<le him ask (juickly, 
 " Do you know anyone ii. this house now hy tlie 
 name of Kenyon ? " 
 
 " Yes," was tiie answer, " 1 know tliem well, a sick 
 woman and her daughter who is waiting on her. 
 They occupy the next room. Do you want to see them ?" 
 
 " Well, it was with a friend of theirs I had husiness, 
 a Miss Berthy McDonell : do you know her ?" 
 
 " That is my name," was the timid reply. 
 
 " Well, then, I suppose you are my sister," said 
 Charley, looking into her flushed face earnestly. 
 
 " Your sister," said Berthy, springing up and 
 retreating a few steps from him. " What <lo you 
 mean ? I have no brother. I am the daughtei* of 
 Robert McDonell, of Sunnnerville. ' 
 
 He was sorry he had told her so abruptly. She 
 was trembling an<l frightened at what she heard, 
 never for a moment giving it credence. He had said 
 all kinds of foolish things when he was delirious, but 
 with his eyes covered she had not minded. But now^ 
 as he v» as looking at her so intently, she was afraid 
 she had a maniac on her hands, and was looking 
 around for some means of escape, when the door 
 opened and her cousin Roger came in on tip-toe. 
 " How is your — well, if it isn't Montgomery, the 
 preacher, that is here." And he recognized his old 
 acquaintance. 
 
 " I thought all the time it was someone I knew, but 
 that white rag over your eyes bothered me like sixty 
 and I could not make you out." 
 
206 
 
 HILL- CREST. 
 
 I 
 
 Before he had time to say any more, Berthy had 
 him by the arm and whispered in his ear, " You nmst 
 not talk to liim, he is so delirious ; he took me for his 
 sister just now." 
 
 " He doesn't look crazy. Are you sure he is ? " 
 
 " No, I am not crazy," said Charley, laughing. 
 " Sit here, McDonell, and let me tell you what I have 
 got to say." And in as few words as possible he told 
 the two surprised ones his story. Berthy did not 
 know whether she was glad or sorry. In the week 
 that she had t^-ken care of this young man she 
 had told herself many times that he seemed near to 
 her. 
 
 In the nigl^%,s she bathed his head and chafed his 
 cramped hands and feet, he did not seem like a 
 stranger at all, but she thought it was because he was 
 so good, and he talked of his sister so much. Now, 
 as she thought of this the tears would come, and sit- 
 ting down by his side, her face buried on the arm of 
 the chair, she wept as though her heart would break. 
 Her brother put his arm around her ; he did not know 
 what to say. Roger's eyes were filled with tears, and 
 to hide his emotion he went to find Rachel and tell 
 her what had happened. As he met her in the hall, 
 the spirit of mischief, always predominating in him, 
 prompted him to say that Berthy had made a " mash " 
 on her patient, and they were getting so spooney that 
 he had left the room, ^'f course, the girl would not 
 believe anything so absurd about her friend, and 
 knowing as she did how Roger delighted in teasing 
 his cousin, she, of course, scouted the idea. He 
 
' h' 
 
 11 
 
 He 
 
 " SEARCHING FOR SILVER AM) FINDING GOLD." 207 
 
 declared he was tellin^jj the truth, and said, " If you 
 do not beHeve me, just come and see for youi'self, 
 although, I must acknowledge, it is very humiliating 
 to have to prove everything I say because you have 
 taken it into your perverse little head to doubt my 
 veracity. To punish you for so heinous a crime I 
 shall demand an apology f; /Ui you the moment I 
 have proved the truth of my statement." By the 
 time he had delivered his speech they were at the 
 door, and Rachel was laughing so hard that she was 
 afraid some one would hear her. She expected to see 
 Berthy bathing the sick man's head, or fanning him, 
 and was surprised to see him sitting up in a chair, the 
 bandage off his face, and Berthy sitting by him, her 
 head leaning on his shoulder, and to complete Roger's 
 triumph, as they opened the door Charley kissed his 
 sister tenderly. The look of mingled surprise, indig- 
 nation and sadness that overapread the face of 
 Rachel so gratified her companion that he could 
 hardly refrain from shouting aloud, and had to bite 
 his moustache to keep quiet. 
 
 When he could command his voice, he said, as 
 Rachel seemed on the point of crying : " We will go 
 in and give them both a good blowing up. They will 
 be a disgrace to the whole institution." • 
 
 She drew back, saying in a whisper, " No, we will 
 not go in." But Roger would not let her escape, and 
 in a moment more she was laughing and crying at the 
 news just as Berthy herself had done. 
 
 " So you are the sister that we thought had run 
 away ? " said Rachel. " And you have got one of your 
 
 il"! 
 
 i -.i 
 
 i i: 
 
 i ^F 
 
 It 
 
 
 J'M 
 
 ■■ 'fi' 
 
208 
 
 HiLL-CRteSt. 
 
 
 
 :: 
 
 it 
 
 wishes, at least, for it was only to-day that you wei'e 
 wisliin^ you luul a l)r()tliei'." 
 
 " AtkI the hrotiier is ln'oken completely down l»y tlu; 
 weight ol' his I'espousihility," said Ro^er. 
 
 " Oh, do he (juiet," said Ray, thinkin*^ that perhaps 
 this stranger nii^ht not enjoy Roj^er's original jokes, 
 but Charley laughed lieartily, an<l said " I suppose you 
 can sympathize with mv, for you held the responsible 
 position of cousin long enougli to know a little of its 
 weight : allow me to congratulate you on its recent 
 removal," and he extended his hand, which Roger 
 shook with mock gra>^ity. It was all so ridiculous, 
 that the merriment became general, even Berthy her- 
 self smiling at the gay sally : for she very well knew 
 that the young men were trying to cheer her up, and 
 put her at ease in her new position. 
 
 Rachel, remend)ering that she had left her mother 
 with a friend wlio had called, arose quickly to go back 
 to her charge, and Rogei" went with her, leaving the 
 newly found relatives alone. 
 
 There was much that Charley wanted to say to his 
 sister, but she would not allow him to talk any more, 
 seeing how pale and tired he looked, although as 
 anxious as himself to heai* more about her future home 
 in the West. After he had lain down on his couch to 
 rest, Berthy stole away to see if, when alone, she could 
 realise what had happened to her. She knew it meant 
 a separation from her old friends and her home at 
 Hill-Crest. Then this brother was a comparative 
 stranger, though he did not seem like one. These 
 thoughts came to her in rapid succession, as her 
 
" SEARCHIN(J KOK SILVEIl AND FINDINfi GOLD." 20 ) 
 
 W 
 
 as 
 [ne 
 
 to 
 lid 
 lilt 
 
 at 
 ive 
 
 ise 
 
 ler 
 
 thou^lits generally <li<l : Imt un(U'nu»ath tht'in all there 
 was a ft^elin^ of exultation, a sensation of rdcas**, tiiat 
 sti'e!i^thene(l each moment, and every ohject she 
 looked at si'eme(l to convev^ to hei* heart the one word — 
 freedom. Free from drud<;'ery, free to I'ead and study, 
 and see the wonders of this wonderful world. 
 
 Her past life was fast slippinj,^ away from her, 
 and in the short time that ha<l intervened since her 
 new relationship was made known, a life-time of 
 lon<:;ed-f()r ph*asures liad passed before her imagina- 
 tion. 
 
 When Racliel went back to her mother she found 
 her very restless, owin^, perhaps, to tlie \ou^ visit from 
 her friend ; hut wlien the sick w^oman saw Roger she 
 smiled, and holding out her hand, she said : " Sing to 
 me." It pleased both the young people to know, as 
 they did, how nuich Mrs. Kenyon w^as learning to 
 depend on Roger for comfort. With his natur- 
 ally jubilant disposition, it seemed a little strange 
 thao his presence could be at all useful in an invalid's 
 chamber. But he brought that t eerfulness with him 
 that made her feel that the way was made less dreary 
 for her daughter, and that alone would suffice to make 
 him a welcome guest at the dying woman's bedside, and 
 then his soft, clear voice was alw^ays ready with a 
 hymn. Or he would read for any length of time, 
 never seeming weary, or thinking of anything but the 
 pleasure he was bringing to the aged saint, wdio would 
 soon be beyond the ministi*ations of earthly kindness. 
 Now, as he sat by her side she said to him : "If my 
 own boy had lived, he would have been just thine age, 
 
 ; *i ..; I 
 
 Hi 
 
 I " 
 
210 
 
 HILL -CREST. 
 
 '' 
 
 and T wonder if lie would have taken as inucli troul>l«> 
 for mo as thou luiHt." 
 
 "I owe more to you than I can ever hope to re'pay," 
 Haid Ro^er, "and what little comfort I can he to you 
 gives me moi*e pleasure than you are ahle to realise. 
 I needed all my life the influence that you have 
 thrown aro\nid me, and I dai'e not think of my lonely 
 life when I shall he deprived of it." 
 
 Thei'e was silence for a few minutes, then Mrs. 
 Kenyon said : " Berthy is a ^ood fi'it^nd to thee, and 
 now as she will shortly go hack to her honie again, 
 will need thy friendship, as her people do not seem 
 to understand her as we have learned to do ; and I 
 feel convinced that with proper companions and sym- 
 pathetic encouragement, she will become a good and 
 useful woman. Perhaps she is not very brilliaTit, and 
 certainly not handsome, but she is one that will leave 
 the world better for having lived in it." Roger looked 
 at Rachel, his face glowing with suppressed eagerness 
 to tell of Bertliy's changed fortune, and receiving a 
 nod of approval, told Mrs. Kenyon what had come to 
 the life of their mutual friend. Rachel did not think 
 the simple narrative would excite her mother very 
 much, especially as Roger prepared the way so care- 
 fully by saying that Berthy had never seemed like the 
 other young ladies at Hill-Crest ; but when he had 
 finished and said, " Now we will have to think of her 
 as Berthy Montgomery, instead of McDonell." His 
 listener gave a start, and said in a voice louder than 
 she had been won't to use for many a day, " Mont- 
 
 nl 
 
 ai 
 in 
 
U J,' 
 
 "SEAIlCHlNr, FOR SILVER AND FINDINO GOLD." 
 
 211 
 
 iif! 
 
 » 
 
 a 
 
 lad 
 
 Lis 
 lan 
 mt- 
 
 ^omcry, did you say ? Ih she tlic dau^litt'i* of CharloH 
 Montgomery ?" 
 
 '* Yes, ' said Ro^er, "and hei* brother's name is 
 Charles, too, for Harold always called liim Charley. 
 
 "Then slie is my sister Rachel's own child," 
 
 The (^xcitemei ^ was too much for her weakeiietl 
 frame, and a sinking spell f(3llowed that threatened to 
 end in innnediate death. Although Rachel ha<l Ion<;* 
 since ^ivei up all hope of her mothei-'s life, yet she 
 now blamed hei>udf for allowing- this story to be told 
 to her, and still here was somethin<»; that ui^ht to l)e 
 known. It did seem that one revelation followed an- 
 other HO rapidly that it was almost too much for those 
 that were well to endure. All ni^ht the ])eath An^el 
 seemed to hover near, ready to carry away the spirit 
 from her fainting, trend)ling body. Ro^er had taken 
 Berthy away from her brother's side \ou^ enough to 
 tell her what Mrs. Kenyon had said, for he felt it 
 would be doing a great wrong to let this woman die 
 before she knew that the one she had loved so well in 
 life was indeed her own mother's sister. 
 
