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 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
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■^■*)'(VT:i%>iv/S'x^-5.'^^*f-r I j^-'iVj' 
 
J'. 
 
 
 
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 i;ir1, a very little (ftrl. liiA 
 
 
 H 
 
 I 
 
 OUR STREET. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. S. R. GRAHAM CLARK. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "YENSIE WALTON," 
 
 Take comfort I earth ii full uf sin, 
 
 But also full of God. 
 The staff supportsthy trembling limbi, 
 
 While falls the needed rod. 
 There's sorrow, and Jehovah; 
 
 There's toil, and blessed sleep; 
 Let smiloa then blossom round your lipa, 
 
 As oft ai eyelids weep. 
 
 D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, 
 32 Fbanklin Stbeet. 
 
 
 1^^ 
 
 4%' 
 
 
 
^w im i i. 
 
 • W ill i ■! I ) wm I I 
 
 The chair, just now, and usually, was occupied by a little girl, a very little gtrl. with 
 a thin face, and straggling flaxen loclts. — Pagejj. 
 
 .1) 
 
 
 
 
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 L, 
 
■IM i .'imHWHW I IBBt'l. l l!' 
 
 le girl, a very little gtrl. with 
 . — Pagesj. 
 
 f 
 
 I. 
 
 ;,10'«if.. .' ;s':'P:C-W •!':».? 
 
 t t 
 
 4 
 
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 I 
 
 ■.* 
 
 % 
 
 OUR STREET. 
 
 BT 
 
 liKi. S. K. GRAHAM CLARK. 
 
 #»*. s»iw» i«a oi i>(ki. 
 
 ^%^? . '<«< stptwrJ-ithy trtroWing linibt, 
 
 ^M^iM^" (Ike needed md. 
 r»«»« f ,«'^«»" . and Jclii'vah^ 
 
 '■'i:y-vt. r««, Mill Wealed sleep; 
 "bit tociKf "t*!: liiflr.'iim round your lip*) 
 
 ^ ot) K* ojMlide weep. 
 
 
 
 "JfHaX. 
 
 » 
 
 BOSTON"*^-;^*^. 
 I^OTHROP AND>COMPANY, 
 
 32 FKANKIJN SiBKKT. 
 
 ^ 
 
 w.*. 
 
 .*c 
 
 **tr 
 
 ,.««». 
 
 ,,.ir 
 
**•* 
 
 COPYRIGHT ll» 
 
 0. LOTHROP It CO 
 1860. 
 
 P 
 
 ,..Mr 
 
 
5u'» 
 
 
 i' V 
 
 '%* 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 ^T-HE remembrance of one for whose P'«"°" J^^'J^^^^,';; 
 I first conceived, but whose eyes will never Vf^nneU* 
 X first conceiveu, ^^^^ ^^^^^^ ^^ 
 
 Bhiue, surrounded by angel miulsUles, unr^semiig our au 
 TO MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS 
 
 tKFT BTILL TO BABTH AND ME — 
 
 tAey are /our— 
 
 THIS BOOK 18 DEDICATED. 
 
 flhall I sav especially to her whose dusky eyes have neve- 
 
 f# 
 
 «3 
 
 S 
 
 iUrr-^}r,.u.. 
 
 3 
 
 r^ ;^ 
 
^mmmmmm^mi 
 
 PMM 
 
 ■fMMH 
 
mmemmimimmmmmmmimmgm 
 
 ' - '^"''Tili Cii 
 
 VAQI. 
 
 I. -Some Things about U worth Knowing - - 1 
 
 10 
 II. — Had-beeni and Are-nowB . - - 
 
 III. — Little Med'clne ■''""".. 
 
 IV. — Beefsteak, Babies and Dally Bread- - - '>* 
 
 v.— Ilappenln's ^ 
 
 VI. — Little Stevle 
 
 Vn. — A Tramp - - 
 
 VIII. —A Found-out and lU Outcome 
 
 IX — Mr. Jenkins is Charitable ^^ 
 
 X. — MUs Juniper out on Duty * " ' ' qT 
 TI — Pangs and their Afterwards . . - - 184 
 
 XIL— Mr. Jenkins* Exit *"" 
 
 212 
 XIIL — What slew the Dwgon . - - - 
 
 XIV —Dick's Star In the Ascendant - . - - 28 
 
 , 241 
 
 XV.-Letty ----- 
 
 XVL— How Ike Proposed 
 
 XVIL — Jetty In Need of Med'clne 269 
 
 XVIII. -Next Comes ^ 
 
 XIX. — After Scraps - 
 
 _ II _ - • - • o24 
 
 XX.— Endings . - - - - 
 
 T. 
 
 &V' 
 
• ) 
 
 I ■ 
 
 i- 
 
 h 
 
 ! 
 
 if ' , 
 
 
 ■J 
 
 4 
 
OUR STREET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 BOMB THINGS ABOUT IT WOETH KNOWING. 
 
 IT was iu a city. A neat, nice, cozy, comfortable 
 city ; a sea-breezy, rambling, country-suggest- 
 ive, sweet-scented city; a busy, mercantUe, yet 
 home-happy, well-to-do city. A little old-fash- 
 ioned, perhaps, in its simple faith in many Bible 
 truths; ultra, somewhat, in its notions of reUgious 
 and social liberty; a kind of little earthly par- 
 adise to certain goodish sort of fanatics — slav- 
 ery-hating, temperance-loving, liberty-preaching 
 fanatics — fanatics that might be reasonably sup- 
 
 7 
 
 -m 
 
 
 I^^S 
 
8 
 
 0T7B STREET. 
 
 posed to hold at least a fifth-cousinship to those 
 who wrote "All men are born free and equal," 
 and who were credulous enough to believe this 
 a rule worthy of acceptance, "All things what- 
 soever ye would that men should do to you, do 
 ye even so to them." 
 
 Indeed, our city was pronounced by some peo- 
 ple—and not the worst people in the world, 
 either— as healthy in its public tone as the 
 breezes that swept its white-winged bay, tossing 
 the hair of the merry-voiced children that played 
 in its streets, rustling the folds of its stars and 
 stripes, swaying its hundreds of mighty-armed 
 trees. 
 
 It was, moreover, in a neighborhood. Our Street. 
 A busy, bustling, bread-and-butter earning neigh- 
 borhood; a cart-wheeling, newspaper-screaming, 
 meat, butter, sugar, salt^ealing neighborhood. 
 A neighborhood where people ate, drank, worked, 
 slept, and got up to repeat it again year by year. 
 A neighborhood where people joyed, suflPered, 
 sickened, died; where babes were born to scream 
 
i^y 
 
 sinship to those 
 ree and equal," 
 to believe this 
 11 things what- 
 1 do to you, do 
 
 i by some peo- 
 in the world, 
 c tone as the 
 }d bay, tossing 
 en that played 
 if its stars and 
 mighty-armed 
 
 3d, Our Street, 
 earning neigh- 
 iper-screaming, 
 neighborhood. 
 Irank, worked, 
 year by year, 
 yed, suflPered, 
 urn to scream 
 
 SOME THINGS ABOUT IT WOBTH KNOWING. 9 
 
 and laugh, pat cakes, make mud-pies, take cholera- 
 infantum and measles, whooping-cough and what 
 not? and live through it all sometimes, drag 
 through it all sometimes, die through it all some- 
 times, until a day came when the dying ended, 
 and there was a burial. 
 
 In short, the whole tragedy of life was enacted 
 continually in our neighborhood; tragedy, and 
 comedy as well, for laughter treads upon tears, 
 moans trip up jokes, merriment pays penance to 
 sorrow, and woe compensates itself in after smiles. 
 You will understand from this that Our Street 
 was not destitute of homes. Yet there were 
 plenty of shops in it, and all trades were repre- 
 sented there. Grocers, butchers, tinsmiths, black- 
 smiths, shoe-makers; periodical and confectionery- 
 shops, millinery and fancy-goods stores, a hair- 
 cutting establishment, and even a dining-saloon 
 and mw-shop — don't let me forget that I 
 
 A. rum-shop in our city 1 Surely I — Perhaps 
 I have used too low a term. A drinking-saloon 
 it was. .None of your smaU, dirty, jug-of-whisky 
 
 ^' 
 
 ^0: 
 
 ^Kj' 
 
 AV 
 
 
 ^ 
 
10 
 
 OUB STEEET. 
 
 shanties, but a clean, bright-windowed, cheery, 
 looking shop, with, polished counters, outclass 
 decanters, swinging glass-Washer, and a bright- 
 colored, fancy, paper fly-catcher. Ah, I wish 
 flies were the only things they caught there I 
 
 But, as I said, though there were plenty of 
 shops, there were homes also. Most of them 
 over th se stores, some back of them, a few pri- 
 vate houses where the better class lived, and a 
 few tenement-houses where — well, you'll find 
 out soon enough who occupied them. 
 
 Of course Our Street was not genteel— not 
 exactly. It was nex Moor-neighbor to it, though, 
 for on both sides of it ran streets decidedly so, 
 and the horse-car could carry you, any hour, 
 right to £he West End, among the elite, for six 
 cents. 
 
 Then, too, Mr. Jenkins, the rum-seller— excuse 
 me, drinking-saloon-keeper, I mean — was worth 
 quite a sum. He had real velvet furniture in 
 his parlor, ^nd owned a carriage; and although 
 he lived over his establishment, it was in great 
 
 ^-C-S.^^i^^ii3!C hJ:i t '^^!^lifJ '"> - ^y a: .i ..--•■■^ 
 
 "- --^^'ii-.sm.ymn-ti 
 
BOMB THINGS ABOUT IT "WOBTH KNOWING. 11 
 
 adowed, cheery- 
 iinters, cut-glass 
 , and a bright- 
 Ah, I wish 
 aught there I 
 were plenty of 
 Most of them 
 leni, a few pri- 
 88 lived, and a 
 bU, you'll find 
 lem. 
 
 ; genteel — not 
 r to it, though, 
 i decidedly so, 
 ou, any hour, 
 e elite, for six 
 
 seller — excuse 
 
 I — was worth 
 
 b furniture in 
 
 and although 
 
 was in great 
 
 grandeur, and his wife and daughters dressed 
 quite up to the styles. Then Lawson, the con- 
 fectioner, and Hudworth, the periodical man, 
 and the half-a-dozen grocers, were all well-to-do ; 
 they kept company, and visited with the next 
 
 streets. 
 
 O, n'ol Our Street folks were not poor or low, 
 not most of them. Of course there were a few. 
 "The poor always ye have with you," means 
 forever, and our city, and even Our Street, were 
 no exceptions. 
 
 It was a long street, and stretched itself just 
 above the bay. Not the front bay, but the back 
 bay, which meant water enough to sail boats 
 sometimes, mud enough to stick boats aU times, 
 and scents, at other times, anything but odor- 
 iferous, when the summer drought and the sum- 
 mer heat both laid their mighty grasp upon it. 
 Yes, it was a long street, yet not disagreeably 
 so. Beginnmg in the city's stir and bustle, it 
 stretched itself far past the noise and turmoU, 
 through oak grove and meadow green, as if to 
 
 
 
ipna*. 
 
 12 
 
 ODE STREET. 
 
 refresh itself, after labor and din, man's smallness 
 and inability, with God's mighty stretches of 
 green restfulness, and vast resources of blue 
 quiet, undimmed as they were, by the smoke of 
 consuming heat and greedy gain. 
 
 Out along its green stretches the children often 
 went to play, the student sat beneath its trees to 
 study, and great was the warfare waged contin- 
 ually 'twixt school-boy and squirrel as to which 
 Bhould lay in largest winter stores from the rust, 
 ling boughs that shaded all its lengths. Not all 
 the lengths of the entire street, remember. Where 
 Our Street, proper, began, the trees ended, thence- 
 forth the stores giving it all its cheer and brilliancy. 
 It boasted at least three fancy goods stores. 
 Their gay ribbons and gayer toys, smart caps, 
 beads and bracelets enlivened Our Stxeetj the 
 great black stoves and shining tins at Mr. Hub- 
 bard's suggested warmth and home. Thehaunches 
 of beef and bottles of pickles, the apples and 
 omons, cranberries and raisins at the grocers' 
 made a hungry man dream of dinner; but they 
 
 "^is;sssBmttmm 
 
SOME THIKG8 ABOUT IT WOBTH KNOWING. 18 
 
 ^in, man's smallness 
 ighty stretches of 
 resources of blue, 
 0. by the smoke of 
 ain. 
 
 the children often 
 eneath its trees to 
 'are waged contin- 
 uirrel as to which 
 res from the rust- 
 lengths. Not all 
 Jmember. Where 
 ees ended, thence- 
 eer and brilliancy, 
 'cy goods stores, 
 ioys, smart caps, 
 Our Street J the 
 tins at Mr. Hub- 
 3. The haunches 
 the apples and 
 at the grocers* 
 linnerj but they 
 
 couldn't begin to aggravate him like the smell 
 that issued from the saloon kitchen, or the tempt- 
 ing pies and frosted cakes that stared at him 
 through its windows. Then our baker 1 who 
 ever saw such loaves of bread as his? Long, 
 oval -shaped, delicious loaves; broad, chunky, 
 triple-twined loaves. Such a brown on the top ! 
 Light, soft, tempting brown, like the blush on 
 a sable cheek, as if the oven kissed them. And 
 the stacks of gingerbread 1 1 — But we forbear. 
 Our Street certainly looked as if there was enough 
 for its inhabitants to eat. 
 
 Then there was the confectioner, who sweet- 
 ened Our Street. And the periodical man, who 
 furnished sensationalism, weak nerves and dissi- 
 pation, at one and the same time, and dubbed 
 them brains; and the shoemaker, outside whose 
 tempting window generally stood at least one 
 small, bare-foot urchin, picking out shedding for 
 that future day when his ship should come home. 
 But don't let me forget that drinking-saloon. 
 Time would fr.il me to tell all it did for Our 
 
 ' \ 
 
 f 
 
 i 
 
 
 ■ A/ 
 
 ♦ 1 
 
 •"-"•^sxsfismsfo 
 
14 
 
 OUB STEEET. 
 
 Street I How could we have existed without 
 it? How it kept the air pregnant with rumors 
 of war, soul-refreshing to so large a part of a 
 restless community I Why I it furnished us with 
 a police officer, and kept him busy; sold sticking- 
 plaster and liniments unnumbered for our druggist 
 —who, by-the-way, we forgot to mention,— brought 
 more than one neat little job in the way of good 
 old Dr. Fosby ; and the police-court and lawyers I 
 they owed everlasting thanks to it, would have 
 been quite homesick and lonesome without it. 
 To be just honest, our whole city was indebted, 
 one way or another, to that saloon. 
 
 To be sure, it did take some of Widow Graf- 
 ham's trade from her. Women can't buy bonnets 
 aud stockings and gloves, when their husbands 
 buy whisky. But Mr. Jenkins was a conscientious 
 man, and made up all Widow Graf ham lost, by 
 aUowing his wife and daughters to patronize 
 largely at Madame Defoy's, up-town. There is 
 a law of compensation, you know, in this world. 
 What Widow Graf ham lost, Madame got, and, as 
 
;t'" 
 
 e existed without 
 
 jnant with rumors 
 
 large a part of a 
 
 furnished us with 
 isy; sold sticking- 
 3d for our druggist 
 nention, — brought 
 1 the way of good 
 ourt and lawyers I 
 bo it, would have 
 58ome without it. 
 ity was indebted, 
 aloon. 
 
 of Widow Graf- 
 lan't buy bonnets 
 in their husbands 
 as a conscientious 
 jrraf ham lost, by 
 Jrs to patronize 
 -town. There is 
 w, in this world, 
 iame got, and, as 
 
 SOME THINGS ABOUT IT WORTH KNOWmO. 15 
 
 a matter-of-course, what Drunken So-and-^o's wife 
 and children didn't wear, Mr. Jenkins' did. But 
 then So-and-so got inside what made him feel as 
 
 well for at least thirty minutes — as his wife 
 
 and children might have looked; and that was 
 exactly as good — exactly. 
 
 I said Onr Street was long. It wasn't broad, 
 however, neither could it be said to be narrow. 
 It was decently both ways, and almost a village 
 in itself. The houses, most of them, were three 
 or four stories high —many of them brick — each 
 story containing from three to five, or from five to 
 seven rooms — a separate family generally inhab- 
 iting each story, and sometimes a lodger or two 
 beside. The social standing of the occupants was 
 rated very much according to the loftiness of 
 his or her abiding-place ; the poorest, in most cases, 
 being those nearest the skies. 
 
 I think, taking it all in all, you will agree with 
 me, reader, that ours was a well-to-do street, com- 
 fortable, to express it in one word, after the fashion 
 of little Bry Perkins, who, by-the-by, knew not 
 
 
 J 
 
 
 
 %f 
 
 1: 
 
 
 »\ 
 
 we^^f>i0i. 
 
le 
 
 OUR STREET. 
 
 a tithe of its advantages. Near as it wm to the 
 centre of trade, it was not far removed from lural 
 charms, for the same horse-car route that connected 
 it on one side with the city's busiest thorough- 
 fares, on the other joined it to one of the fairest 
 hamlets that stud our fair land. 
 
 Crossing Our Street, just beside the apothe- 
 cary's, was Next Street, which lost itself in a 
 bridge spanning the bay, and carried foot-passen- 
 ger and horse-car rider far out into a beautiful 
 village, rich in country charms and city privileges, 
 with palatial homes and comfortable farm-houses, 
 conservatories and nursery gardens, stretches of 
 green woodland and waving grain-fields. 
 
 The village had shops of its own, churches, 
 school-houses, tempeiance societies and literary 
 clubs, and its cemetery was the wonder and delight 
 of its visitors. There were other graveyards in 
 our midst, but nothing comparable with tliis. 
 
 There summer rioted in melody and sweetness; 
 there winter smiled, sun-crowned, and rained her 
 enow-buds on trees of living greenj there death 
 
 i:P 
 
 r-.TKa»«x*-;^T^.38ic,-3ri-i. •^'i^J'7; 
 
KT. 
 
 BOMB THIKG8 ABOUT IT WORTH KNOWING. 17 
 
 ear as it ^m to tbo 
 r reanoved from i ural 
 p route that oonnc cted 
 fs busiest thorough- 
 to one of the fairest 
 and. 
 
 beside the apoche- 
 hich lost itself in a 
 
 carried foot-passen- 
 )ut into a beautiful 
 3 and city privileges, 
 brtable farm-houses, 
 ■ardens, stretches of 
 grain-fields. 
 
 its own, churches, 
 3ieties and literary 
 wonder and delight 
 )ther graveyards in 
 'arable with this, 
 ody and sweetness ; 
 led, and rained her 
 green J there death 
 
 prophesied of life to come, in abundant bloom 
 and beauty. Daily, when the weather was propi- 
 tious, the cars carried scores of men and women, 
 boys and girls, to its wide-spread gates. 
 
 There childhood wandered on its brook-banks, 
 and lovers crossed its rustic bridges, whispering 
 honied words, unmindful of their close proximity 
 to death. There thoughtful men brooded on life 
 and its uncertainties — and certainties, too, per- 
 haps,— and curious men examined its queerly- 
 wrought arbors, and quaintly fashioned grave- 
 stones. There, beside grassy mounds. Grief shed 
 her tears, yet not such bitter tears, perhaps, as 
 had been hers were the spot forlorn and desolate. 
 It seemed not quite so dread a place to leave our 
 loves, there where the bride sang aU day long, 
 and merry children ^ughed and played, and ate 
 their luncheons 'neath its trees. Here Vanity's 
 advocates vied with each other to see which 
 should make theu: resting-place most beauteous 
 — forgetting, mayhap, the beauty which makes 
 every place a place of rest, — and poverty hoarded 
 
 ■%: 
 
 
 • ;■* 
 
 *•».••.■ 
 
'^mmmm 
 
 MH 
 
 i8 
 
 OUR 8TBEBT. 
 
 its littles that their swelling store might purchas* 
 their right to make their grave with the rich in 
 their death. There every portion of our city had 
 offered sacrifice — yes, even Our Street was rep- 
 resented there. 
 
 W-lMUL^H, J.!t,Jt,JJkJ-JL^.U, i 
 
 mooiamonnMmo 
 
 ■BRaiB 
 
EST. 
 
 f store might purchas* 
 rave with the rich in 
 •ortion of our city hud 
 I Our Street was rep- 
 
 i 
 
 i^' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HAB-BEEN8 AND ARE-N0W8. 
 
 A ND, in the first place, Widow Graiham was 
 l\ both. She kept a fancy goods store, on 
 the left-hand Hide of Our Street, as you go from 
 the city to the Oaks; fancy goods, some of 
 which, to be sure, were well past the day when 
 they were to be fancied ; for stock had .gathered 
 on her hands, from year to year, until she herself 
 knew not half of her possessions. But most ot 
 her goods were very desirable, for Mrs. Graf ham 
 believed in keeping up to the times, and supplied 
 her shop with articles both necessary and salable. 
 She and her family occupied the first two floors 
 of a large three^tory wooden buUding, the third 
 
 19 
 
 
 »-^fW 
 
 ■»fc'-B^#^ ' *&« 
 
20 
 
 OUE STKEET. 
 
 Htory being hired by one of the Mr. So^nd-So's 
 who visited friend Jenkin's saloon, and whose 
 wife consequently did not much increase the 
 widow's trade. 
 
 Mrs. Grafham's family just now consisted of 
 herself, Letty, her daughter, and her husband 
 and little boy, and Kiddy, another daughter, who 
 boarded there, though her bright face was seldom 
 seen except on the Sabbath, ^s the early cars 
 bore her each morning lo her employment on 
 the other side of the bay. 
 
 The upper stories of the house were only 
 reached by going into the yard, or street ; a long 
 flight of uncovered steps leading there from the 
 former, a front hall and carpeted stairs from the 
 latter. This was a little inconvenient, to speak 
 mildly; but Widow Graf ham had become so used 
 to inconveniences that it is -^^uite questionable -"^ 
 she would not have been homesick without them. 
 She pooh-poohed at young folks who were afraid 
 of a little rain and trouble, yet truth compels us 
 to state that she shirked much of it herself, by 
 a well-contrived plan. 
 
 
 ■rt#flWjr..-\»*-^riiWitjft-t-, 
 
 ' i Wiww!uiii.. ' ..;ii-...j„.4 i 4iu i i i B i i g i>. 
 
 ■»mnmm,>mmmamm^ 
 
JEET. 
 
 of the Mr. So-and-So's 
 a's saloon, and whose 
 t much increase the 
 
 just now consisted of 
 er, and her husband 
 another daughter, who 
 )right face was seldom 
 ith. d,s the early cars 
 » her employment on 
 
 he house were only 
 ard, or street ; a long 
 ading there from the 
 rpeted stairs from the 
 iconvenient, to speak 
 a had become so used 
 luite questionable if 
 nesick without them. 
 )lks who were afraid 
 et truth compels us 
 ich of it herself, by 
 
 HAD-BEENS AND ARE-NOWS. 
 
 21 
 
 There was only one room back of the shop, a 
 good-sized kitchen. But, used to contrivance, 
 the widow, by means of a suspended curtain 
 across the large shop, had quite a decent bed- 
 roon., or parlor, as you please. This enclosure 
 was neatly carpeted with green. On one side 
 stood her bed, with downy pillows and snowy 
 spread, a large arm-chair, a little table on which 
 lay a few books, a work-box and a medicine-box ; 
 and on the other side of the enclosure stood 
 Letty's piano, a book-case well-stocked, and a 
 black hair lounge. Midway between the space 
 left where the curtain looped back, and the 
 kitchen door, usually stood a rocking-chair, and 
 the walls were covered with pictures, a looking- 
 glass hanging above the table. Here Widow 
 Graf ham slept at night — here she received her 
 company by day. 
 
 She was not now what she had been once. The 
 years had fallen thick on the dear woman's head, 
 and left their tracks behind — tracks seen in 
 furrowed cheek and wrinkled brow, in dimming 
 
 
 f*. 
 
 
 
 
 
 «rsBeess»!9iess 
 
 mumif 
 
 ■■'mmmm:^- 
 
!-r 
 
 ** OUK STEEET. 
 
 eye and faUing step, and scattered, lengthened 
 teeth. 
 
 She had been a belle and a beauty once, Widow 
 Graf ham had, and traces still were on her of that 
 olden day, in form unusually erect, in soft, long, 
 rippling hair, whose length still swept below her 
 waist, whose brown waves were even now only 
 occasionally broken by slender threads of snow. 
 There had been po -rty and pain in her life. 
 They were not altogether wanting now. But 
 poverty was no longer biting, struggle tonlay was 
 not as heretofore, for bread to fill seven little 
 open mouths; for foothold, while she labored, in 
 the busy world, whose thousands trip each other 
 up in their haste io reach life's goal. Twice left 
 to widowhood, there had been hand-to-hand bat- 
 ties just for bread, and yet she often said, with 
 honest pride, " They never went to bed hungry I » 
 Quite true I Whether she ever did or not God 
 knows. 
 
 Of the seven children her heart had nourished 
 we have only to do with four in this story, and 
 will therefore dismiss the rest. 
 
 i xmjim» m ammx) i ,^0l i 
 
SET. 
 
 scattered, lengthened 
 
 a beauty once, Widow 
 11 were on her of that 
 y erect, in soft, long, 
 still swept below her 
 were even now only 
 ier threads of snow, 
 and pain in her life, 
 wanting now. But 
 , struggle to-day was 
 i to fill seven little 
 fvhile she labored, in 
 inds trip each other 
 3'8 goal. Twice left 
 m hand-to-hand bat- 
 she often said, with 
 jnt to bed hungry I " 
 ver did or not God 
 
 ieart had nourished 
 r in this story, and 
 
 it. ... 
 
 HAD-BEEN8 AND ABE-NOWS. 28 
 
 One of these four, the eldest, was Gregory 
 Hudworth, our periodical man. A wayward boy 
 he had been, deserting his mother in her hour 
 of need, and filling her heart with the bitterest 
 agony of her bitter life. Eight long years she 
 prayed and watched, watched and prayed. Only 
 the Father knows what weary groanings filled 
 their length, what tears bedewed their passage. 
 But all those tears were bottled up in heaven, 
 those prayers made incense before the throne ; 
 their fruitage was the coming home at length, and 
 later still the other, truer coming home. 
 
 Next to him was Kiddy Langdon, mother's 
 constant care and anxiety in the days when spark- 
 ling eye and dimpled face won many admirers; 
 mother's comfort now, when all things must bow 
 to mother's will and pleasure. She had been 
 named Kidder after a grandmother, and had bat- 
 tied her name as she did her destiny, until one 
 day a new, strange light dawned in her heart, 
 transforming it and her. 
 
 She kept a fancy goods store in the vUlage 
 
 across the bay. 
 
S4 
 
 OXJB ST~».EET. 
 
 The Other two, Becky Cartwright and Letty 
 Sawyer, were children of the widow's second 
 husband, Abel Grafham, and very unlike were 
 they; Becky possessing the intellectual gifts of 
 her father, together with his dark eyes and eager, 
 thirsty, restless temperament, and Letty all the 
 physical .charms and graces of her mother. An- 
 tipodes were they, but loving ones; and two 
 happier children seldom brighten any home, or 
 take separate paths in life more reluctantly. 
 
 Abel Grafham had been largely endowed both 
 physically and intellectually. He united with a 
 tall, commanding form, rare wit and social charms. 
 Alas I his very gifts made him an easy prey to the 
 wine^up, and who shall measure the bitterness of 
 soul that reached the woman at his side ? 
 
 She suffered long and patiently, and had she 
 been alone might have remained beside him much 
 longer. But her children ? Maternity was big 
 in Mother Graf ham's bosom. Theirs was already 
 the misfortune of a drunken parent; must it be 
 also the culture of a drunkard's home? Her 
 
 BMBMIWi 
 
BET. 
 
 ^artwright and Letty 
 the widow's second 
 tnd very unlike were 
 e intellectual gifts of 
 dark eyes and eager, 
 nt, and Letty all the 
 of her mother. An- 
 '^ing ones; and two 
 »hten any home, or 
 nore reluctantly, 
 irgely endowed both 
 • He united with a 
 nt and social charms. 
 I an easy prey to the 
 iure the bitterness of 
 a at his side? 
 iently, and had she 
 ed beside him much 
 Maternity was big 
 Theirs was already 
 parent; must it be 
 Sard's home? Her 
 
 HAD-BBENS AND AEE-NOW8. 25 
 
 mother -love developed heretofore unrecognized 
 resources of strength and daring, and with her 
 seven she went forth to meet the world. 
 
 But not long did this man, whose love of wife 
 and children continually combated the habits that 
 had driven them forth, continue the unequal 
 struggle. The many-chorded instrument is soon 
 unstrung. His splendid frame lost its manly 
 strength, his sharpened intellect its edge. He 
 died, rum^lain, and left behind -his children's 
 only inheritance -a few yellow, stained letters, 
 written to his wife during her dreary exUe. Let- 
 ters rich with the poetic genius of a great mind, 
 groaning with aU the weight of sorrow his heart 
 recognized, pitiful in their revelation of chains 
 riveted on mind and heart, which the might of 
 manhood could not break. O Ruml thousands 
 
 are thy victims. 
 
 Becky was odd and wiUful, her mother said — 
 perhaps she was the best judge. It is certain 
 she held notions of her own, never quite received 
 by the rest of the family. She was an acknowl- 
 
 't 
 
 VftKHmmmmm 
 
28 
 
 OUB STREET. 
 
 edged bookworm, the family authority, the end 
 of questioning, generally. Generally, I say, be- 
 cause she was not considered good ecclesiastical 
 authority. 
 
 I don't know but I will have to admit that 
 Becky was willful ; some said " positive " _ what 
 a terrible (?) characteristic that is I -others 
 "strong-minded," and others Btill dared hint of 
 literary tastes, blue^tockingedness, in short. Yet 
 in spite of all these faults, what rejoicings they 
 always held at her comings home. 
 
 I don't know how it was -but it really was- 
 that she became the receptacle for all sorts of 
 secrets. When she came on these occasional visits 
 from the distant State to which she had gone 
 with her husband, there was always a sort of 
 family revival, in every sense of the word. 
 
 She was at her mother's at the time that my 
 story opens. Had been spending Christmas with 
 her sisters and brothers, and now waited, with her 
 baby boy on her lap, the coming of the hack 
 which was to carry her to the depot, for her hus- 
 band expected her home on the morrow/ 
 
 \%t. Jk' 
 
BET. 
 
 ily authority, the end 
 Generally, I say, he- 
 ed good ecclesiastical 
 
 I have to admit that 
 d " positive " — what 
 io that is I — others 
 B Btill dared hint of 
 (dness, in short. Yet 
 what rejoicings they 
 home. 
 
 -but it really was — 
 acle for all sorts of 
 liese occasional visits 
 vhich she had gone 
 .8 always a sort of 
 3 of the word. 
 
 the time that my 
 ling Christmas with 
 >w waited, with her 
 jming of the hack 
 depot, for her hus- 
 e morrow! 
 
 HAD-BEENS AND ARE-NOW8. ff' 
 
 There was no snow on the ground, though it 
 was the last day of December. The miserly Old 
 Year, with unusual tightrfistedness, had persist- 
 ently refused to clothe himself in fleecy garments 
 and airy feathers, for the appropriation of his 
 coming heir. "Earn what you get," said he, 
 through leaden skies and blustering winds; "I 
 had to make my own way through life. Do the 
 same, young man, do the samel" 
 
 But piercing winds and frowning skies had 
 but little apparent effect on a group of lads from 
 twelve to eighteen years of age, who stood on one 
 of Our Street corners, near the Oaks. 
 
 " DevU's cubs," a good old minister of our mem- 
 ory used to call street-corner youths, and certainly 
 some of these looked as if the term might not be 
 inappropriate. Merry cubs, however, the younger 
 povtion of them seemed to be, as they laughed and 
 hurrahed at the antics of a small chap, who, with 
 hands in his pockets, scuffled away for their 
 amusement, after the fashion of the last minstrel 
 troupe. 
 
 ■KS$^A.^W^-< 
 
m 
 
 28 
 
 OITB 8TBEET. 
 
 Hand-clappings and stamps were mingled with 
 loud laughs as one after another tried to raimio 
 his movements, without success ; and when a thin 
 little fellow suddenly sprang from t ir midst, 
 imitating, with great exactness, not oi y the mo- 
 tions of this hero, but the nasal accent of his 
 " Dinah, lubly Dinah," shout after shout greeted 
 the victor. 
 
 " Bully for Hob 1 " " He's a go 1" " Leg it, old 
 manl" "What'U you tuke for your pins," etc., 
 went round the circle, and the chorus of the song 
 took sudden strength by the addition of a half- 
 dozen young voices. 
 
 Apart from the boys, three or four young men 
 stood leaning against the pasture fence, talking 
 earnestly, and apparently unconscious of the close 
 proximity of their youngers, only when some 
 unusual volley of laughter attracted their atten- 
 tion for a moment. 
 
 " You're a spooney, Bentley. Catch me giving 
 up the only chance of a frolic, that way 1 He'll 
 be here soon. I don't see what keeps him 5 he 
 
 ■.U^MWIUPM 
 
 |H|. l 4 l l]| l |U-l l WI ' ..t"l 'l iH ' Ml.,-, ^»H 
 
? 
 
 m 
 
 HAI>-BEBN8 AND ARE-N0W8. 
 
 29 
 
 e mingled with 
 tried to mimic 
 ind when a thin 
 )m t ir midst, 
 ot 01 y the mo- 
 ,1 accent of his 
 r shout greeted 
 
 [" "Leg it, old 
 our pins," etc., 
 )ru3 of the song 
 lition of a half- 
 
 our young men 
 e fence, talking 
 ious of the close 
 tily when some 
 ited their atten- 
 
 Jatch me giving 
 lat wayl He'll 
 I keeps him; he 
 
 should have been here long ago," said a tall, lank 
 youth, with unmistakable signs of tobacco juice 
 about his lips. "Let me alone 1 " — spitting 
 some of the filthy stuff from his mouth— "I'll 
 settle him I What if the old woman is. sick 1 is 
 that any reason I should give up my fun and go 
 whining? There he is, now. Don't be a chicken, 
 Jim —just keep mum 1 Hallo, Dick, old fellow, 
 how did you happen to turn up just now ? This 
 t« luck, to be sure, and just as we were planning 
 a jolly time. Scented it, you dog, did you, and 
 followed the trail ? " And Sam Jones put out his 
 hand in greeting to the cherry-cheeked lad who 
 turned the corner, with a surprise well-feigned 
 considering he had waited there the last half hour 
 for that especial purpose. 
 
 Dick Perkins was a splendidly built fellow, 
 broad and taU, and as he approached, a flush of 
 pleasure on his ruddy face, he really looked hand- 
 some. His black eyes, and curling hair, and 
 white teeth, always preserved him from plainness. 
 «How are you?" he said, in regular boy 
 
 ll 
 
 s 
 ^ 
 
 mmmmf 
 
 ^iumtmi 
 
10 OUB STREET. 
 
 fashion. "Hallo, Jiml is this you? and Fred? 
 and Jake? What are you up to? Some of your 
 games? I say, don't those small chaps step it 
 well ? Try again, Ike ; if you beat the other fel- 
 low I'll give you a quarter 1 " 
 
 Sam Jones gave the fellows a sly wink at this, 
 which had the effect of making Fred Sikes and 
 Jim Bentley move off to a little distance, while 
 Jake Hollis drew nearer the new-comer. 
 
 '•I say. Perk, how do you like the old man? 
 Does he give you plenty of winking time, and 
 pay up to the handle?" 
 
 " I should think he did I Why, the old fellow 
 came around an hour before time to knock off 
 to-night, and paid us a little for New Year. Good 
 of him, too, for we get our pay every Saturday 
 night, regular." 
 
 Another wink at this, and Jake continued: 
 
 " Now that's just the thing 1 you were sent 
 here. You see we poor dogs haven't a dime. 
 Summers got off before I could nab him for a 
 dollar, and we haven't a penny to wet our whis- 
 tles. I suppose you'll stand treat for luck?" 
 
 II i;i,'i-..i ! K mu^MW..! lu. -uJium . . 
 
 nuUJ-Mmmmms^ 
 
HAD-BBBN8 AND ARE-N0W8. 
 
 81 
 
 Li? and Fred? 
 
 Some of your 
 
 chaps step it 
 
 ; the other fel- 
 
 ' wiuk at this, 
 red Sikes and 
 distance, while 
 comer. 
 
 the old man? 
 dng time, and 
 
 the old fellow 
 5 to knock off 
 w Year. Good 
 every Saturday 
 
 e continued: 
 you were sent 
 Etven't a dime, 
 nab him for a 
 wet our whis- 
 t for luck?" 
 
 Dick Perkins' cheek flushed a little deeper, and 
 he did not face his companion. 
 
 " It isn't much, you know, Jako," he said, dep- 
 recatingly, "and the old lady's sick. Then, too, 
 I did promise myself to get Bry a doll. She's 
 shut up all the time, and has notWng much for 
 playthings." . 
 
 "O, the dutiful boy!" sneered Jake. "Play- 
 things for his sissy and medicine for his mammy I 
 Dear Uttle fellow I Somebody ought to give him 
 a ' Reward of Merit.' " 
 
 There was an ominous flash in Dick's black 
 eyes as he turned them full on the speaker. 
 
 "Perhaps you'll get a ♦ Reward of Merit' your- 
 self! You'd better be careful, HoUis ; I'll take 
 none of your slang to-night I" he said, hotly. 
 ' Mother's sick, and expects me home, and I'm 
 going 1 That's the whole of it." 
 
 "Always has been sick, to my remembrance," 
 grunted Jake, but another flash from Dick's eye 
 
 silenced him. 
 
 "Come, comel what's the need of you two 
 
OUR STBEBT. 
 
 wmmmmm^mmm 
 
 fellows fighting, the last day of the old year, after 
 being cronies clear through its length," now inter- 
 rupted Sam. " You're a jackass, llollis — worso'n 
 a rascal — to talk in tliat stylo. I'm a good mind 
 to knock you down myself. If Mrs. Perkins is 
 sick she can't help it, and it's only proper for 
 Dick to take care of her. But that won't hinder 
 him from taking a social drink with us first. 
 You're too peppery, Perk. There's no need to 
 snap a fellow's head off because he's thirsty with- 
 out the wherewithal to assuage his thirst. Come ; 
 I'm good for it — if you need your money at home 
 don't spend a cent of it ; but let's go to Jenks, 
 all the same, and get something warm. Nothing 
 strong, you know " — with a wink behind Dick's 
 broad shoulders. "Come; let us fellows pledge 
 each other anew to eternal friendship and better 
 manners. To tell ^ .a the truth, I've made up my 
 mind, for mother's sake — she's always at me — 
 not to drink a drop after twelve o'clock to-night. 
 But there's no harm in taking a little something 
 now, and promising to help each other turn over 
 a new leaf." -'" " 
 
 "«<i><<inM*m!!K' 
 
 Mm^ 
 
old year, after 
 h," now intcr- 
 )Ui9 — worso'n 
 a a good mind 
 [rs. Perkins is 
 nly proper for 
 t won't hinder 
 with us first, 
 o's no need to 
 I's thirsty with- 
 thirst. Come ; 
 money at home 
 s go to Jcnks, 
 'arm. Nothing 
 behind Dick's 
 fellows pledge 
 ship and better 
 've made up my 
 ilways at me — 
 ('clock to-nigh ti 
 little something 
 ather turn over 
 
 MWRP' 
 
 HAD-BEEK8 AND ABB-NOW8. 
 
 88 
 
 This specious reasoning seemed to please Per- 
 kins. Ho stretched out his hand eagerly. 
 
 You're a good follow, Jones. I'm about sick 
 of it, anyway. It makes a fellow feel mean to be 
 deceiving his mother — sneaking into bod half- 
 tight. I had made up my mind to quit— but 
 hadn't spunk enough to own right up. But I'm 
 ready to go hand-in-haud with you." 
 
 "All right; it's a bargain, then. Come, let's 
 go celebrate," said Jim. 
 
 As Dick stopped to pay Iko Hobson the quarter 
 he had earned, the little fellow whispered: 
 
 » Don't go, Dick. Now's the only time to turn 
 leaves. Sam Jones' leaves never tiu:n because he 
 waits for to-morrow. Come, go home." 
 
 Dick hesitated. "She ain't worse, is she?" he 
 
 asked. 
 
 "No," reluctantly, "she said she wasn't." 
 "Come, come along," just then at Dick's elbow, 
 
 and Jones slipped his hand through his arm. 
 
 "The best troupe ever in the city here to-night," 
 
 Ike beard him say a» he led Perkins away, and 
 
 the child sighed. 
 
 Hi 
 
84 
 
 OITB STBEET. 
 
 " I don't want it," he said slowly, looking at the 
 coin in his hand. " I wouldn't spend it for the 
 world. He won't have any left when they leave 
 him, and little Bry won't have her doll. She 
 didn't know about it, but it's cheating her, just 
 the same. Poor little Bry I " and something like 
 a sob choked the boy's utterance. " I'll buy it 
 myself out of this for Dick, he'll be so glad when 
 iti: ill over. He don't mean to be badl" 
 
 When Dick Perkins left the drinkiug-saloon, 
 an hour after, a thin, pale little face was waiting 
 for him at the door. The owner of that face 
 would not have crossed that threshold for the 
 wealth of the Indies. Little Ike Hobson under- 
 stood the first, the highest principles of temper- 
 ance. 
 
 *' Why, Ikey, is this you ? " hiccoughed Dick 
 as he turned, detained by a slight tug at his coat- 
 tails. "Why, Ikey," steadying himself against 
 Sam Jones, who could carry more whisky than 
 he, " where'd you turn up ? Come in and have 
 something warm." 
 
 '"fg.'.W4tl,,y;Jg' 
 
HAI>-BEBN8 AND ABB-NOWS. 
 
 86 
 
 ^, looking at the 
 spend it for the 
 vhen they leave 
 ( her doll. She 
 leating her, just 
 something like 
 se. "I'll buy it 
 be so glad when 
 ebadl" 
 
 drin king-saloon, 
 ace was waiting 
 ler of that face 
 ireshold for the 
 I Hobson under- 
 siples of temper- 
 
 iiiccoughed Dick 
 -, tug at his Goat- 
 himself against 
 ore whisky than 
 >me in and have 
 
 «'0, Dick, come home with me, please," plead 
 
 the boy. 
 
 u Catch me at it! I'm going to the play. Come, 
 
 I'll take you, seeing you step so well. I'm in for 
 the treat, you know." And those so lately beau- 
 tiful eyes, now red and bleary, tried to wink at 
 Ike. . 
 
 The child eluded the hand stretched out to 
 grasp him, but he said, bravely : 
 
 « Little Bry will miss you, Dick. She'll be so 
 
 lonely ! " 
 
 Little Bry I What room was there in Dick 
 Perkins' heart or brain for her just then? Had 
 not strong drink obUterated every holy love, every 
 blessed remembrance, for that hour? 
 
 Mighty is thy swa^ , King Alcohol 1 
 
 igt»*'»il!«,'BWS«i*S^'>****'"' ■■ 
 
CHAPTER in. 
 
 LITTLE MED'CINB. 
 
 IT was a large square room in the old tenement 
 house next door to Widow Graf hams. The 
 house had " its front door on the side," as little 
 Bry said, its only entrance being through the 
 narrow yard. 
 
 Yes, a large, square room ; but low studded and 
 dingy, containing a small cook-stove, with a faded 
 rug before it; a table originally red, now very 
 much the worsf^ for wear, having lost in some 
 battle a part of one leaf and the support of 
 another, which was supplied by a stick of wood ; 
 two wooden chairs well-worn, and an old-faiihioned 
 rocking-chair, with a cushion in it, which chair 
 86 
 
 !S!55wlS^ffll 
 
"uppmii'iipp 
 
 LTTTLB MBD'OINB. 
 
 8T 
 
 I old tenement 
 afhams. The 
 side," as little 
 ', through the 
 
 w studded and 
 e, with a faded 
 red, now very 
 r lost in some 
 le support of 
 stick of wood ; 
 ,n old-fabhioned 
 it, which chair 
 
 just now, and usually, was occupied by a little 
 girl, a very little girl, with a thin face, and strag- 
 gling flaxen locks. 
 
 The child had blue eyes, but not large or beau- 
 tiful ones, neither were her lashes long and silken= 
 Her face was prematurely old, and somewhat hilly 
 in its outlines, the eyes and mouth and nose being 
 gathered rather closely together. Then, too, the 
 nose was large, the teeth and mouth protuberant, 
 the chin rather long. Really, the only beauty 
 about the face was its expression, and the smile 
 that hovered about the mouth — tJuit was captivat- 
 ing. 
 
 But little Bry was beautiful within, for this was 
 little Bry Perkins ; and the two crutches beside 
 the rocker explained, somewhat, the transparent 
 hands, the diminutive body, the pallid counte- 
 nance. 
 
 Bry's father had been one of the So-and-so's 
 who frequented Jenkins' saloon. At first as a 
 moderate drinker, which rather diminished his 
 moderate fortune j then as an immoderate drinker, 
 
 0g^$iaimiQi^u«s^'^-* 
 
OUB STB'jiBT. 
 
 and an impoverished one, and finally as an old 
 Bot and a pauper. 
 
 Strange how many old sots that respectable 
 drinking-saloon turned out to die ! And he died. 
 But not until he had made his family wretched, 
 and his wife invalid. Then one night his little 
 son forgot to cower in fright behind his mother's 
 dress, baby Bry forgot to hide her little face in 
 mother's bosom, but patted cakes till sleep c'er- 
 took her, and all because a father forgot his way 
 home, and lay down in the frozen streets. 
 
 At break of day they found him dead. Sarah 
 Perkins shed tears above his disfigured corpse, 
 and little Dick and Bry were fatherless and fear- 
 less. Alat.1 they never dreamed he left them 
 heritage. One in a perverted appetite, the other 
 a deformed body. God help the drunkard's child 1 
 The little girl was scarcely two years old — then 
 a bright, happy child, her mother's chief comfort ; 
 and so it happened that the sickly woman began 
 to call her "medicine." "My little Medicine," 
 that is the way she said it, and no name was so 
 pleasant to the child. 
 
 I 
 
 t 
 f 
 I 
 1 
 
 i 
 
UTTLB MED'CINB. 
 
 80 
 
 Uy as an old 
 
 ait respectable 
 And he died, 
 lily wretched, 
 light his little 
 I his mother's 
 r little face in 
 till sleep c'er- 
 forgot his way 
 L streets. 
 L dead. Sarah 
 figured corpse, 
 arless and fear- 
 he left them 
 Btite, the other 
 unkard's child I 
 ears old — then 
 1 chief comfort ; 
 J woman began 
 ttle Medicine," 
 name was so 
 
 Sometimes the mother changed the title to 
 Bryony. " That's the only pretty name I know 
 that belongs to medicine," she said. "Our old 
 family doctor used to call some remedy by that 
 name. Surely you deserve it, my Uttle Medicine. 
 I forget aches and cares alike in your soft little 
 touches." 
 So Bry 2°* ^®^ name. 
 
 But the Uttle child, whose nimble feet pattered 
 such music in her mother's ears, soon sickened. 
 A hip disease developed itself, and the Uttle feet 
 were stiU for many months, then after a whUe of 
 activity, stai again, and now they never touched 
 the ground, and only the thud, thud of her Uttle 
 crutches proclaimed her coming. 
 
 But it was painful, always, for Bry to move 
 now, so generally the crutches were silent, and 
 the long hoursof pain and weariness were breathed 
 out in her chair, with an occasional rest when Dick 
 carried her in his strong arms. 
 
 Yet no one thought of Bry as a sufferer. That 
 is, not after they hatl known her a Uttle. One 
 
 i 
 
 ■aHHl>««!i«»atAiJ{ 
 
40 
 
 OTTB STREET. 
 
 forgot that it must be hard for her to be confined, 
 to miss the sports so dear to childish hearts. Per- 
 haps this was because she always smiled. If a 
 spasm ot uncontrollable pain marred her features 
 for a moment, it was followed by such a shower 
 of smiles as quite effaced it from your memory. 
 
 Dear little Bry I When Ike one day exclaimed 
 at this, and asked her why she always smiled after 
 pain, she said: *. ;•;■.,' , 
 
 " O, it's to make 'em forget. It isn't comfort- 
 able, you know, to walk, and have good things 
 yourself, if you feel somebody else hasn't 'em. I 
 always ask Jesus to send the pain when there's no 
 company ; but if he happens to forget, I know it's 
 'cause he's got some one else worser to 'tend to, 
 and I just smile as hard as I can when it's over." 
 
 But this afternoon Bry's rocker was drawn as 
 close as possible to the old-fashioned, four-posted 
 bedstead that stood in one corner of the room, 
 and her placid face smiled on the pallid mother- 
 face just opposite, with its half-closed, misty eyes. 
 
 At the foot of the bed stood pretty Letty Saw- 
 
NPli 
 
 mmm 
 
 LITTLli MBD'OINB. 
 
 41 
 
 } be confined, 
 I hearts. Per- 
 smiled. If a 
 I her features 
 uch a Bhower 
 jrour memory, 
 day exclaimed 
 rs smiled after 
 
 isn't comfort- 
 B good things 
 hasn't 'em. I 
 hen there's no 
 et, I know it's 
 er to 'tend to, 
 en it's over." 
 was drawn as 
 )d, four-posted 
 r of the room, 
 pallid mother- 
 ed, misty eyes. 
 ;ty Letty Saw- 
 
 yer, her shining hair abuut her shoulders, her 
 
 large eyes full of tears, her lipt. trembling with the 
 
 fears that r-^re making her heart throb. ^--^ 
 
 "Can I do anything for you, Mrs. Perkins? 
 
 Can mother? Is there anything you would like? 
 
 a little gruel, or-" but the sick woman's vmce 
 
 interrupted her. 
 
 "No, dear. Nothing unless "- she hesitated, 
 then added slowly -" unless you will pray with 
 
 me. _ 
 
 Letty's pretty face flushed. 
 
 "Wouldn't you like a minister?" she asked, 
 timidly. "Iwillgofor oneatonce. Mr. Tim- 
 othy, "our minister, is such a good manl" 
 
 "Yes, dear, I know. But there's no need. A 
 stranger would only disturb me. It's all right 
 with me and Heaven, but I thought I would Uke 
 to hear the voice of prayer again." " ] 
 
 Letty's heart was questioning her, but she dared 
 not listen to it. Kneel so close beside that dying 
 woman 1 Every nerve was already thrilling with 
 that strange dread of death, her birthright. 
 
42 
 
 OUB STBSZT. 
 
 " Becky has not gone yet," she said. " It wUl 
 be a half hour before the hack arrives for her. 
 She will come, I know. I'll send her right in." 
 And she sped across the yard as if a legion of 
 death-angels followed close behind. 
 
 " It's so comfortable to be Letty," said little 
 Bry, quaintly, as the door closed behind the bright 
 vision. ^* Just like a picture, or the sunshine in 
 the morning. She's $o comfortable I " 
 
 Little Bry was not talking to her mother, and 
 did not mind it that no one answered her. She 
 had quite got used to talking to herself, in the 
 lonely hours she spent while her mother helped 
 the neighbors to wash or sew, and had a fashion, 
 too, of answering herself. 
 
 *' I s'pose some folks are comfortable one way 
 Bind some another. I'm comfortable when moth- 
 er's tired and needs med'cine, and then it's nice 
 to be mel" . v . 
 
 " Comfortable " I This was the word that cov- 
 ered every deficiency in little Bry's vocabulary. 
 It was one of the things that drifted early into her 
 
 "'»M I ^' ' gS«g l 
 
 mmmmm 
 
■Map 
 
 id. « It will 
 ives for her. 
 er right in." 
 I a legion of 
 
 ^" said little 
 nd the bright 
 I sunshine in 
 I " 
 
 mother, and 
 ed her. She 
 srself, in the 
 other helped 
 lad a fashion, 
 
 ible one way 
 
 when moth- 
 
 ihen it's nice 
 
 ord that cov- 
 B vocabulary, 
 sarly into her 
 
 IiTT TT-* MBD'OIKB. w 
 
 life— one of the comfortable things where com- 
 forts were few. • 
 
 Our plain little Bry had been much disposed 
 in early life to be a vain little Bry. A clean face 
 and pinafore were wont to be smoothed by little 
 hands, whUe a litUe miss tip-toed before the small, 
 cracked mirror. 
 
 " Ise pwetty ; ain't I pwetty, mamma? " And 
 mamma, to cure the vanity. Invariably answered, 
 "Comfortable, dear, you're very comfortable." 
 
 So the little one adopted the word. Comfortable 
 was quite as good as pretty with her, and came to 
 mean much more in time. Things good, beau- 
 tiful, grand, were all classed thus. Thoughts and 
 feelings otherwise inexpressible, in it found utter^ 
 ance. It garnished and glorified her life, making 
 its plain stretches beautiful, its pangs bearable. 
 Every life has some spring of beauty. Bry Per- 
 kins' was in that word comfortable. 
 
 The bright vision at the bed-foot had hardly 
 vanished ere a soberer one replaced it. A kiss 
 upon the child's wan face, a gentle hand upon 
 
 1 
 
 , a»l»M« » !» !»l *.' llli Wl'* .• 
 
44 
 
 OUB BTBKBT. 
 
 the sick woman's brow, the repetition, in a tone 
 which gave a sweet, strong flavor to those old- 
 time words, " ' For I reckon tl-at the sufferings of 
 this present time are not worthy to be compared 
 with the glory which shall be revealed in us.' " 
 " ' While we look not at the things which are seen, 
 but at the things which are not seen.' " " * For we 
 know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle 
 were dissolved, we have a building of God, an 
 house not made with hands, eternal in the 
 heavens ; ' " and Becky bowed beside the bed to 
 pray. 
 
 It was 80 glad a thing to go to Jesus, so sure 
 a thing to this worn sr .1 ! Smiles chased tears 
 over little Dry's face, the dying woman caught 
 premature glimpses of glory, the kneeler's soul 
 thrilled and quivered with the electric sparks 
 called down. Becky Cartwright was used to 
 holding intercourse with Heaven. 
 
 There was a radiant smile upon the sick wo- 
 man's face as Becky lifted hers. 
 
 ** You make it a glad thing to die," she said. 
 
^fmimmmfm^B 
 
 ^mmmmmmi&mmmm 
 
 on, in a tone 
 to those old- 
 
 Bufferings of 
 be compared 
 laled in us.' " 
 bich are seen, 
 
 " "'For we 
 tis tabernacle 
 ; of God, an 
 imal in the 
 e the bed to 
 
 Jesus, BO sure 
 chased tears 
 oman caught 
 kneeler's soul 
 9ctric sparks 
 was used to 
 
 the sick wo- 
 
 iie," she said. 
 
 LITTUB MBD'cINK. H^ 
 
 »' I'm never sad because I'm going home," re- 
 plied Becky, simply. " O, Mrs. Perkins, I con- 
 gratulate you 1 " a thrill of rapture la her voice. 
 " It is and must be still for awhile to me, ' through 
 a glass darkly.' Yours, O, how shortly 1 ' face to 
 
 face.'" 
 
 "Yes— -but — " a shadow flitted across the 
 
 woman's face as her eyes rested on Bry. 
 
 Becky caught the meaning of that look. 
 
 "'Leave thy fatherless children, I wUl preserve 
 them alive, saith the Amen, the faithful and 
 true Witness.' 0, Mrs. Perkins, we have a 
 
 God!" 
 
 The dying woman closed her eyes and smiled, 
 and quiet settled on the circle. The ticking of 
 the old clock on the mantel-shelf was distinctly 
 heard in the silence that followed. Then Becky 
 
 spoke again: 
 
 " I must go now. Would you like some one to 
 sit with you, Mrs. Perkins? Mother? or Letty? 
 or one of the neighbors?" 
 
 " 0, no 1 " the smile still lingering about the 
 
 i 
 
OUB 8TBBET. 
 
 woman's face. *'I have no pain — am much 
 more comfortable than for days past. Bry knows 
 bow to get all I need. Then Dick will be here 
 soon, and I want to talk with him alone." 
 
 For the second time that night warm lips 
 pressed little Bry's pale cheek, soft hands lingered 
 about the woman's face. " Good-night, Mrs. Per- 
 kins. I will meet you again ere very long ; " and 
 the door closed as little Bry gave a long breath of 
 satisfaction. 
 
 "'Shall' aad 'know' are such comfortable 
 words," she said. "Iney're big and strong, and 
 Becky says them so often." 
 
 Little Bry bed guessed the secret of Becky 
 Cartwright's helpfulness. There were no guesses, 
 no peradventures to her religion. It was always, 
 " I know Whom I have believed, and am per- 
 suaded that He is able to keep that which I have 
 committed unto Him against that day." 
 
 The hack was waiting when Becky reached 
 the shop. 
 
 "Is she worse?" Mrs. Graf ham asked, as she 
 
LUTLB MKD'OINIS. 
 
 4f 
 
 k — am much 
 Bry knows 
 will be here 
 I alone." 
 it warm lips 
 landH lingered 
 ght, Mrs. Por- 
 y long ; " and 
 long breath of 
 
 ii comfortable 
 id strong, and 
 
 Bret of Becky 
 are no guesses, 
 It was always, 
 i, and am per- 
 t which I have 
 day." 
 3ecky reached 
 
 1 asked, as she 
 
 
 came in, and Becky answered, with a smile, "No, 
 
 she's better." 
 
 Widow Graf ham was used to Becky's " double- 
 talk " as she called it, so she questioned in a quick, 
 fearful tone, "She isn't dead, is she?" 
 
 "No; such as she cannot Ue," was the reply. 
 Then, catching a glimpse of her mother's face: 
 » She says she is more comfortable than she has 
 been for days; and would rather be alone, as she 
 expects Dick soon, and wishes to talk with him." 
 
 "Well, perhaps it's aa well," said Mrs. Graf- 
 ham, "seeing it's Nev. i'ear's Eve. I'll run in 
 
 before bed-time." 
 
 An hour later Ike came in, with a quarter to 
 buy a doll, "with pink cheeks and truly hair," 
 
 "I guess Beulah's going to have a New Year's 
 present," s/-id the widow, as the boy stood picking 
 for the prettiest. 
 
 "No; it's Dick's money, and the doll's for Bry," 
 was the answer, and the widow felt reUeved. 
 Then Dick had come home. 
 
 " Bryony," said the sick woman, feebly, " Bry- 
 ony, are you here?" 
 
 I / Q)^^r->!e»tiMui»'' 
 
 »£»'JW.'^««*»'V*'«" 
 
OUB 8TEBKT. 
 
 " Yes, mother , don't you see me ? " 
 "No. What makes you so quiet, child?" 
 " I thought p'r'aps they had come, you looked 
 so comfortable ; and I didn't want to distuib you 
 if they were talking to you." 
 
 Who has come? Who's talking? Dick?" 
 asked the sick woman, eagerly. 
 
 No, mother ; don't you know ? The angels 
 you telled about. Will they be here soon ? " 
 
 Yes, pretty soon. Soon enough for you, poor 
 child." 
 
 "Mother, will you tell me what they say to 
 you ? '* and the child leaned eagerly over the bed, 
 and fondled one thin hand. 
 
 I can't, Bry. None can know what they 
 say till they hear them themselves.' 
 
 "01" a little surprised ejaculation. "But I'll 
 see th'em, mother?" 
 
 No, Bry, you won't see them. Eyes that see 
 things here can't see them. Nobody sees them 
 till they die." 
 
 "01" again. " How will I know when they've 
 come?" 
 
 HHfe' 
 
*ff>m 
 
 t, child?" 
 le, you looked 
 ;o distuib you 
 
 ing? Dick?" 
 
 ? The angels 
 lere soon?" 
 b for you, poor 
 
 at they say to 
 Y over the bed, 
 
 ow what they 
 
 8.'' 
 
 ion. "But I'll 
 
 Eyes that see 
 )ody sees them 
 
 w when they've 
 
 LITTLB MEDCINB. 
 
 # 
 
 The woman lifted one feeble hand, and smoothed 
 the little cheek so near her. 
 
 »' You'll know, little Bry, because— because— " 
 she spoke slowly; "I can't see, or hear, or talk 
 with you any more. 
 The blue eyes were wide-spread in amazement. 
 "Won't you ever talk any more, mother?" 
 "Yes, in heaven." 
 
 "Are you going away? _ 
 
 "Yes, darling." 
 " Am I going too ? " 
 "No, not now." , .' . 
 
 "When?" "' ' ' ' ' 
 
 "When He sends for you." . ' 
 
 Then the two were quiet for awhile. 
 " I wish Dick would come," at length said the 
 woman, uneasily. " I vranted.to say some things 
 to him. I'm afraid he'll be too lat«." 
 
 " He'll be here soon, I guess. P'r'aps he's had 
 
 one of his Ul tuius," said the child, innocently. 
 
 "But somebody il bring him home if he has. 
 
 ■Jesus always sends somebody, don't he? Jesu» 
 
 loves Dick dearly, don't he, mother ? " 
 
 '.'O ■ 
 
 

 60 
 
 OUB BTBEKT. 
 
 The woman's flickering faith was revived by the 
 
 child's. 
 
 " Yes, yes, He loves him. That's jny hope, my 
 precious little Medicine." 
 
 " Mother, I don't see how you can get along 
 without me up there. You'll need med'cine, 
 
 p'r'aps." - 
 
 " And there shall be no more death, uoither 
 sorrow nor crying, neither shall there be any more 
 pain ; for the former things are passed away,' " 
 repeated the woman softly, her hand searchLig 
 near her pillow for her little worn Bible. " They 
 are never sick there. Bryony. I shall not need 
 even this best medicine, but I will leave it for 
 you. When you feel tired, or sick, or sorry, just 
 open it, and read and pray. It will help you live." 
 " Ho won't shut me out of heaven all the time 
 'cause I'm med'cine?" now asked the child fear- 
 fully. 
 
 " No, no, little Bry. He sent you here to do 
 some good. When it's done then he'll send for 
 you to go there.'* 
 
 v» ! wi ii w i my nHtilui l Htiqi j'yw» i i i w 
 
.' ' r, 
 
 LTTTLB MED'OINB. 
 
 m 
 
 revived by tlie 
 
 } jny hope, my 
 
 can get along 
 eed med'cine, 
 
 death, uoither 
 re be any more 
 jassed away,'" 
 land searchLig 
 Bible. "They 
 shall not need 
 ill leave it for 
 k, or sorry, just 
 1 help you live." 
 en all the time 
 the child fear- 
 
 you here to do 
 m he'll send for 
 
 
 "Why don't he send for me now? Nodody'U 
 want me when you're gone. I'm only med'ciue, 
 
 you know." 
 
 "Dick, Bryony. Dick needs medicine; and, 
 remember, I leave him to you. You must love 
 him and pray for him. Don't ever give him up, 
 and don't get discouraged. There's nothing too 
 hard for God." 
 The little girl's face cleared immediate y. 
 "I'll stay and take care of Dick," she said, 
 briskly. "Poor Dickl he'd be very lonesome if 
 ha came home and found us both gone. He 
 wouldn't know God sent the angels for us. It's 
 better for me to stay and 'splain it to him, and 
 then he'll know, if ever he can't find me, that it's 
 
 my time." 
 
 The sick woman's lips quivered a little as she 
 kissed Bry's hand, and she turned on her pillow 
 BO as partly to conceal her face. 
 
 Little Bry settled herself back in her chair 
 with a pleasant smile. 
 
