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1 2 3

'WJ

kf'

Auii

iTOHN L(

R-^

'riOMPS<

OMPsoN's Turkey,

AND OTHER

ft#lttt»$ ^ttto> '^$^m, Ifo

J. A. PHILLIPS.

#*^5

i f ■

Potttvat :

[TOHN LOVELL, 23 AND 25 ST. NICHOLAS STREET.

1873,

■iMi

Entered according to Act of Parliament of Canada, in the
year one thousand eight hundred and seventy-three, by
John A. Phillips, in the office of the Minister of Agri-
culture and Stt ' Istics at Ottawa.

f-m^

4* $8 t»iU J«ff .

AS BETN6 THE MOST CONSTANT AND DEVOTED ADMIRER

I ETER HAD,

THIS BOOK IS,

BY S P EC I A L P ER M I S S I O N,

'le^ir^dMB ^timUi i

IN GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF MANY KINDNESSES

RECEIVED DURING ♦

A LONG ACQUAINTANCESHIP,

AND IN THE EARNEST HOPE OF FUTURE FAVORS.

J. A PHILLIPS,

iSS^*^

Itisi

)k.
mythiti
rhen I

want
this vol

havoc
ible foi
loffensiv
jto good
tent; ai
I have ^
why I
know vi
therefoi
one wh<
opinion
Montrej

Itwi]
much—

PBEFACE.

It is the customary thing to apologise for writing a

)k. I don't want to apologise. If I have written
inything needing apology I am unconscious of it ;
rhen I am it will he time enough to apologise. What

want to say is, that I have not aimed very high in
this volume, and I hope I have not struck very low ;

have simply tried to write a few amusing tales suit-
ible for the Christmas fireside, containing nothing
loffensive and some things which might be conducive
Ito good morals; if I have succeeded in that I am con-
tent ; and I only hope that everyone who reads what
I have written will be content also. And that is just
why I have written this preface. I would like to
know whether my readers are pleased or not; and,
therefore, I am going to take a liberty. I ask every-
one who reads this book to send me his or her candid
opinion of it to my Post Office address, irfox '704J,
I Montreal.

It will not give much trouble, and it will not cost
much — only one cent by post card — and it will afford

i m

PREFACE.

me great gratification to get criticisms from the
people who read the book, fit I have pleased them I
should like to know it ; and if I have made a fool of
myself I should like to be made acquainted with the
fact, so as to save me from further folly./ y^

JNO. A. PHILLIPS,
Montreal; 1st December, 1873.

lit

CONTENTS.

[preface 5

ITHOMPSON'S TQRKEY 9

ITHE CHRISTMAS ANTHEM 43

THE POLICEMAN'S CHRISTMAS 63

OUT OF THE GUTTER 105

JONES, THE LAWYER. 131

JOUT OF THE SNOW 191

I CHRISTMAS IN THE FLIES 211

I POETRY:— Z

A Christmas Prayer 239

Dreamland 240

The Old Folk's Christmas 241

Music ' 244

Ghosts on the Window Pane 246

The Child's Grave 247

God in Nature ' 249

The Dying Child 261

The Factory Girl 253

Pleasant Reveries 25$

■) t>o

t'^-a

= \^i

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It Wi]

I tall
Igivo it
that it.
uwaro (J
time w
well av
time wl
well aw
the tim
quite \V(
even t(
Tliomp
Thompi!

The f

said thai
well ths

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THOMPSON'S TULvKEY.

CHAPTER I.

HOW THOMPSON OOT THE TURKEV

It wasn't Tli.mpsovi's fault.

I lake this the earliest possible opportunity, to
•j^ivo it as my free, candid and disintorostod opinion
that it wasn't Thompson's fault. I am quito well
uware of the fact tliat there were ])eople before the
time who said it was Tlionipson's fault; I am qui(o
well aware of the fact that there were people at the
time who said it was Thompson's fault; lam quite
well aware of the fact that there were people after
the time who said it was Thompson's iault; I am
quite well aware of the fact that there are people who
even to the present day maintain that it was
Thompson's fault; but 1 never did believe it was
Thompson's fault, and 1 neve" will.

The fact is Thompson couldn't help it.

1 know very well there were people at the time who
said that Thompson could have helped it ; I know very
well that there wore people alter the time who said

>iH» 1

'■%

TJWMrSOsWS TURKKV,

Thompson could huvo helped it; I know very well
there are people now who still assort that Thompson
could have helped it ; hut I never did believe Thomp-
son could help it, and I never will,

And, after all, what was it thfit people said Ava>|
Thompson's fault ; and what was it that people said
Thompson could have helped doing?

Why, getting married ; that was all !

I never could see, and I never will see that it was
Thompson's fault to get married; other people do i(j
why shouldn't Thompson ? I never could see, and 1
never will see that Thompson could have helped it;
other people can't help it, and why should Thomjxson ?

And then everybody wanted to marry WiniiiJ
Dumsic, why shouldn't Thompson ? But, \Yinnie — her!
name was Winnetta, but we always called her Winnio
for short — didn't want to marry every bod}- she didn't
oven want to marry me, although I was ready and
willing to marry her several times over if necessary:
she didn't want to marry old Flailflax, the wealth)
linen draper, although he did own a big house on
the mountain side, and was reported to havr -3 mucli
money in the bank, that an extra vault had had to be
built on purjDose to hold it all ; she didn't want to mar]j
3'oung Grunter, the pork packer, although he was
always as sleek and smooth as if just freshly rubbed
with some of his own grease, and his father was said
to have left him enough money to pack every j)ig in
Canada, himself included ; she didn't want to marrj

lilli

now THOMPSON GOT THE TURKEY.

the Rev. Mr. Maypole, the new curate of St. Fashion-

ible's, although he was so upriglit, and dressed so nice-

I3-, and read prayers '^ beautifully" — so the other girls

!iaid — and gave the old women snuff to brace up
their nerves — the girls all said tliat was " so chai-

litable" — and did a thousand and one things which
lalways made unmarried curates so agreeable to the
female portion of the congregation of St. Fashion-
able's ; the fact is Winnie wanted to marry Thompson,
land she did it.

Young ladies sometimes will do such things, whether
Ithcir parents like it or not; and, therefore, as
Winnie had made up her mind to marry Thompson, she
did marry him, and I say it w^asn't Thompson's fault,
I and he couldn't help it.

There were other reasons why Thompson couldn't
help it. Winnie Dumsic was one of the sweetest,
most lovable little bits of femininity that ever set a
poor male mortal crazy ; she was so rosy, so joyous, so
artless, so natural, so piquant, so winning that nobody
could help loving her; I couldn't, how could Thomp-
son?

Then she and Thompson had grown up together
from childhood ; even when she was a little thing in
short frocks and frills round her pantalets nobody
could help stealing apples, and cakes, and sweetmeats,
and other things for her, and tearing their clothes
climbing for flowers to please her, and fighting each
other on her account, and wanting to kiss her and

^. s#

THOMPSON'S TLRKEY,

I !:

being too bashful to do it j I couldn't, and how coult
Thompson ?

She always looked to me like a lump of sugar, and
I was not at all astonished when Thompson put her id
his cup of life to sweeten it for all time ; I wasn't asl
tonished, but everybody else was.

You see this w^as the way of it. AVinnio was rich;!
oldDumsic, her father, was a large dealer in smallj
wares, pins and needles and such things, and a goodl
deal of money had stuck to old Dumsic's fingers by
the aid of pins and needles and such things. He was!
a proud man, was old Dumsic ; very fond of his only!
child, and very fond of talking of his " connections in
the old country" — Rumor said he had been a pot-boyl
in Dublin in his youthful days, but Bumor might have
lied as she very often does ; and everybody knows
that every Irishman, out of Ireland, is either an Irish
king, or the descendant of one. It has often struclij
me that kings in Ireland must have been very plenti-
ful at some time, and that they must have beenl
amongst the earliest immigrants, which would, ofl
coux'se, account for so many of their descendants
being found on this side of the Atlantic ; bo that as it
may, Dumsic was the lineal descendant of an Irish
king, so he said, and had a right to be proud, which|
he was, whether he had the right or not.

Being proud, Dumsic, of course, would not hear ofl
Thompson for a son-in-law, foi* Thompson was poor;
in fact, Thompson was only a clerk in old Dumsic's

|toro, aiK
icen grc
ind to
ould n(
Kor -v^
0, that
Ion's nai
You ,'
erivatic
fhat he ^
Informec
|n fact, (
ras no
rgued, {
liat the
hristian
ritten \
ler of th
he origi
Surname
uul the j
)f time

feon

but

)ase im
*' how d-
Ofcoi
abused, I
liis, Dui
that tlie

now THOMPSON GOT THE TURKF.Y.

w coul(|Jtorc, and although Dumsicand Thompson's father had
cen great friends, and .Dumsic himself had been very
;ar, amipind to Thompson since his father's death, still ho
it her iiM'ould not have dreamed of giving Winnie to him.
isn't as-| Nor was poverty his only objection to Thompson;
0, that mightliave bcenovercome; but it was Thomp-
as richjBon's name, that could not bo overcome,
n smallB You see old Dumsic had studied o*encaloi»ies and
a goodllerivations very deeply — that was hoAv he found out
g'ors bjBhat he was the descendant of an Irish king — and he
He waslnformed Thompson that his name was very plebeian :
lis onlyln fact, old Dumsic went so far as to say that there
tions ii»as no suci) thing as a Thompson with a p. lie
pot-boy irgued, and with considerable show of correctness,
liat the name, as a surname, Avas derived from the
hristian name Thomas, and had been originally
vritten Thomas' son, and applied to a younger mem-
)er of the family as indicating that he was a son of
he original Thomas ; that on the general adoption of
iurnames the apostrophe and one s were dro2)ped,
md the name written Thomason, which indue course
)f time had become changed to Thomson, or Tom-
ion; but Thompson — Avith a p — he looked on as a
)ase impostor of a name, and triumphantly asked
' how did the p get in ?"

Of course, Thompson did not like to hear his name
ibused, and retaliated on Dumsic by telling him thitt
lis, Dumsic's, name was originally Drumstick, and
hat the r, t and k had got knocked out of the name

;hthavo

knows

in Irish

struck

' l)lenti-

e been

)uld, of

mdants

at as it

1 Irish

Avhich

lear of
} ])Oor ;

imsic s

^liF

THOMPSOJS^S TURKEV.

at various stages of its transmission from the Irisl
king to the present owner; but that only made
Dumsic mad, and when Thompson told him that h(
loved Winnie, and asked his consent to their unioi
when he was able to support her — for he was a prom
fellow, was Thompson, and didn't want to marrj
Winnie for her money, but because he loved her
old Dumsic j)Oured out all the vials of his wrath, aiK
vowed that if she married Thompson he would cii
her off with a farthing, so that the p in her nanii
should not even stand for a penny.

That was a terrible time for Thompson ; of course
he lost his place in old Dumsic's store ; and, o
course, old Dumsic forbid his seeing or speaking t(
Winnie again ; and, of course, Winnie and Thompsoi
used to meet each other on the sly and vow eterna
constancy and all that sort of thing; and, of course
they used to write to each other every day, and I use(
to deliver the notes without old Dumsic suspectini
me — for he rather liked me and thought I was goin^
to marry Winnie, but Winnie didn't love me am
did love Thompson, and although I liked Thompsoi
Very well, I didn't care to marry a girl who loved hin
and didn't love me.

Thompson soon got another place, but it was no
as good as the one he had lost, and the chances o
matrimony seemed further off than ever ; but thing!
are often nearest to us when they seem furthest off
It was summer when old Dumsic discharged Thomp

son, and

other ; I

and it "s\

or Vict(

suddenly

early in

a very c

\\\w\ ma

Thom

tliough

Winnie

Thomp!=

and ga>

next aft

a frozen

thouglil

hor. ^ B

oftercd

forii:ive]

It wi

to sec c

ha])pcn

would {

would,

Ins hci

time tc

decent!

and so

first th
u PI

llOW TIIOMPSOS GOT TllIC Ti'HKKV.

< s „;

son, and the lovers agreed to wait five years for each
other ; but, somehow as the cold weather came on,
and it was not so pleasant waiting in Viger Garden,
or Victoria Square to meet each other, both parties
suddenly changed their minds, and one morninir
jearly in December Thompson entered my office in
I a very excited manner and asked me to come and see
liim married.

Thompson and I were alwaj^s very friendly, al-
tliough we did love the same girl ; it wasn't his fault if
Winnie cared for him and not for me,so I couldn't blame
Thompson, could I ? So I went to see them married,
and gave away the bride, I did and I kissed her
next after Thompson, I did ; and it made me feel as if
a frozen poker had been run down my back when I
thouii'lit it was the last time 1 Avould ever kiss
her. But I didn't let them sec that I felt it, and
otfercd to take Winnie's note to her father asking for
forgiveness and deliver it in person.

It was as c'reat a refresher to me as a shower bath
to see old Dumsic get mad when I told him what liad
ha])pened; he turned so red in the fjice I thought he
would go off in a fit of apoplexy, and I half wished he
would, for I knew he had made a will leaving AVinnio
his heiress, an<] if he died right off he would not have
time to alter it; but he didn't know enough to die
decently, he must live to make himself disagreeable,
and so, after a while he recovered himself, and the
first thing he said was :

'' Phillips, you're a fool."

1 if

TIfOJirSOS\S TUUKEV.

lit"

\W:

lii,

' m\

I told liim tliJit possiMy he iiii<;lit ho eorrcctj hut
I did not think it polite to state it quite so plainl}-.
He did not mind that at all, hut repeated the ohnox-
ious expression ]U'efacing the word fool Avith a very
ohjectionahle adjective which made me so angry that
for a moment a desperate desire to seize him h}^ the
throat, choke him to death, and say he died of apo-
plexy on hearing the news, came over me; hut I
thought of the marks I should leave on the neCk, of
the coroner's jury, of a trial for murder, of a rope and
other unpleasant tilings, and stifling my indignation
contented myself with saying ''you're another."

But if I stifled my wrath old Dumsic didn't siifle
his; he raved terribly, and used shocking bad lan-
guage for so old a man ; he swore he would never
forgive Winnie, that he would drive Thomi)son to
despair, and so many more dreadful things, that I was
forced to leave him, and the old fool made a new will
that same day and took himself off on an express
train that night no one knew whither.

Poor Thompson had a hard time of it at first; his
salary was small, and Winnie had been accustomed to
so many luxuries that it seemed a shame to deprive
her of. But they both put their ,sho aiders bravely to
the wheel, and it was astonishing how well they got
on. Winnie would not hear of boarding, and deter-
mined to keep house herself. They got the upper
part of a house in a cheap and quiet by-street and
it was surprising how nicel}^ and cosily they fitted it

up, CO
always
but for
althoui
jocts, ai
not tQ

IIow
other,
nobody
than I <
by the
like th(
that it
had flc
happy
Thomp
He V
he was
things I
and thi
fellow,
nicely
write i
charge
talents
to the
were \
to pay
butter

i/o\r T/io.vpsox GOT Till-: ri'iiiif:):

lip, coiisiclci'iii*^ tluMi' liinlUHl moans. Tliompsou
always used to say that ho eoiihl never ha\'e done it
but for the timely aid of a kind friend ; but Thompson,
although a good fellow, is rather foolish on some sub-
jects, and sometimes talks about things that ho ought
not tQ spc[dv of to everybody.'

IIow^ happy they were; liow much they loved each
other, and how they cheered and helped each other
nobody knows better than 1 ; and nobody felt it more
than I did the first evening I spent with them and sat
by the fire crying, lialf with pleasure, half with pain,
like the great fool that 1 am, and swearing all the time
that it was a splinter from the crackling wood which
had flow^i into my eye and made it water. Very
happy and very contented they were, and very hard
Thompson worked to sustain his humble home.

He wasn't a fool, w^asn't Thompson ; far from it,
he was a clever sort of chap, and could do lots of
things besides wait behind a counter and sell ribbons
and things to young ladies. lie was a avoU educated
fellow, was Thoixipson, and could wn-ite poetry so
nicely that the girls were always wanting him to
write in their Albums ; and so, Avhen old Dumsic dis-
charged him, Thompson thought he would turn his
talents to account and he sent some of his writings
to the American papers, for the Canadian papers
were willing enough to publish, but very unwilling
to pay, and as Thompson was writing for bread and
butter he could not afford that kind of business.

fllOMPSOVS rURKEY.

wm\

1 ' !

Ill

lii

V\\\ K.

Very nice stories did Thompson write, and his now
de plume of "Phontoms" — anagram of Thompson, foi*
ho would stick to his name — soon got to be well known
and lilted. But at first he got very little pay for his
productions, and what he did get, added to his salary,
Avas scarce enough to keep Winnie and himself, even
with the exei'ciso of great economy.

It was about three weeks before Christmas that
they were married and commenced housckeej^ing, and
Winnie had set her heart on giving a " party" at
Christmas and askiiitr some of her old friends to come
and witness her triumphs of housekeeping; but it was
a great undertaking, and had to be calmly considered
and gone about in a serious manner.

Dinners are expensive things, and economical as she
tried to be, Winnie found that the plainest fare she
could afford to set before the half dozen friends she
had invited would make a deep hole in her scanty
purse ; and very little would be left to jn-ovide refresh-
ments for those who had been asked to come after
dinner and spend the evening.

"I don't see how I can manao'e it," said Winnie
pushing back her hair and loolcing r.p from a little
red book, in which she had been making some entries,
at her husband who was busy writing at the centre
table ; '' Do you think we could do without any dessert,
Charlie, dear!" I forgot to mention before that
Thompson's other name w^as Charles, but I suppose it
don't make much diflerence.

i I

now TllOMPSOX GOT THE TURKEY.

*' Do without clcssort, darling ? well, it wouldn't look
very well for Christmas ; but you know best, if wo
can't afford it, don't do it. I have given you all the
money I have, and I wont run in debt; a man in debt
never belongs to himself, and I mean to belong to
myself if nothing else does."

*' Nothing else ?" inquired an arch voice, as a pair
of loving arms were wound round his neck and a
dainty little form threw itself into his lap with an
impetuous rush which sent all the papers flyiug.

*' Well nothing worth speaking about; of course,
you don't count now, you arc part of me, and the hiw
does not recognize you as a good and chattel."

''But do you recognize me as a good? I don't like
to be called a chattel."

" The best good in the world to me ;" and then there
was a little joyous squeeze, ajid a great deal of non-
sense was said, and the ink bottle escaped being over-
turned on the new table cover by a miracle before
common-sense conversation was resumed. They were
very nonsensical people, were Thompson and his 3'oung
wife, and they were notj^et through their honeymoon
you must remember.