 But they thought best to let Charley get a little more 
 strength before he was made aware of it. As the 
 morning began to dav n, Mrs. Kenyon became more 
 cahn, and fell into a refreshing slec 
 
 The doctor, who had been all night with her, and 
 knew the cause of the alarming condition, said to the 
 anxious group, " She is better now, and if on iawaken- 
 ing she remembers what you w.re talking about I 
 would advise you to let Mr. Montgomery and his 
 sister see her at once; for you must realize," he coa- 
 
 llli 
 
 '1= 
 
 
 T Hd 
 
I ^ 
 
 
 
 11, 
 
 iJ 
 
 if 
 
 • f I' 
 
 I ■■ 
 i 
 
 p 
 
 212 
 
 HiLL-CREST. 
 
 tinued, turning to Rachel, " that it i.s only a question 
 of a few (lays at most with her. I am very sorry to 
 say these things, but chink it is })etter that you should 
 he prepared : and I want to say fuither, that I am glad 
 to see you surrounded hy friends, and I congratulate 
 you on finding so good a man as Mr. Montgomery for 
 a cousin. He is, indeed, a relative to be proud of. I 
 have seen his name mentioned a score of times in the 
 papers as one of the leading divines in the city where 
 he lives." 
 
 *' Will he be able to come in here if my mother 
 wishes to see him ? " 
 
 " Oh ! yes, he is all right. The reason we tied a 
 bandage over his eyes was on account of the cut on 
 his forehead, and then his head was a little hurt. 
 But with the exception of his broken arm, there is 
 nothing the matter with him now. His life and 
 habits have always been so pure that there is not a 
 particle of disease about him. I never look into his 
 face, that the word " noble " does not present itself to 
 my mind. I wish we had more young men like him." 
 And the doctor hurried aw^ay, reproving himself for 
 spending so much time moralizing. There was no 
 perceptible change in Mrs. Kenyon all that day, nor 
 (luring the night following. 
 
 In the meantime, Berthy had told her brother of 
 the addition to the family tree ; and although he 
 had never seen the aunt, he knew by the kindness 
 she had shown his sister that she must be a good 
 woman, and he felt drawn towards her. 
 
 Berthy, in telling him how much the Kenyons had 
 
of 
 he 
 Iness 
 good 
 
 had 
 
 " SEARCHING FOR SILVER AND FINDING GOLD." 213 
 
 done * for her, made known to his alert perceptions 
 that there had really been very little effort on the 
 part of the McDonells to study tht3 wants and wishes 
 of the adopted daughter; buL when he hinted at the 
 cause of her loneliness, he found that he had here a 
 defender for the family he had almost been inclined 
 to blame for his sister's unhappiness. She would not 
 allow him for a moment to think the refinjd, lady- 
 like girls were anything but kind and considerate to 
 her. 
 
 She told of the times she had hurt their feelings by 
 saying that she would never settle down to be a 
 household drudge, and thought, the moment the words 
 were out of her mouth, that but for their assuming 
 that lowly position there would be no home comforts 
 for any of the family. In the matter of an education, 
 hers was far superior to that of any of the others, 
 and she added, " Now, as 1 get older, I do not wonder 
 that there seemed to be no way for me to obtain 
 knowledge, as I think 1 would have. carried it to the 
 point of fanaticism, and God knew me better than I 
 knew myself." 
 
 Charley was beginning to know his sister's disposi- 
 tion better, and comparing it, as he did, with his own, 
 he was glad to see that she, too, had learned to rest 
 on the almighty strength of God's love. 
 
 He knew that such natures as theirs must know 
 that a loving Father had built this barrier between 
 them and their ambitious aspirations, and that He 
 did it for their good, or they would have beaten out 
 their lives long ago on its unyielding bars. 
 
 ^ :m 
 
 li 
 
 i 
 
'11, 
 
 M. ■■ 
 
 214 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 I 
 
 lliil 
 
 m m\\ 
 
 ! ■ 
 
 .i\. ■ \ \ 
 
 " Where did you learn that sweet secret of submis- 
 sion ? I was older than you are before I accepted it." 
 
 " From my spiritual guide," said Berthy, smiling and 
 motioning toward the rOom occupied by her Quaker 
 friend. 
 
 " Then you have, indeed, much to be grateful to 
 her for. I meet a great many life-long Christians 
 who do not seem to understand what I mean by the 
 Fatherhood of God ; it is the only true source of 
 happiness." 
 
 He then went on to tell her something of his past 
 life ; how many struggles he had, and how mercifully 
 he had been led through them all. " I have always 
 felt that in God's hand I was the instrument sent to 
 save the soul of poor Uncle John ; that was the 
 strongest temptation I ever had to resist. 
 
 " There I was in a strange city, with only a few 
 dollars in the world, and not enough to pay my 
 board a week. I felt I had some right to his money, 
 for I was his legal heir ; but he denounced all forms 
 of religion, and declared I should not have anything 
 to do with the ministry if I lived with him. His 
 lawyer, after kindly inviting me into his house, 
 adWsed me to lay aside my radical views, and accept 
 the home and money he, too, thought I had a right to 
 expect. I tell you it was a battle I found hard to 
 tight, but the victory more than paid for the conflict. 
 The last two years of my uncle's life were those of 
 perfect peace. He knew he had been selfish and 
 worldly, and he tried to make amends by doing all 
 the good he could before he died. After he became 
 
h 
 
 ni 
 
 "SEARCHING FOR SILVER AND FINDING GOLD." 215 
 
 of 
 and 
 
 all 
 kame 
 
 almost lielpless, I often carried him in my arms to 
 the carriage, where, lying among soft cusliions, we 
 would go to some poor quarter of the city, and while 
 I pointed a dying soul to Gol, he, with his money, 
 would provide for their temporal needs. 
 
 "I cannot tell which was the more comforted — they 
 by the receiving, or he by the giving. Often coming 
 home, when I asked him if he was tired, his answer 
 would be, ' Oh, I have not thought of myself at all. 
 I can see him now as he looked on one occasion, when 
 we found in an old shanty a Union soldier sick, 
 without food or lire ; uncle sent a boy for supplies. 
 The boy and I built a fire, made the man some tea, 
 andbrous^ht him some food, but he would not eat it until 
 he was lifted up on his knees, so that he could thank 
 God for these mercies, and pray for a special blessing 
 on the saint that had been sent to him with these 
 comforts. 
 
 " Uncle's face was a study. It seemed to me that 
 all the hard, stern lines that had so disfigured him, 
 were smoothed out that day, and they never came 
 back again. He told me going home that he never 
 was happier in his b*fe, and said, ' Charley, my boy, 
 it was your standing firm that made me first think 
 tlig^j^ii»«Was something in religion, and now I have 
 tested it and know there is everything in it.' 
 
 " We looked after the old soldier until he died 
 (which was only a few weeks after we first found 
 him), holding uncle's hand in his, and saying with the 
 simplicity of a little child, ' Good-bye, old comrade ; 
 we will meet beyond the picket line.' 
 
216 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 M 
 
 
 I '. i 
 
 IP' 
 
 !i 
 
 " How thankful I have always been that I could 
 be with uncle to the last. He depended so iriudi on 
 me for care, and yet he would not al ,w me to leave 
 a single duty undone that the Church required. You 
 know the month following my arrival in Denver I 
 was given a place in Mr. Darlington's church as his 
 colleague, and uncle was just as anxious to have me 
 make a good impression on my audience as I was to 
 make it. 
 
 " Mr. Raymond used to laugh, and say, ' It pleases 
 me to see the pride your uncle takes in you. H e said 
 to me when alone, * I am afraid Charley will become 
 vain and conceited, the people are making too much 
 fuss o\'er him,' and at the same time he himself was com- 
 pletely carried away with the fact that he had the 
 honor to be an uncle of the popular young preacher.' 
 Mr. Raymond is a lawyer and can flatter as well as 
 reprimand a client," contiimed Cliarley, fearing lest 
 his sister would think him a boaster. But 
 there was not the sliglitest danger of her thinking 
 any evil of him who, in her eyes at least, was perfec- 
 tion. Seeing her so interested in his work he 
 continued : " There is always an opportunity in 
 Colorado for any amount of Christian work ; a great 
 many men with weak lungs go there every year to 
 see if the bracing air will not restore them to health. 
 Some do get better, - and some go too late, and often 
 arrive there without money or friends, to die, perhaps 
 in a hospital. The ladies of the church make them a 
 special care, taking them little comforts, writing letters 
 to their fiiends, and in some cases praying for and 
 
 #1% 
 
 a 
 
"SEARCHING FOR SILVER AND FINDING GOLD." 217 
 
 :ir r 
 
 a 
 
 uers 
 and 
 
 with them. I go as often as I can, and encourage the 
 members of my cliurch to do the same." 
 
 " May I go with you, when we get there ? I just 
 love to do anything of that kind," said Berthy, her 
 eyes sparkling with the eager question. 
 
 " Why, yes: I would be glad to have you go for the 
 boy's sake and for the sake of the example ? " 
 
 " The example ? " and she looked a little puzzled. 
 
 " Have all your good works been done simply for 
 the pleasure of doing them ? " he asked. 
 
 " I never did much for the good of humanity, but I 
 have always felt that in some way, what I have done 
 would perhaps make up for my own shortcomings." 
 
 '* Wliat do you call your work here in this place ; 
 you have had other patients besides me, have you 
 not ? " 
 
 " Yes, a young man died in this room whom I 
 waited on for two weeks ; he was buried the day 
 before you came." 
 
 " I think my little sister has unconsciously l)een 
 preparing herself for the duties that lay before her," 
 said Charley, his heart full of thankfulness that he had 
 found in her just the qualities of mind and heart that 
 he most loved and admired. " But, do you never have 
 any thoughts of worldly pleasure ? " 
 
 "I never felt that I was really prepared for the society 
 that I wanted to mingle with. I would rather be alone 
 than to associate with uneducated people, and I cannot 
 meet those who are educated as an equal, so I 
 preferred to remain out of society altogether." 
 
 " You shall have your taste for cultivated associa- 
 te 
 
 1 :l : i 
 
 is! 
 
 
 ll'lli 
 
 m 
 
 il, 
 
 li ■ 
 
 '' , 1 
 
218 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 h\i 
 
 tion satisfied when we go to our home, for I have 
 gathered around me just the class of people that you 
 speak of. There are many strangers coming and 
 going continually in a city like the one I live in, and 
 I, like you, am always anxious to meet men of talent 
 and intellect, and my friends knowing so well what 
 pleasure the acquaintanceship will afford me, feel free 
 at any time to bring to my house any such that they 
 chance to meet. I make only one stipulation, and 
 that is they must be believers in God. I have no time 
 to listen to agnostic theories." He continued: " If you 
 .wish to attend school, you may, or if you prefer it, I 
 will get you a governess at home." 
 
 Berthy's face glowed with anticipation ; she felt it 
 was like a dream of fairyland, and her heart was full 
 of gratitude. Her brother seeing it, said, " I think we 
 both have much to thank God for. I expected to find 
 a good sister, but I did not dare to hope for the 
 congenial spirit that I have really discovered in her.'' 
 He waited for some comment, but none came ; her 
 emotion would not allow her to speak. "I find," 
 he added, " that in searching for silver I have found 
 gold." 
 
 tP^ 
 
' Ti 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FORGIVEN. 
 
 EARLY two weeks had elapsed since 
 Charley Montgomery had left Hill- 
 Crest. Robert McDonell felt that in 
 some way he had not made a good 
 impression on the son of his old friend. He knew he 
 could not blame the young man for having some 
 misgivings in regard to his sister, and it seemed strange, 
 too, as he himself thought of it, how little the whole 
 family had thought it necessary to look after Berthy. 
 She, from childhood, had seemed capable of managing 
 her own affairs, and almost to resent any interference 
 on their part, so that it had become a settled habit in 
 the Household to let her have her own way in every- 
 thing pertaining to self-government. 
 