 "Ill wateh sharp," she said to herself; "p'r'aps 
 I'U see a little bit of wing or somethin'." 
 
 i 
 
 'tt^„,,^W^ir*itk*- 
 
62 
 
 OUB BXBEISTt 
 
 It was a long, quiet watch. The woman did 
 not move again, and only an occasional long- 
 drawn sigh told she Uved. E>.m they ceased 
 after a little, and the eyes closed. Then, by-and- 
 by, a smile crept up the marble face. ^ 
 - The little watcher caught that gleam of light. 
 She leaned forward with eager eyes and open 
 mouth. " She's beginnin' to see or hear somethin' 
 comfortable," she whispered to herself, as she bent 
 her ear forward. 
 
 But no sound broke the stillness. The little 
 one listened in vain, so presently she drew herself 
 upon the bed, and touched the sleeper's face. 
 The chill surprised her a little, the silence follow- 
 ing her repeated, gentle caUs of "mother" did 
 
 not. 
 
 "Yes, she's gone," she s^d, with a little sighj 
 « but they didn't take all of her. I'm 'most sure 
 she's hearin' 'em, though she looks «o." 
 
 She touched the closed lids. "I hope she is 
 not blind," she said. "0, no I that'd be sick. I 
 guess the angel touched her eyes, and they see 
 
 |i iMJ(>WJ.'it" i li' 
 
1 
 
 ) woman did 
 
 sasionsl long- 
 
 they ceased 
 
 rhen, by-and- 
 
 ce. . --' ■ 
 .earn of ligHt. 
 )res and open 
 lear somethin' 
 If, as she bent 
 
 ts. The little 
 e drew herself 
 sleeper's face, 
 iilence follow- 
 " mother" did 
 
 a little sigh ; 
 ['m 'most sure 
 
 S 80." 
 
 I hope she is 
 t'd be sick. I 
 1, and they see 
 
 LITTLB MBD'OINB. W 
 
 the other way, like folks over there. I'm glad 
 »he'» gone, only " — she did not cry, and tried to 
 speak bravely, but her Up quivered— "well, when 
 Dick gets over his sick turns, and don't need 
 med'cine, p'r'aps He'll send for me." 
 
 Widow Graf ham kept her word. She r.in in to 
 see how Mrs. Perkins did before she went to bed. 
 But it was late, and no one answered her rap. 
 She tried the door. It was unfastened, so she 
 peeped in. There was no light but that which fell 
 through the windows. She could distinguish by 
 that the outUnes of two forms upon the bed, and 
 heard regular breathing. 
 
 » They are sleeping quietly," she reported to 
 Letty, thereby purchasing for her daughter the 
 sleep that must have been forfeited had she 
 guessed the truth. 
 
HI 
 
 II 
 
 BEEFSTEAK, BABIES ASV DAILT BBEAD. 
 
 T T: THEN Ike Hobson left Widow Grafham's 
 ' ' shop, he unbuttoned his old jacket, and 
 with almost motherly tenderness folded the waxen 
 baby to his bosom. 
 
 Buttoning his jacket again he crossed the yard 
 to the house where Mrs. Perkins lay. Tip-toeing 
 past her door he crept up-stairs, fearful lest little 
 Bry should know his step and wonder at his 
 neglect to give her his usual " good-iiight," yet 
 fearing still more, if he did, her questionings of 
 Elck. 
 
 Ike and his two sisters were the offspring of 
 poor but godly parents. His feeble mother had 
 64 
 
 
 mfmm 
 
 1 
 
r BBEAD. 
 
 3W Grafham's 
 Id jacket, and 
 ded the waxen 
 
 •ssed the yard 
 y. Tip-toeing 
 rful lest little 
 (Tonder at his 
 lod-iiight," yet 
 uestionings of 
 
 le ofiFspring of 
 le mother had 
 
 BEEFSTEAK, BABIES AND DAILY BBEAD. 
 
 65 
 
 depended largely on her mother's care of her 
 chUdren even whUe she Uved, and dying left them 
 to her charge. Within a year Mr. Hobson, also, ^ 
 had passed away, and Granny Thorpe was left m 
 her old age with three little mouths to fill, three 
 little souls to nurture. 
 
 u Her children," she called them, and truly her 
 arms had been first to cradle them, her voice first 
 to consecrate them to God. She had named 
 them, and Bible names they surely were; Isaac 
 Paul, Hephzibah and Beulah. Dear, pious old 
 Boull Quaint and uncultured, was the worlds 
 verdict; polished, and fit for the Master's use, 
 
 was Heaven's. ^ ^ 
 
 There was .n ."Sterity to Granny Thorpe. 
 
 „Urion. however, which bred fear somewhat m 
 
 Isaac', heart as he crept np^tairs; a fear that 
 
 „ade it natural for him to widl to hide the waxen 
 
 doll from sight. ^ ^ 
 
 It was a four tenement house, and Granny 
 Thorpe's was the large room upstairs on the other 
 eide of the house from Mrs. Perkins. The room 
 
 1 
 
 ;;.'tl.l .V\»1mii«i 
 
MMMI 
 
 ■JML 
 
 W OITE 8T1SXET. 
 
 right over Mrs. Perkins' was occupied by a Mrs. 
 Blake and her one little girl, an Irish Catholic, 
 whom an English Protestant had first married and 
 then deserted. 
 
 A.8 1-he little boy opened thf door of his grand- 
 mother's room, its cleanliness and order were very 
 striking. The floor was scrubbed so white, the 
 curtains were so fresh, and the large, four-posted 
 bed ia the corner looked so high and inviting. 
 There wfts a fire on the hearth, a good old-fash- 
 ioned fire, that sent flickers of light across two 
 yourg faces nestled amid the bed-clothes. 
 
 There were two chairs and two stools, all of 
 them as white as the floor ; and the table, with its 
 brass candlestick and sputtering candle, was quite 
 as white as these ; yet none of them could compare 
 with the snowy locks just peeping out from the 
 snowy border of Granny Thorpe's cap, as she sat, 
 spectacles on, mending a rent in an old dress. 
 
 There v^as a sudden stop in her work as the 
 door opened, w: adjusting of the spectacles, a 
 Btretchirg out across the table, and, as if 11 theso 
 
 '» 
 
)ied by a Mrs. 
 [rish Catholic, 
 st married and 
 
 of his grand- 
 :der were very 
 
 BO white, the 
 fe, four-posted 
 
 and inviting, 
 good old-fash- 
 bt across two 
 slothes. 
 
 stools, all of 
 table, with its 
 die, was quite 
 could compare 
 out from the 
 ap, as she sat, 
 n old dress. 
 
 work as the 
 
 spectacles, a 
 as if 11 th^so 
 
 •» 
 
 BBiarSTEAK, bABIBS AND DAILY BBEAD. 67 
 
 things did not quite help her to see perfectly she 
 queried: ' ' 
 
 " Is that you, Isaac ? " 
 
 " Yes, granny." It tries to be a cheerful voict. 
 
 "How's the little one and her mother to- 
 night?" and granny resumes her work as she 
 
 questions. 
 . "I don't know. I haven't been in," slowly. 
 "Haint ben in to Bry'ny's? Where hev you 
 ben, then? Now, Isaac, I hope you haint ben 
 'companyin' round with enuy of them bad boys. 
 You know I don't allow it. You hevn't ben inter 
 evU?" - - - -'"^ . 
 
 "No, granny, I haven't. I wasn't doing any 
 mischief. I was only looking 'round." 
 
 "Lookin' 'round evil is n'jxt-door-neighbor to 
 droppin' in, and most gin'rally leads to it. I don't 
 want you squintin' and peepin' 'round the devil; 
 he'll gobble you up if you do, in spite of your old 
 granny. The first step to evil is hankerin' arter 
 it. Stay to hum nights, and read your Bibls — 
 that's better. But there, there I don't feel so 
 
 ...-.il 
 
 ^ ^.^ — jjriijL ■ iA- '>!i— 
 
as 
 
 OUR STREET. 
 
 bad I I ain't scoldin'. I know you're purty good 
 — but purty good isn't enough 1 It won't 'deliver 
 us from evil'j '-t takes God's grace to do that. 
 Your potato's in the bake kettle, 'side the coals, 
 and a slice of bread. I thought I'd keep it 
 Trann." 
 
 Ike drew a stool close to the hearth, and sat 
 down with his back to his grandmother. He ' 
 poked his fingers between his jacket biittons till 
 he felt the waxen face, and sighed, relieved that 
 it had not vanished. He ate his potato and bread 
 as if it tasted good, and took a second peep into 
 the bake-kettle, as if another dose would not be 
 altogether ungrateful; but all this time he was 
 thinking briskly. 
 
 " I'm not deceiving granny, 'cause I don't mean 
 to. It's Dick's secret, and it would be mean to 
 tell it ; but I wish I hadn't, gone over to the Oaks. 
 I knew they'd be waiting for him, and I thought 
 I could get him home ; but I couldn't, and it would 
 make her feel bad if she knew I danced with 
 them. I wish I hadn't gone. Then I couldn't 
 
 
 l|.j l |l lll <lll««« illH >I I I I IJ»l l l l' UM»« ' "' 
 
*re purty good 
 won't 'deliver 
 Be to do that, 
 lide the coals, 
 t I'd keep it 
 
 learth, and sat 
 dmother. He * 
 et buttons till 
 , relieved that 
 tato and bread 
 3ond peep into 
 would not be 
 time he was 
 
 3 1 don't mean 
 1 be mean to 
 !r to the Oaks, 
 and I thought 
 't, and it would 
 I danced with 
 en I couldn't 
 
 BREMTBAK, BABIES AND DAILY BBEAD. 69 
 
 tell Bry anything if she did ask, and I n^ight have 
 helped make her forget and be happy. O dearl 
 but then — I didn't know." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Thorpe's voice disturbed his 
 
 cogitations. 
 
 u Jetty was in to see if you'd help her on her 
 
 'rithmetic." 
 Ike scowled, 
 u 0,1 don't want to. I'm tired. She's always 
 
 wauting help." 
 
 »*And Isaac Hobson never wants enny help, 
 and Jesus never gits tired of helpin' him, and it 
 was very easy and nice to die for him." 
 
 Granny wasn't half through before Ike was on 
 his feet, hat in hand. To see duty, with him, was 
 generally to do it. Granny's face shone. She 
 was proud of her boy. But ere he reached the 
 door she asked, suddenly, " Did you see anythmg 
 of Dick, Isaac? Was he paid of? to-night, do you 
 
 know ? " 
 
 Ike's face was crimsoning. 
 
 "Yes, granny, he's paid off, I guess- 1 know 
 
 
r 
 
 99 OUB BTBRBT. 
 
 — 'cause — oauM" — strange he hit the exact 
 thing he wished to cover — " cause he said he was 
 going to get l\ty a doll." 
 
 " Doll I " said the old lady, contemptuously. 
 "Doll I He'd better git her a little beefsteak!" 
 
 Poor, guilty Ike! Surely he felt that little 
 waxen thing under his jacket start. Was it all 
 the throbbing of his own heart, or did that tiny 
 thing possess dormant life, roused suddenly to 
 action ? He betook himself to the entry, while his 
 breath came fast. 
 
 " Beefsteak ! " ho whispered ; " beefsteak ! Why, 
 it would all be eaten up, and that would be the 
 end of it ; but this — O, I knew she wouldn't 
 understand — perhaps 'cause it's so many years 
 since she was little." 
 
 It was only a few steps across the hall, but it 
 took Ike quite a w;hile to get over them. He 
 stepped back once to his own door, to tell his 
 grandmother not to sit up if she was tired, for 
 " p'r'aps Jetty had lots to be done, and she wasn't 
 very quick." Then he slowly crossed the hall, 
 and opened a door Ccutiously. 
 
 mm 
 
mmmmmmmmft^=' '"■* 
 
 I 
 
 lit tho exact 
 he said he was 
 
 ntemptuously. 
 le beefsteak I " 
 i\t that little 
 ;. Was it all 
 did that tiny 
 . suddenly to 
 atry, while hia 
 
 fsteakl Why, 
 would be the 
 she wouldn't 
 3 many years 
 
 6 hall, but it 
 ar them. He 
 ir, to tell his 
 vas tired, for 
 id she wasn't 
 sed the hall, 
 
 BEBFaXEAK, BABIES AHB DAILY BEEAD. 61 
 
 •Hie room was both like and unlike the one he 
 had just left. Like it in size and papering, unlike 
 it. Indeed, in a lack of every comfort, in its utter 
 destitution and uncleanliness. 
 
 Before tho hearth, on an old rug, a girl's form 
 reclined, one arm under her head, in careless 
 gracefulness. She did not move when the door 
 opened, or speak when Ike pronounced her name; 
 yet that she was not sleeping was evident, since 
 lier black eyes sparkled and glinted under the fire- 
 light. 
 
 "Jetty, are you alone?" again said the boy, 
 and now she answered, saucily: 
 
 " Yes. The old lady's ofif celebratin' the New 
 Year in whisky, I s'pose. Needn't be scared, any- 
 way, sonny ; I wouldn't let her hurt a dear littie 
 fellow like you." 
 
 "I'm not afraid of her!** said the boy, indig- 
 nantly. *' You ought to know that 1 I've saved 
 you from her often enough. But I knew it wasn't 
 auy use to try to study if she was here." 
 " You're speakin' of my mother, sir 1 " As Jetty 
 
 mt:' 
 
 ■WilW" 
 
62 
 
 OUB 8TBEET. 
 
 Blake lifted her head, one saw, even by such dim 
 light, that she would have been beautiful if — she 
 had been. The black eyes were very brillian*, 
 the brows dark and arched, the blaok hair very 
 glossy, the mouth full, the nose perfectly formed. 
 Yet no one ever dreamed of calling her even 
 pretty. The whole face bore such a forlorn, dis- 
 contented, care -for -naught aspect, that beauty 
 could not have recognized it as her work. 
 
 When she said, " You're speakin' of my mother, 
 sir I " she meant to be very dignified ; instead of 
 which she -wus intensely silly, and Ike laughed 
 while he said, " But I only spoke the truth, Jetty, 
 and you know it." 
 
 Miss Jetty saw fit not to answer this, but de- 
 manded, rather suddenly: '-What do you want 
 in here, sir ? " 
 
 " Why, Jet I Didn't you come in after me to 
 help you with your examples ? Granny said so, 
 and that's why I came." 
 
 " O, the good little boy ! the dear little boy I 
 He's an obedient little fellow, ain't he ? How his 
 
 ■wi? 
 
 ■nr 
 
n by such dim 
 lutiful if — she 
 very brillian*, 
 laok hair very 
 rfectly formed, 
 lling her even 
 . a forlorn, dis- 
 fc, that beauty 
 er work. 
 ' of my mother, 
 Red ; instead of 
 d Ike laughed 
 le truth, Jetty, 
 
 sr this, but de- 
 ; do you want 
 
 in after me to 
 rranny said so, 
 
 [ear little boy I 
 he ? How his 
 
 BEEFSTEAK, BABIES AND DAILY BREAD. 63 
 
 grandmother does crow about him, though. He 
 never gets tired of helping poor sinners, O nol" 
 » I'll not help you if you don't stop 1 I'm sure 
 I didn't want to." 
 
 « O 1 you didn't ? Then why is the little fellow 
 here? To please his dear old granny, I s'pone. 
 Don't I wish I was pious 1 I wonder how I'd 
 become it. it's terrible for such sinners as mother 
 and me to live in the same house with the holy 
 whiners. There's the little saint and big saint 
 downstairs — if the big one hain't got her wings 
 yet. And the old-hen saint up-stairs, with her 
 two little pious pullets, and her little white rooster ! 
 Dear little clean things ! It's so liard fox them to 
 live so close to a jetty sinner, who spits over the 
 bannister into their water-pail, and occasionally 
 helps herself to one of the dear Uttle pullet's shoe- 
 strings when she needs one very much herself 1" 
 All this was said very fast, with various sneers 
 and grimaces, and Ike took his hat to go. 
 
 "No you don't, little rooster! I'm too smart 
 for youl" and Jetty, springing to the door. 
 
 i^WB 
 
 . ! iJ,SJJPBi|Di.affl||!W 
 
64 
 
 OUB STBEST. 
 
 -.,; A^i^i '■.. 
 
 locked it, laughing uproariously as she put the 
 key in her pocket. . . . , -% ■ 
 
 " Poor little fellow ! If he flaps his wings very 
 hard and crows loud, p'r'aps the old-hen saint will 
 hear him — if she isn't too deaf — and come to 
 deliver him — if she can. And she don't allow 
 him to go with black roosters, for fear a little ink 
 from their quills might soil his white feathers. 
 But he's got legs, the dear little fellow, and can't 
 he go it, though I " and suddenly Miss Jetty 
 struck an attitude, and, flinging her hands into 
 imaginary pockets, set up a break-down. 
 
 Ike's first feeling was fear lest she had discov- 
 ered his secret, his next was uncontrollable mirth ; 
 and he burst into a hearty laugh. This seemed to 
 please the girl. When she stopped beside him, 
 every vestige of disturbance was driven from her 
 countenance. , - . 
 
 "Can't I do it well?" she asked. "I knew I 
 could beat you if I tried. I'd a-mind to when 
 Dick put up the quarter. If it hadn't been you I 
 would. I'm sorry I didn't, now. Why shouldn't 
 I have a doll?" . . 
 
 : 
 
BEEFSTEAK, BABIES AND DAILY BBEAD. 66 
 
 she put tlie 
 
 lia wings very 
 -hen saint will 
 -and come to 
 e don't allow 
 )ar a little ink 
 hite feathers, 
 low, and can't 
 y Miss Jetty 
 er hands into 
 )wn. 
 
 le had discov- 
 oUable mirth ; 
 rhis seemed to 
 d beside him, 
 iven from her 
 
 I. "I knew I 
 
 aind to when 
 n't been you I 
 iVhy shouldn't 
 
 Ike's face was a study. " O, Jetty, don't tell \ 
 G/anuy wUl feel so bad, and I only went to ^et 
 him home." 
 
 " Give me the doll and I won't 1 " she said, 
 
 coaxingly. 
 
 "No, I will notl never I" 
 
 " Then I'll tell, or keep you locked up here all 
 
 night!" 
 
 ' "I don't care if you do I You shan't have it I 
 It's nothing wrong. Granny won't scold. If it's 
 wrong I'd rather she'd know it." 
 
 "01 would you ? The little white rooster told 
 Widow Graf ham a lie 1 " 
 
 "I didn't!" 
 
 "You did! I heard you!" , 
 
 "I know I did not. The doll is for Bryony, 
 and the money belonged to Dick." 
 
 "What did you hide it for?" 
 
 Ike hesitated. It was hard for him to define, 
 much more explain these finer feelings to another, 
 such another as Jetty Blake. 
 
 "I didn't want anyone to see it, because, you 
 
 .i.~-.^.^i.».^ 
 
 1 
 
^m 
 
 Mi 
 
 «t 
 
 OXTB BTBEET. 
 
 know, it wasn't mine ; and I had no right to look 
 at or fjhow off what didn't belong to me. And — 
 and — I didn't want anyone to see it till he did." 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Why, Dick. It's his, you know." 
 "The money was yours." 
 " No, it was Dick's for Uttle Bry. You see you 
 can't give away a thing twice, and he gave it once 
 to little Bry's doll. So it was hers, or, rather, the 
 doll's — no. Widow Graf ham's, I mean; and the 
 doll was hers when he gave it to her." 
 
 Those black, black eyes, how they searched his 
 face; hoi? they brightened as they searched. 
 " And it ain't from you ? " 
 "No; it's from Dick." 
 "And she won't know?" 
 "No, never; unless you tell her. O, please 
 don't, Jetty I it'd take all the good from it." 
 
 " Ketch me at it 1 What d'ye think I am ? O, 
 but you are good, ain't you? And I don't want 
 the doUl I'd ruther she'd hev it— and — and 
 there ! " and Miss Blake put a smucking kiss on 
 Ike's face, emphatically. 
 
 ^;-^.4m.*'..-i(filli'i/-»»jL,w '-^ 
 
right to look 
 ( me. And — 
 t till he did." 
 
 . You see you 
 lie gave it once 
 , or, rather, the 
 mean ; and the 
 i her." 
 
 ey searched his 
 Y searched. 
 
 ■UOrSTSAK, BABIES AND DAILY BBEAD. 
 
 67 
 
 ler. O, please 
 od from it." 
 aink I am ? O, 
 nd I don't want 
 it — and — and 
 i&cking kiss on 
 
 
 ^ U^i^X. .'.'iM'>.i'-ii4k.ijbfiM| 
 
 She walked to the door then and unlocked it. 
 
 " You cai> go when you're a mind to," she said. 
 " And you needn't teach me the sums, nuther, if 
 you don't want to, and I'll not be mad." 
 
 "I want to stay and help you," he said. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Because He would.'* 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Jesus." 
 
 "01" prolonged. "They're the same uns I 
 had afore. I couldn't learn 'em. I'm dull; she 
 says 80 — teacher." 
 
 "You wouldn't be if you tried. Dull people 
 don't have bright eyes," said *ke ; and after that 
 they went to work in earnest. 
 
 Ike dreamed that night that Jetty gave Bry's 
 doH to Granny Thorpe, and that it had turned to 
 beefsteak, which she was frying up for breakfast! 
 
 When Dick came home, late that night, he was 
 too much intoxicated to think anything about his 
 mother or sister, too stupid to pull out hia bed 
 
«r 
 
 68 
 
 OUB 8TBEET. 
 
 '.I"''' 'I'.i'.t^'f.*^-. 
 
 from under his mother's. Instead, he threw him- 
 self into Bry's chair, and fell asleep. ^ : 
 
 The gray dawn wjw creeping into the window 
 when he awoke, a strange sense of dread upon 
 him. His opening eyes met the bed, and the gray 
 light revealed and heightened the ghastliness of 
 the faces there. Something in the sharp outlines 
 of his mother's face — something only associated 
 with death — smote him with great fear; and the 
 longer he gazed the stronger this grew. 
 
 He tried to throw the feeling off, to lay it to 
 the effect of Jenkins' poor whisky: "it always 
 serves me so," he said, rising and going to the 
 stove. He worked very quietly, and soon a cheer- 
 ful fire was sending its warmth through the room ; 
 but the bed held a strange fascination for him, and 
 before he was aware he stood beside it again. 
 
 " I believe they're both dead ! " he groaned, 
 stooping and touching Bry's face. 
 
 The touch, light as it was, roused the sleeper, 
 and she opened her eyes. 
 
 " O, Dicky boy 1 is it you ? " she chirped. " I'm 
 
 r Mir^til^^^' 
 
 r*-i«tW»»«^j^ •Vic.1et-j^-X!rUt^!k s l £!M ^ ^ ' -imt"^ fa-ywiJM^J^^J^' 
 
 m,iJ^&Miii,'iA\fiAmi-**^Mi^Ai^^ 
 
 <4RP 
 
le threw him' 
 p. ^\ '■ r: 
 the window 
 f dread upon 
 , and the gray 
 ghastliness of 
 )harp outlines 
 nly associated 
 fear ; and the 
 grew. 
 
 f, to lay it to 
 r: "it always 
 [ going to the 
 d soon a cheer- 
 ugh the room ; 
 }n for him, and 
 lide it again. 
 ' he groaned, 
 
 3d the sleeper, 
 
 5hirped. "I'm 
 
 BEEFSTEAK, BABIES AND DAILY BBEAD. 
 
 69 
 
 glad you've come ! I thought you must have had 
 an ill turn!" :. , , - 
 
 But Dick's eyes wandered uneasily to his moth- 
 er's face. : " ■••;;.■,■.;■'.:■.."!. >:■ < '■ 
 
 "Has she been worse?" he asked huskily. 
 
 "O, no. But" — a shadow creeping over the 
 child's face — " she's gone. They came for her — 
 the angels; but they left some of her for you to 
 see." . '-...'; -' ■■> - ''•■'' -■ ■ r>_ r-,;-- :-:- :.-r' 
 
 The lad groaned; and, sitting down, hid his 
 face in his hands. His little sister crept to the 
 edge of the bed, and placed a hand on his bowed 
 head. He lifted himself then, and took her in his 
 
 arms. -.;. ^^' I: ■;;.,->- ''J^'^ -'^ r'^-ir;,'-r\ -^jr:,- 
 
 " O, little Bry ! " he sobbed. « If I'd only come 
 home 1 Now she'll never speak to me, or say she 
 forgives me." -''."s.-? ■■ ,■:.•;.■:, ,:v^ .■• ' 
 
 « But she does, just the same. And she left me, 
 you know. You're glad I didn't go, too, Dicky, 
 
 ain't you?" - ' 
 
 "Gladl" he hugged her tightly. "I'd have 
 died myself if you had gone, Bryony." 
 
 dlMM>^b««A»^l;^tii^4SSi^^^^ 
 
 -HPi--«i^sniiiiM 
 
70 
 
 Or» STREET. 
 
 " There I " she said, triumphantly. " You see 
 He did know best. I wanted to go, at fire', but 
 yrtother said it wasn't time for .ae yet. ^'.ad God 
 1 /es you, Dick, 8 id I'm always going to take 
 caio of you, and not get 'scouraged." 
 
 Poor Dick groaned afresh at this. " The mon- 
 ey's all spent, Bry," he said. 
 
 " But you're not sick, Dick, and you can earn 
 some more, can't you ? " she answered. 
 
 " Yes, bless you I so I can, little Medicine," he 
 8a4d, kissing her. 
 
 " Yes. I'm your med'cine now ; that's what I 
 stayed for." 
 
 *' And I," said Dick, solemnly, " I will be your 
 Daily Bread, God helping me I " 
 
 ..,.,'-iA*«sa.v.'w 
 
 ^T'feirtw»»^*^*i^-''' 
 
tm 
 
 tmmm 
 
 y. "You see 
 
 [o, at fire*, but 
 
 3t. And God 
 
 going to take 
 
 ed." 
 
 . " The non- 
 
 you can earn 
 Bred. 
 Medicine," he 
 
 that's what I 
 
 [ will be your 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 HAPPEliri^''8. 
 
 .i/^ DEAR I the world's full of happenin's, auu 
 
 VJ a body never knows when they'll " i 
 
 plunged right inter one of 'eml" groaned Nur -^ 
 
 Adams, of Our Street, as she added ^ spoonful of 
 
 cream to her cup of oolong that very morning. 
 
 u Just to think on itl That poor little creetur all 
 
 alone with the dead I It's awful 1 My nerves Ls 
 
 all unstrung ; but then, I must git over, and help 
 
 a leetle. Poor Bry'ny ! I s'pose she'll hev' to take 
 
 to the poor-house, now." 
 
 Nurse did " git over " ; but " poor Bry ny " was 
 taking breakfast with Hephzibah and Beulah by 
 
 'W?^ 
 
72 
 
 OUB 8TRBBT. 
 
 that time, and Mrs. Graf ham and Granny Thorp* 
 were layiag out the dead. 
 
 Garrulous old Nurse Adams got little out of 
 these women to increase her stock of news. 
 
 " Yes, Dick was here when she went," Widow 
 Graf ham affirmed, " for he sent in after a doll for 
 Bry quite early in the evening. Poor thing 1 she 
 went off very peacefully ! Bryony says she did 
 not speak or groan — only smiled." 
 
 There was a good deal said that day as to how 
 the child should be disposed of ; but the women 
 did not agree with Nurse Ada oas in sending her 
 to the pOor-house. Granny very decidedly op- 
 posed the poor-house. Widow Graf ham thought 
 its inhabitants better off than many of the poor 
 al>out them, but said: "If Dick wishes to support 
 his sister, it will be better for him, and not so 
 lonely for her. He can easily pay his rent," she 
 continued, " and as to her bite, few of us would 
 miss it." 
 
 Of course, in all this, not a \i'ord had been said 
 to Bryony, but Nurse Adams made bold to men- 
 tion it to her before the day ecded. 
 
 ;.'.j-,..-:i>- i,v..i/;":G';"^1ES^«*fit»-. ''■.^«-^4i>^^t.Vil.r !ij%i. 
 
 .1. -flttitWi^ . - «*1»- 
 
mttK 
 
 HAPPENIN'8. 
 
 78 
 
 ranny Thorpe 
 
 • 
 
 little out of 
 of news, 
 ent," Widow 
 fter a doll for 
 3T thing I she 
 says she did 
 
 lay as to how 
 t the women 
 I sending her 
 decidedly op- 
 ham thought 
 y of the poor 
 es to support 
 , and not so 
 iis rent," she 
 of us would 
 
 lad been said 
 bold to men- 
 
 Mis Dick going?" asked the child, innocently. 
 
 " No. They'd not keep a strong, likely feller 
 like him hangin' 'round." 
 
 " O, well, I go where he does. I'm his med'- 
 cine, you know. He couldn't get along without 
 
 me. 
 
 " That won't feed you," persisted Nurse Adams. 
 " Better look out for your daily bread," 
 
 "Dick's my Daily Bread," said Bry, simply. 
 
 *« Dick 1 humph 1 hope you won't lack it when 
 most needed. A broken reed i ) Dick Perkins to 
 depend on. What'll you do when he's spreein' 
 
 'round?" ' 
 
 The child's face was full of earnest questioning. 
 "Do you mean his ill turns?" she asked, inno- 
 cently. "They don't last very long, but that's 
 just the reason I couldn't leave him, or mother 
 would have taken me with her. I'm his med'cine, 
 and God will help me cure him. Mother said Ho 
 could do anything." 
 
 There was something in that child which made 
 it Impossible for even Nurse Adams to undeceive 
 her as to Dick's habits, so she said no more. 
 
 «rTtjK.>«i..rt*«iit». ■ ■ 
 
 ii-.&«T»t, ■**«*;(*• MP 
 
 ^mmm^' 
 
mm^ 
 
 74 
 
 OUB 8TREKT. 
 
 The room wh^re his mother died was haunted 
 with terrible memories for Dick Perkins, so he 
 rented two rooms across the street ; or, rather, a 
 good-ftized room and a large closet which would 
 hold his bed. The tenement was on the ground 
 floor, ntixt to Hudworth's ; and though it was a 
 severe trial to little Bry to leave this loved room, 
 she made no obiection, and they were soon moved 
 over. 
 
 Great had been Letty Sawyer's indignat'on that 
 anyone should think of sending little Dry to the 
 poor-house. 
 
 " I won't see her suffer," she said ; " and I was 
 thinking, mother, that my old brown dress would 
 make her quite a respectable one. I'm going to 
 ask EUice Mason to help me make it up ; " and she 
 did. 
 
 EUice Mason was our dressmaker, and had 
 rooms just the other side of Dick's new homf , up 
 over Hudwort'n's. She readily consented to make 
 the dreas; ano. t'uly Bry's eyes shone with de- 
 light when, arrayed in her new gtirment, she sur- 
 veyed her new home. 
 
 ;..-.3H:!*tea*a*:.^«>j4C-" 
 
 -'■>irt(i***4^S! ii-*»v*rt»iW4:»« ■^Ai «->.■;» *'. 
 
 '.i>«t>:>*l*B*A«M«UMt.iH£dWARB04» f c^n^«..iMi>tU&»M^ 
 
m 
 
 was haunted 
 'erkins, ho he 
 ; or, rather, a 
 
 which would 
 II the ground 
 )ugh it was a 
 » loved room, 
 re soon moved 
 
 dignat'on that 
 le Dry to the 
 
 [ ; " and I was 
 
 n dress would 
 
 I'm going to 
 
 b up ; " and she 
 
 iker, and had 
 new homf , up 
 rented to nlake 
 shone with de- 
 rment, she sur- 
 
 happenin's. 
 
 76 
 
 New. In more senses than one ; for Widow Graf- 
 ham had found a better table, that she could 
 spare, Kiddy Langdou two nice rugs, and calico 
 from the shop had covered the rocking-chair anew, 
 and furnished a coverlid for the bed. 
 
 " To think ! " said Bry. " And the sun does 
 come in that window a little while every day he's 
 out, and it i» comfortable." 
 
 It was a little lonely at first, but not as bad as 
 it would have been but for that marvellous waxen 
 baby, for wliich she made countless garments out 
 of bits of cloth furnished by EUice and the Graf- 
 hams. Then one window nearly faced the widow's 
 shop; that was pleasant, for she could watch the 
 comers and goers when weary of everything else. 
 The New Year, as if taking the advice of his 
 predecessor, had really begun in earnest for him- 
 self, and the snow lay in great banks beside the 
 walks. Ike would have been a millionnaire, surely, 
 if all the shovelfuls of snow he tossed that first 
 week in January had been gold. 
 
 He visited Bryony as often as possible. Snow 
 
 urMHITII Til Ib'i 0titk(\£\l\\!' *4PI 
 
 •(W 
 
 rgi' i i guinn ' . 
 
< £" ' "ll l 
 
 76 
 
 OtTB STREET. 
 
 made his business driving for a whUe, the same 
 snow that housed his sisters because of lack of 
 sound shoes. 
 
 " I shovelled snow for Dr. Fosby this morning," 
 said Ike one e\ ^ning, with all the dignity one 
 might suppose would attach to that office. 
 
 "Did you?" admiringly. Ike was always a 
 hero to her. " What does he look like ? Is he 
 tall and splendid, Ike?" 
 
 " Yes, he is ; but it wasn't him that paid me. 
 It was the man. I've seen him often, though ; he 
 drives past here sometimes." 
 
 "I wish I could see him. I'd like to ask him 
 about Bryony. You know mother only thought 
 it was one of the names used by her doctor for 
 med'cine. It must be nice to have a doctor of 
 your own. Mother had, once." 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Bry, I'll ask him, if you 
 want to know very much," said Ike, bravely, 
 though not without inward quakings at the 
 thought of the temerity of approaching the great 
 mftn. 
 
 iii'^.'iii .■*i>','*t/f'"'iiSt?V«^~''"^'«f^'i--'^'^'^ 
 
 :.^---^^-^-iiit'&r.'K^-.'i.i3!M*rft'*M«BMS*^''-5>*^*^ 
 
mm 
 
 lile, the same 
 use of lack of 
 
 this morning," 
 e dignity one 
 it office, 
 was always a 
 k like? Is he 
 
 that paid me. 
 sn, though ; he 
 
 ke to ask him 
 p only thougM 
 her doctor for 
 ve a doctor of 
 
 sk him, if you 
 
 Ike, bravely, 
 
 hkings at the 
 
 hing the great 
 
 happenin's. 
 
 "Will you, Ikey?" admiringly. "What a 
 dear, good, comfortable Ike you are. It would be 
 nice, you know, to be sure I'm med'cine." 
 
 So when Dr. Fosby came down his steps next 
 morning a small urchin waylaid him. - 
 
 " What now ? " he asked, whimsically, stopping 
 short. "Didn't Ned pay you, you rascal?" 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but — if you please, sir, I'd like to 
 ask you a question, if you've got time." 
 
 " Got time 1 I've got all there Is ; but suppose 
 
 I haven't and don't please? Out with it, you 
 
 young monkey. What are you staring at?" 
 
 " Please, sir, is Bryony med'cine ? She'd like to 
 
 know." 
 
 "What she? Bryony?" 
 
 '•Yes, sir." 
 
 The doctor was quite taken aback by this unex- 
 pected answer, yet he said, jocosely, "What is 
 she? plant or jalop?" 
 
 " She's Bryony Perkins ; and she's lame, and 
 would like to know if she's truly med'cine." 
 
 "Well, that depends; how does she look?" 
 said the doctor, a twinkle in his blue t/e. 
 
 S«3^^<gtt»li>>':'-r-?**ii-ii*ii^i; '" 
 
 ^^ .:'V .j S H »J i W W Bai ! a»<.' '< "WW » wS "mm * m »m nmrnw-m sees. 
 
«r 
 
 ^■tiuemfim 
 
 78 
 
 OUE STREET. 
 
 " She's pale and thin, and not very pretty ; but 
 she's as good and sweet as — as sugar." 
 
 " She homeopathic, you young dog. Zounds 1 
 to insult a man before his own premises I Sweet, 
 is she ? sweet 1 I wouldn't give it to a cat. 
 Come 1 what's the matter with you now ? " draw- 
 ing on his riding gloves. " I'm a good mind to 
 make medicine out of you, or — a doctor. What 
 do you say t-o that? hey, sir? Would you like to 
 come and study medicine with me, and get all the 
 homeopath shaken out of you?" 
 
 Two very bright eyes looked up to the big 
 man's, inquiringly : 
 
 "Do you mean it, sir?" 
 
 " Mean it ! What next, you jackanapes ? Hint 
 that J ever say what I don't mean I Of course I 
 mean it 1 " The doctor stepped into his sleigh 
 and took his reins. 
 
 He saw the lad put one hana up over nis mouth 
 quickly. 
 
 " Corking up ? afraid of running over ? is that 
 it?" he said, laughing. "I haven't struck you 
 
 %.^.-3iiaM«»^'- . l-<».4«*M^'*';i)^*wiHS'«Sf i^^ 
 
■pp 
 
 k yirnT'--"*™"" '^*'" *^ 
 
 .dMtadHMMMlrilii 
 
 ■MP 
 
 wmm 
 
 happbkin's. 
 
 79 
 
 ry pretty ; but 
 ir." 
 
 og. Zounds 1 
 aises ! Sweet, 
 I it t;0 a cat. 
 now ? " draw- 
 good mind to 
 loctor. What 
 lid you like to 
 Eind get all the 
 
 ap to the big 
 
 anapes ? Hint 
 I Of course I 
 into his sleigh 
 
 over nis mouth 
 
 J over? in that 
 in't struck you 
 
 dumb, have I? Coma, I thought theiw was great 
 talk, a while since, of my precious time, you 
 humbug 1 " 
 
 " I didn't want to speak too quick. You're very, 
 very good I I thank you, sir; but — but — 
 there's granny, and Hepzy, and Beul, and— I 
 guess I can't, yet, sir, not until I get more 
 
 money." 
 
 What a ringing, hearty laugh Dr. Fosby's was 1 
 "You're sensible, if you are small potatoes. A 
 wonder some of the rest of us didn't think of it. 
 It's a deal easier to bring money into this business 
 than to get it out of it. Well, remember, young 
 man, I'm ready when you are. Good-morning. 
 O, by-the-by, tell Bryony she's just the right sort 
 when administered properly;" and the sleigh 
 disappeared. 
 
 But, not many days after, the eccentric old 
 physician made his way into Bry's territory. He 
 introduced himself, and smiled at the rounding 
 out of her eyes at the appearance of a real doctor. 
 "This is little Bryony, the little med'cine?" 
 he said, quizzically. 
 
 an !«««»»«i»»)i*<»-»»i»«li*' ■■■■ 
 
 RHR' 
 
 imJl»lBI!IB Hy,U.I.Jilr(aa Jiag»«i 
 
I iiimi 
 
 80 
 
 OXTB SIjAEEX. 
 
 
 " Yes, sii^ and I'm so glad you came. I never 
 saw a truly doctor before. You are very kind to 
 take the time. It must be very comfortabl- V> be 
 a doctor ; you just live to make folks well, don't 
 you, sir?" . ^ ,-,, ., .,.;^ ... .., o, 
 
 " That is rather close questioning," replied the 
 doctor, almost soberly. " But what is the <' Jfer- 
 ence between us. Bryony? You are medicine, 
 and medicine is for sick folks, is it not?" • 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but it's different. Doctors could be 
 somethin' else, you know; and it's jufit — just 
 good and nice and grand and comfortable of 'em 
 to give 'emselves up for that. It's kind of like 
 Jesus. He lived and died to make folks well in- 
 side. But med'cine is nothing but med'cine ; it 
 wouldn't be good for anything else." ;■,..' 
 
 Little Bry was striking bottom principles ; and, 
 somehow, as was her wont, she struck her listen- 
 er's heart. He spent a half hour with her — the 
 busy man, with Scarce a minute to spare; and 
 coaxed her into speaking freely on the subject she 
 always avoided, herself and her pain. He left ft 
 
 -,ci^'i^'c-!!V^>f^i-^K^'i^\'^i^M^iK^'''^i^ 
 
 WiWvii:^&%ii'jitt<»%w^^*t*sl^ 
 
uppil 
 
 ime. I never 
 
 very kind to 
 
 fortabl" V> be 
 
 ks well, don't 
 
 ," replied the 
 is the I'JPer- 
 are medicine, 
 it not?" 
 ictoTs could be 
 ;'8 jufit — just 
 'ortabie of 'em 
 s kind of like 
 folks well in- 
 \, med'cine ; it 
 
 e." •• ;{.,-..■.. 
 ■inciples; and, 
 Lck her listen- 
 vith her — the 
 to spare ; and 
 he subject she 
 in. He left a 
 
 iM 
 
 HAPPBNiSrV. 
 
 RfPi 
 
 81' 
 
 "is;"-- ' 
 
 glass and spoon beside hcr when he went. He 
 thouT^ht he could help her. 
 
 "You've been excelltnt medicine for the big 
 doctor," he said, as h< icse to go, tears in his blue 
 eyes. " He'll come again when he needs another 
 dose." 
 
 Winter drags along slowly to the poor. Many, 
 
 m 
 
 on Our Street, felt hanger's o-casional bitings. 
 Dick, for a while, was very steady ; and little Bry 
 did not want life's necessities. Granny Thorpe 
 and her little brood were pinched; but Widow 
 Graf ham, with her sympathy born of the bitter 
 past, helped smooth it for all. 
 
 Of course Widow Graf ham felt the hard times 
 as did other dealers, but they never froze her 
 heart-blood, or knotted .her purse-atrings. She 
 always had a dollar for some one poorer than her- 
 self, as well as a cup of tea and a kind word ; as 
 to her weekly pudding, it was an established 
 
 fact. 
 
 Once every week Widow Grafham's large 
 bread pudding, yellow with custard, speckled with 
 
 i^tismmfrtd^ieKHiiM*!^''' 
 
 1P ^Sf&S& 
 

 fl OVX BTBXBT. 
 
 raisins, found its way to some home. Brj' oftea 
 got a little one, or a slice off the big one, before it 
 was sent to Granny Thorpe's, or elsewhere. It 
 went where it was supposed to be most needed. 
 It was a beautiful afternoon, bright and sunny ; 
 but neither the white snow or shining sun could 
 satisfy little Beulah Hobson, for she wanted an 
 apple. Granny had given her and Hepzy perm is- 
 sion to go over to Bryony's for a little while ; but 
 the sight of little Teddy Sawyer at Widow Graf- 
 Jham's shop window, with an apple in his hand, 
 had taken all the enjoyment of the occasion from 
 Beulah ; and instead of going into Bry's with her 
 sister, she went to Hudworth's window, devouring 
 the apples and oranges there displayed as truly 
 and as greedily as one can without getting his 
 teeth into them. ..-;::-• 
 
 " O dear ! " she said at last, when the cold com- 
 pelled her to leave the charmed spot for a seat 
 besidti Bryony and her sister. " O, dear 1 I'm so 
 hungry for apples; and IVe only had one this 
 winter, and they smell so nice." i 
 
 Hl^ 
 
 »ft.»^>>fA^«...... ...»..*5S~5if;'**»**»».»«**«»-i^----''*^^^^^ ^"^ 
 
tbjm 
 
 ne. Brj' oftea 
 J one, before it 
 elsewhere. It- 
 9 most needed. 
 ,ht and sunny ; 
 ling sun could 
 she wanted an 
 
 Hepzy permis- 
 ttle while ; but 
 t Widow Graf- 
 le in his hand, 
 I occasion £rom 
 
 Bry's with her 
 idow, devouring 
 iplayed as truly 
 3Ut getting his 
 
 sn the cold corn- 
 spot for a seat 
 0, dear 1 I'm so 
 y had one this 
 
 happekik's. 
 
 88 
 
 "Where did you smell them?" asked Bry, com- 
 passionately. 
 
 " At Hudworth'B. O, such big, red fellows in 
 the windows, big a.s my two fists." 
 
 " But you couldn't eat'em through the window," 
 said matter-of-fact Hepzy. 
 
 " Yes, I did. I looked and looked till I smelled 
 'em, and then I looked and looked till I tasted 
 'em, and they were so nice." 
 , «0, what a Uel" caid Hepzy. "I'U tell 
 granny." 
 
 « No, 'tain't a lie," said Bry, who quite x^nder- 
 stood the feelingi "She's 'magined it, i uu I's 
 just like truly. I wish I had an apple — I'd give 
 it to her." 
 
 ,. > But she hadn't. And though she did all she 
 could to make her little company forget, it was 
 qmte useless. The wax dolly, competent to any 
 task expected of her heretofore —was not able to 
 combat these longings. Bry racked her little 
 braiu in vain for some expedient, then suddenly 
 her face brightened beneath u new thought. ,... , 
 
 i«faiS»«SKi!«»-J*47»t% 
 
 gtggByi warotmagroiH!*' *"^ 
 
 liffififairte 
 
84 
 
 OUE STEEET. 
 
 " Let's play party," she said. « You and Hepzy 
 go out and pick up all the bits of apples and cores 
 before Hudworth's door, and then we'll put 'em in 
 the fire, and r-ake believe it's truly apples baking, 
 you know." - ■ . 
 
 Hepzy could not see the good of this. 
 
 " She'll only feel worse 'cause she'll want to eat 
 'em J " ehp said. " She smellod 'em at Hudworth's, 
 and that didn't do any good." 
 
 "'Cause it wasn't a truly smell," said Bry. 
 " A truly smell goes right in, you see. We smell 
 roses, but we don't want to eat them." 
 
 Beulah was convinced by this reasoning, Hepzy 
 silenced. 
 
 The cores were soon gathered. Dirty, frozen 
 things they were, but patiently the children 
 thawed and washed them, then laid them on the 
 red-hot coals. Soon the sweet smell filled the 
 room. • 
 
 « It's tune to go to the party now, Angy," said 
 Bry to Beulah's old rag doll (they had exchanged 
 babies for the ftfternoon). " I smell Mrs. Beulah's 
 
 tilMifeWf', 
 
 . -'tj. ^mm-m^fi^^ uUiimmimm0m^ii»M^rm*uMll^$IKS 
 
mik 
 
 tt^ 
 
 Mh 
 
 HAPPENIN8. 
 
 85 
 
 ovi and Hepzy 
 iples and cores 
 e'U put 'em in 
 apples baking, 
 
 of this. 
 
 '11 want to eat 
 
 it Hudworth'a, 
 
 11," said Bry. 
 ee. We smell 
 them." 
 ksoning, Hepzy 
 
 Dirty, frozen 
 
 the children 
 
 i them on the 
 
 mell filled the 
 
 w, Angy," said 
 had exchanged 
 1 Mrs. Beulah's 
 
 apples a-baking. SuJ)per must be just about 
 ready. ' 
 
 . Beulah smiled. She was imaginative enough to 
 take delight in this. Even Hepzy found some 
 consolation. "Folks that go by'U think we're 
 having 'em," she said. " '■'-' -"J •.;'•• 
 ■ "Yes; and that'll make them comfortable," 
 added Bry. The thought that anyone could be 
 uncomfortable because some one else enjoyed what 
 they could not have, had never, even remotely, 
 entered her conception. — ' • 
 
 Quite a little while after the girls went home, 
 Bry sat very still, her face sober. She was think- 
 ing, and at last thought out loud, as usual. 
 
 " I haven't anything that I could buy one with, 
 unless I gave up dolly. I — could — do — that I " 
 slowly. " But Dick gave it to me, and it wouldn't 
 be right. Then it might make her feel bad to 
 b'long to some one else, 'cause she's deaf and 
 dumb, and I couldn't make h r understand. But 
 if Beul only could have an apple 1 " Then,, sud- 
 denly : " O, yes, I know. My med'cme said this 
 
 ■MHM>U»iWiMMliiif.'~*" 
 
 "^m 
 
 mi'-mm 
 
 Biilll L Mil »I W«»JjlMlil ll 'l ' l'l l *>i i ««ll l «l » « l "f » U"- 
 
 1 
 
 j 
 
 ; 
 
'••<? 
 
 OITB t'tKWRI, 
 
 morning, 'Ask anything in my name.' That's 
 Jesus' name. Please, dear God, just send a few 
 apples. Please, one will do. For Jeb, ' sake. 
 Amen." ^ 
 
 '.i, :'>'.: 
 
 ■iria L 
 
 A half hour after, Dr. Fosby's black Pete 
 
 opened Dry's door, after a little rap. .< ?- ' 
 
 *' For de little Miss Bry'ny, wid de corap'menta 
 
 of de doctor," he said, bowing a great basket 
 
 into the room, and leaving it. 
 
 The little girl sat with both eyes stretched very 
 wide open. 
 
 " I know it's them 1 Ho always does just what 
 He says. Jesus is ao comfortable I " 
 
 Then she slid from her chair, crept to the bas- 
 ket, and peeped in. 
 
 Even she was not prepared for such a display. 
 A doze;t jally tarts, blushing with beauty, a nice, 
 white loaf of bread, a chicken, and — a full peck 
 of apples. 
 
 " 1 O I it's too comfortable 1 " said little Bry, 
 
 and she cried. 
 
 An hour after, Ike, entering, found a strong 
 
 ■-».^>vaag)m»»&MmmviMiu^iam$S^ 
 
liM 
 
 ime.' That's 
 
 t send a few 
 
 Jeb. ' sake. 
 
 black Petti 
 
 ap. "•^■^-■^u ' 
 
 e corap'ments 
 
 great basket 
 
 jtretcbed very 
 
 ces just what 
 
 1 " 
 
 )t to the baa- 
 
 uch a display, 
 beauty, a nice, 
 I — a full peck 
 
 aid little Bry, 
 
 )und a strong 
 
 BAPFSMINB. 
 
 87 
 
 flavor of baking apples. It had cost Bry a lot of 
 aches, but sho had done it, and the oven door 
 was opened for his inspection. ^ r :»'*i'i^ 
 " Go right over and get them both ! I'm going 
 to have a truly party," she said. And it was 
 " truly." 
 
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 V 
 
 iti&#^4««ii«sa3M^^ 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MTTLE 8TEVIB. 
 
 WINTER does not last forever. The sun, 
 after numberless apparently fruitless at- 
 tempts to break his icy chains, at last succeeded, 
 and the earth walked forth from captivity, love- 
 emancipated, and gave utterance to her joy in 
 opening leaf and budding flower, in singing bird 
 and praiseful man. - ,,. 
 
 What human heart responds not to spring's 
 glad summons to awake ? nature's prefiguring of 
 resurrection life and joy. Who has not felt like 
 little Bry Perkins, as she leaned from her window 
 one April morning, with a sigh of satisfaction, 
 saying: ..u-.- _ :...-. /we g•:2;^^, 
 
 88 t 
 
 ■^^m»^^m> 
 
 ,>Mii^mmimn\tAtiHiitiiimimiiti^»g^^ 
 

 IVIfPIPII^ 
 
 iver. The sun, 
 ;ly fruitless at- 
 last succeeded, 
 captivity, love- 
 to her joy in 
 in singing bird 
 
 aot to spring's 
 prefiguring of 
 as not felt like 
 3m her window 
 of satisfaction, 
 
 LITTLB 8TBVIB. 
 
 89 
 
 " I would come out, pretty sunshine ! I would 
 if I could. I'm lame, but I thank you just the 
 same for asking me." 
 
 The spring had brought a wonderful treasuie to 
 our Uttle friend. A baby 1 A really, truly baby, 
 belonging to the young couple who Uved upstairs, 
 Edward and Mary Parker. 
 
 When Dick first told his Uttle sister the news 
 she cried for very joy. 
 
 "Just to think, Dick, that God should send a 
 truly baby, like the little Jesus, right into our 
 house, Dick I" she sobbed. "O, isn't 'Our 
 Father' comfortable 1 " 
 
 The baby was not a week old when, yielding to 
 his sister's importunity, Dick carried her upstairs 
 one evening, and waited while Nurse Adams 
 brought the little, red-faced morsel out for inspec^ 
 
 tion. - .5 
 
 ' Bry took one long, long look, touched one Uttle 
 hand, kissed the velvety cheek, and then was con- 
 tent for two more weeks. 
 
 Nurse Adam^ had gone by that tune, and Bry 
 
 ^{ 
 
 msmmum^MStm^'- 
 
 IllilllllfuWniiHi 
 
 rl'i-'- 'n '- ' — ^"- -■■■'■■ 
 
wn^ 
 
 90 
 
 OITB BTBEBT. 
 
 did not tell Dick what she premeditated. But 
 after he was gone to work, and Mr. Parker safely 
 out of the house, then she clambered slowly and 
 painfully, on her hands and knees, up over the 
 stairs, and knocked at the door. 
 
 What a delightful time she had I The young 
 mother let her see the tiny feet, and the baby 
 opened his eyes, and, yes — she sat in the great 
 rocker and held him full five minutes. 
 
 Then it was, with eyes brimming over with sat- 
 isfaction that she said : " O, Mrs. Parker, it's bo 
 comfortable to have a baby I" . - . 
 
 Mrs. Parker laughed, but she felt very much 
 like that herself; and from that minute a strong 
 affection sprang up between them, based on that 
 baby boy. , {t i<<iJ- 
 
 He was a wonderful child. Bry did not Wonder 
 that Letty Sawyer kissed him so enthusiastically; 
 that Widow Graf ham pronounced him a splendid 
 fellow ; that his old Grandpa Dodge came away in 
 from the country, and looked at him through his 
 spectacles, and held him in his shaky arms, and 
 
 '^'^•^^»s«s»tfeSi»^iSi^»««8»«M^s^**^*®®^- 
 
^'""fM 
 
 /^^TP^ 
 
 wimw^ 
 
 iitated. But 
 
 Parker safely 
 
 id slowly and 
 
 up over the 
 
 I The young 
 
 and the baby 
 
 . in the great 
 
 ites. 
 
 over with sat- 
 
 ?arker, it's bo 
 
 jlt very much 
 inute a strong 
 based on that 
 
 id not wonder 
 ithusiastically; 
 liim a splendid 
 came away in 
 n through his 
 iky arms, and 
 
 LITTLE STBVIB. 
 
 91' 
 
 laughed and cooed at him as if he was a huge baby 
 himself. O, no 1 none of these things surpri^d 
 Bry ; the surprise was that all the city, at least, 
 all Our Street, did not flock to see him. r . 
 
 One, two years passed, and the baby grew 
 daily. Dick had gone back to his ill turns. Bry 
 wondered and prayed, aul wouhl have sorrowed, 
 perhaps, if it had not been Tor that wonderful 
 baby. As it was she forgot aU things, even oooa- 
 sional hunger pangs, in his society. 
 
 He was a real baby, boisterous, crowy, kicky, 
 not a bit too good for the world, yet the very best 
 thing in it. Reckless — as what baby is not? — 
 getting his small legs into everything possible, 
 sticking his small nose into everything for- 
 bidden. 
 
 A lusty, laughing, crying, roly-poly. A curly- 
 
 pated, brown-eyed, mischievous tumble-about, who 
 picked at Bry's eyes, stuffed his fingers into her 
 mouth, pulled her hair with as much impunity as 
 if these things had been made solely for his ben- 
 efit, and viewed his mother much in the light of » 
 
 'I 
 
 y jj^^ i aiM i itMi" *! ^ *»' " "''' * '''' ' ' ' '^ 
 
MiMMWiiiiii 
 
 iiJUiW 
 
 mi OTTB STREET. 
 
 police officer, meddling with hia personal rights, 
 when she interfered in the least. 
 
 It so happened that Bryony gave him his 
 name. 
 
 " What will you call him ? " she said one day 
 to Mary Parker, while yet the child was young. 
 " Something from the Bible ? I think Stephen 
 would be nice, 'cause his little face shines 'most 
 like his did when they killed him." 
 
 " O dear ! " said the mother, quickly. " I don't 
 want to name him after anyone who died." 
 
 " But everybody dies," replied Bry. " O, no I 
 Elijah didn't. Would you like Elijah, Mrs. 
 Parker?" 
 
 "Bless me! no; that's too old." -1 " '^ ? 
 
 "Or Enoch?" still qucstioningly. > ' ' ;> >' H 
 
 "That's worse than Elijah." * 
 
 " But they're the only ones that didn't die, Mrs. 
 Parker. I 'spect every name has b'longed to 
 
 some one who died." - .; - - ;, 
 
 ; " Perhaps so," Mary said, and it ended there. 
 No, it didn't. Hearing of the conversation, Mr. 
 
 SSMiik'J^Misfe" 
 
iiiinir"-in""-°rr""'' 
 
 .■•xv 
 
 T^ 
 
 v| 
 
 personal rights, 
 
 gave him his 
 
 le said one day 
 [Id was young, 
 think Stephen 
 e shines 'most 
 tn." 
 
 ikly. " I don't, 
 vrho died." 
 Bry. " O, no I 
 Elijah, Mrs. 
 
 lidn't die, Mrs. 
 [as b'longed to 
 
 it ended there, 
 nversation, Mr., 
 
 LrmjB BTBVH!. 
 
 M 
 
 Parker was struck very favorably with Bryony's 
 choice. ■■*■' •. "^ ,rv h«-v>,,.u,; ^.?;: n'j.vr 
 
 "That's my brother's name — Stephen," he 
 said. " He's worth a pile of money and has no 
 children. Let's call him that; it may be worth 
 something to him some day." -^^J-'P >.::i..U ol 
 : So the baby was named, and Bry was happy. 
 
 It was she who first discovered him trying to 
 catch a sunbeam, and who prayed over his first 
 burn, his little hand held fast in both hers : " Please 
 make it well, dear Jesus, he'^ such a little fello«r, 
 and it hurts." /•— ''■'-- --.--'<^>'' ^'^-^"* • 
 
 She taught him first to pucker up his ruby lips 
 for a kbs, and to waft them through the air from 
 his tiny palm. Who was prouder than she when 
 he patted the first cake for his admiring mamma, 
 and what adventurer ever boasted more of his 
 wondrous discoveries than she at the finding of 
 that first tooth ? and his first step— ah, little Bry I 
 who else thought of praying that night: "Dear 
 Jesus, you are so good to teach him how to walk ; 
 please don't let him ever forget to grow," '^d 
 
 \\ 
 
 aMiiiiTmirtt'liflWifililSiaiir' ' 
 
 ^\-s^fti»iiiti m»vmiii > '* i i-^* * i ' *f t ' *•"> * 
 
M 
 
 OTTB WI^MET. 
 
 But Bry's baby was growing old ; his third year 
 was opening. Long since he had learned to travel 
 over the perilous stairs to reach her, now his 
 favorite place was by her side. He would push a 
 chair up close to her, and climb on her lap, the 
 little lap that sometimes ached so sorely, yet so 
 gladly, from the precious burden it would not 
 have missed for the world. 
 
 Mrs. Parker knew how well Bry could be 
 trusted with her darUng, and days when she was 
 unusually busy, or wished to go out, Stevie was 
 left to her charge. Then what strange, old- 
 fashioned talks they had together, for Stevie 
 learned early to use his tongue. But none of his 
 sayings pleased Bry like this: "When I det up to 
 papa, I'll be oor granfarder. By." 
 
 O, how Bryony would laugh ! yet Master Stevie 
 was wholly in earnest. "Granfarder" was the 
 repositum of untold sweetriieats and toys, and to 
 be Bry's " granfarder " meant to him to be her 
 greatest good.; ; 
 Occasionally, of an evening, Mr. and Mrs. 
 
*-v' 
 
 ili 
 
 (pPmnaniaiun 
 
 ■^)l"ff*WP^W^'^ 
 
 1. 1 .(ii 
 
 ; his third year 
 arned to travel 
 
 her, now his 
 } woiild push a 
 )n her lap, the 
 I sorely, yet so 
 
 it would not 
 
 Bry could be 
 when she was 
 »ut, Stevie was 
 t strange, old- 
 ler, for Stevie 
 3ut none of his 
 hen I det up to 
 
 it Master Stevie 
 jder" was the 
 ind toys, and to 
 > him to be her 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. 
 
 LITTIiB BTIBVIB. ■• 
 
 Parker went out together. Then the little man 
 shared Bryony's room, and then i.; was that he 
 took lessons of her in astronomy. <i»t ods h">,vi 
 ' " The stars are the eyes of people who live in 
 heaven," she said, on one such occasion. " Those 
 two over there are my mother's eyes, and they 
 always look just so comfortable. She's been there 
 a long time now, and knows lots of things." , ,? 
 " We'll be next her when we doe, an' we'll be 
 comfittle. By," lisped Stevie. :■/ ,j < r <vi,fRTffi 
 "0, you mustn't go, Stevie. You're going to 
 be a nice, big man, and tell folks about Jesus. 
 I'll go first." --^^ i*...'i' ■•*>-?• ^-iU; H :,^-.-„.i,.,;; 
 One night she had a new scientific discovery to 
 relate. ' ■"' - ■•■•■^^'■^"^^^-^ -—'■--':'•' -^ 
 
 " I've found out what the moon's made out of, 
 Stevie," she said. You know that nice, reddish 
 sort of clay you and me saw going along in the 
 big carts the other day ? Well, God made the 
 moon out of that. He made it round likp a snow- 
 ball first " — using her hands to illustrate — " then 
 he made it flat " — bringing her hands together — 
 
 1 
 '1 
 
 MllftMiyi-il'iMii'ife'iBiii''" 
 
 jlgt MWIM'! ' '* '* *' '' "' ' * * ' ' ^ '" ' ''^ ' '' '*' '' "' ' * ' ^ "^ '■* 
 
 , 1 ^^^^ *■ 
 
 - 'A 
 
^mmsm^mm^^ 
 
 wmmmim'm'mB 
 
 96 
 
 Gun 8TBBBT. 
 
 " like a pancake, and stuck it up in the sky with 
 his thumb."* ' ' • • > 
 
 " Bid Dod I " said the astonished listener. 
 
 " Yes, bigger than you can think if you shut 
 your eyes ever so tight, and try real hard," replied 
 Bry. " But then he lives up there just inside the 
 blue, and it's easy for Him to put out one arm and 
 fasten it." ' ' " -• - ■' 
 
 "Did he nail it there?" now queried the 
 scholar. ' • . *" 
 
 " O, no I that would spoU it. The nails would 
 show." 
 
 *» It look as if suffin was fastened to the middle," 
 said the little boy. 
 
 " O 1 that's only a picture God made with his 
 finger. You see, Stevie, that isn't anything to 
 what he's got inside. The moon and stars and 
 sun are nothing but hb little lights." 
 
 One morning Stevie did not come down to see 
 
 • Thitittrue. The ides of a little lister oi the author's. Truly a Daxen-haired 
 Bry, who now with angeU learehes out the truths of creation, and creatioB** 
 Creator. -, - ■ . 
 
 i 
 
 . ,. ^i..-^Cjdi^.^i.:i:i:.S-':- r- ^:', .: r-^- ■ ■*•- ••<" ■■- ■ "V J#. - ," .■ 
 
the sky with 
 
 listener. 
 c if you shut 
 lard," replied 
 ist inside the 
 ; one arm and 
 
 . .I ;- •<•■/•; 
 
 queried the 
 
 ) nails would 
 
 > the middle," 
 
 lade with his 
 ; anything to 
 
 nd stars and 
 
 _ »» ... 
 
 down to see 
 
 Tnily a flaxen-haired 
 eation, and creation'* 
 
 .......J*. 
 