"But about the dinner, Charlie," resumed Winnie
presently. ''I've stretched the money as far as it will
go and if I have dessert there wont be enough for the
turkey ; we ought to have a turkey, oughtn't we ?"

"I suppose so ; people do generally have a turkey
for Christmas dinner; but if we can't afford it we

TiioMr SOX'S ruRKi'jr.

iii^';

liii'

miiHt, do witliout it. I wislj wc had the one I have
descrihcd in tliat Cliristmas story I senttollarpors."

*' Wc can't cat a turkey out of a Christmas story,'
said Winnie, sententious! y. '' Wc might as well try an
entire banquet out oC ' ^Plic 7\rabian Niglits' at
onco." ^

^' Then Phil" — Winnie always would ahbrcviato my
name somehow — '' and the otliers must be content with
roast beef and plum puddinij; I'm going to make a
phim pudding, Charlie, for it wouldn't be Christmas
without it."

''Say you are going to try to make one, puss, but
don't expect me to cat an}' of it; I liave too much re-
spect for my digestive organs."

" Then you shan't have a bit of it, sir, for your im-
pudence, and Phil shall have thcAvholo of it."

" Poor Phil, I pity him,'' sighed Thompson with
mock concern for which he got the tiniest possible slap
on the ear and the sweetest possible kiss on the lips.

"Now then, puss, jump down and let me go on with
my writing," and so the turk(;y w^is dropped for the
time being.

But Thompson did not forget it; he thought of it
several times the next day, and determined to stretch
a point, if possible, and get a turkey if only to sur-
prise and please Winnie.

Luck favored Thompson, and two days before Christ-
mas he received a polite note from Harpers enclosing
a cheque for twenty-five dollars for the accepted

Hlllii

now TiioMvsox aoT the tuhkey.

Cliristmas story, and offering t(> purolm«o more of his
productions.

This was tlio hirgest sum lie had ever receivod tor
an article, and a proud man Avas Thompson as ho
walked into a neighboring broker's office and got his
cheque cashed. ''One ten and the rest in ones, it'
you please," said Thompson, thinking how he would
surprise AVinnie by presenting her with the turkey,
and then raining one dollar bills on her afterwards
The broker gave him the money, and smiled quite
pleasantly as he said,

" Making your fortune fast now, eh, Thompson,
my boy ? That's right. A merry Christmas to 3'ou,"
and Thompson felt himself grow half an inch taller
as he walked out.

It was a busy day at the store that day, and it Avas
quite late when Thompson took down his overcoat to
start for homo where he knew tea Avas ready and
AVinnic anxiously expecting him; he Avas a little late
already, and, besides, ho had tho turkey to bu}^.

" Wait a minute, Thompson," called out the junior
partner as Thompson" passed the office, "I have some-
thing to say to you before you go."

And so ho had to wait another five minutes; but
the " something" proved very pleasant to hear, for
the junior partner told him that the head of the firm
— who Avas the junior partner's father — Avas A'ory much
pleased Avith tho Avay ho had conducted himself since
he had been in the employ of the firm, and presented

TJIOMPSON'S TUIiKNY,

!'i!

Ill:

III ';Hi i
pM !
H'i;.i:i

him with a choquo for fifty dollars, and proinitsod him
an increase of one hundred dollars salary next year.

Happy Thompson ! He almost kissed the junior
partner on the spot, and with difficulty restrained
himself from executing a little impromptu dance of
joy ; but he managed to stammer out a few words of
tiumks and reserved his ter2:>sichorcan performance
until ho should have reached home,

'' That's right," said the junior partner approvingly
to what Thompson had said, " you always take an
interest in your employers' business, and be sure they
will take an interest in you. Here," he continued to
a cash-boy who was passing, '* take that to the cashitjr
and ask him to give me small bills, ones or twos, for it.
I am going off to Toronto to-night, Thompson," ho went
on as the boy departed on his errand. '' I shall eat my
Christmas dinner there, and bo away three or four
days ; look after the store for mo a bit while I am
gone."

"The cashier says ho aint got no small bills, sir,"
said the cash-boy returning and holding out a ten dol-
lar bill to tho junior partner.

*' That's very provoking," said that gentleman, "I
have nothing but tens and twenties and I want to buy
some car tickets. Do you happen to have any small
bills, Thomj^son?"

Of course Thompson had, and he handed ten of
them to the junior partner, buttoned uj) the ten dollar
bill with tho cheque and his other money, and went
on his way rejoicing to buy the turkey.

i«

CJrAPTKPi TT.

now THE TIUKEV OOT Tllo.Ml'SOX.

It was :i liJii'd turkey to buy, aiul took 8onic time to
select. Thompson luul never done iiny marketing
l>e(bro, and had a»' i<lea that it was a very easy matter
to walk into the ^larket, select a turkey, pay for it
and carry it oft* with him ; but when he got there ho
saw so many turkeys it was quite distracting to make
a selection, and the clatter of the poultry vendors so
confused him that he had nearly invested in a scraggy
looking gooso when ho was touched on the shoulder
and a hiughing voice said at his elbow,

" Ila, ha, Mr. Married Man, doing your own market-
ing already ; whore is the gudo wife ?"

" Oh, Mrs. Wostervillo, I am so glad to sec you.
I was just — that is I want to — well I was trying to
buy a turko}'."

"x\nd very nearly purchased a goose. O you men
are not fit to be trusted marketing by yourselves ; why
didn't Winnie come with you ?"

'' You see I intend this for a surprise."

''And you Avould have surprised her I have no
doubt, if you had taken her home a goose and called
it a turkey. Let me make your purchases for you."

E •*

«.

T no Ml* SON'S TURK tJV.

" Oh, thank you. I am afraid I shall make a mess of
it if I try it alone."

" Of course you will ; men always do. And how is
Winnie? I havji't seen her since your marriage. Oh
what naughty people you were to get married on the
sly, and not even send me a piece of wedding cake."

" Winnie is quite well, thanks, and will be glad to
see you if you don't mind calling in rather queer quar-
ters. We are not very rich, you know, and poor people
can't be very particular where they live."

'' Kever mind your ' queer quarters,' Mr. Poor
Man, I'll come and see you if you will give me your
address. There, will that turkey do?" holding out a
large plump bird which she ha<l poked in the breast,
and pinched in the back, and pulled by the legs, and
squeezed by the bill, :>nd satisfied herself was young
and tender.

" That will do very nicely indeed, thank you. AVhat
is the price?" to the stall keeper.

" Seven and sixpence."

''A dollar and a half ! " cried Mrs. AVe.slerville in
2^retended astonishment. '^ It's downright robbery. 1
paid a dollar for one only yesterday ; these market
people ahvays take advantage of you men, they sec
you know nothing about it, and cheat you in the most
barefaced manner."

After a little haggling the turkey was purchased
for a dollar and a quarter, and Tliompson liaving

bought some vegetables which he tliought Winnie

JIOW THE TURKEi' (JOT THOMPSON.

LOSS i){

low is
3. Oh
oil the
kc."
;-l;id to
•: qiiar-
people

Poor
e your
r out {I
breast,
and

V'ounji;

AVhat

illc ill
)ery. 1
larkel

) most

'hai-etl

laviiig

iniiie

might want for the dinner, and some graj^es which
lie intended for lier own special eating, changed one
of his ten dolhir bills so as to get plenty of small
change again, and having loaded himself vi\) like a
paclv horse trotted homeward happy.

Very much delighted wasAVinnie, and very scepti-
cal about the quality of the turkey until told that
Mrs. Westerville had bought it, and th(3n she suddenly
subsided before the suj^erior wisdom of that matron
of nearly a year's standing. Very much deliglited
was Winnie, and a very pleasant, happy evening they
passed, she sitting on his lap eating grapes and occa-
sionally holding one between her rosy lips and making
him take it from them with his — I^told you they were
a very (>^il!y couple; and very animated was Winnie
with herdetailsof the grand preparations — in a small
way — wliich she h:id made for the eventful Christmas ;
vciy merry and joyous she was, and a little inquisitive
too, for she asked Thompson more than once where
he had got all the money fi-om to buy " turkeys" —
slio said turkey's, although there was but one — ''and
i;i'a])es, and vegetables and all manner of things."

l^ut he was a dark and mj^sterious Thompson that
night, and for the first time in liis life deceived his
darling a little ; for he was a plotting and a scheming
Thompson also, and was laying a deep plan for sur-
])rising his little W'ife the next night; and so he
answei'ed evasively that he luul " found that he had
more money than he expected, and could aflord a little

2r>

THOMPSON'S TURKEY.

Ml.

extra expenses," and so put lier oft* with ti kiss. Yavy
hiippy and very merry were they, and many a litth>
joke was cracked about the turkey.

Next morning Thompson was up briglit and early
and oft' to business with a light heart; and sevevnl
times during the day he cauglit himself whistling
snatches of gay little songs as lie attended on the
customers who thronged the store. A little before
dinner time he got his cheque changed by the cashier,
receiving as many small bills as that gentleman could
spare — it was wonderful how much Thompson seemed
to want small bills — and four tens.

As soon as the clock struck twelve he ran out
ostensibly to diimer, but that was surely only an
excuse, for he had told Winnie he would be too busy
to come home and that he would get something to
eat down town. Kowhere near home, nor any restau-
rant did Thompson go, but right to old Dumsic's store
in Notre Dame street, and entered it as large as life
just as if he was going to hwj the whole store and pay!
for it on the sj)ot.

But he didn't want the whole store, he only wanted |
a very small portion of some of the goods in the store
for be it known that amongst the '^ small wares" iiij
which old Dumsic dealt were sundry articles of
jewellery, and one of these articles, a dead gold brooch [
with a small amethyst in it, Thompson had set his
heart on possessing and presenting to AVinnie as a
Christmas present. Very glad were his old fellowi

•eturnc
where,
a word
he put
at the ]
grantee
them ir
Very c
but Th(
full of j
and he
turned
enquire
cigar h
blunder
was pi
obligat

He
conist's

1 :i iJslli

III

now TJiiJ TURKiiY aor Thompson.

clerks to SCO him, and many a merry little jol:c was
passed about his " changed appearance since he be-
came a double man," and other kindred pleasantries ;
uiid when he pulled out two ten dollar bills to pay for
the brooch — the price was twelve dollars and a half
— one of the clerks began to chaff him and asked if
he had " struck a mine," or " robbed a bank," ov
'' made them himself," and such like playful questions
And when he went to the cashier's desk to get his
change there sat old Dumsic hiinself, who had
•eturned suddenly that morning from nobody knew
where, looking as cross as he could, and he never said
a word to Thompson, or as much as look at him ; but
he put on his spectacles and peered very suspiciously
at the bills as if he thought they were bad, and he
grunted in a disappointed sort of way as he threw
them into the drawer and counted out the change.
Very cross and savage indeed did old Dumsic look,
but Thompson never heeded him, his heart was too
full of joy for him to mind how old Dumsic looked;
and he went whistling gaily out of the shop and
turned into a tobacconist's, wdiere he was known, and
enquired the price of a handsome little meerschaum
cigar holder which he wished to present to a stupid,
blunderimr, foolish sort of a friend of his whom he
was pleased to think himself under some sort of
obligation to.

He changed another ten-dollar bill at the tobac-
conist's, and after he had received the change counted

V. M

THOMPSON'S TURKET.

111
11^

but twenty-five dollars in one-dollar bills and put that
away carefully in one pocket, and laughed slily as he
did so, did that artful Thompson, and put the re-
maining twenty-two dollars — two tens, and a two
into another pocket ; then he Went back to business,
and every now and then during the afternoon he
chuckled to himself in a satisfied sort of way.

As Thompson had not gone home to dinner he was
allowed an hour and a half for supper, and he went off
sharp at six whistling all the way and in the best
possible humor with himself. But all the good spirits
in which he had been all day were as nothing to his
uproarious hilarity when he heard Winnie's little
shriek of delight at the production of the brooch, and
saw her look of wonder when he pelted the one
dollar bills at her, one at a time to make them last
longer ; and then she climbed on his lap and made
him tell her all about it ; and beautiful castles in the
air they built of the great things which they were to
do when Thompson had become a world renowned
author and made an imm^ .ise fortune — authors
always do make immense fortunes, in books you
know, although they very seldom do in real life.

Very merrily and gaily they chatted away without
thinking of supper, and Thompson's hour and a half
was almost all gone when he suddenly remembered
that he was very hungry and fell to with a good
appetite.

But Thompson was not destined to enjoj^his supper

that ni
the roil
at the
pushed

Thoi
as ton is
whom
uniforr
^< Wh{
looking
with tl
one tlu
her ari]

''Th
him be

'•I'n
tive, w
" will 3
at Win

'' JS"o
could s]
before

" Th
countei
wanted
to tell
of pass
her \\m

^'Tel

S>1

HO W THE TUKKEy GOT THOMPSON.

good

ru^i'

that night, for he had scarcely taken two bites out of
the round of toast when there was a great knocking
jit the door, and on Winnie's opening it three men
pushed j)ast her and entered the room.

Thompson knew then^ in a moment, and rose in
astonishment ; they were old Diimsic, a detective —
whom Thonapson knew by sight — and a policeman in
uniform.
'* What does this intrusion mean ?" asked Thompson
looking with surprise at the intruders, while Winnie,
with that instinctive feeling which women have that
one they love is in danger, came to his side and put
her arm around him as if to shield him.

'' There he is," said old Dumsic savagely, '' catch
him before he runs awa}'."

'• I'm very sorry, Mr. Thompson," said the detec-
tive, who was a mild eyed, gentlemanly looking man,
" will you step outside for a minute ?" and he glanced
at Winnie.

" Xo, he won't," she interrupted, before Thompson
could speak: " Whatever }■ on have to say you can say
before me. What is it ?"

" There is a little trouble about some one passing
counterfeit bills," said the detective, '• and he's
wanted down at the Station ;" somehow he didn't like
to tell that brave looking little woman that a charge
of passing counterfeit bills had been made against
her husband.

<' Tell the truth," said old Dumsic sharply, '^ he's

THOMPSON'S TURKEY.

arrested for passing counterfeit notes ; the woman ho
bought a turkey from last night has made a charge
against him, and he passed two on me to day. I'll
make an affidavit to-morrow. The rascal to steal my
daughter and then try to rob me ; he ought to bo
hung."

'' It's all a confounded lie," shouted Thompson taking
a step towards old Dumsic in so fierce a manner as
to make that gentleman skip nimbly behind tho
policeman, "I know nothing about any counterfeit
bills ; all the money I have had for the last two days
I got from Mr. Stamps, the broker, and from tho
cashier of our store."

" Well, perhaps you'll be able to make it all right,
sir," said the detective kindly ; " but if you'd take my
advice you wouldn't say much now. I may have to use
it as evidence against you."

''Use whatever you please," said Thompson
savagely. " I've got nothing to conceal in the matter.
Take me anywhere you please at once and let me ex-
j)lain this matter."

" Oh, yes," said old Dumsic peeping cautiously
from behind the policeman, " he can explain, of
course! He can explain where he got the money to

\y turkeys" — he said'turkeys too, although there
'' -^'s but one — '' and give dinner, parties, and buy
Li'ijoches, and throw bank notes about like this," and
he pointed to the heap of dollar bills which Winnie
had left on the table.

JlOW TUE TURKEY GOT TlWMrSON.

I'll

I will explain nothing, except before the proper
authorities," said Thompson calmly: *' I am ready to
go at once. I scarcely thought, Mr. Dumsic," he
continued, turning to that gentleman, "that 3'our
spite against me would have carried you as far as
this. May God forgive you the injustice you do me,
and the pain you cause your own flesh and blood."

*' It isn't him," said thedetective, ''it's the poultry
dealer who made the complaint; she found out this
morning that the bill was bad, and I went to the
store to find you. The cashier told me you were hero,
and as I was coming along I met Mr. Dumsic who
told me you had passed two counterfeits on him ; he
hasn't made any charge yet."

'' Yes, I have," cried old Dumsic, '' I make it now,
and I will swear to it to-morrow morning."

" Let us go," said Thompson reaching for his hat
'' I want to get this thing settled at once. Cheer up
darling," he continued to Winnie, "it is nothing-
serious, I will be back soon."

"Do you think I am going to let you go alone ?
No, Charlie; I'm your wife, and wherever you go I go
with you. I know this is a base, wicked calumny, a
plot to separate us, but it shan't; no matter where
they take you, they must take mc too."

Her face was very pale, but her lip never trembled,
and her eyes shone bright and trusting up to Thomp-
son's.

" Stay where you are," said old Dumsic speaking

TliOMrSON'S TUUK/'Jy.

to Winnie, and looking at her for the first tinic. '' T
am your father, I will take care of yon, you shan't
go to prison with this fellow."

'' Father, I always tried to bca good dutiful daughter
to you; I loved you dearly until you endeavored tt>
rnake my life miserable and forced mo to an act of
disobedience ; I am happy now in the love of thu
man who loves me, and I cannot and will not leave
him,"

She disengaged herself from Thomp.sonVarms and
quickly put on her bonnet and cloak.

''Come, wo are ready now. Can you go round
by St. Urbain street?" she asked the detective. " I
have a friend there I should like to consult."

" All right, ma'am," replied the detective, '' we can
make it in the way."

''You'll go quietly, sir?" he inquired of Thomp-
son,

"Certainly." '

" Come along then," he said, and Avalked out of the
room followed by Thompson and Winnie, which con-
duct so astonished the policeman who was a French-
man, and had understood nothing of what had j^assed
and who had come to assist at arresting somebodj',
that he seized old Diimsic by the collar and led him
q^ in triumph,

Idol

tiling

with h

to He i

elevate

conifoi

cd pip<

per. ]

supper

of whi

my usi

charge

partici

sitting

ancien

by mi>;

funny

little c

bit of

been j

storief

alway

CHArTEB III.

now THE TURKEY GOT EATEX.

I do like k) enjoy n good smoke. I don't know any-
thing more calculated to make a man feel at peace
with his washerwoman and the rest of mankind than
to lie in an easy chair, with one's slippered feet duly
elevated, and slowly and luxuriously inhale peace,
eomfort and bliss through the medium of a well season-
c<l pipe, after having partaken of a good hearty sup-
per. I always did take especial pleasure in my after-
supper smoke, and on this particular Christmas Eve
of which I have been writing, I derived more than
luy usual comfort from my favorite clay ; for it was
charged with primost of Ljatakia, and I had my most
particular friend and boon companion, Jack !Rainforth,
sitting opposite me pulling away industriously at an
ancient briar, and varying his occupation occasionally
by mixing a little warm brandy and water and telling
funny stories.