 But now as a stranger appeared on the scene and 
 inquired what this indifference meant, it was a question 
 hard to answer, and Mr. McDonell said all he could say: 
 " That she was not like his own," but realized while 
 he was saying it that there was no satisfaction in any 
 
220 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 such explanation. After Charley had been ^one niore 
 than a week and no letter* had come to them, a Hoi*t of 
 gloom seemed to settle down on the family. The 
 father asked every night if they had heard from 
 Berthy, and when the answer came that they had not, 
 he would sigh heavily ; but perhaps no one member 
 of the household felt the silence more than Edith 
 When Harold and his family returned to Lake View, 
 she would not go with them as she had intended, but 
 remained at Hill-Crest, thinking that in a few days 
 Berthy and her new brother would come, • and 
 she wanted to be there when they came. But, as the 
 days passed and no word was received from them, she 
 began to think they had gone back to Denver without 
 coming to bid them good-bye. When she told her 
 father and Grace of her suspicions they both thought 
 there might be something in it, and Grace wondered 
 if the brother had bought Berthy any new clothes 
 before he took her to that large city. It troubled 
 her kind heart to think how he would feel on seeing 
 his sister for the first time, (if she could only have 
 been there to prepare her for the meeting how happy 
 she would have been), and Mr. Montgomery was so 
 well dressed himself. There was not a part of his 
 elegant attire that had escaped her scrutiny, from his 
 glossy beaver hat to the toe of his well-fitting boot. 
 " He is one that understands what his position requires 
 of him," and Grace threw back her head in a way 
 that indicated much more of her thoughts on the 
 subject than her words had implied. Her opinion in 
 regard to this young man so pleased Edith that, 
 
: T 
 
 FORGIVEN. 
 
 221 
 
 way 
 the 
 n in 
 ihat, 
 
 though iiHually (|uiet, she became quite interested in 
 her sister's remarks, and they both looked forward to 
 meeting liim again. 
 
 Aunt EHzabeth had gone on a visit to New York 
 and did not know anything about the change in tlie 
 family affairs, as there was very little correspondence 
 between them when she was away. As the days 
 passed and no word came from Berthy, the remaining 
 members of the McDonell home began to make 
 preparations for their regular Thanksgiving visit to 
 Lake View. The father would never consent to leave 
 his home at Christmas, and so the girls had it 
 arranged that they should all go to Kathey's home 
 the week before Thanksgiving, and return home in 
 time to prepare an old-fashioned Christmas dinner for 
 the father's comfort. Harold and Kathey, and little 
 Harry often came with them, and as this year there 
 was one more Huntington to bring along the girl? 
 looked forward to an unusually merry Christmas. 
 They felt sure that when Mrs. Kenyon died, Rachael 
 would have to come home to make some arrangements 
 concerning her school, so they waited to hear in this 
 way something about the brother and sister. But the 
 day before their departure, the young lady who had 
 taken Rachel's place in the school called at Hill-Crest, 
 and told them that she was going to teach there all 
 winter, as the trustees had received a letter from 
 Rachel saying she would not take the school again. 
 Harold had left an invitation for Charley to come 
 with Mr. McDonell and the girls to spend Thanks- 
 giving at Lake View, and was therefore very much 
 
 i i 
 
 II ■Hi 
 
 ii^ 151 
 
 lli'': 
 
 I 
 § 
 
 m 
 
' 
 
 222 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 1 1 . 
 
 
 surprised and disappointed to have them come alone. 
 When they told him the Montgomery's had not been 
 heard from he telegraplied at once to know what it 
 all meant, and received a reply that Mrs. Kenyon 
 was dead and would be buried that afternoon, and 
 that the next day tliey might expect Charley, his 
 sister and his cousin to be with them at Lake View. 
 
 " Mrs. Kenyon was dead.'' The words were simple 
 enough, and did not surprise the people who read 
 them, but no words could convey to the , minds of 
 those who knew her an adequate idea of what the 
 going out of that beautiful life really was. 
 
 When she rallied from the death -like stupor that 
 succeeded the sinking-spell, her first words were, 
 " Can I see my sister's children ? " and Rachel 
 hastened to tell them of her mother's recovered 
 consciousness. As soon as Charley looked into the 
 face of his aunt he knew that her life was passing 
 away very rapidly, and he therefore sought to say 
 the words of comfort that the time would warrant ; 
 but as soon as she saw him she seemed to gain 
 strength for the occasion, and although her voice was 
 changed and very weak, she told him many things he 
 had longed to hear of his father and mother's Chris- 
 tian life, and their love for each other, adding that 
 they had both died while she and her husband were 
 travelling in Europe for the latter's health^ and' that 
 upon her return she could not find i e children. 
 While she was talking she kept a tight hold on 
 Berthy's hand, as though she would have her know 
 
. 
 
 FORGIVEN. 
 
 223 
 
 that she loved her tliough she could not take her eyes 
 from the face of her wister's handsome son. " Thou 
 art like thy father, so strong and with such a brave 
 look. Berthy will have a true friend : she does not 
 need a protector ; she never desires to do wrong, and 
 can always take care of herself, but thee will love her 
 when thee knows how grateful she is for every kind 
 word or look." 
 
 Charley put his arm around his trembling sister, 
 and said : " We both thank you for leading her to 
 Christ and helping her to do what she has done for 
 His glory." 
 
 " Oh," said the dying woman, " I am glad to hear 
 thee say that. She v.dll yet do much for the Master." 
 
 Then she took her daughter's hand and pressed it 
 to her lips and looked around the room as though 
 there was some one else she expected to see. Rachel 
 thought 3he knew whom her mother wanted, but she 
 was so overcome with grief that she did not dare to 
 trust her voice, for she was anxious to hear every 
 word from the beloved lips, feeling sure they would 
 be the last she would ever hear from them on earth. 
 The door opened softly and Roger came to the bed- 
 side. As soon as Mrs. Kenyon saw him a smile lit up 
 her face, and she reached for his hand. Rachel tried 
 to draw hers aw^ay, thinking her mother had some 
 words of advice or counsel for him alone, but her 
 hand was retained and put in that of the young man, 
 and with what seemed to bo her last breath the 
 mother and loving counsellor said sweetly, " You both 
 have my blessing." Roger could scarcely keep from 
 
 
 mw 
 
 life 
 
 ip 
 
224 
 
 h ILL-CREST. 
 
 '}'. 
 
 ! ■, 
 
 weeping aloud, ho threat was his emotion, but he 
 mastered his feelings. Knowing how well the sainted 
 woman loved to have him sing, he commenced, in a 
 tremulous but clear voice, 
 
 " Christian, the mom brealcH sweetly o'er thee, 
 And all the midnight shadows flee." 
 
 As he sang her eyes closed. He felt the hand that 
 was laid on his grow colder, bu^ it did not terrify 
 him. He held tightly the little warm, quivering hand 
 of Rachel, and felt that his own could keep her from 
 realizing any terror in the presence of what did not 
 seem to him like an ordinary death. 
 
 When Roger had finished the verse, Charley said, 
 putting his hand on the placid brow, " It is over." 
 
 There was no uncontrollabJe weeping. It did not 
 seem right in the presence of this quiet, angelic form, 
 to burst forth in loud, wailing cries. Rachel turned 
 from the bed as the matron and nurses came in, and 
 Roger led her out into the open air. Charley and 
 Berthy went back to the room they occupied, and all 
 that was mortal of the beloved Quakeress was left to 
 the respectful ministration of strangers. 
 
 " Oh, you have come at last. I am nearly starved. 
 The lire would not burn and I did not have any tea 
 for my dinner, and I am almost crazy with a head- 
 ache." 
 
 " Well, never mind, I shall soon have the fire burn- 
 ing, and see, I have brought some nice peaches for 
 your supper." 
 
N 
 
 FOlKilVEN. 
 
 225 
 
 " Oh, ycH, ' iieviir luind,' that is all very well for 
 you to say. I think I ouf(ht to mind, sitting here all 
 day alone and no one to .speak to." And the old 
 woman groaned and rubbed her head in a fretful, 
 peevish w^ay that was very annoying to the younger 
 woman. 
 
 The rooms were small and scantily furnished, and 
 were at the very top of a cheap tenement house in a 
 large city. The inmates were unknown and uncared 
 for by the other inhabitants of the Rookery, as the 
 old building was called. 
 
 Geraldine McDonell and her mother had taken 
 rooms in a better part of the city, but soon found that 
 the expense of living was so great that they had to 
 bring down their desires to their means, which were 
 very limited. When Geraldine had been offered a 
 position in a dry -goods store as sales w^oman she, of 
 course, expected to receive a good salary. She argued 
 that girl clerks in stores dress like ladies, and there- 
 fore they must receive very high wages, but when she 
 was given such small pay and complained to the other 
 girls about it, they only laughed and said : 
 
 " We do not always tell how little we make, but let 
 those outside think what they please. Some of us 
 have fathers or brothers that pay our board, and all 
 we make we have to dress ourselves with." 
 
 And so poor Geraldine saw there was no use in say- 
 ing any more, but reduced the expense of her ow^n 
 and her mother's living, and tried to get along as best 
 she could. The work was not so hard, but her mother 
 w^orried and tormented her terribly, always taunting 
 
 i! 
 
 
 41" I 
 
 
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 II 
 
 Ml: 
 
 "1 
 '<t\\ ' 
 
 Im 
 
 m 
 
 \ 
 
 m 
 
 I 't 
 
 I 
 
 m 
 
 |! 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 226 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 her with her lack of management, or blaming her for 
 not doing better at the store so she could get more 
 wages. All this Geraldine bore with silent apathy. 
 She never in her life had said a saucy, impudent word 
 to her mother. In fact, she had always thought her 
 the most sensible and cool-headed woman in the 
 world, and had been led by her all her life, falling in 
 with any plan that diplomatic lady saw fit to suggest. 
 Many times they had laughed together about some 
 deceitful piece of business that had brought about the 
 desired result, and congratulated themselves on their 
 forethought. But now the case was quite different. 
 Geraldine saw that her mother had no real love for 
 her, that she was willing to see her work day and 
 night to bring her comfort and ease, and that she did 
 not regret the losti of their mone^- for lier children's 
 sake, but only for her own. She never spoke of Roger 
 except when she wanted something Geraldine could 
 not buy for her, and then ^he would begin to wonder 
 where that ungrateful boy was and why he did not 
 bring or send her some money. It was begin- 
 ning to dawn upon the mind of Geraldine that her 
 past life had all been a mistake. 
 
 One day she was telling some of the girls in the 
 store how wealthy her father had been, and saying " I 
 never thought I should have to work for my living." 
 One of the girls answered her in a practical, straight- 
 forward way, " Well, I have never been rich, or had 
 any chance for a higher place than I now occupy, but 
 I would like to know whv you did not learn some- 
 thing thoroughly — music, Oi. painting, or drawing, or 
 
FORGIVEN. 
 
 227 
 
 an accomplishinent of some kind — that would now 
 furnish you with a good-paying employment, instead 
 of having to work wit^ those like us that never had 
 an opportunity for anything better." 
 
 Geraldine could not answer. She remembered well 
 how the German professor had said to her that she 
 ought to cultivate her talent for music. But her mother 
 had told him promptly that all her daughter desired 
 was to be able to play a few pieces well that she 
 might appear in society as other girls did ; and so it 
 was settled that she was to receive a smattering of 
 music and a dozen other things, not having enough 
 knowledge of any of them to be of much use to her. 
 
 To-night as she came home she stopped at the post 
 office and got a letter (the postman did not visit her 
 portion of the city), and after her mother had drank 
 her tea and found fault with it, and said the peaches 
 were sour and not fit to eat, and otherwise made 
 herself generally disagreeable, Geraldine thought of 
 the letter. It was from Kathey, asking them to 
 come and spend Thanksgiving at Lake View. As 
 soon as the name of the place was mentioned Mrs. 
 McDonell flew in a rage, pouring out her wrath as 
 usual on her daughter with the same words she had 
 used so often, that if Geraldine had had any sense at 
 all she could have married Harold herself, instead of 
 fooling around until he had taken that girl of Bob's, 
 and saying that Kathey was smart enough to catch 
 him while she was looking en. This last was too 
 much. Geraldine knew that Kathey had not ma- 
 noeuvred for him at all, but had simply won him by 
 
 '■'i: if 
 
 'I ii; 
 
228 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 if' 
 Iff I 
 
 1 '. i 
 
 1 ' 
 
 II 
 
 her unassuming, innocent way and honest womanli- 
 ness. Turning to her mother she told her so. This 
 was the first time she had ever answered any of her 
 abusive language, and she added, " The reason Roger 
 does not care to come home is because he has become 
 so tired of deceit. Now," she said, as her mother did 
 not make any reply, " we will turn over a new leaf 
 and try to be at least honest in word and thought. 
 It is very nice of Kathey to invite us to her place at 
 all, for Harold knows, if she doesn't, that we did all 
 we could to keep them apart, and now she is so well 
 situated, it is a wonder to me that she speaks to us. 
 We would not if the tables were turned. She is a 
 noble. Christian woman, and I am going to tell her 
 when I go there that she deserves all the happiness 
 she is enjoying. I despise myself when I think how 
 I used to dress in my best, and did it only to make 
 them feel bad, because they had nothing to compare 
 with it. Roger told me at the time that it was 
 not right, but I was doing your bidding then, and 
 now you are paying me for it." 
 