 LITTLB fVtVrOu 
 
 97 
 
 Bry — something unusual ; and his little, f^etM 
 cries reached her strained ears. .ii.> »- ""*• 
 
 " P'r'aps he's sick," she said. And, by-and-by, 
 nnable to still her surmisings longer, she laid her 
 crutches at the foot of the stairs, and crept slowly 
 
 i Mrs. Parker was surprised, on opening the door 
 in answer to a feeble rap, to find Bry's little face 
 looking up from the floor. She helped her in 
 quickly, and went down after her crutches. *> 
 
 ♦♦ I'm glad you've come I " »he said, in a relieved 
 sort of way. " Stevie is so cross. He was fretful 
 enough yesterday, but to-day there's no living 
 with him. I think " — lowering her voice — ♦♦ he's 
 coming down with the chicken-pox." '^^ ''p'" 
 
 So Bryony was soon established in the big 
 rocker, baby Steve beside her. It was won lerful 
 how soon she quieted him with her funny talk. 
 It was all about chickens that don't live in a hen- 
 house, and have no mamma, and can't say " peep 1 
 peep ! " and don't eat meal or com, and haven't 
 any feathers ox eyes, only little red oombs } yet 
 
 i •' 
 
 
 
 %k^ 
 
mm^mmemmmmm 
 
 mtmmamBmmmmmmmmmm 
 
 mmamm-'mmmmmmmim 
 
 r 
 
 91 OUB STBIOBT. 
 
 make babies cry, and run all over their faces, and 
 make their eyes ache, and are very naughty little 
 things. - . . •■' .ri-' ■' ;» i' vr. i/ ,'•.■ :*' 
 
 Mrs. Parker declared to her husband that night 
 that she had never seen such a child as Bryony ; 
 and every day thereafter, until baby was quite 
 well, Mr. Parker brought Bry up-etairs before 
 he went to work, and Dick carried her down at 
 night ; and she quite learned to say, " Our baby ; " 
 "Our Stevie." > ? '■' ' 
 
 No knowing how grimy " our baby " would have 
 become had it not been for our little friend. His 
 little feet and fists and yells fell so fast when his 
 mother began to wash him that she was glad to 
 desist ; but Bryony's attempts in the same direc- 
 tion furnished great fun. ' - • ^ * 
 
 The sponge was a little brown colt that didn't 
 know his own stable, and blundered first into 
 one brown eye and then the other, and then 
 across his cheeks and chin, bringing up at the 
 ears. -^ ••■ / • ":■.* 
 
 How . excited the little fellow grew over 
 
 i i 
 
 \:"- 
 
^mmm^mmammm 
 
 their faces, and 
 y naughty little 
 
 band tbat night 
 ild as Bryony; 
 )aby was quite 
 pHstaira before 
 ad her down at 
 , " Our baby ; " 
 .,..,,.! -'.^^ ;■■ 
 )y " would have 
 ;le friend. His 
 ) fast when his 
 he was glad to 
 
 the same direo- 
 
 .... ..^ ♦ ■■,./, .^ 
 
 iolt that didn't 
 lered first into 
 bher, and then 
 ging up at the 
 
 ow grew over 
 
 LrrTLB 8TBVI1B. W 
 
 the business, with what » shout he greeted 
 the colt finally housed in the tin basin! ^. • 
 
 It wae very much the same in combing his 
 hair, only then each separate curl was a little 
 pig, with a funny name, who, in some unaccount- 
 able way, got his bristles il twisted up. How 
 anxious " our baby " grew to have them straight- 
 ened, with what a crow of triumph he recognized 
 his own curly head in the glass to which mother 
 lifted him. Jt.ai 
 
 ' Our little Bry proved herself a general, but 
 her pleasant days with Stevie were interrupted 
 somewhat. Edward Parkei was doing well in 
 his business, and felt that he could well afford a 
 larger home. His wife wanted a parlor, but she 
 hated to part with Bryony. ' ; - ■- 
 
 After a while a tenement just suiting them 
 was vacated across the street, and they moved. 
 It was a sore trial to Bry. To be sure it was 
 not far, but it was where his little cry would 
 not reach her ears, where his baby feet could 
 not travel so often, though Mrs. Parker promised 
 
 |f^ 
 
 tMi't' 
 
 
 
 'wn 
 
 
n 
 
 100 
 
 OUB STBBET. 
 
 BtUl to bring him over, and to leave him when she 
 
 wished to go away. 
 
 Bry tried to be brave. She said: 
 
 "I'm glad, of course I'm glad. He'll have 
 
 everything nice, now ; " still, she did shed a few 
 
 tears that night, after she was in bed, where 
 
 nobody would see them. 
 
 fci- 
 
 ii^'-^- 
 
 V, .{• : *>''• 
 
 1 - -,"•■ 
 
 
 .,oj! x.c:f' 
 
 
 ■ ii'yh-;-:j^(f<iif^: .^ '*.;■;.:. 
 
'"'rT^CS^'^^i 'WS'O' 
 
 m 
 
 e him when she 
 
 }aid: 
 
 A. He'U have 
 
 did shed a few 
 
 in bed, where 
 
 '.1,'" '-f ' 
 
 
 ^^'c y :>•«■■ I; '.-^ Sii ■' . ■' ■' ■ ■ "'jAff JTal'' iiSiSi:^ 
 CHAPTER yn.. 1,-,.,. n^Acf-^*^' 
 
 A TEAMP. 
 
 FALL weather had come again, and hard times 
 with it. All classes of workmen trembled, 
 and those without trades might, well fear. 
 
 Granny Thorpe was very feeble, increasingly 
 so; and Ike nnsuccessful in finding anything 
 to do. Widow Graf ham jhad got a situation for 
 Hephzibah at the West End, as under nurse, and 
 there were but three to feed now. But deui old 
 granny's needle could not do that, and Ike's 
 usually cheerful face was lengthening percep- 
 tibly. 
 
 " You see it won't do. Bryony," he said to his 
 little consolation one evening. " It won't do. 
 
 101 
 
 .4 
 
r 
 
 102 
 
 0T7B 8TBEXT. 
 
 Winter is coming on, granny's tjo old to work, 
 and I ought to be supporting her; but I don't 
 support myself. I can't eat ; the food chokes me 
 when I know there's so little, and that costs her 
 so much. When anybody brings her in some- 
 thing nice, and she puts it on the table, I feel like 
 a thief. You would, you know you would, if you 
 were a great boy like mel" , 
 '■.. His voice was very shaky, for his heart was very 
 full ; and Bry's little, tender, soothing touches did 
 not tend to strengthen it. ^ 
 
 "I've tried all over the city. Some say I 
 am big enough to be liearning a trade instead of 
 running errands. But wherever I go to try for a 
 chance to learn a trade, it's always the same 
 answer: 'Too hard times to take apprentices; 
 they don't pay.' So what is a fellow to do ? I'm 
 'most sixteen, Bry — think of it I My clothes are 
 getting small — they are already shabby enough — 
 111 be naked altogether soon." r :;: , j . ., j 
 r " * If God so clothe the grass of the field, which 
 to<lay is, and to-morrow is cast into the oven, 
 
 .-iintiVaJh^lFMiii-'- 
 
?▲ TSAMP. 
 
 108 
 
 lO old to work, 
 3r; but I don't 
 'ood chokes me 
 . that costs her 
 ^ her in some- 
 bable, I feel like 
 u would, if you 
 
 J heart was very 
 ling touches did 
 
 Some say I 
 trade instead of 
 [ go to try for a 
 ways the same 
 ke apprentices; 
 ow to do ? I'm 
 My clothes are 
 babby enough — 
 
 the field, which 
 I into the oven, 
 
 shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little 
 faith?'" quoted Bry. "That was my med'cine 
 this morning. He always says true, and its com- 
 fortable." 
 
 "Yes," assented Ike, hesitatingly ; "but I'm a, 
 big boy, big enough to earn it. " I wouldn't like 
 to sponge on Grod if I could help it." 
 
 " But it isn't sponging, Ikey boy. You're his 
 own boy, and He has a right to feed and clothe 
 you. And you've done all you can, and He knows 
 it. O, He's got something for you, something 
 comfortable, I know. It's slow, but it's com- 
 
 ing. - ,. . .; 
 
 " But I want it now," said the boy. " Poor old 
 granny ! it almost breaks my heart. I could bear 
 it — I'm big and strong — that is, I'm big inside. 
 I feel big enough to do anything I But that's one 
 reason they give for not hiring me on the wharves. 
 ♦You're not large and stout enough.' I wish 
 they'd let me try once. But, Bry, I've been think- 
 ing I'm a good mind to go outside of the city, to 
 the farmers. It's a poor time of the year, I 
 
 &AlK4^ijSl^M9iuu4M*- - 
 
i04 
 
 OTTS S7BKIT. 
 
 know; but if I can ©arn my bo«rd it'll b« better 
 for the others." . - . > .. 
 
 Little Dry's heart gave a great bound, and 
 stopped. Ike go away I Wh»t of the lonely 
 nights when Dick was gone ? the many kindnesses 
 of every day ? But she shut her mouth resolutely. 
 She must not stand in his way. The first thing 
 nhe said after a little pause — said with her cheek 
 laid up to his, her arms about his neck, was: 
 
 " P'r'aps that's just the thing. It's nice to be 
 big and able to try, and then you know there is 
 Somebody bigger than all who will help you. I'll 
 ask Him to be sure and send something and He 
 will. He always says * Yes.' It's so comfortable 
 to have a Jesus I " 
 
 " It's so comfortable to have you I " burst out 
 Ike. " I don't believe I could live without you. 
 You are my medicine, sure." 
 
 It was settled that night before they separated 
 that he should start next morning. There was a 
 long talk with granny before bedtime, and day- 
 light found him upon his way. , , , .„. 
 
 ^ 
 

 I it'll b« better 
 
 / 
 
 iat bound, and 
 t of the lonely 
 nany kindnesses 
 louth resolutely. 
 The first thing 
 with her cheek 
 his neck, was: 
 It's nice to be 
 u know there is 
 
 II help you. I'll 
 nething and He 
 B so comfortable 
 
 rou I " burst out 
 ve without you. 
 
 s they separated 
 ig. There was a 
 dtime, and day- 
 
 lA TSAMV. 
 
 106 
 
 ' He went out pa«^ the Oaks, and walked all 
 day, but without results. He turned back, but 
 not home. He would not impoverish bis grand- 
 mother ; he would walk until he did find employ- 
 ment, he inwardly resolved. So he crossed the 
 bridge and entered Our Village. The night found 
 him cold, hungry, shelterless. He turned into a 
 field, and, coming upon a barn, crept into it, and 
 covered himself with the hay. There, on bis bed 
 of straw, he wondered if God had utterly for- 
 saken him, and, still wondering, fell asleep from 
 very weariness. 
 
 '4 a.r>J nr 
 
 TJlt 
 
 >^/-.:7f-3 
 
 " June Hargreave, he's hiuigry I 'most starving. 
 Will you give him some breakfast? Sayl will 
 you?" ' ^ • 
 
 "Give who some breakfast. Miss Primrose? 
 Me is hungry; what he?" and Juniper laughed 
 a gay little laugh, as she gazed in her sister's 
 excited face. 
 
 «♦ Why, he, of course. How do I know his 
 name ? I didn't stop to inquire name when he's 
 
 mm 
 
106 
 
 0T7B STBEET. 
 
 n 
 
 'most starving, p'r'aps. Say, can he come up? 
 He's down at the gate, and — O dear, say, June, 
 say?" 
 
 " Of course he can come. There is small need 
 of anybody starving, and all these buckwheat 
 fritters going to waste. Bring him along." 
 
 '* Stop, Rose." It was a commanding voice that 
 deterred the child on her dance to the door. " It's 
 only a tramp, June," continued the gentleman, in 
 a less exacting tone, resuming his paper. 
 
 " And tramps never get hungry, though gentle^ 
 men with banknstock and real estate are foolish 
 enough to occasionally. Is that it, Popsydil?" 
 The saucy little speaker eyed the tall, dark gentle- 
 man very coolly as she asked this question, and 
 with the least bit of attend-to-your-own-a£Eiairs-sir 
 in her voice...^^ ..^,„ ,;„., ..^., :„.;v^- ^^.„ ,,,, _^,j,^.^ ., 
 
 " Why, yes. I pappose the miserable dogs do 
 get hungry, like their betters ; but why don't they 
 work for their bread? That's the question." .^ 
 
 " No, Popsydil, you are mistaken. That is not 
 the question," replied Miss June, a little twinkle 
 
 ~3iv:isn«s.7iS-r?S?!3Sftr-r*r 
 
 ilh*^pi «i MJ iWa >i *^ wlM I ^*l'*« >|' fc«* i '^> *«*'«* ^' ''* i '' ^'^ "' ^ i' < * I " T*'i l lifc' l' '^' l ' < ta^< 
 
▲ TBAMP. 
 
 107 
 
 an he come up? 
 dear, say, June, 
 
 • 
 
 re is small need 
 hese buckwheat 
 liim along." 
 mding voice that 
 the door. «« It's 
 be gentleman, in 
 lis paper. 
 y, though gentle^ 
 estate are foolish 
 t it,Pop8ydil?';^ 
 tall, dark gentlo- 
 liis question, and 
 inr-own-a£Eiair&-sir 
 
 iserable dogs do 
 t why don't they 
 the question." .^^ 
 en. That is not 
 , a little twinkle 
 
 in her bright eyes. " The question is whether this 
 particular tramp — as you call him — shall go 
 hungry, or eat up these nice fritters that nobody 
 else will eat." June ^as just a little aggrieved 
 that her breakfast had not found better appe- 
 tites. 
 
 "June," decidedly, "I cannot feed all the 
 tramps iu the country." 
 
 " No, sir, I don't suppose you can," demurely. 
 ♦♦ If you could I couldn't, this morning. But I 
 can and will feed this one. These fritters shall 
 find a consumer. Hurry up, Primrose, or they 
 will be cold before he gets them." 
 
 Rose cast a little fearful glance at her father, 
 but the gentleman was apparently busy with his 
 paper, so she darted off. 
 
 " June, do you think you set just the right exam- 
 ple before your sister, in teaching her to disobey 
 me? I thought that Book you have so recently 
 adopted as your guide said something about chil- 
 dren obeying their parents." a 
 
 Mr. Hargreave's voice denoted no anger, it sel- 
 
 % 
 
 lii il h t <«l u « fcli li » i »Lawm i MI iMli ^ 
 
ni 
 
 ftmm 
 
 •V, 
 
 108 
 
 OTTB STBSBT* 
 
 dom did in ^ddressiag Juniper ; it did express ft 
 little amused questioning' as to how she would get 
 out of the dilemma she had suggested. 
 
 ** Of course it does." Miss June seated herself 
 on «ne of the gentleman's knees as she answered. 
 ** And it says something, too, about fathers provok- 
 ing their children to anger, and you're a dreadful 
 provokative, sometimes, Popsydil. I am really 
 afraid" — and Miss June, who had been vibrating 
 back and forth, suddenly gained an equilibrium. 
 *' I am really afraid, Popsydil, that you have the 
 root of all evil in you. Money's a very good 
 thing if we don't 1 uve it too well, but " — and the 
 little lady's voice grew very grave — " but I really 
 don't know what might happen to this house if J 
 wasn't here to give away a loaf of bread and a 
 few pies occasionally." ..i ^ uy ,;« , ;, v j . ; a 
 
 The gentleman's eyes were full of repressed 
 merriment as he lifted them to his daughter's 
 
 *' Then I am to understand. Puss, that you are » 
 sort of lightning-rod patching the electric sparks 
 
 »«iiltiniiMili'««fi«ith«)>*fi?i>aifitiiiiin»t«i'.iW!«ii?ifSiitii*teii'iM 
 
it did express a 
 DW she woiild get 
 l^ested. 
 
 ne seated herself 
 as she answered. 
 lit fathers provok- 
 you're a dreadful 
 I. I am really 
 kL been vibrating 
 I an equilibrium, 
 tat you have the 
 sy's a very good 
 , but " — and the 
 e — " but I really 
 to this house if J 
 if of bread and a 
 
 A TRAta.n.'vo 
 
 t09 
 
 ;i;«. !| 
 
 full of repressed 
 to his daughter's 
 
 ss, that you are a 
 le electric sparks 
 
 of divine wrath, and conducting them away from 
 my devoted head?" 
 
 " You must not trifle with divine wrath ; it is 
 a reality." Such a sober, sober face, such bright, 
 earnest eyes. Miss June was so quiet now one 
 could hardly have supposed her to be the same 
 little bird that was bobbing its brilliant head from 
 side to side of the father-face so recently. 
 
 T^e fond parent patted the bright head, and 
 drew the bright face to his for a kiss. 
 
 "She loves to preach at her old father," he 
 said. -- - .'■:'::-.■.. ...-:^..: '..-:: .^,., .■ -„... 
 
 "No, it ain*t preaching, it's only doing my 
 duty." Two arms went like a flash about his 
 neck, two lips sought his again, two eyes smiled 
 roguishly from out the dimpled face. "He's 
 nothing but a naughty old bear, but I love him I " 
 said the saucy child, balancing herself again on his 
 
 knee. ^^i?-^,*-:- i.;j?i. ■^V'.i.-'s^lf'*/ ^<=..-,\rj- t?.;; >r\^ «/■; 7ihf iv ii'^'J^ 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Hargreave was not very much to 
 blame for his pride in his eldest bom. Few faces 
 were more piquantly lovely, none could mak? 
 
 ^WhE^I' 
 
 [ niViifwiiif'iWtiiiiliwli 
 
 vim^MsmMmsmmmmM^M^M 
 
no 
 
 OUB 8TBEET. 
 
 greater contrast to the almost stern darkness of 
 his own. 
 
 She had such a delicious complexion 1 The lily 
 and the pink were wonderfully blended and con- 
 trasted, and who could count the dimples ? One 
 never knew where the next one would surprise 
 him 1 They were like her smiles, multitudinous, 
 and like them, also bewildering. 
 
 The cheeks were rounded perfectly, the chin 
 roguishly, the dainty, tinted ears and snowy neck 
 were all her own. Such a comical little I-do-os-I- 
 please nose, such a coaxing, wishful, authoritative 
 mouth, wooing you by its beauty to kiss it, fright- 
 ening you from your purpose by its do-it-if-you- 
 dare-itiveness I 
 
 The head was just a wee bit commanding in its 
 air, inimitable in its poise. Seldom still, always 
 claiming your attention, consuming your attention. 
 A head covered with — what colored haur, shall I 
 gay? Not black, like her father's, not brown, 
 like Aunt Myra's, not drab, like Mrs. Maria's, or 
 goldy, like Rose's, not red, like Betty's, the house- 
 
 ^/Jaft^w^:w^rf1W^t^a;■^:^«ga^8l■i ^i»Wll^* l« ^^ n ml ^ * i Viftt i M i rtW iJB 
 
■a^''Ka.. 
 
 A TRAMP. 
 
 in 
 
 tern darkness of 
 
 iexion I The lily 
 blended and con- 
 3 dimples? One 
 e would surprise 
 3S, multitudinous, 
 
 irfectly, the chin 
 i and snowy neck 
 al little I-do-os-I- 
 iifiil, authoritative 
 f to kias it, fright- 
 )y its do-it-if-you- 
 
 ommanding in its 
 idom still, always 
 ing your attention, 
 tlored hair, shall I 
 ther's, not brown, 
 9 Mrs. Maria's, or 
 Betty's, the house- 
 
 maid. jL/iesB me, no I not red, and yet somewhere 
 between red and brown. A delicious color, almost 
 like wine " when it giveth his color in the cup, 
 when it moveth itself aright." "Look not," said 
 Solomon, of that cup. Well had it been for some 
 ladies could they have helped looking at Juniper 
 Hargreave's hair, for their brown locks never 
 pleased them as well after, and it was generally 
 weeks before they could view them with any 
 degree of complacency. It did not curl, or yet 
 lay still. It danced about as fancy-free as her 
 own heart, as uncontrolled as robin red-breast. 
 Sometimes it could be coaxed to braid or band for 
 an occasion, but it always broke forth in greater 
 freedom after, as if glad of release. 
 
 Her eyes were like her hair in color, and par- 
 takers of its peculiar beauty. She was young — 
 just fifteen ; small, though you did not realize i^ 
 untrained, un osciplined. Her mother had died in 
 her infancy, and she had broujght up herself, if 
 you believe her own testimony, a fact on which 
 she rather prided herself. ., 
 
 .*% 
 
 ■%r 
 
 
 Ji 
 % 
 
 ""*'•* ».!»«,S-'i, -,■, _j',J, I 
 
 TJlf^ 
 
■'■'■■liWIiUHH 
 
 wmmmm 
 
 MfMM 
 
 iiP 
 
 112 
 
 OUB iTBEKT. 
 
 To b« sure, Aunt Myra llargreave had under- 
 taken that difficult task, but she had not suo- 
 oeeded well. Not, however, from want of dili- 
 gonce. She worked with indefatigable determina- 
 tion and zeal, gtretching, pruning, preaching 
 dUciplining. But Juniper would not — and her 
 father rather exulted in tlw fact — persistently 
 would not become a sooond edition of Aunt 
 Myra. If she had she would not certainly have 
 been anything like her mother, for Edward Har- 
 greave would not have been guilty, even in Huch a 
 secondary manner, of marrying his maiden sister. 
 Facts compel me to admit that Miss Juniper 
 triumphed, and Miss Hargreave was driven from 
 the field in high dudgeon. Her anger had been 
 somewhat modifiod lately, however, by certain 
 concessions made by June, which were wholly the 
 ftsult of the new Christian experience to wluch 
 her father referred. 
 
 After her aunt's departure Juniper had been 
 sole mistress of the situation. To be sure, her 
 father married again, but the step-mother had 
 
 
 ■i ab«:»«aMH»Wi%«<>il«k I 
 
 . l"^iiA^IMit.i'*^^^ ^^-^a^^'^IjfcAto ^K6mpU^BitlmBmAMi 
 
 ~W" 
 
mmmmmmmam. 
 
 mmmmmmsm^^ 
 
 wmfmrnm' 
 
 A TBABIP. 
 
 118 
 
 rgreave had under- 
 , Bhe had not suo- 
 from want of dill- 
 fatigablo determina- 
 (runing, preaohinj^ 
 ould not — and her 
 
 fact — pewUtently 
 I edition of Aunt 
 
 not certainly have 
 jr, for Edward Har- 
 uilty, even in Huch a 
 ig his maiden sister. 
 ; that Miaa Juniper 
 ,ve wa» driven from 
 Her anger had been 
 lowever, by certain 
 dich were wholly the 
 experience to wWch 
 
 ■e Juniper had been 
 n. To be sure, her 
 the gtep-iuoth«r had. 
 
 little power ; and ere long nhe was laid betide the 
 first wife, leaving Rose. -^ ' - 
 
 Juniper brought up Hose. She was competent, 
 she Raid — she had learned from Aunt Myra ; and 
 it was amusing to see how she applied the rules to 
 another that she had found so irksome herself. 
 The result was. Miss Rose was somewhat old- 
 maidish, and earned, early in life, the prefix of 
 "Prim" to her original name. 
 
 Now there was a third wife in the house. Poor 
 June was in despair when her father first imparted 
 to her the news. That was before her con version, 
 and she was not angelic. She persistently refused 
 to call the new-comer anything but Mrs. Har- 
 greave ; but this, partly through that lady's grieved 
 manner, partly ovring to June's new views, had 
 been modified to Mrs. Maria. The new wife was 
 anything but strong when first married, almost an 
 invalid now, and took on herself but little au- 
 thority. 
 
 This was as well, perhaps. Only one had ever 
 ruled Edward Hargreave siaoe he buried his first 
 
 I 
 
 •I "'A 
 
 ..* 
 
 
 ii-ifr'in-r-iftfiiitfiiiifcW '^ 
 
d 
 
 ',-iT '"i 'tV,'T\ ^msmmfpmmm 
 
 1 
 
 ?:l 
 
 114 
 
 OXJB STBEET. 
 
 love, ant^ that one was the bright-haired child who 
 resembled her so closely. The face, however stern 
 to othera, softened to her ; the purse-strings, tied 
 to others, refused not to be loosened at her de- 
 mands. 7-^ • ',::./ 
 
 He was a wealthy man, a man of considerable 
 cvdture. A farmer, so styled; but one who did 
 not injure himself by hard work. His estate was 
 large and in good condition, his vegetables always 
 of the best, his apples and fruits among the finest 
 in the market. His homp nad every comfort, his 
 table every luxury, but his outlays were always 
 for his own. His sympathies seldom went beyond 
 his own home and family, and some of their 
 smaller needs he would have overlooked had it not 
 been for Juniper. She had no scruples at unlock- 
 ing his treasures, and fearlessly encountered his 
 strong prejudices. * f. ■ , f,ft 
 
 Now as she sat on his knee she exclaimed sud- 
 .denly: , - ■.-. ". . - ■'^■-* '-n ■ ^'-'' 
 
 *^Here comes Rose, and her he. Now, you 
 piecioua old Fopsydil, please go out of the room 
 
 J-OiMiJa ».*.=i:lfti«»«t»«^'a 
 
 ^ 'a^ilfsi^ifi^j^t^miisi^!^ <-:^ 
 
IT. 
 
 ght-haired child who 
 e face, however stern 
 he purse-strings, tied 
 
 loosened at her de- 
 man of considerable 
 d; but one who did 
 ork. His estate was 
 bis vegetables always 
 lits among the finest 
 id every comfort, his 
 
 outlays were always 
 } seldom went beyond 
 
 and some of their 
 overlooked had it not 
 10 scruples at unlock- 
 issly encountered his 
 
 e she exclaimed sud- 
 
 her he. Now, you 
 e go out of the room 
 
 A TBAMP. 
 
 115 
 
 like a good old bluo-beard, or the poor fellow won't 
 eat half enough." ~ ' ;^ • - •;■--- 
 
 Popsydil obediently set the miss on her feet, 
 and prepared to go. He took her by the chin and 
 kissed her first, however. ^^..«.^. 
 
 "You are a most irreverent child," he said. 
 " I don't believe there is another like you in the 
 whole world I " ^ ' " '■'""- v- ^ -> "^^ ^..^.^^ ,„« 
 
 "Of course there isn't I" leading him to the 
 door; "and it's lucky for you that there isn't. 
 You know you'd break the tenth commandment if 
 there was, and never rest content till you owned 
 her, though like as not it would impoverish you." 
 
 As Mr. Hargreave disappeared through one 
 door, Rose and her protege appeared at the other. 
 The little girl was ahead, but holding firmly by 
 Ike Hobson's jacket, and, as she ushered him into 
 the room, she said to her sister, in a stage- 
 whisper: -iS'^^^ "fei^i^ M,^, SJ-ii ^-3^ in&ii ^£^"^'V^^. 
 
 " I had to talk and talk to make him come, and 
 he said he wouldn't eat breakfast unless he could 
 work enough to pay for it. I promiaed — just to 
 
 
 ^ I- 
 
 -^ 
 
 »«,1 
 
 .^ 
 
 v^; 
 
 -.'(m»i^?i-!m^^imm^^:^9l^ 
 
 iiCj* na* L,.i, ^'^^.i. 
 
 fr 
 
 
■■'■"I— --IHH- 
 
 ! 
 
 116 
 
 OTTB STSSKT. 
 
 get him here, you know. Of oourse we don't 
 want him to pay — after he's done it won't make 
 any difijrence." - -• '' < - • ' '^ v » ; : 5. 
 
 "Of course it will make a difference," said 
 June, promptly. " I can't help you to break your 
 word, or to make him feel mean and beggarly. 
 There's wood enough to saw, and he can pay for 
 it; but there's plenty of breakfast first. Take 
 him into the sink-room for a wash." i.; ,>;>.< 
 
 " Eat all you can," she said to Ike afterwards. 
 "Those fifitters are ^.ood. I made them myself." 
 
 The smell was certainly appetizing. Ike had 
 never inhaled anything so delicious as that steam- 
 ing coffee, yellow with eggs and cream. He 
 looked up at the bright face. He wished to thank 
 June. But, bless me I he hadn't any tongue after 
 that first glance. " Just like a rainbow," was his 
 description to Bry afterwards. Ur.: < ; . ...0 ;< 
 
 He did eat, though, and eat heartily enough to 
 please Juniper, who flitted about, not watching 
 him, yet always knowing when his plate needed a 
 fresh supply. 
 
 /' ij^¥ U- * «. 
 
 .Yi,--ii.ii: 
 
 "■jiti -.ii^/j'ti.mfiy 
 
A TBAHP. 
 
 117 
 
 )[ oourse we don't 
 lone it won't make 
 
 a difference," said 
 p you to break your 
 nean and beggarly, 
 wd he can pay for 
 iakfast first. Take 
 
 wash." ■?/■ i;! ,':-;j>;i- 
 
 to Ike afterwards. 
 Dade them myself." 
 ppetizing. Ike had 
 cious as that steam- 
 } and cream. He 
 He wished to thank 
 n't any tongue after 
 a rainbow," was his 
 
 ) heartily enough to 
 ibout, not watching 
 n his plate needed a 
 
 **■ June ! June I " called a feeble voice from the 
 
 sitting^OOm. ::;;%;<« ;■: i;.u: Sts^i^?-— ■ ViCq i^i ViSJri .;^i'.',t 
 
 *' Rose, go in and see what Mrs. Maria wants." 
 
 '*She wants you," reported Rose, a moment 
 after, and with a little shrug of the shoulders 
 June disappeared. ,/-•: .i-tex. fma '?'a-:;'u\ yi i--> ,i;^n-t':f 
 
 " June, have you got that tramp tight into the 
 dining-room ? " The shocked voice reached Ike's 
 ears, as well as the young lady's suppressed 
 "Hush! why, he will hear youl He isn't a 
 tramp I he's a boy with a nice face. Yes, he is in 
 the dining-room. Where else should he be to eat 
 breakfast?" '■ifom^ih m %iiM-i7!tii S'-d^diA vyr-'^a 
 
 " In the kitchen, where Betty can watch him, 
 and where there is less to lose. He may be just 
 spying out the best way for some rogues to enter 
 the house. He may be even now stealuig the tea- 
 spoons. Go right out, June, right out. What an 
 imprudent child you are I He must be watched 
 closely." :iZ'JjJMi^ bis^iii'^adfr ..isaiaul.' Sitfcd;; 
 
 " You forget I only left him at your call," June 
 retorted, indignantly. "He doesn't need watch- 
 
 m 
 
J: ._■ 
 
 "W" 
 
 •* 
 
 118 
 
 OUB STBEBT. 
 
 ingi If he does you m ist .do it — I will not I" 
 going out and shutting the door emphatically. 
 
 Ike was sitting, his chair pushed from the table, 
 his face flushed. Luckily, his meal had been 
 nearly finished ere the conversation began ; another 
 mouthful now would have choked him. He 
 looked up into the young girl's face, his voice 
 uncontrollable with emotion. He met sympathy. 
 
 "You must not mind," she said, " The lady is 
 sick and nervous, and does not know you. She 
 would trust you if she had seen you as I have. 
 Then you know many good men have to battle 
 suspicion, and it doesn't hurt them when they are 
 sure of themselves. Come, I have a great wood- 
 pile, and you can pay me in full for your break- 
 
 '■ fast." Yt«a f^r.:v-r? i ii,:i: ^ V -'.;;• W•-,«^T-^ .^:^-U ' 
 
 June didn't give Ike a chance to speak, scarcely 
 think, in the next ten minutes. It was, indeed, a 
 Igreat wood-pile. A tithe of it would have put 
 old Granny Thorpe beyond all fear of cold for the 
 winter. Ike's saw was making music before Jime 
 was fairly out of sight. He worked vigorously » 
 
 l>»«MKt)lM<(»«i 
 
 4 ,' ^ -•' .^ 
 
 i jiimi« i iii«ii«WMm«iMi»liiMHl i iri*>i. H ii» i >»iUii.i 
 
A TBAMP. 
 
 119 
 
 ) it — I wiU noti" 
 loor emphatically, 
 ihed from the table, 
 tis meal had been 
 tion began ; anotheir 
 shoked him. He 
 rl's face, his voice 
 He met sympathy, 
 jaid, " The lady is 
 it know you. She 
 een you as I have, 
 nen have to battle 
 hem when they are 
 lave a great wood- 
 ull for your break- 
 
 .'.■•ra, " 
 
 9 to speak, scarcely 
 It was, indeed, a 
 it would have put 
 fear of cold for the 
 music before Jime 
 rorked vigorouslyj 
 
 and it did him good. He gave vent to his ill- 
 feelings thus, and calmed his spirit. When little 
 Rose came out, not long after, she found quite a 
 heap beside the wood-house. * «.. , 
 • The child sat down quietly on a log to watch 
 him. Every now and then he sent her a smile. 
 A child could always cause Ike's face to blossom. 
 " What is your name ?" asked Rose. *• 
 
 "Isaac;" not stopping his work. - 
 
 "Is that what your mother calls you?'* > ■, 
 " Mother's dead. Granny says Isaac, but Hep 
 and Beul say Ike." ^i 7*;^ - v.i ..\' ; xi v 
 "Who are Hep and Beul?'* 
 
 ■ "My sisters." '■ ^ -*^;- ' ./; ,'" ; :'-;?a:: 
 
 "Are they little like me?" i; { r x/( •: . 
 "No. Hep's tall. She's twelve now. Beul'a 
 
 ten. 
 
 ,.4*=:^'>-? 
 
 ■:.:}» 'K 
 
 :;a^:.,. 
 
 i!l. 
 
 A pause. ^ -s^£»c4iii:i!;A : 
 "You like to saw wood?" 
 "Yes. Hike anything that's work. I've ached 
 for work this six weeks. It seems good." ' . 
 "Does it? Myl I don't like work. That is, 
 
 
 
 1 -v 
 
 
 
 ^fw n iB i i i ww aMSiBSias^ « 
 
liiOiiMii<i!ttiLa«,-'>'^ 
 
 :«r-,i.-.,i.ft.'^i,v,-'.w ■ 
 
 OTTB 8TEEBT. 
 
 not dusting, and wiping dishes. I'd like to make 
 cake and pies and puddings, if old hateful June 
 would let me!" 
 
 "She's not old or hateful!" objected Ike. 
 
 " N-o — but — she's Myraish. She brought her- 
 self up, June did. Aunt Myra tried to, you 
 know, but couldn't. It must be awful nice to 
 bring up one's self. I wonder how she'd like me 
 to do as / please, as she did ? I'd make pies the 
 first thing.' 
 
 " Perhaps she will let you when you're older," 
 suggested Ike. "You're so little perhaps she 
 fears you don't know how." 
 
 "Humph! Nobody knows nothing till they 
 try. If she'd just let me do one baking, then 
 she'd know." 
 
 Silence followed this for awhile, then: - li* 
 
 "Do you know my Aunt Myra?" asked Rose. 
 
 "No." ... _.^ ^ ...,„. ^._,.;- 
 
 "Don't you?" in astonishment. "I thought 
 everybody knew her, 'cause she's good when folka 
 are sick. Well, you'U know her when you see 
 
 ^>'mmmm>rm»<mi' -i- < L j-j-iii] ' ..!". 
 
 V '''' »'<**mw tiiiikm)»A0^i&i mii0 Wlgigggi^ 
 
mmnmB. 
 
 '. i, - m. 
 
 A TBAMP. 
 
 121 
 
 I'd like to make 
 old hateful June 
 
 objected Ike. 
 She brought het^ 
 ra tried to, you 
 be awful nice to 
 w she'd like me 
 'd make pies the 
 
 n you're older," 
 tie perhaps she 
 
 Jthing till they 
 le baking, then 
 
 e, then: iiJ^ 
 
 ft ? " asked Rdse. 
 
 t. "I thought 
 
 :ood when folks 
 
 when you see 
 
 her. She wears a straight black dress, just as 
 narrow, and — and — a bonnet with a big green 
 vail; and she looks just like this." And Miss 
 Rose drew down the corners of her mouth, length- 
 ened her face strangely, puckered up her lips and 
 rolled her eyes, having first made spectacles of her 
 forefingers and thumbs to place over them. 
 
 Ike stopped his work and laughed ; laughed so 
 heartily that Miss Rose, elated with her success, 
 repeated the programme. 
 
 " I don't know why she wears spectacles, for 
 her eyes are sharp enough, and they're 'most 
 white. They used to be blue, you know, but they 
 faded," explained the performer. "I wish you 
 could see them roll when June has on the blue silk 
 dress father bought her, or when we have jelly 
 tarts and frosted cake for supper." ,-*....- 
 
 " I don't think Miss June looks anything like 
 that," said Ike, resuming his work. "She isn't 
 Myraish." ., ;,,.;;.j.jk. . ..svj-u. ■ >^^ . ..w,>.^ . .v-^-s- -'■ 
 
 " O, no, she doesn't look like her, but she's kind 
 of hard to get along with when one wants to cook^ * 
 
 
 '% 
 
122 
 
 OITB STBEBT. 
 
 Can you make swings, Ike ? " suddenly changing 
 the subject. 
 
 "Yes; nice ones." 
 
 " O, goody I will you make one for me ? " 
 
 "Yes, when I get my work done." 
 
 " When will that be ? soon ? " 
 
 " Ye3, pretty soon." 
 
 "O, dear I I wish you'd hurry. Do you 
 B'pose I can help you?" and Miss Rose left her 
 seat and held on to Ike's stick. 
 
 "Does that help?" Ike laughed, but he nod- 
 ded assent. 
 
 They worked steadily for awhile, then, yielding 
 to the child's importunity, Ike followed her to 
 the barn. They had a peep at the hens as fhey 
 went, however, and a long look at the two sleek 
 horses. 
 
 " Papa has one off with him," said the little 
 girl, " and this black fellow is June's. Isn't she 
 lucky ? She has a basket-carriage, too, and papa 
 promised her a lovely sleigh if she would stay 
 at home this wmter. She wanted io go to school, 
 
 mm m * 
 
mddeuly changing 
 
 one for me?" 
 done." 
 
 hurry. Do you 
 ^iss Rose left her 
 z. 
 ighed, but he nod- 
 
 lile, then, yielding 
 followed her to 
 
 t the hens as they 
 at the two sleek 
 
 1," said the little 
 June's. Isn't she 
 ige, too, and papa 
 f she would stay 
 id io go to school, 
 
mmsm 
 
 
 .'j.m^nrs a- 
 
 Hi 
 
 
 
 '(1"l eaj OU'„'f..'r 
 
 
A TBAMP. 
 
 128 
 
 n 'ml kt>ti% hit 
 
 xlj a.:),u . .t! 
 
 
 :.!'HtiHfiJ^ 
 
 • 'f',i:t '"■'■/J! f^-r- J, »i;?'^j -■ 
 
 ' v*.:- ''V .?^i r 
 
 
 but Mrs. Maria is sick. I'd promiae never to go 
 to school for a nice sleigh, wouldn't you?" 
 
 "Not for a hundred," was Ike's very decided 
 answer, and then the swing was hung. 
 
 How delicious the barn was with the smell of 
 hay. Ike longed to stay there. But he did not 
 remain any longer than was necessary to put up 
 the swing, notch a board nicely, and start Rose 
 well with a few pushes ; then he went back to the 
 wood-pile. 
 
 All the discomfiture of the morning was gone. 
 Ike whistled gayly as he swung his axe and 
 pushed his saw. He did not hear Miss Juniper 
 approaching until she stood beside him. 
 
 " You smart boy 1 " she cried. " Why, you've 
 earned a dozen breakfasts 1 I forgot you until 
 now, I was so busy, and it's 'most ten o'clock. 
 You've earned your dinner, so, if you can't stop to 
 eat a hot one I'll do up the best I've got. Have 
 you far to go?" 
 
 " I don't know, miss, I'm sure," replied the boy. 
 
 "Where were you going? Perhaps I know the 
 
 J "..; 
 
^ 
 
 1:U 
 
 017R STREET. 
 
 disftanoe? If it's on this road you may get a 
 chance to ride witli some countryman going by. 
 Were you going W way?" 
 
 " I have no particular place. I am going any- 
 where that I call find work." 
 
 " O I This is a poor time to look for work this 
 way. What is your name?" 
 
 " Isaac Paul Hobson." 
 
 " Isaac Paul ; both Bible names. You ought to 
 be very good. Have you a father and mother, 
 Isaac?" 
 
 " Yes, miss, in heaven. Granny and Hephzibah 
 ftnd Beulah and I live together." 
 
 Hephzibah and Beulah I What funny names! 
 I never heard them before." 
 
 "They're both out of the Bible. Granny 
 named them." 
 
 " Well, I haven't read my Bible any too much 
 in my life. Is granny your own grandmother ? " 
 
 "Yes, miss." 
 
 " Then, if I were you I'd call her grandmother ; 
 it sounds better." Then, all unconscious of the 
 
 
 •!rs«aW^S!»S("! "'KXSLasy**' 
 
■HH 
 
 A TBAMP. 
 
 126 
 
 d you may get A 
 iitryman going by. 
 
 I am going any- 
 
 look for work thii 
 
 les. You ought to 
 ather and mother, 
 
 iny and Hephzibah 
 
 ler. 
 
 bat ftuny names! 
 
 Bible. Granny 
 
 ble any too much 
 n grandmother?" 
 
 her grandmother ; 
 noonsciouB of the 
 
 heightened color with which this criticism wat 
 received, Miss June stood a moment with pursed 
 lips and contracted brows. 
 
 " I've a good mind to hire you myself, Isaao } 
 how would you like that?" she said. 
 
 There was small reason to ask the question. 
 Ike's eyes unswered it unmistakably. 
 
 " There's more work than Tom can do," con- 
 tinued the girl, as if trying to convince herself 
 rather than her listener. " Betty is always grum- 
 bling because the wood is not split, and there are 
 those apples to pick over. Yes, I will keep you, 
 Ike. I know you're a good boy to work, and to 
 be trusted. What wages would you want?" 
 
 " What I am worth. If I only earn my board 
 this winter that's better than being on granny — 
 grandmother, I mean." 
 
 " Very well. You'll be sure to earn more than 
 that. I will need you presently to pick over the 
 apples. But for the present — Have you seen 
 anything of Rose?" 
 
 "Yes, miss. She's in the barn, swinging." 
 
 K 
 
 
 , »t> 
 
 *.■>! 
 
 , I 
 
 i 
 
 mmmmtimiiimm 
 
 .I.XliJL 
 
 
m 
 
 126 
 
 OUB STEEET. 
 
 ' "O I then you've hung her a swing/" with a 
 bright flash of the eyes. " I'm glad. You can go 
 swing her now, or do 'most anjrthing until 1 need 
 you. I wouldn't saw any more wood to-day," and 
 June was gone. ' -'• ^ ^ '"• f - u.^?;;? 
 
 There was time for quite a romp in the barn, 
 the sawing of a little more wood, and the neat 
 piling of all before June summoned Ike to the 
 apple-bin, with sundry directions ending thus: 
 " Eat all the apples you want. We have plenty." 
 
 The new boy was evidently a grand thing to 
 Rose. She flitted about, wciking some, but talk- 
 ing more, and about noon-time darted off, return- 
 ing immediately to say Miss June wanted him. 
 
 "It's 'cause Mrs. Maria wants to see you," 
 added the sprite, as they went up-stairs together. 
 
 " You won't care. Of course she wishes to see 
 you as I have hired you for good," added Miss 
 June, to a r-petition of the news above. " She 
 will like you, I know ; and if she does not it will 
 make no difference." 
 
 So Ike was ushered into the augus'. presence." 
 
 *••■ 
 
?^^^- 
 
 wiii 
 
 A TBAMP. 
 
 a swing / " with a 
 
 glad. You can go 
 
 jrthing until 1 need 
 
 I wood to-day," and 
 
 I romp in the barn, 
 rood, and the neat 
 moned Ike to the 
 ions ending thus: 
 We have plenty." 
 a grand thing to 
 ng some, but talk- 
 darted off, return- 
 June wanted him. 
 anta to see you," 
 up-stairs together. 
 ) she wishes to see 
 good," added Miss 
 Bws above. "She 
 lie does not it will 
 
 i augus' presence. 
 
 Mrs. Maria Hargreave was a tall, slender lady, 
 with a very pallid countenance, tired-looking blue 
 eyes, soft, drab hair, and a weak, nervous voice. 
 Ike, crimson to the roots of his hair, bowed, as he 
 came to a standstill, and said stammeringly, 
 "Good-morning, Mrs. Maguire." ^ . . • 
 
 Juniper stifled a laugh in a little half-sob, half- 
 giggle. Mrs. Hargreave looked shocked. 
 
 " You see the results of your disrespect now. 
 I hope you are satisfied, Juniper," she said, 
 reproachfully. - .. , -; • 
 
 June was truly sorry, but she was obliged to 
 keep silent. She feared to open her mouth lest 
 her repressed merriment would explode. It was 
 too funny, and poor Ike so evidently puzzled at 
 the cause of the offence. She managed o keep a 
 sober face througl bhe questioning and cross-ques- 
 tioning of her protege; but the door scarcely 
 closed after them when she burst into a merry 
 laugh. ' ' - • '" >; 
 
 "O, you funny fellow 1" she said to Ike. 
 " That is not a. Mrs. Maguire, but Mrs. Hargreave, 
 
 
 
 
 * t 'A 
 
 JMiliinriiii 
 
wsm 
 
 128 
 
 OnS BTBBBT. 
 
 my father's wife." Then, to alleviate t'le distress 
 on the boy's countenance: "You are not in the 
 least to blame. It is my fault. I call her Mrs. 
 Maria, and you made a mistake. No one will 
 blame you. I am the guilty party, and, remem- 
 ber, all your sins will be visited on me, since I 
 have hired you on my own responsibility." 
 
 June did not know what a strong incentive she 
 was giving the new boy to put him on Us best 
 behavior. Henceforth Ike walked softly. •" ' * 
 
 Mr. Hargreave was not particularly well pleased 
 with the account given him by his wife, on his late 
 coming home. Mrs. Hargreave had the first 
 opportunity and improved it. The gentleman was 
 seriously annoyed by his wife's account of Ike's 
 blunder, and sought his daughter with a clouded 
 
 brow. ■■ ■'"---'■■' - -V---* -,.,.-.,.,■.,:...,.-:;/ ;_..fee 
 
 Who shall explain Miss Juniper Hargreave's 
 legerdemain? In less than fifteen minutes her 
 father was laughing uproariously at her exagger- 
 ated and well-acted account of Ike's interview With 
 her step-mother. She certainly had a strange way 
 of carrying her own point. 
 
msi 
 
 IT. 
 
 illeviate fie distress 
 You are not in the 
 It. I call her Mrs. 
 stake. No one will 
 
 party, and, remem- 
 sited on me, since I 
 responsibility." 
 strong incentive she 
 put him on his best 
 talked softly. 
 Lcularly well pleased 
 ' his wife, on his late 
 save had the first 
 
 The gentleman was 
 )'s account of Ike's 
 ;hter with a clouded 
 
 uniper Hargreave's 
 fifteen minutes her 
 isly at her exagger- 
 Ike's interview ^th 
 ly had a strange way 
 
 A TBAMP. 
 
 129 
 
 "Now, Popsydil, you know well enough that 
 you hire extra men in busy times without a word 
 of advice from me, and bring them in for me to 
 feed ; and I can't see the difference in my hiring 
 a boy when I need one, and sending him to you 
 for wages."*,,.,,,., -^ ^,^,^,, ..,,.. ,.., ,__, , ^:. , ^_,,. ., 
 
 This was all, of the long conversation held in 
 the sitting-room, that Ike heard as he passed 
 through the dining-room on an enand for Betty. 
 Miss June must be talking of him, and to the 
 master. Ike's heart beat high, but he said no 
 word. Betty's accounts of her master certainly 
 did not serve to reassure him, and long after the 
 maid was in bed he sat pondering his duty, i 
 
 Ought he not to go away? Miss June would 
 only get herself in trouble, perhaps, and he didn't 
 wish to live where he wasn't wanted, needed. In 
 the midst of his unpleasant cogitations Mr. Har- 
 greave surprised him. \ ,;, „ , . 
 
 There was a merry twinkle in the gentleman's 
 eyes as he confronted the lad, a twinkle that added 
 a smile to his lips as the boy sprang to his feet. 
 
 4 
 
 4 
 
 1/ 
 
 
 i 'v'V 
 
 «&-HW««*) 
 
 ' **U«55«S 
 
 mm 
 
 mmvmmimmmmm i ^ ii iittmam* ^ 
 
 
 
 
 Ji 
 

 lii'iiitiniiiiif 
 
 180 
 
 OXTB STBEET. 
 
 "Well, and this is Miss June's last notion?" 
 said he, eyeing the lad half curiously. "Not a 
 bad one, either, if we are to believe her testimony 
 and that of the wood-pile. ' New brooms sweep 
 clean'; is that it, hey?" ,, ..... 
 
 " Good brooms alw ays sweep clean." (Where 
 did Ike find courage to say this?) .; >, , 
 
 "Do they?" laughing; "and you're a good 
 one ? Well, I hope so. Do you know anything 
 of farming, young man?" > . : . .; ■• ..-* i 
 
 " No, sir ; but I can learn." i vk ;. iUi 
 
 The answer pleased the gentleman — Ike had a 
 frank way of winning hearts — and he extended 
 his hand, v- ■ -■■■■- -i '-'^ ^i.^ :,: r .vu.,'.i». 
 
 " I make no doubt you can. If you are a good, 
 fulthful boy, I may try you next summer. Per- 
 haps Miss June is right again. You are to obey 
 her, remember, and she is to answer for your 
 shortK^omings. She seems very willing to bear 
 them. Good night ; " and the gentleman disap- 
 peared. ' . " - . V '..T.-- ;.?"- I 
 
 Disappeared into the hall, where two eager 
 hands waited to grasp him. 
 
 '■■■'"S^J : 
 
r. 
 
 line's last notion?" 
 curiously. "Not a 
 slieve her testimony 
 New brooms sweep 
 
 3p clean." (Where 
 this?) -^ >. 
 
 and you're a good 
 )rou know anything 
 
 itleman — Ike had a 
 — and he extended 
 
 If you are a good, 
 next summer. Per- 
 . You are to obey 
 to answer for your 
 <ry willing to bear 
 le gentleman disap- 
 
 A TBAMP. 
 
 181 
 
 
 "You blessed old PopsydU ! You did well I " 
 said a merry voice, as, with a little spring, two 
 arms were twined chokingly round the gentleman's 
 neck. ... . ..-, . '. > _ - . -.:<i..: .■> - 'J 
 
 " You little spy I " unclasping the hands, and 
 whisking her into the bright sitting-room. " How 
 do you know I did well?" •; ; , , i. ss 
 
 " I put my ear to the keyhole,^' eyes falling in 
 prettily-assumed shame. ," I beg your pardon ; but 
 I was so anxious, and — and — I've confessed, so 
 it's not so dreadful. And you precious old 
 thing!" white arms again endangering respira- 
 tion, " you made him feel so well, and I love you 
 dearly. But dear me! I must show him his 
 room." ., < j-.r- .;:-v: 7^ ;;--,;-:--•'■: ^-.- -'.';.-, ' ' 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 , where two eager 
 
 ;1-,,vi..,; -;.,,.. 
 
 /3£.'. 
 
 ■MMIiiiHlitlli 
 
(i I r 
 
 T'/:O\-0i 
 
 t';-'f n \ 
 
 n 
 
 '*i 
 
 yp^mm 
 
 <• 
 
 ■■•y 
 
 • : CHAPTER vm. 
 
 ▲ FOUND-OUT AND ITS OUTOOlfE. 
 
 Ti yriSS JUNIPER'S good opinion of Ike was 
 •*■'-■■ soon more than confirmed by the rest of 
 the household. In less than a month he was an 
 absolute necessity, and that not only to June and 
 Betty. - - , . •_^..^^^, 
 
 He was willing to work, and handy, Tom said* 
 and Mr. Hargreave, always in a hurry, soon found 
 he could harness a horse quicker than anyone 
 else, and that it was safer to trust a heated beast 
 in his hands than in those of Tom. 
 
 No carelessness with Ike. The horses were 
 always well rubbed down and blanketed and 
 188 
 
A FOUND-OUT AKD rrs OUTCOME. 
 
 188 
 
 cooled before eating, when he had them in charge ; 
 always sleek and ehlny after his brush. 
 
 Of course Miss Rose thought he was hired espe- 
 cially for her benefit, and even Mrs. Maria found 
 he could build her fire with less dirt and noise 
 than Betty ; and that he drove the horse more 
 quietly than Tom when she wished to ride. Ike 
 had been very attentive to her, and had tried hard 
 to win her favor ; partly because she was an 
 invalid, partly because he wished to make amends 
 for his unfortunate blunder on the morning of his 
 arrival. 
 
 He worked hard, but. was never overworked. 
 His evenings were seldom occupied. Occasionally 
 a little meat to hash, or a few apples to pare, but 
 generally nothing harder than a good book to 
 read ; for June was a kind mistress, a]id, finding 
 her boy fond of books, supplied him liberally, both 
 from her own library and her father's. 
 
 He never visited his grandmother or Bry with- 
 out a basket of apples or some little gift from 
 Juniper, who was much interested in them both. 
 
 .<-'''i\ 
 
 
 MM 
 
 iM 
 
 I 
 
 « 
 
 # 
 
 mm 
 
^^r^^^^*^w^^^^^Q|^^;;^;;^J_J;_^__.^j^l_JJ_^Ji^^ ■*" ■ "-''- ' ■ ' -'-^ 
 
 m 
 
 •'-< 
 
 OT7B BTBEXT. 
 
 c.firi 1^ 
 
 Old granny and Bryony both missed Tke's helpful 
 ways and cheery words, but both likewise rejoiced 
 in his prosperity, and in the roundness already 
 perceivable in his limbs and face. Good fare and 
 an easy mind were showing their work on Ike, 
 and he had even "grown a bit taller," granny 
 said. < 
 
 On Our Street things went on much as usual. 
 Bry had new neighbors, a Mr. Ezekiels and his 
 family having moved into the chambers vacated 
 by Edward Parker. 
 
 A strange specimen of mankind was this same 
 Ezekiels ; a specimen of ruined manhood, for the 
 little original sense he possessed had long since 
 been washed away by whisky. Mr. Ezekiels was 
 a specimen of the work done by Mr. Jenkins and 
 his numerous fraternity. - -v.t 
 
 He was a little, pinched-up affair, with a red 
 nose, and lackadaisical countenance, a pair of 
 blinking eyes, and ill-kept hair and beard. He 
 was small, very small, every way, and loved bad 
 whisky a little better than anything else in this 
 
 tmmm 
 
,.ityi:.fit;. r". 
 
 issed Tke's helpful 
 b likewise rejoiced 
 roundness already 
 e. Good fare and 
 heir work on Ike, 
 it taller," granny 
 
 m much as usual. 
 Ezekiels and his 
 chambers vacated 
 
 [nd was this same 
 manhood, for the 
 
 ed havi long since 
 Mr. Ezekiels was 
 
 f Mr. Jenkins and 
 
 affair, with a red 
 (nance, a pair of 
 r and beard. He 
 ay, and loved bad 
 'thing else in this 
 
 A Fv)xmi>-oirr Ain> rrs outcome. 
 
 185 
 
 world or another. It is even questionable if he 
 knew of anything else in this world or another, 
 unless it was his wife's shoe. He couldn't well 
 help knowing something about that, as well ac- 
 quainted as it had become with his back. 
 
 Most people called him " Old Zeke." He called 
 himself " Mr. 'Zek-els," with a hiccough between 
 the two syllables into which he divided it. 
 
 Elizabeth Ezekiels, or Lize, as almost everybody 
 called her, was tall and wiry. A meeker, more 
 timid and shrinking girl few men have ever led to 
 the altar than was she when Thomas Ezekiels 
 married her. But a long life with one of rum's 
 weakest slaves had strangely changed her. The 
 quiet voice had become harsh and grating, the 
 light step quick and determined, the soft eyes 
 bright and defiant, the timid spirit bold and dar- 
 ing; to-day she ruled with a rod of iron where 
 once she had crouched like a slave. 
 
 But this had been the work of time. For years 
 she had borne harsh words and cruel blows, hard 
 labor and stinted fare. At the hist it was the 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 itoteiffla 
 
 ttrnk* 
 
t.:!i*,Stil^^Stlttii.!S&1a 
 
 ft- 
 
 OUB STREET. '•• \ 
 
 cruelty of this man she called husband to her 
 child and his, their first-born, her George Wash- 
 ington, her heart's idol, that roused the tigress 
 within her. She felled him to the earth that hour, 
 and learned the fatal secret of her strength. 
 
 Unlucky knowledge this for Ezekiels. No 
 longer her hard earnings went to swell the coffers 
 of the nimseller. He who had feasted, fasted ; 
 he who had glutted unto beastliness, thirsted unto 
 madness; but no arguments moved her heart of 
 adamant, no honied words unlocked her steeled 
 bosom. 
 
 " Work, if you wish to drink ; I have enough to 
 do to feed you." But work he would not, and, a 
 cringing fool, he hung around the drinking-houses, 
 now and again regaled by some more fortunate 
 chum pitying his poverty, or by a penny draught 
 purchased with the coppers coaxed from his little 
 children. . , ,♦ . 
 
 Perhaps it wus a misfortune to Elizabeth 
 Ezekiels as well as her husband that she learned < 
 the secret of her strength. It certainly robbed 
 
 -i«"^w«n< 
 
A FOUNI>-OUT AND ITS OUTCOME. 
 
 187 
 
 husband to her 
 ler George Wash- 
 oused the tigress 
 le earth that hour, 
 
 her strength. 
 ir Ezekiels. No 
 ) swell the coffers 
 d feasted, fasted ; 
 less, thirsted unto 
 >ved her heart of 
 icked her steeled 
 
 I have enough to 
 tvould not, and, a 
 B drinking-houses, 
 e more fortunate 
 a penny draught 
 ed from his little 
 
 ne to Elizabeth 
 that she learned 
 certainly robbed 
 
 her of the little womanliness and gentlenenn she 
 possessed, all that was left to her of her lost girl- 
 hood. 
 
 Yet, in good truth, what right has a drunkard's 
 wife to womanliness aird gentleness ? Hers is the 
 heritage of shame, of cruel blows, and words more 
 cruel still. A beast alone should wed a beast. 
 God pity her who, in her degradation, yet 
 feels. 
 
 Better a heart of stone, for flesh bleeds. But, 
 mark yon ; when the last rod drop is gone it 
 hardens into steel. Did he not know of life who 
 wrote: . . 
 
 " Be void or feeling I A heart that scon is stirred, 
 Is a possession sad upon this changing earth." 
 
 The neighbors interested Bryony, as everything 
 did. She could not count the children at first, 
 thoy seemed so much of a size, so like in feature ; 
 but their noise overhead often sent her to bed 
 with throbbing temples. • '"-" '"'"'' 
 
 She was very kind and patient with the little 
 
 MiM 
 
 ifAmmt 
 
 MMMbiiilMMMlMiHH 
 
188 
 
 OUB BTBEST. 
 
 things, yrho darted in and out of her room, 
 peeping into everything, aslcing unheard-of ques- 
 tions, twirling their fingers from their noses at her. 
 Sometimes slie coaxed tliem to her side for a little, 
 and told them the stories of which she was so full. 
 What cliild is not charmed by a ready invention? 
 Ere long, from George Washington to three-year- 
 old May, she had one means of controlling them, 
 and when banished from home they would seek 
 her side, promising to be still if she would tell a 
 story. . '\ 
 
 Po »r Bry 1 She prayed very much for her new 
 friends. The sound of harsh words above sent 
 her repeatedly to her medicine and medicine Giver 
 inquiring how she could help them. Elizabeth 
 had been very kind to Bry from the first. Her 
 woman's heart had gone out to the orphaned 
 cripple, and she came in often to do little chores, 
 or bring her some tid-bit. 
 
 In return for this Bry loved her warmly, and 
 loved no less, in an angelic way, the poor littld 
 miserable-looking man, who slunk out of his wife's 
 
▲ FOUNI>-OIIT AND ITB OUTOOMR. 
 
 189 
 
 )ut of her room, 
 Df unheard-of ques- 
 1 their noRes at her. 
 her Hide for a little, 
 ich she was so full, 
 a ready invention? 
 gton to three-year- 
 l controlling them, 
 e they would seek 
 if she would tell a 
 
 r much for her new 
 I words above sent 
 and medicine Giver 
 ) them. Elizabeth 
 rom the first. Her 
 t to the orphaned 
 to do little chores, 
 
 sd her warmly, and 
 way, the poor littld 
 ink out of his wife's 
 
 presence much after the pattern of a whipped dog. 
 She followed him down the street often with 
 sorrowing eyes and questioning heart, but Dick 
 despised him. In his youth and strength he 
 looked with disgust upon that to which his foot- 
 steps hastened. 
 
 One cold day Dick wa home from work. He 
 was a carpenter, and there were times when the 
 weather made his labor impossible. Late in the 
 afternoon old Ezekiels came reeling home. He 
 had met with friends, and got enough for once. 
 Dick, sitting at the window, gave an impatient 
 grunt as he saw hi .1. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Bry. "01 poor Mr. 
 'Zekiels. O, Dicky 1 he's sick — very sick. Go 
 help him in, or he'll fall." 
 
 " Sick I " said Dick, sarcastically ; " sick 1 Yes I 
 drunk, you'd better say ! " 
 
 Bry looked at him with round, inquiring eyes. 
 
 "Drunk?" she said after him, slowly, "is 
 everybody drunk that acts like that?'' 
 
 "Why, yes," said Dick. 
 
 --"•siKmmmmm 
 
 ggggjgaitBw mi i 1>ir<ir»«'i> i«>> i'' ' i »i »»i i ' ii II i i i w wwwn 
 
OUB STBBBT. ,->-—-^ A 
 
 Bry lay back in her chair, forgetful, for a mo- 
 ment, of everything, even the poor man on the 
 sidewalk. Sha was so stiU Dick turned to her. 
 The pallor of her face frightened him. He 
 thought she was fainting. , ■ - - 
 
 " Bryony, are you sick? " he cried. He was a 
 loving, warm-hearted boy. "What is it, dear?" 
 
 She put out one hand to him imploringly, and 
 asked piteously, "Not always, Dicky dear, not 
 always drunk when they look so ? You look like 
 that, sometimes." - 
 
 Dick's fav.e crimsoned with shame, yet he spoke 
 the truth: "Yes, little Bry, always." 
 
 " O Dick ! Dick ! vrhat' shall I do ? " Such a 
 moan of despair. Dick felt the perspiration start 
 to his forehead as he got up and walked the room. 
 
 When he sat down again little Bry's hand 
 grasped her Bible tightly, her eyes devouring 
 some verse. ,v '^ \ 
 
 "'Look not thou upon the wine when it is 
 red,' " he interrupted hei', his voice full of the ear- 
 nest impulse of the hour. " That's it, Bry I ' Look 
 
A rOUND-OUT AND ITS OUTCOMB. 
 
 141 
 
 , forgetful, for a mo- 
 e poor man on the 
 Dick turned to her. 
 ^htened him. He 
 
 le cried. He was a 
 What is it, dear?' 
 lim imploringly, and 
 [Ts, Dicky dear, not 
 : so ? Tou look like 
 
 shame, yet he spoke 
 always." 
 
 ill I do ? " Such a 
 he perspiration start 
 nd walked the room. 
 1 little Bry's hand 
 her eyes devouring 
 
 he wine when it is 
 voice full of the ear- 
 hat's it, Bry I 'Look 
 
 not 1 ' If I never looked I'd never drink. But 
 I'll stop 1 I will stop 1 I've entered Jenks' for 
 the last time." 
 
 He placed his hand on her head as he spoke, 
 and she drew first it and then his lips to her fuoe. 
 "You never told me a lie," she said. 
 
 Weeks flew by, and Dick kept his pledge, but 
 old 'Zekiels had a new place in Bry's thoughts. 
 Her father had died from strong drink. Could 
 she not save th's man? 
 
 Meanwhile things went on as usual upnstairs. 
 