He was a wonderful fellow, was Jack, and knew a
little of everything; he was a bit of a lawyer, and a
bit of a doctor, and something of an author, and had
been a strolling player, and could tell lots of funny
stories about '' the profession" as he called it, and was
always full of good humor, so that it was (jj^uite a tret^t

TJWMrSON'S TURKKY.

to have him for a companion. I always considorc<l
it a treat to have Jack with me, and thought myself
particularly lucky this evening to have him all to
myself so that I could enjoy him alone and not havo
to share him with others. Jack was just telling mo
a capital story about a dog which belonged to a friend
cf his 'when there was a sudden knock at the door,
and before I had time to call out " come in," it opened
and Thompson, and Winnie, and the detective entered.

I never was more astonished in my life, and sat
stupidly staring at them with my feet still on the
table, quite forgetting that I had dropped one of my
slippers and that there was a great hole in the too of
my sock, until Thompson's voice roused me.

'' Phil, old fellow," he said, " I have been arrested
for passing counterfeit money, and am on my way to
the police station, will you come with mo ; perhaps I
shall want a friend to help me out of the scrape."

''Go with you, old boy, why of course I will," I
cried, trying in my excitement to pull on my pipe
under the delusion that it was a boot and burning my
toe so that it made me jump. " But what do you mean ?
tell me all about it."

Then Thompson told us what has been related in
the last chapter, and we all stood silent for a moment
when he had finished, looking at each other ; it was
Jack who spoke first, and his words made us all start.

" Where is the cashier ?" asked Jack fixing his eye
on the detective,

now TJ/f'J TURKEY aOT EATHX.

He was at the store half an hour apjo," answered
llio detective looking as blank as a blank cartridge
after it has been exploded.

But it wouldn't do, Jack kept his eye on him and
saw that he saw that Jack saw that he saw what Jack
meant.

^' You won't find him there now," said Jack. *' You
gave him warning by calling at the store, and by this
time he is on his way to House's Point. You all go
down to the Station and wait for me, I will just go
round by the store and then join you. Come with
me, Phil."

Jack and I went to the store where Thompson was
omj)loyed, and found one of the other clerks at the
cashier's desk.

'' Where is Mr. Moyson." that was the cashier's
name, I asked.

'' He's been gone about half an hour, sir ; he said
he didn't feel well, and left mo in his place foi- the rest
of the eveninc:."

"Did he lock the safe ?" asked Jack.

''Ko," said the clerk, rather surprised at the ques-
tion, '^ he counted what money he had taken and put
it away, leaving me to lock up when I got through."

"Just look in the safe and see if the money is
there," said Jack.

The clerk looked very much astonised, but turned
to the safe, and in a minute he came back with a
bhanched face, and said,

TUOMrSOiVS Tl/JiKfjy.

*' I think Mr. MoyKOii liiistakoii it homo with him;
it isn't there."

''I think ho has," roi)]icd Jack dryly. " Do you
know whcro ho lives?"

<' Ko. — , McGill Collcgo A vonuo."

'' Thatik yon," and Ji^ck huri'iod out of the store.
<' It's just as plain as it can ho," ho continued, when
wo wore on the street, *' this fellow has heen plant-
ini^ a lot of had hills by the aid of his position, and he
gave those tons to Thompson ; and now, seeing that
his game is up he has collared all the cash he can lay
his hands on and bolted." Jack used a great deal ot'|
slang somoti.mes, especially when he was excited.

''Perhaps ho hasn't gone yet, he might be at his
boarding house packing up," said I.

" I intend going there at once," replied Jack hailing I
a sleigh.

AVe reached McGill College Avenue, and found u
sleigh waiting before Moyson's boarding house.

"All safe," whispered Jack, "now for a touch of I
diplomacy." As he said this ho walked up to the [
carter who was waiting for Moyson ; and after a few
words of conversation I saw the man put something
Jack gave him into his pocket, get up in his seat and
drive off, Jack then gave some instructions to our
carter, and we waited for Moyson's appearance.

He did not keep us long but came running down in
a great hurry, threw a carpet-bag into the sleigh and
was just about jumping in when Jack caught him
j'oughly by the shoulder and said,

iWi

• m

<• You're my prisoner !"

lie reeled tis if lie had been struck ii heavy blow,
[uid his teeth fairly chattered as ho stammered out,

*' AVhat do you mean ?'

<' All right, my tulip," said Jack — it was wonderful
to see ho\v naturally Jack played the policeman,
that is, the kind of policemen one sees on the stage ;
" You know well enough what I \vant you for; those
flash notes of thoBumptown Bank, you've been shov-
ing lately — it's all right, my beauty, tumble in;" it
really was extraordinary how Jack picked up all his
slang.

'^ Who are you, and how dare you stop me ?" said
Moyson gaining heart a little. " You have no warrant
lor my arrest."

" Who am I, oh ? I am Detective Rocks of the
Bumptown force," and he turned back the lappel of
his vest and showed a large reporter's badge — for Jack
liad been a bit of a reporter amongst other things —
which Moyson mistook for a detective's shield, '' and
as for warrants there's half a dozen out for you, here's
one if you wouldlike to see it, my buttercup," and he
])iilled out a large and official looking paper which
he flourished before the cashier's eyes ; but he never
glanced at it, one look at the sujiposed shield was
enough, and he stood perfectl}^ stupefied witli fear.

''Now then, look alive,my blooming morning glory"
cried Jack pushing him into the sleigh, '^ we'll make
you all comfortable for a few years at government

„i

•f -
If

THOMPSON'S TURKEY.

expense, my full blown sunflower." Jack's facility
for finding names for liim was sm*prising.

^' Wait a minute," cried Moysoii as we drove ott'
**ril give you" — and he whispered something in
Jack's ear.

"Will you?" said Jack. "Honor bright."

"Honor bright," replied Moyson, "I've got the
money in my pocket."

" All right," said Jack, " we'll have to go to th(3 sta-
tion, just for form sake, you know, but I'll get you
discharged and then you can go."

"How can you get me discharged if I once am in
the station ?"

"Oh, the easiest thing in the world; when I see
you in the light I say I find I have made a mistake in
the dark and arrested the wrong man; you come the
indignant dodge, threaten to have me dismissed for
arresting ah innocent citizen and all that sort of
thing; nobody there knows you: I admit that I
haven't a warrant for your arrest — you not being the
man I want and off you go, don't you see I"

" Yes I see it now, all right."

"All right it is," said Jack sotto voce, " I'm glad
you see it, for if jow had resisted I don't know how I
should have got you to the station ; I suppose it will
be all right when I do get you there, although I don't
know but wdiat I have made myself amenable to
the law for burglary, or something, passing myself |
off as a detective and arresting a peaceable citizen ;

anvhow
.slang e^

It wa
i there w
nc^ainst
and resi
considei
man's ft
and swG
body w
leased,
to be s<
were fo
ous, and
up if Ja
arrive a
Thompf
. Of CO
ters to 1
entirely
ing the
large m
seeing t
undecei
fessed t
and alsc
for chai
another

It wa

now Tlir. TURKEY GOT EATKN.

glad

jinyliow I'll chance it;" somehow Jack would ii.se
slang even when talking to himself.

It was a funny sight when we reached the station ;
there Was the French policeman making a charge
against old Dumsic for passing counterfeit money
and resisting 'tlie ]>o?ice, for old Dumsic had resisted
considerably as llio damaged condition of the police-
man's face showed ; and there was old Dumsic tearing
and swearing like a wild man, and threatening ever}'-
body with destruction if he was not instantly re-
leased. But when the Sergeant ordered old Dumsic
to be searched and two counterfeit ten-dollar bills
were found in his pocket, matters began to look seri-
ous, and old Dumsic would probably have been locivcd
up if Jack and I with Moyson had not happened to
arrive a^ the time, just as the detective entered with
Thompson and Winnie.

. Of course it did not take very long to explain mat-
ters to the Sergeant, and Moyson' s capture threw an
entirely new light on the subject of Thompson's pass-
ing the counterfeit bills; for when he was searched a.
large number of counterfeits were found on him, and
seeing there was no chance of escape — for Jack ^eon
undeceived him about his being a detective — he con*
fessed that he had given the bad bills to Thompson,
and also that when the junior partner hal sent to him
for change he had kept the good bill and substituted
another.
It was quite evident that there was no ground for

■Al

TIJOJIl'SOA'S rURKEr

"'11

a charge against Thompson, but as a warrant had been
issued, he had to be taken up to the house of the
magistrate, who, on a representation of the case being
made, accepted bail for his appearance on the day
after Christmas.

Old Dumsic sat on a bench in the Police Station
and abused that French policemen for a good hall
hour, which must have been very entertaining to the
man, who did not understand a word of English ; and
the man fully explained how the mistake of arresting-
him occurred, in French, which was all a mystCry to
old Dumsic, who was quite ignorant of that language.
At last old Dumsic got tired of that kind of conversa-
tion, and, having deposited a sufficient sum as liis
bail to appear and answer the charge of assault, left
the station and went home ; but a great change
seemed to have come over him, and he appeared to be
arguing something over to himself as lie went along.

1 suppose it is scared}^ necessary to say that the
Christmas dinner next day w^as a great success. Of
course Jack was there and had a storj^ all ready tcD^toil
about a friend of his who had got into a scra])e very
similar to the one Jack had got into buying liis tur-
key ; and very handsome the turkey looked when it
was brought on the table lying helplessly on its l)ac'k
with its legs in the air ; and very meriy and jolly we
all prepared to be. *

But the funniest thing of all hapj^ened just as
Thompson had his knife raised to carve the turkey,

for the
warning
ashame
smile p
and, oft

'^ Chf
been in
rying ^
feel lik(
have he
to Thoi
day anc
not ma!

Then
nodded
gave hi
with hi
very fii

It w;
thawed
Ji Y^A h<
got too.
body la
of wine
too mu(
the oth
didn't b
all, and
name I

J/0\V THE TCKKlii- GOT EATEN.

for the door suddenly opened, without any previous
Avarning, and in walked old Dumsic looking a little
ashamed of himself I thought, but doing his best to
smile pleasantly. He walked right up to Thompson
and, offering his hand, said,

'' Charlie, I've come to the conclusion that I have
boon in the wrong, and as I can't prevent your mar-
rying Winnie now, I give my consent. Home don't
fool like home at all without Winnie, and I want to
have her back. Oh, you shall come too," he continued
to Thompson. " I'm going to turnover a new leaf to-
day and what I can't cure, I'm going to endure, and
not make myself a fool about it."

Then Winnie looked at Thompson, and Thompson
nodded his head, and she tripped up to her father and
gave him a sounding kiss, and Thompson shook hands
with him and made him sit down to dinner, and the
very first cut of the turkey was given to old Dumsic.

It was quite w^onderful to see how old DumsiC
thawed, just as quick as an icecream pyramid when
a rt^d hot poker is applied to it ; and awfully jolly he
got too, and he and Jack told stories that kept every-
body laughing, and old Dumsic had ordered a basket
of wine in, and I am afrjiid Jack and he drank rather
too much, for they vowed eternal friendship after all
the others had left the table; and Dumsic told Jack ho
didn't believe he w^as the descendant of an Irish king at
all, and that he would not be at all surprised if his
name had originally been Drumstick as Thompson

^■■i

V :,; ;

THOMPSON'S rmh'Ef.

i mi'

said, and that a very jolly old Drumstick he felt, which
evoi*ybody knows Dumsic Avould never have done if he
had been quite sober. And the fun we had after the
friends who had been invited for the evening arrived,
was too much for me to tell, and there was old Dum-
sic running about making love to all the girls, and
declaring he wanted to get married again.

That was last Christmas, and I am going to dine
with Thompson again this year, but he doesn't live in
*' queer quarters" now, iMit with old Dumsic, who has
given him an interest in the pin-and-needle busi-
ness ; and there is to be something mor than a
Christmas fjarty for there is to be a christening too,
and the young gentleman's name is to be Phil after
his godfather, and Dumsic after his grandfather, so I
will finish my story by wishing long life and happi-
ness to Philip Dumsic Thompson, Esq.

and

dl;

le iilittsimjis

til

* «,

'' i<i

I ip

ill

1 ii..

THE CimiSTMAS ANTHEM.

It was Uhristmas Evo, and there was a bustle of
preparation for the morrow prevading the little vil-
large of Goschen, in the Eastern Townships, which
gave an appearance of peculiar animation to that
usually quiet and staid little place.

In the main street the shops were all aglow with
light, and gay parties were hurrying about from shop
to shoj), some providing for to-morrow's dinner, others
eugaged in searching for some suitable gift for a friend
or relation, and others just strolling idly about to see
what their neighbors were doing.

Almost at the head of the main street, standing
back some twenty or thirty yards from the highway,
in the middle of a small grass plot, which was now
covered with snow, was the village church. It was
a plain unpretentious edifice of stone, with a steep
roof without any tower, belfry or ornament of any
kind to set it off. The windows were narrow and of
common glass, even the one over the altar was square
and of the same plain material. Everything about
the place was of the plainest and most rigid character ;
and the interior had little more ornampntatiou than

'■■ i

rilK CJ/KISTMAS ANTHEM.

■i-:,;i

If'-'- ■'

il '

1 V

the exterior. The pulpit and reading desk were of|
maple, but simply, almost austerely made, and tho
altar rails wore not even turned, but cut uncomprom-
isingly square.

Tho only spot which seemed to have escaped tho
prevailing plainness was the place set apart for tho
choir, and which boasted nearly all the decoration
there was about the church. It stood on the left of
the aisle against the wall, not facing the pulpit but at
right angles with it, and was raised on a platform
about two feet high. This platform projected on
three sides beyond the wooden railing and afforded
room for a good wide seat, and here strangers were
generally accommodated, as the church was small and
all the seats taken. There was a harmonium, time-
honored and asthmatic, but considered quite a fine in-
strument in Goschen,and the railing was neatly turned
and the wide seat comfortably cushioned, which gave
the " music gallery" — as it was ostentatiously termed
— a greater air of finish and completeness than any
other part of the church, and made it look quite
grand in comparison with the surrounding plainness.

The little church was busy and gay this Christmas
Eve, like all the rest of Goschen, for the members of
the choir had met to practice the Christmas anthem
for the last time, and also to decorate the church iis
far as possible with evergreens and firs.

The practising was over and the Minister's wife,
who acted as — what shall I say, organist? she was
culled the organist in Goschen, but I do not think

THE CHRISTMAS ANTHEM.

^Kjro of I
nd tho
nprom-

led tho
for tho
oration
left of
; but at
atform
ted on
fforded
's were
all and
, time-
ine in-
purned
1 ga-ve
ermed
n any
quite
nness.
istmas
3ers of
nthem
rch as

j wife,
e was
tliink

the title quite correct—sat at the harmonium trying
over softly a new and ambitious ^'voluntary" with
which she intended to *' play the congregation out"
on the next day.

Groups of girls were busying themselves in various
parts of the church, twining wreaths around the
iron brackets which supported the oil lamps, sticking
sprigs of green into the backs of the seats, trying to
coax some garlands to hang gracofVilly about the plain
angular reeding desk, and otherwise endeavouring to
beautify the place and give it an appearance of more
cheerfulness than i* usually possessed.

Of course there were various young men heli)ing
the young ladies — it would be slow work for the young
ladies decorating a church if there were no young
men to assist them — and most of the young people
were gathered in the body of the church chatting
gaily and decorating the backs of tho seats. A party
of three, one lady, two gentlemen, were, with the
aid of a ladder, trying to luiil to the wall over the
altar some letters made of evergreens which were to
read,

" Peace mi earth, good-will toward men."

Seated in front of the altar rails Avas a young girl of
about twenty,engaged in twisting some wi'caths of ever
greens about the square rails. She worked in a dull,
uninterested way as if she took little pleasure in her
task, and at lemgth rested her head on the top of the
XdM and tears started to hei; ej^es and trickled down

TJIE CllHlSrMAS ANTHEM.

ll:'

\\\*

fe •i

hor cheeks. She had sat for several minutes this way,
with her face buried in her hands, when a hurried
step advanced along the chancel and a young man
rapidly approaching laid his hand on her shoulder |
and said gaily,

" Why, Jessie, are you playing hide and seek ? 11
have been looking for you everywhere." Then, as she
looked up at him and he saw her tear-stained cheeks,
he added in a lower and more tender tone, *' Why, you|
have been cjying ; what is the matter ?"

*' Nothing Ytry serious, Bill," answered the girl
glancing up at him again, *' I have only got a fit ofl
the blues at the thought of how soon I must leavol
Goschen."

*< Leave Goschen !"

^* Yes, Bill," she replied sadly, rising and turningl
away from the altar rail, 'Meave Goschen, perhaps]
never to return."

She said no more but walked slowly along theaislol
to the choir and seated herself on the broad seat in
ft-ont of it. The clergyman's wife had finished the
<"' voluntary" and this part of the church was quite
deserted. Her companion followed and silently seated
himself beside her. After a few moments he asked :|

"What do you mean by leaving Goschen, Jessie
is it a joke ?"

" If it was it would be a sad one, Bill, but it is onlj|
too true. I leave the day after to-morro\Y."

*^ Put what does it m^an ?"

"It

and all
Father
God or
keep ft
I must
compa
her to-

"Se]
rtway—
sort of

"It
way. '
a frien
Mothei
his fri(
surety,
to pay
have ei
$2,000.
one kn
run foi
you kr
this ye
then tl
all it I
again SI
the la\
farm is

TILE CmUSTMAS ANTHEM.

'' It moans, Bill^ that sad trouble has como on us,
and all Goschen will know it before the year is out.
Father is ruined, the farm will have to be sold, and
God only knows whether there will be enough left to
keep father and mother in their old days. As for me
I must work for my living. I have got a situation as
companion to a lady in Montreal, and I am to go to
her to-morrow."

^' Sell Brookside — Squire Barton ruined — you going
tiNs^ay — I can't understand it," said Bill, in a puzzled
sort of way.

"It is only too true. You see it happened in this
way. About two years ago father went security for
a friend in Quebec Avho was entering on asj)ecuIation.
Mother opposed it but father had great confidence in
his friend, who was an old schoolmate, and went his
surety. Well, the speculation failed and father had
to pay a large sum of money, so large that he didn't
have enough, and so the farm had to be mortgaged for
$2,000. It was done very quietly in Montreal, and no
one knew anything about it. The mortgage was to
run for several years if the interest Avas paid ; but
you know how everything has gone against fat- m
this year, the crops being poor, the stock dying, and
then that dreadful fire which destroyed the barn and
all it contained. It seemed as if everything was
against father and he could not pay the interest, so
the lawyers did something or other about it and the
fai^m is to be sold. Of course, there will be something

;

':l

'^ i

THE CUHIHTMAS ANTltEM.

loft, for Brooksido is worth more than $2,000 ; but I
am afraid it will scarcely be enough to keep father
and mother, and I must work for my living."