 Mrs. McDonell was speechless. She had never 
 heard her daughter say so much on any subject, and 
 it seemed as if the very earth had risen up to reprove 
 her for her folly and wickedness. She looked at 
 Geraldine in surprise, and wondered where she had 
 conceived such queer ideas. When she thought of 
 this girl's changing her mode of thinking to one of 
 forgiveness and charity it seemed that there was 
 already at her very feet a chasm that could not be 
 crossed. She had said that she was done with deceit, 
 

 FORGIVEN. 
 
 229 
 
 and surely that would mean that the daughter was 
 taking the same gi'ound the son had, and it meant for 
 her complete desertion. With this thought her tears 
 flowed freely, and Geraldine relapsed into silence. 
 There had ;iever been any demonstration of affection 
 between the two, and now the ice of reserve could not 
 be broken even by a mother's tears ; so the evening 
 passed as many others had, with no word of love to 
 smooth the sharp points of poverty or make the 
 battle for an existence any the less hard. 
 
 On the morning of the funeral Rachel arose quietly* 
 before Berthy awoke, dressed herself, and stole out on 
 tiptoe to take a last farewell of her mother at an hour 
 when no one would disturb her. There was no one 
 in the hall as she passed through, but as she came to 
 the door of the room where her mother lay she could 
 hear some one crying. Who could it be? Charley 
 had gone to a hotel the night before. Berthy was 
 sleeping, and sher had heard the matron go away be- 
 fore she left her room ; but opening the door carefully 
 she saw Roger kneeling by the casket, his face buried 
 in the v/hite lilies he had sent the day before, crying 
 as a boy would have done for his own mother. Rachel 
 went quickly to his side and would have spoken to 
 him, but her own heart was too full, and she sank 
 down by him and they both wept together. Roger was 
 the first to regain his composure. He had tried to 
 cheer her since her mother's death as best he could, 
 and had kept his own sorrow under control that he 
 might be better able to do so. When they arose and 
 
230 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 I;)' 
 
 
 stood by the lovely sleeping form, Roger said, as he 
 looked down into the sad little face by his side: "Your 
 mother was more to me, Ray, than I can ever tell." 
 
 She did not answer. It never seemed strange to 
 her that anyone should love her dear mother. 
 
 His past life came back very clear to his mind as he 
 looked on the quiet face of the Quakeress. He had 
 always felt since that terrible day in the jail that he had 
 her prayers, and now as he stood by her side he felt 
 lonely indeed. 
 
 Rachel took from her pocket a little Bible. The 
 edges were frayed and the leather worn rough by con- 
 stant use, and she looked up at her companion and 
 said, in an apologetic tone, her voice low and tremulous, 
 " I am going to put her Bible in her hand ; it seems so 
 much a part of her that I think it ought to be — ." 
 But before she could say any more Roger had taken 
 the book from her hand and, pressing it to his lips, 
 said : 
 
 " No, do not put it in the ground ) give it to me, I 
 owe my soul's salvation to this little book."- 
 
 The face that the girl turned toward him was so 
 full of inquiry, that he did not doubt any longer 
 that her mother's visit to him in his hour of trouble 
 and disgrace was unknown to her. 
 
 He did not stop to wonder why it was kept a secret. 
 Berthy, too, had known all about it at the time. Often, 
 when he would have told Rachel of his great love for 
 her, this one dark cloud in his past life came up so 
 plainly before him that he felt it was a mean thing to 
 do. Her mother had done for him what she would 
 
FORGIVEN. 
 
 231 
 
 » 
 
 probably have done for any other boy in his place, 
 and he would not presume on that kind deed to offer 
 himself as an equal in her family ; but, when with her 
 dying hand she had joined theirs, he had taken hope, 
 and now to know that through all these years she had 
 never told her daughter anything of his crime and 
 folly, argued well for him so far as the mother's 
 faith was concerned. But he would never ask Ray 
 Kenyon to link her pure, spotless life with his until he 
 had told her all, and heard her words of forgiveness. 
 
 It was not exactly the time or place for a declara- 
 tion of love, but Roger knew that Ray was waiting 
 for an explanation of his words concerning the little 
 Bible, so he took her hand and said, " Come down into 
 the parlor, and I will tell you all about it." 
 
 This room had been intended for the private use of 
 the matron and family at the hospital, but after the 
 first few weeks of the Kenyon's stay there it had been 
 offered them for their use at any time they saw fit. 
 
 Now, as Roger and Ray entered the room the late 
 November sunshine was streaming through the 
 window. There was a bright fire shining behind the 
 polished grate, and the warm crimson curtains and 
 velvet- cushioned chairs and sofas all seemed so invit- 
 ing and home-like that it inspired the sinking spirit of 
 the young man to make a full confession, and trust to 
 her love and goodness for forgiveness, if for nothing 
 more. So, drawing a settee in front of the cheerful 
 blaze he sat down by her side and told her all, not 
 sparing himself in the least, but saying in conclusion, 
 " Now, you know all about nje, can I ever hope to live 
 
 liim 
 
 H " 
 
232 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 ;i. 
 
 lit 
 
 a pure enough life to feel that I am worthy to say 
 more to you than I have said now ? " 
 
 She looked at him with a world of love in her face, 
 and said simply : " Your sin was against God, not 
 against me, and if he has forgiven you I will. I know 
 my mother did love you and believed you good and 
 noble, for she said so to me less than a week before 
 she died." 
 
 I have said that Roger did not intend to say any 
 words of love to Ray at this time, but his great, warm 
 heart could not hold back the passionate yearning he 
 had felt for this girl so long, and now with her sweet 
 face so close to his, and her words of forgiveness and 
 approval ringing in his ears, he was not responsible 
 for taking her in his arms and kissing her flushed 
 face, while he poured out his love in a very torrent of 
 words. There was no spirit of the coquette in honest 
 Ray, and, shy and timid as she was, he knew his love 
 was returned. The past seemed slipping away from 
 him, and in its place a happy present and bright 
 future was all their own. They sat there a long time. 
 At last Rachel said : 
 
 " It does not seem right for us to be so happy and 
 mother so lately gone from us." 
 
 " No," said Roger, " it would not seem right if we 
 did not know she is happy, too. We will love each 
 other better that we know she loved us both." 
 
 When they heard the breakfast-bell ring they 
 started guiltily, having no idea how much time had 
 elapsed since they had come into the parlor. Roger 
 went away, and Rachel joined Berthy at the table. 
 
FORGIVEN. 
 
 233 
 
 There was inucli to do. Charley mooii appeared with 
 the telegram. It had been sent to him, in care of the 
 hospital, and he asked the girls how he should answer 
 it. Rachel had never been to Lake View, though 
 Berthy had often told her what a grand old place it 
 was. It was arranged that she should go with them, 
 and Charley answered the telegram in the way we 
 have mentioned, knowing that Harold would not be 
 able to understand who the cousins could be. 
 
 t^ 
 
 '^^^ 
 
 slit 
 
 \\'% 
 
 lad 
 rer 
 He. 
 
 16 
 
 m\ 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 AT LAKE VIEW 
 
 S Charley thought of going to Lake 
 View his mind naturally turned to the 
 object of his daily thoughts and nightly 
 dreams. Any other but he would have 
 staid at Hill-Crest until he knew from 
 his adored whether he could hope or despair, but with 
 the strong sense of duty that pervaded his whole 
 being, he felt he must first make sure of the where- 
 abouts of his sister before he had any right to deter- 
 mine his own fate. Now, that this matter was settled 
 so satisfactorily (and he, too, was beginning to realize 
 that he was bomg favored in many ways with bless- 
 ings he had felt in early life would never be his), he 
 allowed himself pleasant anticipations in meeting 
 again at the home of his friend the one woman that 
 had been to him more than all others. 
 
 As the train neared the depot and Berthy caught 
 sight of the Huntington carriage, she could scarcely 
 wait to be handed out, for there, with his chubby 
 face surrounded by golden-brown curls, and his whole 
 form wriggling in the hands of Edith, was her little 
 
AT LAKE VIEW. 
 
 235 
 
 [ught 
 :cely 
 
 |ubby 
 rhole 
 
 I little 
 
 nephew Harry, screaming with delight at the first 
 view of Aunt Berthy. She did not reahze how 
 much she loved the baby boy until she felt his arms 
 around her neck and his cold nose pressing her face. 
 She held him hugged close all the way to Lake View. 
 
 Kathey was very busy, and Harold had some 
 important business on hand, so they had asked Edith 
 to go to the depot to meet the guests, a thing she was 
 very glad to do, and as Harry was so delighted at the 
 return of Berbhy he was allowed to go, too. 
 
 When they were all seated in the carriage, Charley 
 proceeded to tell of the accident that had befallen 
 him, and how he had first seen his sister in the garb 
 of a nurse, saying, as he noticed the look of pity in 
 Edith's eyes, " Oh, she gave me the best of care, but 
 thought I was crazy when I called her my sister.' 
 
 " I think we all feel a little unsettled on that sub- 
 ject," said Edith, smiling at Berthy, " and think some- 
 times of contesting your right to her. Possession, 
 you know, is nine points in the law, and we held that 
 for nineteen years, though I must confess that the 
 change of ownership has improved her very much." 
 
 " Well, of course, I cannot judge of that, as I first 
 made her acquaintance with my eyes covered, which 
 the young lady herself thought was very fortunate." 
 
 This was the first hint he had ever given the girls 
 that he had overheard them talking the first day of 
 his convalescence, and they looked at each other as 
 much as to say, " What did he hear ? " This look of 
 consternation pleased him so much that he told Edith 
 what they said, keeping back very prudently Berthy's 
 
236 
 
 HILL-CKEST. 
 
 1 ! 
 
 m 
 
 r t- 
 
 allusion to her home life, but imitating Ray's voice 
 when chiding her for useless wishing. 
 
 Edith laughed heartily, but remembered just here 
 that Ray had lost her mother since she had last seen 
 her, and felt a sense of guilt at not mentioning it 
 before. 
 
 As that subject did not seem to suit the general 
 good-feeling of the pai'ty she very wisely forbore 
 referring to it, but said to Mr. Montgomery: " Oh, you 
 did not bring the cousin that you spoke of in your 
 telegram." 
 
 " Yes, I did, allow me to present to you Miss 
 Rachel Kenyon." 
 
 " What ! I did not know you were so fortunate as 
 to lind Rachel among your own relatives," and she 
 looked at him in surprise. 
 
 " I did not know she w^as a cousin of mine until I 
 had made my sister's acquaintance." 
 
 He did not think it necessary to go into detail con- 
 cerning the development of their identity ; but said 
 abruptly, " Roger is doing well in Philadelphia, isn't he ?" 
 
 " Roger 1 have you seen him ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Berthy, before her brother could 
 answer, " he is in a large book store there. He came 
 to see us every day we were at the hospital, and his 
 was the last familiar face we saw at the depot." 
 
 " We have not heard anything from him for five 
 years or more. Kathey invited his mother and sister 
 to spend Thanksgiving ; they wrote yesterday they 
 would come, but never mentioned his name, I wonder 
 if they know where he is ? " 
 
 c 
 
AT LAKE VIEW. 
 