 One afternoon, after a morning's hard work out 
 washing, Lize was cleaning up her house, working 
 busily, scolding furiously. - 
 
 '' J+'s very strange all this work is left to me. 
 The ashes ain't even emptied. I'm ashamed of 
 you, Tom Ezekiels ! You haven't a smart bone in 
 your body." . .. , j; . ; . , ►^^ ■ 
 
 "Bessie, my dear, Bessie, I'll clear out the 
 ashes," stammered the gentleman addressed, in an 
 exasperatingly soft, silly manner. - ■» - , ~ ' 
 
 " O I you will, will you ? Then why wasn't it 
 
 w»ite«pfet«teti»t<Li.%trtiWiniw 
 
142 
 
 0T7B BTBEBT. 
 
 ii 
 
 done before ? None of your Bessjing me I Bessie 
 indeed ! Bessie I A darling, an angel, a tender- 
 ling. Bessie ! Washerwoman, budget, nursery- 
 maid, old drudge, and the mother of a hundred 
 and one children!" .^ — "^ 
 
 Mrs. Ezekiels was wont to sum up all her 
 troubles in this way, recently : " The mother of a 
 hundred and one children, and that poor lirtle 
 orphan with no mother in the i^ crld I " Did it 
 never strike her that little Bry, motherless, was as 
 well off as many children possessing an article so 
 labelled? 
 
 "Elizabeth, don't 'zaggerate. Not a hundred 
 and one 1 only eleven," interrupted the husband. 
 ' " " That's just the same, with the cipher left out, 
 you numb-head 1 " shouted George Washington, 
 irreverently. - - - ■ 5-' ^'J'' <* urp- ■«?«■'■■•> u.o\ 
 
 "Elizabeth, children — children are — are a — 
 a crown of honor to a woman," stammered the old 
 gentleman, waxing eloquent. ^ t *^ J >? rrMi^:*- 
 ; " Shut up, you old fool I" was the very encour- 
 aging reception his eloquence received. "Don't 
 
 W^iJtJk-^ 
 
mmm 
 
 •••'■> 
 
 issyingmel Bessie 
 lu angel, a tender- 
 n, budget, nursery- 
 other of a hundred 
 
 o sum up all her 
 ** The mother of a 
 id that poor lit^tle 
 le Tvcrld!" Did it 
 r, motherless, was as 
 sssing an article so 
 
 «. Not a hundred 
 
 upted the husband. 
 
 the cipher left out, 
 
 eorge Washington, 
 
 - <<iU* ^;%v-^-:." '''-ft; 
 
 dren are — are a — 
 " stammered the old 
 
 '.•-!■ *>..'S.fP. 
 
 TOB the very encour- 
 5 received. "Don't 
 
 A FOUlffD-OUt AJSTD ITS OUTCOME. 143 
 
 Elizabeth me. Elizabeth's a queen. Elizabeth, 
 indeed 1 My rags look like velvet, and my old 
 hack like a crown I Get out of this I " 
 
 " Now, Lize, you're cross again. You shouldn't 
 git mad when a feller's only trying to be civil." 
 
 " Civil 1 I'll civil you if you call me Lize 
 again. That's what a woman comes to ! Once 
 butter wouldn't melt in your mouth with your 
 Bessying and Elizabething. O, yes 1 I'm nothing 
 but eld Lize now, old slouch,, old sloven, old 
 slave 1 " 
 
 " Mrs. 'Zek-'els," meekly interposed the husband 
 at this juncture, " Mrs. 'Zek-'els, you are as dear 
 to me as ever. I honor you as the mother of — " 
 
 "Your brats 1" interrupting violently. "You 
 ever call me Mrs. Ezekiels again, and I'll help 
 you down-stairs. Mrs. Ezekiels indeed I I am 
 sunk low when that is flung in my face. You 
 needn't taunt me with being fool enough to 
 marry you — I'm sure you've got the best of it. 
 Get out of this house, or — " Mrs. Ezekiels 
 stooped to loosen her shoe, and her husband 
 disappeared. 
 
 ffiigWWitiw***'!*' 
 
 ^trilmiiii I If iiii i>iiiliiriir iii 
 
 MBia ai te ii aaaB 
 
ii ' 
 
 144 
 
 0X7B BTBEET. 
 
 <i:-t A; 
 
 Bry heard the angry voices above, she heard the 
 slouchy step on the stairs. " He's going to Mr. 
 Jenkins' again. P'r'aps I can stop him," she 
 thought. So at the door she met him. 
 
 " Will you come in and sit with me and talk, 
 Mr. Ezekiels ? " she said, timidly. « I'm lonesome 
 sometimes." And he slouched into the room and 
 into a chair, after a furtive glance around. He 
 did not seem disp'^sed to talk, but this did not 
 trouble Bry so long as she had him there, so she 
 sat wondering how he had looked when young. 
 Certainly, never like her Dick! v ^ .,s * 
 
 Suddenly the company broke silence. { <■ 
 
 . " This is a good fire. It's heaps warmer here 
 than there." .•»,?. .,.;;; : " <. 
 
 "Where?" asked Bry, innocently; "at Mr. 
 
 Jenkins'?" . . , - -; ^ i-?* 
 
 Foolish Bry 1 Did she not know that Mr. Jen- 
 kinu' saloon was the drunkard's paradise? Poor 
 old Zeke never felt prouder than when he was 
 rich enough to purchase an entrance, for Mr. 
 Jenkins never allowed hangers-on — that is, of the 
 poor kind. ;,;•;;. : ..V ::.La.-ti^:rfill-. 
 
 1 
 
 '^''■^R*4Si-. 
 
 
 msm 
 
 Hiiiiiiioiiiiiiimiiii ''[.. 
 
.vt .(, 
 
 A FOUND-OUT AHD ITS OUTCOME. 
 
 145 
 
 )Ove, she heard the 
 He's going to Mr. 
 ,n stop him," she 
 met him. 
 ; with me and talk, 
 jr. " I'm lonesome 
 into the room and 
 lance around. He 
 :, but this did not 
 , him there, so she 
 loked when young. 
 
 k! .:...,, .„:..^^- 
 
 ke silence. . {.;.<; 
 heaps warmer here 
 
 locently; "at Mr. 
 
 know that Mr. Jen- 
 I's paradise? Poor 
 than when he was 
 entrance, for Mr. 
 -on — that is, of the 
 
 "No," answered Zeke ; "I meant up ihere," 
 pointing to the ceiling. "Lize is mostly cross.'* 
 
 "She works hard, and gets tired," said Bry, 
 defensively. ; - - ■- .-...,.-■. is 
 
 " It ain't that as ails her," replied Zeke. « I " — . 
 bending his head forward with a knowing wink 
 and lowering his voice — "I began wrong with 
 her." He looked around sheepishly after saying 
 this, as if expecting the well-worn shoe. -^^-^ ""-'^ 
 
 Bry had no answer to make, of course, so, see- 
 ing no danger from a shoe, he continued: " 
 
 "Wimmen is wimmen, and they's growing 
 bold ; they're mostly cunnin', too. Yer see you've 
 got to begin right. Wimmen need man'gin', they 
 does. No, I didn't begin right." ^^ * ^ = 
 
 " How did you begin ? " now asked Bry, a little 
 curiously. ,;.• a^;. 
 
 "With a nice place, and good fixin's, and no 
 work. You see, if I'd put her right to't from thy 
 fust she'd 'a' made her mind up, likely, and stood 
 it. But I didn't know, and she got chuck full of 
 notions. Wimmen is mostly full of 'em, and 
 they're bad for 'em." 
 
 4v- A ,i 
 
 ,^K1S^ "ivOli 
 
 .. jy.^ . 
 
 '^ I m m^ifjfj^ I'rtd^l*! 
 
 U BJ t Wfc»Ji~M ' .J*' '"«* * >^ " I"' ^t l lll«ll. f ' J< 
 
 iAjjC n imr lalH^iUlitft 
 

 . ! 
 
 4 
 
 146 
 
 OUB 8TBBBT. 
 
 Mr. Ezekiels was not used to so good a listener, 
 BO he waxed warm, and became unusually loqua- 
 cious. Bry was thinking. She was losing fear, 
 also, of his wheedling whims. So, as he ended, 
 she began: a '<: ,-.;u^-r; i ,^ ^^^ '.\ u '-.j :j^ a.t; *! 
 ' "I think perhaps you began wrong with your- 
 self, Mr. 'Zekiels," she said, bravely. " It is right 
 to be good to your wife, 'cause God says so, and 
 it's wrong to drink bad things, that make folks 
 drunk, 'cause He says so." (*' He says so " was the 
 end of the law to Bry.) " Don't you think you 
 began wrong with yourself when you began to 
 drink?" ■-...■ .:-- ^ . ;■: ^/;.-^--. -■ -- .-^r' •■>_ 
 r No, evidently he did not think so. It would 
 have taken one far more eloquent than our little 
 Bry to convince Mr. Ezekiels that he hadn't done 
 the wisest thing of his life when he learned to 
 drink. Th*ere had been a time when he lamented 
 it, but that was years ago, before he drowned his 
 conscience. So he shook his head, very gravely 
 but decidedly now, shook and shook it, as if, hav- 
 ing set it going — like the pendulum of a clock — 
 it was loathe to stop. 
 
) BO good a listener, 
 6 unusually loqua- 
 16 was losing fear, 
 , So, as he ended, 
 
 ■:-i . -.: l^i^l um; 3.;;',; 
 I wrong with your- 
 avely. " It is right 
 36 God says so, and 
 rs, that make folks 
 He says so " was the 
 )on't you think you 
 ^hen you began to 
 
 ■■■■ , -• ■. • I •- ."''.?.-" 
 hink so. It would 
 ;[uent than our little 
 that he hadn't done 
 lyhen he learned to 
 e when he lamented 
 fore he drowned his 
 I head, very gravely 
 
 shook it, as if, hav- 
 idulum of a clock — 
 
 'wfmmi'^'m 
 
 A FOUND-OUT AND ITS OUTCOME. 147 
 
 Bry was by no means disconcerted at this. She 
 opened her Bible and began to read aloud. It 
 was vears since the poor drunkard had heard the 
 Bible read, and now he did not take in its sense, 
 but he kept his head going, as a perpetual nega- 
 tive, quite sure she was still trying to convince 
 him of his error. Presently, however, the head 
 stopped. It made two or three sudden jerks in- 
 stead, a little bob, a great bob, a mighty plunge, 
 then suddenly settled back to the chair, while a 
 tremendous snore startled the reader. Mr. Zeke 
 had gone to sleep. v - - v^ -^'-^rs-' ? ;; - 
 
 We must adjnit that our little friend was sorely 
 disturbed. What if some one should call whUe 
 he was msking such a noise I What would Dick 
 say if he found him there? But her fears were 
 groundless. Mr. Ezekiels slept, evidently, with 
 one ear open for any indications of a coming slip- 
 per. When, in the course of an hour, Mrs. Eze- 
 kiels, coming into the entry, issued a few com- 
 mands to her small fry, preparatory to descending 
 the stairs, the sleeper suddenly aroused himself, 
 
 "CTMiaggjd 
 
 W WiHHgiWlW 
 
 wii»>W:<w<i ifcuwiit i 'iii'i vii l1 w^ i» ii ' rnM a ;gr fl »rBr T ffl ^.r.ra c a ar .^..aa 
 
148 
 
 OUR STSSBT. 
 
 II! 
 
 i ! 
 
 rubbed his eyes, looked about him sheepishly, and 
 darted out of the back door. ,; , ; ^ 
 
 Poor Mrs. Ezekielsl Bry's little heart was 
 burstuig with sympathy for her, and it ran over in 
 a warm smile as she entered the room. , ^ i^ 
 
 " It just does a >)oc. v good to look at you, you 
 poor little creetur," the woman said. " I thought 
 mebbe you'd need something done." ,; 
 
 "I just needed to see you," said Bry, "and I 
 wish you'd let me kiss you. I'm so sorry you're 
 no*^ happy," patting the face presented to her, 
 "and I wish I could find you some med'ciue." 
 
 "You're med'cine yourself," sobbed the woman, 
 overcome by this show of sympathy. " I'm noth- 
 ing but a hateful old thing 1 Nobody loves me — • 
 not even the children ; and I don't see why you 
 
 carel" 
 
 " Jesus loves you dearly." There was no man- 
 ner of doubt in Bryony's voice. '^ He wants to 
 make you happy, and that's one reason I do. His 
 friends are all mine. I love everybody He does." 
 
 Every word of the child's made the woman's 
 tears flow mo e freely. 
 
 l HU m idm 'A iti^wi.' ^i«'*t f'" 
 
A FOr ,D-OUT AND ITS OUTCOME. 
 
 149 
 
 m sheepishly, and 
 
 little heart was 
 and it ran over in 
 the room. ^ ^^, 
 ) look at you, you 
 said. " I thought 
 
 lone." ;,,. ,;,_; ■ ^ 
 
 said Bry, "and I 
 m so sorry you're 
 presented to her, 
 I some med'eiue." 
 sobbed the woman, 
 athy. " I'm noth- 
 pbody loves me — 
 loa't see why you 
 
 ?here was no man- 
 e. " ffe wants to 
 i reason I do. His 
 erybody He does." 
 oaade the woman's 
 
 ♦♦I pt so tired, and then I git cross ; and I say 
 things Ha can't like, and I forglt He lives or 
 cares," she said. 
 
 Bry's Book was open. " I've got it I " she cried, 
 joyfully, " I've got your med'cine 1 " And she 
 read: "*Come unto me, all ye that labor and are 
 heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'" 
 
 She read more than this, much mor>3 ; but, long 
 after Mrs. Ezekiels had gone up-stairs, those magic 
 words rang in her ears. They made her voice 
 softer, her words fewer, her husband's greeting 
 less severe. " ' 
 
 " ' Rest I ' " she sighed that night. *• 'Reet I * 
 ITien there is rest in Him ; she said so." 
 
 , :: '.<-',»■ 
 
 Jii*.; 
 
 
 ■^M: 
 
 , J - '■ . 
 
 ':i\.:i, v*-ii; :-" 
 
 ajrltfflV^'^"''*"^'^'**^''^'^''''^'^^^^^ 
 
iLM* 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MB. JENKINS IS CHARITABLH. 
 
 i 1- 
 
 W INTER did not depart ere Bryony's heart 
 was smitten again. Dick broke his word 
 — the frail word of a man unaided by higher 
 power— he came home to her drunk 1 Yes, 
 drunk 1 she knew the truth now. How hard she 
 tried to call it sick, as heretofore. Alas ! the vail 
 was riven— the blov fell on the quivering child- 
 heart without one intervening film. Her anguish-, 
 through that bitter night, God alone could fathom. 
 She wept above him in her pain at first — tears 
 are so natural to youth ; but he swore at her out 
 of his dninkenness, and the tears froze in her eyes. 
 The morning lighb found them undimmed with 
 150 
 
mm^m^mmmm 
 
 MB. JBNKINS 18 OHABITABIJB. 
 
 161 
 
 IITABLB. i , 
 
 re Bryony's heart 
 sk broke his word 
 maided by higher 
 ler drunk 1 Yes, 
 ir. How hard she 
 e. Alas I the vail 
 e quivering child- 
 im. Her anguish; 
 lone could fathom, 
 ain at first — tears 
 swore at her out 
 rs froze in her eyes, 
 n undimmed with 
 
 aught but hopeless horror ; she almost forgot her 
 Bible. It was only when he had gone out again, 
 rushing out from her face as if it maddened him, 
 that she remembered her medicine. Then she 
 opened it. 
 
 "All things work together for good to them 
 that love God." Her eyes dilated with surprise. 
 She shut the book and folded her hands above it. 
 How could this work out good? 
 
 Little Bry was not the first who has tried to 
 search out Almightiuess. It was not strange that 
 it led her on a strange errand. Perhaps Mr. Jen- 
 kins would stop selling liquor if he knew it made 
 men sick ; perhaps it did not make everyone sick 
 as it did Dick ; if he stopped that would be work- 
 ing good. So her decision was taken to visit Mr. 
 Jenkins' saloon. 
 
 Bry might have found some difficulty in carry- 
 ing out her resolution, had not Ike happened in 
 the city that morning. June had sent him in with 
 a load of wood for his grandmother, and he was to 
 stay all day and saw and pile it. ^ 
 
 ^lla > » ■■■ ; iii ««l(* '« '»^''^' '' ■' ' '•''' *'*'''''''■• 
 
162 
 
 OUB STliEET. 
 
 IIo liHtened to Bryony's Btory with unlcnt Hym- 
 pathy ami iutorcHt, and though ho hnil littlo hope 
 of the Hucce«« of her errand, he readily promJHod 
 to take her to Mr. Jenkins' naloon as soon au the 
 evening Hhudea Hhould fail. 
 
 A Htrange-looking little object it was that Iko 
 almost curried along. Bry had not been out bince 
 her mother's death, and had no fit apparel. Sho 
 found an old gray shawl of her mother's, however, 
 and a quilted hood, much too large, under which 
 her face looked very small and witch-like. But 
 neitlier Bry nor her escort were particular about 
 her appearance. 
 
 Ike hesitated at the door of the saloon. 
 
 "Are you afraid to go in? Do you want me, 
 Bry ? " he inquired. " I said once I'd never enter 
 it; but this time I can if you wish." . ^ • , 
 
 "No, I'd rather you wouldn't," replied the 
 child. " Stand where I can call you easy when I 
 want to go." 
 
 So Ike helped her into the brilliant saloon, and 
 shut the door. , 
 
 \, >**.''•. 
 
MB. JEMKJNB IB OHABITABLE. 
 
 158 
 
 It looked like a very magnificent place to little 
 Dry. She glanced from the cut-gloMS decantons 
 with their uhining liquids, to the spruco-lookiug 
 young man who had made his appearance as the 
 door closed, with some bewilderment. Surely, 
 this could not be the place where Dick got sick I 
 — but Ike had said so, truthful Ike. 
 
 "Are you Mr. Jenkins, sir?" she asked, In 
 answer to the demand of what she wanted. 
 
 "No, I am not," was the rather gruff reply. 
 
 He's engaged." 
 
 " Then I will wait. I must see him," sighed 
 Bry, a little wearily, leaning on her crutches. 
 
 The clerk did not offer her a chair, for he hoped 
 she would go soon. In a few minutes, seeing no 
 evidences of departure, he raised his voice and 
 called out: 
 
 "Mr. Jenkins I you're wanted, sir." 
 
 At this a pleasant-looking, portly gentleman 
 appeared at the door of a small room adjoining 
 the shop. He was so well-dressed, and good-look- 
 ing, that our little friend was quite sure now that 
 he did not know rum made men sick. 
 
 mUm. 
 
 ,^-_^ 
 
J,;,,, 
 
 iil I 
 
 154 
 
 OXTB BTBBKT. 
 
 " What's wanting, Sanda ? Ah, a chUd 1 Well, 
 my dear, can I do anything for you?" a very 
 sweet, insJjanating voice. Bry's courage rose. 
 
 *' Yes, sir. If you'll please not sell any more 
 drink to Dick." 
 
 •'Dick? Ah, well now, who's Dick?" 
 
 "Please, sir, he's my Daily Bread." 
 
 "Your 'Daily Bread'?" Mr. Jenkins' voice 
 was full of amusement, and he turned and winked 
 at a few loafers who had followed him. from the* 
 back room, 
 
 "Here's fun for you, boya. Well," turning to 
 Bry, " well, little girl, what's the matter with the 
 bread ? Sour, or stale, hey ? Don't it suit you ? " 
 
 "O, yes, sir; when he don't spend it for— for 
 drink." . ■ v--^....: ,> .--...;. ■ 
 
 Mr. Jenkins did not vrinoe. He only said, in a- 
 joUy way: 
 
 "Not enough of it? That's the trouble 1 
 Well'" — assuming a grave manner — "I never 
 encourage any man in spending for liquor that 
 which is needed at home. Come, boys, out with 
 
,achadl Well, 
 r you?" a very 
 
 courage rose. 
 >t sell any more 
 
 '8 Dick?" 
 
 Jread." 
 
 . Jenkins' voico 
 
 rned and winked 
 
 d him. from the* 
 
 rell," turning to 
 matter with the 
 m't it suit you?" 
 lend it for — for 
 
 [e only said, in a 
 
 )'b the trouble I 
 iner — "I never 
 5 for liquor that 
 1, boys, out with 
 
 MB. JENKINB IS GHAKITABLE. 
 
 165 
 
 your purses. Sands, hand me a couple of dollars 
 from the drawer. We'll take a subscription for 
 this little one." 
 
 In less time than it has taken me to write this, 
 Mr. Jenkins had gathered quite a little sum, and 
 offered it to the unsuspecting child. But Bryony 
 shrank back. 
 
 "O, no, sir I I don't want money, indeed I 
 don't 1 I couldn't take it, please. I only don't 
 want you to sell Dick any more drink." 
 
 In vain Mr. Jenkins urged. Bry was fijm, and 
 of course the men refused to take back their share 
 of the money, so it was put in the till, to be drank 
 up afterwards, and Mr. Jenkfus turned to the 
 child. i '■ ; ; - ^ 
 
 " Well, it seems that I cannot do anything for 
 you, after all," he said. 
 
 " O, yes sir, please. You can keep Dick from 
 driix^ng. It makes him sick, and so it does Mr. 
 'Zekiels. I s'posed you didn't know it, sir, or you 
 wouldn't let him have it. P'r'aps it don't make 
 'em all sick." - - • - 
 
 • •-««»«S»vMW»iM«l>*l««»«««>>~***-'' 
 
 
156 
 
 OUB STBEBT. 
 
 ♦' No, only the lack of it. How's that ? " wink- 
 ing at his companions. Mr. Jenkins was evidently 
 getting funny. "Now here are fellows," waving 
 his hand towards the group, " who are only sick 
 when they can't get it." And Bry, looking about 
 timidly, saw an array of bloated faces and grin- 
 ning mouths that almost frightened her; and 
 behind— yes, surely, at the door of the inner 
 room, a face she knew. Edward Parker's I The 
 face was withdrawn hastily — she wasn't quite 
 sure ; but a great surge of pain swept over her 
 heart, and she half sobbed out : " Little Stevie I " 
 Mr. Jenkins proceeded. " Now, my dear, if it 
 makes Dick sick^ he ought not to buy liquor. I'm 
 not answerable for that, and, as I don't know 
 Dick " — another knowing wink — " why, I'm not 
 ♦ to blame, am I ? " * ' 
 
 "Please, sir, Grod says, 'Woe unto him that 
 ^veth his neighbor drink, that putteth thy bottle 
 to him, and maketh him drunken, also.'" ' 
 
 ♦* Yes, my dear ; but I don't put the bottle to 
 their mouths. I let them wait on themselves." 
 
 
 ,i^-S-".^Cff;--^(..-.V!--^---*^-^'* ■■ '♦^idw 
 
iiii 
 
 MB. JSKKIKS 18 OHABITABIiE. 
 
 157 
 
 that?" wink- 
 was evidently 
 lows," waving 
 are only sick 
 looking about 
 *ces and grin- 
 led her ; and 
 of the inner 
 arker's I The 
 i wasn't quite 
 wept over her 
 .ittle Steviel" 
 , my dear, if it 
 ay liquor. I'm 
 I don't know 
 " why, I'm not 
 
 unto him that 
 iteth thy bottle 
 a, also.' " 
 it the bottle to 
 m themselves." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins was getting funny again ; veiy fimny, 
 bis comrades evidently thought. 
 
 "But, sir," continued the brave little advocate, 
 " what makes ec!ne folks so dreadful sick can't be 
 good for anybody." 
 
 This certainly looked convincing, but Mr. Jen- 
 kins was equal to the occasion. 
 
 ♦' Might as well argue that oil isn't good for a 
 German because I can't eat it on my potatoes. 
 No, no, little one, you're not right. But I'm sorry 
 for you, and I'll see that Dick don't deprive you 
 of your daily bread again. Good evening ; " and 
 Bry, knowing not what else to do, went out. 
 
 She said not a word to Ike, and he asked no 
 questions, feeling sure that she was troubled 
 sorely. Safely at home again, seated in her chair, 
 wraps laid aside, she breathed freely once more, 
 an^, as Ike, having replenished the fire, took a 
 seat beside her, she said solemnly — decidedly; 
 "Ike, if he sells Dick any more drink, I shall have 
 to thut up hi$ ihop — and I will !" 
 "A strange little body — a very strange little 
 
 ,3!a---^iiU-i£^i(. ^■^'■■^•- •• 
 
 iMWiMiilMI 
 
168 
 
 OXJB BTSBET. 
 
 bodyl" Jenkins said, rubbing his hands together, 
 as the child veent out. " But she must not suffer. 
 I don't approve of this abuse of women and chi'^ 
 dren. I must send my wife over to see that she 
 doesn't want anything." 
 
 Mr. Jenkins' charitableness was applauded on 
 the spot ; it was spoken of warmly elsewhere, and 
 reaching Gregory Hudworth's ears, was repeated 
 to his mother. ■■■:■ ■ .■ ■?>■■ '■• -ii'-. r>» ^- '^'^■■' ■sc.v>*>:;^xAf ;»■ 
 The good woman scouted the idea of his charity, 
 and thought he might well feed those he robbed ; 
 nevertheless, she laid the item away in her heart, 
 and the next time the temperance organization to 
 which she belonged needed funds, she suggested 
 that Mr. Jenkins was said to be liberal. ♦ ciiii 
 
 The result was that Mrs. Tibbs, treasurer of 
 the society, called on the aforesaid gentleman, 
 and had an extra ten dollars in her purse when 
 she left. .. • -^fc' ;,. ;.*j' ;:■.-»>--::'*■ • 
 
 " He said there was no man in the city more 
 desirous of putting down these low groggeries, 
 and stopping the sale of cheap, poisonous liquors 
 
 .ii.» -j-fti.ii*'U» ••-'*- ■ 
 
 . ^wtosi*:^-'it»l>i*ii^i*«^^ 
 
^i^gMim 
 
 MK. JENKIK8 IS CHABITABLB. 
 
 159 
 
 nds together, 
 uBt not Bu£Per. 
 nen and chil- 
 3 see that she 
 
 applauded on 
 
 jlsewhere, and 
 
 was repeated 
 
 b of his charity, 
 )se he robbed ; 
 J in her heart, 
 organization to 
 she suggested 
 iberal. ^-aS. 
 J, treasurer of 
 lid gentleman, 
 ,er purse when 
 
 I the city more 
 ow groggeries, 
 Isonous liquors 
 
 than he ! " she reported to Widow Graf ham, af- 
 
 terwaiv^is. 
 
 "Old hypocrite 1" was the reply. "But I'm 
 
 glad we've got so much out of him." 
 
 Dick felt hopelessly disgraced on hearing of the 
 step his sibter had taken, and made up his mind 
 never to enter the saloon again. A poor making- 
 up, however, it proved. Mr. Jenkins had no idea 
 of losing his custom, and was unusually kind, call- 
 ing him in as he went by one day. " It was only 
 a child's whim," he said. "A nice little girl, very 
 nice." So, before the close of a week, Bry had 
 another night of misery. Then the cry went up, 
 from pale, firm lips : " O, God, shut up Mr. Jen- 
 kins' shop, for Jesus' sake." -. , . . 
 
 But Mr. Jenkins did not forget his intention to 
 send his wife to Dick Perkins' home, and one 
 
 . morning a tall, stout lady, in an elegant morning- 
 dress, a delicate nubia covering her dark braids, 
 
 1 and a rich shawl thrown over her shoulders, made 
 her way, basket in hand, to Bry's humble apart- 
 
 - inent. u^" '•-■-■. .-■."■•-•■- -•''■•' ■■■'■- ;<■■■-. "■-" 
 
 ■iinMBMWWlMillWIftlil^ 
 
 iiWBPfWaiiwi 
 
160 
 
 ,s.: 
 
 OUB BTBEET; 
 
 .nil 
 
 , Thei-e was something bright and pleasant about 
 the woman's face, which pleased Bryony at once. 
 Tlie stranger asked a few questions about the 
 child's health, then into her circumstances. But 
 Bryony was little used to speak of her poverty, 
 and did not admit that her cupboard was empty. 
 Dick had been very wild, lately, and they were 
 poorly fed, yet but few knew it from Bry. am 
 Presently the stranger revealed her name and 
 errand. "Mr. Jenkins does not wish anyone to 
 suffer. I have brought you a nice breakfast." 
 
 She lifted the napkin. A plate of told chicken, 
 a nice white loaf, a print of gold^r butter, some 
 cookies, a pie. Bry shut her eyea on the tempt- 
 ing vision, as she said, firmly: ; , •• iji";rl :'3M*,5 
 "I can't take it I I can't I'^r^^^i^ t .? ' 
 "Why, you foolish child, of course you can," 
 said the lady, not understanding. " I am not rob- 
 bing myself — we have plenty. You will do me a 
 real favor by receiving this." 
 But still Bry shook her head. 
 "You are good, real good, but I can't take it.; 
 Sick folks' money bought it I" 
 
 
 ^:M^dii^£yw^ 
 
easant about 
 ony at once. 
 IS about the 
 tances. But 
 her poverty, 
 
 was empty, 
 d they were 
 rom Bry. « 
 er name and 
 sh anyone to 
 
 breakfast." t; 
 cold chicken, 
 
 butter, some 
 tn the tempt- 
 
 S 7 ^- ' .' 
 
 pse you can, 
 I am not rob- 
 i will do me a 
 
 V* Ui/'iil-'ti, : ■-.■-■■-. 
 ■ft, ;' .:'•<•;#'-? H-s, 
 
 can't take it. 
 
 ?JW,Wif ^V^'^'i"* i-^i'!*"' '«»»^-yg^T^ ) 
 
 HB. JENKnrS IB OHABITABLB. 
 
 m 
 
 
 161 
 
 The lady's color rose slightly at this, yet she 
 answered, pleasantly : ^.^ » « , 
 "Doctors make their money on sick folks.** 
 "Yes, makin' 'em well, or tryin' too. That's 
 lovely I it's most like God. But — but^ — when 
 it's jnakin' 'em sick, you know, it's dreadful ! " 
 She did not add "It's 'most like the devil I" but 
 she thought it and shuddered. " I couldn't keep 
 such money," she went on, warmly — her little 
 heart had been stung by this foe — "I couldn't 
 eat the bread it bought I It's like Judas' silver — 
 the price of blood. And he knows it makes 'em 
 sick notr — I told him. If he don't stop selling 
 it, God mil atop him, and shut up his shop. I've 
 . asked him to, in Jesus' name, and He always says 
 'Yes.' I thanks, you just the same. You can't 
 help his selling that, but I'm $o sorry for you, 
 'cause you're his wife. It must be dreadful to 
 know he makeet 'em sick, and you can't help it. 
 But I couldn't eat the good things I they'd choke 
 me when I thought how Dick only gets — gets 
 sick-makers, there I" '^j .■■' ' . -^ 
 
162 
 
 •»•;?.»■/:•• OUR STKEBT. ''f- -i^W 
 
 = 
 
 - Mrs. Jenkins' anger was really roused at this. 
 '•"You ungrateful little creature f" she cried 
 indignantly ; " and so impud ^nt, for sn-L a ihilJ 1 
 ndeed, ' will tak j it homel it's all too good for 
 sach as you! " ' And so saying she left the room, 
 iud Bry burst into tears. >^f' ;i;inJ'i.t feu ' ^ : 
 
 Her grief was violent, but not long-lived, for 
 presently she put up one thin hand and stroked 
 her own cheek, soothingly. ^ '' ^ ;-Mi^^ ^ .«^ 
 
 «' Don't cry, little Bry," she said, coaxingly. 
 " You didn't mean to do wrong, and God 'looketh 
 on the heart' ; the med'cine said so this morning. 
 It's all right with Him, and He can make it all 
 right with everyone else." ^ ^ " 
 
 Just then Widow Grafhara peeped into the 
 
 room. , ' 
 
 "What I crying?" she said, advancing. "See ! 
 1 have brought you a bit of my breakfast," taking 
 from under her apron a plate with a nice slice of 
 beefsteak, a round of toast, aud » spoonful of 
 strawberry preserves. 
 
 Bry's eyes sparkled through tears. ,., .-, ■.,:-:, 
 
 % 
 
 1 
 
 
 p^j^i^wCiLkV'-itfi W=i^ -i- 
 
M ■ 
 
 ised at this. 
 ' 8he cried 
 ii"'- u 5hilu 1 
 00 good for 
 :t the room, 
 
 ag-lived, for 
 and stroked 
 
 , coazingly. 
 
 Jod 'looketh 
 
 his morning. 
 
 make it all 
 
 )ed into the 
 
 cing. 
 
 ^See! 
 
 tfast," taking 
 
 nice slice of 
 
 i spoonful of 
 
 C8. 
 
 1 
 
 HB. JKlfKENii IS CHARITABLE. 
 
 108 
 
 "I knew He'd sen it!" she ened. "He al- 
 ways does, but you spo I sent tho first away," and 
 th" ^ out came the whole etory,. ;. - iw 
 
 Widow Grafham was divided between anger 
 at Bryony, and indignation at Jenkins. ,., 
 
 "You might have kept it — you needed it I 
 He owes you much more — the robber! Insult- 
 ing things! I wouldn't have kept it I 'Twoul 
 have choked you, I expect I I'd have thrown '■'■ 
 in her face. There ! don't fret. God'll take v r< 
 of you. This is pudding day, you knov.* 
 And the widow kissed the child, and L net 
 away to the shopil hr-x. -^i " ;'• w- Vir . 
 
 .-^'^T 
 
 t. ■) 
 
 
 r.fiif- 
 
 'Vt ' rt 
 
 
 ■ i> 
 
 .^r )itg'>U ''..P.^ i'ile ' ^)^ T' - ''-'■' ""* ' 
 
 
 t'lRWttWI'SWI^ft™ 
 
.V /..>'7 
 
 T, :•.:'•;■?>:' 
 
 CHAPTER X. • ; 
 
 MI88 JUNIPER OUT ON DUTY. 
 
 MISS JUNIPER HARGREAVE was actu- 
 ated continually by a great desire to do her 
 duty. Her religion was much more one of obedi- 
 ence than of love. Not that they are incompati- 
 ble, but that we sometimes find the one or the 
 other predominating. It takes years of experience 
 to wed them, in some instances, while in others, 
 as in little Bry Perkins, they spring up side by 
 side. l)ut it was in the direction of little Bry 
 that Miss June's call to duty lay at present. 
 
 She had heard of her fronr Ike, and had formed 
 an opinion of her ; yet it must be confessed not a 
 very accurate one. She knew she was a cripple, 
 164 
 
 teese 
 
 :::£:f&issisisssxx 
 
T 
 
 MISS .IXJNIPBB OUT ON DUTY. 
 
 166 
 
 ■;nw 
 
 ■ J. 
 
 Y. 
 
 I was aotu- 
 ire to do her 
 ine of obedi- 
 B incompati* 
 I one or the 
 if experience 
 ie in others, 
 ; up side by 
 3f little Bry 
 it present. 
 . had formed 
 tfessed not a 
 as a cripple, 
 
 and a Rufferer. But she did not know that she 
 was a Christian, in the broadest sense of the 
 word, and daily underwent a discipline of pain and 
 sorrow unknown to many old disciples. 
 
 Ike had never spoken of Dick's infirmity, his 
 manhood forbade this. So while his ^ords of 
 praise and love in regard to his little friend won 
 Miss June's interest in her, she had a very imper- 
 fect conception of the child. 
 ,! June had felt, for a long time, that she ought to 
 visit Bry. That perhaps she could teach her, or 
 help her to Christ ; find out some of her daily 
 needs and supply them, for June was true at 
 heart, inm 3,t'4f, ii.uf «iMv;j&i;; ^ y:*/ ^*«"<' -uri ,-■>>■>> 
 t She had early done her duty by Ike, asking him 
 many plain questions, which had probed his heart, 
 unveiling it to himself; making him conscious of 
 a lack there, giving him an estimate of his need of 
 Christ, such as he had not known before. Ike 
 was a good boy, well brought up, naturally con- 
 scientious; but he was not a Christian. :.:5s* ^-.i* 
 ,-. "You must give yourself to Jesus," said June 
 
 mmmm 
 
 mmmmmi 
 
169 
 
 f'f '" 
 
 OITB STBXBT. 
 
 to him one evening, as they talked together. 
 "That's what Chriatian means — belonging to 
 Christ. Looking outside, I fear I do not appear 
 much better to others than I used to ; but I be- 
 long to a different party. I serve another Master. 
 I am changed inside. Don't ever pattern by me, 
 Ike, that isn't what I moan at all. Jesus is the 
 only pattern safe to follow, and you are naturally 
 better than I. You have always been good and 
 straight in your conduct, but I am irregular — was 
 born so ; I wish I wasn't " — with a little sigh — 
 "but JcMus knows, and he makes a difference." 
 
 Ike did not readily forget June's teachings. He 
 followed her advice, too, and made a surrender of 
 self. He was conscious of an inward change, not 
 violent, but deep. His Bible and its Jesus becat^d 
 dearer, and, yes — he was conscious, too, that his 
 love for his young mistress grew daily stronger. 
 
 She not as good as him I She irregular I Irreg- 
 ularity was very beautiful, then. Who would be 
 regular? . ... 
 
 June helped Ike, and knew it. He helped her 
 
 T 
 
 1r il| --' - I I -^ -^' - "■'■*'-'.'■'■'' ■ H,,....,Tr...i. 
 
r 
 
 together, 
 onging to 
 not appear 
 
 but I be- 
 ler Master, 
 jrn by me, 
 08U8 is tho 
 9 naturally 
 1 good and 
 ular — was 
 ttle 8igh — 
 difFereace.'* 
 hings. He 
 urrender of 
 change, not 
 «us becatad 
 K>, that his 
 ly stronger, 
 ar 1 Irreg- 
 ) would be 
 
 helped her 
 
 XIBS JUNIPBB OUT ON DUTY. 
 
 167 
 
 daily, without the knowledge of either. His 
 conscientiousness in all things, his tenderness to 
 Mrs. Hargreave, fretful invalid that she was, 
 preached sermons continually to the erratic miss, 
 sermons by which she profited, though uncon- 
 sciously. '• ' - ' - • 
 *= It was growing late in the season, but sleighing 
 was still good, and June decided, one sunny morn- 
 ing, that this was the day for her long-contem- 
 plated visit to Bryony. ■ 
 
 - Betty was away — had been gone a week, to 
 visit her mother, who was ill; but Mrs. Maria 
 was feeling unusually well that day, and June got 
 ready for departure. '"" '" " 
 ' " There's nothing to be done, Ike, but just a 
 little hot apple-sauce for father ; he can't do with- 
 out that. You can make that, after seeing me do 
 it so often. One cup of sugar, about two of hot 
 water, brought to a boU; then drop in your quar- 
 tered apples, and be sure not to let them mash." 
 Yes, Ike could remember, and could do all that ; 
 but Miss Rose was very indignant. 
 
 !l 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 '*"■■.■ 
 
 . ■ ■ 
 
 . k - ' 
 
 v 
 
 - i-J- ■ 
 
 
 
 "- '■■/:* . ' ■■ -• ' .^ ■ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 " 
 
 
 \ - - 
 
 : ■. N. - - 
 
•nij^MWipPtf) 
 
 168 
 
 OUB 8TBBJET. 
 
 ** I am a girl," she cried, " and know more than 
 any boy about it. To think of leaving Ike Hob- 
 son to make apple sauce, as if I was an idiot I I 
 shall make it myself." . -, s ! ^ - "< 
 
 In vain Jun protested, in vain Rose plead. 
 Ike followed the young lady from the room. I 
 will superintend it faithfully. Miss June, if you'll 
 please let her try," he said, so Rose received the 
 desired permission. ,- , .' ■ . . " 
 
 Great was Bry's surprise when the beautiful 
 sleigh stopped at her door. She watched the tiny 
 lady as she fastened and blanketed her. horse. 
 Then there was a light rap, the opening of her 
 door, and June, radiantly lovely, with her bloom- 
 ing cheeks and pretty robes, stood before the 
 child. ,., „ K...,. . ^r . . ,. : ,-. 
 
 All the way there June had been preparing her- 
 self for her talk. She had quite made out a plan 
 as to how she should begin, and how she should 
 behave. So it was with all the teach-you-some- 
 thing-edness of a young lady of fifteen, fully con- 
 vinced of the mightiness of her undertaking, that 
 
 ■ v;jj--!^ ' w .' »i^ta ^;ffi » - » g *iw * ".'W»'*»'W ^^ ' '''" ' *'"*' '*'' *"" '' *""^' * ^ ' ' ''* ''^ 
 
•!wnm">«ppi8Pf 
 
 M^MMHtftiiii 
 
 more than 
 ? Ike Hob- 
 m idiot I I 
 
 Rose plead. 
 
 room. I 
 
 le, if you'll 
 
 Bceived the 
 
 e beautiful 
 led the tiny 
 her . horse, 
 ling of her 
 her bloom- 
 before the 
 
 paring her- 
 out a plan 
 she should 
 i-you-some- 
 , fully con- 
 ikiug, that 
 
 ■'-/■:;"«'■ 
 ^1>.:*. 
 
 T 
 
 I 
 
 BOSS JUNIPKE OUT ON DUTY. 169 
 
 she took a seat, and introduced herself as Miss 
 Hargreave. i • -; " ' 
 
 Bry was always pleased to see company, and 
 she made Miss Hargreave very welcome, though 
 without the slightest idea that she was Ike's Miss 
 June. She rather thought the young lady had 
 made a mistake — that she was looking for Mrs. 
 Ezekiels; ladies came sometimes to hire her. 
 So to her cordial invitation to J'ane to take a seat 
 she added : " Mrs. 'Zekiels lives up-stairs. She is 
 out, now, but you can leave any order with me, if 
 you please." >.^'i;.;'^,^■ .-•';■ -- ->-•' -'■ •■ 
 
 "I did not come to see Mrs. Ezehiels," said 
 June, briefly; "I came to see you, if you are 
 Bryony Perkins." • ;, - 
 
 *' And I am. How good you are I What made 
 you come to see me?" - -^ ^ 
 
 Bryony's eyes were shining into June's. The 
 child was evidently one of the grateful sort. June 
 liked that, c-y:;^-^- .&^« * -! -'"^'' ^"' ■' "" 
 
 "O, I thought perhaps I could do you some 
 good, or teach you something." > 
 
 !T3!B;rtTB»WW» *^'H'ft ^ *^^>^> ' ' ' '-"'^^^^^^^ 
 
^ 
 
 """••■•"■PiWPPiffpw 
 
 '■i\ 
 it 
 
 y 
 
 170 
 
 OUB. 8TKB1ST. H, Wif^: 
 
 "How good you are!" warmly again. Bry 
 didn't 6eem to notice the teach-you-something- 
 edness of the voice, .siij;. :;«i;;i; ?«'-*, «.!i-*<^-. ) hn-vjh 
 
 Her questions had somewhat upset the order of 
 Miss June's exercises, however. But at this junc- 
 ture the young lady began her regular cate- 
 chizing. ■ . ■ .-■-■:■ ft* .'s.jsjc* 
 
 "Are you a Christian?'* f^i? Stj? i ayi* 1 
 i "No; mother is, but I'm only one of th© 
 lambs." X ^>';;*'; .-^ru ■;-, n? j, ■■■ '.ii, - '%r.o^vt .um 
 c "What lambs?" f^r^^ :>i Uyu ) f w;^o5: „rtT 
 
 " Jesu3' lambs. The ones he told Peter and 
 Mr. Gardenell, and all the min'sters to take care 
 of," replied Bry, simply. : ^-ts^ ;> «i5 
 
 "Why, then, you're a Christian, of course, if 
 you belong to Jesus. When were you con- 
 verted?" ■ > > 5-: r., .:,.;:. ^ i ^«.i-, ;-.;in-?r t-<ik 
 
 The child lifted a puzaled face. .1 J 
 
 "I neyrer was con — converted, not that I 
 'member. P'r'aps I was when I was a teenty- 
 tonty. Are j/ou converted, Miss Hargreave?" 
 unmistakable admiration in her voice. ;i-i' I" 
 
 fe j ; s i! ^ ja a 
 

 again. Bry 
 a-something- 
 
 the order of 
 at this juno- 
 igular catd- 
 
 one of the 
 
 I Peter and 
 o take care 
 
 •f course, if 
 J you con- 
 
 act that I 
 18 a teenty- 
 argreava ? " 
 
 U' 
 
 
 ■■'v. r :"r-'i" 
 
 
 «'.»-. ' '■ 
 
 
 ' " • - . - 
 
 
 
 - 'i 
 
 ' 
 
 MISS juirreim our ok duty. 
 
 171 
 
 f 
 
 " Of course. Everybody is that is a Christian, 
 and you must have been, or how did you find 
 Jesus ?" Miss June had taken religion as she had 
 the chicken-pox and measles, in the regular way. 
 Had felt bad, had risen for prayers, felt better, 
 and was baptized. She could not conceive of any 
 other way. -^ ; -.-■•._, -- .?,:, .j;^ --.,, :^^^.\>s.xy.^ 
 «I didn't find him," said Bry, timidly. Miss 
 June's manner was awe-inspiring. "He found 
 me, please. P'r'aps it was 'cause I was lame* 
 You know I forgot to grow when I was a little 
 girl, and cooldn't go far for him. So he came. 
 It was real comfortable in him, wasn't it, Miss 
 Hargreave ? " - ■ "■:' u-z .,,; iVispa*? 'V^m^ i:v u i^^: \ ,; \i 
 Juniper did not answer this question. She was 
 looking at Bryony, in very much the same way 
 she would have examined a new specimen in 
 botany.. '■', -.,;^t5*v ;,,.V' ?^^"KT,!. v^'^-p >.:'i.- 
 
 "How did he come?" she inquired. "Did 
 
 you feel any different?" ; « '^ 'i-ifioui 
 
 " It was just after I forgot to grow," said Bry. 
 
 « I didn't feel comfortable, and I used to cry, so 
 
 he sent me a letter." 
 
 -%«ii£SiM9^em« 
 
 'i iW ii teW» yi« M '4i )! i( ft))u » >i)iMiMi iiiJMiiia i m* 
 
 MMfwnvtfU^V 
 
iMa 
 
 172 
 
 OUB STREET. 
 
 ![ 
 
 ti 
 
 "Who?" interrupted June. ^?^ 
 
 "Jesus." ■'' '"'" •-"-■• -'■■■' '■':'' - '■"' 
 
 June looked very incredulous, but little Bry, 
 
 nothing disconcerted, continued: ^"" "^ ''.. ""^ 
 
 " He didn't write it himself, he got one of his 
 
 min'sters, Mr. Gardenell, to do it; but he told 
 
 him what to say, so 'twas just as good. And it 
 
 said he wanted all the children for his lambs, and 
 
 told about little Violet. You know she loved 
 
 Jesus, and he tent for her!" lowering her voice 
 
 as if telling news too good to be spoken aloud ; 
 
 *'and I 'speot he'll send for me some day, and 
 
 then she'll be so glad to ane me!" ' ; - >* -' 
 
 Bryony spoke so like one eager to meet an old 
 
 friend that June interrupted again with: 
 
 "Who? Violet? Did you know her?" ^'^ 
 " O, yes, I always knew her, only I didn't know 
 her name was Violet. T saw her lots of times 
 before I heard of her, and I see her now every 
 time I shut my eyes. She's so — so beautiful! 
 Such blue eyes, and long, bright curls, like the 
 sunshine ; and O, when she smiles, I have to open 
 
 |»»»»»««a» Mu.JJ»iyM. .«wyii w «; w 1 
 
iiiymPil 
 
 -ii 
 
 t little Bry, 
 
 ;ot one of his 
 but he told 
 ood. And it 
 is lambs, and 
 w she loved 
 ng her voice 
 [)oken aloud; 
 )me day, and 
 
 meet an old 
 
 with: 
 
 r her?" '* 
 { didn't know 
 ots of times 
 icr now every 
 30 beautiful I 
 arls, like the 
 
 have to open 
 
 MISS JUNIFKB OUT ON DUTY. 
 
 m 
 
 my eyes quick, for fi^ar ! wddn't stay any longer, 
 even to be Dick's iied'cine," and Bry gave a sigh 
 of reil longing " But she's waiting for me, and 
 we'll be so happy by and by. There'll be plenty 
 of time to be comfortable with her after my work 
 is done. Mother sail he'd send for me aa soon's 
 
 it was." , .„ , .-, ,. ,-:. ,...,-.r ,. .,., , ,.„,:t;:- .v.'. 
 
 There was something very suspi^ous looking in 
 
 June's eyes. .,r ,^^/ ..--Ky J' ,,.ii?; j- ., r^-i 
 "Did you tell me all the way Jesus found 
 
 you?" she asked, gently. ,, ,, , . , . 
 "'Most all. You know if he wanted all the 
 
 children he wanted me; and — I — just let him 
 
 take me," . ..^ .^.-nj-H jciu i^M- <■'•■. '■■. ^-".;-; ■;!■',;■•''{ 
 "But didn't you pray, or feel sorry for your 
 
 gins?" objected the young lady. ;y fv - 
 
 " But he knew I was wicked when he said he 
 
 wanted me," replied Bry. " He wanted ail of me, 
 
 he said so ; and the wicked was part, so I just did 
 
 nothing at all but shut my eyes and let him take 
 
 me. When I opened my eyes mother asked n 
 
 what I was doing, and I said, * Letting Jesus take 
 
 ii ^m i mi t e iiei^ts'f^.^im-'^^immn^'m ^vmsm^ ' 
 
mwm 
 
 OUB STBBBT. 
 
 '■Xl, fcgiU 
 
 me/ So she knelt rigb^ down and asked him to 
 keep me forever, and he has. Everything is com- 
 fortable new. There's sunshine inside all the 
 time." 
 
 Miss Hargreave addenly ended her teach-yoU'- 
 something-edness, by placing a hearty, clinging 
 kiss on little Bry's face. ^^ 
 
 " To think I came here to teach you I You're 
 j ust a darling, and teaching me lots and lots of 
 things, just as Ike saidl" 
 
 "Whyl do you know my Ikey boy?" asked 
 the little girl in astonishment. 
 
 "Of course I dol He livos at our house." 
 
 "01" how Bry's eyes rounded out. " And 
 you are Miss June, that lives at the farm-house ! " 
 lingering over that last word as if her mouth 
 dreaded to lose its flavor. "■ Of course you are 
 Miss June Hargreave I how stupid I am! Yes," 
 shutting her eyes a moment, and pursing her 
 mouth in a comical fashion, "you look just like 
 her after Ike's been here. Tt's funny I didn't 
 know vou — I thought I should the moment I saw 
 
 't'jnKHf;. 
 
^™"'»>.T".^ ■*»■( ... r' 
 
 asked him to 
 )rthiDg IB com- 
 aside all the 
 
 ler teach-yoa- 
 irty, clinging 
 
 jrou I You're 
 s and lots of 
 
 boy?" asked 
 
 our house." 
 out. " And 
 farm-house I " 
 if her mouth 
 )urse you are 
 [ am! Yes," 
 pursing her 
 ook just like 
 inny I didn't 
 aoment I saw 
 
 ':'fi«. 
 
 MISS JUNIPEB OUT ON DUTY. 176 
 
 youl but you didn't just act like yourself, at 
 first." -■-*'■'■ ■"■■'"'" ■■' ' ' - ' '-■' - --'- 
 
 June laughed, but it must be confessed she was 
 a little ashamed that she hadn't acted herself. 
 ♦♦You have a brother?" she asked, presently. 
 
 ♦♦ O, yes ; Dick. He's my ' daily bread.' " 
 
 June looked up in surprise, " * Daily bread ' ? " 
 she said, inquiringly.^ - v ». . 
 
 ♦' Yes. You know I couldn't earn bread," re- 
 plied Bry, simply, "so he eftrns enough for 
 
 both." 
 
 « 1 " That was all Juno said, but it expressed 
 volumes. To think of this child re : < g a 
 grown-up brother in the light of dail) . adl 
 How prosaic I K there was anything June did 
 covet it was sucJa a brother. A big brother. She 
 thought she would have been willing to work for 
 him, deny herself, do almost anything to please 
 him. Dick! that sounded wild and rugged; just 
 suited June. So she said, with a quick Uttle 
 
 breath : 
 ,♦' I wish he was my brother. Dick's a splendid 
 
 ■^f. 
 
 name. 
 
 »i 
 
 »iA i « « M aii tw»<^j|>M 
 
 » ! »W » »Vli."' 
 
^,«ia«. i tiji^,.'U'.M--^ J i uj ' ''iffl)* *»*^ 
 
 1^: 
 
 i 
 
 ,'.- 
 
 **■ 
 
 '5 ■ 
 
 
 ,4 ■ -. ■». 
 
 OUB 8TEBKT. -.. 
 
 ^'Yes, it is/' returned Bry. "It's big and 
 broad and funny and nice and" -hesitating for a 
 word that would express it all - " and comforta. 
 ble," with a sigh of aatisfactioa. 
 June laughed. 
 Is he anything like you? " she queried, reUsh- 
 
 ing the child's quaintness. 
 
 ♦'Dick?" in Burpme. "O, nol Why, he*« 
 daily b-aad, and I'm only med'cine, you know. 
 We eat broad ev.ry day, but only want med'cme 
 once in a while when we're sick. I forgot to 
 grow when I was Utile, and have been waiting 
 
 ever since — .'.•.•;; , • ' 
 
 "Waiting?" interrupted June. 
 A "Yes. Waiting fora-a push up. It hasn't 
 come yet- not quite -but it wUl. I haven't 
 quite stood stUl-r>e grown a little bit taller. 
 I asked Dick if I hadn't grown, and he said ' Yes, 
 spindling.' It's better to grow spindling than not 
 at all, isn't it. Miss June?" 
 
 «I don't know. Yes, I suppose so," repliad 
 June, with Ups that quivered a little. , - 
 
 'Li 
 

 It's big and 
 
 esitating for a 
 and comfbrta- 
 
 lueried, reliah- 
 
 ,1 Why, he'i* 
 ae, you know, 
 want med'cine 
 :. I forgot to 
 B been waiting 
 
 up. It hasn't 
 dll. I haven't 
 little bit taller, 
 id he said » Yes, 
 udling than not 
 
 lose 80," replied 
 little. 
 
 ■hna 
 
 MISS jmnPEB OUT ON DUTY. 
 
 177 
 
 " ' " •♦ But Dick never forgot to grow. He's big and 
 broad and — comfortable. I'd rather be bread, 
 but — it's nice to be something. You'd rather 
 be med'cine than nothing, wouldn't you. Miss 
 
 June?" 
 
 "I don't khovir,*' seid June, who was not partial 
 to medicine. " I'm not sure, anyway, that I'm as 
 much as that." 
 
 " O, yes, you ^re. lie says so. He says the 
 farm-house couldn't be run without you." An- 
 other strange lingering over farm-house, fairyland 
 to little Bry, who had never seen inside one. " I 
 'spect you're apples and pies and puddings —big 
 puddings, you know, with lots of raisins in 'em. 
 Ike says you're just like a bird — a wild bird. 
 That's so nice ! I like birds. When I sing some- 
 tunes Dick calls me his canary. That's comfort- 
 able — to be two things, you know. But a 
 wild-bird I a sparrow, or a robin with a red-breast 
 — that's lovely I 
 
 " A canary is bef'cr than a robin," Bsuid matter- 
 of-fact Juniper; "it sings sweeter." 
 
 WI»«Wli l WW I J a jllM».WUMlllJM 
 
•SSSBSSSSSSKfBSSOB 
 
 '^(miii'''>ii>tfiilff^f'^f'^ 
 
 -78 
 
 OtTB 8TBBBT, 
 
 If 
 
 » Yes ; but — it's always in a cage. It can't fly 
 off and 8ing to evorybody." (Was there a touch 
 of pain in little Bry's voice? ) " Robir- dance on 
 the trees, and build little really truly nests for the 
 chUdren to peep into. O, it's nice to be a robin, 
 but, if you can't, it's nice to be a canary. I'd 
 rather be a bird in a cage than a worm that could 
 crawl everywhere. It's so nice to have wings, if 
 
 you ever want to u»e 'em. 
 
 June was being taught, surely. The afternoon 
 wore away, pleasantly. June told Jry of her 
 sunny bay window, with its many plants, and Dry 
 imparted to her a secret in return. " By-and-by, 
 when Ike's time comes, we're gomg to have a bay- 
 window. You see the sun \ways shines in here 
 through that window a little while, and he thinks 
 a bay window would catch a lot more of the sun's 
 rays; so it's settled, but I must wait. I'll have 
 plants, then, like yours." 
 
 This led them to talk of Ike. 
 "Isn't he grand?" asked Bryony. 
 June hardly agreed to this. ' 
 
rfllMMHlAMi 
 
 It can't fly 
 lere a touch 
 iir~ dance on 
 nests for the 
 I be a robin, 
 canary. I'd 
 n that could 
 iave wings, if 
 
 ?he afternoon 
 L Bry of her 
 lants, and Bry 
 " By-and-by, 
 to have a bay- 
 jhines in here 
 and he thinks 
 re of the sun's 
 rait. I'll have 
 
 ly- 
 
 MISB JtmiPKB OUT OK DUTY. 
 
 179 
 
 "He's good," she said, "but not grand. You 
 know he's small." 
 
 " Is h( ? " This was unmistakably a revelation to 
 Bry. " He must be very big inside, then, he has 
 such great thoughts, and he loves everybody." 
 June could not deny this, yet all the way home 
 she was absorbed, not by thoughts of Ike Hobson, 
 and how she could build him higher, but of that 
 wonderful Dick, of whom she had heard. 
 
 Meanwhile, there had been trouble at the farm- 
 house. Ike's charge was very refractory. He had 
 to devise unheard-of games to keep her from 
 making the apple-sauce soon after June's de- 
 parture ; and when at last it was time to begin, 
 she would not allow the slightest interference or 
 help from Ike. " It is my ownty-donty sauce, and 
 you shan't touch it," she said. 
 
 By skillful manceuvering he controlled the 
 arrangements, however, saw the syrup prepared, 
 and the apples dropped in. Then Mrs. Hargreave 
 
 called him. «;?•>;•, :? . v;^ v 
 
 It did seem to the boy that the lady was never- 
 
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 180 
 
 017B STBEET. 
 
 SO fussy, as if the work in her room was endless ; 
 and when she suddenly exclaimed, " What is that 
 burning? I smell burning ragsl" he darted out 
 of the room. 
 
 Rose was not in the kitchen. He bent over the 
 kettle. Yes, it had caught a wee bit, not much 
 damaged, he hoped, as he lifted it off. He was 
 carefully transporting the sauce from the kettle to 
 a bowl when Rose returned to the room. She was 
 highly offended at his " meddling," as she called 
 it, and demanded the spoon, but Ike had no idea 
 of yielding it. 
 
 Just then Mrs. Hargreave called again : " Isaac, 
 Isaac, have you found out where the rags ate 
 burning?" and he was obliged to go. , , 
 
 ♦' Dont touch it, please, Rose. If any is scrapt \ 
 from the bottom it will t^wte," he said as he went 
 out. * ".'. -- ...',.. 
 
 Rose said she was very careful, but there was a 
 slight taste to his favorite sauce which Mr. Har- 
 greave discovered immediately. June was too 
 muchftbsorbed in her thoughts to notice it^and 
 
 ■ . \>wi!^'£::r: -^.ajfc f: ;yi«iHty jl;E^ ''.'" 
 
ft&s endless; 
 Vhat is that 
 5 darted out 
 
 >ent over the 
 it, not much 
 off. He was 
 the kettle to 
 m. She was 
 IS she called 
 had no idea 
 
 rain: "Isaac, 
 the rags are 
 
 ;o. ■ . . ,,- _, 
 
 iny is scrape \ 
 1 as he went 
 
 b there was a 
 Lch Mr. Har- 
 une was too 
 notice it^and 
 
 "mmm 
 
 [WVi 
 
 mimmmimmim 
 
 
 MISS JUHIPEB OUX ON DUTY. 
 
 181 
 
 answered her father's rather hasty : " Juniper, 
 I thought you knew how to make apple sauce," 
 with the as hasty : " I am of the same opinion 
 yet, sir." .. ,.. ; . . „ . , 
 
 So Rose and Ike escaped. 
 
 That evening June had business with her 
 
 father. ^ , ' ^^ 
 
 "Popsydil, didn't Uncle John write that he 
 
 needed a good clerk?" - . , , . ,, , .^ ,| 
 "I believe he did. Juniper," \ 
 
 "I have one for him." ., 
 
 " Ah ! " Mr. Hargreave elevated his eyebrows 
 
 slightly. " The latest notion 1 Ike's getting old, 
 
 hey?"" ' " r -■,.}.^,k 
 
 "It's a friend. Richard Perkins." , , , 
 
 Mr. Hargroave, started up. 
 
 « j; had a schotl chum by that name. One of 
 the most spleiidilly built fellows I ever saw. 
 Wonder if this ckap belongs to him? Where did 
 you pick him up, June?" 
 
 "Haven't picked him up, sir. I'm his sister's 
 friend."^ -' ^' ^^": '^- ^^; ' ' "' -: .■:•:. 
 
 tiawuu. ' wim mmttitmmm 
 
■ 1 
 
 /T: 
 
 OUB STBEEIt 
 
 • i, bSillf. 
 
 "O! Is he smart, intelligent, well-educawd? 
 Your uncle is not easily suited." 
 
 June could not answer these questions, so she 
 sought Ike. She found hun but little disposed to 
 talk of Dick. He answered her questions as to 
 his abilities and attainments frankly. He had 
 always heard that Dick was a smart man at his 
 own work ; he had not much learning, and Ike 
 thought he would not -care for much more. --'- 
 
 " I should think a good-looking, smart young 
 man would have some ambition," June said, disap- 
 pointed. "Do you know anything about hia 
 father, Ike?" 
 
 "Not much." 
 
 "Is he dead?" 
 
 "Yes, miss." 
 , "Was Dick named for his father, do you 
 
 know?" 
 
 Yes, Ike knew that from Bryony. 
 
 " Then he must be the f.on of my father's school 
 friend by that name. « What did he die of ? Do 
 you know?" • . 
 
 
 
 '■'^^t^tsi^mitmimmiaimiMiam 
 
 mx M tw tw i W t ag 
 
 J. 
 
11-educated? 
 
 ^, ... ,,,» »-{:; '■ • 
 
 ions, so she 
 disposed to 
 istions as to 
 y. He had 
 ; man at his 
 ng, and Ike 
 h more. *^" ^^ 
 smart young 
 le said, disap- 
 g ahout his 
 
 iher, do you 
 
 ty. 
 
 ather's school 
 
 9 die of? Do 
 
 MtmMaatlm 
 
 ■P«p«|Miii«fW!9i> 
 
 ■WI!Wf!W 
 
 !f-W 
 
 MISS JUNIPEB OUT ON DUTY. 
 
 188 
 
 Ike did know, but he hesitated painfully. 
 