Mr. William Hayes, who has hitherto been style
only "Bill," sat in deep thought for several minutes,
then he said,

" Is there no one, Jessie, that your father could
apply to for help, no friend, no relative ?"

"N^o," she said, shaking her head sadly, " no one:
he has few friends, none who could help him ; and as
for relatives, I don't think he has one in the world. I
never heard of but one, Uncle Robert, and he had a
terrible quarrel with father j^eai's before I was born
before father was married in fact, and he went awaj
and died in Australia. This was before father came
to Goschon to live."

" It's awful hard," said Mr. Hayes, scratching his
head meditatively as if trying to dig up an idea,
*' awful hard. But I say," he suddenly added with
energy, " if you go away, who is to lead the choir ?"

'* Nellie Chadworth ; I shall sing my last anthem to-
morrow. I shall take away many pleasant memories
of the choir, and shall often think of the old church,
and the many happy hours I have spent in it, when
I am far away."

The tears started to her eyes again and she turned
aside to hide her emotion.

Mr. William Hayes, bachelor, aged twenty-five,
good looking and in excellent phj^sical health, sat

(Irummi

loving

!«»»?•"

He had

.iid his

There w

had ovei

upon it

marry J

most pe(

heels, an

was his ]

to tell h<

tcct her :

Tothing

clerk in

munifice

lodging.

quiet CO

support !

ly his iai

chen, au'

father w

would nc

poor por

bility dig

or thwa:

drummec

not to hn

his cousi

Tilt: CIlHlSTMAtS ANTUI':M.

drumming with hin hocls against tho seat, firmly be-
lieving ho was tho mowt misorablo man in oxistonco.
Ho had grown up from childhood with Jossio Barton,

v.id his lovo for hor had bocomo pai^t of his very life.
There was no formal engagement, no vows of love
had over passed between them, but everyone looked
upon it as a settled thing, that Bill Hayes was to
marry Jessie Barton sometime — when his father died,
most people said. Mr. Hayes sat drumming with his
heels, and bitterly thought of what he was, and what
was his position. Now was the time When he ought
to tell her about his love and offer to guar I and pro-
tect her ; but, how was he to do it ? What was he ?

Tothing! Simply a hanger-on upon his father: a
clerk in his store in the village, and receiving the
munificent salary of $^00 a year and his board, and
lodging. This supported him well as a bachelpr in a
quiet country village like Goschen, but how could he
support a wife and prospective family on it ? Certain-
ly his father was rich, by far the richest man in Gos-
chen, and he was his only child ; but Bill know his
father well, a hard^ stern, cold, grasping m;^n who
would never consent to his only son's marriage to a
poor portionless girl ; and who would, in all proba-
bility disinherit that son if he dared to disobey him
or thwart his wishes. And so Mr. Hayes sat and
drummed away, thinking what a fool he had been
not to have gone to California four j^oars ago, when
his cousin Tom Beeves went, Tom had made (][uite t\

THE CJIIUJSTMAS xiNTIlEM.

H-

I !:•

I'l

»■

i 'ji'"'

ill".
it

,8 .■,

<L^^

littl'o fortune in that time and wrote homo, giving]
glowing .accounts of iiis success.

While Mr. Hayes drummed away and mentallyl
called himself any quantity of hard names, Jessie still[
sat with her head averted, and the tears coursinj
silently down her cheeks. It is a dangerous positioii|
for a man madly in love, to find himself seated by the
object of his affection, and to see her in tears. Mi.|
Hayes resisted as long as possible, but his love was|
too strong for his determination, and suddenly, h^
scarce knew how, he found his arm around Jessie'
waist, and as he drew her to him, he whispered pas
sionately :

<' Jessie, darling,! know lam a great fool ; IknoMJ
1 am not worthy of you ; but I love you" —

'' There, -there, let us go !" exclaimed Jessie, risingl
suddenly with glowing cheeks ; '^ they are putting
out the lights, and we* shall be locked in."

So saying she walked down the aisle, followed bj
Mr. Hayes, who felt, more convinced than ever thai
he was a fool.

* 'K * sH * . *

'' It is just what Christmas ought to be." Thai
was what I'armer Bulrush said next morning, and
Farmer Bulrush was an authority upon the wealhcJ
for ten miles around Gosehen, and certainly oughj
to have known what he was talking about. Certaiif
it was that the day was (ilear, cold and bright, witi
the thermometer about 15 ^ below freezing, andj'ii^

THE CHRISTMAS ANTHEM.

enough sun to make a sharp walk pleasant. Every-
body and everything locked gay and bright in the •
sunshine, and I rather incline to Farmer Bulrush's
opinion that it was '' just what Christmas ought to be/' •

The bell in the little church had not ceased ringing,
for the very good and sufficient reason that it had
never begun ; in fact, there was no bell at all, but the
congregation had assembled in full force, and the
building w^as crowded to its utmost capacity.

Jessie sat in her accustomed place as leader of the
choir, and the paleness of her countenance, and the --
half mournful manner in which she looked about the
church from time to time, as if taking leave of some
familiar object, showed how much she felt and grieved
at the fact that she sat in her accustomed place for?
perhaps, the last time.

The service was pretty well advanced when a
stranger entered the church. He did not seem at first
as if he intended to enter, for, after he had put his
head in he withdrew it for a moment ; but, muttering,
" I can rest here as well as anywhere else," advanced —
a little way up the aisle. In a moment the sexton
saw him, and pouncing on him carried him off in
triumph to the strangers' seat, where he was placed
in the corner next to Jessie. The sexton obsequiously
handed him a book, but he opened it^mechanically,
without looking at the page, and seemed to take little
interest in the service.

lie was a curious looking man, this stranirer, old,

' %Lr

THE CHRISTMAS AATHMM.

(

Ii^

with scanty white locks and crows' feet deep around
his eyes. Yet, it did not seem to be age alone which
had blanched his hair and lined his face, for his form
was erect and strong, and the bright flash of his eye
told of health and vigor yet. He looked rather like
a man whose hair had been prematurely whitened by
care and sorrow, than one who was far on in tl vale
of years.

He glanced about him from time to time, and a
half smile curled his lips as the solemn words of the
Litany fell upon his ear, and he muttered to himself,
*' all nonsense ; all nonsense."

Suddenly there was a pausQ ; the congregation rose
from their knees, and the clergyman gave out the
anthem. It was notexactly an anthem, it was one of
the hymns for Christmas day, but it had been care
fully practised for weeks, and arranged so that the
soprano should sing one verse, the tenor the next, and
" everybody" join in the chorus, and great things
were expected of it.

The wheezy little harmonium sighed out the over-
ture, there was a slight pause, the rustling of dresse
as the congregation rose, and then a clear, sweet, full
young voice, pure and musical as the soDg of some
joyous bird, burst forth in the full tide of melody with
the glorious old Christmas hymn,

" Hark ! the herald angels sing,
*' Glory to the newborn King,
"Peace on earth asd mercy mild,
" God and sinners reconcil'd."

THE CHRISTMAS ANTHE3U

Grandly, the full, round voice rose to the majestic
Imelody of the hymn, and the whole building seemed
to echo again and again with the glad tidings that
yhrist was born to save sinners.
Wheri the sound fell on his car, the old man turned
md looked long and earnestly at the fair singer.
Tessie Barton was not what would be called a pretty
^irl ; her features were not regular, but her complex-
Ion was fair, and her face pure and good ; and as she
stood now, her bright blue eyes sparkling with ani-
lation, her light golden hair streaming unbound over
ler shoulders, her cheeks slightly flushed, and her
kvhole soul seemingly absorbed in singing her Crea-
[or's praise, she looked almost beautiful.

The old man put his hand to his ear and sat quietly
listening, and long after the hymn was finished he
jcept repeating to himself,

" Peace on earth and mercy mild,
" God and sinners reconcil'd.*'

Then he would look over the altar, and read the
kords,

" Peace on earth , good will toward men,'*

And he would shake his head and mutter," I can't un-
ferstand it ; it used to be all hell-fire and damnation in

ly day, but it's changed now. I shoidd like to ask her
Ibout it," and he turned and looked again at the calm,
rare face beside him. The old man's attention never
pandered from the service again, and he listened

\- \

! 1

i
i

i !

fli

TliE ClililSMAS ANTHEM.

it-

meekly and reverently to the sermon, as if trying*
to reconcile it in his mind with something he had
heard before j but he still sat with his head turned a
little on one side and his hand to his ear, while ho
gazed quietly, but not impertiiently at the calm
face of Jessie Barton.

It wasn't a brilliant sermon ; it was simply a re-
count of the plan of salvation, and a brief history of I
the ISativity of the Saviour; but the preacher was
earnest and impressive, and carried a conviction
of the Creator's love and tenderness home to the
hearts of his hearers, as he dwelt on the love and
mercy of the Omnipotent^ and entreated them to
trust to Him, to cast their sins and sorrows upon Him,
and to avail themselves of the way provided by Him
for them to.escape the wages of sin ; and still the old
man listened and occasionally murmured, *' I should |
like to ask her about it."

The service was over, and the congregation had all!
dispersed ; Jessie was almost the last person to leave
the church, for she lingered to say good-bj^e to her
friends, and after that, was busied in packing up her I
music to take home with her for the last time.

As she passed out of the door, after shaking hands |
with the sexton and bidding him good-bye, a man,
who had evidently been waiting for her, came up and I
quietly wall'ed by her side. She looked up and saw
the old man who had sat by her in church. He did not
look like a beggar, he was well dressed and seemed

warm
exactly
ho wall
t}epend(
nothing
a few y
"Do
'' Bel
but not
I duet, fo:
hundrec
congreg
<' Wh;

(

land he \
Iners — d(

"Do
Ihimself ;
(you ?"

" I do
I in a chii
Used to ]
seems so
I for some
stopped I
he asked
|okl man

Jessie

THE CHRISTMAS ANTJIEM.

warm and comfortable; his clothes, although not
exactly new, were of good quality and well made, and
he walked erect, with his head up and an elastic, in-
dependent stride like a man who owed the world
nothing and asked no favors of it. He walked on for
a few yards in silence and then said, abruptly,

" Do you believe it ?"

^'' Believe what ?" asked Jessie, ^le was surj^riscd,
I but not the least bit frightened at the old man's con-
duct, for it was broad daylight and she was within a
hundred yards of her father's house, and some of the
I congregation were only a short distance ahead of her. -

*' What you were singing just now,

Peace on earth and mercy niild,
God and sinners reconcild."

land he was preaching about Christ dj ing to save sin-
Iners — do you believe it ?"

" Do I believe the story of the Saviour ofl'ering
Ihiniself a sacrifice for our sins ? Ofcour.se I do ! Don't
jyou ?"

'' I don't know, it seems so strange. I haven't been
lin a church for nigh on twenty years, and then they
used to preach about hell-fire and damnation; it all
Ncems so strange." Ho walked on quiet)}" by her side
for some time without saying an}- more, until Jessie -•
stopped before a comfortable looking farm-house, then
ho asked; *' Would you mind, talking it over with an
loldman?"

Jessie hesitated and then said, £ ;

E ' ^

THE CUHISTMAS ANTHEM.

' :-.

If!

" You had better talk to the minister, sir, he is 8o|
much wiser, and knows so much better than mo."

"No. It was your voice roused mo, not his; l'(l|
rather talk to you."

" Jessie," called her mother coming to the door,
" why don't you come in, dinner's waiting on thc|
table ? '

Jessie looked ft'om the old man to her mother and I
seemed in doubt what to do ; at last she asked the
old man to ** wait a minute," ana going to hor mothor|
said,

"Mother, here is an old gentleman who was atl
church and walked home with mo, asking me such
queer questions, and he says he wants to talk with
me. What shall I do?"

" Well, child," her mother replied, " you knowl
your father's notions abgut Christmas ; he would'nt
let a dog go from his door on a Christmas Day. Ask
the gentleman in to dinner and you can talk to him|
after; the turkey is small, but it will be enough."

Jessie did as she was bid. At first the old maul
would not hear of it, and insisted upon going to the
inn and returning after dinner ; but Jessie fina]lj[
persuaded him and he went in.

" Father, this gentleman is a stranger in the village,!
he says he would like to talk to me about something;]
and I have asked him to dine with us."

'* Quite right, Jessie," said Mr. Barton rising anill
advancing toward the stranger, with outstretched

hand,
addres!
there ii
I have
mas, ai
on that
a heart
thing,
and the

Mr. I
tall,bro
with h«
just she
was sof
fond of
Take h
seeing ]

Thei
develop
of him
subject,
whaling
tral Afi
the Ind
Nevada
dotes h
during

After
Mr. Bar

V'.

THE CURlSTxMAS ASTHEM.

hand. " You are heartily welcome, Sir," he continued
addressing his gnest, "our fare is plain, but what
there is I shall be happy to have you with us to share.
I have some queer notions, folks tell me, about Christ-
mas, and I never allow any stranger to pass my door
on that day ; if there is nothing else to offer there is
a hearty welcome, and I take it that's worth some-
thing. So come right in. Sir, dinner's on the table,
and the wife will fret if we let it got cold."

Mr. Barton was a hale, hearty specimen of a farmer ;
tall, broad -chested,bronzed with exposure,his hand hard
with honest labor, and the frost of over fifty winters
just showing itself through his dark locks. His face
was soft and kindly, and a pleasant sort of smile was
fond of playing about the corners of his mouth.
Take him for all in all one would be ajit to say on
seeing him, " that is an honest man."

The dinner passed off merrily; the old gcntlema i
developed a fund of wit which no one had expected
of him, and seemed- to be well informed on every
subject. Ho had travelled a great deal, had been
whaling in the Arctic Seas, and hunting tigers in Cen-
tral Africa ; he had been amongst the pearl divers in
the Indian Ocean, and had mined in California and
Nevada. Many strange stories and amusing anec-
dotes he told, and kept his audience fully amused
during the meal.

After dinner they went into the parlor, and while
Mr. Barton took his usual nap, Jessie opened the piano

' «
i

"'(

^i!

THE CHRISTMAS A^^Tll/'JJL

If*

B ' m

and sung some of hor favorite hymns for the old man.

" Thank you, my dear," he said, when she had
finished. ** And now I want to ask you a question ;
you have treated an old man and a stranger very
kindly, and ho does not cvon know who to thank.
"What is your name ?"

** Jessie Barton."

^' Barton, Barton !" he exclaimed in some surprise.
*' Any relation to the Bartons who used to live in Sher-
brooke many years ago ?"

" We are the same family, sir. I w^as born in Sher-
brooke, father moved to Goschen years ago."

The old man bowed his head in his hands for a
minute and said softly to himself, ''I believe it now,
" Peace on earth, good will toward men."

Just then the farmer stirred in his sleep and wak-
ing with a sudden snort looked about him, and tried
very hard to pretend he had never been asleep at all.

The old man rose and crossing to him said, very
solemnly :

'' Alfred Barton, do you remember thirty years ago
quarrelling with your brother in the old homestead in
Sherbrooke ?"

^' Aye, aye, Bob was always a hasty lad; but he

had a good heart."

" Do you remember how he cursed you, and swore
he would never break bread w^ith you, or recognize
you as a brother again ?"

" Aye, aye, but I know he was sorry for it after-

wards ;
come hi
"Ho
it," exc
"Good(
I ed so mi
each otl

The

I nearly a

I grip, am

" Eob.

" Alfr

And sc

After

[brother's

" Eobe

Ifarni is a

[left; but

^ibr so I L

lie said i

Wore dea(

'^ And

\i tear be^

" Aye,

Welcome.

'' And I

jng his ha

I'iglit ban

Ivards all

filE CHRISTMAS ANTHEM.

wards ; and if ho hud lived I believe ho would have
come back years ago and told me so."

" Ho does live ; ho has come back ; ho is sorry for
it," exclaimed the old gentleman in excited tones.
"Good God, Alfred, is it j)ossible wo have both chang-
ed so much in thirty years that w^o cannot recognize
each other ?"

The two men looked into each other's faces for
I nearly a minute, then their hands mot with a hearty
(grip, and two words escaped them.

"Eobort!"

" Alfred !"

And so the quarrel of thirty years ago was made up.

After a w^hile the farmer spoke, still holding his
[brother's hand :

" Eobort, lad, you've come back at a bad time ; the
Ifarm is about to be sold, and there will not bo much
[left; but much or little, we'll share it together, lad,
for so I know the father would have wishoU, although
he said nothing about it in the will, thinking you
were dead."

" And so you'll share with mo," said tho old man,
[i tear beginning to creep into the corner of his eye.

" Aye, lad, there's not much ; but there's a hearty
kelcomo."

"And I'll share wuth you," said tho old man, bring-
ing his hand down with a jolly smack into the farmer's
right hand which he had seized and turned palm up-
Ivards all ready to be smacked. '' I'll share with you

\ •

1 1

i i

THE CHRISTMAS ANTHEM,

and you won't got the worst of the bargain, for the
rolling stone has gathered some moss this time, and
Robert Barton is good for a quarter of a million any-
time. Yes," he continued after a pause, "I am a rich
man, Alfred, but a very lonely, solitary one. I have
never known what it was to have a home since I left
the old j)lace ; no wife, no children, I stand all alone
in my old days ; let me end them with you ; let us
old men try to bring back some of our boyhood's
" days ; let your daughter be my daughter, and let us
spend what little of life is left us, together. I have
done enough for riches, let me do something for hap-
piness."

My story is as good as finished ; Brookside w^as not
sold, and Jegsie did not go to Montreal. Mr. Hayes,
somehow, found courage to finish that little speech he
commenced in the church, and Jessie did not interrupt |
him; and when his father found he was going to
marry a rich heiress instead of a penniless girl, he
gave him a splendid house and made over the business
' to him.

There is a little " Bill," and a little " Jessie," and a I
little '' Bob" now, and Jessie looks quite matronly
although she still leads the choir; and the old man
sits in the strangers' seat — he will take no other —
and listens to her pure voice, and says that he never
began to feel what true happiness meant, until, hc|
heard that Christmas anthem :

*^ Peace on earth and mercy mild,
** God and sinners reconcil'd.''

mtmm^

hthiwM.