 237 
 
 ill 
 
 five 
 jister 
 they 
 
 "I asked him a few days ago," said Charley, "if he 
 ever saw his family, and he said no. He seems to 
 think they do not care anything for him. I do not 
 know them, but it is queer his mother should not 
 have any love for him. " He says," added Charley, 
 laughing, "they are too much 'stuck' on style to think 
 of him." 
 
 " How like Roger that sounds, but I think if he saw 
 them now he w^ould not accuse them of being stylish. 
 Geraldine has to work very hard to support her 
 mother," said Edith. 
 
 " Roger told me," said Berthy, always ready to 
 defend the absent, " that w^hen he received a larger 
 salary he was going to help Geraldine support their 
 , mother ; he said he thought it his duty." 
 
 " That sounds hard," said Charley, " to hear a son 
 talk of duty, with no love ; duty to clear his own 
 conscience, and no love to make the act a pleasure." 
 
 " It is her own fault that he does not love her," and 
 Berthy's eyes grew black with suppressed indignation. 
 
 " We will admit all that," said her brother, " but it 
 is none the less sad. Roger is a noble fellow, and 
 will do the right thing by her if he is given an 
 opportunity. I am sorry his mother does not 
 appreciate him better. It is a painful fact that 
 parents do not always study the characters of their 
 children. There is not a young man in the city of 
 Philadelphia that is living a purer, better christian 
 life than Roger McDonell." 
 
 " Christian ! " said Edith, in a surprised tone, " then 
 he has become one very lately. 
 
^38 
 
 HlLL-CHfiST. 
 
 ilii 
 
 " About five years aj^o," said Ray, speaking for the 
 first time. 
 
 " Oh ! that is since we knew him, but it did not 
 seem to me he could ever be a christian, lie was so 
 fond of fun." 
 
 " Do vou think the love of fun ought to prevent 
 one from being a follower of Christ ? Some kinds of 
 fun are very beneficial to both soul and body,' said 
 Charley. 
 
 "Yes," said Edith, blushing, as the keen, direct 
 (juestion was put to her ; " we can, perhaps, become 
 Christians and yet retain our love of enjoyment to a 
 certain degree. But do you not think that an 
 inordinate love of worldly amusement lias kept a great 
 many people from making a profession of religion ? " 
 
 '* Undoubtedly it has, and yet if they cannot see in 
 the service of God a greater pleasure than selfish 
 indulgence, there is nothing to be gained by 
 Christianity in general, or the person in particular. 
 There is a great mistake '^ my mind, in the efforts the 
 churches are makir' .arnish amusement for the 
 
 young people of congregation ; they can never 
 
 hope to rival the world in that respect, and keep 
 sacred the church rules, and therefore their attempts 
 only meet with ridicule from those they are seeking 
 to benefit. Let the unconverted once understand that 
 there is rest and peace in the Christian life, and they 
 will only be too glad to avail themselves of the 
 opportunity it affords. There is not so much seeking 
 for pleasure in this world for its own sake as we are 
 apt to think, but it is a desire to drown care that 
 
AT LAKE VIEW. 
 
 239 
 
 the 
 
 :ing 
 
 are 
 
 impolH HO many to places of anniHenient : and if tliey 
 could be made to know, I say, tliat in a life hidden 
 with Christ in God there is complete innuunity from 
 worldly care, I do not believe the churches of 
 America would be able to hoKl the throng of weary 
 workers that would come asking to be admitted." 
 
 " And do you think it was this desire for rest that 
 brought Roger into the church when he was so 
 young ? " 
 
 " I do not know the circumstances of his conversion," 
 and Charley looked at Berthy, while* slie answered. 
 
 " It was very similar to a need of rest ; he was 
 lonely, and felt he had no friends, and was in deep 
 trouble at the time he accepted Christ." 
 
 Edith's eyes were filled with tears, but she dashed 
 them away and thought no one noticed them, as just 
 at that time Harry sprang up and exclaimed, " Now, 
 we are home ; come, Aunt Berfie, and see my new 
 
 As the carriage stopped at the porch Harold and 
 Kathey were there to welcome them, and, like Edith, 
 wanted to know whei*6 the cou'sin was, and the story 
 had to be gone over again about this new relatives. 
 They were both delighted to see how much Charley 
 appeared to love his sister in^ the^.littlp time he had 
 
 known her. /AV'iJ.; . . t.,, ..>i>^ ; 
 
 When he- n^et/M,!*, McDpliell, he took him by the 
 hand an(j. a^k^ *to be' forgiven for the way he had 
 seemed to inleiakQ thjeir treatment of Berthy. They 
 were alone in the drawing room, and Charley saw the 
 old man was deeply affected, and hastened to i -*, " I 
 
 V, I i 
 
 111 
 
240 
 
 HlLL-CREST. 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 ft 
 
 I' 
 
 feel as if I could never repay you for the kindness 
 you did my poor father and mother in taking the 
 helpless babe into your heart and home ; and I know 
 it meant sacrifice on your part many times to keep in 
 your family this child. Will you not let me show in 
 a small measure my gratitude by giving you something 
 more substantial than empty woias of thanks ?" 
 
 " No, no/' said the warm-hearted Irishman, " I dare 
 not let you give me a cent of pay, for my wife said to 
 me the day before she died : ' I know God will raise 
 up friends for my motherless children,' and I 
 knew she was thinking of what we had done for 
 Berthy when she said it, so I will not spoil her work 
 of charity by taking money from man for the work 
 she did for God." 
 
 Charley could not press the matter any farther, but 
 assured his friend that he should always stand ready 
 to do anything in his power for the kindness shown 
 his sister, and added, laughing : " She is so much like 
 myself that I do not think we will ever quariel." 
 
 " Who is that Yankee walking up and down the 
 garden path with Miss Edith ? " said Adolphus, coming 
 into Harold's studio one morning and pointing in the 
 direction of the chrysanthemum-bordered walk that 
 could be plainly seen from the window. 
 
 " Hello, my boy, when did you arrive ? " said Harold, 
 on heaving his friend's voice close to his side. 
 
 " Just this minute. I am all dusty and wanted to 
 get a bath and change my clothes before I met your 
 family, so I asked the servant to show me upstairs 
 
AT LAKE VIEW. 
 
 241 
 
 Id, 
 
 before she announced my arrival. But you have not 
 answered my question." 
 
 " Oh," said Harold, looking out of the window, " that 
 m Charley Montgomery, you have often heard me 
 speak of him." 
 
 "The preacher that you said was so poor and 
 proud ?" 
 
 " The same." 
 
 " I did not expect to see such a fine fellow as this ; 
 why, he looks like a gentleman." 
 
 "So he is, in the American sense of the w^ord." 
 
 " Yes, but you know w^hat I mean, he has not the 
 appearance of one who has ever known toil or poverty 
 — and then his clothes." 
 
 " Is that the reason you called him a Yankee when 
 you first came in?" 
 
 " That is the very reason ; I can tell one wherever I 
 see him. We English get the best clothes we can to 
 make us appear well, but you fellows have a way of 
 putting on anything, so that you seem to be making 
 the suit look well, instead of the suit making you look 
 well. I don't understand it." 
 
 " Come, come," said Harold laughing, " no more of 
 your flattery. One would think you had just paid a 
 visit to Blarney Castle;" but he saw the young man was 
 very much in earnest, and also knew why Mr. Mont- 
 gomery's personal appearance was so troubling him. 
 
 There was a grieved look on his usually expression- 
 less face, and he said, "I am not flattering, I am 
 simply stating the truth as it has forced itself on my 
 mind ever since I have been in the * blooming country.'" 
 
242 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 - )■ 
 
 i.iH 
 
 u.? 
 
 I! uv 
 
 i 
 
 And he walked off into his own room with the air of 
 one who had been most cruelly deceived. 
 
 Harold looked again into the garden and could not 
 doubt but Adolphus had seen the gallant, tender 
 ^ manner in which Charley folded around Edith a 
 scarlet shawl he had taken from the hand of Nettie 
 (the nurse girl), but could not feel the p:ty for 
 Adolphus that he would if he had not thought it was 
 his pride and ftot his heart that was touched. 
 
 The weather was beautiful. Although it was the 
 day before Thanksgiving the sun had co- le out warm 
 and bright in the morning, making one think that it 
 was not so near winter after all, but Mr. McDonell 
 shook his head when the girls were rejoicing over the 
 prospect of the nice warm days to come, and said : 
 *' This is only a pet day ; there will be a storm before 
 to-morrow." 
 
 And Charley said : " Then it behooves us to take 
 advantage of it. Will you go with me, Edith, and take 
 a farewell look at the chrysanthemums ? I saw the 
 gardener with some suspicious looking weapon this 
 morning in their vicinity, and am afraid before night 
 he will have them rooted out of the ground." Edith, 
 nothing loth, had gone with him just as Adolphus, 
 having driven from the station in a hired conveyance, 
 , made his appearance at Lake View. 
 
 When Harold first brought home his, bride he had 
 intended to spend the winters in the city, but after 
 one season there Kathey said to him : " Would you not 
 rather stay at Lake View ? There is too much of an 
 air of moving in this change twice a year ; and then 
 
AT LAKE VIEW. 
 
 243 
 
 m 
 
 our country home is quite comfortable and we do not 
 care for fashionable society. We can really be to- 
 gether by ourselves more here." 
 
 " I thought you would enjoy the change," he said, 
 kissing her fondly. " As for myself, there is no place 
 on earth I love so much as this home." 
 
 So it was settled. The house in town was sold and 
 Lake View became the permanent residence of the 
 Huntingtons. In the fall, as the nights began to grow 
 longer and the air outside a little more crisp, Kathey 
 would have the white curtains exchanged for those of 
 a warmer hue, and cover the pale ecru-colored carpets 
 here and there with large oriental rugs, and have 
 brough '. into the sitting-room soft plush-covered 
 chairs and sofas. With the windows filled with palms 
 and flowering plants, the house seemed to defy the 
 inclement weather, no matter how much the wind 
 howled among the stately trees or tossed up the huge 
 blocks of ice in the lake. As tlie holiday season ap- 
 proached they always managed to draw around them 
 a select circle of friends, young and old, who delighted 
 in visiting at the elegant home of Mrs. Harold Hunt- 
 ington, who knew so well how to entertain and to 
 make every one feel at home. It was a settled custom 
 with this hospitable family to give a Thanksgiving 
 party every year. The Misses McDonell were always 
 there at that season, and it had become a habit to 
 issue at least a hundred invitations to the young 
 people of the neighborhood to assemble at Lake View 
 at an early hour on the evening of Thanksgiving Day, 
 where they were sure of a royal good time. 
 
 m 
 
 ■ III 
 
'2U 
 
 filLL-CREST. 
 
 * n 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 I'i 
 
 
 Harold and Katliey felt a little disturbed on the 
 subject this year. They did not expect to have 
 among them anyone that had so lately buried a 
 friend, and Mrs. Kenyon was an aunt to Charley and 
 Berthy, as well as a n)other to Rachel, but the 
 invitations were out, and there was expected Signor 
 Selaska from Boston, a musician Harold had become 
 acquainted with in Russia, and Adolphus was more 
 than ready to do his part in entertaining the guests. 
 What could be done ? As they were asking each 
 other this question (^harley came into the library 
 where they were talking to get a book. 
 
 " Here," said Harold, " is some one who probably can 
 help us out of our dilemma ? " 
 
 " How deep are you in ? Very much depends on 
 that." And he held up his arm from which he had 
 removed the bandage that morning. 
 
 " O !" said Kathey, laughing, " it will not need any 
 physical strength. Sit down here and let me tell you 
 all about it." 
 
 When she had made the situation known, Charley 
 said quickly: " What kind of a party is it going 
 to be ? " 
 
 " We call it," said Harold, "a Thanksgiving recep- 
 tion, but, between ourselves, we think we are helping 
 to build up thus a sentiment for pure, healthy amuse- 
 ment. When we had the first one the young people 
 did not see how they could pass an evening without 
 dancing, or cards, or games of any kind, but when 
 the}^ got here and found the room filled with flow^ers 
 and paintings, the tables full of odd curios I had 
 
; I 
 
 AT LAKE VIEW. 
 