 " Bryony doesn't like to have it known," he at 
 l83t replied to her urgency,, .^^ ^^^^ 
 
 "Whyl he wasn't hung, or imprisoned ?'^^ 
 June cried out in sudden fear. ^,r ^.^.y^f^ -.o -j'^sii 
 
 "No, miss." ■ffxX.i>9u;mm<^iii ya& rstj?i;<.u; j»u*' 
 "He didn't kill Mmself?" she persisted. ,,j,jg 
 uN^_that is, not in the way you think. ^ 
 Rvira killed him, Miss June." .^s;,^,^ r^n ijtgiif4,rit " 
 
 Ike's voice was subdued and solemn. June 
 turned away, shivering. She did not think then»^ 
 but it came to her afterwards, that perhaps Diclt, 
 inherited his father's appetite. Ike's evident 
 reluctance to speak of him confirmed her in this 
 opinion, and thus was suddenly dashed one of Miss 
 Juniper's numerous brilliant schemes. ^jvtT'- 
 
 f 
 
 MMMtM 
 
^i;:, 0) >'(■■;-•& i:'y 
 
 ^^^s 
 
 CHAPTER XI. i; 
 
 PANGS AND rCIJETR APTEBWABDS. 
 
 ..1 ' r; 
 
 WINTER was almost over. Granny Thorpe 
 was not the only person on Our Street 
 who rejoiced in the fact. By none is spring 
 looked forward to so eager^' as by the poor. 
 "Late in February now; theT3 can not be much ; 
 more cold weather," men said ; but, as if to defy 
 them, winter saved for this time one of his fiercest 
 storms. ' 
 
 These days and weeks had heard one plea go up . 
 from little Bryony's heart and lips: "Dear God, j 
 shut up Mt. Jenkins' shop, for Jesus' &ake ; " and 
 little Stevie, often with her, learned to repeat the , 
 petition too. Little Bry remembered tha'. there 
 184 
 
 ^^ 
 
 .iiiiriiwiwiwwmi 
 
. . ; ... ". • ' t» 
 
 ■j;r '.:'."■/ ■.'.')!, -.■•'f/.- ' 
 
 4BDS. 
 
 ;, >!-.;■> 
 
 ranny Thorpe 
 a Oiir Street 
 tne is spring 
 by the poor, 
 not be much 
 as if to defy 
 of his fiercest 
 
 me plea go up 
 ; "Dear God, 
 s' &ake ; " and 
 to repeat the 
 ed tha', there 
 
 mmtm 
 
 ,.i]ii) i-iim i ii i u i WHWIUH IB i | i iw»ain i i iij i imi 
 
 •i»HPpppw»!P"«'ff"WTw 
 
 PANGS AND THEIR AFTEBWABDS. 185 
 
 was a promise to two joined in one supplication, 
 and so pledged her tiny friend to offer it often and 
 always for " Jesus' sake, 'cause God always says 
 'Yes,' then." ^^ - . t 
 
 Bry had not forgotten that little glimpse of 
 Edward Parker's face in Jenkins' saloon, and now 
 she noted, with a trembling heart, that he oftener 
 came around that way from work than heretofore. 
 She never spoke her fears, even to Ike. She 
 would not have had little Stevie know it for the 
 world I but she prayed with greater fervency if 
 possible, and more frequently. * .. 4- j.*,^^' 
 The grea!t snow-storm kept the little fellow in 
 the house for a day or two, then a slight cough 
 detained him yet longer from Bryony's side. He 
 was a very uneasy child under restraint, more 
 human than angelic, perhaps, and kicked out 
 many an ill-humor on the floor. Yet he generally 
 made what he considered amends for all this by 
 kissing his mother, and promising " I'll neber do 
 it no morel" 
 
 Poor little fellow I his memory was not much 
 
 ^ 
 
 1 
 
 iaia»*8«Jii»Sn**»Mi<''' 
 
 ii'5B«»t«»"w<ir^iCT>*Ma^**JSIS!!BIIIBrti 
 
sssssss 
 
 el 
 
 186 
 
 .V-fti!^ 
 
 OUB 8TBBET. 
 
 'p-'i''/.'/ 
 
 longer than his nose. One day he chafed more 
 than usual, and was very naughty ; but presently 
 sat down in a corner, as if thinking: *,.«>' 
 " Has Dod dot nenny mamma ? " he asked, after 
 a little.' •'* -'Ui.:.t^i>i ■> ' u'l i^a^i iitHdi^^l :''■-■ iji?' 
 "No," his mother replied. shMirforj-i * -^r'-itifti 
 « Then he don't det wocked when he's naughty, 
 and dirts his apron? '*^^A-^'''-^'^i^«"'«-''»^'* ' 
 " God is never naughty," answered Mary, smil- 
 ing. ^ ■ ■ " ^" ' -' ■'"'■ ' ■■---" ■ ^-' ""*-^*« 
 But Stevie took no notice of smile or answer. 
 "If I was God, an' hadn't nenny mudder, I'd 
 'ick old Dinkins,! would, and I will, en'way when 
 I get up to papa ! " And the small chap doubled 
 up his fists nimbly. He got up and walked to a 
 window, then came back to his mother's side. |g 
 ^: "Does my papa dwink!" he asked, soberly.,^' 
 a, Mary started and colored. j^ 
 ^ " Everybody drinks," she said, evasively. J^ 
 » Not outer old bottles. I dudn't, an' uo dudn't, 
 an' Bry dudn't " — children's questions are not to 
 be evaded — "ao' I ^aw my farder drink outer a 
 bottle." 
 
mfjlifmtm^iiffim>''^mn''t'^VM ,'^»w"w uii,J.'up" 
 
 iii|^<||ip||l!l|{l 
 
 ^miPiifamipK.aiaiUiliiiilil niun 
 
 Q ohafed more 
 but presently 
 
 he asked, after 
 
 <Hi\a<i 
 
 a he's naughty, 
 
 red Mary, smil- 
 
 mile or answer, 
 ny mudder, I'd 
 11, eu'way when 
 11 chap doubled 
 ind walked to a 
 mother's side, 
 aked, soberly. - 
 
 , evasively. ' 
 I't, an' uo dudn't, 
 rtions are not to 
 er drink outer a 
 
 PANQS AMD THKIB AFTEEWABDS. 
 
 187 
 
 V « Folks always drink medicine out of bottles," 
 said the mother, still avoiding the question. 
 . «» Bry tates hers outer tumbel," said the little 
 fellow, stoutly. " 'Sides, it's ole nas'y bottle, jes' 
 'ike ole Dinkins has in er winder. It's sick- 
 makers, I know 'tis. Dinkins'U be sut up soon, 
 'cause Bry an' me we's prayin' to Dedus." 
 
 Mary looked down at the curly-headed mite. 
 -^ "Did Bryony tell you that papa drank? " she 
 asked. - ^ 'J^.V.'^^^, ^^'^- -':/^« f '^ ' '" \ '^^ 
 s "No, her didn't 1" the curly head nodded 
 emphatically. "Her dudn't know en'ting 'bout 
 it. I neber telled her, 'cause her'd be sorry ; but 
 I teUed Dod." ^^ m'^^^-'y ^ ■ - *^'H ^' H« ^-'^i ^■ 
 « Mary Parker said no more, but she felt uneasy 
 all the afternooiu She watched her darling nar- 
 rowly, and his little cough smote her heart. His 
 little cheeks were very red that night, as she sat 
 beside his crib waiting his father's coming. He 
 was very late, and had not been in to supper. His 
 wife met him bitterly : ^*^ -^* 
 
 '♦You have been in Jenkins' again! " she said. 
 
 ■ i 
 
 1 
 
 * -5 
 
 
 ...-:.- ./--fi3laaj^:iii^,.Jfc.^a-virii„.,s»/iiri( 
 
tiJ 
 
 188 
 
 (''ir^ OUB BTBKBT. 
 
 How can you neglect little Stevie and me so much ! 
 ^''ou are ruining yourself I" j 
 
 But Mr. Parker only growled: " Shut up! will 
 you?" ' u 
 
 A woman does not always obey implicitly when 
 asked so politely to do a thing. Mary Parker was 
 not yet so well used to harsh words as to receive 
 them quietly. She began to cry, and her husband, 
 somewhat ashamed, tried to extenuate himself. 
 ♦* You make a great fuss, Mary, over a little 
 whisky. The old doctor told me to take a swallow 
 or two whenever those faint attacks came on, and 
 I've had them pretty often, lately." 
 
 " Yes ; but you don't stop at a swallow or two. 
 It's a glass or two, and every day at that." 
 
 " I work hard," said Mr. Parker, " and if whisky 
 gives me strength when I'm faint, it'll give me 
 more when I'm not. You should be the last to 
 grumble, since it is to earn more for you." 
 
 " For old Jenkins, you mean. You don't bring 
 in as much as you used to. O, Edward, even that 
 child notices it. He told me to-day that he saw 
 you drinking." 
 
alHW 
 
 _-"— -^ 
 
 art* A- 
 
 ad me so much ! 
 
 ♦Shut up! will 
 
 implicitly when 
 lary Parker was 
 Is as to receive 
 nd her husband, 
 jnuate himself, 
 ry, over a little 
 
 take a swallow 
 ks came on, and 
 !ly. - 
 
 swallow or two. 
 lay at that." 
 
 , " and if whisky 
 nt, it'll give me 
 
 1 be the last to 
 re for you." 
 You don't bring 
 dward, even that 
 lay that he saw 
 
 PANGS AND THXilU APTEBWABDB. 
 
 189 
 
 Edward Parker grew angry. "That's from 
 letting him be so much with that silly brat across 
 the street, making a fool of herself, and of Dick, 
 too ! I'll not stand it if he's fool enough to. If 
 she puts any more in that child's head I'll shut 
 her up pretty quick. You needn't let him go over 
 there again." 
 
 In vain Mary protested that Bry was not to 
 blame, and repeated what Stevie had said. He 
 would not listen, and, getting heavy and stupid, 
 tumbled into bed. It was hours before his wife 
 slept, and then she was soon roused by a hoarse 
 rattling cough from the crib, the cough that has 
 struck terror to so many loving mother-hearts. 
 
 The feverish, flushed face of her darling added 
 to her alarm, yet in vain were all her efforts to 
 arouse her husband from his drunken slumbers. 
 He muttered something about " women's whims," 
 "a little cold," and lapsed imn:ediate)y into 
 unconsciousness again. ^.. ., - 
 
 Still the cough rang on the air, and again and 
 again the woman tried to rouse her husband. At 
 
 a«- 
 
 y.--. .-.-^r^ ...... ^.. ■ ■■ , in,A^.i.r.. 
 
mmmmmmmmmm 
 
 100 
 
 \/.-'}'tS OUB 8TBBKT. 
 
 ■Va' 
 
 '/ 
 
 n 
 
 }?. 
 
 i.; 
 
 n 
 
 loBt with success. He got on his feet, and,'Wter a 
 little, half-comprehending, started for the doctor. 
 Alas! when Dr. Fosby arrived it was too late. 
 In less than an hour after his coming little Stevie 
 was dead, and his mother passuig from one 
 hysteric fit into another. ' -< ^^ - ; .: ,v. 
 
 All night Widow Graf ham and old Nurse 
 Adams worked over the stricken woman, but her 
 husband sat as one stunned. He was beginning 
 to awake from the slumber of months. " '^ '' 
 
 Little Bry was restless all that night, troubled 
 all the next morning. From her window she saw 
 Mrs. Graf ham, Kiddy and Letty running back and 
 forth, and feared something was wrong. She longed 
 to go forth like others, and inquire what it meant. 
 And at last, unable to bear it longer, she ven- 
 tured, in spite of the formidable banks of snow. 
 A passer-by helped her over the street. Widow 
 Graf ham saw her coming, and met her at the 
 door. Kiddy helped her tenderly up-stairs, then, 
 when she was seated, they stood and looked at 
 her. - ■ ^^'^-^ ■.-;.. Tir-^^^r/t? 
 
 
wmmm^'^ssmBmi^'^mmmBimmBimBmmmm 
 
 mmmmmmmmmmmi 
 
 
 itrmmmm^m '¥'iir[ 
 
 et, andTAfter a 
 for the doctor. 
 , was too lute, 
 ig little Stevie 
 liiig from one 
 
 nd old Nurse 
 ;<roinan, but her 
 
 was beginning 
 onths. ' •' 
 
 night, troubled 
 window she saw 
 iipning back and 
 ong. She longed 
 Q what it meant, 
 longer, she ven- 
 ) banks of snow. 
 
 street. Widow 
 
 met her at the 
 y up-stairs, then, 
 i and looked at 
 
 FAKOa AMD THUm ATrBBWABDB. 
 
 191 
 
 ;» Kiddy Langdon's loving heart sank when her 
 mother was summoned out of the room, and she saw 
 that the sad task of ro /ealing the news to Bryony 
 devolved on herself. S> . dreaded the first ques- 
 
 ,.» I, J.'. 1)1 -J 
 
 "Is Stevio sick?" w-'.^ .n; (? f 
 
 >r "No." How relieved Kiddy felt even at this 
 little delay. '? ^'ui.>ru. '.>m u ■ - .;;■-..'/ ■<>■-'.-- 
 :^ "Is Mrs. Parker?" •■ > •■ '/t'l^-'/f ,-«i-fS 
 "Yes." 'i.i'!''i'.*' ,"■/ T-''' it '''^' ■'•''■" ''■'■' '■ ■'^■■'■' '^'"^ ''-■■ 
 i> " O, I am glad I carc- over ! I can take care of 
 
 Stevie. He's always good with me." 
 b •'Poor little Bry I " Kiddy stooped and kissed 
 
 her as she spoke. " Stevie will never want any- 
 .one to take care of him again. He's gone to 
 
 Jesus I " and Bry looked up a moment helplessly 
 
 in the sympathetic eyes above, and fell faint- 
 
 ^ftt-*^ 
 
 iXi'SA'j-ij-'-'f'f*.?' 
 
 " It's not 'cause I'm sorry Jesus took him," she 
 said, after sitting with white face and folded 
 hands. "O, nol I'm not sorry Jesus took him, 
 but —but— I loved him so, and I didn't 'spect 
 
 
 « 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■■'.-'■ 
 
 ' 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 . '^K 
 
 
 t 1 
 
 J,. 
 
 J» 
 
 M^Jk 
 
 i:^ 
 
 ,„j^ 
 
 iMiiiiJ^ 
 
192 
 
 OXJB 8TB1SET. 
 
 „ .. Ah, UtUe Bry, you »e not the tot, n«ther 
 „m you be the tat, who Borrows, not for theu 
 
 saved, but for themselves. 
 It w» her owuUtUeStevie that Uy there, so 
 
 „„te yet so life-like. Tears spraug to her eye, « 
 ,i, kissed his eh^k, aud asked to see hx 
 
 "Cmow Graf ham w«. a Uttle fearful about the 
 result if Bryony should see Mrs. Parker now ,ust 
 .. she had been quieted ; but the ehUd would not 
 be refused. " He belonged just to us two ; she d 
 rather have me than anyone else." 
 
 Bry was right. The sight of her brought the 
 first tear shed si.ee her boy's death to Mary 
 
 Parker's eyes. . •., . 
 
 „0 Bryl" she sobbed. "Don't you remem- 
 ber what you said when you first ^w him? 'If. 
 
 ' „ comfortable to have a babyl' and now- 
 
 "TAnd now," said HtUe Bry,flmshing the broken 
 «,„tenee, wi* a voice that trembled though .t 
 „eant to be so brave, "no. it's so eomforUble to 
 
lie first, neither 
 J, not for theijc 
 
 at lay there, so 
 g to her eyes as 
 :ed to see hia 
 
 earful about the 
 
 Parker now, just 
 
 child would not 
 
 tx) us two; she'd 
 
 Ise." 
 
 her brought the 
 J death to Mary 
 
 on't you remem- 
 t -»awhim? 'It's 
 byl' and now — 
 
 mishing the broken 
 rembled though it 
 J so comfortable to 
 
 «■ 
 
 
 PAKOS AND THEIB AFTEBWABDS. 
 
 198 
 
 have an angel I " and she laid her head on Mary 
 Parker's bosom, and cried her fill. " ' ' ^' 
 
 It did them both good. After that Mary could 
 talk more calmly, and told Bry the story of the 
 night before. "And now," she said, wistfully, 
 "do you feel quite sure that he'3 an angel, 
 Bry?" ^^- 
 
 "Not 'zactly," Bry confessed. "But something 
 nice enough for heaven, something that only God 
 can make." ' 
 
 Bryony stayed all day with the bereaved 
 mother. Dick dined with Widow Grafham. 
 That night the little girl opened her Bible again 
 to the verse before so strangely dark. "All 
 things work together for good to their that love 
 God." 
 
 "It's good for him," she whispered; "but — 
 but — Well, what's his good ought to be mine." 
 Yet, in spite of this true reasoning, Bry cried her- 
 self to sleep. 
 
 In the days that followed Bryony spent most of 
 her time with Mrs. Parker. The day of the 
 
^ . , 1 . i jU- ' .if | )"l ' J ii j>'.ui U f- ' ■" 
 
 •y'M;-^ '■" 
 
 194 
 
 OXTB BTBBEi?. 
 
 ;>,■<*/*? 
 
 funeral Edward Parker, finding them together, 
 
 spoke thus: 
 
 , "I want you both to know I've quit drinking. 
 I've kiUed my hoy, no doubt. The doctor said he 
 could have saved him if he had been called 
 sooner; if it hadn't been for drink he would 
 have been called soon enough. Well " -with a 
 groan -"perhaps 'twas needed. I'd 'a' killed 
 myself, like as not, and you too, Mary. But 
 I've quit. The cursed stuff hasn't such a hold of 
 me yet but I can break it off. Little Biy, I 
 thank you for teaching Stevie all he knew of 
 heaven. He'd have been saved, I doubt not, 
 without it; but it's pleasanter for the little 
 fellow to be where he's acquainted." 
 
 Edward Parker kept his word. Many a day 
 afterwards -sad, lonely days they were, too- 
 Bryony comforted herself in her sorrow, as she 
 aaw him enter his door with an unfaltering 
 step, and from a direction opposite to Jenkins' 
 saloon. --■■ ■■■'■."-."'«, ■'/■■-,■' '^^^ '■•"• -i ::":/■ - 
 
 " It did work for good," she would say to her- 
 
 ^ *-aS.m 
 
 ^i^is^iiidi^Miiit^^''^ 
 
■ r«-.1 ' >..j ' H;l^PV"" " ' "" 
 
 ihem together, 
 
 quit drinking. 
 I doctor said he 
 d been called 
 Irink he would 
 ^ell"— with a 
 I'd 'a' killed 
 00, Mary. But 
 t such a hold of 
 :. Little Biy, I 
 
 all he knew of 
 d, I doubt not, 
 : for the little 
 tted." 
 
 rd. Many a day 
 ihey were, too — 
 er sorrow, as she 
 1 an unfaltering 
 K)site to Jenkins' 
 
 would say to her- 
 
CHAPTER Xn. I 
 
 ME. JTBUKINS' BXrr. '. ' 
 
 TKE, who had heard of Stevie's death while in 
 1 the city on an errand, came to see Bryony, 
 and brought a flower-pot, containing a tea-rose, 
 from June, as a token of her sympathy. 
 
 On his way thither he heard that Mr. Jenkins 
 was sick, but to Bryony's eager inquiry answered 
 that the saloon was still open. 
 
 The news was true. Mr. Jenkins had con- 
 tracted a severe oold-nothmg serious, the 
 doctor said-but he was laid aside for awhUe. 
 It must be confessed that ever since her inter- 
 view with little Bry, Mrs. Jenkins had been 
 unusuaUy nervous, and hailed this slight sickness 
 
 196 ;::-:,.-;''•>-;.; 
 
 ■f^i^t^'^^^t^^^-''^^^^^'''^^^'^^'- 
 
Pii 
 
 ^w^p^^^^l^^^^p 
 
 r. '. 
 
 i death while in 
 I to Bee Bryony, 
 lining a tea-rose, 
 sympathy, 
 that Mr. Jenkins 
 inquiry answered 
 
 • 
 
 Jenkins had con- 
 hing serious, the 
 aside for awhile, 
 er since her inter- 
 enkins had been 
 this slight sickness 
 
 MB. JENKINS* EXIT. 
 
 197 
 
 with an alarm which seemed very unnecessary. 
 She talked to her husband quite seriously about 
 his business, and begged him to give it up. He 
 laughed at her, and asked her where she would 
 get her fine silks if he did? 
 
 " You are foolish and superstitious, Mary Ann. 
 I gave you credit for more sense than to be 
 disturbed by the words of a child I " 
 
 But Mrs. Jenkins was very seriously dis- 
 turbed. 
 
 A week passed. The sick man did not rally. 
 On the contrary, his symptoms were aggravated, 
 rather, and again his wife expostulated with him. 
 He was angry now, and bade her be still. "I 
 shall be down-fitairs in less than a week. Neither 
 God nor man shall hinder my business," he said. 
 In less than three hours after he was in high 
 delirium. Then his wife closed the saloon and 
 dismissed Sands. 
 
 In vain was every remedy applied that skill 
 could devise. A fortnight after Mr. Jenkins was 
 buried, and he had never spoken one ration"! word 
 since those of his vain boasting. 
 
 S'c^*g<»"*i- 
 
 >' 
 
 - - -S , 
 
198 
 
 0X7B BTBXEne, 
 
 Bry first heard of his death through Hephzibah. 
 She had come home for a few hours to see her 
 grandmother, and ran over to gossip with our 
 
 little friend. 
 
 "They say, too, that Mrs. Jenkins lays hia 
 death all to you," said the thoughtless girl, not 
 dreaming how she wounded the sensitive pknt 
 
 beside her. - _ 
 
 Poor little Bry carried those words for weeks, 
 and they grew very heavy, until her heart could 
 no longer bear their burden. She heard that Mrs. 
 Jenkins was about to go to New York, and per- 
 suaded Ike, one evening when in the city, to help 
 her again to the saloon door. 
 ' Ike stood without the house. A servant con- 
 ducted Bryony to a room where three ladies sat. 
 The child easily recognized the face of her former 
 • visitor, though its beauty was marred by recent 
 ' Borrow. As for Mrs. Jenkins, she could never 
 \ forgot that chUd's face. It had haunted her for 
 
 months. 
 
 The two young ladies were her daughters. 
 
 « ♦ 
 
 „»ii«iis»aSjb!«*!^' ■ 
 
ugh Heplizibah. 
 ours to see her 
 ^ssip with our 
 
 enkins lays his 
 
 ghtless girl, not 
 
 sensitive plant 
 
 ^rords for weeks, 
 her heart could 
 e heard that Mrs. 
 iw York, and per- 
 i the city, to help 
 
 . A servant con- 
 ) three ladies sat. 
 face of her former 
 marred by recent 
 , she could never 
 ,d haunted her for 
 
 re her daughters. 
 
 Mfi 
 
 MB. JENKINS' EXIT. 
 
 199 
 
 She presented them to Bry, and then silently 
 waited to hear her state her errand. But the 
 child's tongue seemed tied. How to introduce 
 her subject she knew not. She looked, in evident 
 embarrassment, from one lady to another; then, 
 tears springing to her eyes, she cried: 
 . « I didn't kill himl O, I didn't want him to 
 die I I never prayed for thatl" 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins was much moved.- "I never sup- 
 posed you didl" she said. 
 
 "But — but they said you blamed me, please, 
 and 1 couldn't bear it. I only wanted him to 
 stop selling it. I rrnut have him stop, but I'd 
 rather he had stopped some other way." 
 
 "You cannot kill or make alive — of course I 
 know that." 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins spoke with a slow, painful intona- 
 
 '.. -^ t, 
 
 tion, that smote the child's warm heart. 
 
 ■'No, please; but— but— I hope you'll not 
 blame God. He has no pleasure in the death of 
 the wicked — he says so; and he wouldn't have 
 taken that way if— if— there was any other. 
 He knows, marm." 
 
 1^ 
 
OUB 8TREBT. 
 
 f 
 
 Ah, how true every syllable 1 Mrs. Jenkins 
 thought of her vain pleadings, her husband's 
 boastful words; but she did not speak, and the 
 child rose to go. 
 
 The lady rose, too. 
 
 "Perhaps it will give you pleasure," she said, 
 ♦' to know that I have had all the liquor from the 
 saloon emptied into the back bay " — the glad 
 uplifted eyes spoke for Bryony— "and I am 
 going to keep the property until I can sell it to 
 those who will not use it for this traffic," con- 
 tinued the woman. 
 
 Her hand was seized warmly, while tears and 
 kisses rained upon it. "He is fwh a God," said 
 
 Bry. 
 Down in the hall, the door opened, again the 
 
 child hesitated a moment. 
 
 "You do not blame me for praying?" Ike 
 heard her say. 
 
 " No ; it was all left you— all left any of those 
 poor victims." „ ^i^.-- -- < i - , 
 
 "Then please kiss me." > 
 
 .,> i,^' I'.U'^"--'* 
 
 T 
 
 L«SK»*X"*iJlA'K5KtUsaM 
 
 ^..jLriniiir^'"''^"'™^^"^- 
 
Mrs. Jenkins 
 her husband's 
 speak, and the 
 
 ure," she said, 
 liquor from the 
 y " — the glad 
 — "and I am 
 [ can sell it to 
 is traffic," con- 
 
 t^hile tears and 
 oh a God," said 
 
 ened, again the 
 
 praying?" Ike 
 
 .eft any of those 
 
 - n 
 
 MB JEXKINS' EXIT. 
 
 201 
 
 The woman stooped and gave the desired 
 caress. "You have taught me the power of 
 prayer," she said, "I, who have never prayed. 
 When next yo pray let it be for one whose heart 
 is broken." • ; ,. ./r; .^^'.•:. -;i. ■■' 'tv^/'i 
 
 Then the child went out, and the lady went up- 
 stairs ; but for days and weeks after, those words 
 kept ringing in her ears : " ♦ He has no pleasure in 
 the death of the wicked ; he says so.' " " It shall 
 not return unto me void," says God of his word. 
 If you would speak convincingly, reader, speak 
 scripturally. " For the v ord of God is quick and 
 powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, 
 piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and 
 spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a 
 discemer of the thoughts and intents of the 
 
 heart." ■''-■' '■■«-.-.- '..-„.■,;-:, ii.t ^a^^,- .-«' *■ *:'««-Ki....'r!i; '.,":■: 
 
 That night, Ike Hobson, growing eloquent in 
 prayer, as he was wont, cried : " O, shut them all 
 up, dear Lord, shut them all up. Ten thousand 
 little Brys are lifting helpless hands and cries 
 throughout our rum-cursed land. In pity answer 
 
202 
 
 OTJB BTEIBT. '/ 
 
 them, for Jesus' sake." Amenl Amen! O, who 
 will join in the petition? "Behold, the Lord's 
 hand is not shortened, that it cannot save ; neither 
 his ear heavy, that it cannot hear." • 
 
 Now that Mr. Jenkins' saloon was shut, Bry 
 had no doubt hut her trial was over. Little did 
 she understand the strength of the enemy with 
 which she coped. Her heart grew lighter, her 
 eye brighter; for, aside from the poverty which 
 Dick's habits had brought to his home, had been 
 frequent rough words, coarse oaths, and a breath 
 seldom pure. But all this would be changed now, 
 
 she was sure. 
 
 The rose-tree sent her by Juniper was a great 
 delight to the little one. Back and forth she 
 moved it, from spot to spot of the single window 
 through which the sun entered, that it might catch 
 all its rays, and she watered it faithfully. Many 
 were the sweet words cooed over it, the happy 
 dreams of farm-life it suggested; a real fairy was 
 it in that meagre home. 
 
 Then, too, her Bible blossomed to new beauty 
 
 .^A-awftu-tur-v* •■ 
 
 ^ fJ%l.iA' i 4H/ A» t -■■ 
 
Amen I O, who 
 lold, the Lord's 
 Qot save ; neither 
 
 • 
 
 n wiis shut, Bry 
 over. Little did 
 the enemy with 
 grew lighter, her 
 le poverty which 
 i home, had been 
 atha, and a breath 
 1 be changed now, 
 
 aiper was a great 
 ick and forth she 
 the single window 
 that it might catch 
 faithfully. Many 
 >ver it, the happy 
 d; a real fairy wa» 
 
 ned to new beauty 
 
 m 
 
 MB. JENKINS* lEXIT. 
 
 208 
 
 oonstantly. Every verse was a friend. Some 
 such dear old friends, but one day she met a new 
 one — a strange one, too, she thought: . 
 
 ♦♦ When the enemy shall come in like a flood, 
 the Spirit of the Lord shall lift up a standard 
 against him." ■'■' ■•■^■'*^ '-■'"'' •■■;• •-■" •■•'-^" "' '■ '■'■^^■- 
 
 Bry read it over and over slowly. She could 
 read very nicely now. Ike helped her a little 
 evefy time he came in, but this verse puzzled 
 her." '^s^Of'v'' ;>' < n^..r'.r', •.:;i. 
 
 ■r-. f 
 
 'f M 
 
 " ' Enemy ' ; that's somebody that hates us and 
 wants to do us harm. Yes, I understand that," 
 she said. " ' Comes in like a flood,' " she paused 
 again. " O, yes 1 " face brightening, " like Noah's ; 
 sweeping off everything, covering everything but 
 just God's folks. * Then the Spirit of the Lord ' " 
 . .1, the rest of it was very blind to her. ' 
 
 "He'll teach me some day, I know," she said. 
 "Everything means something, and everything 
 grows plain in his tune. I 'member about my 
 ♦ All things ' verse. It's all right, 'cause it's some- 
 thing he says." =^^^^5' c^^mS " V'ja ,f.'> ,^.:>;:T ",• 
 
 [•5P, 
 
 
 mmmmmmm 
 
OUR 8TREBT. 
 
 Dick did keep straight enough for awliile. 
 There was less temptation for him now, since the 
 door he daily passed no longer beckoned him to 
 ruin. Then, too, Mr. Jenkins' death had startled 
 him, and suggested unpleasant thoughts of the 
 future, in view of which he had been so carefully 
 trained. 
 
 He had made a great many resolutions to 
 reform. Alas I for the strength of an unregenerate 
 nature ! Wedded by birth to sin, its essence is 
 weakness. It is only as man links himself to 
 Deity that he is strong. The appetite Dick 
 Perkins had fostered had grown to a giant's 
 Btr3ngth, and the whole rum trade of the city had 
 not been buried in Mr. Jenkins' grave. 
 
 Sad, indeed, was the day that followed Dick's 
 first coming home intoxicated after the closing of 
 that grave. Bryony lay in the border-land of 
 "Doubting Castle," and "Giant Despair" had 
 iron hands about her heart. 
 
 " It's just no use," she sobbed, " no use I " Dear 
 Jepus, if you'd only shut 'em all up, or take every 
 
;h for awliilo. 
 now, hinco the 
 ;koned him to 
 th had startled 
 loughts of the 
 en BO carefully 
 
 reHolutions to 
 m unregenernte 
 t, ita essence is 
 inks himself to 
 
 appetite Dick 
 Q to a giant's 
 of the city had 
 grave. 
 
 followed Dick's 
 er the closing of 
 J border-lapd of 
 b Despair" had 
 
 no use!" Dear 
 ip, or take every 
 
 MB. JBNiUKg' KXIT. 
 
 206 
 
 bit of the like for it out of him I I can't do 
 anything more, O, I can't I" 
 
 Poor little Dry I There was a hard pain in her 
 heart, a strange faintness creeping over her whole 
 body. " I can't go out I I can't do anything but 
 wait — and — O, Lord Jesus, it is so hard to wai^ ' 
 I'm sick— sick all over I What thall I do?" 
 
 She laid her head wearily against the cushion of 
 her chair, and her dropping hand hit her Bible. 
 
 " Med'cine 1 " she cried, a gleam of light shoot- 
 ing across her face, and she opened the book. 
 
 " When* the enemy shall come in like a flood." 
 What sent that passage through her mind just 
 then ? " Yes, rum's the enemy, and it's a flood, 
 sure; but — but — I'm God's folks. I'll find it, 
 'cause I can't 'member the rest. It's in I^iah, 
 I'm sure." >■ ' v '' « ' - 
 
 But she didn't find it. How a verse will evade 
 as sometimes I She got another, instead: ''I 
 have seen his ways, and will heal him : I will lead 
 him also, and restore comforts unto him and to his 
 
 M. 
 
 m 
 
 ' 
 
 i 
 
 "i 
 
 mourners.' 
 
 :•,; .,: 
 
:r — 
 
 v^: 
 
 206 
 
 OUB BTBXSET. 
 
 m 
 
 «»01" Bryony read it over and over, with 
 dewy eyes, and eager, thirsty lips. « ^ , -.- , 
 
 "That's new!" she said. "It was never here 
 before. He sent it just for me, and it's true 1 
 How good he is 1 " And again the head drooped, 
 and the weary eyes, sleepless the night before, 
 closed in refreshmg slumber. "He giveth his 
 beloved sleep." r >■ "' -P ' v 
 
 An hour after. Dr. Fosby, coming in, found her 
 thus. He sat a Uttl<^ while gazing upon the thin» 
 
 . . .— ■: '■■ ■■ ..-: >':;".■; '■'■■■■'■' -'-i.'" -^^i^ 
 pale face. 
 
 "She's growing weaker," he said, "and I don't 
 understand it. I'm sure I've hit the right remedy. 
 I believe she thinks too much," noticing the Bible. 
 "There's something on her mind, that's certain. 
 She's too young to read such a book;" and he 
 stooped and gently sought to remove it from her 
 
 grasp. 
 
 Not possible. The eyeUds unclosed at the first 
 attempt. She smiled as she recognized her old 
 
 friend. 
 "How do you feel this morning?" he asked. 
 
 n 
 
 s^it^'^^^-! t*l*#fc«»^' 
 
 „,;^*w.»«ii*w«»«a' 
 
 ^ti ifXSM^. •»»' ' • 
 
and over, with 
 
 ,s. '• ', -'H'— 
 was never here 
 , and it's true I 
 B head drooped, 
 je night before, 
 "He giveth his 
 
 ng in, found her 
 ig upon the thin^ 
 
 r--J ,;•,:••■: -'-i- -^.ftP. 
 
 id, '* and I don't 
 the right remedy, 
 loticing the Bible, 
 nd, that's certain. 
 I book ; " and he 
 oaove it from her 
 
 iclosed at tlie first 
 ecognized her old 
 
 rning?" he asked. 
 
 T 
 
 m 
 
 ^^fiw^^fw^ 
 
 ^^^ "WT''^^V*i.'iie,*lt^»?P * 
 
 MB. JSNKms' EXIT. 
 
 9Slk 
 
 tigttlhy ■ 
 
 cheerily. "I had a few moments to spare, and 
 thought I'd drop in. Have you any medicine for 
 me, Bryony?" 
 
 " I don't know," she said, thoughtfully, " but 
 God has lots. I'm a&aid my med'cine isn't worth 
 much. But he gave me the best I ever had this 
 morning. I was very sick; 'most gone." .„.; 
 "'Most gone?" questioningly. . ,;, i. h^:.-f.:'l-H 
 "Yes. The pain was all here,'' laying her hand 
 on her heart. "But A« said — the big God, who 
 can't lie, you know — ' I will heal him, and restore 
 comforts unto him' — that's Dick — 'and to his 
 mourners' — that's me. God's comfort is «o 
 comfortable! " r^.-; .,!>-^v-m o-a c-ajii-j {5;s& ovi.vt^r ;. 
 " I'm afraid you'll go altogether, some of these 
 days, if you read and think so much," said the 
 doctor. ;■ ^" i'-| vj^isr ^:^ ^}i^g:fi!^:-rt^'r'rW'iK.^ Xyr't-^^^t^ 
 But Bry did not seem to hear. -, ^ i*^ 
 
 " Tou never gave sick-makers — rum to folks, 
 when they were sick, doctor?" she asked, sud- 
 denly, -v'-:^ ■*■:'» -.T -- '•■'■'' 
 
 The good gentleman seemed a little startled, 
 
 MiHiMi 
 
i^ 
 
 208 
 
 OUB BTBBBT. 
 
 a" 
 
 perhaps by the suddeuness of the question, but he 
 laughed as he said: "What next, you morsel? 
 What pvrt that into your head?" :%j^ ; tifs 
 The child was looking at him with very grave 
 eyes, and he was not exactly comfortable under 
 
 « That's the way father first took to drink," she 
 said, soberly. " The doctor ordered it once when 
 he was sick, and he liked it better and better, 
 until he forgot to ome home one night, and froze 
 in the streets, and -and that's the reason Dick 
 likes it, 'cause fother did." -^ i ? v 
 
 There was quiet for a moment, then the doctor 
 said, a little warmly, as if defending himself: 
 « Perhaps your father would have died if his phy- 
 sician hadn't ordered whisky. A doctor is 
 expected to cure his patients." • . >, w* 
 
 «But he didn't cure him, sir. The med'cine 
 
 killed him." '~ " '* -S " " ^■^' 
 
 Dr. Fosby looked annoyed. ' ,- t 
 
 "He didn't die at once, did he?" 
 « No, sir. But wouldn't it have been better if 
 
 T 
 
MMUMUtWUtiMiiM 
 
 question, but he 
 xt, you morsel? 
 
 with very grave 
 >mfortable under 
 
 .ok to drink," she 
 sred it once when 
 )etter and better, 
 B night, and froze 
 the reason Dick 
 
 t, then the doctor 
 efending himself: 
 ve died if his phy- 
 f. A doctor is 
 
 nr. The med'cine 
 
 I he?" 
 
 bave been better if 
 
 T 
 
 MB. JBKKIKS EXIT. 
 
 209 
 
 he had ? Then it would only have killed one man, 
 the outside one ; but it killed both, the one in- 
 side as well as the one outside, and — and then 
 there's Dick, you know. He wouldn't have 
 known anything about it ; he'd 'a' been in heaven, 
 yet, a sweet little baby." , 
 
 The shadow of a smile flickered for a moment 
 on the doctor's face. *'f*- '"'^ .;,-..,,-.-, 
 
 "You think too much, Bry," he said. "You 
 can't understand these things." '■ ^^\^^',':-'^^ -■•;'^ , 
 
 " But God does, please, sir, and he says : ' Woe 
 unto him that giveth his neighbor drink.' Isn't it 
 as bad to tell 'em they must take it — everybody 
 minds doctors — and — and I get puzzled, some- 
 times, to know who God thinks is to blame, father 
 and Dick, or the doctor, or the men who sell it. 
 If they didn't love it they wouldn't buy it, and so 
 no one would sell it; and if the doctor hadn't 
 ordered it for father he wouldn't have liked it. 
 God sent doctors to make folks well — to give 'em 
 med'cine. And that isn't med'cine ; it's always 
 sick-makers, and it kills 'em afterwards, kills 'em 
 clear through, so God can't make 'em well." 
 
 i<."^'- 
 
 M 
 
 •MM 
 
Dr. Fosby said little more. He had taken as 
 large a dose as he needed this, morning. He left 
 a few powders, and inquired, in a hesitating so.t 
 of way, of Edward Parker's famUy. .^^^^i^^ >« 
 "They're all well, and-0, you'll be so glad I 
 He isn't going to drink any more 1 Some doctor 
 told him to take it for his heart, and he begMi to 
 love it; but he's stopped." 
 
 The little enthusiastic eyes were shining up to 
 Dr. Fosby's, but they did not detect his added 
 color. " Yes," he said, " he was very glad I " and 
 Bry smUed. And he was glad-more, relieved. 
 He had seen the young man stagger several times, 
 and knew who ordered the whisky. 
 
 Itwas strange how the child's arguments hung 
 to him that day. Strange that an old Bible verse, 
 learned at his mother's knee years ago, followed 
 him constantly: « Who will render to every man 
 according to his deeds." 
 
 It is certain he muttered some queer things in 
 his study that night, such as: "Yes, I've pre- 
 scribed a good deal of it. No, I don't beUeve it 
 
e had taken as 
 orning. He left 
 a hesitating soift 
 lily. ^'ffiMii'-j^: 
 [)u'll be BO gladl 
 el Some doctor 
 and he began to 
 
 jre shining up to 
 detect his added 
 i very glad I " and 
 — more, relieved, 
 gger several times, 
 liisky. ' ' " 
 's arguments hung 
 an old Bible verse, 
 rears ago, followed 
 nder to every man 
 
 me queer things in 
 w: "Yes, I've pre- 
 [), I don't believe it 
 
. ,^,^ *•■*',. -v-^*^, VI- fv v ■■; 
 
 CHAPTER Xin. 
 
 .;: f..i'./^ 
 
 r- 
 
 VHAT SLEW THE DBAGON. 
 
 ^<^UR city was in a ferment. Our Street 
 \J shared it. A religious interest in the city 
 had led to an urgent invitation to the Rev. Her- 
 bert Gardenell to visit it, and he had consented. 
 The city hall was to be used for the services, a 
 great chorus choir had been organized, and Mrs. 
 Gardenell's singing, much praised by all who had 
 
 heard hex, and wonderfully used of God, was a 
 
 chief feature of attraction. 
 
 i Little Bryony had heard all this through Le^-ty 
 
 Sawyer, and, always interested in Mr. Gardenell, 
 
 she longed excessively to hear him. 
 
 . The afternoon before the first meeting waa cold 
 
 212 " ■ -■''-:.'■ v :'-'■,:': -r 
 
 \* A 
 
 ..iBaMKSieeKWw*""*^- 
 
wm 
 
 mmm 
 
 Wb, 
 
 'rt 
 
 I. 
 
 lAGOK. 
 
 3nt. Our Street 
 iterest in the city 
 to the Rev. Her- 
 Le had consented, 
 for the services, a 
 rganized, and Mrs. 
 sed by all who had 
 sed of God, was a 
 
 this through Le'ity 
 I in Mr. Gardenell, 
 IX him. 
 St meeting was cold 
 
 WHAT 8LB"W THB DRAGON. 
 
 218 
 
 and windy, as March days are apt to be; but 
 Widow Grafham, at her shop window, noticed 
 two strangers across the street. 
 
 " Letty, did you ever see a nobler-looking man ? 
 So broad and grand 1" exclaimed the old lady, 
 who had a weakness in the direction of well- 
 developed manhood. jliSll-^iiiyn a > ' 
 
 Letty's answer was somewhat from the point. 
 "That's the most beautiful lady I ever saw I 
 Mother, I'm sure that's Mr. Gardenell and his 
 wife. They are coming over here I O, I'm so 
 glad I Open the door, mother.** »VfX^ ■*»?;# 
 ■Indeed, the two were crossing directly before 
 the widow's establishment, and were soon com- 
 fortably seated in the wee room behind the cur- 
 
 tain. 
 
 '^„'i^;-^:.,iAA 
 
 '♦ My wife is a little weary,"said the gentleman 
 apologetically, and soon he was gathering, in a 
 very unobtrusive way, a g^eat deal of intelligence 
 about the inhabitants of that locality. He 
 repeated the names of the dealers as if trying to 
 fasten them in his memory, and inquired about the 
 
 i 
 
 ilH 
 
 iiiii 
 
214 ^^^ OUB BTBCTT. "^A-^'*' 
 
 factory bolow. MeanwhUe Letiy waa studying 
 shyly the beautiful face of the lady. <><«^ ^^^ 
 "You say Mr. Hudworth keeps the periodical 
 shop just across f 
 
 " Yes, sir. And he's my son Gregory. He is a 
 professor of religion, but is very cold of late. 
 I'm in hopes he'll attend some of your meetings, 
 sir, and get good. Indeed, we all need them. 
 Excuse me, sir; you haven't spoken your name, 
 but Letty generally hits things right, and as soon 
 as she saw you coming she said it was Mr. and 
 Mrs. Gardenell.'* 
 The gentleman smiled up into Letty's blushing 
 
 face. 
 
 «I shouldn^t wonder if Leiy was right this 
 tune," he said, and after a little more talk they - 
 
 arose to go. 
 
 "You might sit and rest until your husband 
 ' returns," said the widow, poUtely, addressing 
 
 the lady. 
 But Mrs. Gardenell, thanking her, declined the 
 
 invitation, ^v----^- '"r"---':^"^-:' ;,""' "■"■ ' v~-^ ■"■;'■,. 
 
 ■ 'A*', 
 
 yj, 
 
 !H,imiH.u. ,iaw»-Wi W 
 
. t. •>r' 
 
 J was studying 
 ady. '' -i'*-^-^^ 
 )8 tihe periodical 
 
 rregory. He is a 
 jry cold of late, 
 f your meetings, 
 all need them, 
 loken your name, 
 ight, and as soon 
 i it was Mr. and 
 
 Letty's blushing 
 
 ,y was right this 
 ie more talk they 
 
 itil your husband 
 litely, addressing 
 
 I her, declined the 
 
 
 / _■ ■ 
 
 WHAT SLEW THE DEAGON. 
 
 215 
 
 " I saw a pale, child-face at a window opposite,''^ 
 she said. " I think I will call and rest there." g 
 
 ♦'O, do I" cried Letty, impulsively. "That's 
 little Bry, and she'll be so glad." .yj j^^,^ j^jj. 
 
 The little, pale face alluded to, looked inquir- 
 ingly into the faces of tho strangers, as its owner 
 answered their rap. But she answered eagerly, 
 to the lady's question, "May I come in a while 
 and sit with you?" "O yes, that'll be so 
 comfortable;" and her little crutches wont 
 sounding through the hall. So the gentleman 
 departed, and his wife followed Bryony into her 
 
 room. <i^'<i''-'^i$^.f^f>^mnk'iiiihmH'»^m^ ■'' 
 
 "You had better take this chair, it is more 
 
 comfortable than that," said Bry, pointing to her 
 
 rocker. But the lady refused the kind offer.**,,..,. 
 
 " I shall be more comfortable seeing you in it," 
 
 she said. 
 
 t The chUd settled herseH back at this, her eyes 
 literally devouring the woman before her, over 
 the sweet, smiling face, with its shining eyes and 
 ruby lips, and glowing cheeks, the little ripples of 
 
 * 
 
 m 
 
 :;?..:^/,v3/&^»f^vw>:!J-.-.-«^^>A^^.'^^^'' 
 
 Mmis^" 
 
chestnut hair lying beside the Bmooth brow ; over 
 the dress so neat, well-fitting, becoming, the eyes 
 wandered, then back again to the dark eyes, with 
 a long sigh of satisfaction. • "' - 
 
 "I'm juHt right," smUed Mrs. Gardenell. . 
 
 " Yes. It must be so comfortable to be you 1 
 
 "It is when I remember that Jesus loves and 
 
 saves me, and gives me work for him. It isn't so 
 
 comfortable when I remember my naughty 
 
 thoughts, quick words, and neglected work." - 
 
 " O ! " prolonged. " I didn't think you could 
 
 be naughty, you're so comfortable.'" 
 
 "And so human, dear. But what can I do, 
 little Dry, to make you comfortable while I am 
 here?" Mrs. Gardenell had not lost that old, 
 quick way of catching and retaining names. 
 
 "0, I'm comfortable," with a little satisfied 
 look about her. "Thid room is smaller than the 
 other, and not quite so high, but it keeps warm 
 easier. Then the sun comes in through a part of 
 that window a Uttle while every day that it's out, 
 and Miss June sent me the rose-bush. Wasn't she 
 
ooth brow; over 
 coming, the eyes 
 5 dark eyes, with 
 
 . Gardenell. 
 ftble to be you I " 
 ; JesuB loves and 
 ■ him. It isn't so 
 >er my naughty 
 3glected work." 
 t think you could 
 table." 
 
 it what can I do, 
 trtable while I am 
 not lost that old, 
 etaining names. 
 1 a little satisf ed 
 is smaller than the 
 but it keeps warm 
 I through a part of 
 y day that it's out, 
 y-bush. Wasn't she 
 
 WHAT SLSW THE DBAOON. 
 
 217 
 
 good? It don't grow very well ; that's 'cause it's 
 lonesome for the other plants in Miss June's bay- 
 window at the farm-house. Of course it must 
 miss 'em. But I found some med'cine for it this 
 morning, and " — lowering her voice — "I asked 
 Jesus to please not let it forget to £p:ow, like I 
 did." - ^;; . "v '» • ; 
 
 There were tears in her beautiful dark eyes, as 
 the lady stretched out her hand impulsively, and 
 took one of Bry's. 
 
 " You are very comfortable yourself, dear," she 
 said. .;.„ '•■■'.' '•'■ ■•'• ■ " ■ ■ ■' 
 
 "Yes, I um when folks are sick and want 
 med'cine. I'm Bryony — Bryony Perkins." . 
 
 *' And you know all about the great Doctor and 
 his medicine?" inquired the lady, tenderly. 
 
 " O, yes. I've got his medicine book," one little 
 hand taking from its accustomed place beside her 
 the well-worn Bible. "That's where I got the 
 rose-tree's med'cine. ' Consider the lilies, how 
 they grow.' I read it to it, and I think it looks 
 better already. Don't you?" ir ^;^ i'h-^^ 
 
 jiBiiiaiMwuii 
 
 ■cr' 
 
2ia 
 
 ODB 8TBVKT. 
 
 rffr 
 
 Mrs. Gardenell only smoothed the litUe hand 
 in her lap. "Jesus' little Iambi" she said. -' 
 
 " Yes, that's what he said. He wrote a letter to 
 the Uttle lambs, and it came to me, so I'm 
 
 one. 
 
 " Who wrote the letter?' 
 "Mr. Gardenell. You know; the man whom 
 God loves, and who preaches to big people and 
 little children. He's coming here to-night and I 
 want to see and hear him. The letter telled all 
 about little Violet, and she said, ' He wUl save 
 them n(nv, he saved me 1 ' I've been Jesus' lamb 
 ever since I heard it." 
 
 "And how long ago was that, Bryony?" 
 " O, ever so long. Mother read it to me. That 
 was 'fore He sent for her, you know." 
 ii-r^r, gent for her?" 
 
 "Jesus. He sent angels. I didn't see them, 
 but I knew when they came. They didn't take 
 all of her at once, only the speak, and see, and 
 kiss ; but I 'spect she's all there now, and "— Bry 
 always said this with a little dry half-sob — 
 
 it«»iS(*Sw»&«!*****®''' 
 
3d the little hand 
 )!'* Bhe said. ' 
 
 wrote a letter to 
 ) to me, 80 I'm 
 
 ' ; the man whom 
 to big people and 
 ere to-night and I 
 ae letter telled all 
 said, ' He will save 
 i been Jeaus' lamb 
 
 hat, Bryony?" ' 
 read it to me. That 
 ^ou know." 
 
 1 didn't see them, 
 1. They didn't take 
 speak, and see, and 
 )re now, and " — Bry 
 ittle dry half-sob — 
 
 mm 
 
 fST^ 
 
 WHAT SLBW THK DRAOOX. 
 
 219 
 
 ** p'r'aps he'll send for me when Dick gets well, 
 and don't need'med'cine any more ; but I'm afrnid 
 he's getting worser." sJ-S'f '• ' ';'•'»' ;">' 
 
 Little Bry and her companion did not know 
 theiv> was a third party in the room. But Mr. 
 Gardenell, finding his knock unheeded, had fol- 
 lowed the voices to the apartment, and stood 
 listening to the last of this. '' '^'^ . ^ - ■^' 
 
 He drew a chair close to the rocker now, and, 
 lifting the child to his arms, drew her head to his 
 broad bosom. '■■'•• i''''^ ^*"' -•! n'-^' •' t:--\.i ^■v.^'^f- 
 
 "Who ifl Dick, little Bry?" he asked. '* 
 
 There was one swift, upward glance from those 
 little eyes, a timid, questioning look, that seemed 
 to meet its answer in the face above. She smiled 
 back to his tender smile, and answered : " Please, 
 sir, Dick is my daily bread." - * "^ '■•" ' " 
 
 The gentleman seemed to understand. "And 
 now ho is too ill to earn it ? " he asked, gently. 
 
 •♦♦O, nol" Another rapid, upward glance. 
 "But — but he spends it for — for — sick-makers 
 — whi-whi-whisky I " fairly gasped the child, a 
 
 \.^-/^ 
 
 K^'ttUluiSiM^'' *-*f^»"-"-'. 
 
 mm 
 
^iMMMI 
 
 220 
 
 OtJB STEBBT. 
 
 Bhiver shaking her slight frame as that word, for 
 the first time, escaped her lips. -My med'cme 
 isn't big enough for him now. Jesus shut up Mr. 
 Jenkins' saloon, but he goes somewhere else. I'm 
 'most 'scouraged, though mother told me not to 
 be. She said, 'There's nothing too hard for God.' 
 I s'posed he wanted me to help him a little, sir, 
 and so he left me when he took mother, and I've . 
 tried; but -but it's no usel" And really, oxir 
 brave little Bry was hiding tears on Mr. Garde- 
 
 nell's coat. 
 
 It might have been the soothing touches of his 
 gentle hand that made Uxem flow so freely, noesibly 
 the tightening of his loving arms about her frame, 
 or the tenderness of his voice. 
 
 "O, yes, it is use. Jesus can save him, 
 
 Bry." 
 
 She wiped her eyes bravely, and looked up. 
 "It 11 take the whole of him to do it. You don't 
 begin to know how bad he« got it, sir." 
 ..« No. But he knows, and he ikJ able. It takes 
 the whole of Jesus to save any sinner, it did to 
 
 •smsprrsrrr? 
 
 r ^^jn-js i^ iTsv 
 
s that word, for 
 "My med'cine 
 
 esus shut up Mr. 
 
 jwhere else. I'm 
 
 sr told me not to 
 
 too hard for God.' 
 him a little, sir, 
 
 mother, and I've 
 And really, our 
 
 X8 on Mr. Garde- 
 
 ng touches of his 
 r 80 freely, loesibly 
 18 about her frame, 
 
 LS 
 
 can save him, 
 
 [y, and looked up. 
 , do it. You don't 
 
 got it, sir." 
 le ikJ able. It takes 
 ny sinner, it did to 
 
 mm^mmmmmimmiiimimiiii^. 
 
 VnULT BLSW THB DBAGON. 221 
 
 save you and me. But he wiU save Dick, and 
 save the whole of him." , .r-.-,,~..---,f.i;;~ur-:T--:-'-- •! 
 " O, how comfortable that is I " There was not 
 a particle of doubt in little Bry's voice — it bub- 
 bled over with its joy. " When will he do it, 
 please?" ■mi;.v^'^''-vf, ,•■'*;.• »-:yj-:r ■■_■■ ::-\i ■--,'■ 
 
 "When we ask and believe. He says, in his 
 book, ' Now is the accepted time.' Shall we ask 
 him now?" f:...' '"' m--K:M'^ -^-r- ^y::''^--- ^:.■'i '^ '■./■] 
 
 How wonderful it was to have prayer breathed 
 above her head 1 to hear God talked to so famil- 
 iarly, yet so reverently. The first words that 
 burst from those little lips were: jsi r; ? : - 
 
 "It must be 'most as comfortable to be you as 
 to be Mr. Gardeuell, sir. Did yea ever hear the 
 lady singi ' -:'- '- • ? . - ; * 
 
 "Yes," smiling. '-C 
 
 "And him preach?" - ■ ' ,4^ ??! 
 
 > "Yes." .'--^r v'i^> *f -.m-^'^-i- ,4y,H- •^.t-:',.{r-fv-^--- 
 
 " I thought you must. He's very good, sir ? " 
 
 " Ho might be improved, but he means to do 
 right." A- vr^x^'-:/ .>*^ b:''-r.t%r'i^lr- . ,, -^M,,, 
 
 Kv^'^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 iwiiinniiaiii 
 
 tmk<4 
 
222 
 
 v'j-y- 
 
 OUB BTBIEBST. ivili"? 
 
 jV« 
 
 v> 
 
 -(* 1<'-1> 
 
 '-))»-\ 
 
 "Do you think he could help Dick?" 
 mK God would help him to.' 
 »'0, yes I it's all God." 
 "All God, but he uses men sorietimes.** 
 " I hope he'U use him or you, sir P'r'aps hell 
 go to the meetings, if the hidy's going to 
 
 sing." = ---uu .F ^^'^ ^^^' '-^'*« ' -''^''-''^ 
 "She is." --^ "-^' ''''''■ ' •"'' "-'-' '-i'"-^- 
 "01" deUght and longing unspeakable in face 
 and voice, "I'll tell him 1" m-An.^'sri c^ 
 
 Then the lady's gentle hand was laid for a 
 moment on her husband's arm. ^ -* ^^s^ - 
 
 "Herbert, little Bry can go to-night, I know, 
 if you send a carriage for her." - - ^ l >a i^ux 
 "Then littie Bry shall go, Ennie." ^ --- 
 
 Little Bry heard, but her tongue failed her 
 utterly; even her old stand-by, "comfortable," 
 forgot to appear. There was a terrible some- 
 thing in her throat which would not up at her 
 cough, and her eyes felt strangely. She turned 
 away her head and winked fast, fearful that again 
 she should surrender to tears. 
 
 - r 
 
) Dick?'* I 'J 
 
 w5-¥ st»Ki Mm A ;■"-'■ 
 soraetimes. 
 sir PYaps he'll 
 lady's going to 
 
 ispeakable in face 
 
 id was laid for a 
 
 ) to-night, I know, 
 
 Ennie." -^««;' «.«^:S' ■.-.^ 
 tongue failed her :. 
 by, "comfortable," 
 ts a terrible some- 
 juld not up at her 
 ^ngely. She turned 
 jt, fearful that again 
 
 ^ 
 
 iMM 
 
 WHAT SLEW THE DBAGON. 
 
 228 
 
 Bryony followed the two forms with her eyes as 
 long as they were in sight, and sighed when they 
 faded from view. 
 
 " Them must be God-kisses," she said — for she 
 was full of strange fancies— "like those Adam 
 and Eve learned in the garden before they 
 sinned;" and she put up one thin hand and 
 patted the cheek they had pressed, much as if 
 she thought by so doing she caressed them. 
 
 No amount of coaxing would induce Dick to 
 accompany his sister that evening, but she was 
 ready when the hack appeared. 
 
 Mrs. Ezekiels had been pressed into service, 
 and had hunted up a hood which fitted Bry better 
 than her mother's, and also an extra shawl. 
 i The hall was lighted brilliantly. The vestibule 
 was one blaze of light, and the post-lamps made 
 all those about the sidewalk plainly visible. Bry, 
 unused to such sights, looked from the coach 
 wmdow, forgetful of pain, her heart throbbing 
 with joy. ' 'm--'f]^^wi. 
 
 It was not the driver's hand that opened the 
 
 i^ilaWiWW.WM***'**'***' ' 
 
 illiiiiiiiiiiU'iiiwiiiiiiiii 
 
 mmr- 
 
,?«:0?.- ■ OUB 8TEBET. r*?Tl?' 
 
 hack door, or his &oe that met Bryony's ; but 1 
 Buch a radiantly handsome one, with its glowing 
 complexion, brilliant black eyes, white teeth and 
 cnrling hair. It was Eddie Campbell, and, as the 
 lamp-light fell full upon him, Bry gave a Uttle cry 
 of admiration. Yes, Eddie inherited all of hw 
 father's perilous beauty, as well as his tender 
 heart, fascinating manners and musical voice. 
 Little Bry yielded her heart to him that first 
 moment as naturally as the flower opens its breast 
 to tlie sun. How fraught with danger and 
 responsibiUty is this power to win hearts! nil 
 ».Thifi is Uttle Bryony? Uncle Herbert sent 
 me to care for you. And Dick did not comel" 
 disappointedly. "No matter; my arms are as 
 strong as his," lifting her gently; "and after I 
 have found you a nice seat, I will go and hunt for 
 him. Do you know where I shall find him?" 
 .. Little Bry was nestling to his bosom as if it 
 ^as her natural resting-place, as she whispered: 
 «No, but Jesus does, and I'll ask him to show 
 
ryony's ; but O I 
 inth it8 glowing 
 white teeth and 
 )bell, and, as the 
 r gave a little cry 
 lerited all of his 
 ill as his tender 
 i musical voice, 
 to him that first 
 sr opens its breast 
 ifith danger and 
 win hearts! M 
 ncle Herbert sent 
 k did not comel" 
 J my arms are as 
 itly; "and after I 
 ill go and hunt for 
 shall find him?" 
 his bosom as if it 
 as she whispered: 
 1 ask him to show 
 
 WHAT SliEW THE DSAGON. 
 
 226 
 
 •♦Whyl 80 he can; and you are just what 
 mamma said, and I love you already." «.i^>,^-«, 
 V Letty Sawyer opened her pretty gray eyes as 
 Bry was seated by her handsome escort ** Why, 
 there's Bryl who is that with her?" she whis- 
 pered to her husband, but he was no wiser than 
 herself. ,-.4vi«-.i-.-<»4r^^*4. 
 
 .« It was a night of marvels to our little Mend. 
 ffer gentleman Mr. Gardenell ! She could hardly 
 believe her eyes, and she could scarcely see the 
 lovely singer through her tears. Then the text ! 
 How wonderful that it should be her puzzling 
 verse, "When the enemy shall come in like a 
 flood," etc. Isa. : 59, xix. 
 
 s^ The child listened with a strange, delicious 
 sense of comfort creeping over her. God would 
 come to her rescue at this climax of woe. O, a 
 hard place looked comfortable to-night, since it 
 warranted hip* assistance. Bry hardly knew that 
 Mr. Gardeuell's own hands tucked her into the 
 coach, hardly knew how she reached home. 
 The last by mn sung by that wonderful voice was 
 
 .iii0ft&!^sm 
 
 mm^nmim 
 
 ammmm 
 
^w 
 
 ■ifH« 
 
 ..i. 
 
 S« 
 
 S,- 
 
 .viool 
 
 OXJB BTESKf. MTJ^ 
 
 ,tm echoing in her soul, «0, who wiU come 
 
 home to-night?" 
 
 Eddie CampbeU did, indeed, find Dick, yet 
 Dick did not attend the meeting. At a Btreet- 
 comer, where the young gentteman was address- 
 ing a motley crowd, Dick and hU companions 
 halted. Every word spoken by the stranger 
 struck a chord in the boy's heart, yet he did not 
 accept the public invitation givon to attend the 
 hall meeting, nor yet the private one urged so 
 ,amestly afterWards, for Eddie, with intuition, 
 
 festened on mm. 
 
 He listened to his sister's glowing account with 
 Uttle apparent interest, confessed he had seen a 
 young man answering to her description of Mr. 
 Campbell, who was inviting others to the meet- 
 iBgs, but did not tell her that his rough refusal to 
 attend had turned back on himself, and made his 
 
 evening uncomfortable. 
 
 ..Next day Campbell visited Dick at his work. 
 
 His pleasant, famUiar ways won on tiie boy in 
 
 spite of himself, yet he sturdily refused to attend 
 
 
 
 h- *- 
 
who will come 
 
 find Diclr, yet 
 ig. At a street- 
 aan was addresa- 
 
 hU oompanions 
 ty the stranger 
 •t, yet he did not 
 von to attend the 
 aite one urged so 
 0, with intuition, 
 
 leing account with 
 jed he had seen a 
 description of Mr. 
 thers to the meet- 
 is rough refusal to 
 osel^ and made his 
 
 Dick at his work, 
 j^on on the boy in 
 y refused to attend 
 
 WHAT SLEW THE DRAGON. 
 
 22T 
 
 the meetings. But men who refuse their fellows 
 do not always refuse God. The prayers of these 
 f:*hnstian workers, and of little Bry, must be 
 answered. Dick wm there Sunday night. 
 
 Of course he didn't intend to be, but some of 
 the fellows proposed it for a change, and, though 
 he objected at first, he finally yielded when 
 accused of squeamishness. 
 