Peril a

I :i police

other fc

|lievx' tht

[beat," a

jvery sjDO

miles loi

burglary-

a child j

drunken

|dent occ

do, that i

rpec

|l>ra-s bul

Ito bo an (

W/' SOI

|ialf locu

Ikind. Ijc

pnixing w

it its woi

< H

THE POLICEMAN'S CIIIUSTMAS.

BY ONE OF THE FORCE.

Perhaps you arc one of the people who don't think
:i policeman ought to want to keep Christmas like
other folks ; maybe you belong to that class who be-
lievx' that a policeman ought always to be '' on his
beat," and that he should never fail to be just on the
very spot in that beat — no matter if it be two or three
miles long, as it often is — at the very moment that a
burglary is being committed, or a fire breaks out, or
a child gets run over, or a fight takes place, or a
drunken man slips on the sidewalk, or any other acci-
dent occurs. Possibly you think, like a great many
do, that a policeman hasn't got the same feelings as
> 1' jK^ople, that, when he puts on his blue coat with
l>ra-s buttons and sticks his staff in his belt he ceases
to be an ordinary man and becomes " a limb of the
law," something of a nondescript animal, half man,
half locust "lub. I)on't you believe anything of the
kind, liong service, getting used to rough life and
mixing with the lowest classes ; seeing human nature
at its worst and always having to keep a brigiit look-

THE POLICEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

out for othefi's' fiiiliiigSj don't tend to elevate a man ; I
admit chatj it isn't the sort of work that tends to im- ?
j)rove a man's oj)inion of humanity; it's not the sort
of thing to make a man think uetter of his fellow
men ; still, I don't believe you can ever make a police-
man quite a machine like we are told a soldier can bo
made — though I have my doubts about that, too.

You see we have to mix too much with the people
to get all the man taken out of us and leave nothing
but the machine, doing ils duty and knowing or caring
nothing beyond. It isn't natural to suppose that we
can be on the force for any length of time without
making a good many acquaintances, and, perhaps, a
few friends. We are for the most part pretty nearly
always on the same beats ; of course, we are changed
about every now and then so that we may get well
acquainted w4th the city, biU we keep pretty well to
one station, and get to know most of the people we
meet. It isn't always that, we know them to speak
to, but just by sight, and many a time on a cold, raw,
winter's morning, it has given me a sort of comfort-
able feel to meet some great gentleman I knew by
sight, and to feel that the wind and the snow, and the
cold didn't have anymore respect for him than it did
for the poor policeman who was v.early dead with the
three hours' freezing he had got on his beat.

When I say, '' g^.t acquainted," I don't mean in
the way you read in thrashy novels — written by
people who know nothing of the force — about police-
men, being always dodging down urea woys to spark

THE POLICEMAN'S CIIRlSTMAk

)s. a

cooks, and arresting small boys, and never being on
their beats when wanted, and running away when
they hear a row; that's for the most part all stuff
written by people who don't know what they are
writing about. I ask you as a sensible person — I
suppose you are a sensible person, tho' I may be mis.
taken, — did you eve I* see a policeman hanging about
area railii'gs making love to the cook or the house
maid, either for her own sake, or for the sake of the
broken victuals ? Did you ever see a policeman
arrest a small boy, except those nuisances who will
go coasting down steep streets when there's any
snow, to the great danger of their own necks and of
damage to all passers-by — that sort have to be arrested
once in a while just to frighten the rest a bit ; but did
you ever know a policeman who made it a practice
of arresting only small boys? I'll bet you never did,
and never saw one except on the stage, or in a comic
paper. And as xOy running away from rows — well,
if you're greei? enough to believe that, I'm sorry for
you, that's all. No, ^hc sort of acquaintances I mean
that a policeman makes is mostly the people he
passes and repasses on the street uiid the people ho
has to arrest.

Were you ever arrested ? Well, you needn't get
mad at the question, quite as good men as you have
been arrested, and it don't always prove, because a
man is arrested that he has done anything wrong ;
but if you ever should be arrested it might, perhaps,
surprise you to find yourself known by some one or

['» *'■,

^r,

6§

TltE FOLIC EMAILS CHRISTMAS.

more of the force, if not by name iit least by sight, altho'
you are a very quiet, respectable citizen, " unknown
to the police," as the saying is. You might not know
a single policeman by sight, but the chances are that
some of them know you ; why. Lor' bless me ! put the
police force of Montreal, small as it is, in the middle
of the Champ the Mars, and let all the grown up men
and women — and a good show of the children too —
pass round them, and I'll bet my buttons, and that's
a good deal for a policeman to bet, that at least a
quarter of them could be recognized by some member
of the force. \ ou see it's sort of natural — at least it
is to me, and I suppose it is to most of the force — to
look pretty sharp about us as we go up and down our
beats, and from meeting the same people frequently
and forming acquaintances'with the shop-keepers and
such like, who are generally very glad to be ac-
quainted with '' the policeman on the beat," — we get
to know pretty nearly everybody who passes along
our beat every day or so.

I remember when I first went to the Ottawa Street
Station, I was quite a stranger to that part of the
city, and knew very little about Griffin town except that
it had a bad name, and I didn't feel as if my life was
quite safe there at first, but, bless you, a name is all
in this world. " Give a dog a bad name and hang
him," you know the old saying; Griffintown i^n't
really much worse than many other localities where
the poor live, but it's got the name and it will stick

to it. ]
soon ha
ness an
ting sir
young i
himself
to " ha]
Ottawa
3IcCord
age.

Abou

who we

who ha(

cases i]

Diickwc

I the sohr\

I was dru

I that I h

but I m

ing beei

I down fo

Eowd

I when h

policem

found I

to be qi

house s(

Iriondly

las long

1^*.,

THE rOLlCFMAA'S CHRISTMAS.

to it. I usod to* keep my eye pretty well open, and I
soon had to make a good many arrests for drunken-
ness and conier lofvung. Corner loafing is the beset-
ting* sin of the youth of Griflintown. Whenever a
young fellow can beg, borrow, or steal the time from
himself or anybody else, he thinks it the proper thing
to " hang on " at one of the corners. Kempt and
Ottawa is the most fashionable corner, but Colborne,
3IcCord and other streets get a good share of patron-

age.

xVbout the first man I arrested was a young fellow
who went by the nickname of Eowdy Ducks," and
who had the reputation of being one of the '* hardest "
cases in Griffintown; his right name was Eoderick
Duckworth, but he was best known to the police by
\i\\Q sobriquet his L isconduct had earned for him. He
j was drunk when I arrested him, ard resisted a bit so
that I had great trouble in getting him to the station ;
but I managed it at last, and next morning, he hav-
uig been up very often of late, the Hecorder sent him
[down for two months.

Eowdy's friends told me to '' look out" for myself
hvhon he came out, as he never forgot or forgave a
policeman who had once arrested him; but I soon
found I. had nothing to fear, and after a little we got
to be quite friendly, and he used to come up to my
house some nights when T was oft' duty to smoke a
friendly pipe. He was quite a decent young follow
as long as ho would leave drink alone, and quite intel-

*s I

wvr

THE POLICEMAWS CHRISTMAS.

it '<

Ilk.

ligent. He was a plumboi* by trade, and a first-rate
workman, so that he never wanted long for a job.

He got a little steadier that summer, and was only
arrested two or three times for drunkenness, but as
he had money he paid his fine and was not sent down.

A couple of nights after his last arrest I was otf
duty, and he ^came up to my house, so I took the
opportunity of talking to him a bit.

'' Look here, Eowdy," I said,' — we genej^ally called
him Howdy, — " what is the good of your going on this
way ; you're a young man and a good workman, and
you ought to be ashamed of yourself to go to the dogs
the way you are going now j why don't you marry
and settle down ?"

He flushed u]3 a little when I said this, and tried to
laugh it off; but after a while he said, quite serious
like :

'* I've thought about it Barnes," (my name is Barnes
— S. C. Barnes — S. C. stands for Samuel Charles, not
Sub Constable, although I am one) " but I don't know
exactly how it would do. You see the devil seems to
get into me when I have a drop of drink, and I don't
know what I am doing. I am half afraid to trust
myself, for I should hate myself if I married MoUie
and then abused her as I see some men do."

" Oh, ho I" I said, " it's gone as far as that has it ;
well, Eoddy, my man, take a fool's advice, swear off
drink, marry MoUie, and settle down for a while out
of Grifiintown, where you will be away from yoUr old

\mir

it: I've
as good
perhaps

^' Goo
hition."

Host
the win
It was c
and ha(
better (
stations
better t

Ever^
one ha
the oth(
nine In
and taU
to be at
are the
the firs
o'clock
patrol

fK'f

THE POLICEMAN'S CURISTMAS.

companions and out of the way of temptation. You
ought to be too much of a man to let drink get the
best of you at your age ; if you don't put your foot
down like a man and kill your taste for it now, you
won't be able to do it in ten years time, if you live so
long."

^* Well, old man," he answered, ''I'll think about
it: I've got a good place now, and this would be about
as good a time as any for me to turn over a new leaf;
perhaps, I'll do it. Good night, old man."

*' Good night, my boy, and stick to your good reso-
lution."

I lost sight of Roddy for some time after that, and
the winter was nearly gone when I met him again.
It was one morning when I was one of the first relief,
and had the Wellington Street beat ; perhaps, I had
better explain here how the men are divided at the
stations, as you may possibly understand my story
better then.

Every policeman is on duty for twelve hours dm*ing
one half of the month, and sixteen hours a day for
the other half — how is that for work, you eight and
nine hour men who grumble at what you have to do,
and talk about " the lazy police?" The day men have
to be at the station at six o'clock in the morning, and
are then divided into two reliefs, first and second •
the first relief goes on duty on the boats from six
o'clock until nine, and are then relieved, going on
patrol again at twelve o'clock for three hours more j

1*3

<* n

!■.!

r
|{;"

f< ■

li-

fe ,

?• -'i

Wf'

THE rOLlCEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

both reliefs remain on duty — either on the beats or
fit the station — until six o'clock in the evening. The
night duty men have to report at the station at two
o'clock in the aftei^noon — except those who make
prisoners the night before and have to attend the Re-
corder's Court, they are generally allowed until five
o'clock to report — and remain on duty until six next
morning. That is pretty good time it seems to me,
and the pay was only a dollar a day L on — it's been
raised to eight dollars a week now for ( \ hands, and
little enough it is at that I say. The night men have
to report in the afternoon because they have to do odd
jobs, notifying persons who have committed a breach
of any of the Corporation By laws, by keeping dogs
without paying the tax and such like matters. Ever}-
two weeks the day men become the night men, so
that we change and change about.

I think that is enough explanation for the present,
so I'll get back to my storj-. I was on the first relief
of the day duty men, and just as I walked down Wel-
lington Street, I saw Roddy crossing the bridge— this
was before the present railway bridge was built —
coming from Point St. Charles way. He was looking
better than lever saw him look before, neat and tidy,
and his clothes all nicely brushed, and altogether quite
smartened up froii^ what he used to be. He saw mo
about as quick as I saw him and came across tho
street, laughing and holding his hand out ;

" Well, old man," he smd as soon as we had .shakeif

hands, '' ]
little girl
and I'm 1

*' That;
didn't lik
changed
more hea:
and who
Montreal

'* I'm n
" but I he
own and
look ahej
know\"

It was
moment,
father of

'' Well,
chickens
like looki
spoke to 1

'' Yes.

'' Well,
I .shall be
glad to ki

" That
walked o

You s(.
ceremony

THE POLICEMAX'S CJHUiSTMAS,

hands, '' I've taken your advice. I've got as nice a
little girl as you could find in a day's travel, for a wife,
and I'm living out at the Point and keeping steady."

*' That's right, Duckworth," I said — somehow I
didn't like to call him '* Eowdy "^ now he was so much
changed for the better, " nobody congratulates you
more heartily than I do ; stick to your new way of life,
and who knows but what you may be Mayor of
Montreal one of these days."

'* I'm not such a fool as to expect that," renliod ho,
" but I hope in a couple of years to start a shop of my
own and begin business on my own hook. I've got to
look ahead now a little more than I used to, you
know."

It was astonishing how paternal he looked at that
moment, anybody might have thought he w^^^s the
father of a large family.

''Well," I said, laughing, "you are counting your
chickens before they are hatched, but there is nothing
like looking ahead. And who is the wife, the one jow
spoke to me about ?"

" Yes. I'd like you to see her, Barnes."

" Well, just you bring her up next Sunday evening;
I shall be olf duty at six, and my old woman will be
!»:lad to know her."

"That I will, and thank you too," he said, and
walked olf to his business.

You see we poor people can't afford to stand on
leremony like rich folks; there's no need of calling

'iSM

■ -rt^

. ■■ *i'i

}'^'JB&jUB

ij\r" '-'J-.^im

THE rOUCEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

Lfc

I*'

St' ■

cirds, and previous introductions, and formal invi-
tations with us ; if wo want a man to come and see us I
wo ask him right off, and if ho wants to come, ho
comos ; and if ho don't want to como ho stays awajj
that's all. »

Eoddy camo on tho Sunday night, and brought his|
wife. Sho was a very protty girl, was Mollio Duck-
worth, almost too pretty I thought, and seemed voryl
fond of Eoddy ; but somehow, I can't say, I took al
fancy to her, and my old woman didn't like her at|
all.

'^Slio's a wild, flirting thing, that cares for nothiii^'l
but dress and nonsense," said my old woman aftorl
they were gone, '* and is no fit wife for a workiiij
man like Eowdy. Mark my words," she continuodi
"he'll be sorry for it before a year is out;" havingj
delivered w^hich opinion she marched off to bed.

I used to see Eowdy pretty often that summer goiiigl
to work in tho morning, and two or three times hel
came to see us, and one Sunday my old woman and l|
took tea with him at his house. He had been marr:
near a year then and was still living out at the PoinlJ
but talked of coming up to the city iu the winter, aJ
he said he was too far from his business, His wifj
seemed anxious for him to come into town too, declarj
ing she was " moped to death" out there, and althou<!;li
I tried to persuade him not to come back to the oltl
place, I could see he had made up his mind, and I fell|
pretty sure it would not be long before he was n
(jriffintown again and, perhaps, up to his old games.

IU".^|M

TJIE rOLlCEMAxVS CIUUSTMAS.

*75

They did not soom to get alon^ well together ; ho
was very fond of her bat she appeared careless about
him, and rather free for a married Avoman ; still I
thought that would wear off, the more so as there was
a prospect of there being a little Eoddy before very
long. "We did not spend a very pleasant evening, and
my old woman would not go again although they
I asked us.

Early in the fall they left the Point and came to
I live in Barre Street, where they had half of a small
brick house, and Mollie kept house after a fashion ;
but most of her time was spent gadding about St.
Josejih Street and around that portion of the city,
instead of minding her duties at home, and I could
hiee that Eoddy was not very comfortable with his
wife. Still he kept steady for a while raid did not go
with his old companions ; but it did not last long. The
Ibaby was born early, in ^November and died in a few
klays, and after that Mollie was out more than ever,
land neglected the house so that Roddy was never quite
Icertain that he would get anything for supper when
lie came home after work.

This soon brought about the result I expected;
inding he could get no comfort at honi , Roddy fell
)ack into his old habits, and one night I found him
foitering, half drunk, at the corner of Kemi)t and
)ttawa Streets. I did not take him in charge but
[valked home Avith him part of the Avay, giving him a
)it cf advice.

■,\^i

TJJE rOLlCKMAJ^'S CJIUISTMAS,

{;:

" I can't help it, Barnes," ho said, '* Mollie is drivl
ing mo to it with hor careless ways. I never get anvf
peace or comfort in the house, and to-night she ncvorl
came home to get supper ; so I wont off with the boyJ
a bit and had a few drinks. I haven't been drinkinni
lately you know, and a little got the best of mc
Barnes, old fellow," he went on after a minute, "ll
wish I never had married ; I don't think Mollie carcJ
much about me, and perhaps never did, although l|
have been a cood kind husband to her. She likes aii\
place better than her homo, and sometimes I think
' — he didn't finish what ho thought, but I could hcaJ
his teeth grind together in a way that made my flesij
creep ajl over and a little cold shiver run right through
me. I never did like to Tiear people grind their teeth]
but I never heard any teeth get such a ga'inding a|
Roddy gave his that night.

"Never mind, old fellow," I said, trying to checJ
him up a bit, *' she's young yet, and when the kidj|
begin to come she will settle down at homo neven
fear. Are you all right now," I asked as wo reached!
his door, " if so, I'll leave you. Go to bed, Roddyf
and don't come out again to-night, or you might get|
into trouble."

" I'm all right, old man," he said as he opened th^
door. "Good night."

Ho went in as he spoke, leaving the door partljl
open, and I could see Mollie sitting by the tablj
reading something which sho^ hastily put in m

THE POLICEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

pocket lis she heard UocMy'H step in the room. "This
is a nice time for you to come homo, and a pretty
I condition you are in," she said, turning on him
sharply.

*' Where have you been all the afternoon?" he re-
torted angrily. *' Why didn't you come home to get
I supper?"

1 didn't catch any more, but I could hear their
I voices raised as I walked away, and I knew they wei'o
having a row.

After that, Eoddy '' >vent to the dogs," as the say-
ing is, faster than ever. He soon was out of work,
land spent most of his time loafing at street corners
I or drinking in the saloons. I saw him drunk several

I times, but he kept away from me, and as he behaved
! himself quietly and did not make a row I didn't arrest
him, and he managed to keep out of the station house.

I I knew he and Mollie wore getting on worse than
ever together, for I heard some of his companions
i taking about it; but Roddy evidently did not want
to speak to me of it, and avoided mo as much as
[possible.*

It was two nights before Christmas, and I was rest-
|ing myself a bit in the statioi\ and thinking whether
I the old woman would have a turkey or a goose for
Christmas dinner, when a boy came running in and
[said, the police were wanted down in Barre street,
I that a man had killed his wife there.

It was almost eleven o'clock, and I was pretty well

'■\\.

TJlIi! rOLWFuMA.VS CHRISTMAS.

tired out, having boon on duty since two o'clock ti-y-
ing to catch some boj's who would insist on coast iii<j
down Mountain street, at the imminent risk of thoir
own necks and other people's limbs; and I had also
been three hours on patrol, but I jumped up quito
fresh rjul lively the moment the boy spoke, for it
flashed across me in a minute that the man was Roddv,
so I pulled on my coat and taking another man with
me started for Barre street.

The street was all in a bustle when I got there, and
([uite a crowd had collected in front of lioddy's, from
whence sounds of swearing and a smashing like fur-
niture bciuij broken, and a woman's cries and sobs
proceedetj.