 245 
 
 h 
 
 gathered in iny travels, and a band of jubilee singers 
 and an elocutionist from New York, they came to the 
 conclusion that there would have been no time to 
 dance or play games of any kind. We have made it 
 a point, too, to bring out the conversational powers of 
 our guests in a way that has surprised them; elves, 
 and which could never be done by allowing them to 
 become interested in the usual way of passing an 
 evening. Kathey has also insisted on the young 
 
 ladies being properly clothed " • Imt he did not 
 
 finish the sentence, for his wife pui her hand over his 
 mouth. 
 
 Charley caught his meaning, however, and, looking 
 into Mrs. Huntington's blushing face, said : " I see, I 
 see ; ybu did not want any cases of pneumonia foU 
 lowing your party." They all laughed at the implied 
 hint, 
 
 " Well," he continued, " if said party is on the plan 
 you, describe I cannot see why .you are to make any 
 changes on our account. As for Rachel, I know she 
 would feel badly if she knew that you contemplated it 
 for a moment." 
 
 Just then a merry laugh was heard in the hall, and 
 Charley laughed too, as he said, " That is Berthy ; her 
 laugh is infectious. I tell her I never wait to hear 
 what she is laughing at, for I know it is something 
 good, so I get ready to enjoy it with her. I tell you, 
 I am glad to take her home with me to wake the 
 echoes in the old house." 
 
 At this moment the door was thrown open, and 
 Berthy rushed in. " He is here," she called, as soon 
 
246 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 m 
 
 !■': '. "''i 
 
 "tit 
 
 m^ 
 
 mm 
 
 as she saw who was in the room, and Grace came in 
 after her with an open letter in her hand. 
 
 " We have been hunting all over the house for you, 
 Charley," she said ; " such fun ! Aunt Elizabeth is 
 married ! " 
 
 ** Then, there is nothing for me to do if the cere- 
 mony is over." 
 
 " No ; but we want to know if you are acquainted 
 with her husband, he is from Denver. Read the 
 letter Grace," and Berthy seated herself on the arm 
 of her brother's chair, and Grace began : 
 
 " My Dear Niece, — I have some news for you that 
 will surprise you very much. I was married yester- 
 day to a gentleman from Denver, Colorado. He was 
 boarding at the house of a friend of my cousin's, where 
 we went one evening to take tea, so I became acquainted 
 with him, and in less than two weeks we were 
 married. Of course, I am very particular about my 
 personal appearance, and looked extremely well that 
 evening, and he has told me since that he fell in love 
 with me at first sight. I tell you this to let you girls 
 know how important it is for a lady always to look 
 well. (" She meant that for me," said Berthy). His 
 name is Theodore J. Smith. He is a retired gentle- 
 man, living on the interest of his money." 
 
 " Do you know him ? " said Berthy, looking into 
 lier brother's face. 
 
 " Why, it is my Theodore," said Charley, " you 
 , know I told you about his writing to me when my 
 uncle wanted me to come to Denver." 
 
 " Oh, I thought it was Josh. Smith you said ? " 
 
 " Theodore J." said Charley, laughing at the 
 
 
AT LAKE VIEW. 
 
 247 
 
 
 puzzled faces around him. " He said when he went 
 West he decided to drop the name of Joshua, it 
 sounded so much like his past life." 
 
 " I wonder," said Kathey, " if Aunt Elizabeth 
 recosfnized him ? " 
 
 " I was thinking of that," said Harold, " and do 
 you think he has any money ? " 
 
 " My uncle willed him two thousand when he died, 
 and I persuaded him to invest it out there where he 
 could get eight per cent., and I suppose that is the 
 interest he has made her believe he is living on. A 
 rather scanty support for a retired gentleman with a 
 wife, unless he intends to work at something, which 
 I very much doubt." 
 
 " No," said Grace, " he would rather beg than work. 
 But it seems as if Aunt Elizabeth must have known 
 him, so she could not be so foolish as to depend on 
 anything iie says." 
 
 " He would never tell her who he was if he could 
 possibly conceal his identity ; he is deceitful enough 
 for that," said Charley. " That is one reason why I 
 did not keep him after uncle died, I could not trust 
 him out of my sight." 
 
 " Oh," said Berthy, " they are well mated," she, too, 
 is full of deceit, and perhaps has told him a lot of 
 lies. I tell you my sympathies are with Theodore," 
 and she laughed again, all the family joining in. 
 
 When Kathey and Grace heard Berthy discussing 
 Aunt Elizabeth, it seemed to bring to their minds so 
 many things they had nearly forgotten, and made the 
 change in the girl they had called sister so much 
 
248 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 m 
 
 li 
 
 
 more apparent. Surely this could never be Berthy 
 Hitting on the arm of her brother s chair, her loot 
 swinging in such an easy, careless manner, one hand 
 holding on to the back of the chair, and the other 
 toying with an expensive watch chain that was 
 dangling from her belt. 
 
 They knew why their aunt had always disliked 
 Berthy so much ; but as they looked at her now, in a 
 neatly-fitting dark blue dress, with its trimmings 
 of cardinal velvet, her eyes sparkling with merriment, 
 her parted lips showing a line of white teeth, they 
 wondered that they had ever considered her homely ; 
 yet they had, for Kathey had said many times, 
 " There is no use trying the effect of nice clothes 
 on Berthy, for they seem to be thrown away." What 
 was it then that had wrought this change ? 
 
 As if in answer to her thoughts, Berthy caught 
 sight of her brother's arm, " Oh, Charley," she said, 
 " Where is the sling for your arm ? " "I * slung ' it 
 away so I could hug my new sister," he said, as he 
 put his arm around her. 
 
 Kathey knew by the light in the dark face that 
 those w^ords of love and endearment were what she 
 had needed all her life to bring out not only the 
 beauty of her face but the glow of soulful interest 
 in everything that was good and noble, and she 
 chided herself that she had allowed the little, mother- 
 less girl to starve in her very presence, when a v ord 
 of kindness or love would have been to her as daily 
 food. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 lat 
 jhe 
 ,he 
 est 
 
 he 
 er- 
 
 rd 
 
 HE morning of Tlianksgiving Day was 
 ushered in with the storm that Mr. 
 McDonell had predicted. Sometime 
 in the night the wind rose to a gale, 
 the air turning cold so rapidly that 
 when the rain began to fall fine, sharp snow flakes 
 came with it, filling the air with a driving hurricane 
 that was blinding to meet and clinging to everything 
 it touched. * 
 
 " Where is Wiggens ? " said Harold, as he met the 
 family at breakfast, " I want to congratulate him on 
 the prompt arrival of the storm he forecast." 
 
 Mr. McDonell enjoyed the joke, but said, " I guess I 
 am the only one to be congratulated, for if this 
 weather keeps up I am afraid your party to-night 
 will not have a very large attendance." 
 
 " Oh," said Kathey, " the young people will all be 
 here, it is the horses that are to be pitied in a time 
 like this." 
 
 " Who are they that have to be met at the depot ? " 
 asked Harold. 
 17 
 
250 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 <« «ij;, 
 
 
 Signer Selaska at twelve o'clock, and Aunt Mc- 
 Donell and Geraldine at seven," was the answer- 
 " They wrote me that they would not come any 
 sooner, as they could not leave the city until this 
 morning. Geraldine has only the chance of two 
 holidays — to-day and to-morrow." 
 
 There was a wof Id of preparation to be made late 
 the night before ; an express box had arrived for 
 Charley. He did not tell the girls it had come ; for, as 
 he said on making it known to them now, he was 
 afraid Berthy would become so excited she would not 
 be able to sleep. They all knew what the box con- 
 tained, for the first day Berthy arrived at Lake View 
 Edith took her away to her own room and said to 
 her : " There will be a party here Thanksgiving night, 
 and as all of the guests will be paying you more 
 attention than usual on account of the change that 
 has come to you I would like to have you look as 
 nice as you can. Now, what are you going to wear ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Edith, take me in hand, you know I cannot 
 think of anything that would be suitable." 
 
 But there was very little time, and she must have 
 a dress ; so, after consulting Kathey and Charley, the 
 girls had gone to the city, a distance of about twenty- 
 five miles, and had a day of shopping that had 
 resulted in an abundance of parcels being brought 
 home with them and four or fivo dresses left at the 
 head dress-making establishment, to be sent to Lake 
 View as soon as completed. Accordingly the box 
 had arrived, but Grace declared she would have slept 
 better if she had known the dresses were in the house, 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 251 
 
 for she WHH afraid they would not come, as dn^sH- 
 makers were ho apt to disappoint their customers. 
 Charley enjoyed the novelty of opening t)ie box with all 
 the female members of the household gathered around 
 him ; even the servients, after supplying the necessary 
 hammer and hatchet, thought they had a right to in- 
 spect the contents. One after another of* the nobby 
 costumes were taken out and commented upon. 
 Madam Larrilard had pinned a little note to each 
 garment to tell how a change could be made if needed. 
 
 First, he pulled out a dark green cloth travelling 
 suit trimmed with mink fur, and a neat brown walk- 
 ing dress with a natty little jacket to match ; then a 
 grey flannel trimmed with bands of black velvet 
 ribbon, and cut steel buttons ; the next was a pretty, 
 plain black-silk dress, the only one Charley had 
 suggested (what man does not like to see a woman 
 dressed in black silk ?); but the crowning feature of 
 the whole was a dress carefully fastened to the side of 
 the box with tapes, a garnet velvet trimmed with 
 ruchings of the same shade of silk, the front of the 
 waist prettily draped with cream lace. 
 
 Berthy's eyes sparkled as she saw these beautiful 
 dresses displayed for her admiration and approval, 
 but when the girls all, with one voice, asked her to try 
 them on one after the other, until they saw how each 
 one become her, she cast on her brother such a look 
 of entreaty, that he knew in a moment what it meant, 
 and said quickly, with perhaps a little sarcasm : 
 "You do not know Berthy if you think, she likes to be 
 looked at, even to have her clothes admired ; but I 
 
 li 
 
252 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 hope that she will overcome her bad opinion of her 
 own personal appearance as she gets older, and knows 
 how blind the eyes of love are." By the time all the 
 finery had been carried upstairs and the empty box 
 disposed of luncheon was announced, and all went 
 into the dining room, where, to their surprise, they 
 found already at the table, not only Signor Selaska, 
 whom they expected to meet, but no less a personage 
 than Aunt Elizabeth. When her nieces greeted her 
 and expressed their surprise, that lady explained that 
 she was sure she would find them all at Lake View^ 
 so she had come here for a few days, while Mr. Smith 
 went to Sunnnerville to secure a house as they 
 expected to make that village their future home. She 
 had arrived on the same train with the Professor, and 
 finding the Huntington carriage in waiting they came 
 at the same time. There were no more questions 
 asked or answered now, the foreign gentleman being 
 the centre of attraction for the time being ; but later 
 in the day when all the family were gathered in the 
 drawing room, Adolphus having taken the signor into 
 the library to make some enquiries concerning 
 England, where he had lately been travelling, Grace 
 said to her aunt, " I suppose your husband will visit 
 old friends in Summerville until you meet him 
 there." 
 
 Mrs. Smith seemed delighted that the subject was 
 again mentioned, and spreading out the folds of her 
 new brown satin dress skirt (probably a present from 
 Theodore) said, " I think he has no acquaintances in 
 the village, so he will probably remain at the hotel 
 
t: 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 253 
 
 until I arrive. He thinkH of buying a lot and build- 
 ing a house. It was my choice to live in Sununerville, 
 for I always liked the place and people, with a few 
 exceptions. Of course, I will expect to go in a better 
 chiss of society when I return, and very likely that 
 of itself will cause some jealousy, as it always does. 
 A person must expect those things, it is the price of 
 success," and the lady leaned back in her chair and 
 heaved a sigh at the depravity of human nature. A 
 visible smile went around the room that threatened 
 each moment to break iiito an audible laugh, and 
 Harold haslened to enquire what business Mr. Smith 
 expected to go into in the village. 
 