 ' The arrow was prepared for his heart, and a 
 way opened for his obedience. In the rast crowd 
 he was separated from all hb companions. The 
 text was from Luke : 18, xvi. " Ought not this 
 woman, being a daughter of Abraham, whom 
 Satan hath bound, lo, these eighteen years, be 
 loosed from this bond on the Sabbath day ? ** ;. 
 Every word of the sermon meant Dick, he wa» 
 sure of that. He grew fidgety and uncomfort- 
 able, but was hedged in too securely to get out. 
 He tried not to listen. In vain. The Spirit of 
 the Lord had lifted a standard. The sweat started 
 to his brow as he struggled with the spirit of thp 
 Almighty. And when those interested were 
 
228 
 
 ♦WUt. om 8TBBET. 
 
 urged to repair to the ante-room rather than go 
 
 oX he groaned more than once. -^W^-^^ ■ 
 
 Yet he did intend to go out immediately -he 
 
 yet hoped to escape. It was that sweet, tender 
 
 hymn that had moved his sister's soul «, pro- 
 
 foundly that drew him at last. So God multiphe. 
 
 his agencies to draw a faltering soul. 
 
 u It must como sometime," he said half aloud, 
 u He's bound me long enough. If I can't get the 
 best of him now when I'm young and gritty, why 
 I can't, certain, when I'm old and weaV. Here 
 goes, Dick Perkins; if you're man enough you 
 
 can do it." ,, « j 
 
 For more than two hours Dick, with Mr. Garde- 
 nell and his wife beside him, battled the tempter 
 
 of souls. , , , - 
 
 ■ « I always knew the old fellow had hold of me. 
 
 but I didn't know it was such a death-grip, sir," 
 he said, at last. "I tell you, it seems as if one 
 of us must die before we get-through, and Id 
 about as lief die as give in now I've started to 
 beat the old coon." 
 
 II^I^^IISKS^^SSSSK'.'. ?»S 
 
 Si'it^'^i'**^'^'''"*'^'***"**"' 
 
> HW 
 
 WHAT 8LBW THB DBAOON. 
 
 229 
 
 t rather than go 
 
 e. 
 mmediately— he 
 
 tiat Bweet, tender 
 »r'8 Boul 80 pro- 
 So God multipliet 
 
 g BOUl. 
 
 e said half aloud. 
 If I can't get the 
 ig and grittv, ^hy 
 and weaV. Here 
 man enough you 
 
 5k, with Mr. Garde, 
 attled the tempter 
 
 r He didn't give in. That night a victorious 
 Christ was throned in Dick Perkins' heart, and 
 the Rum Dragon lay dead. There were at least 
 three hearts in our city which heard and obeyed 
 the Saviour's request, " Rejoice with ine,Ih»T« 
 found my sheep." ihnnhA 
 
 I 
 
 QW had hold of me, 
 sh a death-grip, sir," 
 
 it seems as if one 
 St. through, and I'd 
 
 now I've started to 
 
 
 0-^ ijw: 
 
 j'|-' ,'MT. .S>%C ^t'i-' 
 
 .Svy:;» i.-:;d S^3 tftetn; 
 
rf?. .T7r.Ko»['V''»4 JIXl V:X M.T^ ^'1f'f-r 
 
 ii,;.. r \< r- •. ;- -i 'r ' .i*J'in'4 k> is, ^tut ^m^.^'^ 
 
 ''>'-■' : CHAPTER XIV. ^«i^^¥.•=e'^':>■^. 
 
 dick's star m the ASOiNDAirP. ^^ 
 
 PERHAPS 1 ought to say a word right here 
 about our frieiid Jetty Blake, who seems to 
 have been somewhat neglected, lately, though not 
 intentionally. Having removed to another por- 
 tion of the city she naturally did not appear so 
 often in Lur Street; especially after Ike left it, 
 for Jetty had a very tender regard for Ike, how- 
 ever her conduct at times refuted such a thought. 
 She had grown in these years to a tall, slender 
 girl, very pretty and conceited. She lived out at 
 service now, and put on airs and clothes as nearly 
 like those of her young mistress as possible. She 
 dropped in, occasionally, to pay a visit to Bryony, 
 
 ssaz ;,««>ft^^*^2JSS'->*siM»fe. *»(s»»o .: 
 
in ':i.*rW 
 
 BOiNDAOT. . ,^^^ 
 
 a word right here 
 ,ke, who seems to 
 lately, though not 
 d to another por- 
 did not appear so 
 f after Ike left it, 
 jard for Ike, how- 
 Bd such a thought, 
 ra to a tall, slender 
 She lived out at 
 d clothes as nearly 
 io as possible. She 
 r a visit to Bryony, 
 
 '"-■V.^ 
 
 PICK'S 8TAB IN THE ABCfEKDANT. 281 
 
 always inquiring of Ike ; but as the two girls had 
 very little sympathy of sentiment, her departure 
 always gave the little invalid relief; for Jetty 
 found fault and grumbled to such a degree, that 
 her going was like the removal of a dark cloud. 
 Jetty was altogether astonished at the "New 
 Dick " she had found upon her hist visit to her 
 crippled friend ; but she had no sort of an idea pf 
 «what ailed him," as she expressed it. The 
 Bweet revival influences that had pervaded the 
 city the two weeks of Mr. Gardenell's stay had 
 not touched her. She had attended one or two 
 meetings from curiosity, but the scene was incom- 
 prehensible, the preaching Latin and Greek; and 
 her only concern was that no acquaintance should 
 see her there, and report her presence to her 
 Catholic mother. , ijv?utg/^y.:r^ 
 
 ..Nevertheless, rich had been the harvest, and, 
 among others, Edward Parker and his wife, and 
 EUice Mason, our dressmaker, had been saved. 
 ' * We have said little of ElUce heretofore, but she 
 certainly deserves further notice. From the first 
 
 '1^1^ 
 
 j.s'H^^"'^^^'^^ ..'^■■-^'^'^^■^^'^■■- "fr^fii;'*'*;-; - 
 
282 
 
 ,tm;.-j 
 
 OXTB STBKBT. '$. 
 
 wi'Si 
 
 Bhe had shown a kindly interest in little Bry (not 
 to say her brother) ; and as to Dick Perkins, per- 
 haps no girl in the world had ever interested him 
 so much. The young man was scarcely conscioui 
 of his preference, however, until after the new 
 experience which came to both. Several times 
 they walked home from the hall together (sh© 
 occupied rooms over Hudworth's), and Dick 
 began to look on her through new eyes. She was 
 a pretty, timid gi'-T of nineteen summers, with a 
 modest face and drooping curls. A face not 
 remarkable for anything in particular, but very 
 pretty, all in all. ^- •---«- ^i^^^^^i^^^-ufs 
 
 Little Bry had become very dear to Mr. Garden 
 nell and his wife. They parted from her regret-J 
 fully, but her sorrow was somewhat modified on 
 leamirg that Mr. Campbell was to remain awhile 
 
 longer. 
 
 Even so. Eddie Campbell, with his natural 
 impetuosity, had fallen desperately in love, as he 
 supposed, with Ellice Mason's pretty face, and 
 was firm in his resolution to remain and prosecute 
 
 .^...r;.'" 
 
 *t;*;iwi-'S35^w5sr' 
 
mmmemmmma 
 
 
 • % 
 
 ■Mk 
 
 a little Bry (not 
 ick Perkins, per^ 
 r interested him 
 jaroely oonscious 
 I after the new 
 I. Several times 
 ,11 together (she 
 th's), and Dick 
 w eyes. She was 
 summers, with a 
 is. A face not 
 •ticular, but very 
 
 bar to Mr. Garde- 
 from her regret- 
 
 what modified on 
 to remain awhile 
 
 with his natural 
 
 tely in love, as he 
 
 pretty face, and 
 
 tain and prosecute 
 
 D1CK*S BTAB IN THS ASOENDAMT. 288 
 
 his suit. In vain Mr. Oardenell and his wife 
 remonstrated, ur^ng his short acquaintance ; he 
 would not listen to reason, and reluctantly at last 
 they departed without him.,. r 
 
 The gay, glad boy seemed ve!^ liftppy !n hii 
 new love. He soon found a way to become 
 acquainted with the object of his regard, and in 
 less than two weeks had proposed to the pretty 
 dressmaker. . -« "i,., .,^-^,.- 
 
 Poor Ellicel What could she say tut "yes"' 
 to a ministor-to-be ? Of course she must. But 
 she was k rely frightened at her situation, quite 
 sure she could never fill the station to which she 
 seemed called, and not very sure that she loved 
 the individual to whom she had pledged her- 
 
 V 
 
 self. :>.?«.i£i?' -«?sE'^«''*"''-'''^ i-.»-^^ • ----.■ - '■ 
 
 But Eddie seemed quite happy enough for two, ■ 
 and reported his betrothal to Bryony, together 
 with the news of his immediate departure to join 
 " Uncle Herbert " now that his object was con- 
 summated. It was not strange that Bry told the ^ 
 whole story to Dick, as no stricture had been laid ■ . 
 
 
 A .. 
 
 i BJ i MlAli w MWMtJWIPU I i.ii l lM 
 
284 
 
 OUB STBBBT." 
 
 ':!T' 
 
 upon her; and perhaps it was not strange that 
 Dick took tie news as a personal insult, and did 
 not see Ellice .>fter that when they met, a way of ^ 
 procedure which Lurt the maiden sorely.? ' 
 
 The next month was one of trial for the poor 
 girl. She looked at Di6k through tearful eyes, ^ 
 and cried herself to sleep every night, yet an- 
 swered dutifully, as best she could, Eddie Camp- 
 bpU's glowing letters, nor noticed that the ardor 
 of his epistles waned continually. Eddie certainly 
 was not proud of his affianced's penmanship and 
 
 spelling.' 
 
 Bryony saw son^othing was wrong. Ellice did 
 not run in so offcm to see her, looked troubled 
 when she did, and Dick's frowning brows, when- 
 ever the young girl was in sight, did not argue 
 pleasantly. " Dick never speaks to mo now," said 
 Ellice, through tears, to Bry, one day. « I'm sure 
 I don't know how I offended him 1 " And Dick 
 declared he was not offended when Bryony ques- 
 tioned him, but still he grewdaUy more restless, 
 and found himself, one night, he hardly knew 
 how, before EUice's door. 
 
■HMMittlik 
 
 I 
 
 not strange that 
 al insult, and did 
 hey met, a way of 
 len sorely. * ' 
 trial for the poor 
 mgh tearful eyes, 
 jry night, yet an- 
 mld, Eddie Camp- 
 sd that the ardor 
 •. Eddie certainly 
 s penmanship and 
 
 snrong. EUice did 
 ar, looked trouble J 
 ?ning brows, when- 
 ght, did not argue 
 ks to mo now," said 
 neday. "I'm sure 
 himl" And Dick 
 when Bryony ques- 
 daily more restless, 
 it, he hardly knew 
 
 DIOK'b stab in THB ASOBNDAITT. 286 
 
 EUice seemed very much confused at seeing 
 him, blushing and stammering as she invitejj him 
 Id, and offered him a chair. 
 
 "I want no chair," he said sternly, glancing 
 about the prettily furnished room. ♦♦ I only want 
 to know if you are engaged to Edward Camp- 
 bell.",,,.^.,.,,,.. 
 
 Ellice adfibitted timidly that she was. 
 
 "Then you have perjured yourself — ypu know 
 you have 1 " he cried, hotly. " You do not love 
 
 him! " ii,:,'ii' !.'«.■.■■ 
 
 "He did not ask me if I loved him I" soobed 
 
 EUice. :..s<' i.? f^n «—■•', 
 
 "Didn't ask you if you loved him? Uke the 
 sap-head I And you — what did you promise to 
 marry him for, when you knew you loved me ? " 
 
 Dick was very assertive — seemed very sure of 
 his ground. EUice did not refute him. ,. 
 
 "He asked me to!" she sobbed. /^ 
 
 "And you couldn't say no!" hotly. 
 
 "He's a mmister, you know," said the gurl, 
 defensively.!* m'^H^.**-*^-'*^. «'^*«'"''' >--■-'--."• 
 
 #, 
 
 '*•',>#.. 
 
'?yAa^ 
 
 ouit vrsxBt^rA a'TT^a 
 
 "And a man — nothing more, I reckon. A 
 minister needs his wife's love as much as mf 
 
 other man, I take it." 
 
 He stopped and looked at her. She war* peep^ . 
 ing at him through her curls. fels*r;?:r.HC« 
 
 "What can I do?" she asked, piteously. i^'*-* 
 "Write to him and teli him you made a mis- 
 take. He is honorable; he mIU release you." 
 ^"O, I can't 1 and he a minister!" =^ ^^^sa; 
 "Well, don't. Cheat him and yourself I" -& 
 Hot-headed Dick was half-way through the 
 
 door. 
 
 ;. She called him back. 
 
 c "0, Dick 1 Dick 1 don't be angry I " she plead. 
 "Come back I please do." . ... .^ 
 
 Dick thrust his head through the door. ! ?* 
 
 "Will you write tu him?" • * ** 
 
 "O, I dare not I 
 
 "Then I won't come back I" 
 
 And he went down the stairs and out, slamming 
 the door after hun, and EUice threw herself upon 
 the lounge, sobbing hysterically. 
 
 JKJ™ 
 
•e, I reckon. A 
 as much as any 
 
 r. She wa'4 peep- 
 
 id, piteously. tj^ 
 I you made a mis- 
 iill release you." 
 lister!" ^^^ '. 
 
 and yourself 1" i^^ 
 way through the 
 
 • T- ■ .. ' ^ i 
 
 ingryl" she plead. 
 
 gh the door. T f *' 
 
 > . i-i. 
 
 I" ■' 
 
 rs and out, slamming 
 s threw herself upon 
 illy. 
 
 dick's stab in thb asobndakt. 
 
 287 
 
 Perhaps Edward Camphell was in as sore a 
 strait as Ellice Mason. Certain it is that ope 
 month with her senseless, loveless scrawls Lid 
 quite cured him of his love-fever. He hated to 
 acknowledge this to Mr. Gardenell, yet, with his 
 temperament, it was quite impossible to keep it 
 secret. So one day it all came out. 
 
 "Dear Uncle Herbert, what shall I do?" he 
 asked, sadly. "I dread to pain the girl. I do 
 not see how I can honorably break the engage- 
 ment, and yet how can I marry her? " - 
 
 Kind Uncle Herbert did not tell hun then tiiaf 
 these considerations should have been weighed 
 before his entanglement; he said simply, "Go 
 have a talk with mamma, Eddie ; I think she can 
 help you." *^.a. 
 
 It proved a long talk, from which the young 
 man came out with a sober face, and red eyes. 
 He went immediately to his uncle's side, and laid 
 his hand on his arm. "| 
 
 " Uncle, dear uncle, I thank you," he said, Ms 
 voice trembling with emotion. " It has been hard 
 
 
 L.xU'i !M ' teWl'« I W il " l' i '' "" ''W ^ I ' ii' *'' '' ' ' '' ' "'" '' ''"'' ' '' ' "" ^ "" ' ' -"■^"- 
 
 ,•,...„.# 
 
 
288 
 
 m%^' 
 
 OTJB 8TBKBW. 
 
 atn decided; there is but one Hung left for me to 
 , do. Give me your blessing, your prayer.. Mine 
 is a hard task. If I bad but heeded your adrxce. 
 Bhe might have been spared thi* pam.» 
 
 uyou do not go to-night, my boy ? " tenderly. 
 
 " Yes, uncle. I dare not delay." 
 **ThenGo.gowithyou-~andhewilll Right 
 is God's side. It wiU be better for her inthe end. 
 
 be sure." 
 
 
 . . • .. • 
 
 It was a troubled foca that appeared at EUlce 
 Mason's door the night after this conversation. 
 A handsome, but distressed face, whose pain was 
 not relieved by noticing i^e teaces of tears on her 
 face, for he remembered an unanswered tetter m 
 
 ms pocket. ' 
 
 Ellice set him a chair, but the young man did 
 not sit down. He must speak at once. 
 
 « Ellice, poor child," he said excitedly, " you 
 
 ' have been weeping, and I fear I will but add to 
 
 your sorrow; but beUeve me, not wiUingly. l^ 
 
 (■J iW 
 
ay for you, but I 
 ng left for me to 
 X prayers. Mine 
 sded your »dvice, 
 [jib pain." 
 boy?" tenderly. 
 
 elay." 
 
 id he Willi Right 
 
 for her in the end, 
 
 , . • .'. -A 
 
 ♦ -" • ♦ ' 
 appeared at EUlce > 
 this conversation, 
 oe, whose pain was 
 ices of tears on her 
 lanswered letter in 
 
 the young man did 
 ak at once, 
 aid excitedly, "yott 
 tr I will but add to 
 ), not willingly. !»• 
 
 diok's stab js the ascendant. 
 
 •289 
 
 deed, I hate myself. I would rathax saffvanf 
 tortosft tten Brake this confession, if I were not 
 sure that by withholding it I should wrong you. 
 I have made a mistake, Ellioe. I fear I do not 
 love you enough to make you happy as my 
 wife — " 
 
 She was looking at him through lai^, aston- 
 ished eyes, comprehending never a word until he 
 reached that last sentence. A gleam of light 
 passed over her face. .a; 
 
 "Can you— wiU you rolease me, ElUce?" 
 
 " O, Mr. Campbell 1 do you mean it ! I am so 
 gladl" . , 
 
 Did EdcUe quite understand ? Was she as glad 
 to break her chains as he himself? She, th« 
 thought of whose sorrow had tortured him almost 
 beyond bearance I O maal strange man I Ed- 
 ward Campbell was surely most glad to know he 
 had not power to wound tlus young heart, yet 
 there was something that clouded his handsome 
 face as he talked back to the depot. 
 
 Bryony was informed, quite early the next 
 
 "4 
 
 II 
 
240 
 
 OTJB BTBBKT. 
 
 Momtog. by the me a«»«.k.r !..«.«.*«* 
 A. w«n-t going to n-ny Mr. CuopboU, ^ 
 
 tl\. \ , 
 
 Bty w» yery -»»ol' •»»<>''»»'•*• 
 ..Why. EUioo. I hope you h«e.'t hmt hi. 
 feeling.1 He told ». h. loved youl" ^_ 
 »Y...buth,».de.»>i..»J'e' ««-*"•„ 
 » And did you make . uJ»t.t,, too, Elhee ? 
 ..Quo I I never loved him, and I never Bid I 
 , „ , . _:,.. "«'.'«TftW *■ 
 
 *mo UtU. «.n«tie« w« looking out of her 
 ^dow that evening, not watching for Dick, of 
 eonree, but he B.W her, and emiled. ^^ 
 
 ..May I oome up?" he ventured, and rix 
 ^4ed .«.nt, and WudM^ - ■!» "f""^ *• 
 
 door to him. 
 
 «WeU, 'aUthingB work together for good. 
 
 Se never makea mistakes;' sighed Bryony, when, 
 a few days Uter. Ellice whispered, "I'm goxug to 
 \M your own sister. Bryony I" ' > 
 
 
 ;M^Hii&fiM 
 
 >^!^gte.ii«i^4&..'" ■-'■ 
 
> , — t,.^..,^...J 
 
 '^i^mm^Mio 
 
 :M 
 
 aker herself, that 
 .. Campbell, after 
 
 bed. 
 haven't burt his 
 
 fed youl" 
 kel He said so." 
 takfl, too, Ellice?" 
 , and I never said I 
 
 looking out of her 
 rtcbing for Dick, of 
 smiled. 3 
 
 ventured, and she 
 as she opened the 
 
 .i-.:-'5' ■■ ■ '.y: ' Xi^rX^n 
 
 : together for good.' 
 igbed Bryony, when, 
 pered, "I'm going to 
 
 r 
 
 St''9~ 
 
 a'^ll 
 
 
 
 :,.-*:- 
 
 ANOTHER year had nearly passed away^ 
 and again autumn days were tinged with 
 winter frost: but few were %e alterations on 
 Our Street, ''^'^tj"'^"*','.^'''*'*^^*" ''^»^*-.;3-*'i* '•~^^:, *'^'-••*'^*f''^ - 
 ' TIaere had been " happenin's," as old l^urse 
 Adams would have said, but they did not much 
 change the current of affairs. Indeed, did you 
 ever think how little does anything? The death 
 of a ohild, the anguish of a broken heart, the 
 failure of a life-work, but ripple the surface of 
 life's sea ; and those whose lives have been most 
 abundant and fruitful, but cause in death a few 
 exclamations, the cessation of an hour or two'i 
 
 241 
 
 ' :>l^JV^' r 'i'- ': j!-^V-ii^'^y- 
 
 ■ ^ammmmia^i 
 
 -:sijjife*»aa**ii»asfe«5 
 
OUB STBKBT. 
 
 \m 
 
 — possibly twenty 
 and then the tic 
 renewed velocity 
 
 -four — a dropping sigh or 
 
 tide of life rushes on again 
 
 if to make up for the 
 
 as 
 
 *1' (i,«if ni\ 
 
 242 
 
 work 
 tear, 
 with 
 
 break. 
 
 . Yet God notes when a sparrow-wing flutters, 
 
 "cares when a chUd sighs, in his greatness gathers 
 
 up our Uttleneases, and sympathizes with our 
 
 faintest pang. Would that humanity might learn 
 the secret of teue greatness - buiJen-beanng..« 
 
 ,. And God, by his Spirit, had been brooding 
 
 over Our Street. 
 
 In Bryony's home and heart reigued peace 
 ^unspeakable, since Dick was saved. A faith 
 unshaken in "He says .o." Juniper Hargreave 
 came often to sit at her feet, and the rose-bush had 
 several companions. Then, too, Bryony had 
 spent a day at the marveUous farm-house, a day m 
 the warm, bright auinmer time, a day never to be 
 
 forgotten, vs^^^^ 
 
 ..,Letty 3awy.i' had another little one given to 
 'her arms, a Uttle girl ; -ad, fruU yat ^ though the 
 
 baby was six monfi.. old bo ' -«he c»m§ ofteu to 
 
■ a dropping sigh or 
 !e rushes on again 4 
 o make up for the 
 
 arrow-wing flutters, 
 is greatness gathers 
 npathizes with our 
 umanity might learn 
 — buiuen-beariug. 
 had been brooding 
 
 leart reigued peace 
 iras saved. A faith 
 Juniper Hargreave 
 and the rose-bush had 
 n, too, Bryony had 
 is farm-house, a day in 
 ime, a ^J never to be 
 
 ler little one given to 
 jErail vat — though the 
 ^vz-fr-iibfi c*in§ often to 
 
 LBTTT.-l^ 
 
 mm 
 
 talk with the little crfpple, whose words were 
 always full of hope and comfort.: for bright, 
 light-hearted Letty was rather despondent. 
 
 Ike had been given his opportunity to learn 
 farming, and had done well. The thought that 
 *they could get along without him now never 
 entered the minds of the occcipants of the farm- 
 house. His grandmother was very feeble, increas- 
 ingly so i but she never wanted, though her hands 
 refused to labor as they were wont. Her boy was 
 kind and attentive, coming in to do up little 
 chores several times a week, and yet, with all his 
 work, managing to learn very much from the 
 books to which his master gave him free access. 
 He had grown broader and taller — he would 
 never be a giant— and had an air of culture 
 about him remarkable whea you consider all his 
 circumstances. ■ ^^^- ^»*»'' *>- *N^^' ■'"•'"" '* ^'- ^ 
 
 Times were dull in our city, especially in that 
 branch of business in which Kiddy Langdon and 
 her mother were engaged. The widow had been 
 very poorly for months, and was much worried 
 
 M 
 
 
 r ma mmi) ^mktmM m i-W'«>t >» i lf 
 
 mDiruiliiWJMUmsllHllW.'ljAilSf'IMJ!" 
 
' OUB BTB«BT. 
 
 about the protracted weakness of her baby, tow 
 
 Poor old Widow Graf ham! In her uneasmes. 
 she seemed at times almost to eatch sight of the 
 cloud hovering above her home. But she waB 
 determined not to see, and raUied her child and 
 herself, as if our will, our assumed cheerfulnesa. 
 
 ever evaded fate! ^ ^ ; ^ , 
 
 Winter settled in. Novem\>er, December, Jan- 
 uary; then, suddeuly-very suddenly, they 
 thought, though she had been ailing so long- 
 Letty was prostrated by fever. Typhus, m h 
 very malignant form, the good doctor pronounced 
 it, and shook his head gravely; but he hoped -- 
 they all hoped -she would rally. How could 
 death feed on anythmg so fair, as dear, ^weet- 
 faced Letty Sawyer? ? Ji :^;:_ i;^^ 
 
 She was delirious from the first, and her ravings 
 
 wrung the hearts of those whose idol she was, 
 
 and soon it was thought best to send for Becky. 
 
 Who can describe the sensation coming. to one 
 
 ' With the sudden news of a dear one ill. and &r 
 
 •if 
 
of her baby, her 
 
 ,ftj»ai 
 
 In her uneasineM 
 catch Bight of the 
 me. But she was 
 lied her cliild and 
 umed cheerfulnew, 
 
 Iter, December, Jan- 
 y suddenly, they 
 in ailing so long — 
 irer. Typhus, in a 
 I doctor pronounced 
 sly; but he hoped — 
 rally. How could 
 fair, as dear, syreet- 
 
 first, and her ravings 
 whose idol she was, 
 it to send for Becky, 
 iation coming. to one 
 , dear one ill, wad far 
 
 f ■"iVIIWk i 4.. Jl "I 11^ 
 
 LBTTT. ' 
 
 mmmm" 
 
 Ml 
 
 removed from us? With a heart full of forebod- 
 ings, yet fuU, as well, of sweet assurance of a 
 brother Christ at hand, Becky took the midnight 
 train from Boston. 
 
 AH the long ride — so long to-night, never so 
 long before — she wrestled with some unseen 
 power. The news that had struck deepest terror 
 to her heart was not that Letty was so sick, but 
 that for some time past her mind had been 
 wandering ; for in the self-same hour had come 
 her mother's letter, written days before, and^l^e 
 telegram not an hour old. 
 
 «You can have her, O my Saviour, but she 
 cannot, shall not live insane I" she said over and 
 over again, that weary night. " Nay, thy promises 
 are surel 'The priyer of faith thall heal.' 
 God's thall! I will not let thee go. Beside her 
 ravings shaU ascend my pleadings, nay, demand- 
 ings. Thou canst not deny thyself, and it is 
 
 written." ^,,v ,^\.,,,^:. -^.j,_ 
 
 I 1 agonizing was the sferugy^ n^ver suspected 
 by the Strangers that passed her. How truly are 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 i mmw ii' ir iiiii M Wiiiin^.i wir i'1 'n' iiii "' ''"'"' f m i iiM i iA ii tjui ^'ami: (;-?—"• 
 
240 
 
 OUB BTBXBT. 
 
 our lives ourn 1 How little do we really know of 
 each other I Who of those passengers imagined 
 the awfulnesB with which that pale-faced woman's 
 soul was wrtPtling with powers omnipotent ? But 
 the victory was assured; He abideth faithful. 
 The last tremor of fear had faded from Becky 
 Cartwright's heart ere the iron horse dashed into 
 the depot, and her hand waa clasped by Mr. 
 Langdon's. ' ■.'■'•■••— -.'-.rrf V.. ,* ,,, ^d.i- 
 Such a home ! such a home I Unrest was in 
 every heart, on every face. Amid them all Becky 
 alone was quiet, except, perhaps, Mr. Sawyer, the 
 sick woman's husband ; but hU was the stillness 
 of despair, Becky's the qiuet of a heart anchored 
 to Almightiness. " -' '- '-""''' *"' ^^ 
 
 Letty did not recognize her sister. She had 
 called for her repeatedly in her delirium, but 
 neither look nor word signified any realization of 
 her presence after she came. But Becky cared 
 little after bhe heard the word her ears were 
 Btraine«» to catch fall through the parched lips, 
 uJesuB." O, word of words 1 Refreshment, 
 
i 
 
 4 
 
 xjntt^"-'^' 
 
 m 
 
 we really know of 
 .RRengera imagined 
 pale-faced woman'* 
 omnipotent? But 
 e abideth faithful, 
 faded from Becky 
 horse dashed into 
 w clasped by Mr. 
 
 el Unrest was in 
 mid them all Becky 
 ips, Mr. Sawyer, the 
 lis was the stillness 
 of a heart anchored 
 
 ler sister. She had 
 1 her delirium, but 
 ed any realization of 
 >. But Becky cared 
 word her ears were 
 jh the parched lips, 
 irda I Refreshment, 
 
 
 .<*" ri.i2w^'>« 
 
 rest, strength to do, bear anything lay In it. 
 Becky was armor-proof to anguish after that whis- 
 pered word assured her that even the delirium of 
 fever had not robbed her darling of the felt prea- 
 
 ence of her Lord. 
 
 The end was not long delayed after the sister's 
 arrival. Saturday night the telegram reached 
 Becky; early Monday morning, ere the day broke, 
 the gates of paradise unlocked to Letty. She had 
 no terrible struggles after Becky's coming, no 
 wild hours. A quietude, which was heaven in 
 comparison with the days before, had settled 
 upon her. O, what a God was Becky Cart- 
 
 Wright's 1 '••^" -•' — - » 
 
 The church, of which Letty had been long a 
 member, had just parted with a much-loved pastor. 
 He who now filled the pulpit was a comparative 
 stranger. Mrs. Grafham had yearned for the 
 familiar voice she had learned to love, to breathe 
 a prayer over her dying one, and she was not 
 denied. Called to the city for that one Sabbath, 
 and hearing of Letty's Ulness, the dear man 
 sought her bedside. 
 
 
 'I 
 
 
 H 
 
 ' 11 
 
 •* 
 
 i 
 
 .> 
 
 f 
 
 mmemBimimmMiC«iSS£iiSi'Sk 
 
 s^jm^ii^ifB^i^M^'i] !h 
 
am 
 
 248 
 
 OUB STBXET. 
 
 Tliat scene will never be forgotten by those 
 who ^vitneased it. The quiet Sabllath afternoon, 
 tiie jnconscious sufferer, the te^rfij household, 
 the stricken, wondering servant of God, to whom 
 that old, wan face, last seen so round and fair, 
 seemed iuexplicablo, 
 
 ♦' Leity I Letty I Letty I " the mournful tender- 
 ness of his tone gathering pathos with each 
 syllable. " Letty ! Letty I Letty 1 " Then, with 
 an upward movement of his hands, the closing of 
 his eyos, he said, "Let us talk to God!" and they 
 did. _. 
 
 O, it was thrillingly pathetic, very fitting, 
 wonderfully soothing, that well-loved voice, usher- 
 ing in that well-loved soul to heave 1 1 But its 
 familiar tones elicited no notice from the sick 
 one- Not gone yet, quite ; not yet inside heaven. 
 B'lt her feet lingered about its vestibule, the veil 
 had fallen between. Here, and there, between 
 this world and that — Letty was no longer of us I 
 ; Beautifully, quietly, she passed away, in the 
 early morn, her sisters and brother about her. Her 
 
 
gotten by those 
 bllatb afternoon, 
 nrfi;< hous&Lnld, 
 )f God, to whom 
 round and fair, 
 
 nournful tender- 
 jithos with eaMsh 
 1 " Then, with 
 Is, the closing of 
 God!" and they 
 
 ic, very fitting, 
 ived voice, usher- 
 leave 1 1 But its 
 e from the sick 
 et inside heaven, 
 estibule, the veil 
 . there, between 
 no longer of us I 
 3d awp.y, in the 
 about her. Her 
 
 IMM& 
 
 lasrrtipo- 
 
 249 
 
 mother, in an adjoining room, held the little babe 
 which would nestle to no other bosom. Becky, 
 with fascinated eyes and breath abated, watched 
 as the tide ebbed. Yes, it was beautiful 1 Those 
 gray eyes — those great gray eyes — large and 
 unearthly, the quiet breathing, softer than any 
 babe's on his mother's breast, lengthening imper- 
 ceptibly, until, when it ceased, they knew it not. 
 Five words repeated themselves over and over, 
 in Becky Cartwright's mind. "Only a step to 
 Jesus." O, such a little step 1 O, such an envied 
 step it seemed just then 1 
 
 , The husband's hand olosed the white lids over ' 
 the soulless eyes, Gregory turned away with a 
 strange choking in his throat, Kiddy kissed the 
 frozen lips, and Becky whispered, as she took a 
 long, long look at the face of this, her childhood's 
 idol, the companion of her riper years, " Good- 
 night, Letty ; we'll meet again in the morning 1 " 
 
 f 8hadow«d days, a funeral, then the selling out 
 of Widow Graf ham's shop. How could she tend 
 
 n 
 
 r ^ 
 
 J* 
 
 1 
 
 :At ' -^m^ ti r i m g*. 
 
 »mixmi^imiAmmiMtimf»a»a n uik t iM'ii Mift •• ^ miHiMstiimwMiiaiimgtmiaiaiMhi 
 
 
 ■jl 
 
I! I\ 
 
 250 
 
 OXTB STBEBT. 
 
 it, and care for those motherless babes? and who 
 else could tend them but she? Who else should ? 
 Becky still remained, packing, hunting for a 
 house, and now and again taking Kiddy's place 
 across the bay. All dreaded the hour when she 
 must go. And — was she mistaken, or did her 
 mother's eyes follow her with a more fearful ten- 
 derness, as if she, too, might be snatched from 
 her? She was the last of Abel Graf ham's chil- 
 dren. A drunkard's offspring seldom have long 
 lease of life, t^t^-^mft^ %£;:? m^t-^-^i-.i ai 
 
 'lis,' 'stPUJi' 
 
 But Becky must go home soon, and, indeed, she 
 was scarcely needed now, for a cottage had been 
 hired, the household stuff arranged in it, and die 
 family were spending their last night together at 
 Gregory's. Kiddy was very weary to-day, so 
 Becky took her place again across the bay. -m 
 
 The afternoon seemed very long ; there was but 
 little trade. She shut up the shop that evening 
 earlier than usual, and prepared to go home. 
 There were but few passengers to-night in the 
 horse-car, and Becky felt glad of that, somehow, 
 as she seated herself. 
 
tabes? and who 
 ho else should? 
 hunting for a 
 f Kiddy's place 
 hour when she 
 ken, or did her 
 lore fearful ten- 
 ) snatched &om 
 Graf ham's chil- 
 Idom have long 
 
 and, indeed, she 
 attage had been 
 d in it, and die 
 ight together at 
 ^eary to-day, so 
 )S8 the bay.:*?, m 
 g ; there was but 
 lop that evening 
 )d to go home, 
 to-night in the 
 f that, somehow, 
 
 ti jf i ll. i ll l.l ii . i jlilj,.n i ,li|],ll , 
 
 tBTTTi^"- 
 
 m 
 
 ^ It was a dull night. Not altogether devoid of 
 stars, but they were few, and Bec!cy felt the ride 
 chill and dreary. She pressed her face to the 
 car-window, and noted listletisly, what she had 
 noted so often before, on cheerier rides, the lights 
 twinkling through far-away windows across the 
 bay. ■ ■.- : ■ 
 
 No ' hous6(( ^ere visible, even in outline, 
 only the tiny lights, each separate light a home, 
 she had thought, and thought now. But in those 
 other diiys the thought had brought joy with it, 
 for was not every home, in fact, a tin^' light 
 sending its ray to brighten earth ? To-night she ' 
 only shuddered. The word, so sweet to mortal 
 ears, was agony just now. Home I How could 
 she imagine home here without Letty? Home! 
 at the best 'twas but a broken one, 
 
 " A broken home ! " She whispered the words 
 over, her voice pathetic with its thought. How 
 many of those homes across the bay were broken 
 ones? And yet — they still sent out their 
 light I ' "" .■«-^, - "■■•« 
 
 J, >i 
 
 
 St -I 
 
 i**-«wiafe<>«<ii»iiteaatiMttihiBii^ 
 
 •'iA«luM<<f#fM«]W- >» 
 
262 
 
 ouB. vrsJSBi- 
 
 t^i 
 
 S ' 
 
 -•i War not that the saddeet thought of all? they 
 mu$t live on without her I ■*f,.*iw m<^iti x*-*""* 
 She closed her eyes. She could not bear those 
 twinkling lights just then. Unconsciously she 
 raised her face up with her heart, and cried to 
 infinite Pity for sympathy. Her opening eyes 
 met the stars. They came to her, just then, aa 
 lights from other homes, across the deep blue 
 vault of heaven — homes unseen, not even out- 
 lined to her vision, dimmed as it was by the clouds 
 and mists of time, circumscribed by her mor- 
 tality.* A« 
 ♦' Homes broken here, but mended there, never 
 more to be broken 1 " There was joy unspeakable 
 in the thought that pain had. brought to birth and 
 fruition. Heaven took an added beauty in that 
 hour — it seemed more like home with Letty 
 there! - -^ 
 
 Kiddy met her at the door with questionings as 
 to the shop, but, meeting the wistful longing of 
 her eyes, asked her, instead: "What now, 
 Becky?" - 
 
 ' " W-W^^ 
 
spsfri^iT* 
 
 . ■ I . I-".«II»!! 
 
 ;ht of all? they 
 
 . not bear those 
 iconsciously she 
 rt, and cried to 
 r opening eyes 
 ;r, just then, as 
 > the deep blue 
 , not even out- 
 yas by the clouds 
 sd by her mor- 
 
 . - . yt!i: 
 
 ded there, never 
 1 joy unspeakable 
 ight to birth and 
 I beauty in that 
 )Mae with Letty 
 
 .'.^."^Jitt*.^. 
 
 1 questionings as 
 istfiil longing of 
 : "What now. 
 
 ixm::^^ 
 
 268 
 
 " 0, nothing J only I am getting homeuck 1 " 
 Becky made answer; and Kiddy did not even 
 dream of what she meant. .;;3':^; 5i * >,i*\c »■ ><^.^ 
 
 Mrs. Graf ham had been cbaxdd into a Uttle 
 sleep, the babies were quiet, Mr. and Mrs. Lang- 
 doh conversed together Becky longed for soma 
 one in sympathy with her mood, and, slipping out 
 of the back door, sought little Bry. 
 
 She found the child alone in the dark, her eyes 
 fixed on the stars, as she loved to sit. She greeted 
 Becky with a smile, and, looking up, said : " They 
 are all out to-night. Mother's, and Violet's, and 
 Stevie's, and Let*y's. O, Mrs. Cartwright, it 
 'most seems like home up there 1 " s^^^ 
 
 So Becky took the little hands in hers, and, 
 sitting down, txtld her of her thoughts that night. 
 From this they were led to God's wonderful love 
 and mighty resources, to the worlds of which 
 these little stars testified, until at length Bry, 
 With a long-drawn breath said, "God and you 
 know everything, Becky I " *- 
 
 Becky smiled, yet she sighed, too. " Otoi knows 
 
 
 ^>^V^J8e«lipffl'ft.ittil4^^M^lfeaMft>^ai^«^iilv,afat^a^^,^ffl^•*.^^fc«^ 
 
■ ^ l lj» > ; i>p ii]i.M.t i l| i |,)JJ I H'.!;i i , i .".!, ' .. 
 
 254 
 
 OUB 8TBBET. 
 
 all," she said, " and I shall know because he says 
 80. ' Then shall I know even as also I am known.' 
 We have only the beginnmgs here, the wisest of 
 us i but the threads gather in our hands which, 
 drawing upwards, shall open to perfect vision. 
 Bryony, I grow homesick, sometimes, for the 
 land of all knowledge." v. ».^- - /^fc. 
 
 « But, Mrs. Becky, you'll enjoy that land so 
 much the more, because you've missed it bo 
 here," sighed Bry. K . 
 
 "Yes, but I grow impatient sometimes." ' 
 " I know. I used to, when nriother first went." 
 ♦' Well, how did you manage "* You missed her 
 very much?" • ' ;; (% 
 
 "Yes; but — Bry's "buts" were all rain- 
 bows— "but God and the angels didn't miss 
 her. If someone must, 'twas better me than 
 
 them." 
 
 "And that made you content?" continued 
 Becky, longing to draw her out. 
 
 "Comfortable, Mm. Becky. Not just content, 
 
 ftt first." . 
 
 %^^^^^JlkL^i^MJ&i^ ^' ^^ ^ r^i-'>^i'''''^^^ 
 
 »,j.j^ ^.-. « . • ^ f r^ 
 
iuse he says 
 [ am known.' 
 ;he wisest of 
 lands which, 
 srfect vision. 
 Qes, for the 
 
 that land so 
 nissed it so 
 
 etimes." » " 
 r first went." 
 )U missed her 
 
 ere all rain- 
 } didn't miss 
 ;ter me than 
 
 ? " continued 
 
 just content, 
 
 •i;»tKTTY. ?•■■ 
 
 256 
 
 3t«*And you never thought that God could 
 have taken you both, an ^ so no one would be 
 lonesome?" -'^'i^ ^ttm/m ' aa'^m^i'-^'r- 
 
 ^t* God couldn't, or he would. His time i« 
 always the right time, Mrs. Becky, isn't it? 
 Then you forget Dick. He couldn't live without 
 either of us, and if only one could go there 
 where it's so comfortable, I'd rather mother 
 should, you know." r>4r am 
 
 Becky kissed the pale face tenderly. ^ *.»**;' 
 "Bryony," she said, "those stars up there 
 are great worlds, but they don't light this room 
 as a candle would. A small light, brought 
 near, is worth a thousandfold the same radi- 
 ance afar off. I envy you, my dear child. 
 You are but a rush-light, perhaps, but the 
 world is so much the brighter for your shin- 
 ing, that I do not wonder our Father spares you 
 to it." 
 
 Bry smiled cheerily. ■'r 
 
 "All things <lo work together for good I" she 
 laid. "It's nice to enjoy things when we get 
 
-tP' 
 
 iJiaj |iiiiiili||i I ■ 
 
 a 
 
 
 ii 
 
 m- 
 
 OUB STBBliT. 
 
 ♦«fe. I 'spect you and I, Mrs. Becky, d:u t 
 have good enough ^^ppetites for Qod's th . ^i, 
 80 he let us bta;- ^ere IDI ^.a sliouid get drear'- 
 tulhuiigry. And I 'spects, Mrs. Becky, that 
 they'll be great big comfortables when vre 
 get 'em I " 
 
 
 J«C ' 
 
 'np,t 
 
 tiji'^V^ )!?s^.'o-i.'r^ ^tciia We i>raj . i^.v •.-.c r ■ - •; 
 
 i'.-,v' 'O 
 
 
 -;:Jfi V"i/ i.^' <'-' .-'-'-^^ ■.pi.'vhvl 
 
 . ,! , 
 
 •SsaSSSStse- ■ 
 
 MM 
 
 Pi^.i ' 
 
Becky, diu t 
 
 God's th > ^a. 
 
 >uid get drearV 
 
 . Becky, that 
 
 les when we 
 
 
 ^m •'-' ,i(U;Tr ■ 
 
 '(£.a*v^''^*]p.; 
 
 a woLwia -*• 
 
 n 6i ■*'5:>irr .i)sj 
 
 {T .JiJgii iM ^^^ 
 
 h ]lx,^w^^"T^<n.^' ' 
 
 Mssiiii a^'^^i itd !;'•-•' 
 
 te&l-" ili! .'ftJill&JiS 
 
 ' '" :-i!'^V*&»s: 
 
 ;.;»'■* v^i-^y V^i^^ 
 
 ■.:;:*'^^ifca«IA 
 
 ■3i.il *&!''& 50. if 
 
 %-\;fcal^. v^SV/il«4 
 
 its 1^17$ 
 ,«.fesii:>'JvJ,^'»j^ii»j«^>dj4 'i^f_ lie- ^,^^'i'id- \i,-h? Ki. ,.«[ rt.5 !.,(, 
 
 CHAPTER XVL ^^^^^ 
 
 . "^ V HOW IKS PBOPOSKD. 
 
 «t 'T^HE yalley of the shadow of death I *■ Im'-. 
 
 ■^ shadow all falls on this side — or f\t-\^^„ 
 left. There is no shade there — our lo . 1 oii'^s 
 bask in light. The sun which brightens t.. j bky, 
 sifting through the tree-boughj, makes light and 
 shadow, yet it all is light. We speak of God'a 
 goodness and severity. It is all called biit good- 
 ness on the other shore. Falling through earthly 
 medium, his tender love takes shades of dark- 
 ness, but its heart is always radiant. Blessed are 
 they who *' abide under the shadow of the 
 Almighty." 
 
 But 1 how dark, how deeply dark, how mys- 
 teriously dark, was this afttiotion to Widow 
 
 267 
 
 ■HP 
 
r-»' 
 
 "liW,':l|i 
 
 i i lf W ■ 
 
 
 
 
 in 
 
 
 L^raA 
 
 268 
 
 OUB BTBliEST. 
 
 Graf ham. "Take that young life and leave this 
 old shattered hulk I" Bhe Mid. AH Becky's 
 letters said, "Look up, mother 1 look upl" and 
 she tried to follow her advice. But the skies 
 were black with clouds, or her eyes were blinded 
 with tears, and life was very burdensome. Yet 
 she had to live. She did not doubt God's good- 
 ness, but the heavy weight would not off her 
 heart. Would it ever lift? She did her duty by 
 the children -indeed, she Uved in them, and so 
 a few years passed by. -; r 
 
 Then dear old Granny Thorpe passed away. 
 Beulah took Hepzy's place as under nurse, whik 
 Hepzy took a higher place in the same famUy she 
 had served so faithfully. 
 
 Poor old Ezekiels died, too — rum-killed. His 
 wife stUl worked hwtl to keep her brood together, 
 but with greater comfort than in other days, for 
 she had tested the "rest" preached to her by 
 Uttle Bry years ago.^'->"> *>«?^'- -•-•<" ---» ,,.- 
 ^ As for Ike Hob8on,he stiU clung to the Har- 
 greaves' fwm, but he was getting -restless. Bry 
 
 ■p^it^sni^m^- 
 
 :«y««gf« ^J9J l «! l"! «i 'il' i'« ! '^" j ' 'a ^W^W ' W *" " **"*" 
 
aow IKE PROPOSED. 
 
 269 
 
 9 and leave this 
 All Becky's 
 look upl" and 
 . But the skies 
 yes were blinded 
 lurdensome. Yet 
 )ubt God's good- 
 rould not off her 
 » did her duty by 
 I in them, and so 
 
 rpe passed wnj, 
 inder nurse, whilfl 
 e same &imily she 
 
 — rum-killed. His 
 
 ier brood together, 
 
 in other days, for 
 
 reached to her by 
 
 S-ifcf^J- . --^ 
 
 1 clung to the Har- 
 tting restless. Bry 
 
 said, and perhaps she was right, " that there was 
 something inside of Ike bigger than be could get 
 out, but it must come some day, or kill him." 
 
 He studied every spare moment. Night after 
 night found him absorbed, and always 'n books of 
 weight. Now that he had really no one but him« 
 self for whom to provide, he bought books with 
 his earnings, books without expensive bindings, 
 but with solid teachings, among which books on 
 physiology and anatomy were predominant. 
 
 Meanwhile his admiration cf Juniper had 
 grown, powerful. She was the same sweet, erratic 
 June as of old. A little more womanly and 
 dig^fif^d by spells, always charmingly naive. 
 It was fully decided at last (since Mrs. Hargreave 
 gained strength daily) that June should attend a 
 seminary for several years; and Ike, knowing 
 this, trembled at thought of his loss, rejoiced 
 at the thought of her gain. ^^^^ 
 
 There had been a baby boy added to the in- 
 habitants of the house, a boy " resembling Pop- 
 sydil," June said, which fact, of course, seomed 
 
 ! j .j» J rt<W ti i fai W W^ 
 
mmmfr 
 
 ■ 
 
 260 
 
 OUB 8TBBBT. .n.t 
 
 him a large place in her favor, and exalted hit 
 mother also, unconsoiouHly. Jvine went so far a« 
 to pat her cheek, Boraetiraes, and to »ay very — 
 very occasionally, "Mamma Maria." 
 
 Mr. Hargreave'9 nephew, Harold Hargreave, 
 had been visiting the family during the fall. He 
 was a tall, handsome, well-developed young man, 
 and after Ike discovered that Miss June admired 
 his figure so mucli, a strong desire to grow big 
 toolc possession of him. Indeed, he mutt grow 
 big, and quite decided he should. How? T|»t 
 was the question he tried to solve. 
 
 Ike was but a boy yet, and after long delib- 
 eration he hit upon a plan. Daily, now, when 
 quite sure he had the barn to himself, he hung 
 by his hands from a beam, then, catching his feet 
 under an arrangement below, with a sudden up- 
 ward spring caught by two hand-rests arranged 
 above the beam, thereby giving himself a good 
 St otching. This exercise was alternated with 
 that of catching his feet on the beam and his 
 hands below. If Ike had been preparing hin^- 
 
 iirj.ffi'' VU.>' 
 
 -.^««i^ 
 
 ■ifaB***^*"!** 
 
 SHLL J-U'lU'H' l J i liaxWt'I ^ it' l ''"''''' " "-Ji*"'"""" 
 
and exalted hia 
 B went so far as 
 1 to Bay very — 
 ria." 
 
 ,rold Hargreave, 
 Ing the fall. He 
 >ped young man, 
 isB June admired 
 sire to grow big 
 i, he mtut grow 
 d. How? Ti»t 
 ►Ive. 
 
 after long delib- 
 Daily, now, when 
 I himself, he hung 
 , catching his feet 
 vith a sudden up- 
 tud-rests arranged 
 ig himself a good 
 9 alternated with 
 :;he beam and his 
 sn preparing him- 
 
 HOW KB PROPOSED. 
 
 self for a public circus actor he could hardly 
 have practised more sedulously. He measured 
 himself, often, by a notch in the wall of his room, 
 and fancied he gained a little. 
 
 One morning Ike had just got safely swung, 
 head downward, when Miss June suddenly pre- 
 sented herself. 
 
 " Isaac Paul Hobson, what are you doing I " 
 she cried. " Are you preparing yourself for the 
 circus ? You'll run off every grain of sense you 
 possess at the ends of your hair!" 
 
 And Isaac Paul suddenly gained his feet, with 
 a face all of whose color was not induced by his 
 exercise. 
 
 He had nothing to say for himself, so June 
 proceeded; ^ 
 
 ♦'What were you doittgtWKJ«?gf££'yxfi^p«: .l>«a 
 
 "Stretching myself." ^tsi^f^ uw? 
 
 " Stretching yourself I Well, I should think so ! 
 I suppose this is another specimen of your stretch- 
 ing," producing a book. " Aunt Myra found this 
 while hunting for eggs this morning. I thought 
 perhaps you'd know who owned it." 
 
 WiW 
 
•x/*. 
 
 Momaas^: 
 
 262 
 
 0T7B STBKBT. 
 
 Indeed, Ike did know. It was his own prec- 
 ious property. He put out his hand eagerly, 
 
 "I've examined it," said June, "and it's full of 
 horrible skeletons. I really think, Ike, you must 
 be ruober, or all your stretching would ruin 
 
 you. 
 
 She loved to tease him a little. If her words 
 left any sting now it was swept away when shortly 
 afterward he overheard her warm defense of him 
 to Aunt Myra. ' " ' 
 
 " It is no use, auntie. God doesn't make the 
 distinctions we do. He may see that Ike is fitted 
 
 ' for such studies. Station has little to do with 
 brains, and Ike has enough brains for a couple of 
 such small chaps. Thought is like yeast —he'll 
 rise yet. If it had been gunpowder he'd have 
 been blown up long ago. 
 
 Yet Miss Juniper's theory and practice did not 
 always agree. 
 
 - The winter had opened with quite a round of 
 gayety. June, largely relieved frota household 
 
 ' cares, as Aunt Myra had taken up her abode in 
 
 i j jiiB Jl f i 'ai ' -*uw <* r 
 
as his own preo- 
 3 hand eagerly. 
 , '^and it's full of 
 ik, Ike, you must 
 liing would ruin 
 
 le. If her words 
 iway when shortly 
 m defense of him 
 
 doesn't make the 
 ) that Ike is fitted 
 
 little to do with 
 ins for a couple of 
 
 like yeast — he'll 
 powder he'd have 
 
 i practice did not 
 
 I quite a rouad of 
 sd frota household 
 1 up her abode in 
 
 pnppp 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 n i W l l i! rt >« 
 
 HOW 1KB PROPOSED. 
 
 263 
 
 the farm-house since the new advent, attended 
 several parties, more to please her father than 
 
 herself. '* -ht-s:-'^ '.stftstf: f^r^i*' -It^ hk,^^r^'-..,-^ „,.:}>. "■• 
 
 " They're so namby-pamby," she said secretly, 
 to Ike. "I hate stiff, starchy ways, and loose 
 silly ways ; I fear I wasn't made of party stuff." 
 
 Mr. Hargreave himself accompanied his daugh- 
 ter to one of these entertainments, a young gen- 
 tleman the next time, while again she ordered Ike 
 to drive her, on the nest occasion, to the gather- 
 ing, and asked him to see her home. .> \ 
 
 "Don't bring the horse, Ike; put hun up," she 
 said, in her little dictatory way. "I want to 
 walk when I'm so heated. It gives me the chills 
 to ride. Come early ; I want to cut the evemug 
 short. I'm determined uot to like these things." 
 
 She stood before him in her party dress as she 
 ppoke, the very embodiment of loveliness. He 
 doubted if her equal would be there that night, 
 and almost longed to be present and witness her 
 supremacy. \ ' ' ; "" " ■'"''- 
 
 a; -When he called for her, Bome hours later, he 
 
264 
 
 ■W<?HW^!ff?WS!f" 
 
 ,T,u 9V» STREET. Jiffi; 
 
 vra» ushered into a little room &om whicb he 
 caught .a glimpse of the gaj throng. A hand- 
 some face was bending close to June's, a face 
 moustached, and flushed with admiration. Ike 
 felt a strange thrill at his heart as he looked 
 
 She came immediately on hearing he had 
 arrived, the moustached gentleman still beside 
 her. In vain ho urged lus company upon her, 
 however. She had an escort, she laughingly 
 declared, apparently unconscious of the look of 
 vexation and scorn that passed over the gentle- 
 man's face as he took in at a glance Ike's hum- 
 ble appearance. .,^1 ^svv#-:^*/fr :.-.-i;istu'4w- ?♦*«■?? 
 
 " Why should you be dependant on a servant 
 when a gentleman offers you his escort?" he 
 said, in a tone that reached Ike's sharp ears. 
 
 "I think that is the title you assumed but a 
 few moments since, ' My humble servant,' did you 
 not?" laughed June. "There is small choice iu 
 servants, only I prefer one tried and true. Good 
 evening, Mr. Evans." ;^^ i,,. .^ f^i^. :. *.,.-• p^tr^'o-j 
 
 ■:m^.. 
 
 iiiiiiBifflii i 'n i M W* *"*''*'' '* 
 
 I 'irt i l tn iiii ' 
 
 ■ » i il li. » W Jl l i l .J <M 
 
b\-. aMta 
 
 m 
 
 ' Y' '"^r ''■''w'.^ir-'it/K 'T^T's^^y^^^y 
 
 wmm 
 
 from whicb he 
 hrong. A hand- 
 to June's, a face 
 admiration. Ike 
 rt as he looked 
 
 hearing he had 
 man still beside 
 npany upon her, 
 , she laughingly 
 s of the look of 
 over the gentle- 
 glance Ike's hum- 
 
 ant on a servant 
 his escort?" he 
 e's sharp ears, ft 
 1 assumed but a 
 servant,' did yon 
 s small choice in 
 and true. Good 
 
 HOW 1KB PBOPOSED. 
 
 265 
 
 tii Ike smiled, and, strange he should, referred to 
 it as they walked home. ''ii|f^*#--r%-'-»;»#!«;i'?'-- 
 
 f>c "'Most any young lady would have chosen 
 such an escort," he said. >^**^ (.iicitw^*^?.AiMt^ 
 
 fiv " I'm not ♦ 'most any young lady,' I'm myself,'* 
 she said, half pettishly. " How I hate that fel- 
 low's silly talk." W^'-: x:-.i}iiMXij:-t;.umt: *w«-v* /;a4<« ,j _ 
 ei Then, somehow or other, he never could tell 
 how, Ike spoke of his love to her. He had 
 fully intended to do this sometime, not that 
 he felt sure of its warm reception, but that he 
 wished to confess his passion, j •■' *■ 
 
 ; His words were bold and strong, though they 
 were not many. They were just the ventage of 
 his heart. They would not have been uttered 
 then had not his heart been too full to hold 
 them. ■,.--m<i^mj- ^ ' ■ ;';«!« 
 
 " Ike ! " The little lady stopped in her amaze- 
 ment and drew her hand from his arm, where it 
 had lain. " Ike " — her voice full of concern — 
 "I hope this has not come of reading that yellow- 
 covered book I saw you devouring the other day ? 
 
 tt mmHA t ii^JU m 
 
266 
 
 .,C.l'i'-OUB BTBEBT. 
 
 Those silly novels ore not fit for any sensible 
 person to read, and they are full of nonsense 
 about boys falling in love with their masters' 
 daughters. Don't read them, Ikey, they'U spoil 
 
 you. 
 
 ^M ,):Ta>v-«m»">;«t Ajftj^ftw^i*^' it»4aSM&^: 
 
 She resumed her walk and his arm as she 
 
 .Bpoke. 
 
 • /;•// Art.f 7r--- 1 
 
 ^\i'^. i'uk'ii'i*^, 
 
 "I never read one in my life I"* -"^^t^f' *. ^'^ 
 
 " Didn't you ? Then where did you get such a 
 notion I You know I couldn't possibly ma y 
 you I It ain't to be expected, our circumstances 
 and educations are so difierent." «^^ ^f Jt -» ?« 
 
 Marry him! The words startled Ike. He had 
 not dreamed of that '^^^"v- -r-^ ...^..^.Mt;»..-r..,.-.- 
 
 " I didn't ask you to marry me, Miss June," he 
 „ , quickly. 
 
 "Weil —but — of course you meant it. That 
 is what it amounts to, isn't it?" -» -*■ 
 
 " I don't know. I wished to confess, that's all. 
 I did not ask or expect your love in return. 
 Love is spontaneous. I wanted you to know you 
 
 mine. 
 
 :f,-i:i\^ni'x-.miti:'t 
 
 !w»MM» 
 
 iMjiii»l'liiliim«ii.'J.i'il'"»i' 
 
mmK^mfmrn'^mmimm 
 
 for any sensible 
 
 fall of nonsense 
 
 bli their musters' 
 
 key, they'll spoil 
 
 his arm as she 
 
 HOW IKU PROPOSED. 
 
 m 
 
 Ql 
 
 !»♦ 
 
 'U,i-iti ,i. 
 
 uf. 
 
 id you get such a 
 't possibly ma y 
 Dur circumstances 
 
 iled Ike. He had 
 
 le, Miss June," he 
 
 u meant it. That 
 
 confess, that's all. 
 ar love in return. 
 I you to know you 
 
 jV ** Whut a furuy fellow you are I what a provok- 
 ing fcUow 1 Tell a girl you love her, but dou't 
 wish her love in return! I dou't know of any 
 other youug^- man who would do such a thing, who 
 would even * confess,' as you call it, under your 
 circumstances." ''ks^- -life^ 'vM H'limii^m- ?sn&'" ' 
 
 " I didn't say I did not wish for your love ; and. 
 Miss June, 1 am not * any other young man.' I 
 am myself." ■'■smirMi::w^^'''iHu'-i:^stM<'^^-' ':-' 
 ' Ike had no idea of playing on June's late 
 words, but she recognized them and laughed. 
 
 " Well, Ike, you are a good boy. I admire you 
 very much," she said. " I don't really love you 
 
 — not that way, you know ; and I'm sorrv — no, 
 perhaps I am not reaUj' sorry, but I ought o be 
 
 — that yon love me so much. But you'll irget 
 it as you grow older. You're nothing but u boy 
 
 now. 
 
 .a^avVAsi »■;!( 
 
 Then tliey walked on in silence,? •^"» -' 
 "Ihave not hurt yo'jr feelings, Ike? ^ jn't 
 want to, but I had to speak the truth," sa. sum, 
 almost timidly, as they halted at the dooc. :| . 
 
268 
 
 OUB STBEBT. 
 
 ♦'0 no! you have not hurt me. I knew how ,f-^ 
 you would receive it, and I would rather have the f j 
 truth always. Thank you, Miss June, and God : 
 ■bless you." -:;'.:v.:,;,: .., ■?- -^ 
 
 And Ike opened the door and held it for her to 
 pass in. ■• ' •" ' ':--^-- '■>■.-■ ■■'ri-;;:. j- 
 
 Her father discovered tears in her eyes as she 
 clasped his neck a moment after. 
 
 "What is the matter with my bird? Is she 
 sick?" _ ' ' ■ " 
 
 , «»No, Popsydil, but I have enough of parties. 
 Please don't make me go again. The boys are all.: 
 fools, and think one girl can marry half of them. » 
 Why can't masculines have a little sense, I won- 
 der?" and then she laid her head on his bosom 
 and sobbed well. 
 
 " Now," she said, when it was over, " I feel 
 
 better. The hateful had to come out, or I'd 
 
 have had the small-pox. Popsydil, you and I will 
 
 forswear company hereafter, and have a little 
 
 • 9Q9^ort together.'" -^ 
 
 *t^ \ "■' ' r .. '■:' - '■ ■ ■';•■" ■' 
 
m 
 
 m 
 
 B. I knew how 
 
 L rather have the 
 
 June, and God 
 
 leld it for her to 
 
 ,■" n 6.'. ■ * ■■ - 
 
 her eyes as she 
 
 er. '^-'fe'5^ 
 
 ay bird? Is she 
 
 tough of parties. 
 The boys are all 
 rry half of them, 
 ttle sense, I won- 
 lad on his bosom 
 
 as over, "I feel 
 come out, or I'd 
 lil, you and I will 
 ad have a little 
 
 &r 
 
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 mk 
 
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 i'S^rei'W w!0 
 
 mm 
 
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 JBTTT m NBED OF MED'onsm. 
 
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 '.r/if 'Mim hUiivffX ban rtt -^-//"^n^i- >.'j«<rv xwi 
 
 .xi: 8>}*q 
 CHAPTER XVII. ^ «M I^h^kIs 
 
 NOT many months after the occurrence of the 
 last chapter, Ike left tb r^m- house. 
 Great was June's dismay when first heard of 
 
 his purpose. • "yammX'stm-(iM 
 
 "Why, Tee, what will father do without you? 
 I trust I have not caused this change," she added 
 sorrowfully. • ^■ 
 
 *' No, Miss June. I have something to do in 
 the world, and it is time I was about it." 
 
 He spoke strongly, certainly, as a man who has 
 made his decisions, and does not fear his strength 
 to follow them. June wondered, but it was not 
 
 269 
 
270 
 
 OtJB STEBET. 
 
 the first time that she had cause to wouder at him 
 lately, for he had changed strangely. .;yu /rma^i 
 His love had metamorphosed him, hopeless as it 
 sec aed. He grew larger in every way. The 
 divine pass'on had seized him, deigned to dwell 
 in him. This was a marvel. That eho had refused 
 him .7aB no marvel, however. He knew she 
 would, quite counted on it; would have been 
 dlmppointed in her if she had not, and considered 
 her less than he had always esteemed her. M 
 Of course she would refuse him, out of respect 
 to her own great womt-nliness and wondrous 
 refinement; but then, he wished to confess, just 
 the same. He would be a man, like other men, 
 and utter words of love as fearlessly, though 
 knowing they must meet rejection. He knftw 
 they would not meet scorn ; he had measured her 
 , soul with line and plumb, and was not mistaken. 
 He coul I bear cheerfully, nay, triumphantly, his 
 rebuff, since it proved his ability to judge such 
 character. It was right she should W-J "No," 
 
 but— 
 
 j; '«fhi'*% .it&i 
 
 jiiiujji'iliitiiiii i i i iiii ii iiiitii i i' i f " ""~ 
 

 wonder at him 
 igely. m/n^ii^i 
 iin, hopeless as it 
 ory way. The 
 ieigJied to dwell 
 it Hho had refused 
 He knew she 
 ould have been 
 t, and considered 
 ! teemed her*»* » ■■''•' 
 n, out of respect 
 J and wondrous 
 i to confess, just 
 1, like other men, 
 earlessly, though 
 ction. He knew 
 bad measured her 
 ^as not mistaken, 
 triumphantly, his 
 ity to judge such 
 hould pay "No," 
 
 »t: .'^fH'*'^ i^t'^ 
 
 ^PWMpp 
 
 JETTY IN NBED OF MED'CINS. 
 