I pushed my way through the crowd into the
house and found everything in confusion. Roddy was
standing in the middle of the room with the fragment
of a chair in his hand which he had been smashing to
pieces, his face was terribly flushed, his eyes flashing,
and his whole manner showed that he was laboring
under great excitement besides being very drunk;
Mollie was in one corner with her hands pressed to
her head, sobbing and shrieking out, '' Murder," every
now and then ; the furniture was all knocked about,
and looked as if there had been a scuffle in the room.
The moment Mollie sftw me she ran to me and shouted
out : " Save me, Mr. Barnes, he tried to kill me ! "

*' And I will too,'* growled Roddy savagely, '* You
won't carry on your games much longer at my, ex-

77//; ro/jci:M.tx\s cuihstmas.

ponsc, my /A'irl," and ho took ii step towards hor with
the picco of hrokcii chair raised above his lioad, hut
stopped ashamed like wlicii he saw inc.

"It's all rii^ht, old man," he said, tryini;' to lan,i»h.
'I was only making fun, I wouldn't hurt her."

'' lie struck me," cried Mollic, " see hero," and she
took her hand from her face and showed me a great
red mark on one side which looked as if she had beeil
struck with an open hand. *' lie struck me twice
and swoi'e he'd kill me, and 1 want him arrested. I'jn
afraid to trust myself with him. Take him away and
lock him up.''

" I only gave her a slap, Barnes," said Tloddy. ''I'm
a little drunk and she made me ma;l ; it's all right
now, I won't touch her again.'*

He spoke quite rationally although he was drunk,
and his passion AVas all gone, so I talked the nuitter
over a little with him and quieted him down before I
took him to the station, for 1 could not help arresting
him as Mollie continued to make her change a'.^ainst
him. He went very quietly ; but I could see he felt be-
ing arrested again after keej^ing out of the sUition so

loDir.

It was near twelve o'clock Avhcn I got l)ack to the
station,. and time for me to go on my beat, so Hoddy
was kept a few minutes until the second relief camo
in, when some of the men w*ere to take him up to the
Chaboillcz Square station where all prisoners from
Ottawa street had to be taken in those days, as there
were no cells in Ottawa street*

.! !■• '

• ■ ^ i <\i

11,11.

■|^r)t

TJIE rOJJCEMAX'S CUIUSTMAS.

I I

"Don't swear too liaj'cl Jii^'iiinst mc lo-nioi*i'o\v
morning-, old man," said Itoddy as I went out. " I
didn't mean to hurt llie girl, and it is the first time I
ever struck licr."

• Wlien I came otV my beat at three o'clock, I liear<l
that the men who were taking llo(l<ly up toChahoillez
S(inai'e, had been set upon b}' a lot of Roddy's friends
at the corner of Col borne and William streets, and a
rescue effected; Grigson, one of the officers, had got
a bad cut over the eye with a stick, and the other
man had been pretty roughly handled. A squad of
men had been down to Roddy's house looking for him,
but lie had not been there. I was sorry Roddy had
been rescued, for I knew he would soon be caught
ao'ain and it would i^o liardcr with him then.

^ext morning I had to go up to the Recorder's
Court about the boys I had been chasing the day be-
fore, three of whom w^e had caught. I was a bit late,
for I had overslept myself, and was hurrying along
AVillia n street when just about Colbornc a gentleman
stopped me and asked me a question. It was a bitter
cold morning and the wind was blowing right through
me, so that I didn't hear him at first. It's no use
telling me that the wind never blows through a man
but round him, I know better; I've felt it many a
time come in at the third button-hole of my coat just
about the pit of my itomach, bore a straight hole
clean through me, and go out at the small of my
back. It has happened to me frequently, so 1 ought

to know ;
up my a
liis quest
^treet, if

I gave
a swell li
11 very fn
skin coat
could tel
had not I
buk-e on
good lool
big mous
eyes I di
waste, fo.
court.

The E
the first
and soon
by callin

I w^as
had beer
the box,

u ^vhy

of recog
tenance
vou've c<

''The

THE POLICEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

row
"I

got

to know; any vviiy, this Diorning the wind had .stopped
up my cars and I had to ask the gentleman to repeat
I liis question. '' Can you tell me tlie way to Bane
street, if you please? ''

I gave him the direction, and wondered a bit what
a swell like him could want in Barre street. He was
II very fancy sort of a fellow with a handsome seal
skin coat, cap and gloves on, and very new pants, I
could tell they were very n.ew for the basting thread
had not been pu!led out on one side, and they didn't
bulL-e out at the knees like old pants do. lie was a
good looking chap too, with bush}' black hair and a
big moustache, but there was a wicked look about the
eyes I didn't like ; however, I had not much time to
waste, for it was neaidy ten, and I hurried olf to the
court.

The Recorder was on the bench when I got in and
the first case had been called ; it was a simple drunk,
and soon disposed off, then the Eecorder astonished me
by calling out ^'Roderick Duck>vorth ! "

I was thoroughly sur2)rised for I did not know he
had been re-arrested, and I hastily arose to go into
the box, thinking it was my case.

*' Why, it's Rowdy! " exclaimed His Honor, a smile
of recognition playing over his good humored coun-
tenance as the ju-isoner stepped into the dock, ''so
you've come back again Rowdy, eh?"

''My name isn't Rowdy," said Roddy sulkily.

"The more reason fov you to be ashamed that yoiir

l!l

§2

THE POLJCEMAN'S CllRTST^f AS.

inisconduc't has gMiiicd such a sobn'quet for you," ro-
tuniod His Honor, taking him up quite sharp. "What
is the charge ?"

The officers who arrested liini stated that he had
heen found in 8t. Charles Borromee Street about
three o'clock in the morning* very drunk, and taken to
the Central Station, where it was discovered that ho
had been arrested in Grif down and snbsefpiently
resc ued.

"What was lie arreste;! f)r, Uie first time?"' asked
His Honor.

" He was drunk in his own house, vour Honor,"'
rejilied the So-geanf, "and beat his wife."

" Oh," said His Honor, looking crossly at Roddy,
"3'ou have added that to your other accomplishments,
have 3"ou. Well, go on with the case ; has the Avomau
made a charge against him ?"

There was a pause for an instant and T saw Roddy
look up and throw an anxious, inquiring glance
around the Court to see if Mollie was tliere. Not
finding her his face cleared, but it clouded over again
in an instant as he saw the Clerk of the Court enter
with a sheet of paper in his hand, closely followed by
Mollie Avho had a handkerchief ostentatiously tied
across her face covei'ing her left eye.

His Honoi' read the deposition and putting on his
sternest look, said, "Duckworth, you are chai'gcd
with committing a violent assault on your Avife, b)'
Htrikiui*' hci' with Aour fist in the face inflictimi- ii

THE POIJCEMAXS CJIHISTMAS.

^:\

severe woiiiul. There i« no elass of men,'" eontiiuied
His Honor, bcttliiig himself down for a little lecture,
'' whom I more corditilly abhor than the mean, cow-
ardly wretches who raise their hands against Aveak,
(Icfenseless women; there is nothing more cowardly,
nothing more riUlianly than the wife-heater, and I
oft(^n rei>Tet that tlie law does not allow me to con-
(]»'iun them to a inimber of lashes with the cat-o'-nine
tails, so that they maj^ feel some of that corporal suf-
fering the;^" are so fond of inflicting upon others.
Vou have long been known to this Court asadruidvcn
loafer, and now vou have added another crime to the
long ii>- already against you, one too, of the worst
eriines a man can he guilty of. Here is a young, deli-
cate woman — scarcely more than a girl — whom 3'ou
have sAVorn before God's liolv altar to cherish and
protect, and 1 find you using brutal violence towards
lier, such as no man with any feeling Avould use to a
<lug. I warn you, sir, that the Court will not be dis-
])osed to be any too lenient to you, ai d unless you
amend your way of living, your course will lead yon
down to — to — perdition," concluded His Honor, rather
bothered for a mon o.it for a word ; but getting it,
f<tarted off again. " Yes, to perdition, and, perhaps,
will lead vou to the <;-allows, for in a moment of
drunken delirium, Avhen your unbridled 2)assions are
allowed full sway, you nuiy strike the blow which will
nlace you in the murderer's cell." Ifaving thus com-
fortably disposed of lioddy, His Honor asked for
the evideru-e and ordei'cd Mollie to be sworn.

ill

THE POLICEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

^ 'bEI

i I

" Your IToJior," said Eoddy, earnestly, '' I never
raised my hand against her before, and she drove me
to it with her flirting ways. I haven't been here for
eighteen months, and I would never have come here
aii:ain but for her."

'^ That Avill do, that will do; you will have an op-
])Oi'tunity to say what you have to say by and by.
(Jo on with the evidence."

Mollie took lier place in the witness-box, and after
darting a vindictive glance at Roddy gave her evi-
dence. It was dead against Roddy, and showed him
as a regnlar ruffian who continually ill used her, and
who had walked into the house and without a word
of provocation felled her to the ground, giving her,
as she expi'essed it, '' an awful cut " on the forehead.

" Poor thing," said His Honor, very compassion-
ately, "it is a mercy he did not kill you in his
brutality. Take off" the bandage, if you can, and let
me see the wound."

" I only struck her with the back of my hand, your
Honor," put in Roddy, "it would not have killed a
fly."

" Hold 3'Our tongue, sir ; you have no legal right to
strike her at all. Let me soc the injury."

Mollie coquetted a good deal about taking off the
handkerchief and began to cry, and said it hurt her
too much and a lot more stuff, so His Honor kindly
told her not to mind, and Mollie brightened up in a
moment and shot a glance of triumph at Roddy; but

THE rOUCEMAN'S CUlilSTMAS.

I wasn't going to see him beaten that way, so I jnst
slipped my thumb under the knot of the handkerchief,
gave a pull and brought it away, very nearly pulling
off her bonnet in the operation.

His Honor looked for a moment as if he was going
to read me a lecture for my officiousness, but his
attention was distracted by a suppressed cry from
MoUie and he turned to her, so I escaped.

She had flushed up as red as a beet, and looked at
mo as if she would like to bite me, but I didn't mind
that ; I was watching His Honor who was looking at
her face.

There was not a mark or a scratch on it.

His Honor gazed at her steadily for a moment and
a sterner look came over his face. He has a keen
sense of humor has His Honor, and I have often seen
him laugh at his own jokes ; but he has also a keen
sense of justice, and an honest, kindly heart beats be-
neath his judicial waistcoat. Mollie saw that she had
gone too far and stammered out :

" He didn't cut me, your Honor, ho stunned me and
it hurt awful 1}'."

" Is that the only mark you have got ?"

Mollie nodded assent, and His Honor continued, " it
doesn't seem to be a very dangerous v, ound ; let me
hear what the policeman has to say."

My evidence was soon given as well as that of the
officer who accompanied me. His Honor paused for a
moment, and then asked the Sergeant on dut}' how
long it was since Eoddy had been before him.

I' ii'

III

77//'; J*0/JC/':.UAM'S CJllUISTMAS.

The Sergeant rcfcri'ud to tlio book juhI sjiid it was
eightcon months, and I (ook tlic fliancc to put in ;'
good word for liim.

''Duckworth," said His llonoi-, ^' J find tliat t!ic
charge against you docs not Kccni to be so grave as
it appeared at first; your wife's statement is rathei*
va^ue, and seems to be dictated to some extent by
sj^ito, and is not borne out by the policeman's state-
ment. I am glad to hear you have been more steady
ot' late, and hope you will let this be a warning to you
not to fall back into your old evil courses. It is really
a pity that 3'ou an4 your wife cannot get on more
comfortably together, you are both young and should
try to live happily together. I shall give you a
chance this time; but, mind, if you are brought
before mo a£>;ain for the same ott'ense I shall send you
down for two months. FivedoHars or one month."

Koddy made a sign to mc as lie loft the dock, and
I went down stairs to him.

'•'Get the money from MoUie and ])ay the fnie tor
me, Barnes," he said, ''don't let me be sent down. I
liave the money at home.'"

I Avent to MoUio and asked hor to pay the fine ; but
she tossed hei- head at me and said ; '^ It would serve
him right, if I let him rot in jail, the brute "

I didn't have time to go back to Eoddy then, as I
had a good many things to look after, and I had pro-
miso<l my old woman to buy the goose — Ave had
decidoi-l to have goose — for Christmas dinner, and I

Tin: J*OLiCJJJ/AA S CHRISTMAS.

had to go on duty again at five o'clock, so Koddy
slipped my memory, and I did not think of )iim again
uiitil next morning, when I thought I would go round
to his house and wish him a happy Christmas. The
house was all shut up and desertetl, and one of the
neighbors told mo Eoddy had not been home all night
jior the day before cither. I tried to rouse Mollie but
could not make her hear. As I had nothing very
particular to do for an hour or so, I thought I would
go to the Central Station and see if Iloddy's fine had
been paid, or if he had been sent down.

Ju3t as I expected, T found that Moliic had not been
near lloddy, and that he had been sent down. Now,
I suppose I am rather a foolish policeman, very likely
I don't look at things in the way some people might
think a right-minded policeman ought to view them,
but I told you at the beginning of this story that I
was not a machine and never would be, and it did
seem to me pretty hard that poor Koddy should spend
his Christmas in jail, so I just went home, got live
dollars off the old woman — she is the cashier of our
tirm — went down to the jail and paid Eoddy's fine.

'•Thank you, kindly, old man," he said, "It was
go(xl of you to think of me and not let me spend
Ciu'istmas in prison ; AFollie might have paid the fine,
there is more than tifty dollars in the liouse and slie
knows it. " I'll be round after dinner, old man, and
give you the money."

I am partial to gooso, I don't know whether it is

77//; POIACJ'.MAX S CIIIUSTMA^.

, Si-

quite t'ompatiblc with the dig-iiity of a policeman to
make such a confe;^sion, but I do like '' the bird of
folly," and am not ashamed to own it. I have a kind
feeling for a goose too, and I think it a gross libel to
call it the bird of folly; didn't a flock of geese save
IJome, and Romulus and Eemus, and Julius Caisar, and
Nero, and Heinzi, and all the other noble old Romann.
Of course they did, or my Roman History tells a
great big — no such thing. And if the geese hadn't
saved Rome we couldn't have any Roman candles, or
maccaroni, or Coliseum, or old Roman coins — made
in Birmingham — now a days, could we? Of course
not, so I don't think it fair to abuse the goose ; I
admire and respect the goose, especially when it is
roasted with sage and onions and served up hot with
nice rich gravy.

It was a model goose we had for our Christmas
dinner, it weighed twelve pounds after it was cleaned
and was as plump and fat as a j^artridge, and my old
w^oman had done it to a turn. I like goose better
than turlvcy, it is so much more filling and has moie
flavor in one drumstick than a turkey has in its whole
body; besides there is a richness about it no turkey
cm ever have. I stood and looked fondlj^ at that
goose, and I felt a little s^'mpathy for him — I suppose
a policeman can feel sympathy for a goose without
breaking the rules— as I thought how suddenly he
had been cut olt'in the [>rime of his youth and goose-
hood; and I stool with the knife suspended over him

■■V {'■««H

THE rOLlCEMA.VS C/IRISTMAS.

for a momonl, while tlic old woman and the children
\vaited in longing* expectation.

But 1 was not destined to carve that goose. Just
as the knife was descending there came a sudJ<in
knock at the door, and before I could get to it it w.ns
opened, and lloddy burst into the room looking so
wild and strange that I involuntarily dropped the
knife and fork and exclaimed,

"For the Lord's sake, Roddy, what is tlie matter."

' Tliey've gone," he gasped out. "Gone; come
with me, Barnes, come with me and follow them,"

'' Who has gone?" I asked, "where do you want
to go to ?"

" Stop and take your dinner first, Roddy, whatever
it might be/' said my old woman, "I'm sure the
i;-oose is beautiful and you look most clammed."

'• MoUic," said Roddy, not noticing my old woman's
interruption, " Mollie has run away from mo, and
gone otf with some fellow, taking everything they
could lay their hands on. Come with me, old man,
I must catch him.''

I didn't like the w\a3* he emphasized that word
'' him," and the look on his face made me afraid to
let him tro alone. Still I did not like to leave the
goose, and to gain time as much as anything else, I

said :
" Tell us all about it, Roddy, what has happened ?"
ITe stood silent for a moment as if to collect him-
self, and then said : " AVhen yon left me, Barnes, i

i)0

Tllh: rOlJCiniAX CIIIUSTMAS.

'if:

Ifs

\v(Mi(, home oxjHH'tini!; to I'md Mollic; she vvjis nol ul
lioiiio, as iniial, and I bo^aii to get tliiiig-s ready for
dinner. In moving about tlie room I noticed that u
good many things were gone, and everything seemed
to liave been tumbled about; I thought somebody
liad robbed the liouse whiU^ I was a'vay — (Jod knows
J did not suspect Mollie then ; T knew she was wild
and careless, hut I didn't think then she was as bad
as 1 know now she is. Then 1 thought of the money ;
it was put between two bricks under the stove, and
nobody knew where it was but Mollic and myself;
the bricks were moved and the money gone. Barnes,
9ld fellow, it came on me like a cla^^ of thunder; she
had run away from me!" Poor fellow, he stopped
for a minute, and I could see big tears trying to come
into his eyes, but sticking in his throat ; he gulped
them down and went on. '' I asked some of the neigh-
bours, and they told me she had gone away about iui
hour before in a sleigh with a swell-looking fellow in
a fur coat and a big black moustache." Koddy was
too much excited to be particular in his description,
and did not stop to mention the other things the man
must have been in. '' One of the boys heard the man
sa^^ing they would be in St. Johns in time for dinner,
and then they drove away. Come with me, Barnes,
I have a light cutter here and a good horse, we can
catch them before they get to St. Albans."

I took another look at the goose. I liked Roddy,
and I was willing to do anything I could for him,

TITF. roTJCKMAN'^ CI/NfSTJIAS.

Ill

• him,

but I was hun_i;-iy and the i^'oosc loc^kod \ory tem]>(-
ing. Policemen like good things as well as other
people, and I doubt that I should have given up the
•^'oosc for Koddy's sake if it hadn't been for my old
woman.

'•Samuel," she said, ''you had bettor go with

Roddy." Roddy was a fav^ourite with my old woman,

altho' Mollie wasn't. " You may be wanted to arrest

that thief and bring him back, for mark my words,

lie's no gentleman, but some loafer who has stolon

some good clothes and run away with Mollie for what

little money she could get. Take 3'our dinner with

I you," she continued as she saw me look again at the

goose, " and you and Eoddy can eat it on the way,"

I and before I could say a word she had seized the

niife, cut both legs off the goose, folded them up in

[paper with several slices of bread, some butter, a

iHcrevv of salt, a couple of knives, and stood with my

[coat all ready for me to jmt it on.