 '! Oh," said Mrs. Smith, (piickly, " his nu'ans 
 are all invested in a Colorado land association, 
 and the interest is all he expects to use," and she 
 added, " he ma}^ not like the place, it never looks very 
 well to a stranger, you know." 
 
 Mr. McDonell thought she had furnished enough 
 amusement for the company and said, impatiently : 
 " Joshua Smith is not a stranger in Summerville." 
 
 " Joshua 1 did you say ; my husband's name is 
 Theodore," and she said it with so much emphasis 
 that it ought to have ended all controversy, but it 
 did not. 
 
 The old man said with equal vehemence, " then his 
 name is Theodore Joshua, for he is the same man that 
 lived there five years ago, and his wife and little boy 
 are buried there. We all knew him. If you want 
 further proof, ask Charley, he knew him well in 
 Colorado." 
 
254 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 She had risen to her feet, and now faced him. He 
 could not help but feel sorry for her, though she was 
 in her pride getting ready to trample under her feet 
 every one in her native village less favored than she 
 supposed herself to be. 
 
 But he answered quietly, " Your husband went to 
 Colorado a few months before I did, and it was through 
 him that my uncle found out that I was his brother's 
 son, and therefore I have always felt very grateful to 
 Th3odore for his kindness." 
 
 He said this last to set her at ease, but it was of 
 no use ; she stared at him as one in a dream, the ex- 
 ultation in her face dying out and giving place to a 
 look of mingled disgust and despair. All the terrible 
 things she herself had said, and all she had heard 
 others say of him, seemed ringing in her ears. For, 
 with the memory of that little house on the commons, 
 and the recollection that it was Harold that had given 
 him the money to take him away, came the words of 
 the villagers who hoped he would never come 
 back again. All this came to her in a rush of feeling^ 
 that was so overwhelming, she could only drop back 
 into her chair and, covering her face with her hands 
 exclaim: " Have I married Josh Smith ?" 
 
 The storm instead of abating had increased in 
 violence. At about four o'clock it was almost impos- 
 sible to see a few yards in advance. Fortunately no 
 guests were expected on that train, but Kathey was 
 worrying about the later trip at seven. Harold had 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 255 
 
 just returned from the ntables, where he had given 
 the coachman orders to blanket the horses well, 
 when the girl appeared at the sitting room door and 
 said : " There is a gentleman in the hall who wants to 
 see you. He is almost frozen, I believe." Harold 
 hurried away to ascertain who the unlucky mortal 
 was, and, to his surprise, he encountered in the veri- 
 table snow-man at the door Roger McDonell. 
 
 When he had parted with Ray at the depot one week 
 ago, he did not know when he would be able to see 
 her again. 
 
 He had her promise to be his wife, but he could not 
 ask her " to name the day," for he knew his salary 
 was not sufficient to support a wife as he felt she had 
 a right to be supported. Rachel was willing to wait 
 any length of time, feeling sure their love for each 
 other would never grow less by the enforced separa- 
 tion. , 
 
 But Roger wanted her nes^r him, and knew it 
 would be impossible for her to remain in Philadelphia 
 any longer, and he, too, had a fear that Berthy w^ould 
 persuade her to go to Denver. In the days ^ihat fol- 
 lowed her departure he grew very gloomy, and felt 
 that in being parted from the object of his affections 
 that life was hardly worth living. The young men 
 in the store noticed it, as did the proprietor, and 
 thinking something had ^*^ne wrong said to him^: 
 "McDonell, you do not seem as cheerful as usual. 
 What is the matter ? " < , \ , 
 
 " Well," said Roger, looking up quickly, " I did not 
 suppose my feelings were so plainly shown by m\ 
 
256 
 
 HiLL-CRESt. 
 
 i.il'i 
 
 manner, but the fact is I have been thinking I would 
 have to make a change. Do not think me iTngrateful, 
 but I am not earning enough for my present needs. 
 When I came here four years ago, the salary seemed 
 all 1 could expect, but now I am twenty-five years old, 
 and although the position I occupy could be filled by 
 anyone for the money you pay to me, and, therefore, I 
 cannot ask for more, still I think I ought to look for 
 something better." 
 
 The proprietor arose, and laying his hand on Roger's 
 shoulder, said, in a kind, fatherly tone of voice, " You 
 have more than filled the position you held, and we have 
 been intending to raise your salary, but you seemed 
 so contented and happy that we did not say anything 
 to you about it. But I tell you now if it is more 
 money you want or a change I will see that you have 
 both. We want to send a man to the old country in 
 the spring to look after our interests there and would 
 like to have you go. How does the prospect suit 
 you ? 
 
 Roger grasped the hand of his kind employer and 
 told him he would be delighted to remain in his pres- 
 ent position, and thanked him for the interest he was 
 taking in him ; adding, in his impulsive, straightfor- 
 ward way, that he had always tried to do his duty 
 by him, as he needed his friendship as much as his 
 money. 
 
 The man laughed and said : " A fine-looking fellow 
 like you ought not to be friendless or homele' a long. 
 There are scores of nice girls who would make you a 
 happy home." 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 257 
 
 As soon as the words had escaped his lips he saw 
 he had touched a responsive chord, and laughing 
 again heartily said, " I wish you luck, my boy ; I 
 know how it is. I was young once myself." This 
 was on the afternoon before Thanksgiving Day and 
 Roger could hardly wait until morning, so anxious 
 was he to see his lady-love and tell her of his good 
 fortune. So on the next day we find him at Lake 
 View covered with snow, having walked from the 
 depot, but with such a warm heart and happy face 
 that the whole house seemed more cheery for his un- 
 expected presence. 
 
 The elegant rooms were one blaze of light and 
 color, and every nook and corner was filled with ga;y, 
 blooming plants, enabling the guests to forget the 
 dreariness of the approaching winter. The bright, 
 pretty costumes of the young ladies, showing in sharp 
 contrast to the black, masculine attire at their side, 
 made a picture at once pleasant and gratifying to host 
 and hostess. 
 
 The grand square pianoforte occupied a place 
 in the centre oarlor, that on occasions like this 
 there might be an opportunity for the guests not only 
 to hear but to see those who presided. 
 
 The professor had favored the company with sev- 
 eral very fine selections. Then followed a song by a 
 young lady, which was very much enjoyed. 
 
 Charley had heard enough of Roger's voice in the 
 sick room at I^v rs. Kenyon's bedside to feel sure that 
 he could sing elsewhere, and told Harold to call upon 
 
258 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 
 him. Roger, always willing to contribute his share 
 to the enjoyment of any company he chanced to be 
 in, selected a piece of music and asked Signor Selaska 
 to play his accompaniment. 
 
 As thit gentleman took his seat and glanced at the 
 open page before him, he turned to the young man 
 and said in a tone of warning, " It takes a good voice 
 to sing ' The Day Is Done.' " 
 
 " I guess I can raise it," said Roger, enjoying the 
 sedate Russian's trepidation. 
 
 " And a thorough knowledge of the rules of music," 
 he said, again looking at the reckless aspirant in a 
 way that was intended to intimidate him, if possible. 
 
 But Roger failed to take any hint, but said care- 
 lessly: "The people are waiting." 
 
 The professor struck the piano with the air of one that 
 felt he had done his duty, whatever was the consequence. 
 As the clear voice took up the tune his professorship 
 seemed to be listening rather than playing, but when 
 th3 first pause came he suddenly remembered himself 
 and threw his whole soul into the work as though 
 oblivious of all around him. There was a perfect 
 stillness in every part of the house. Those who were 
 fortuiiate enough to be able to appreciate the excel- 
 lent rendering of the song -were spellbound by its 
 magic, and those who could not see any beauty in it 
 were kept silent by the reverent attention of the 
 others. 
 
 Near the door was a slight rustle, and Mrs. Mc- 
 Donell and Geraldine appeared. Having arrived late, 
 they were entering the room just as Roger began 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 259 
 
 eel- 
 its 
 
 n it 
 the 
 
 singing. Some one thought the ladies were trying to 
 get a nearer view of the gentleman at the piano, and 
 kindly but noiselessly gave them a seat. But they 
 could only see his back as he stood there. 
 
 He looked indeed a son that any mother might be 
 proud of, but the old woman sitting there in her 
 rusty silk dress, her cap not all that she would have 
 desired, and gloves not exactly new, did not know 
 that it was her son who was holding the refined, 
 intellectual company, as it were, in breathless wonder 
 and admiration with his fine, cultivated voice. Nor 
 did his sister recognize him until the music stopped, 
 and Signer Selaska sprang from the seat and said, in 
 an excited manner : " Tell me whom I have had the 
 pleasure of playing for ? " 
 
 Roger answered him laughing : " It is Roger Mc- 
 Donell, at your service, sir." 
 
 The young people gathered around him, begging 
 for another song, but the professor must enquire 
 where he lived, and scold him for burying himself in 
 a church choir, and tell him over and over again 
 there was a fortune in his voice. All this Geraldine 
 heard, before she realized that perhaps her mother 
 did not know who it was that was creating so much 
 excitement, and then the thought came to her that 
 she might make a scene if she met her son here. So 
 the girl arose, and telling her mother they had better 
 go into the drawing-room, where it was cooler and less 
 crowded, led that lady away before she was aware why 
 it was done. As they were passing through the door- 
 way they met Adolphus. He was not enjoying jiim- 
 
II 
 
 260 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 W 
 
 
 self very well. That preacher, as he persisted in call- 
 ing Mr. Montgomery, kept close to the side of Edith, 
 who looked particularly lovely in a white cashmere 
 dress, with corsage bouquet of pale-pink rosebuds, 
 and when he would have attached himself to Grace, 
 he was preceded by a young lawyer from a neighbor- 
 ing town, and so poor Adolphus was nursing his 
 wrath and declaring to himself that he would leave 
 the " hlooTYiing country " When he met Geraldine 
 and her mother coming out of the parlor he was 
 struck by the lovely face and figure of the young 
 lady. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ? " he said, seeing an 
 anxious look on the fair face. 
 
 " I am taking my mother to where it is cooler, it is 
 very much crowded in here." 
 
 Let me take you to the conservatory," said the 
 gallant Adolphus, offering the old lady his arm. Geral- 
 dine was delighted with his courteous attention. She 
 had never met him, but when he had found them a 
 comfortable seat and brought a dish of vanilla ice, he 
 introduced himself as Mr. Huntington's friend, s^pA 
 she was very glad to say she was a cousin to Mrs. 
 Huntington. Now, as the old lady expressed a desire 
 to return to the parlor, her daughter thought she had 
 better tell her who was there, but before she had time 
 to put her thoughts into words the}' heard some one 
 laughing, and in another moment Roger and Ray 
 came in and looked around for a place to rest and 
 talk. As soon as he saw his mother he rushed to her 
 side, and extending his hand asked her if she knew 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 261 
 
 Irs. 
 iire 
 lad 
 Ime 
 me 
 Lay 
 md 
 Iher 
 lew 
 
 him. Perhaps, in the five years they liad been parted 
 he had never felt any yearning to see her face, but 
 now, as he looked at her and saw how faded and old 
 she had become in that time, his heart smote him for 
 his neglect of her, and made him feel that in the 
 future he would be more mindful of her than he had 
 been in the past. 
 
 As he stood there she looked up helplessly at lum, 
 and Geraldine could not repress her tears as she said, 
 " Oh ! mother, it is Roger." When he heard his sister's 
 voice he turned quickly, and taking her in his arms 
 kissed her passionately. Mrs. McDonell by this time 
 seemed to realize who it was, and with a little pitiful 
 cry dropped her head on her son's shoulder.; he put 
 his strong arms around her, holding her there until 
 she had become quiet, and then said, as he reached his 
 hand toward Geraldine : " I have been selfish and 
 unfeeling to stay away from you both so long." 
 
 Adolphus never for a moment forgot his duty as a 
 gentleman, so now he went to the side of Miss Kenyon 
 and offered her his arm, saying: " We will take a walk 
 in the rose corridor," and together they went out leaving 
 the family by themselves. 
 