 271 
 
 ' He never filled ont that but. It was left a dim, 
 misty, and therefore alluring rainbow, lifting him 
 up to vondrouH undertakings, developing, like 
 magic, his many capabilities. 5S*r&:BH rfijiift^^*^ 
 
 '■■ Ike was a winter apple at best, developing 
 slowly. Perhaps, for that reason, he was better 
 able to bear the disappointments and blights of 
 time. Ht would never be very large, but old 
 Granny Thorpe used to say, " Ike has mighty 
 in'ards; his bow'ls of mercy never fail." This 
 because of his wonderful and repeated kindnesses 
 to doleful Jetty Blake, who always returned 
 them with vituperation and abuse, but to find, in 
 her next emergency, his aid as ready. *>•'« ^ - 
 No, Ike was not large physically, neither veiy 
 handsome. The deep-set blue eyes were dark and 
 bright, but not large, his features by no means 
 regular. Yet he could not be homely. Tapper 
 is right: .^w.-x^i..'*-. .;..i.,.:^.,.v.*,» ,. ■ ;4. ^ 
 
 '*' "The mind fashioneth i tabernacle suitable for itself." 
 And the great taoughts and feelings which stirred 
 the breast of Ike Hobsou wrought themiielves out 
 
 
272 OUB BTUBKC. 
 
 in tender smiles, cheery glances, and encouraging 
 words, that wonderfully tranuformed his plainness. 
 When Ike left Mr, Hargre e's he sought the 
 room lately occupied by his grandmother, but on 
 the way thither ho dropped into Dr. Fosby's 
 
 office. .. . ., 'x ...... s - i^^ii 
 
 This ruddy-faced youth, with plain but whole, 
 well-fitting garments, and a modest, yet manly 
 assurance of himself, but little resembled the 
 small urchin to whom the doctor offered a situa- 
 tion years ago. They had met often since at 
 Bryony's, and the good physician greeted him 
 heartily. / ^ ,, . ,, / 
 
 "Well, young man, what do you want?" he 
 said, smiling, as r:8 seated himself. , ^ 
 
 *'A situation," was the prompt reply. "lam 
 ready to accept your long-ago offer now, Dr. 
 Fosoy." , - ^.. . ' .; j.-^,-..>„ 
 
 " You are, hey ? Then I am to suppose you 
 have made your fortune, or, at least, secured a 
 competence ? " retorted the doctor, laughing. 
 
 " I have my hands and brains, and no person 
 dependent on me for support," was the reply.' 
 
and encouraging 
 ned hia plainness. 
 I's he sought the 
 ndmother, but on 
 nto Dr. Fosby's 
 
 plain but whole, 
 lodest, yet inanly 
 le resembled the 
 >r offered a situa- 
 et often since at 
 cian greeted him 
 
 you want?" he 
 mself. , t 
 ipt reply. " I am 
 [o offer now, Dr. 
 
 m to suppose you 
 it least, secured a 
 ctor, laughing. 
 US, and no person 
 •' was the reply. 
 
 . * 
 
 ait^ici.^ i.<%t^ ^^*M/s. 
 
 JETTY IN JTEED OF MKD'CINE. 
 
 278 
 
 " And consider that good stock in trade ? Well 
 sir, I hope you have more sense and brains than 
 some who have wished to fill this oflBce, or you 
 and I will both be soon sick of pur bargain. 
 When are you ready to begin?" 
 
 " To-day, if it suits you, sir." 
 
 The old gentleman laughed. 
 
 *' Good 1 " he said. " Come, now," pointing tS 
 a row of books on a shelf before him, "hand me 
 one of them* and let me see how much vou 
 
 4i 
 
 know 
 
 „ » ?<o3'io imi hfM 
 
 "d'f 
 
 
 Ike obeyed instantly, his keen eyes taking ill 
 the titles of the several volumes, but Dr. Fosby 
 had failed to trap him as he expected. 
 
 " Ah, BUT, I see you've been at it already. I 
 guess you'll do. Yes, I think you'll do — got it 
 in you. But how are you going to keep your- 
 self?" . , ^ 
 
 "I'll manage, su", if you'll onljr give mb ti 
 chance to try." 
 
 Ihe good gentleman rubbed his fiat hanib 
 
 together, enthusiastically. 
 
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 itii 
 
 OUB STBEBT. 
 
 "I'll be bound you wiUI Yes, you'll suit. 
 Well, be off with you now, I'm too busy to begin 
 to-day. Drop around to-morrow, and I'll set you 
 at work." 
 
 That night, in his humble quarters, Ike was 
 disturbed over his book by a rap at his door. 
 In answer to his " come in " the door opened, and 
 Jetty Blake presented herself. Hearing of Ike's 
 coming home iiom a friend whom she was visiting, 
 she had called to see him, and now stood, half 
 blushing, before him. 
 
 She had grown as tall as Ike himself. The 
 years had improved her appearance, and with her 
 becoming attire, and half timid air, she looked 
 very pretty. She had been told this dozens of 
 times by scores of frivolous young men, and it 
 always pleased her vanity, but not half as much 
 as Ike's hearty " Why, Jetty, how nice you look," 
 as he rose to greet her. - , .-, , „^.- ,,.^„« 
 
 He had not seen her in a long time, but they 
 had always been very free with each other. It 
 seemed nothing very strange to him that she 
 
JETTY IN KEED OP MED'OINB. 
 
 275 
 
 Yes, youll suit, 
 too busy to begin 
 nr, and I'll set you 
 
 quarters, Ike was 
 , rap at his door. 
 I door opened, and 
 Hearing of Ike's 
 m she was visiting, 
 id now stood, half 
 
 Ike himself. The 
 ance, and with her 
 id air, she looked 
 rold this dozens of 
 ^oung men, and it 
 :. not half as much 
 low nice you look," 
 . ■ '^~,-,'---^-- ..-,-.« 
 ong time, but they 
 ith each other. It 
 ) to him that she 
 
 should come to the old room, and he asked her 
 to sit down. She did not comply with his request, 
 however^ but stood looking at him still through 
 her fringing lashes. 
 
 " Up to the same old business, Ike. How is it 
 you love books so?" 
 
 " I don't know how it is," he answered, smil- 
 ing, " but I am glad it is. I was looking over a 
 few old studies, as I expect to enter Dr. Fosby's 
 office to-morrow." 
 
 "Old studies?" Jetty approached the table, 
 and glanced over his page. "That isn't one of 
 the old books we studied together. Do you know, 
 Ike, I'd a'most be willing to study 'em over again 
 — much as I hate 'em — to have the old 
 days back, when we were so much together." 
 
 " We ought to progress. It wouldn't be pleas- 
 ant for either of us to be just there again," he 
 said, musingly. "But I would like dear old 
 grandmother's face to smile on me," glancing 
 about the room. " Perhaps you forget. Jetty, that 
 those days were sometimes hungry and cold, and 
 that you didn't wear such nice clothes." 
 
mmm 
 
 276 
 
 OUB sxBBxrr. 
 
 "Nice clothes 1 What are they?" she cried, 
 indignantly. " I'd give 'em up willing for rags 
 to hear you call me Jetty, as you used to, and 
 talk so good like. I was awful actin' in them 
 days, Ike, but I aUers thought lots of you, and 
 now you're goin' to be a doctor, I s'pose, and git 
 'way off from me. O, Ike, if you only would 
 take me, I'd try hard to learn somethin', and not 
 disgrace you. They all teU me I'm handsome, 
 Ike, but I know you don't see like other folks. 
 I have tried hard to dress nice and neat, as you'd 
 like. I'd be willin' to do 'most anythin' to please . 
 you, and I know I'd make you happy." 
 
 This was a trying situation for our Ike. The 
 girl was looking at him beseechingly out of her , 
 shining black eyes, her hands playing nervously,, 
 with the fringes of her shawl. Ike had never 
 seen her look so well, never so subdued and 
 quiet, yet the thrill in her voice betrayed her 
 earnestness, and it pained him to refuse her. . 
 But there was nothing else to do. v c,k- i i 
 
 " Jetty, you make a mistake," he said, gently. 
 
 m. 
 
 ■ n nKBt m. Ill ju wu-M-ft u iiUMin M m m 
 
■■ST^'fT. 
 
 ley?" she cried, 
 willing for rags 
 ^ou used to, and 
 I actin' in them 
 lots of you, and 
 , I s'pose, and git 
 you only would 
 •methin', and not 
 ) I'm handsome, 
 like other folks, 
 ad neat, as you'd 
 mythin' to please 
 I happy." 
 for our Ike. The 
 hingly out of her 
 )laying nervously 
 . Ike had never 
 so subdued and 
 ice betrayed her 
 a to refuse her. 
 
 do. ;,; „ v-VK' ; - 
 
 " he said, gently. 
 
 mtk 
 
 (Si ^awMJtfti ' .y.B j g gaS^iaiiw 
 
 JBTTT DT NEED OF MBD'CINB. 
 
 277 
 
 " You unduly exalt old memories and forget 
 yourself. You know we never agreed for more 
 than ten minut'-i at a time, and I fear we have 
 not grown more together since our lives parted." 
 " But I can grow like you and I will," she said, 
 vehemently. "Don't send me away." 
 
 She approached him, and laid oue hand on his 
 arm. He removed it kindly but firmly : 
 
 "No, Jetty, you must not be deceived. We 
 can never be other than friends. I respect yon 
 too much to accept your offer. I could not give 
 you love enough to satisfy your heart." 
 
 "Yes, you could," she interrupted eagerly.' 
 " I don't ask anything but the right to be with 
 you. O, Ike" — reading his determination in his-c 
 eye — "don't send me away!" * * ^ 
 
 "I must — and now," he answered, gravely. ' 
 "I do not love you — never could. You cannot - 
 be my wife. I am sorry for all this, but do not' ' 
 fear. My lips shall never repeat even a part of ' 
 this night's history. Let us forget it has been. ^ 
 I pray you nay some day find you were mistakea 
 in yourself." ^ . 
 
OUE STBIBBI. 
 
 He walked to the door as he spoke, detennined 
 
 to leave the house uutU she should depart; but 
 
 she sprang between him ard the door. : 
 
 "You don't think I'm good enough for youl" 
 
 she cried, angrily. "No one but that Uttle red- 
 
 haired miss will suit a gentleman like you 1 O, I 
 
 know your secret, don't I, though 1 You think 
 
 she'll have you if you make a doctor of yourself, 
 
 but she doesn't love like I do. She wouldn^t 
 
 wait for you all these years." 
 
 Ike's face was pale to sternness, yet tisj^wce 
 retained its tender pity. 
 
 "Jetty, will it make you happier to know she 
 doesn't love me, that I do not expect her to wait 
 for me ? I cannot throw away my life, knowing 
 this, however. I am accountable, for my talents 
 and actions, to a higher than human power. It 
 is useless to talk longer. God help you. Jetty. 
 He is able. God help you to live a noble life, the 
 better because of this disappointment. In Christ 
 Jesus pain is gain," and he gently put her aside, 
 and, opening the door, passed out and down to 
 the street. 
 
Hrfl£StM5iMSat5M 
 
 poke, determined 
 )uld depart; but 
 e door. 
 
 nough for youl" 
 It that little red- 
 a like you 1 O, I 
 iighl You think 
 loctor of yoiirself; 
 ». She wouldn't 
 
 less, yet his voice 
 
 ppier to know she 
 expect her to wait 
 r my life, knowing 
 ble, for my talents 
 human power. It 
 d help you. Jetty, 
 live a noble life, the 
 ntment. In Christ 
 ently put her aside, 
 . out and down to 
 
 J j e rr y in nbkd of med*oinb. 
 
 279 
 
 The girl threw herself across the bed and 
 groaned. She sat up and pressed her hands to 
 her face. Presently she arose, and went slowly 
 down over the stairs, and out into the cool night 
 air. She felt dazed and faint, and she felt needy, 
 too. She yearned for sympathy and knew not 
 where to find it. 
 
 "Mother wouldn't care. I can't tell her and 
 have her laugh at me," she said, as she stood upon 
 the sidewalk and looked bitterly about her. 
 "What's the odds? what need I care what 
 becomes of me I 
 
 O, how fraught with danger was that hourl 
 The light from Bryony's window fell across the 
 road invitingly. "Go over there 1" whispered 
 her good angel. 
 
 " I'm a-mind to. I would if I was sure Dick 
 wasn't in. What if he is in? I can face it out, 
 but— but I feel so, and she was allers so different 
 
 from most." 
 
 A minute after a face peeped into Bryony's 
 
 room. , 
 
 -.jt ».^ :_. .^j^ w 'v' I .jf i 
 
 "--.'.^ 4-e iJi-lJl 
 
 
w. 
 
 ,;$." 
 
 OUB BTSBBT. 
 
 "Are you alone?" " ' -f « 
 
 " Yes, Jetty ; come in." 
 
 The girl went in and sat down by the stove. 
 She did not look at Bry, she did not speak; but 
 there was something unusual on her downcast 
 
 face. 
 
 Bry regarded her a few minutes silently, then, 
 as if wishing for something to say, she remarked 
 on the girl's new dress. 
 
 «lt is very pretty. Did EUice make it?" 
 
 '* Yes; and it's becoming, they says, but what 
 
 do I care? O, Bryony, I'm about ready to give 
 
 up. I wish I was dead, I do 1 it's no sorter use 
 
 to Uve I " and she threw her hands up over her 
 
 head, .i - „?,t.;.;;v ^jtU ^^t-^fr s?;!~:: 
 
 Bry begged her to come and sit beside her, and 
 soon had coaxed out the whole story. She tried 
 to comfort the stricken girl, but Jetty refused to 
 
 be comforted.,'; --.p-i;j,/5:i •:iif,v.^^::v.,, ■-; , 
 
 "You don't know anything about it!" she 
 
 said. -■■" 'ii --t?a3 i; ■• ^- "■-;"■' *" 
 
 "No. But I know some one who does.'*^^^ 
 
 few«WSI»WS*« 
 
mum 
 
 j-'.'j" _';r.,f'^^; ', 
 
 '■7 \' 
 
 wn by the stove, 
 i not speak; but 
 »n her downcast 
 
 ites silently, then, 
 say, she remarked 
 
 lice make it?" 
 ey says, but what 
 30ut ready to give 
 it's no sorter use 
 iiands up over her 
 
 sit beside her, and 
 e story. She tried 
 it Jetty refused to 
 
 g about it!" she 
 
 me who does.'* 
 
 JBTTT nsr MBED Ol" MBD'OINIB. 
 
 281 
 
 ; vu 
 
 "Who?" /^' 
 
 ♦* Jesus.' 
 
 The girl's blacjc eyee flasjied up in great aston- 
 
 t'>.. ..-rrU i^-^i A-.-C.l IC^i -iU -Sf;.'"! 
 
 ishment. 
 
 " He never loved anyone that didn't love him ?" 
 she said, ftuestioningly. 
 
 " 'He came unto his own, and his own received 
 him not,' " quoted Bry, simply. ' ' 
 
 "01" with prolonged, intense, sympathetic 
 surprise. " Did he take it hard? " 
 
 "It killed him." " 
 
 " O, Bryony Perkins I I'm afeered that's % 
 whopper 1 He died on the cross I" ^ 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Bry, with assurance. " He 
 died on the cross, but not by the cross. It didn't 
 kill him. He was dying when they hung him 
 there, and he'd 'a' died just the same if they 
 hadn't. Don't you know he died sooner than the 
 two thieves, and sooner than anybody else ever 
 died on the cross, because he had a broken heart' 
 Mr. Gardenell said so." 
 
 Jetty listened with great, distended eyes» 
 
 ''■^yMM 
 
282 
 
 OTTB 8TBEET. 
 
 ^f~„.^ -Y 
 
 and faith unquestioniiig. "I'm sorry for lum," 
 
 she said. 
 
 "And he's sorry for you. I wish you'd let 
 him help you. He could do it better than anyone 
 else, and he wants to." - i.. . »- 
 
 »I don't know," said the girl disconsolately, 
 i» I'm afeered he'd soon tire of me. Then I don't 
 Bee how he could help me. I'm not speritual, 
 like mother. I can't communicate with sperits." 
 "But Jesus isn't a spirit," said the chUd, 
 wanrly. "He's just Je»u». Our Jems! who 
 made folks happy and well when he was here, and 
 can do it now if we'll let him. And 0, Jetty, 
 you're one of 'his own,' and if you don't let him 
 help you he'll feel as bad as everl" 
 
 The girl lifted her head at this, and shook it 
 
 mournfully. 
 
 *'I wouldn't like to make him feel worse, or 
 anything," she said, "but I don't know how to 
 take him. "I allers was stupid at learnin', and 
 I'm afeered I'm old to begin this, Howsumever, 
 I don't want to hurt, but I don't know how to 
 tell hun." , , ; a >•- 
 
Borry for Ixiin, 
 
 wish you'd let 
 jtter than anyone 
 
 irl disconsolately, 
 ae. Then I don't 
 'm not speritual, 
 ate with speritB." 
 " said the child. 
 
 Our Jetua! who 
 
 n he was here, and 
 
 m. And O, Jetty, 
 
 you don't let him 
 
 ever 1 " 
 this, and shook it 
 
 ♦ , ■ , ./;;,. . ..,, 
 
 him feel worse, or 
 lon't know how to 
 E)id at learnin', and 
 this, Howsumever, 
 don't know how to 
 
 JBTTT VS NBBO OF MBO'CINa. 
 
 288 
 
 "I'll tell him," cried Bry, joyfully, "and you 
 Mstsn and you'll learn how. It's easy, and so 
 nice ; and he'll always hear you, and A«'ll be a 
 husband to you. Jetty "—lowering her voice — 
 "I read it in my med'cine. A husband 1 just 
 think I and' he's better than anyone else 1 Now 
 kneel just here, close to my chair, where I can 
 touch you, and I will pray." -■ 
 
 Jetty got on her knees obediently, and laid her 
 head in the little lap. Two tiny hands were 
 clasped on it, and such a simple prayer went up ! 
 Jetty understood every word, and now and then 
 groaned an assent. "' * " 
 
 "That's amen, sure," she said when it was 
 done. " O Bryony, I wish I was good I I wish I 
 was like you, I do. I'd rather just die now 
 while I'm here, where he seems to hear me, than 
 git up and go out and fight it, for it'll all come 
 back, I know it Willi" •* -^^ , ■, ' - 
 
 "Yes, but hell be everywhere to help you 
 fight it, Jetty, and by and by it'll bring some 
 good, you see if it don't. He wanted you to get 
 something better than Ike." '"'' 
 
 'S 
 
 -■^ 'litttii ■ 
 
284 
 
 OXrtL BTBWI. 
 
 ('. 
 
 Jetty Blake walked away very slowly from 
 that house a little after. ■ ' >- - ■' " * 
 
 " ' Came unto hi« own, and his own received 
 him not I ' " she repeated. " That's just what I 
 did I He was allers mine, was Ike, allers mine 
 in my heart, but he didn't receive me. O, if I 
 was only sure the other would — he as was not 
 received — it 'ud be a comfort, sure 1" 
 
 And Bry said to herself: 
 
 " How many people there are who need med- 
 'cine. I wonder he didn't make 'em so as they 
 wouldn't have to take it!" 
 
 She opened her Bible. Her eyes met a familiar 
 verse, one she could read gUbly now, from oft 
 
 i^udpng : 
 
 •' All thing$ work together for good to them that 
 
 love God" 
 She read it now with peculiar emphasis: 
 *''All things,' med'cine and all. I s'pose we 
 wouldn't enjoy that world so much if we 
 hadn't bad things in this; and p'r'aps we would 
 not love him so well if we didn't need him to 
 
ery slowly from 
 
 his own received 
 'hat's juRt what I 
 , Ike, allers mine 
 eive me. O, if I 
 i — he as was not' 
 ;, Burel" 
 
 re who need med- 
 kke 'em so as they. 
 
 Byes met a familiar 
 
 bly now, from oft 
 
 t 
 
 r good to them thatt 
 
 liar emphasis: 
 i all. I s'pose we 
 so mudi if we 
 id p'r'aps we would 
 didn't ne«d him to 
 
 JKTTV IN UKBD OF MBD'CINB. 
 
 285 
 
 do things for us; and p'r'aps he loves us better 
 'cause there are some things he has to do for 
 us all the time. I love everybody better after 
 I've had to doctor 'em. Jetty's lots more 
 comfortable than Aa ever was ' fore in her 
 
 r vvf,«-' .■•■• •"=-"" 
 
 i^' 
 
 M 
 
 .4 
 
 'T 
 
 I 
 
0-J 
 
 .:XA. 
 
 «r; '■'('■"'?■ 
 
 \s,---i y-i. 
 
 CHAPTER XVm. 
 
 ITEXT COMES. 
 
 1 \ THEN Isaac Hobsou presented himself at Dr. 
 vV Fosby's office on the day appointed, it was 
 with a troubled, yet decided face. 
 
 "Just in timel That's right; a physician 
 should be prompt. Well, I think I am ready for 
 your company," was his greeting. 
 
 Hobson did not take the chair whirled towards 
 him, or lay down his hat, as the doctor's hand 
 indicated. He did say, in a disturbed way, how- 
 ever: ="•''■ ■'" "'' ■-^''-- '■ ■ -^ ■ 
 
 y " Dr. Fosby, I have changed my mind." 
 
 The good doctor looked more than surprised. 
 
 «Come. come," he said, jocosely. "You have 
 
 286 
 
 -..a 
 
sented himself at Dr. 
 lay appointed, it was 
 [ face. 
 
 right; a physician 
 think I am ready for 
 eeting. 
 
 hair whirled towards 
 as the doctor's hand 
 
 disturbed way, how- 
 aged my mind." 
 more than surprised, 
 jocosely. "You have 
 
 NBXT OOMES^ 
 
 picked up another old grandmother to support, 
 have you? That's like a clap of thunder — not 
 expected such a cool, clear day. You don't mean 
 it, Hobson ? I gave you credit for more grit. 
 You're not frightened out of your purpose, at the 
 very beginning, surely?" 
 
 «No, sir. Not out of my ultimate purpose of 
 becoming a physician. But"— he hesitated 
 painfully — "thanking you kindly sir, for your 
 interest in me, I beUeve it's my duty to leave this 
 
 .... . , . . _ -• -. ,. \ ■--.. » ,v;..v--.t ■ '* '^ 
 city. 
 
 "Do you realize bow difficult it will be for you 
 to acquire the knowledge you desire in a strange 
 community, without friends, position or wealth? " 
 "Yes, sir." - - } -■ ' -''.^•^;^^k- v T^rv 
 "You stiU feel you must go?" ^i. - 
 i-, "Yes, sir." ' - '*"' 
 
 « Well, well, this is strange. - You had no such 
 conviction when here yesterday?" 
 • "No, sir. Circumstances have arisen since 
 which lead to my decision." ^ ^^ ' 
 
 The gentleman looked troubled; more, an- 
 noyed. '^^• 
 
 m 
 
 ''f 
 
 4 
 I* 
 
 -r 
 I 
 
 4 
 
taaa OUB WSBJSBI. 
 
 «I cannot understand this," he said. "'Cir- 
 cumstances have arisen '-nonsense: I think, 
 young man, you owe me an explanation." , . 
 " Yes, sir, I do." Ike spoke quickly. " I only 
 hesitated because such an explanation involved 
 the feeUngs of another. I- 1 have discovered 
 that a young lady of my acquaintance, has an 
 uncommon regard for me-" again the youth 
 stammered and stopped short. .',xtf .'. •• ■ 
 The doctor laughed. ,> v;' i - '-^ ' 
 "Don't blush so, Hobson. I had such a mis- 
 fortune happen to myself, once, and, like yourself, 
 no doubt, rather exulted in the discovery. Well, 
 I suppose you consider it too hard times to 
 support a wife and learn a profession, too, and 
 think you can dispense with the latter rather 
 than the former, hey ? " .t Is i^n *S;^i^ r >;'- 
 
 « O, no, sir, you have mistaken entirely. I do 
 
 not love the young lady— never can." *h 'ku 
 
 " Then where is the objection to your remain- * 
 
 ing here? You are not supposed to know of the i 
 
 young lady's sentiment." ^«i <,»f ^ • i«^# '•'* 
 
he said. "'Cir- 
 nsense! I think, 
 Bxplanation." , i 
 quickly. "I only 
 jlanation involved 
 I have dincovered 
 luaintance. has an 
 • again the youth 
 
 I had such a mis- 
 I, and, like yourself, 
 B discovery. Well, 
 »o hard times to 
 profession, too, and 
 I the latter rather 
 
 aken entirely. I do 
 lever can." i , 
 ;ion to your remain- 
 Med to know of the 
 
 ' h'4 
 
 ;•;&!# ■'• 
 
 KXXT COMES. 
 
 "But — hut, sir, she acknowledged it to me." 
 
 •' Whey 1 " The doctor's whistle was surprised, 
 prolonged. " What a fix I Oflfered herself I If 
 ever a poor fellow was to be pitied I What did 
 you do? Put off an answer, hoping to rid 
 yourself of the lady and the city at the same 
 time?" '^^ 
 
 "No, sir. I refused to marry her." Ike's 
 face was crimson to the roots of his brown hair. 
 "There was nothing else to do, you know, sir. 
 I could not deceive her. I think, if I go away, 
 she will forget. She is young, sir." 
 
 Ike's tender, pitiful heart and manly courage 
 were both voiced in that one sentence. Dr. 
 Fosby recognized and respected them. He con- 
 tracted his brows and mused awhile. 
 
 " Merciless hoyden! " he said at last, irritably. 
 "Why should you exile yovirself, peril all your 
 interests, and when I begin to want you 1 It's a 
 shame ! Come I here's an idea. Why cant we 
 transport her to some other part of the globe? 
 I'd willingly pay her fare to California or the 
 
 I 
 
 
 ■f 
 
 i 
 
^ 
 
 OUB STEKET. 
 
 Fiji Islands, to relieve your conscience. No 
 doubt slie would go almost anywhere about this 
 
 time." ,^ ^ 
 
 "Yes, sir, but it's best that she should stay 
 here, where she's close to Bryony. Little Bry can 
 help her more than anyone else. If you 
 pleaBo, Dr. Fosby, I feel certain I am the one to 
 
 go!" 
 
 The doctor did not answer at once. He did 
 
 beckon the boy to a seat. 
 
 «I am thoroughly vexed 1" he said, presently. 
 " All my plans dashed in a moment. Here I was 
 indulging hopes of a son and successor. Well, 
 well! this is a world of disappointments, surely. 
 I see I am doomed to loneliness in my old 
 
 age!" - '■■ '■'■■"• '■ ■' , ' ' . 
 
 Then, as the doctor's eyes met Ike's sad face, 
 he suddenly realized that the heaviest blow had 
 
 not been aimed at himself. 
 
 "I'm a selfish old jackass!" he said. "lean 
 
 get along as I have, no doubt, but what about 
 you ? I can't let you go off hap-hazard, and never 
 
sxzx ooir^. 
 
 291 
 
 conscience. No 
 ^where about this 
 
 t she should stay 
 ly. Little Bry can 
 le else. If yo'i 
 in I am the one to 
 
 . at once. He did 
 
 • he said, presently, 
 oment. Here I was 
 td successor. Well, 
 ppoiutments, surely, 
 leliness in my old 
 
 met Ike's sad face, 
 ,e heaviest blow had 
 
 j!" he said. "lean 
 ubt, but what about 
 hap-hazard, and never 
 
 know what becomes of you. Let me see ; why, 
 of course 1 the very thing 1 why didn't I think of 
 it before? and Howard understands his business, 
 if ever a physician did. Come, cheer up. Hob- 
 son. L believe this thing wiU turn right side up 
 for you yet. Did you ever hear of Dr. David 
 Howard? No! well, you're not as old as I am, 
 yet, or so well acquainted with the medical 
 fraternity. He's no quack, let me inform you, 
 no twaddle. A king among men, master of his 
 craft. Few fools who wouldn't like to change 
 my hands for his. He owes me a debt, too, he 
 imagines, and one not easily discharged, which 
 oppresses his conscience. That will secure you a 
 welcome. How is it? Will you go? Germany's 
 not the worst place to study physic, but it takes 
 money to get there. Can you manage it, think 
 you?" ■ 
 
 " Yes, sir. I can get there somehow. I can 
 work my passage, and if it's best for me to go 
 there'll be an opening." 
 
 MYi^^m ttwt's Bryony, all over. Now how 
 
 ft 
 
 is 
 
 'i 
 
 <& 
 
292 o^ BTBffla?. 
 
 long before you could get ready to make a 
 
 u A half hour's notice will be enough any tune. 
 
 My trunk is packed, and there', only a good4,y to 
 
 my sisters and Bry." . 
 The doctor laughed. 
 .. YoaT. » brick. You'U suit Howrd thxou^ 
 
 .„d through. Thenh.-.»oIdb«h-.won«n- 
 h.ter. H.-U like you the better becu« youve 
 ™, from oue. 1 don't know now but he U con- 
 rider rm putting bun under b^ oblig.t.on|^ 
 i^teM of helping him to liquidate the old 
 debt, .nd I «nl Ifeel » pe»o"«l 1°". "^ 
 
 tainly." .-~t .v^f-v .; iH^ii- '3^^'?•-' 
 
 In 1.M ttam two w«iks Il»'» P-od-by. were 
 «ud, .nd be w« on 1.1. way to Germ«>y. Not 
 working hi. w.y. l«.w.ver. Dr.Fo.byh.d 
 preeented bin. with a to>ugb ticket, a- pocket- 
 
 . * ^r^r^Hr uid a suit of broadcloth, 
 book not quite empty, ana a bui 
 
 u There I don't go to thanking me, hke a Utile 
 rissyl" he sdd, characteristicUy, as Ike stam- 
 Jed and choked over his giftB. "I'll have to 
 
T 
 
 eady to make ft 
 
 enougli any time, 
 only a good-by to 
 
 t Howard throu^ 
 I bach — a woman- 
 ter because you've 
 now but he'U con- 
 - fresh obligations, 
 liquidate the old 
 personal loss, cei- 
 
 [ke's good-byt were 
 r to Germany. Not 
 t,„ Dr. Fosby had 
 igh ticket, a pocket- 
 a suit of broadcloth. 
 Jdng me, like a Utile 
 itically, as Ike stam- 
 giftB. "I'll have to 
 
 KSXT OOMXS. 
 
 298 
 
 take away all the credit for grit that I gave you 
 if you cave in this way. It isn't any obligation 
 at all. It rather makes me feel * comfortable,' as 
 Bry would say, to imagine I am fitting off a grown 
 son for his travels. Do well by yourself. Make 
 a thorough physician, and come back and fill my 
 old shoes. That's all the reward I want. There I 
 God bless youl" '■- '''■'' •"■"^' ' - ■■"'*^- '■'"•'' 
 
 Dr. Foaby's eyes looked very suspicious as ho 
 hurried up the wharf. * • ''i^ ■■ ■' f 
 
 " I really liked the little chap. Like as not it's 
 a good thing he's gone, or I'd have been as soft 
 as a woman over him in another fortnight. Per- 
 haps it's lucky Lizzie didn't leave me any chil- 
 dren, I'm such an old fool. I suppose little Bry 
 is crying Acr eyes red over his loss. Well, well, 
 he's a good boy, and Howard's not a bit too good 
 a teacher for him, if he is a prince among us." 
 
 One, two, three, the years went by, four, five, 
 six. Dick and Ellice have long since been mar- 
 ried, and Bry is aunt to several bright^yed 
 
 V 
 
 -"-"'■ f-^-l^-i^- ^■-■»" ■-■■ 
 
 . iii M i Wn i Mt #i' nn ^ 
 
*,^^,M^^*]ti^^Ul 
 
 294 
 
 OIJB 8TBKBT. 
 
 babes. Hephzibah has married, too, and removed 
 to a distant State with her husband. The 
 o<?ca8ional notes from Ike cease with her going, 
 and only a word or two, through Beulah, tells 
 Bry of his welfare. ' ' 
 
 Few changes have come to Widow Graf ham's 
 home. Her little grandchildren still grow up 
 about her, Kiddy still finds delight in serving 
 her. But on Our Street many changes are visible. 
 Old Kurse Adams is dead, and many of the shop- 
 keepers are changed, though Hudworth stUl is 
 
 there. 
 
 Wonderful things these years have brought 
 Bryony. Besides many visits from Rose Har- 
 greave and her little brother, have been occa- 
 Bional ones from June, still much away at school, 
 and- can you believe it?--she herself has visited 
 Mr. and Mrs. Gardenell. -'—'' ^'-'''''^ ^-*^ 
 
 It seemed too good to be true, the letter that 
 came directed to herself, begging her to accom- 
 pany them and their children on a visit to Mrs. 
 Gardenell's childhood's home. But it was true, 
 
too, and removed 
 
 husband. The 
 
 e with her going, 
 
 ugh Beulah, tells 
 
 Widow Grafham's 
 ren still grow up 
 delight in serving 
 changes are visible, 
 many of the shop- 
 Hudworth still is 
 ; ''.'■i ^.''' ,-i- >I.i.'.y,; 
 
 ars have brought 
 B from Rose Har- 
 p, have been occa- 
 ich away at school, 
 le herself has visited 
 
 true, the letter that 
 ging her to accom- 
 n on a visit to Mrs. 
 ). But it was true, 
 
 NEXT COMBS. 
 
 296 
 
 and a check covering the expenses accompanied 
 the letter. So ElUce kindly escorted her to the 
 place where Eddie Campbell was waiting to go 
 with her farther. 
 
 Such a summer! A summer at Valley Farm, 
 in the old red farm-house, surrounded by green 
 fields, and tree-chid hill-tops, and murmuring 
 streams, and, greatest joy, with her dear M?. and 
 
 Mrs. Gardenell. 
 
 Then there were the chUdren, happ7 and 
 merry, and old Aunt Sarah Walton, so kind and 
 genUe as to be almost unrecognizaMe as the 
 ♦' Aunt Sally " of former years. Beside these was 
 Aunt MUdred, handsome and cheery, Uncle Fred 
 -Bry picked up and used these titles as did the 
 other children- as merry and boyish as if life 
 had not touched his heart, or accident crippled 
 
 his manly form. 
 
 ^s, Pleasant were the mornings in Uncle Fred's 
 studio, among his pictures. Bry never tired of 
 this spot. Delightful were the long afternoon 
 rides; and the evening readings and talks were 
 
 .; 
 
 ^ 
 / 
 
 ii 
 
 M 
 
 
 wmmmms: 
 
*•' ■> 
 
 |||9 OVB BTBEET. 
 
 never afterwards forgotten by our little friend. 
 Yet perhaps, above every other hour of her stay, 
 Bhe cherished most the remembrance of the time 
 spent at little Violet's grave with Mr. and Mrs. 
 Gardenell beside her, when she heard the story of 
 that sweet life and glorious death. . ,...,•->.... 
 
 It ended, after awhile, that happy visit; and 
 then her friends made her what forever after 
 seemed to her a marvellous offer, that she 
 should come to their home and hearts as one of 
 their own. ,..,, .,;;s-i, ''>•;,, , / - i '._<.,"■.■ >n>::^-'.->'' O'^' 
 
 "Such comfortable things so near me!" she 
 said, and yet she decided to go back. " Mother 
 left Dick with me, please, sir, and — and — «Ae 
 'spects me, and Ood 'spects me to take care of 
 him. When he don't need me, mother said God 
 would send for me, and I'd like to be in the right 
 place when they come." f...si -- i !%># ?•« W»fj^v 
 
 It was well Bryony had so decided. Jetty 
 Blake would have sadly missed her in her grop- 
 ings after a better life. It had been a hard 
 straggle for Jetty at first. Oft-repeated and 
 
 ■«■ 
 
our little friend. 
 
 hour of her stay, 
 )rance of the time 
 irith Mr. and Mrs. 
 heard tlie story of 
 
 happy visit; and 
 rhat forever after 
 I offer, that she 
 1 hearts as one of 
 
 )0 near me!" she 
 
 back. "Mother 
 
 ■, and — and — aAe " 
 le to take care of 
 , mother said God 
 
 1 to be in the right 
 
 10 decided. Jetty i 
 I her in her grop- i 
 had been a hard ^ 
 Oft-repeated and i 
 
 NEXT COMES. 
 
 m 
 
 patient were Bryony's teachings, but by-and by 
 the carefully, tearfully, prayerfully sown word 
 began to germinate; another power, unknown 
 before, began to actuate Jetty's life. Then how 
 helpful she suddenly became to those about her, 
 especially to Dick Perkins' growing family. 
 
 It was while she was there one time, out of 
 work, that Rose came in trouble to Bry for 
 advice. Betty, the maid, had left them, and Aunt 
 Myra was away, and where could she find a girl? 
 Bry recommended Jetty ; and Jetty, who was very 
 reluctant to go there to work, finally consented, 
 "just till they find some one else." But she was 
 so helpful, trusty, cheerful, that no further search 
 was made, and, almost unconsciously, she became 
 a fixture. 
 
 But she dreader June's coming home. She 
 eould not forget Ike had preferred June, she did 
 not wish to forget that June had refused Ike. 
 But who ever withstood Miss Juniper Hargreave's ' 
 fascination? She had not been home a week ' 
 before Jetty quoted her as authority, and went to 
 
 "? 1 
 
 i Wil *lliiilflfaMtrtMli 
 
298 
 
 OUB BTBBBT. 
 
 her for advice. I»deed, it was June's advice that 
 at last settled the most important event of Jetty's 
 life, her marriage with Tom Waters, Mr. Har- 
 grcave's man-of-all-work. 
 
 «Do you love him?" June asked, gravely. 
 
 i. Well, yes, mostly. Better'n anyone else that 
 
 loves me." 
 
 This was rather a peculiar answer, but June 
 
 took it for an affirmative. 
 
 .*You must remember he is not a Christian," 
 
 continued June. ' 
 
 "Yes, miss, but lie's steddy and thinkin' on it. 
 I'm sure I could help him, misH." 
 • ».You dDu't feel above him, Jetty? I don't 
 think it is ever safe to marry with such a feel- 
 
 : « To be sure not, miss. He's as well as meself, 
 and has as much learniu' ; an' I never thought as 
 much of that as I should." ,,, . , * ; : uk^^^ 
 . "You feel sure he'll be satisfied with you?" 
 .. "Yes, miss, proud of me, too. Why, he's 
 fooUsh enough to think that I am beyond your- 
 selfl" 
 
 
une'B advice that 
 t event of Jetty's 
 Waters, Mr. Har- 
 
 isked, gravely. 
 I anyone else that 
 
 answer, but June 
 
 I not a Christian," 
 
 md thinkin' on it. 
 
 oirfH." 
 
 a, Jetty? I don't 
 
 y with such a feel- 
 
 s as well as meself, 
 
 I never thought as 
 
 itisfled with you?" 
 , too. Why, he's 
 
 I I am beyond your- 
 
 msxT ooma. 
 
 299 
 
 June laughed. 
 
 " Then I see no reason why I should not order 
 your wedding dress," she said, gayly, and it was 
 
 settled. 
 
 Beulah had married and left the city by this 
 time, so no word had been heard for some time 
 
 from Ike. 
 
 Dick was doing well, and had begun to work 
 for himself. One dull spell Dr. Fosby brought 
 him the plans of a cottage to be budt on Our 
 Street, near the Oaks, where a number of pretty 
 houses were rising rapidly. ' 
 
 " Figure so as to give yourself a good living, 
 Perkins. I shall not let it to anyone else," said 
 
 the doctor. 
 
 It proved to be a pretty house, beautifully 
 modelled, with a south bay window. When it 
 was finished Dick took his wife and sister to see it, 
 with pardonable pride. 
 
 "I never put a job out of my hands with which 
 I was better pleased," he said. " I wbnder who's 
 to own it? It would just suit us. Here's Dry's 
 
 wfe >» iii. "^M »>a w i.i r . i wi K -»vfe'*fc« -^ ~ 
 
800 
 
 OUB STREET. 
 
 bay-window, and a geod flower-plot in front, and 
 mch a nice vegetable garden behind. I couldn't 
 have laid it out more convenient for myself." 
 
 Later in the day Dr. Fosby visited it, and when 
 Dick called at his office in the evening he found 
 him well pleased. He paid him cheerfully, and 
 asked him to be kind enough to carry the deeds 
 
 to the owner. 
 
 "It is on your way home," he said. "The 
 giver of the deed does not wish to be known, and 
 I should like to avoid being questioned." 
 
 So Dick took the paper, in his eagerness to get 
 home with his spoUs, without a question as to whom 
 it was to be given. In his own little parlor, 
 remembering, he drew out the paper and exam- 
 ined it. To his surprise he found it directed to 
 his sister. Yes, rub his eyes as he might, it still 
 read, " Miss Bryony Perkms," -Jid he caUed to 
 her gleefully. 
 
 " It seems too good to be true," he said, " but 
 true it is 1 "" and it was. So Bry had her bay- 
 window. 
 
KBXT COMES. 
 
 801 
 
 •plot in front, and 
 ehind. I couldn't 
 Lent for myself." 
 isited it, and when 
 B evening lie found 
 im cheerfully, and 
 to carry the deeds 
 
 ," he said. "The 
 h to be known, and 
 
 questioned." 
 lis eagerness to get 
 question as to whom 
 
 own little parlor, 
 e paper and exam- 
 ound it directed to 
 as he might, it still 
 1," .jid he called to 
 
 «' I wonder who the giver can be?" said Miss 
 June, as, on returning from a survey of the 
 premises, she seated herself in Bry's room, the 
 bay-window of which was rich with fragrance and 
 
 bloom. ji-,;; V i > i; > 
 
 ** Thy 1 don't you know? can't you guess?" 
 
 asked Bry, breathle8sly,or.> u,i^.<. " 
 «'No. I didn't know "you had a suspicion 1" 
 "I haven't a suspicion, I have an assurance. 
 It can't be anyone else but my Ikey boy. Only 
 you and he and I knew it was coming. So God 
 let him send it. He'll be here next himself, see 
 if he isn't. O, there never was so comfortable a 
 boy in all the world as Ike 1 He's like the one ho 
 loves best — Jasus." y „. . ^ .,. t, ^a a* 
 
 ■■;,-; I 
 
 ,.\h •■: ■t;^i^A 
 
 true," he said, " but 
 Bry had her bay- 
 
 ...,.J ^.'i ,A 
 
 i 
 
V.>H. 
 
 ;. V,; -^-ti-- 
 
 'ii 
 
 ■ -.i-r y. 
 
 
 .,„: .,: CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AFTER BOBAPS. ,..:,:.,,. ..^..r't 
 
 ONE scrap is, she got sick. Juniper, I mean, 
 of course, and sick of everything. 
 . . It was a siUy, tiresome world, ridiculous, fool- 
 ish people in it. All the men were crazy, addle- 
 brained, but PopsydU, and she wished she might 
 be spared the sight of another masculine. There 
 was no such thing as a woman's taking any com- 
 fort. There was nothing else for her to do in the 
 world but to take care of somebody's house that 
 Bhe didn't want to take care of, or administer pills 
 and nostrums for some other sUly somebody's 
 patients, who would be better off without them. 
 Which harangue means just this. Harold 
 
.rr; 
 
 ■■'■' ■'{■, L.-i: '■■■'V<>-^ , 
 IX. V-» ^^:''^' "^ '■'' 
 
 ►S. .„ , ^, ,V 
 
 Juniper, I meftii) 
 
 everything. ; •" " 
 Id, ridiculous, fool- 
 i were crazy, addle- 
 e wished she might 
 : masculine. There 
 I's taking any com- 
 for her to do in the 
 aebody's house that 
 if, or administer pills 
 ler silly somebody's 
 er ofif without them, 
 just this. Harold 
 
 AFTEB 8CEAPB. 
 
 808 
 
 Hargreave had proposed to her and gone away 
 rejected, leaving her as miserable as hunself. 
 
 She grew unusually irritable, persistently 
 moody, and at last 'declared she should die if she 
 did not get away from every familiar sight and 
 sound; and if PopsydU cared the twentieth part 
 of a dime for her, he had better take her across 
 
 the ocean. _;..,„ v,. .^t 
 
 PopsydU did care the twentieth part of a dime 
 for her, and so did Mrs. Maria. Tliis little woman 
 pleaded for her stepdaughter, declaring she had 
 earned a real vacation by her former years of hard 
 work and constant study. They could get along 
 nicely at the furm-house without either of them, 
 if they only knew June was recruiting ; and it 
 was finally decided that father and daughter 
 should visit Europe, ju/^i:;^^-''-^ •-'■/■'••■•■-■ - 
 
 Rose thought she ought to go. June had 
 everything. She even cried a little, a proper 
 young ladylike her; but her father's heart was 
 not easily moved, and she was obliged to be 
 content with June's promise that she would obtain 
 her the same privilege some day. * - 
 
 _;_ , •, - J;'-,..^ ^V-i>-^'--^'^l.'f''»^-i'- if"r~r -.liiiln.'il''"ilrimitiliJ.ji.> m » .« l l H lfafeahl^J')ii|t 
 
 .1 
 
804 
 
 OUB 8TBBET. 
 
 June brightened up wouderfuUy when the 
 journey was reaUy settled upon. Ordered ga^i 
 ments, wrote letters, visited friends, with what 
 Beemed a determination to turn the small world 
 in which she moved upside down before her 
 departure. Then, suddenly vanishing, left the 
 farm-house doubly lonely. 
 
 They travelled almost incessantly, one way or 
 another, with pleasure unceasing, Juniper's zeal 
 never flagging, her pleasure never abating, until 
 at last the nerves, strained before her departure, 
 now worked unmercifully, suddenly gave way, 
 and she was really ill. 
 
 Then the polite German became insufferable, 
 the delightful ItaUan detestable, the Frenchman 
 obsequious and palling. Juniper sighed for the 
 sight of an American face. 
 
 " Such a miserable jargon of a language ! " she 
 
 groaned. " Not a bit like the deUghtful French I 
 
 ■ studied at Madame S-'s seminary 1 Why, I 
 
 Bhould really starve, PopsydU, if you were not 
 
 with me, and, dear me, I beUeve I should be will- 
 
AFTEB SOBAFS. 
 
 805 
 
 •fully when the 
 n. Ordered gar- 
 iends, with what 
 I the small world 
 lown before her 
 auishing, left the 
 
 .,,41 i-.r^r-:4it-'e: rUsjS'' 
 
 antly, one way or 
 ing, Juniper's zeal 
 ever abating, until * 
 ore her departvire, 
 ddenly gave way, . 
 
 lecame insufferable, 
 lie, the Frenchman 
 iper sighed for the 
 
 f a language I " she 
 delightful French I 
 eminaryl Why, I 
 lil, if you were not 
 )ve I should be wiUr 
 
 ing to if I did not hope soon to hear again an 
 English voice. Please don't let me be sick 
 
 herel 
 
 ;?!■*.'■ j-i>;il.o*ii<», *rr«. ■«» 
 
 " Here " was a very pretty French town, and 
 June was already sick. So, though her father 
 was wont to indulge her, he refused to go farther, 
 really alarmed that his favorite child, usually so 
 well, should show signs of such lassitude and 
 uneasiness. So, in spite of Miss June's protesta- 
 tions, he started one morning for a physician. 
 
 Then the willful girl arose, and persuaded her 
 maid to dress her, only to find herself afterwards 
 too ill to hold up her head. She was thankful to 
 throw herself on the bed, and gaze lazily through 
 the lace curtains at the changeful sky. Vir - - 
 
 ♦' O, for a glimpse of the farm-house ! " June 
 was really homesick. Her father tip-toed into the 
 room, thinking she slept; but no! she turned 
 with open eyes to greet him. ^-^^-^ ^ - 
 
 "Alone? You dear fellow! I'm so glad you 
 didn't bring a doctor. The sound of a French 
 tongue, just now, would distract me. I am a&aid 
 
 I 
 
806 
 
 0T7B STBBBT. 
 
 I should turn him out of the room, or do some- 
 thing desperate. Isn't that a knock, Popsydil ? " 
 
 Yes, it was a knock. Mr. Hargreave addressed 
 the gentleman he admitted as Dr. Paul, and 
 introduced him to his daughter. 
 
 The new-comer was not a largo man, yet he did 
 not impress you as very small. There was a 
 manly decision, a native dignity about him that 
 was marked, that indued Miss June with a little 
 wholesome awe at the very beguining. i 
 
 He advanced into the room, hat in hand, a 
 gentleman, every inch, in appearance and dress. 
 June noticed that he was young, that his spotless 
 linen was very becoming. Then, with a rare, 
 bright sraile, and in the sweetest French, the 
 doctor said: ■->. .nx ax 
 
 " I am sorry to see you so ill, mademoiselle." 
 
 June was at least twenty-three now, and might 
 reasonably be supposed to possess a little dignity ; 
 but she did burst forth in a strange fashion. 
 ■ "For pity's sake, doctor, speak English if you 
 can I I am not a mademoiselle I I do not 
 
«iiiiliipiilii 
 
 m, or do some- 
 
 ock, Popsydil?" 
 
 [reave addressed 
 
 Dr. Paul, and 
 
 man, yet he did 
 . There was a 
 
 about him that 
 une with a little 
 inning. i 
 
 hat in hand, a 
 ranee and dress, 
 that his spotless 
 m, with a rare, 
 est French, the 
 
 I, mademoiselle." 
 
 I now, and might 
 
 • 
 
 3 a little dignity ; 
 orange fashion, 
 k English if you 
 lie I I do not 
 
 AFX£B SOBikPS. 
 
 want to be a mademoiselle I I am a plain 
 Yankee miss, and am so sick of French I" -....: 
 
 A grave smile flitted over the doctor's face, but 
 his next words were English, pure, sweet English, 
 without the taint of foreign accent, .j ;■■)■:, J 
 
 He asked a few questions concerning her 
 health, very few, however ; the new doctor seemed 
 to understand his patient's mood instinctively. 
 He talked a little upon other topics, keeping her 
 mind from the prominent thought these weeks — 
 herself. On leaving he said: .;,;.. - .: 
 
 " I think I shall have to prescribe a little" — 
 he smiled again, at the slight frown June could 
 not altogether conceal at that hated word " pre- 
 scribe " — "a little quiet. Don't eat, don't 
 think, don't talk much. I think that is all to- 
 day." ti-^ ~i rnv--is ivy 4^^ ::■: '.nxtiz ^t^ 
 
 "Why I what a delightful doctor you are I" 
 cried June, impulsively. "Such a bunch* of 
 charming negatives, and not a grain of medicine 1 
 Dr. Paul, I owe you everlasting thanks, and will 
 recover immediately if possible." ma I "a** 
 
808 
 
 OUB 8TBEET. 
 
 Then, as the gentlemau disappeared she said: 
 '* Xow I suppose that grave gentleman is thinking 
 what a silly thing I am. Isn't he nice, Popsydil ? 
 Only, I am really afraid of him. Did you notice 
 his eyes? They pierce right through to tli ery 
 seat of disease. I was so thankful, wliilu'he was 
 here, to remember I was a good girl. Those eyes 
 must be such a terror to evil-doers." 
 
 " I fear, then, they'll be a terror to you when 
 he comes again. Don't forget that prescription 
 against talking. The doctor would be very sorry 
 to be the cause of his orders being disobeyed^' 
 
 " Yes ; but, Popsydil, dear, his English was so 
 sweet, like the breath of English violets. He's 
 nice, like you." ,,,-, ,., ^^ir,} 
 
 '* Six feet and all," laughed Mr. Hargrea 'e. 
 
 " Popsydil, honest truly, between you and I, I 
 
 hate big men." ■ v-:--i7.' --•:■; i-'^i'^- '*r>Yf-"-f -^-i 
 
 " Ah I that ought to be pleasant information,'* 
 
 said the gentleman, dubiously. ^^ 
 
 " Now you know I don't mean you, but — well, 
 
 it seemed good ! Such white teeth and clear skii^ 
 
 m i»,'i,i.i^Jikt}^^.JiJiig^i^ 
 
 "'^"^"■NPI 
 
iared she said: 
 nan is thinking 
 nice, Popsydil? 
 [)id you notice 
 gh to tl) ery 
 J, wliilo'he was 
 rl. Those eyes 
 re." 
 
 )r to you when 
 at prescription 
 I be very sorry 
 ng disobeyed." 
 E^nglish was sq 
 violets. He's 
 
 r. Hargrea 'e. 
 a you and I, I 
 
 b information,'* 
 
 ou, but — well* 
 and clear skin 
 
 ;.-.V4-.- >,,„.. ,.,•,, ' J^- if-'i-^ n ftti imJii 
 
 AFTXK 80BAP8. 
 
 and blue eyes, after so many swathy complexions 
 
 and black shiners was really — " 
 
 Mr. Hargreave stopped her mouth with his 
 
 ' , * . - -■'■,-- 
 
 "Insulting child I You shall surely make no 
 more comments on your father." ""i'.^J■ ;• ,^1,., 
 
 She pulled the hand away, and kissed him, 
 saying tenderly: r:^ ,. ,> ;rv,:;;i ..s;.* ,. -.at? 
 
 "This is the way to stop me, always." 
 
 When the doctor called the next day, he held a 
 bouquet of English violet and a sprig of helio- 
 trope in his hand. He did not say he brought 
 them for his patient, he did not seem to hear her 
 little stifled exclamation of delight at sight of 
 them, but he kindly forgot them when going; 
 left them, indeed, where he placed them while he 
 felt her pulse, beside her pillow, where their 
 fragrance filled her nostrils. > ' >!A4?v 4$ c ^n.': - 
 ■' The doctor's visits began to be looked forward 
 to, were always talked over with her father after- 
 wards. They continued steadily even after the 
 patient began to convalesce. The doctor lodged 
 
mmmm 
 
 810 
 
 OUB BTBKET. 
 
 at the same hotel with his patient, and considered 
 it a pleasure to drop in occasionally. 
 
 As our friend grew stronger she took pleasure, 
 in a quiet sort of way, in things about her. Her 
 special delight grew to be the music in the par- 
 lors below, and, stretched wearily on her couch, 
 she listened to the voices which night after night 
 ascended to her ears in magic song. Occasionally 
 a sweet tenor voice joined the singers, and June 
 learned to listen eagerly for that, to be disap- 
 pointed when it was not heard. One day she 
 heard the same voice in an adjoining apartment, 
 singing a familiar English hymn, and that night 
 she questioned her father: ...... 
 
 **Who is it sings that delicious tenor, Popsy- 
 dil?" - .^. .., .r- .;-' 
 
 **Why! don't you know? Your little doctor, 
 June, to be sure." ' • ;.'. <l? 
 
 As the days went by. Dr. Paul pasisod an occa- 
 sional evening with Mr. Hargreave and his daugh- 
 ter. There was an ease in the young doctor's 
 manners very fascinating to June, a little quiet 
 
 . t i' J .>. . <. — a^.„ n <i mr i V-ml ^i aii A i 
 
ATTEB SCRAPS. 
 
 811 
 
 and oonBidered 
 lally. 
 
 I took pleasiire, 
 bout her. Her 
 sic in the par- 
 on her couch, 
 ^ht after night 
 . Occasionally 
 gers, and June 
 t, to be disap- 
 One day she 
 ling apartment, 
 and that night 
 
 i tenor, Popsy- 
 
 ir little doctor, 
 
 pasisod an occa- 
 I and his daugh- 
 young doctor's 
 ), a little quiet 
 
 authority, when acting professionally, quite as 
 charming. But she had never seen his real self 
 until he made these calls. Social, brilliant, self- 
 po.sessed, gentlemanly, and exceedingly sensitive 
 to thought and feeling. ^ , . ,,, ^^^ 
 
 Miss Plargreave grew better rapidly, but the 
 doctor commanded quiet long after she felt well 
 enough to go out again. ;.,.., ,- , i.,,. 
 
 " Not this week. Miss Hargreave. Next week 
 you may go a little. If Monday is a pleasant day, 
 I will take you to see a little friend of mine, if 
 you are willing." .,,. , ,, ,,_ ^ , , , ^ . ,; . 
 
 She was willing. Monday was a delicious day, 
 and June felt like a bird escaped from bondage. 
 The fresh blood was bounding through her veins 
 again, her cheeks were blooming. n ,. ^ 
 
 *' I have a few professional calls to make. Miss 
 Hargreave. You will not mind them ? My little 
 friend is crippled and poor, so " — touching sig- 
 nificantly a large bouquet beside him — " we 
 make Ufa bloom for her when we can." ,^^,y 
 
 It was a mean old house before which the doo- 
 
dl2 
 
 0T7B STRVET. 
 
 tor drew up. Short as the good man wan, he had 
 to stoop to paM the door-way. It was a long, 
 dingy apartment into which he conducted Juni- 
 per. 
 
 Directly in front of the door, where the visitor's 
 eyes first rested, sat a child on a high stool, or 
 chair, rather, for it had a back, behind a counter, 
 or work-bench, on which were various toys with 
 which she was busy. 
 
 The child was deformed, her head being drawn 
 somewhat to one side, her back disfigured by a 
 hump. But her face was very striking, pure and 
 spiritual, with large, dreamy blue eyes, and the 
 noble head was covered with a profusion of pale 
 gold hair. 
 
 In the same room, near the child, a dark-eyed 
 boy of fourteen or fifteen summers worked, evi- 
 dently the son of a black-haiied woman who was 
 making toys in the fju aier end of the apartment. 
 
 The little cripple's face lighted wonderfully at 
 sight of Dr. P»ul, and she uttered two or three 
 exclamations of delight, and stretched out her 
 
 
AFTKB BOnAPS. 
 
 818 
 
 an wo«, he Imd 
 [t WU8 a long, 
 mduoted Juni- 
 
 sre the visitor's 
 
 high stool, or 
 
 inil a counter, 
 
 ious toys with 
 
 d being drawn 
 lisfigured by a 
 king, pure and 
 eyes, and the 
 fusion of pale 
 
 Id, a dark-eyed 
 8 worked, evi- 
 uman who was 
 the apartment, 
 wonderfully at 
 two or three 
 ^Aihed out her 
 
 hands eagerly as she saw the flowers. At sight of 
 the lady with him the rich blood mantled her 
 brow, and a pretty, beseeching look came into her 
 eyes, but the doctor's voice seemed to reassijre 
 her. His words June could not understand ; they 
 were German ; but he ended them by pronouncing 
 her name very distinctly, "Miss June Har- 
 greave." 
 
 " Pardon me," he said to the young lady. •• I 
 thought Christy might remember the first half 
 
 best." 
 
 Christy smiled at the lady, and June watched 
 the deft, thin-veined fingers as they separated the 
 beautiful flowers into a dozen little clusters, each 
 cluster a gem of beauty, then smoothed them 
 again into one whole. She kissed them then, and 
 smiled towards Dr. Paul, who was addressing the 
 woman. ►'.<■'■ * "»■•■■.'."-■ *■'<■■ t ■■>-'< ■■ 
 
 The child wished to please her guest. She 
 tried to converse with her, holding up the flowers, 
 turning her eyes to the sky, and at last saying, 
 very distinctly, "America." . niijra. 
 
 . f ^i Aii ^ ti. 
 
^tM 
 
 814 
 
 OUE STBBET.' 
 
 The young man noticed June's troubled fece 
 and came to the rescue. 
 
 " Christy wishes to know if God sends you 
 such lovely flowers in America," he said. Then 
 he interpreted June's words for Christy, telling 
 her about American flowers. 
 
 Theu, while June selected some toys for her 
 little brother, he turned again to the woman. 
 June smiled over her task. First French to 
 Lisette, then German to Christy, then English to 
 herself, and each apparently perfeci in itself. 
 
 " ' Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings 
 Thou hast ordained strength.' That child's sim- 
 ple trust in God rebukes me always," said the 
 doctor as they rode away. "She called those 
 flowers 'the gift of God,' and thanked him on 
 receiving them. I am very much interested in 
 her, Miss Hargreave. Jhe reminds me of a little 
 friend of my boyhood. I found her in the hos- 
 pital, laid very low with a malignant fever, 
 which had already deprived her of both parents. 
 After she giew better I found her this home, and 
 she is so grateful, so cheerful and happy I " 
 
 '■M«=,'aaifij)te;- *i.,,. 
 
 w<»!ai«aaii^.Wmt^faii..^j «» ^j4»S^^V'j»a. 
 
s troubled face 
 
 God sends you 
 he said. Then 
 Christy, telling 
 
 le toys for her 
 to the woman, 
 rat French to 
 hen English to 
 eci in itself, 
 and sucklings 
 lat child's sim- 
 'ays," said the 
 e called those 
 lanked him on 
 I interested in 
 i me of a little 
 er in the hos- 
 lignant fever, 
 ' both parents, 
 this home, and 
 I happy I " 
 
 AFTER SCBAP8. 
 
 816 
 
 June looked up to him through beaming eyes. 
 She did not guess then what she afterwards 
 learned was true, that he had taught the child all 
 she knew of religion; but she said, enthusia»- 
 tically : 
 
 " You are a real physician, doctor. It helps me 
 just to know you. I wish I had more of Christy's 
 simple trust and your strength." 
 
 That evening, sitting alone with her father, she 
 asked, suddenly : 
 
 "What is he, father?" - . » ' -^ v;^ 
 
 9- "Who?" > . " ■ ■ 
 
 ^ "My little doctor." "« •; ^ ; .w ; 
 
 "A Christian gentleman, June, if I fe> a 
 judge." 
 
 "So he is, Popsydil, and he makes Christianity 
 look very inviting, does he not? and without 
 saying much, either. One is constantly puzzled 
 which to admire most; his gentlemanly bearing, 
 fine intellect, or Christian heart. Am I not 
 right?" "' ,.•■ T'-^.. -*;•;■ -r- ;--^-.^ -- •- ■. :.w .k u* v^^ ■ 
 ■' "Undoubtedly, June." w s • ■ 
 
 -op ^, 
 
riUMi 
 
 oi 
 
 OITB 8TBEET. 
 
 
 " But I was thinking of something else when I 
 asked my question. He is a "triangle in more 
 senses than one. This morning, for instance. 
 One moment he spoke French to Madame Lisette, 
 the next German to little Christy, and then 
 English to me ; and I'm sure he spoke each as if 
 it was his native tong^ue. What is he, papa?" 
 "Why don't you ask him, June?" and Mr. 
 Hargreave smiled curiously. 
 
 "Mel Why, Popsydil, I wouldn't dare to, 
 quite. He's real good and kind, but — I am just 
 a little bit afraid of him. He might think it 
 unwarrantable curiosity." ,,,.... 
 
 " Then I fear you must go unsatisfied," was all 
 her father's reply. 
 
 After that June became much interested in the 
 crippled toy-maker, and visited her often. Some- 
 times with Dr. Paul, sometimes alone, and once 
 she persuaded her father to accompany her. By 
 means of signs, the little French Christy pos- 
 sessed, and a few fragments of broken English, 
 they managed to communicate with each other ; 
 
 iM£^ftia^VM^Mt£Ei^)«i^b»#<.-x^««s«*»^ *«jrt)i«iMiifai<MAi?wit>i-'wliiMhiitii iwbfhaiawWilWwArifaWwMiW* 
 
ig else when I 
 mgle in more 
 for instance, 
 idame Lisette, 
 ty, and then 
 )ke each as if 
 B he, papa?" 
 B?" and Mr. 
 
 dn't dare to, 
 it — I am just 
 light think it 
 
 fied," was all 
 
 jrested in the 
 jften. Some- 
 one, and once 
 iny her. By 
 Christy pos- 
 ken English, 
 each other; 
 
 Mala 
 
 AFTEB SCBAP8. 
 