Of course I went ; somehow I generally do what
wy old w^oman wants me to, and the last thing I
fieard as we drove away was my old woman calling
)nt,

" Be sure you bring back the knives."

It was a long cold drive, and we talked very little
)n the way. We stopped for a minute at St. Lam-
bert's, and took our dinner just as we left there, but
[he goose did not taste nearly as good as I expected,
fud as for Roddy he scarcely tasted a morsel, but

s^.

.^^^

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

^ >^^%

1.0

I.I

11.25

14 11.6

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WIST MAIN STRKT

WiBSTIR.N.Y. I4S80

(716) 472-4303

L1>^

■^

THE POLICEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

kept lashing at tho horso in a vicious kind of way,
altho' there was really no occasion to touch him, for
he was a good one to go and warmed up to his work
first rate.

Wo hoard of them at St. Johns. They had dined
there and left about half an hour ahead of us. We
made an effort to counterbalance that disac' vantage
by getting a fresh horse, as we found out they had
not changed theirs.

Just as we were getting into the sleigh I made a
discovery. Eoddy's coat swung open for a moment
as the wind caught it, and sometliing hard struck my
hand. I recognized the touch in an instant.

It was a pistol.

Then I remembered the queer way Eoddy had
said " I must catch him," and I gave myself a kind
of a shake up as I said to myself: " Now look here,
Mr. S. C. Barnes, Sub Constable, just attend to what
you are about ; if this here man shoots that there
man it won't be pleasant for you ; if you must go run-
ning after men who run away with other men's wives
on Christmas Day, instead of staying at home and
eating your hot goose like a sensible policeman, you
must not let anybody get shot; for if you do some of|
those bothersome newspapers will get hold of it and
give you a hauling over the coals about it, and yon
will find yourself ia trouble. So look sharp and get
hold of that pistol or look out for squalls."

It did not take me long to make up my mind wliat^
to do. '

TJW rOUCEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

I asked Eoddy to have a smoke and pulled out a
meerschaum, but in dragging out my coat tail to get
at my tobacco pouch I pulled Roddy's coat a little
away from his body, and quicker than I ever thought
I could have done it, I whipped the pistol out of his
pocket and put my pipe case in it. He drew his coat
up pretty quick and touched his side with his elbowj
but the pipe case felt all right, and ho didn't suspect
anything.

If I had been asked two minutes before if I could
pick a pocket I should have laughed at the idea ; but
after I had done it I could not help thinking either
that pocket picking was a good deal easier than is
generally supposed, or that a first-class pickpocket
was spoiled when I became a policeman.

We had not got more than about three miles out of
St. Johns when we sighted a sleigh just going round
a little bend in the road about a hundred yards ahead
of us, w* th three people in it ; the driver and a man
and woman sitting pretty close together on the back
seat.

Roddy gave a start as ho saw the sleigh, for he recog-
nized MoUie ; and I took that opportunity — the first
I had — to give the pistol "a push off the seat on to the
bottom of the sleigh.

Now I never was jjartial to pistols; and I have
always specially objected to tliose self-cocking, self-
firing off things called revolvers. A good old-fashioned
horse-pistol that measures about half a yard or so in

■I

THE POLICEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

jj.

length, takes a young steam engine to cock it, and a
good strong kick by a full-grown bull to fire it oif, I
don't so much mind ; that gives a man time and
warning, so that there is a good square chance to
dodge ; but the^e revolving things always go off when
they are not expected to, and nothing can persuade
them to go off when wanted, if they don't happen to
have a mind to.

!N'ow, nobody wanted that pistol of Roddy's to go
ou when I touched, but off it went. Whether I pulled
the trigger without knowing it. or whether it fell on
the caps, or whether Roddy or I stepped on it and set
it off there is no means of knowing now. All I do
know is that two barrels of it did go off the minute I
pushed it from the seat, and in another second our old
horse had his tail up, the bit in his teeth and was
tearing down that road at a pace that would have
astonished Dexter; while Roddy gave a jump that
nearly threw him out of the sleigh, and let a howl
out of him loud enough to scare a whole churchyard.
That miserable revolving machine had sent one ball
through the dashboard, taking about four inches of
skin and a handful of hair oft* the old horse's tail ;
and driven the other ball tl^i-ough the calf of Roddy's
left log. Then I made a grab at the reins, which
Roddy had dropped, and moved my right foot in so
doing, and the machine shot oft* again ; but whether
it did any damage or not I never found out, for by
th'J^t time our hoi*se ha4 caught up with the sleigh

TUJi: rOLlCEMMTS CHRISTMAS.

ahead of us and tried to take the shortest cut out of
reach of the shooting machine behind him hy going
over the sleigh, occupants and all.

The driver had hoard our little bombardment and
saw us coming ; he tried all ho could to give us room
to pass and pulled well over into the snow bank on
the left, but it was no use ; the road was too narrow,
and our horse, having nobody to guide him, did just
what seemed best to his misguided fancy, and the last
discharge of that miserable revolving machine had
scarcely reverberated in his startled ears before wo
collided with the sleigh in front of us.

We struck about midships, as the sailors would say
—at least I should judge so from the fact that our
sleigh broke very nearly in half, and the old horse
ran away with the front part while the back part was
left with Roddy and I — but I could not be very certain
of anything more than that we did strike ; and that
inside of half a second afterwards five feet nine and
a half inches of policeman was describing a parabola
through the air, and that just before he disappeared
head first beneath the snow, he had a sort of vague
and indistinct vision of a large flock of petticoats,
buffalo robes, men's legs, splinters of sleighs, pieces
of harness and other things, too numerous to mention,
flying about in all directions ; while the entire British
Army, Volunteers and all, seemed to be firing a fusil-
lade of joy at the event, such a tremendous noise did
that miserable revolving machine make in letting oft'
its last two shots.

!»'

- U

THE POLICEMAN'S CHRISTMAS.

r...

■ I:

IIow long it took mo to got my hoad out of the snow,
I can't tell ; it felt like an hour, but I don't think it
could have been over a minute, for the snow was soft,
and although I went in far I came out easy. "When
I got up and looked around the first thing 1 saw was
the tail of our old horse sticking up like a sign post,
while he was tearing down the road like mad with
the fragment of the sleigh behind him, and the other
horse and sleigh, with two people in it, close after
him. Then I looked to the left and saw a pair of legs
trying to kick themselves out of the snow, so I got
hold of one of them and gave it a good strong pull
and brought out a smooth faced, rod-headed man, I
did not re^'ognise, and as he sat down to recover him.
self I looked around for Eoddy.

He had fallen under what portion of the sleigh was
left us, and was partially stunned by a blow from
some piece of the broken sleigh, and that added to
the loss of blood from the wound in his leg had made
him quite faint, so that it took some little time before
I could bandage up his leg with my handkerchief and
recover him a bit. He soon came to himself, and as
quick as he recovered his senses he asked,

^' Where is Mollie ?" *

I turned and pointed down the road when we could
still see the race between our old horse and the other
horse and sleigh, ours still having the best of it, and
said.

" 6^ne/'

THE POLICEMAys CHRISTMAS.

Ho first looked at mo for a second, and then with a
great cry he jumped past me, and the next thing I
yaw was two men rolling over together in the snow,
tearing and fighting, and a black curly wig and big
black moustache lying in the road.

Of couj'se I got at them at once and tried to sej)ar-
ato them, but I should have had a poor chance if the
bandage hadn't slipped off Eoddy's leg, and it began
to bleed again, so that he turned faint and loosed his
hold ; then I got out a pair of handcuffs I had in my
pocket and slipped them on the other man. Why I
did it, I couldn't have told, except that I was fighting
one to two, but I was glad of it afterwards. When he
found himself fast he just gave me a good hearty
curse or two, and then sat down on the broken sleigh
in a sullen manner and didn't say a word more.

It took me some time to quiet Eoddy, and I don't
know how I could ever have got them both into St.
Johns if a farmer hadn't happened to drive rp just
then, and I got him to help me and let me use his
sleigh.

We managed to hire a sleigh in St. Johns, and
after making arrangements for having the horse and
the remnants of the cutter sent after us, if our old
horse ever allowed himself to be caught, we started
for Montreal.

Before leaving, I searched my red-headed friend,
who proved, when he had his black wig and moustache
on, to be the same n>an who had spoken to m<? on

1 I

THE POLICEMAN'S VNKJSTJIAS.

■li- ■

William Street the morning before, and found
noddy's watch and fifty-five dollars in money on him,
part of which Roddy identified, so I was all safe in
taking him back.

It was near midnight when we got to Montreal,
and I had my man lodged in the Chaboillez Square
Police Station, and then I took Roddy home with
me, and my old woman fixed us up a bit of hot sup-
per, and I took a drop of something warm, for I had
to go to the Ottawa Station and report for duty as
soon as possible ; but Roddy wouldn't touch a drop of
anything although he must have been pretty cold.

" I've had my last drink, old man," he said, " to-
day's business has sobered me for life. Perhaps Mol-
lie would have proved a better wife to me by and by
if I had kept straight, and not taken to drink again.
Poor girl, I must go to St. Albans after her to-mor-
row, Barnes. I can't let her go to the bad this way
without making one effort to save her. She can't be
all bad yet, and I haven't behaved any too well to
her lately. I must see her again."

Poor felk)w, he pushed away the plate of hot gib
bletts and other remnants of the goose which my old
woman had put before him, without having more
than tasted it, and sat with his head on his hands
v£uite sorrowful. Somehow the goose seemed to stick
in my throat, and I felt very much like I was going
to cry, which would have been very undignified in a
policeman, when ray old woman cut in with|

TUE POUCEMAJS'S ClUiiSTMAS.

" Samuel, you did not bring back the knives. I
knew you wouldn't,"

It was a fact, and worse than that I had lost my
pipe, an old pet meerschaum which had been a good
friend to me for years ; the case was all safe in Rod-
dy's pocket, but ray good old pipe was gone. So was
Roddy's shooting machine, but I did not care about
that, and felt rather glad than otherwise that it was
at a safe distance where it couldn't go off without
warning and shoot somebody.

Next morning I was at the Central Station early
to make my deposition, and there I made an agree-
able discovery. I discovered that I had made a great
caj>tiire ; that my red headed friend was no less a
personage than Mr. William Sinclair, alias Dick
Smith, alias Augustus Hamilton, against whom three
or four warrants had been issued in Toronto and
Hamilton, and for whose arrest a reward of $1,000
was offered. It appeared that Sinclair had been clerk
in a large business house in Hamilton, and had
robbed his employers of several thousand dollars,
but had managed it so cleverly that it was some time
I after he left before it was discovered. Meanwhile he
I had gone to Toronto, where he passed under the
name of Dick Smith, and thei'o forged two cheques
jfor about fifteen hundred dollars on the National Sand
tank of that city ; having accomplished which he
I had run off with the wife of one of the Bank clerks,
mnd had been tracked to the States, where all tract;

., 1

k^m

100

TUt: roucKMAS's c/mhSTJiAs,

1 '^ 'fl

i'is

■I

of him was lost, and ho was supposed to have gone to
California. This was about a year boforo I saw him ;
our dotoctivos hero had boon on tho look out for him
at tho time, and had his description, photograph, &c.,
but tho scent had grown pretty cold, and when Mr.
Augustus Hamilton appeared in Montreal as a gen-
tleman ** just out from the old country," ho was not
suspected. What ho wanted in Montreal, or whether
ho had committed any robbery here never trans-
pired, as no charge was made against him, Roddy re-
fusing to prosecute when ho found there were already 1
so many more serious crimes for him to answer for.
He was transferred to Toronto, where he was tried
and condemned to grace tho Penitentiary for seven
years, and he is still there, his close cropped red]
head being much admired, and being quite an orna-
ment to the place.

Boddy went to St. Albans as soon as his leg was I
bettor, but could not find Mollie, who had gone on to
New York. He followed her there, and found her so
much worse than he expected that he left her to fol-
low her evil courses and went to California, where he|
remained for a couple of years.

Two Christmasses came and went, and I made my|
dinner off that noble bird the goose in jDoace and com-
fort, without interruption; and the third one was I
well on its way to us when one fine night, just as my|
old woman and I and a large number of small Bar-
neses were sitting down to supper, in walked Roddy

fllK POLICEMAN'S bllltlSTilAS.

lol

looking so bronzed and sto it that for a moment I
hardly know him.

Ho told 113 all his adventures, Which were very in*
terosting to us, but would most likely only bore you
as they were j>rincipally an account of hard workj so
I shall not repeat 4hom. Enough to say that he had
tried gold mining a while, found it didn't pay, and
had finally settled down to his old trade in San Fran-
cisco, where he could make from four to six dollars a
(lay. But he did not like the place, and had just re-
turned to Montreal, bringing a couple of thousand
dollars with him, with the intention of setting up
in business for himsijlf.

All the time he was talking I could see that my old
woman was itching to ask him a question, 1 knew
what, for there was one name ho had never men-
tioned, and at last she could keep back no longer but
blurted it right out:

'' Roddy, what has become of Mollie ?"

He grew very pale for an instant, but said quite
softly and reverently, '' Dead. She died six months
ago in a brothel in St. Louis. Poor girl, may God be
merciful to her for her sin, and forgive me my share
in making her what she turned out to be, a drunkai-d
and a prostitute. Fes, old man, a good deal of it
was my fault. I ought to have been kinder to her,
and checked her flirting ways gently, instead of get-
ting into mad fits of jealousy as I used to. Oh, you
never knew half of the quarrels we had, although.

'" 1 1

102

Tlir: POLICEMAN'S ciiristMas.

PL'

thank God, I never struck her but once. Yes, old
man, I was some to blanio, I was not steady enough
to marry such a young girl ; she was pretty and^fond
of admiration, and it was only natural when I made a
beast of myself by getting drunk and abusing her,
that she should turn to someone else. Poor girl, let
us leave her memory in peace, I can't bear to talk
much about her."

We didn't say another word, but my old woman
got up and w ent to the cupboard, and very soon came
back with something in a glass which smoked and
smelled very refreshing, which she i)ut by his side
and said,

" Take a drop of something hot, Eoddy, it will
warm your stomach and cheer you up a bit."

Somehow my old woman has a motion that there
is no remedy in the world for any complaint, whether
mental or physical, like " a drop of something
warm ;" and I think if I was taken home some night
with my neck broken or my brains knocked out my
old woman would administer, " a drop of something
warm to cheer me up a bit;" but Roddy pushed the
glass from him and said gently, but firmly,

" Thank you kindly, Mrs. Barnes, but since the
last night I was in your house, I have not tasted a
drop of strong liquor, and with God's help, I never
will again. I don't say anything against a man
taking a glass if he can control himself, but I can't ;
if I drink at all I must drink too much, and then I am

77/ a; roLicicvAXs cimisr.WAs.

103

more like a devil than a man, so the only wafe 2)lan
for me is to swear oft' altogether and I have done it.
Drink and jealousy together nearly made me commit
one murder — you know, old man — and I can't but feel
that is partly responsible for Mol lie's death. No, I
have taken the ]>UMlge, and I mean to keep it."

And he has to this day.

You need not ask for Sub-Constao'i^ "Barnes in the
force after New Years, for I have sent in my resigna-
tion ; but if you want any plumb g or glaring done
just lool for the firm of Duckworth <V. Barnes in the
directory and give us a call ; and we'll plumb you
and glaze you as reasonable as any peoi)le in the
business. And if you are anywhure in my neighbor-
hood on Christmas Day stay whore you are and don't
come bothering me for I want to eat my goose in
peace, and I don't know but what you may want to
run away with my old woman, and then I should
have another chase after a runaway couple on Christ-
mas Day. So stay at home like a good fellow, eat
your own goose and I'll wish you a good appetite to
with, and a Merry Christmas and

enjoy it with, a
Xew Year after.

Happy

Ml
' I

l^j^35i^

IJtl

kl of tk^

IttffelT/

^■

aSVT'

l™

. .HI

OUT OF THE GUTTER.

CHAPTER I.

RUN OVER. " ;

It certainly was not a pleasant Christmas. Even
the most joyful observer of that cheerful time could
not derive any comfort or encouragement from the
dull, leaden, overcast sk}^ ; the dripping clouds and
the slight flurries of snow which melted to slush as
it touched the filthy streets, ankle deep in mud and
tilth and running streams of dirty Avater. The trees
Bighcd mournfully and tossed their branches about in
the moaning wind with a dismal, despairing action ;
the sun hid his ftice as if ashamed of himself that
the weather should be unpropitious for Christmas.
The bells were ringing out foi* church, and straggling
streams of rain-drenched, limp and draggled figures,
lighting manfully with unruly umbrellas, weio thread-
ing St. Catherine, Dorchester and numerous cross
nU-eets on their way to the different churches. Now

108

OUT OF THE GUTTER.

and again a sleigh would drive by ; but, it didn't have
the merry, cheery ring which a sleigh ought to have ;
the horses' hoofs splashed heavily into the sodden
street, and the runners cut gratingly through the
half frozen snow and muck. No cheerful voices rang
out, no gay laugh or light jest broke upon the ear ; the
driver sat crouched in a heap on his seat with cap
drawn over his eyes, and head bent to the drifting
sleet ; the occupants huddled together as if for warmth,
and presented a mingled mass of draggled furs, soaked
garments and demoralized umbrellas.

No well-disposed, self-respecting umbrella could
sustain itself in an upright, independent way, as if it
rather liked to be rained on, on such a day; the
downpour of rain, snow, sleet and hail, coming in
quick succession, so quick as to appear to come all
together, was enough to discourage any umbrella; and
none of them made an effort to hold up their heads in
a defiant manner, as umbrellas sometimes will on a
hot day or during a short summer shower. Some
sagged limply down between the ribs and poured
little streams, like miniature waterfalls, on unprotected
passers by or neighboring umbrellas ; some displayed
broken ribs sticking out in an apologetical sort of way
as if to say " I would be very smart and independent
of wind and weather, but you see my careless master
has broken my pet rib, aud what can you expect of an
umbrella with a broken rib;" some lackd^ H ferrule ;
the seams of others griwn^d opn in a dis|ii^iig fashion

ttUN OVER.

109

as if they had held on to the silk, or cotton, as long as
umbrella nature could stand it, and now were forced to
give up from exhaustion ; some had great rents in
them, and served merely as conduits for plentiful
streams of water to pour on the misguided carriers
who fondly believed they were being protected ; all
had a disheartened, discouraged appearance, and
seemed to express, as well as umbrellas can express,
their opinion that it was not at all what Christmas
ought to be.