 Roger felti very conscience stricken, but Geraldine 
 said to him : " We have all acted foolishly in the past, 
 and have learned some valuable lessons ; let us not 
 waste time in useless regrets, the past is behind us, 
 and I do not feel that mourning over it will do any 
 good. Tell us, brother, of your life now, it will be 
 more intercvsting than the blame you are so ready to 
 t^^ke on yourself," 
 
262 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 m 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 It sounded new and strange to him to liear liis 
 sister say these things, and the mother realized it, for 
 she said, " O Roger, Geraldine is not Hke she used to 
 be ; she goes to church, and is becoming very religi- 
 ous, and — " 
 
 *' Mother," he said, interrupting her, " when we had 
 wealth w^e turned our backs on all that was good and 
 noble, so it is very plain to me that God took the 
 stumbling block out of our way, so we could find His 
 path to walk in." 
 
 " And have you joined the Church, too ? " said the 
 weak, trembling voice; 
 
 " Joining the Church is the least part of my Christian 
 experience. I am trying with God's help to live for 
 His glory." 
 
 Geraldine pressed the hand she held and said : " I 
 am so glad. I wish we might be together, you could 
 help me to do right, the way seems very dark some- 
 times." 
 
 " I will and can help you now." 
 
 And he told them of his prospects, and also his 
 great love for Rachel Kenyon, and liow she had 
 promised less than two hours ago, to go back with 
 him to Philadelphia as his wife, and he continued: "I 
 will try and make some arrangements so you can go 
 with us." 
 
 Just then Adolphus and Rachel returned, and as 
 Mrs. McDonell was so exhausted with the excitement 
 of meeting Roger he persuaded her to retire for the 
 night, and he went with her to her chamber door and 
 asked Nettie to stay by her until she was asleep. 
 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 263 
 
 • Adolphus had admired Geraldine very much wlien 
 he first saw lier, and now wlien he returned to tlie 
 conservatory and found the traces of tears on her 
 sweet face, his heart was completely gone. 
 
 They went back to the parlor again just in time to 
 join the procession to the dhiing room, and he consid- 
 ered himself very fortunate in securing so handsome a 
 partner. As they were leaving the table Charley said 
 to Edith : " Mr. VanArsdale is really very pleasant 
 when you get to know him; I never saw him so 
 agreeable as he is to-night." 
 
 The next morning at eight o'clock the family all 
 gathered in the front parlor, where the decorations 
 were still hanging. Signor Selaska sat at the piano, 
 and at a signal began playing Mendelsson's wedding 
 march. In through the ivy-trimmed archway came 
 Roger and Rachel and took their place under a canopy 
 of drooping ferns, followed by Berthy and Geraldine, 
 Adolphus acting the part of best Inan. The Rev. Mr. 
 Montgomery, with an impressive service, joined to- 
 gether those two loving hearts by the holy marriage 
 ceremony. 
 
 Rachel knew she would soon be parted from 
 Berthy, and taving no other friend she cared to make 
 her home with, yielded to Roger's passionate entreaty 
 to go back with him. He told her of the lonely week 
 he had passed, of the encouraging words of his 
 employer, and of his present good fortune and future 
 prospects, but most of all of his great need of her 
 companionship. Her own heart yearning for his 
 sympathy and protection, made it seem to her the 
 
264 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 right thing to do, and so, without the usual prepara- 
 tions of an elaborate trosseau, the Httle, modest Quaker 
 maiden was taken into tlie heart and home of tlie man 
 that to her was all the world. 
 
 " I never performed a marriage ceremony that gave 
 me more pleasure than the one lihis iM^rnmg," said 
 Charley as he met Harold in the hall, after the 
 congratulations were over and the happy couple were 
 preparing to depart on their journey. "They seemed 
 to belong to each other." 
 
 Harold laughed, and putting his hand on his friend's 
 side said, " How does the old bachelor's heart feel 
 after witnessing the happiness of this other man ? " 
 
 " Happiness for myself has always been a secondary 
 thought with me. To a man like you, where every- 
 thing seemed to fall into your outstretched hands, my 
 life may seem a little hard, but I have been so accus- 
 tomed to bringing happiness to others that I forget 
 sometimes that I ever had a hr.man heart to satisfy. 
 Roger's supreme delight this morning, I suppose, is 
 only a faint reflection of what yours was on a similar 
 occasion." 
 
 " By the way, Charley," said Harold quickly, not 
 replying to his friend's last remark, " I want to ask 
 you before you go away what it was I did to offend 
 you when we were together in Summer ville five years 
 ago. I knew you were angry with me about some- 
 thing, but never could surmise what it was." 
 
 Charley laughed, but did not answer until his friend 
 spoke again and said : " My wife told me never to 
 mention it to you, for she w«ts iifr£i,id it would result 
 
 y 
 
 Je 
 wl 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 2G5 
 
 IS 
 
 Lar 
 
 iiot 
 isk 
 md 
 iars 
 le- 
 
 ind 
 to 
 
 IsuH 
 
 ill a rt'iiewal oF the old it'ud. She is iiiniK'iisclv i'ond 
 of you, and said only yoKtrrday that nhv hoped we 
 might always be friends." 
 
 He was lookintj at ("liarlev earnestU' as he said 
 this, perhaps fearino- ]\v JkkI made a mistake in allud- 
 ing to the misunderstanding of the past. But Ik^ 
 need not have made himself uiieasv on that score, as 
 the confused manner of his friend led him to think 
 there had really been no grounds for the coolness that 
 had come between them. Yet he was anxious to 
 know wliat it was, and waited for the answer he felt 
 he had a right to ex])ect. Charley knew Harold well 
 enough to be sure he would not let the matter rest, 
 now he had commenced the subject, until it was all 
 explained ; so he threw back his head with the look 
 of one at bay and said : 
 
 " Well, if there is no getting around it, I will tell 
 you plainly that I thought it was Edith you married." 
 
 " Whew-ew-ew," said Harold, arid then burst into a 
 loud laugh " And when di<l you find out the differ- 
 ence ? 
 
 " Not until I went to Hill-Crest to find Berthy." 
 
 His friend looked sober and said: " Oh ! that is too 
 bad. And all thuse five years you nursed your 
 wrath ? '* 
 
 " No, no, I was not mad at all, but just thought as 
 I always have that you were the fortunate one, and 
 tried to wish you all the happiness in the world ; but 
 you cannot wonder that I did not feel like receiving 
 letters from you sounding the praises of the only 
 woman I had ever loved and realizing that she was 
 18 
 
206 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 anotlier man's wife. Tliere, I liave made a full coii- 
 foHsioii," lie a(lfle<l, lan^lnn<Lr, " are you satisfied ? " 
 
 Harold was ^oin^ to speak, but at just that moment 
 the subject of theii* i*emai'ks ran down the stairs and 
 turned into the library. Harold caught her by the 
 arm and said, " Charley wants you," at the same time 
 giving his friend a look of mischievous intelligence, 
 and walked away. 
 
 Edith turned an unsuspecting face to Mr. Mont- 
 gomery, who said (quickly (not wanting to give his 
 benedict friend the satisfaction of thinking he had 
 left him in a predicament), " That (jueen cactus we 
 were looking at yesterday is going to bloom soon. 
 Come with me and see if you think it will to-night." 
 As they passed Harold on their way to the conserva- 
 tory he said to Edith, " Perhaps you will find a king 
 out there instead of a (lueen." 
 
 ^ " It is a (jueen / am looking for," said Charley, and 
 closed the door before Harold could reply. 
 
 At two o'clock in the afternoon, the bridal party 
 were ready to take their leave of Lake View. 
 
 Roger and his " wee wifie " had persuaded Gei'al- 
 dine to go with them to their new home, her brother 
 having written himself to tell her employer she 
 would not return to the store. When Adolphus 
 heard this arrangement he decided he would go with 
 them, as he had always admired the city of Philadel- 
 phia very much. 
 
 Mrs. McDonell would stay at Lake View until her 
 daughter's return. Roger said to her when bidding 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 267 
 
 ll- 
 le 
 
 IS 
 
 fh 
 1- 
 
 IS 
 
 her good-bye: "Perhaps, mother, there are better days 
 in store for us than we have ever known, not in a 
 worldly sense, but !». the sense of having earnec] our 
 share of prosperity, coming up as we have out of 
 great tribulation." The old lady could not rejoice in 
 his present circumstances as a mother would who had 
 done all in her power to encoui'age and help him to 
 a higher life, and was therefore the moi'e to be pitied; 
 that she knew she had no right to si ire this pro- 
 sperity which he, in liis unsellish devotio i, was will- 
 ing to bestow on her. She did not sp 'ak, but sighed 
 heavily when Signor Selaska congiatul.ited her on 
 her son's talent and fine voice. 
 
 There was a great deal of merriment when the 
 carriage came around to take the happy couple away. 
 Grace and one of the other girls, who had come in to see 
 them off, provided themselves with enough rice and 
 old shoes to express the good luck th«\y wished in 
 their hearts w^ould attend them througli lifo. 
 
 Berthy tried to keep cheerful, but when ^he bade 
 Ray good-bye her courage gave way at the parting 
 with her cousin, and they wept in each other's arms. 
 
 V.'hen the carriage had driven away, Charley took 
 his sister into the back parlor for, he said, he had some- 
 thing to tell her that he hoped would reconcile her 
 somewhat to the parting with Rachel. When they were 
 seated he said to her: "I have been thinking that it 
 was too bad to take you away from all of the girls 
 you so long loved as your sisters, and I realize that 
 you can hardly think of me as a brother, we have 
 only been together a few weeks." 
 
^68 
 
 HILL-CREST. 
 
 " But I do," said Berthy, '* I don't want you to think 
 that I am going to feel lonely with you ; but Ray and 
 myself have been such good friends, and then it is 
 such a long way from my home to hers we shall 
 never see each other again," and her voice was choked 
 with sobs. 
 
 **Do not say that little siste ' it is only a short 
 ride on an express train, and now you have the 
 money to travel with, I will expect to see you come 
 into my study any morning and say : "I am going to 
 run across to Philadelphia to-day, have you any word 
 to send ? " 
 
 She could not help but laugh at the pleasant 
 picture her brother had drawn, ar ' dried her 
 eyes as she looked into his happy face, ,tnd asked if 
 that was what he intended to tell her. 
 
 " No," he said, " I have asked Edith to go to Denver 
 with us, how does that suit you ? " 
 
 " I .would rather have Grace, why did you not ask 
 her ? " 
 
 ' Well," said her brother, looking down, " I did not 
 feel that it would be quite right to ask lier, for I ha-l 
 nothing to offer her for the sacj'ifice she would have to 
 make in leaving her home.'" 
 
 " And what have you offered Edith to pay her for 
 going ? " said his sister, looking at him in innocent 
 wonder, he enjoyed her surprise as he said: "Oh! J 
 have offered her all I have to give anyone on earth — 
 my home, m^ fortune and my heart." Just for a 
 moment she wondered what could he m.ean, and then 
 thre .7 her arms around his neck and exclaimed : " Oh 
 
Conclusion. 
 
 269 
 
 Charley you ,nean you are jfoiug to n.arry her I 
 then tokl lier l>ow loi. he had loved Edith, and how 
 
 and go wxth h,m to his Western home, wakinir him 
 happy by saying she, too, had loved him all tl " year" 
 he^^had been thinking of her as the wife of anrthe" 
 
 There is little more to tell. When Charley Mont- 
 gomery asked Mr. McDonell for his daughters hand 
 the old man smile,! and said. " Would you be taS. 
 another of my girls ? " but added, more soberly, " th rf 
 
 arrvthaH; "' "f "-* ^ -"^ -ner'see hi 
 Zifhl • T r* "'^' °'^' ^■"'^"''- You are very 
 much hke lum, a httle more of a gentlen.an perhaps 
 but no better at heart, if you are a preacher ^ ' 
 
 THE KiVD.