 817 
 
 and June seldom went without some slight gift, 
 never came away without having received ben- 
 efit. 
 
 Numerous and various were June's little offer- 
 ings. Fruits, flowers, and occasionally bookfi 
 were pressed into service, and one day, to Dr. 
 Paul's surprise, a huge cage, with a gay-colored 
 parrot, was hoisted into the carriage. 
 
 A smile flitted across his face which did not 
 escape June's quick eyes, slight as it was, and 
 soon repressed. -..;'.•,; ...p 
 
 " You must not laugh, doctor," she said. " The 
 parrot was brought up by a German woman, and 
 speaks that language. I thought it would be a 
 comfort to Christy when she was lonely, and no 
 one by who could speak to her." »: i » » , 
 
 "You are quite right and very thoughtful," 
 replied the young man, gently. " No other gift 
 could please her as well." i i^;;„ Bfy-cis^j^fftas 
 
 The days now passed fleet-footed to June. Her 
 fiither had heard no more of home, though it was 
 two months since she declared herself dying for a 
 
 iwNiftiBttiiiiWiiyffiiitfiii 
 
iMn 
 
 8t8 
 
 OUR STBBE7'. 
 
 Bight of American soil. He dared suggest this to 
 her in a teasing way, one night, inquiring if she 
 was not now quite willing to depart. 
 
 "Whatl and leave my little doctor?" she 
 cried, lugubriously. Nevertheless, after that they 
 quite talked of going. 
 
 A few days after this the doctor invited June to 
 accompany him on a ride into the country. "I 
 have a few hours to spare. Your society will add 
 much to their pleasure," he said. So she went. 
 
 It was a delightful spot where they halted. 
 Leaving the carriage they strolled off after 
 flowers. Long after the doctor had wearied of 
 this sport and returned to the horse, June still 
 flitted about, adding to her store. mi- 
 
 "See! they are for Christy. Are they not 
 beautiful ? " she cried, holding them up for his 
 inspection. Then she stopped, partly because of 
 a certain something in his earnest glance, ^t^ 
 
 " Juniper," he said, extending his hand to her, 
 and she started. Surely, she had not heard that 
 same before since leaving home. " Juniper, your 
 
iMn 
 
 uggest this to 
 quiring if she 
 art. 
 
 loctor?" she 
 ifter that they 
 
 ivited June to 
 
 country. " I 
 
 cjiety will add 
 
 So she went. 
 
 they halted. 
 
 ed off after 
 
 id wearied of 
 
 L'se, June still 
 
 Vre they not 
 m up for his 
 ly hecause of 
 glance. ^, ,i^ 
 hand to her, 
 ot heard that 
 Juniper, your 
 
 AFTER SCHAPS. 
 
 father talks of departure. You are very dear to 
 me, very necessary. Will you — dare you prom- 
 ise to be my wife?" 
 
 It was very sudden, startling. June did not 
 touch the extended hand, and avoided the asking 
 eyes. ,_,„..„ „, .:■ „,. ,^-.-^-.- 
 
 *' O, Dr. Paul, you don't mean it, surely I *' she 
 said, piteooRly. - . .^ - ,. , .; - 
 
 "I fetar I do," he said, smiling. v 'ns 5^*v 
 
 **0 dear! what shall I do? I thought i/ou 
 were different from other men. Whj! I ran 
 away from America to get rid of Cousin Harold, 
 and now — But there 1 Harold has nearly for- 
 gotten. Men don't feel very deeply — ^you will — " 
 
 She raised her eyes, intending to add "forget 
 this soon ; " but that earnest, quiet glance, so 
 different from any she had ever met before, re- 
 buked her, and she said, instead, "You will 
 please say you don't really mean it, doctor?' 
 
 The young man smiled again, a u. • ..t' -. 
 
 "I cannot say that. Juniper. I do mean it, 
 most certainly. But do not distress yourself. 
 
 niafe 
 
 ■W'-Sii',' 
 
m 
 
 OUB BTBEBT. 
 
 
 Speak the truth. I can bear it. Much as I love 
 you, I would not care to wed you without your 
 love." 
 
 "But — but— O dear! Why are men so 
 anxious to get married?" 
 
 " I did not know that they were. I have not 
 been particularly so myself," was the quiet reply. 
 But unheeding it June went on ruefully: 
 
 *' And I don't see how you can expect me to — 
 to — Dr. Paul. Why I I'd as soon think of mar- 
 rying my own father! There!" — as a comical 
 look crossed his features — " not that you are so 
 old, you know, because you are not, but — but — 
 why, I'm almost afraid of you, you are so 
 
 The mouth parted in a real smile now. 
 
 " I assure you that there is no need that you 
 should be afraid of me, Juniper," he said. 5, „.. 
 
 " No, I know ; but — but I can't help it all the 
 same. I do so hate to make people miserable, 
 and I suppose it'll be just like you to be miserable 
 forever now." 
 
 s 
 
 s 
 
 V f 
 
 s! 
 ai 
 
 0) 
 
 imMihm 
 
[uch as I love 
 . without your 
 
 y are men so 
 
 . I have not 
 e quiet reply. 
 uefuUy : 
 pect me to — 
 think of mar- 
 -as a comical 
 at you are so 
 , but — but — 
 
 you are so 
 • * ,.., ^-,.. ,,^^ 
 ile now. 
 need that you 
 
 he said. ,v 
 belp it all the 
 )le miserable, 
 > be miserable 
 
 
 AFTBB SCBAPS. 
 
 iJ. 
 
 "I shall not dare to promise you that I" he 
 said. "I certainly shall not be if God will help ' 
 me otherwise. My work lies still before me, the ' 
 world needs me as much as it ever did. I did not 
 intend that either your 'yea' or 'nay' should " 
 deter me from duty, Miss June. I shall live my 
 life, by God's help, whatever he sends. I am not ' 
 unused to disappointment. Shall we turn home- 
 ward now?" '■"*'■■■ -V'" —•'.'u "■•-».:*".-«- %i':-i^ .. i^y,.i'^ 
 
 Yes, June was very ready. Wished heartily 
 she had not lingered, that they had gone home an 
 hour ago, before this conversation commenced. 
 
 Perhaps he read her thought. He certt-xuly 
 aid his best to divert her mind to other channels, 
 appearing very like the Dr. Paul wio had not 
 spoken those burning words. "^* t ^'"^ "- '^^ 
 
 He succeeded very well, too. June almost 
 forgot, for a while, until, on nearing the house, 
 she encountered again those earnest eyes. "^^ 
 
 "You never forget, do you, doctor?" she 
 asked, half timidly, as he assisted her from the 
 carriage. ' [■ •■/^^ •-;,-:--■,•'. -• ■- :^-w^xi-wmmk. 
 
 ^A^yjij^i^ig^l^i,^^ 
 

 822 
 
 OFil 8TBEBT. 
 
 "Not often," ho replied, simply. "Lie down 
 and roBt as Boon as you remove your wrups. 
 You will need it after this long ride. Good 
 afternoon." 
 
 Just like him! Kind and thoughtful of 
 her comfort continually, and just like him, too, 
 to he BO kind and gentle, as if his refusal had 
 not been I 
 
 June disobeyed his directions by sitting right 
 down in the first chair that came to hand, and 
 having a good cry. 
 
 "Hateful old thing! Why did he ask me if 
 he didn't want me? He's just like the rost of 
 them, though I thought he wasn't. I suppose he 
 thinks I am a silly little fool anyway, and is 
 glad he escaped me in time. Well, I am a fool, 
 everybody knows that, and — and of course I am 
 not sorry. Who'd want a pair of eyes reading 
 right through all their silliness all the time? 
 O, dear! I wonder if he did see that — that I 
 was a&aid all the time that I did like him a 
 wee bit better than anyone else? We'll see if 
 
 ■.■.-x [ii« an Wii iiif iii tf.jBiiM 
 
 iijiiiftMilWIIiilii 
 
wmmmmmm^mm^mmmmm 
 
 wmsmmmsmmmmmmmBmi^^-- 
 
 dtam 
 
 y. "Lie down 
 e your wrups, 
 g ride. Good 
 
 thoughtful of 
 
 like him, too, 
 
 his refusal had 
 
 1>7 sitting right 
 ke to hand, and 
 
 I he ask me if 
 Ike the rbst of 
 I suppose he 
 anyway, and is 
 ill, I am a fool, 
 of course I am 
 of eyes reading 
 
 all the time? 
 9 that — that I 
 
 did like him a 
 ? We'll see if 
 
 AFTBB SCBAPS. 
 
 anyone shall walk straight into my heart, and 
 do as they please, and never even say, 'With 
 your leave, miss I' Fm not. used to such lord- 
 ing'" V:-'^-^^ '■" .. ■ : ^^■-■^■-f^r^ 
 And Dr. Paul, riding along, smUed to himself 
 as he said: „...^*- ,s-?„,\- ;..;'•--;:, pi,:^u^ ^ 'v^/i 
 
 "My little June!" 
 
 Vt':<'>->.> .■■■;i„. 
 
 
 '-'^'<' • ,. '*V'1? 
 
 
 ' Jjl. ». 
 
 ' " - " i ^^«.• Jr 
 
 ' 'J!' 
 
 i 1 ^ ft 
 
 "! 
 
 :t'f i ^' 
 
 fL .fi 
 
 
 ma^wiiiiiii'i 
 
mm 
 
 )!.-;,-:^ 
 
 .<■) 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ENDINGS. 
 
 .I'M ^i 
 
 y^F course Miss June petitioned at Onoe td 
 ^^-^ return to America, and of course Mr. 
 Hargreave opened his eyes and said demurely: 
 "What I and leave your little doctor?" And 
 then Miss June hlazed out with: — she hoped 
 she'd never see his . ice again I and worried 
 incessantly for the next two days lest her wish 
 shoiild be gratified. - - ,. 
 
 " A difficult case kept me away from home," 
 he said on appearing, and was so like his olden 
 self that Juniper was almost ready to believe that 
 afternoon's scene the conjuring of her own brain. 
 Their intercourse was by no means interrupted 
 8M 
 
 
 WC^«i^ i .!BW.8l>MUW I »W'8iJ'^WAtMMlH I I|[t^^ 
 
 irill>lu<llllT> Wk 
 
^msmmmm^mmmmmmmmmmm 
 
 .'■'■- ;♦; . .*■) 
 '! J* ■-;;■; '■ 'i :'i.;' ^. 
 . . .• ■> 
 
 ,1'.-, ^i 
 
 led at onoe to 
 >f course Mr. 
 aid demurely : 
 loctor?" And 
 : — she hoped 
 and wonied 
 lest her wish 
 
 r from home," 
 like his olden 
 to believe that 
 Her own brain, 
 ns interrupted 
 
 EMDINGS, 
 
 or changed. Since he treated her just the same, 
 she could see no reasons to refuse his kindly 
 invitations here and there, and two weeks more 
 passed, for Mr. Hargreave seemed in no hurry to 
 depart. 
 
 But at last the day of departure was set, and 
 Juniper shed a few tears in secret, without con- 
 fessing tlie reason, even to herself; and gathered 
 together an array of faded bouquets and other 
 knick-knacks for preservation, with a very mourn- 
 ful countenance. .j- <m/:. . :^ ,^ ,i»r»i 
 
 A few evenings before then: intended depart- 
 ure. Dr. Paul dropped in upon the pair, welcome 
 
 as USUal.>«»""4-iyi^.«ft-f? .ijf-^..^^^^:ui, g;,..^,t ry^u 
 
 A casual remark of Mr. Hargreave's in respect 
 to their speedy departure, brought a shade to the 
 young man's face whicli June's quick eyes dis- 
 covered. A little after Mr. Hargreave was 
 summoned to the parlor to see a visitor — a very 
 unusual occurrence — and, excusing himself, left 
 June and the doctor alone. »^s^4 »?i i.-rr^^*fJ«3li5 
 ' The young man arose and paced the room 
 
 ■4iiw»^iM«>*iM w.w^..wfcmwiMaumjaiiMyM^^ 
 
■iMi 
 
 826 
 
 Oim STBEKT. 
 
 bftck and forth several times. He did not look at 
 June, but she felt very guilty, and when ho 
 stopped before her she was inwardly trembling. 
 
 "June," he said, "I put myself in your hands 
 again." 
 
 " What a persistent man you are. Dr. Paul I " 
 
 " Am I ? Well, i^rsistency is a good thing in 
 a good cause. Besides, I think you made a mis- 
 take when you refused me the other day, June." 
 
 "A mistake? Doctor, I am astonished I" 
 Miss June was a wee bit indignant. 
 
 ♦» Yes," quietly, gravely. " You spoke quickly, 
 aud without weighing the matter. Your answer 
 was that of impulse. You had not studied your 
 own heart. You have since — have you not? 
 and I think I am not mistaken in saying you find 
 I have a place there." 
 
 He spoke so quif tly, yet so surely, as a man 
 convinced of his ground, that June could not 
 really be as provoked as she wished to be. 
 
 "Are you not taking too much for granted, 
 doctor?" she began however, warmly. 
 
rfhMbi 
 
 XNDINOB. 
 
 827 
 
 did not look at 
 
 and when ho 
 
 rdly trembling. 
 
 in your hands 
 
 re, Dr. Paul I" 
 good thing in 
 lu made a mis- 
 ler day, June." 
 1 astonished I '* 
 nt. 
 
 spoke quickly, 
 
 Your answer 
 
 t studied your 
 
 lave you not? 
 
 saying you find 
 
 irely, as a man 
 ane could not 
 led to be. 
 h for granted} 
 rmly. 
 
 »♦ Not more than I wish you to grant," he an- 
 swered quickly, smiling into her face. " June, 
 be true to yourself — I would not have you other- 
 ^if^ — but bo true to me also. Do not send me 
 away for a whim. I offer you no half-heart, I 
 assure you — I ask no half-heart in return ; but I 
 want an honest decision. I have a right to it. 
 Think before you speak again." 
 
 When Dr. Paul spoke in this tone persons were 
 wont to obey. June was no exception to thia 
 rule. She did not look up now or speak. She 
 felt his keen eyes scare iig her face, and feared 
 them. Her cheeks grew rosy beneath his glance, 
 her lips trembled. 
 
 He turned away. 
 : •* I will not constrain you," he said. " I would 
 not, for the world, draw you by. any other than 
 the cords of love." 
 
 He walked to a window and peered out into the 
 darkness. After awhile he sought her side again. 
 , , , "Well, June?" he whispered, questioningly. 
 "You are right," she said, with a half sob; 
 
mm 
 
 828 
 
 OUB STEBET. 
 
 then, throwing her arms suddenly about his 
 bowed neck, she cried, "Take every bit of me. 
 I've belonged to you this month back." 
 
 It was rather a predicament for Mr. Hargreavo 
 to open the door upon this scene, but he did. 
 The young man's face flushed a little, but he did 
 not look otherwise disconcerted. He had no 
 time for words. June stopped them by springing 
 to Hex father's side and twining the arms so lately 
 about the doctor s neck around his. 
 
 " Not a word, you precious old hateful Popsy- 
 dil I " she said. " If you had not left the room it 
 never wo-Ud have happened I Anyway, there's 
 no use in resisting fate, and he's a terribly per- 
 sistent man. Then you know, if you must give 
 me away, you'd rather give me to him than to 
 any other man living!" 
 And Mr. Hargreave did not deny this. 
 "To think," said June to her father, hours 
 after, « to think I'd be willing to become Mrs. 
 Paul just for love I O, Popsydil, isn't it ridio- 
 ulous?" 
 
 '< fe-T©;»ife*ia.»,»ik'iffitei#'vi SW(!i?»i;s.?wftS** 
 
^tm 
 
 ENDINGS. 
 
 ^29 
 
 inly about his 
 ery bit of me. 
 back." 
 
 Mr. Hargreave 
 »e, but he did. 
 fctle, but he did 
 He had no 
 m by springing 
 arms so lately 
 s. 
 
 lateful Popsy- 
 sft the room it 
 iyway, there's 
 a terribly per- 
 ou must give 
 ) him than to 
 
 ny this, 
 father, hours 
 become Mrs. 
 isn't it ridio- 
 
 "What ridiculous?. Mrs. Dr. Paul Howard? 
 By no means. It is a good name and a very 
 noted one. Surely" — answering the look of 
 surprise on his daughter's face — "surely you 
 knew he was the son of old Dr. David Howard, 
 and was only called Dr. Paul to distinguish him 
 from the elder ? The old gentleman died a year 
 since, but the people cling to the title." 
 
 "When did you Icirn all that, Popsydil?" ' 
 "O, a month or two ago, when I found my 
 little girl was getting uncommonly interested in 
 the medicine man. Heyl not blushing? It 
 didn't take the most acute perception to discover 
 that. Puss, but I'm more than satisfied with your 
 choice." :., . . . - - 
 
 The journey to America was delayed one 
 steamer. The doctor declared he had only been 
 waiting a favorable opportunity to visit America, 
 and it was decided unanimously that the wedding 
 should take place at the farm-house. *. •"■:' 
 
 June seemed very proud of her choice when he 
 
 mmm 
 
 mmm 
 
880 
 
 OITB STBEET. 
 
 really became such, and shpwed it in a variety of 
 odd ways, very amusing to both gentlemen. She 
 was very particular not to write a word home 
 about ^er doctor, and charged her father to keep 
 her secret when he wrote to his wife by the 
 steamer which should have carried them. Yet» 
 strange to say, the whole household were watching 
 eagerly for their coming, and all expected the 
 stranger. , , . 
 
 Miss Rose herself had superintended the sweep- 
 ing, airing and decorating of the spare chamber, 
 had filled the vases with fresh roses, and waited at 
 the gate, a tall, graceful girl, robed in white, with 
 bright curls fastened away from her face, as the 
 carriage drove up. a ,, , ;!;.!,>:.- ta'ijop^ ■ 
 
 On the piazza Mrs. Hargreave and her boy, in 
 holiday attire, and Aunt Myra, arrayed in stiff 
 black silk, awaited company. Doctor sounded 
 well to Aunt Myra. She had rolled it over her 
 tongue a hundred times that day, always adding a 
 wonder as to June's being so sensible. Yes, the 
 whole household awaited the guest; even Tom 
 
m* 
 
 BNDINOS. 
 
 881 
 
 in a variety of 
 ntlemen. She 
 a word home 
 father to keep 
 
 wife by the 
 d them. Yet> 
 were watching 
 
 expected the 
 
 led the sweep- 
 pare chamber, 
 and waited at 
 in white, with 
 )r face, as the 
 
 id her boy, in 
 rayed in stiff 
 >ctor sounded 
 »d it over her 
 >vays adding a 
 ble. Yes, the 
 t; even Tom 
 
 and Jetty watched for a glimpse of Miss June's 
 
 beau. -■■'■^^-^■,u}, ■•yr- 
 
 ^^\:M-'*i'''' *''-*'*"- '5 ■ 
 
 Kiis i^kv;* ri n}:4'i 
 
 Rose intended to be very proper indeed, and 
 put out her hand in grand style ; but the " little 
 big doctor," as she dubbed him, upset all this by 
 kissing her heartily, and saying, " Why 1 Primrose 
 is quite a young lady." .^s' -^ •^ v rfs^; -j •s:;;?:;/,* 
 
 The indignant miss flashed angry eyes at her 
 sister, and whispered, at the first opportunity, 
 "I'll pay you off for telling him I was called 
 Primrose, when I haven't answered to the name 
 these years ! " And in spite of June's surprised 
 " I never told him I He's the funniest man liv- 
 ing I He just knows everything I " Rose was 
 neither mollified or convinced. : ;u-;;^ MS^-inm-' 
 
 Aunt Myra liked his looks. " Steddy and 
 airnest, with somethin' to do in the world. It's 
 jest Burprisin' that that fly-away should git him ! " 
 was her comment that night to her brother. As 
 to Mrs. Hargreave, her heart was won by that 
 first tender greeting. vs' ar >5- Afsirj^w 
 
 He kissed her cheek, and said "mother" in 
 
 ■MiiMHiBMia 
 
882 
 
 OITB 8TBKET. 
 
 Buch a tone that June, just behind, felt tears 
 spring to her eyes; and he added, pathetically, 
 " It is a blessed privilege, denied me many years, 
 of calling any mortal by that sacred name. I 
 trust I shall deserve this blessing I " 
 
 All had a greeting, even Jetty and Tom, whom 
 Rose introduced to her brother to be. They 
 liked his appearance, and the doctor was conscious 
 all that day of Jetty's eyes fixed keenly on him, 
 whenever she entered his presence 
 
 He was surely soon at home. Before •nightfall 
 he had visited every portion of the farm, and 
 become acquainted with every living creature. 
 Or, as June said, " Renewed acquaintance ; for I 
 believe you have always known whatever I have. 
 You act as if you had," she eaid, half-provoked, 
 because he had called the cat, over which he stum- 
 bled, by her right name, "Aunt Martha;" a 
 name, like her color and size, descended from her 
 mother and grandmother, u. - „, , „, 
 
 "I am a lucky hit," he said, smiling. "And 
 this is a real gypsy," patting the back of June's 
 long-loved pony. 
 
 -w'ltititiiii 
 
 ii.iiiilinw»ii 
 
■HP 
 
 u^M 
 
 ind, felt tears 
 , pathetically, 
 e many years, 
 ;red name. I 
 
 li Tom, whom 
 o be. They 
 was conscious 
 Benly on him, 
 
 fore -nightfall 
 he farm, and 
 ing creature, 
 ntance ; for I 
 tever I have, 
 lalf-provoked, 
 hich he stum- 
 Martha J " a 
 Jed from her 
 
 ling. »* And 
 ck of June's 
 
 XKDINQS. 
 
 888 
 
 ♦' There it is again 1 Too true to be all tuition," 
 cried the girl laughing. '* .You shall not go near 
 the city without me, or you will know all my 
 friends before I introduce them." 
 
 About a week after their arrival June proposed 
 a visit to Bryony. It was a lovely morning, and 
 when June presented herself at the door the 
 doctor stood waiting, a beautiful bouquet in his 
 hand. 
 
 "Your little friend loves flowers," he said. 
 " All children do, especially if invalid." And ho 
 handed her into the carriage as she exclaimed, 
 "How thoughtful you are, Paul!" ., ,. : „ 
 
 Jetty, who had joined Tom, stood looking after 
 the carriage. , . ;.v^...v« -;-<.*■••■ -^j- .-•^.'.^ >■ :-,^-. . ^.w.. 
 
 "He's a gentleman, every inch," iiaid Tom, 
 thoughtfully, "yet as hearty and cheory as an 
 old friend. He keeps making me think of some^> 
 body else." -.■.-.x :.,n- ...mm 
 
 " That's it ! " retiirned his wife, quickly. " Just 
 like an old friend, and jret so different." i 
 
 Our little Bry I How natural still to call her t 
 
 ■ i\'- : 
 
 m.vyB9mmmwiani \ nm*i^»m t DAi 's^ 
 
S84 
 
 OUB STBEET. 
 
 this I Yet she is no longer a child. Small she b 
 — always will be ; but by no means as small as in 
 other days, neither is she quite so much of an 
 invalid. She can move with less pain than for- 
 merly. The old sweet spirit, grown strong, is 
 still about her, as she sits in the bay-window of 
 her cottage, full of flowers, singing to herself, this 
 morning. 
 
 "I wonder they don't come. I do want to see 
 
 Miss June's doctor," she sighed. "But — but 
 
 I hope I'm not selfish — I did want Ikey boy to 
 get her, seeing he loved her so well. Strange he 
 never comes back or writes one word I Harkl 
 There's the sound of carriage-wheels I the door- 
 bell I I believe it is June and her — " and little 
 Bry started to her feet, leaning on her crutches, 
 with a sweet, flushed, expectant face. 
 
 Yes, it was June, bringing a whole sumaer full 
 of robins and blossoms in her breezy step and 
 cooii.g voice. Bry clung to her neck, actually 
 shedding tears, afraid to look up at the stranger, 
 80 soon to take her firiend away again. 
 
Small she is 
 as small as in 
 ) much of an 
 pain than for- 
 wu strong, is 
 bay-window of 
 to herself, this 
 
 9 want to see 
 ♦But— but— 
 b Ikey boy to 
 1. Strange he 
 rord I Hark 1 
 bIs! the door- 
 -" and little 
 
 her crutches, 
 .ce. --: ,..-„-. 
 3 surmer full 
 eezy step and 
 leck, actually 
 
 the stranger, 
 again. 
 
 nrDmos. 
 
 "Why, little Bryl You naughty girl I Cry- 
 ing, when I want you to be your brightest, most 
 comfortable, to welcome my nice doctor. Come 
 here. Dr. Paul, and tell this little girl how glad 
 you are to see her. You must make a good 
 impression, for her opinion goes very far with me." 
 
 There was small need to call the doctor. He 
 had sprung eagerly towards the child, and only 
 waited her lifted face. Now he took both her 
 hands in his with an earnest, tender glauce. She 
 was devouring him with her eyes, a flush of eager 
 excitement covering her pale cheeks. 
 
 " Bryony, little Bry, this is too much for you 1 
 he said tenderly, placing her gently in her chair, 
 and kissing her brow and lips ; but she clung to 
 him convulsively, and sobbed hysterically. June 
 stood speechless and astonished, while his sooth- 
 ing hand smoothed the head bowed on his bosom. 
 
 "It's not 'cause I'm sorry, but — so — so com- 
 fortable I " Bry said at length, lifting her head. 
 " And I'm ashamed that I didn't trust Him alto- 
 gether when he says: ^^Ail tl^ngs whatsoever ye 
 
 MNiiii 
 
saa 
 
 OUB STREET. 
 
 eak.' I've asked every day since you went, thnt 
 you should come back, and Miss June should love 
 you; and yet, when they said 'twas Dr. Howard I 
 did doubt. It was the strange name, you see; 
 but~bi\'- you are my own Ikoy boy, and I'm so 
 — so thnnkful ! " and Bry's full heart trembled to 
 tears again. 
 
 June was sorely puzzled. " Come back 1 strange 
 name I Jkey boy ! " She did not aaderstand this 
 talk, neither tha radiant face of the man she loved. 
 He drew her gently towards him, reading her 
 bewilderment. 
 
 " Dr. Paul Howard was only Dr. David How- 
 ard's adopted son. I shall not be less dear as 
 Isaac Paul Hobson, shall I, June?" he asked» 
 tenderly. ._^ 
 
 1-4:'' r'J jT;. ■'-,:i -vr,*.!. 
 
 .*it 
 
 She struggled In his embrace, and, freeing her- 
 self, studied his face scrutinizingly. .i.,^iv.i- -0 
 
 " Yes, it is I " she said, convinced, " yet T can't 
 believe it. Paul, you have deceived me." - --' 
 
 "H.ive I, June? Be hon-st. Am I not all I 
 ever represented myself to be ? Have I ai 'thing 
 
 ~M.iM'ivT 'Vife ■■ 
 
MMM 
 
 imp 
 
 70X1 went, thnt 
 ne should love 
 Dr. Howard I 
 ime, you see ; 
 ly, and I'm so 
 rt trembled to 
 
 back I btrangd 
 ider8tand this 
 uan she loved. 
 , reading her 
 
 . David How- 
 I less dear as 
 ?" he asked, 
 
 , freeing her- 
 
 '* yet T can't 
 ed me." 4 v iw 
 n I not all I 
 /e I ai 'thijig 
 
 KNDWOS. 
 
 to lose by this divulgence? If so, could I not 
 have avoided this meeting, or married you while 
 in France? I willed you should know this, love, 
 but I wished you to be sure of your8elf, unbiased 
 by circumstances.".. . , v • - 
 
 She laughed. " You are my own Dr. Paul, I 
 see, Howard or Hobson. To think! the boy I 
 found swung headlong from a beam, trying to 
 
 lengthen himself I". .. . ■■•.■,. 
 
 , .♦* And all for love of you I " he laughed. «« Ah, 
 June, you could not know its strength then." 
 " No ; but I did realize your love for books full 
 of horrible skeletons." « - ;,.... . . r,. 
 
 They dined with Ellice that day, Dick's amaze-" 
 ment being as large at his sister's recognition of 
 Ike, as at that gentleman's strange transforma- 
 tion. In the cool of the afternoon the visitors 
 turned homeward. ii^r- -.'«.'*.; r ,^ii'./-i; (jy»F3 
 
 " Paul, I've a good mind to turn you oi3F now," 
 said June, as she nestled close to his side. ""'"^ 
 
 "You had better cheat yourself to tease me 1 " 
 he returned, laughingly. "June, I wish you' 
 
 ^ii'iimmiiiiiiiiiirf*! ■ 
 
 ■W ' lM i mnnnn i i i iiiim i 
 
 MiiMMiiHiliiii 
 
 
 "#Sf'" 
 
mm 
 
 888 
 
 OUB 8TBEET. 
 
 could have seen me in Dr. Fouby's office yesteiv 
 day. The dear old gentleman was so amazed I 
 It seemed inipostiihl') to make him understand. 
 I introduced myHclf first as a friend of Dr. David 
 Howard, and related to him several incidents 
 connected with his decease. Then he inquired 
 about the doctor's adopted son ; and when I 
 assured him that I was that person he would not 
 believe me. When really convinced he shed 
 tears. * Bryony expected you back,' he *^aid ; 
 'but after Howard adopted you I gave you up. 
 I'm growing very old. Be my boy now, and take 
 my practice.' " 
 
 "And what did you say?'' cried June, a little 
 eagerly for a young lady who had just decided to 
 sever the relations between tnem. 
 
 " Why, I said ' yes,' " smiling. " Are you veiy 
 glad, little girl ? I expected this when I came." 
 
 "And yet did not tell me?" 
 
 "No. I wanted to prove you, June. The 
 woman who would part with father and home 
 willingly, and return to France with me, must 
 
 W!!^^^^Blwi^sm«<mftimi0m^Skihiiimiisi ■ 
 
 
office yeflter- 
 \ 80 amnzed I 
 1 understand, 
 of Dr. David 
 tral incidents 
 1 he inquired 
 and when I 
 he would not 
 ced he shed 
 ck,' he *Miid ; 
 gave you up. 
 aow, and take 
 
 June, a little 
 1st decided to 
 
 Are you vety 
 len I came." 
 
 t, June. The 
 ler and home 
 'ith me, must 
 
 4te 
 
 ENDINOS. 
 
 880 
 
 love me truly. Don't blame me. Remember, I 
 was jilted twice." 
 " Now, Paul, that's mean to twit me with it." 
 "Is it? Well, I did not realize that. I prom- 
 ise not to do it ttguin. I assure you it does not 
 trouble me in the least. But, June, old Dr. Fosby 
 is anxious to see yoii. We must go there to- 
 morrow." . 
 
 " I knew his face was familiar," said Jetty, that 
 eveii.ng, on hearing the news from Rose. And 
 when alone she ad«led, her face crimson with 
 blushes, " How could I ever think of him ? I'd 
 be scared of him! 'Miss June, now, just suits 
 him, with her pretty, sprightly ways. Well, he 
 knew best, so did God. He wasn't my 'own,' 
 after all my thinkin' ; but it led me to Him as calls 
 Buch trash as me his own, and I received him. 
 But I can't help wishin' I had never talked so to 
 that doctor." '■ ',"'r< '•^;> •;',;; :.-, ■,,^^-,^\'' 
 
 She need not have been troubled. Dr. Hobson 
 never acted as if he remembered that passage in 
 his life, and she soon forgot her discomfiture in 
 his presence. . 
 
'wiswmw^ 
 
 840 
 
 OUR STREET. 
 
 Dr. Hobson resides in the great stone front 
 formerly Dr. Fosby's residence, wonderful to his 
 boyhood. His wife has become (imte reconciled 
 to tt " pill and nostrum man," and even vi»it»* his 
 patients occasionally, giving hira fresh proofs 
 constantly of her ability to rouse the despondent. 
 He snyK " she is a wonderful woman ; '' she says 
 that is one of the weak points of her strong, 
 bravo husband, his admiration of her. Another, 
 which develops fast, is an admiration of the little 
 flock gathering at her side. ^ ' • 
 
 Bry is glad they live so near her, though dis- 
 tance would not n;"ke the difference with her 
 MOW that it did in other days. The young doctor 
 has been very successful in his treatment of her ; 
 and, though she must always be lame, she moves 
 with a degree of quickness, and painlessless, very 
 wonderful to her, on the patent crutches he mod- 
 elled for her himsolf. 
 
 She is very much like herself, still using occar 
 sionally, in her quaint st \e, her old word " oom- 
 
 ati*;**-'.;' 
 
 /'i^mmm 
 
 tajfc3»«*»" 
 
ENDINGS. 
 
 841 
 
 stone front 
 [erful to his 
 e reconciled 
 en vittittf his 
 tresli proofs 
 
 despondent. 
 
 ; '' she says 
 
 her strong, 
 r. Another, 
 
 I of the little 
 
 , though dis- 
 ice with her 
 yroung doctor 
 ment of her; 
 le, she moves 
 dessless, very 
 ches he raod- 
 
 II using occ^ 
 I word *' oom- 
 
 fortiible," tliough it does not appear an often as 
 ft)rnierly. There is a little more roundness to her 
 limbs, perhaps, a little more pink on her cheek, 
 a fresher spring to her laugh. But this is perfectly 
 natural, as she goes out into the fresh air every 
 day now. She has days of pain, to be sure, but 
 they are only occasional, -i • • - 
 
 Dr. Hobson's family and Dick Perkins' quarrel 
 about her incessantly. Rose borrows her occa- 
 sionally, and Mr. Gardenell looks for a visit from 
 her every summer. There is a great clamor for 
 her, among the children, especially at Christmas 
 time ; her stories are such merry, babbling, health- 
 ful ones we do not wonder. \ ■ ., : 
 
 It would be a good thing could she divide her- 
 self indefinitely at such times. As it is, she does 
 the next befet thing — I hope you will not like her 
 less for knowing it — she writes stories for the 
 children. Not big, novelish things, you know, 
 but primrosy, hawthorny ones, that make your 
 very senses ache with pleasure and with longing 
 to be a child again, providing you are not one 
 
 10* 
 
 I nft l ii iiii ' • tt'nii i| -Tfr^ i li ii. 'ri'i(rr i iiiir iii 't' i V i ' i riV['v I '- i lnrr'-JTYff 
 
842 
 
 OJJK STRiiiST. 
 
 already. We know lots of fifty-year oldere who 
 are not a day over five years old until the story 
 is ended, and for at least thirty-six hours after. 
 
 All this came about through Becky Cartwright. 
 So, if anyone is to blame, it is she. She realized 
 Bry's faculty for the work and pressed her to it. 
 That is how it happens that Bry owns a horse and 
 basket-wagon, a wonderful affair Christmas times, 
 when it is stuffed to overflowing by numerous 
 Great-hearts, who know she is just the fairy to 
 scatter their bou:i+y- - ■ • 
 
 The rest of Our Street acquaintances are 
 changed also, as who changes not in this changeful 
 world? Hephzibah and Beulah pay occasional 
 visits to tneir prcsjjerous brother ; Hudworth still 
 sella periodicals; Kiddy Langdon has given up 
 her shop, no longer needing its support. As to 
 Widow Graf ham, perhaps Becky's words, in a late 
 
 poem, 
 
 best describe her: . 
 " And mother, with her tireless hands — 
 Those wrinkled, withered, tireless hands — 
 With silvery threads amid her bands — 
 Waits longing for her rest." 
 
 '^JsC^*' 
 
 fe ^ilUi|l.ttl.-^ l "ll ll . .-W lll W 
 
oldere who 
 ;il the story- 
 hours after. 
 
 Cartwright. 
 
 She realized 
 ed her to it. 
 \ a horse and 
 Lstmas times, 
 )y numerous 
 
 the fairy to 
 
 intances are 
 bis changeful 
 ,y occasional 
 tidworth still 
 (as given up 
 iport. As to 
 Drds, in a late 
 
 ds— 
 ands — 
 
 s — " 
 
 ?^^»sr- 
 
 ENDING8. 
 
 843 
 
 I hope, when you visit Our City, reader, you 
 will make it a point to see Bryony Perkins. She 
 will make you very '•'• comfortable,'' especially if 
 you come as the friend of Rev. Herbert Gardenell 
 or Becky Cartwright. 
 
 She stUl resides in the pretty cottage, with the 
 south bay wmdow, on the left side of Our Street, 
 as you go towards the Oaks. 
 
 Don't forget the name, Bryony Perkins ; or the 
 house and street, number ought-0-naught (000) 
 Our Street. Give my love to her when you call. 
 
 
 tAh-iiM^i^js^X* 
 
 »y ^tAt M i in *^»mt t\ii < m, v nM»u l Uk 
 
 
1/ TX: :.:{ WJf. *'^ !-i <'>'l> 
 
 ■ If ■ , 
 
 v» 
 
 ^ *. 4 J i^ 
 
 
 i 
 
 Jv-vSJ 
 
 
 .tJ.* 
 
 
 • i 
 
 
 t ^jfc_^^& T r -t 
 
 ^» . „l3.'B«*'''^| 
 
 .s8^ ^m i i'" "■ ' l i i # ft»»"'^'"' 
 
f-fOT, 
 
 i, 
 ■1 > I 
 
 
 
 ( • , •>' 
 
 i ' 7 
 
 ,'■> < 
 
 «; >.. '3 
 
 
 JOIi:Nf BUEMM 
 
 HIS PRISON BARS. 
 
 BY 
 
 ALPHONSO A. HOPKINS. 
 
 Square z6mo ; 360 pp. Price, (1.25. 
 
 Thb 1x>ok (howt the marlct of a geiiiui !n the field of romance, and the au- 
 thor can well congratulate hinuelf on hit abundant %ucc»u.—Sjrratut* Daily 
 Standard. 
 
 , , We can pve nothing 
 It must be r«ui to be ap- 
 
 Wshave read the book with abtorbing interest, 
 of the Kolemn pathc . that runs through the story, 
 preciated.— /TaiwiV/OM Ktfuilican. 
 
 Thb story is admirably wrought ; written in Ma. Hopkins' unusually clear 
 and graphic style, is true to nature, and holds the reader's attention and in- 
 terest to the end.— Tit Sa/tUt l/mem. 
 
 In developing his story, Mr. HorKiNS displays the skill of a true artist- 
 The minor characters are well drawn, and the dramatic incidents, in which the 
 story abounds, are graphically represented. — Albany Evming Journal. 
 
 Thb story is as helpful and sweet as that of David Copperfield's "pure, un- 
 sullied page." The story is a thoroughly American one ; its descriptions of 
 life in the political circles of State and National Capitals are vivid, sometime* 
 brilliant, and always truthful. The temptations which beset the aspirant for 
 political honors in this country are delineated with masterly %V:i\.—Buffala 
 Conritr, 
 
 Ma. Hopkins has had considerable experience in political life in this city, 
 which we recognize as the original of " Baylan," the Capital City which forms 
 the center for very much of the grouping in the work. And he knows what 
 life in the army is. He is also a fine poet, a pleasant lecturer, a clear thinker, 
 and thoroughly conscientious. In his Dovel, founded on (set, he has weaved 
 th« lessons of all this varied experience.— il/Mn^ Argut. 
 
 It is fresh, vigorous, natural, ''with no nonsense about it," and from a new, 
 and we believe comparatively young pen. I. is a book tiiat gives promise of a 
 future, and is especially noticeable Tor being a temperance book without being 
 at all intemperate or silly. • • • • It is a pathetic story, and its moral 
 is admirably voiced in the beautiful and touching sermon which concludes it, 
 and it is one of the most effectively written— in straightforward Saxon fashion 
 —and readable books, in its flow and incident, that we have had for a long 
 time.— A^«ti» York Evtning Mail. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 'i 
 
 
 «« i f >l» 'l i lil iil MM»(«-y'-^^ ^■'J-Jfii-'~- ^~^-fi^'.*''^l^ ^■■ T'i^iiiil^-tiSJ'^i-'-^^ -l-.^t-^^ {-dlit .Mii-.. i.t„lV,r.t,.^1|ff» J* 
 
Btjth EBSKnni's Cbo»<>K8. By Pwisy. Boston: D. Loth- 
 
 rop &. Co. $1.50. 
 
 "Among the few prominent publishing houses which make 
 a specially of Sunday-school literature, none deserves more 
 highly at the hands of the Christian public than D. Lothrop 
 & Co. Thel' nresfca seem consecrated to the making ol 
 books and papers — pure, wholesome, and safe — for the 
 young. In this day, when money-making seems to be along 
 the line of the Issuance of vicious and trashy stuff, it Is a 
 matter for congratulation that purely secular houses can 
 sternly resist the tide and devote themselves to the publicar 
 tion of only what Is elevating and good. 
 
 These remarks are called forth by reading the above book, 
 and after a long acqulntance with the publications of thii 
 house. 
 
 Two years ago the writer suggested in these columns to 
 Mrs. Alden, who writes under the pseudonym of "Pansy," 
 that she follow up the "Four Girls at Chautauqua" and the 
 " ChauUuqua Girls at Home" with an account of their life 
 after marriage, their real life, as marriage is often made an 
 excuse for the withdrawal of young people from active service 
 ' in the Church. In "Euth Ej-skine's Crosses" we find an 
 answer, in part, to our suggestion. We say in part, for the 
 book does not wholly meet our thought, and yet we are not 
 quite sure but that our disappolnlment is to be found in the 
 fact that Pansy has given us real and not ideal life. 
 
 The book is a worthy contribution to the series, and the 
 series ought to be in every Sunday-school and young people'a 
 library in the land." — JSTeio Fwifc CAristtan -4 doocaee. 
 
 . A, -i .a»S«a 
 
 ■s^saxf 
 
 ^g^jje^^tMfUfUvtSii 
 
iton: D. Loth- 
 
 les which make 
 deserves more 
 lan D. Lothrop 
 the making ot 
 safe — for the 
 ems to be along 
 hy stuff, it is a 
 lar houses can 
 to the publica- 
 
 the above l>ook, 
 lioations of this 
 
 «se columns to 
 n» of "Pansy," 
 mqua" and the 
 int of their life 
 9 often made an 
 >m active service 
 ses " we find an 
 
 in part, for l;he 
 I yet we are not 
 I be found in the 
 sal life. 
 
 series, and the 
 d young people's 
 Advocate. ; 
 
 mmm 
 
 WOItD PIOTUBES. Thong:htt and Dcsorlptlons from Fopn- 
 lar Author*. Boston : D. I.otbrop Se Co. Illoatrated, Frio* 
 •1.75.~01U edgea, SS.OO. 
 
 Thi» Vvjlumo is Irwribed by the author to " the Memory of My Beloved 
 Mather, Miusaret Govnrie Strohm, and of the happy days when we read to- 
 gether." A note of acknowledgment to the authors and the publishers rep. 
 resented, answers as a preface to this compilation. One hundred authors are 
 %uoted, among whom many are well-known to all, as Grace Aguilar, Louisa 
 M. Alcott, Charlotte Bronte, Bulwer, Dickens, Disraeli, Amanda M. Doug- 
 lass, Edward Evei«tt Hale, Hawthorne, Victor Hugo, Jean Ingelow, Eliia- 
 . beth Stuart Phelps, Charles Reade, Mrs. Stowe, and Bayard Taylor. There 
 Una lack of deep meanings in this collection, and of course all the ^pular 
 authors could not 1>e represented in a small volume. Forty v-opagesof the 
 three hundred and fifteen are devoted to various subjects under the title 
 " ThoughU." The remaining pages are classed " Descriptions and Scenes." 
 Some selections seem to be chosen to illustrate certain styles of picturesque 
 narrative and are allotted several pages, while others are terse enough to be 
 contained in a few lines. Dickens is awarded the first place, and the open, 
 ing thoughu are concerning " children." " I love these little people ; and it 
 is not a slight thing when they who are so fresh from God love us." 
 
 Here is something for the educators of women, by George MacDonald ; 
 " Men like women to reflect them ; but the wonuui who can only reflect a 
 man and is nothing in herself will never be of ranch service to him." 
 
 This is a picture, sure enough, from Mrs. W-'tney: "She was like a 
 breeze that set everything fluttering, and left the whole hwse freshened after 
 (he had passed on." , '■■u 
 
 Here some " Words of Truth," by Miss Alcott. bear profound philosophy. 
 "It i« an excellent plan to have some place where we can go to be quiet 
 when things vex or grieve us. There are a good many hard times in this life 
 of ours, but we can always bear them if we ask help in the right way." 
 
 One more selection from the short speeches must sufiice : " No life is all 
 sunshine, nor wrs it so intended. And yet I thibk God doesu't mean us t« 
 fear the future. We are totakeup daily evenUwithhopeAilhrarttandshap* 
 them into a higher form than crude fragments." 
 
 Such a book Is invaluable in iu influence on young people who are j-jst 
 forming their ideas of life. Many of the longer sketches are convenient to 
 take up when one feels like reading, but cannot endure a continuous effort 
 of the mind. A sick person, on recovering enough to be entertained with 
 short readinyi, would be greatly delighted by judicious use of this attractlva 
 klndafmedicineforthemind.— 7;t«Xi:j,;'a/ Cirw/MM. . - 
 
 
 iftW^»iw<«ii^ib»t*rt)»tilii|Miiiurt 
 
 .iiimiitSSt 
 
Out OF Darkwebs IwTO Liobt. By Mary A. Latlibnry. 
 
 Witli eiglit masterly cliaructer drawings, full page, with 
 
 poems ami exqiiixUe vigiieltes. Fine binding. Quarto. 
 
 Boston: D. Lollirop & Co. Price, $3.00. 
 
 We have no hesitation in pronouncing this one of the 
 most attractive presentation bookii wliieii hw been brought 
 out iu this city for many seasons. Elegantly bound and su- 
 perbly iliuNtrated, displaying ine utmost art of artist and 
 printer, its iitirary merit is of the highest order. The au- 
 thor. Miss Mary A. Lathbury, is both artist and poet. In 
 the several poems which n>ake up the book she traces the 
 gradual coming out from the thick darkness of doubt and 
 unlieliet into the full broad diiy of faith and religious trust. 
 They are sweetly and delicately written, and will appeal to 
 many liearts whose exiHiriences have been similar. The 
 drawings with which Miss Lathbury accompanies her poems 
 express in form what her pen has done iTi words. So full of 
 meaning has she made them that they almost alone tell the 
 story of the doubt, the struggle, the anguish and the convic- 
 tion wliicli so many have experienced in their attempts to 
 attain to a higher spiritual life. The vignettes are no less 
 artistic and expressive, each one being emblematic of some 
 sentiment contained in the poem to which It belongs. To 
 those wbo celebrate Christmas as a religious festival as well 
 as to those who are of a thoughtful turn of mind, the vol- 
 ume will have a peculiar value. Most holiday volumes serve 
 only for the 'reason in whicli they appear, but the oi>o before 
 us possesses those peculiar elements which make 't a staled- 
 ard work, unaffect<>d by the lapse of time or seasoiic. 
 
 Tub Childben's Almanac. For 1870-80-81-82-8.9. Edited 
 By Ella Farmtin. Boston : D. Lothrop A Co. 
 This unique little volume, which for beauty and Intrinsic 
 value, will compare with many of the high-priced annuals, 
 contains peculiar attractions which will render it one of the 
 best selling books of the season. The calendar — which 
 reaches over five years — gives it a value which the ordinary 
 almanac does not possess. Each nu)nth Is represented by an 
 original poem from the pen of a distinguished American 
 author, the list of contributors numbering such names as 
 Longfellow, Whiitier, Aldrich, Celia Thaxter, Mrs. A. D. T. 
 Whitney, Edgar Fawcett, and others. " Accompanying these 
 poems are twelve exquisite drawings on wood by Miss Hum- 
 phrey, and four beautiful chromo-llthographs by Miss Lath- 
 bury. As If these attractions were not enough, the editor 
 has prepared twelve pages of birthday mottoes from the 
 poets, making a single line motto for every day In the year. 
 Blank memoranda leaves are inserted for the benefit of those 
 who wish to put down notes or make rword of daily occur- 
 rences. Two editions are issued, — one In plain cloth, at 
 50 cenU, aud the other with silver-and-gold cover gilt edges, 
 at $1.09. 
 
 ;^s^^fes*iap^j..jj iiwi 
 
\. Lathbnry. 
 ill page, wlib 
 iiig. Quarto. 
 
 Is one of tlio 
 been brought 
 Mimd and 8U< 
 
 of artist and 
 iler. The au- 
 and poet. In 
 liie traces the 
 of doubt and 
 ellgious trust, 
 will appeal to 
 shnilar. The 
 iiles her poems 
 ds. So full of 
 t alone tell th« 
 md the convlc- 
 lir attempts to 
 es are no less 
 rnatic of some 
 
 belongs. To 
 festival as well 
 mind, the vol- 
 Toluraes serve 
 the opo before 
 ike 't a staud- 
 sasuiic. 
 
 -82-83. Edited 
 >. 
 
 f and intrinsic 
 riced annuals, 
 !r it one of the 
 endar — which 
 h the ordinary 
 •resented by an 
 lied American 
 uch names as 
 Mrs. A. D. T. 
 ipanying these 
 by Miss Hum- 
 by Miss Lath- 
 igli, the editor 
 toes from the 
 ay in the year, 
 leneflt of those 
 at daily occur- 
 plain cloth, at 
 Dver gilt edges, 
 
 _ji|gBSPj®*iSg»SR- 
 
 Totrno Folks' Hibtort of OB»"»"»i ,?/ ^J^V^''"**® ^• 
 YoiiBe Boston: D. Lothrop 4 Ca Price, $1.60. 
 Thelecond vZme of Miss tonge's s«ries o. Histories for 
 TounK People Ukes up Greece, and deals with it In an ex- 
 SifffW^iiteresUng manner. The author makes the at- 
 ?Sd1 to triwttie story of that country of poetry and fable 
 S^Tto be intollNlble tJ children. She begins y ^th son.e of 
 thebert known of the Greek myths, which she considers 
 IhLlTtalviiecesMry to the undersUnding of both the his- 
 S?an1lf iSv^then, taking np tl.e ^.read of -cknowl- 
 edied history, loUows It down to our day. ^^^^l}^^,B\t*^^ 
 5? Oernwmylt la very fuUy illustrated, and is bound In the 
 same style. 
 
 Tbok Blub. By Mrs. Lucta Chase Bell Laije 16rao. 10 
 inustriiio!;. by Merrill. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. 
 
 Thiols a delightful story for girls, and promises to be as 
 popular as any of Miss Alcoifs productions. The scene Is 
 Kd In the far west, and the incidents are such as could only 
 Il^cur In a newly-developed country, where even cWldm^a.e 
 Uu-'ht to depend upon themselves. "Doc, the warm- 
 heaTied, Impulsive heroine of the story. Is an original chw^ 
 acter and one whose ways are well worth copying by those 
 who reJd her adventures and experiences. T he VM,ok shows 
 howmu^hcanbe accomplished In a community by earnest, 
 determined endeavor on the part of a single one of iU mem- 
 bers, even If that member Is a y">ing g'^- _. . ^„„„ „,_,,, 
 
 IVtte Blue ought to become a standard book In every girl s 
 
 library. 
 
 Child Toilebb of Boston Stbeets. By Emma E. Brown. 
 
 Wlfh 12 pictures drawn from life by fotherine Peirson. 
 
 Quarto, with illuminated board covers. Boston: D. Lotli- 
 
 Her?i?ik^book wli'lch should be read by every Boston boy 
 and Kirl. to say nothing of the boys and girls who have never 
 Ken In Boston, and who would like to know "oniethnig 
 about the variois ways in whlcli poor children manage to 
 make a llvh.gfor themselves and those depending upon 
 Sem. Miss Brown, the author, personally made the ac- 
 S'tance of the children here described, saw them at heir 
 work V sited them at their homes, and saw how they ved, 
 Wha sheTeaJned during these vi.its »» v.ry Interestingly 
 told and win give young readers who are bett«r off a fair 
 idea oT the daily life of the working poor, aijd the trials and 
 troubles hrough which they have to pass. .Humble as^oue 
 S the occupations are which are here described, the example 
 n# Industrv and economy set by certain of those who follow 
 them might ^ profitably imitated. The illustrations b, 
 SfsTpelrlon add to the biauty and Interest of the book. ^ . 
 
 ...«'Si«Li9Xi~*v'~>' 
 
 «u«>--M-~-~w»^'«»i'>-««»M>MJ»*&M^ 
 
The Stobt of Bxomsh LmmAVVVK Fob Yorifo Pko- 
 
 PLE. ByLucy Cecil White Mrs. Lillie). Fiillv illii»i,.-ii" 
 
 ted with portralu and views of colebr. ted tpow. I'^nivy. 
 
 Bo»ion: D. Lothrop A Co. Price, 11.26. 
 
 riiis is a bool< wliicli should fliid a place in the library ot 
 every household. It is from the pen of a distinguished iadv 
 now in Eiifflnnd, who has peculiar adventages for m»klu4 
 It nc" only interesting, but reliable. It In not a " piclced ' p 
 
 v.K, "iwitliy put together, and mivdv" onl-, to s<'l, ! u.. k cartn 
 ;,Utl; rough coir pilation r>f facts, AriUen In a fascinating 
 '^ -oiJ ,t aeable m .nier, and lU a style especially adapted to 
 the ,Mt"! of young readers. Although comprehensive in its 
 ' -IS it s not wearisome in detail. It contains interesting 
 '■. ■:<:>hes of Chaucer, Spenser, Bacon, Shakespeare, Ben Jon- 
 !>M\ ri' " many other distinguished writers, with a great deal 
 of i>u» Mns'information about men and manners of vari- 
 ous ;uae^ The illustrations are particularly fine, and in- 
 clude portraits of the principal characters, with views of 
 historical buildings and places. 
 Overhead: What Harrt awd Nellt Discovered ik 
 
 THE HBAVENd. Illustrated, Quarto Illuminated cover. 
 
 Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. Price, 11.00, 
 
 In this cliarmlug little volume the author undertakes to 
 t«!iacli the rudiments of astronomy to children, without mak- 
 ing it seem like study. It io written in conversational style, 
 the characters consisting of Professor Wilioughby and sev- 
 ural of his young friends. In the course of these conversa- 
 tions a descriptian of the starry heavens is given, the pecu- 
 liarities of the heavenly bodies are descrll)ed, and the 
 planentary sysbsm explained, together with its vafious 
 phenomena. All this is done so easily and naturally that at 
 the close of the 'oook the children And tliat they have learned 
 a great deal of astronomy witliout knowing it. The text of 
 the book is greatly aided by the illustrations, of which there 
 Rre many. A thorough perusal of its pages will give young 
 readers a better idea of the distant worlds above and around 
 them than the study of 4 dry text book for an entire term. 
 Prof. Waldo, of t>"» Cambridge Observatory, furnishes a 
 pleisant intrcd-.ctiou, iu which he indorses the l)ook from a 
 Bcientlflc standpoiitt. 
 
 SiDNBT Mar-in's Christmas. By Pansy. Large Wmo., 
 600 pages. Fully illustrated. Boston : D. Lothrop <& Co. 
 Price, $1.50, 
 
 Of the multitudes of story books bronjiht out for the 
 holiday season none will be more sought" after by young 
 readers than this, one of Mrs. Aiden's latent works. It con- 
 sists of a series of stories written with n special adaptation 
 to the reason, and all of them are specially suited to cosy fire- 
 side reading. It is safe to say tltat "Pansy" has never 
 written a dull nor uninteresting story, 'and the present col- 
 lection is made up of her sprightliest and best efforts. It is 
 printed on clear white paper, and is beautifully bound. 
 
 1 
 
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 WP 
 
 Young Pko- 
 
 Fllllv illuS(..-R-- 
 
 the library of 
 ngiiiBbed ladr 
 )8 for niakii.(< 
 "picked 'p 
 '1, ! u.. k caro* 
 a fascinating 
 lly adapted to 
 thenMve In its 
 IIS interesting 
 lare, Ben Jon- 
 >li a great deal 
 nners of vai'i- 
 fine, and iu- 
 rith views of 
 
 iCOVEBED IH 
 
 ainated cover. 
 
 undertakes to 
 witlioiit mak- 
 sational style, 
 ghby and sev- 
 lese conversa- 
 iren, the pecu- 
 bed, ana the 
 
 I its various 
 til rally tliat at 
 r have learned 
 
 The text of 
 F which there 
 
 II give young 
 e and around 
 
 entire term. 
 , furnishes a 
 B book from a 
 
 Large 16mo., 
 oihrop <& Co. 
 
 out for the 
 'ter by young 
 orks. It Gon- 
 ial adaptation 
 d to cosy flre- 
 " has never 
 J present col- 
 efforts. It is 
 
 bound. 
 
 BOUUDALOUE A <D Louis XIV, or the Preacher 
 AND THE K/N-G. UauMtafwf from the Vrcnch of L. L. F. 
 Bung-.ier, GCTC^•a. (?2th edition) .ih a Biographical 
 SiHrtch of the Author. We think Messrs. Lothrop & Co. 
 deserve the thanks of the r^-.dii.g community for iht hand- • 
 somely got un -dilion oi" the ' BuiTgener Historical Series' 
 the; aic now publishing; it will prove a most valuable ad- 
 dition to the Literature of the season. Mons. Bungener's 
 writings, while possessing all the fascination of romance 
 are pre-eminent for truthfulness. "Truthfulness in the 
 design, truthfulness in the details, truthfulness frorn first 
 to last reigns supreme in M. Bungener's productions." No 
 author imparts a more vivid reality to his impersonations. 
 Whether he conducts us to the splendors of Versailles, 
 ushering us into the presence of him who pervaded all 
 with his majesty, whether we pace up a-d down with him 
 the Philosopher's Walk, listening to the eloquently pious dis- 
 courses there ; or, whether we draw our breath trembling 
 at the dread conflict engaged betvv-'in the Preacher and 
 the King, we yield ourselves to the magic illusion with the 
 unreasoning, intuitive confidence which the truthfulness 
 of genius never fails to inspire.' ~ JBos/on Cultivator. 
 
 D. Lothrop & Co., have commenced the public? lion of 
 a series of historical romances from the pen of L. L. F. 
 Bungener, a Protestant minister at Geneva. The first vol- 
 ume of the series, entitled Bourdaloue and Louis XIV., 
 or The Preacher and the King, has been already issued, 
 accompanied by a biographical sketch of the author. This 
 book has reached its twelfth or thirteenth edition in the 
 original ; and its popularity is chiefly to be attributed to the 
 fact that it presents the events of history accurately and 
 faithfully, at the same time that it weaves in with them a 
 thread of romance which makes the narrative as entenain 
 ng as it is instructive. The other volumes in the series are 
 Louis XV., and His Times, or The Priest and the Hugue- 
 ,,ot," "Rabaut and Bridaine" and "The Tower of Con- 
 itancy." Price. $1.50. tz.c\i. — Boston Daily Journal. 
 
 «A 
 
 fc. j*-«l"*.*>V.i.»VA«»nl'"t-'-k>. * 
 
 te «n>..'.v u '^■''VM iMw-aA*** ( ^° 
 
 
wmmmmm 
 
 rHB NAME ABOVI BVERV NAME. In •«"«"■ «»^^i> • 
 
 new and revitcd ediiion of ihit work tha Piibllih«r» append » few of tt» 
 many favorabla nolicei which, from varloua aourcct, teatlfy to lu 
 cathollcliy, and Iti atdptation to lh« wanU of the dlwlpUa of our Ur4 
 by whatever denominational name ihey may be called. 
 
 The Nam* »bov« Every Name. »r, Dtvoiinat Ktdnaiitm, 
 
 With AT«XT FOK Kvanv DAYiM TH« Y«AR. By \\\r Rn. SamtuI CmlUr. 
 ThU Illile volume, which 1> a gem of tyimgraphy, is juit what ii claima 
 to be— "devotional and practical.* The pure gold of tha goapcl U her* 
 without the btt»e alloy of man'« wiedom. It accorcU with tha teaching! 
 of the divine Spirit, and tends to exalt In the aouU of men the Chrlat ol 
 
 God. 
 
 The text* are fitly choaen, and the oxquUlte fragmeatt of aacred poetry 
 
 aeem like Jewel* from a -mine of Inaplralion. None can read thia book 
 devoutly without being benefited j and all who read It In the apirit In which 
 It appeara to have been written, will lay down the volume with hlchet 
 view* of Chri«t'« nature, and of Hla work, and reverently acknowledge that 
 If Hii rame bo above every name In dignity and glory. It U alto, a> de- 
 clared in the Inipired canticle, " a« ointment poured forth" In Itt heavenly 
 fragrance.— />i»-wA fui/cr. 
 
 rhe Name above Every Name, it >>=<» » «:W««r for every 
 
 week in the year, each chapter preceded with appropriate pattagei from 
 Scripture and cloning with a choice selection from devotional poetry. The 
 whole book it eminently evangelical, atid fitted to foiter the growth of 
 true and genuine piety in the soul. 
 
 rh« Name above Every Name. By the Rn. s<,mmi 
 
 Cntltr. Thia baa been careltilly pivpared by lu author. Ih.- texts are 
 for every day to the year, and have reference to the Scriptural title* of 
 our lard. The devotional and practical mediuiions are for every week In 
 tha year. The appendix conuins five hundreel and twenty five titles of 
 our Lord, with tlie Scriptual reference; also a tnpical and alphabetical Uit 
 of the titles, and of first line* of poetry with the author's name. 
 
 The work is exceedingly valuable, not only fur iu medltsitlons, but fat 
 the great amount of information which it containn. It is a book which 
 the Christian would do well always to have at hand. Bvagtikmt Kntm^ 
 tJgt Sfcitff. 
 rhe volume Is ■ preciousi p„df pieeurn, for all who love the "Name thai 
 it abC've every ntrnt^'—Pretittant Ctmnhmam. 
 riaia Edition ^i.m Full Gilt $i jo Red line Edition ft.oo 
 
 D. Lothrop & Co., Publishers, Boston. 
 
 3IS»!9«&!IS«l3«SftBfeh«>ra»a!sS«fliKi. 
 
In leikllng feirvli • 
 > tppcnd « f«w of tl« 
 lurcM, taiiry In lu 
 
 dltciple* of our Loc4 
 d. 
 
 tvtlional KidUatiami, 
 Rtv. SmmttI Cutlrr. 
 
 it juit what ii claimi 
 
 of lh« gocpcl U hcra 
 n'.% with th« leaching! 
 
 of men the ChriiC ol 
 
 nenti of ucrcd poetry 
 le can read thli book 
 t In the (pirit In which 
 lie volume with hicho 
 ently acknowl«.dga thai 
 lory. It U alio, at de> 
 forth" in lit heavenly 
 
 9* a chapter for every 
 
 ropriate patiage* from 
 
 cvotional poetry, llie 
 
 fotter the growth of 
 
 By the Xtv. Samml 
 author. Th<- lexta ara 
 he Scriptural title* of 
 I are for every week In 
 1 twenty five titlet of 
 >l and alphabetical Uil 
 uthor'i name. 
 t« meditationt, but for 
 I. It Is a book which 
 I. Svagtlktt Kmfmt> 
 
 love the "Name thai 
 
 line Edition %*.oo 
 
 rs. Boston. 
 
 
 1