In all that crowd there was only one umbrella that
seemed to have any self-assertion; only one which
held its own firmly and bravely against the weather,
not in a bragging, boastful manner, but in a resolute,
determined way as if it knew it was simply doing its
duty and 'did not intend to allow any sort of wind or
weather to prevent it. A dogged-looking sort of an
umbrella, not particularly pleasant to look at but
withal presenting a very useful appearance ; an urn
brella that had seen service, as its faded color, and a
very perceptible patch, and the well-worn ferrule testi-
fied, but one that was still ready to do duty for years,
if treated to a new cover, as the strong whalebone
ribs, heavy blackthorn stick, and massive buckhorn
handle showed. A resolute, serviceable umbrella made
for use not show, and in admirable keejjing with the
man who carried it.

He was a tall, well-built, compact man of forty -
five or fifty years of age, w^ith clustering black hair.

110

OUT OF THE GUTTER.

1 1

jnst tinged with grey, brushed back from his high
wide forehead ; and trim side-whiskers displaying to
advantage a square deep chin and a mouth rather above
the average size with firm, but kindly lines about it.
His eyes were of that nondescript kind of grey com-
monly known as " cat's eyes," and their expression
was partlj" hidden by a pair of spectacles. His dress
betokened him a clergyman, and his rapid pace showed
that he was a little late for service. He hurried along
St. Catherine Street and had almost reached the cross
street where his church was situated w^hen, suddenly,
a loud shout fell on his ears ;

'' Hi, look out there !"

In another instant a sharp scream of agony pierced
the air; there was a vision of a sleigh rapidly dis-
appearing down a crosi§ street, the driver standing up
and lashing his horse almost to madness in his anxiety
to escape, and of a crushed, moaning, cursing mass
of humanity lying in a heap on the street, round
which a small crowd had already begun to assemble.

Pushing his way through the wet figures and dis-
couraged umbrellas the clergyman advanced to the
figure and bent beside it.

What was it ? Was it a small man or a large boy ;
was it human, or was it some terrible monstrosity bear-
ing the semblance of man?

The figure was doubled up in agony, and the help-
less, awkward manner in which the right leg lay
showed that it was broken ; a ragged cap haa fallen off

nUN OVER.

Ill

and revealed an unkempt head of long black hair,
matted and dirty and soiled with the mud of the street ;
half peering out from shaggy eyebrows and the
masses of dark hair shone a pair of piercing black
eyes, almost glaring with mingled rage and pain as it
shook its doubled fist at the retreating sleigh. It was
the figure of a boy, with the face of a demon and the
garb of a man.

A pair of worn-out top-boots, with holes in the soles
and the toes peeping out of the uppers, encased his legj
and received into them the bottoms of a pair of pants
many sizes too large for the wearer; a rough pilot
jacket, out at elbows and in the last stages of decay,
generally completed his outer garments, and he seemed
to have nothing under but a ragged and dirty cotton
shirt, soiled portions of which could be seen through
the rents in his coat and pants. He was writhing ter-
ribly in his agony, and mingling with his groans,
fierce oaths and horrible execrations against the driver
of the sleigh which had run over him.

" Cuss you, cuss you," he shouted as he tried to raise
himself and fell back exhausted — " Oh, God, my back's
broke ! Oh I oh ! he's killed me, cuss him, if I aint
dead I'm crippled for life ; won't nobody catch the
murderin' thief an' hang him; where's the perlese?
they' 8 alwers round after poor boys like me when they
ain't wanted, them, where's they now ?'*

" Where are you hurt, my poor boy?" inquired the
clergyman kindly. "Are any bones broken ?"

^iiiii

,i'i

.i 4<j

112

OVT OF THE QUTTM,

"I'm broken all over," groaned thebdy; "Cuss
him, l\odone it a purpose, I see him drive right at nie
as I was a crossing the street ; he's broke me leg an'
me back, an' I 'most think me neck's broke."

" Not quite so bad as that, let us hope," rejoined
the clergyman mildly, " come, try to get up, let me
help you." He placed one arm gently under the boy's
shoulders and tried to lift him, but the pain proved
too great for the little sufferer and he fell back faint-
ing.

The crowd, which had by this time grown to a con-
siderable size, now began to find their tongues and of-
fered aimless bits of advice, and threw out suggestions
of impossible things which ought to be done, in that
reckless manner which usually characterizes a crowd
hastily drawn together by an accident. Several sug-
gestions to " send for the police " were made but no-
body went, everybody seeming to think it was some-
body else's business to go ; propositions were made to
" run after the wretch and stop him " (meaning the
carter) but none stirred; one excited little barber,
who had darted out of a neighboring shop with a
shaving-brush filled with Ipfher in his hand, oifered
to " give the alarm,*' but as it was not made clear that
the firemen were needed, the suggestion was not acted
on • and one lady, whose appearance gave evidence
that she ought to have remained at home, declared
that it had given her a " turn " from which she did
not expect to recover until a certain interesting event

*kUN OVER.

had transpired, and then she would not be surprised
if" it " was marked with a sleigh and a horse tramp-
ling down a boy ; which announcement called forth a
sigh of commiseration from some of the female by-
standers.

The only persons in the crowd who seemed to have
their wits about them were the clergyman, who was
kneeling in the mud to the utter destruction of his
new black pants, supporting the ^boy's head ; and a
bare-footed, bonnetless, ragged little crossings-sweeper
who had made her way to the front and stood leaning
on her broom looking at the injured boy.

'' It's jest like them drivers," she said, " they alwers
runs over boys an' girls. Why don't they run down
fokes as is their own size an' cud take their own pait.
Shall I run fur a sleigh, sir?" she continued, turning
to the clergyman, "there's a stan* near by."

"Yes, if you please, my good girl; make haste,

he ought to be taken to the hospital at once."
" All right, boss" cried the girl, and darted round

the corner at a run.

"I ain't goin' to no hosspittle," said the boy, in a voice
weak from pain, just recovering from his swoon. " I
don't want nobody a cuttin' me up, an' I don't want
no skilley. I ain't a pauper, an' I wants to be took
home to my own house."

" Where is that ?" inquired the clergyman.

« Briggs's Yard, off Kempt Street."

** What is your name ?"

II 'i

114

OUT OF fBE GUTTER.

M-

«* Billy tho toad."

"What?"

" That's what the boys calls me. Me right name's

Billy Taylor. Oh, me back's broke " and

then followed a terrible volley of oaths making the
blood run cold in the veins of at least one listener as
he heard the horrible imprecations falling from the
lips of one so young.

*' Hush, hush, xAy boy ; you must not use such fear-
ful words."

" Why mustn't I cuss him ; what did he want to ruD
over me fur?"

. Further conversation was prevented by the arrrival
of a sleigh with the little crossings-sweeper hanging
on behind, who immediately announced her return by
exclaiming
• " Here we are, boss."

The injured boy was with difficulty lifted into the
sleigh and covered with buffalo robes, not, however,
without his indulging in another volley of oaths until
pain again overcame him and he became insensible
for the second time.

'^ Take him to his home, Briggs's Yard, off Kempt
Street," said the clergyman to the carter, "it will be
better, perhaps, for him to be with his parents ; and
then take this card to Dr. Homecraft, Beaver Hall
Hill, and ask him to attend to the boy at once, itl
would be best for you to take the doctor to the house,
then return to mo apd I will pay you ; here is my ad-

RUN OVER.

115

dress." The carter looked at the card handed hira and
read " Kev. Charles Chessworth, D. D., LL.D., No. —
St. Catherine Street."

"All right, your honor, I'll see him all safe," said
cabby, getting into his seat.

" Can't I go with hira, yer rivirince ?" asked the
little crossings-sweeper. "I knows his fokes." This
assertion was a base fabrication, but Mr. Chessworth
did not know that and smiled consent while he said,

" Take good care of him my little woman, and tell
his parents I will call to-morrow or next day."

" You bet, boss," was the rejoinder, as she clambered
into the sleigh, broom and all. <'0h, crickey, ain't
this style, oh, no, not at all ?"

"^;

CIIAPTPm II.

BR IGGS S YARD

The Reverend Charles Chessworth, for the first time
in his life, kept his congregation waiting that morning,
and entered hot and flustered with his rapid walk and
quick change of garments ; but his parishioners all
agreed that never before had he preached so elo
quently, never before had he gone home so closely to
their hearts and waked in them so deep a sense of tiie
thanks they owed to the Alniighty fjr his infinite
mercy and goodness ; and when he referred to the
accident which had detained him, and described in
terse but earnest terms the scene he had witnessed,
and how the boy had been almost cut off in his sins,
with words of profanation on his lips, many an eye grewl
moist, and many a silent prayer for strength to repent!
while there was yet time was breathed, and many al
mental vow was taken, let us hope, to be firmly keptj

The service was over, and the rector sat in the
vestry slowly putting on his gloves preparatoiyl
to leavmg when the carter he had sent with the boy|
entered and gave him a note ; it ran as follows :

" Dear Charles, -

Come and see the boy you sent for me
attend, as soon as possible. I am afraid I can be o^

BRIGOS'S YARD.

117

little service to him, and ho is sadly in need of you,
|lt is a queer'case.

• Yours,

George Homecraft."

The rector pulled out his watch and looked at it ; it
ras half-past one, and a little sigh escaped him as he
thought of his tempting Christmas dinner which
rould be ready in an hour, and which he would ^now,
probably liave to postpone. Don't smile at him ;
3Ctors are but human, and a light breakfast had
bnded to mjake the Kev. Charles hungry, but he
stifled the selfish wish, and finishing pulling on his
jloves grasped the reliable umbrella in his hand, fol-
lowed the carter out, and desired him to drive again
^0 Briggs's Yard.
It is an old time-worn saying that " one half of the
rorld does not know how the other half lives," but I
im pretty confident that one half of the inhabitants
)f Montreal do not even dream how the other half
|ive, nor where they live. It would bo a good lesson

some of us to visit a few of the " yards " off the
bye-streets and lanes of this city, hidden away 'from
the general public and scarcely noticed by the tran-
sient passer-by, where the poorest of the poor live ;

witness the poverty, privation, want and filth in

rhich thousands of the lower classes drag out their

pxistence-^living it can scarcely be called — would

9Dd to make many an one content with his lot, who

1
1

■

■t

118

OUT OF THE GUTTER.

now grumbles at his position, and thinks himself
thoroughly wretched because he cannot command
some of the higher and daintier luxuries of life. To
witness the abject destitution, the utter absence of
even what are usually considered the necessities of
life, the squalid filth and total want of comfort in
which these people exist, would cause a feeling of
astonishment that they can manage to subsist at all,
and of thankfulness for our own place in the world.
It is but a short time since the community was
shocked by the recital in the newspapers of the terri-
ble tragedy in Tabb's yard ; and astonishment was
expressed in the press that people could live in such
a wretched pk^ce. I have visited the spot and I say
that bad as it is it is clean and comfortable as com-
pared with some of the j^ards in Griffiintown and in
other portions of the city.

Briggs's Yard was far from being an exception to the
general rule of these yaixis, except that it might pos-
sibly be a little more delppidated, a little more squalid
and the inhabitants a little dirtier than most of the
others. The entrance to it was from Kempt Street,
and the yard itself was about a hundred feet long by
thirty deep ; on to this space, which served as a gene-
ral repository for all the waste and garbage of tiie
tenants, opened, on two sides, the fronts of the houses
comprising the yard proper, while the third side
was occupied by the wood sheds &c. of the yard, and
tho fourth side by the sinks and out-houses of th«

BRIGG'S YARD.

119

houses fronting on Kempt Street, whose noisome odors
furnished the only perfume to be found in that locality.
The yard itself was now ankle deep in mud and slush
and half-melted snow which lay deep on the gi'ound ;
and as the merciful covering which concealed the
putrifying filth below slowly melted away, heaps
I of decaying animal and vegetable matter, offal,
scraps, bones, rotten potatoes, and cabbage leaves,.
cats, and a dog far gone in the stages of decompo-
sition, obtruded themselves on the eye and became
[obnoxiously palpable to the nose.

The houses were old, delapidated, tumble-down
Uhanties of two stories high, built of wood with
shingle roofs which had been patched and mended in
some places, and sagged down uncomfortably in
others in a manner highly suggestive of a sudden
collapse; they were innocent of paint but were black
with age, and. smoke, and mould, and mildew, and
many of them were in so weak and worn-out a condi-
tion that they had had to be propped up in various
places to i.iduce them to retain something like
an upright position ; but no power short of pulling
them down and building them over again could
induce them to stand upright, and they all hung
a little forward in a tired, worn-out way as if
they had grown weary of remaining so long in so
wretched a place and longed to lie at length on
the ground and be cut up as firewood and carried off
to be burnt in stoves and so end their miserablo

I'l

120

OUT OF THE GUTTER.

3"' '

existences. Around all these houses ran ricketty, old
balconies which were reached by crazy, worm-eaten,
slippery, foot-worn stairs, which creaked and groaned
under the lightest footstep as if protesting against
further ill-usage; and these stairs led to the upper
parts of the houses, which were occupied by different
families from the lower parts — the entrances to
which were on the level of the yard — few residents
of the yard being rich or exclusive enough to occupy
an entire house.

About twenty families pigged it together in B gs's
yard, and the whole population turned out to witness
the arrival of so distinguished a personage as " the
pa' son" who had been sent for to visit '' Billy the
toad."

Crowding on the ricketty balconies, at the immi-
nent risk of breaking them down, were dozens of'|
shaggy-bearded, coatless, rough-looking men, and
unkempt slatternly women, many of them with babes
in their arms; while peering out from behind the
dresses of the women, peeping between the frowsy
pants of the men, and gazing through the bars of the
balcony appeared the eager faces of scores of shock-
headed children, watching and listening with all their
eyes and ears to catch every word and see every
action of the visitor. Very quiet and respectful were
the inhabitants of the yard, but very observant also;
and remarks, not altogether complimentary, were
passed on the visitor's legs— which one lady affirmed,

MIOGS'S YARD.

121

W ^'

soto voce, ^' were bow-legged to that degree you could
shove a wheelbarrow between 'em an' not touch
his trouses;" on his spectacles, on his coat, on his
heavy boots, and even on his umbrella, which one
young female — whose hair was rather dishevelled,
and whose shoes were considerably down at the heel
—^pronounced a '' pokey" affair. These remarks weie
not intended for the visitor's ears; but, nevertheless
some of them reached him as he inquired the way
to "Mr. Taylor's," and was shown up a creaking
stair which he was told led to the chamber where
" Billy the toad" was.

It was the shabbiest and meanest of all the shabby
and mean houses in the yard, in-lo which the Eev.
Charles Chessworth was ushered, and he had scarcely
reached the balcony when a diriy little face was
pushed out of the doorway and a bharp voice accosted
him with,

" Come along, your rivirince, I'll show 'um to
yer. He's took awful bad."

" Ah, there you are, my little w<^man, shew me
where the toy is."

At the rear of the room into which tho balcony
oijened was a short ladder leading to a little cubby
hole, or half attic in the roof, and there, lying on a
dirty bed, was the boy who had been run over in the
morning.

The Eev. Charles Chessworth was accustomed
to visit the dwellings of the poor ; he was not one of

• 1^

IS, .

lip •< y-f!

1^2

OUT OF TUB GUTTER.

your kid-gloved clergymen who pay delicate and
polite attention to the souls of the rich and endeavor
to save them in a gentlemanly way, but leave the poor
to take care of themselves ; he believed in carrying
hope and consolation to those who needed it n^ost
without any respect to joersons, he was, therefore,
prepared to find misery and poverty, but it appeared
to him as he entered the room that he had never been
in so wretched a hole before.

The room was small, scarce eight feet square, and
the sloping roof came down to the floor making it
difficult to stand erect anywhere except close to
the door; the floor was rotten -and creaked unplea-
santly when trod on, while great gaps and seams in the
shingle roof afforded glimpses of the heavy sky, and
gave an opportunity for the rain to stream down in
continuous little rivulets. The sides of the room were
dank and mildewed, and the smell of decaying wood
filled the place. Furniture there was scarce any; a
broken down bedstead minus a \Qg, the place of which
was supplied by an old box; a ricketty chair without
a bottom ; a few old boxes, a barrel, some blacking
jags and a basket being all there was in the rooni^
except two bundles of rags in corners which looked
as if they may be used for beds, and gave the impres-
sion that three persons occupied this small room.
Fire there was none, nor any place for making one,
and the scantiness of the filthy covering on the bed
caused one to wonder that any human being could

MlOGS'S YARD.

123

sleep there during our long, cold winter nights and
not freeze to death.

The boy was lying on the bed with his eyes closed
as the clergyman entered, but he opened them on
hearing a step, and tried to turn himself a little so
as to face his visitor, but the effort cost him a groan.
There was no one in the room save the little girl who
showed the way and Mr. Chessworth dispatched her
on an errand, and drawing the bottomless chair to
the bedside placed the head of the barrel across it and
seated himself by the boy.

'' How do you feel now, my boy ?"

"Awful bad, sir; I'm broke all to pieces. Did they
catch the murderin' thief, cuss him ?" and then fol-
lowed another string of oaths against the carter.

" My boy, do you know that you are in great
danger ; that your life is despaired of, and that in a
few hours you may be in the presence of your M^er;
are you not afraid to die with such sinful thoughts on
your mind, such dreadful words on your lips ?"

" 1 aint afraid of nothin'. What's the good of
bein' a frighten' Friday."

*' Don't you fear God's anger ?"

" Whose he ? He never done nothin' fur me ; what
should I care fur him fur ?"

" Do you know what day this is ?"

" Yes, it's Christmas, an' there aint no j)apers to
sell, worse luck.'* ' ' '. -

" Do you know why we commemorate Christmas
Day?"

i>'-j

124

OUT OF THE GUTTER..

#. ?

" I dunno ; some of the boys said the first bull was
killed Christmas Day, an' that's why people alwers
eats roast beef an' plum puddin' that day, only I never
gets none."

*• Did you never hear of the Saviour who was born
on this day to save sinners; were you never at
Church?"

"No. Church ain't for the likes o' me ; if I hang
about the door for a little while an' thinks of goin' in,
the perlese alwers drives me off; church is fur rich
folks as can wear clean closes and pay the pa' son,
poor boys aint got no business there."

" Did your parents never send you to school ?"

^' I never had no parents; 1 was born by chance,
an' me aunt bringed me up 'till I cud work fur mis-
self, an' then I selled papers an' blacked boots oppo-
site the Hall, only the perlese was alwers a drivin' me

off : they's drefful hard on a poor boy."
^And you never had any education ?"
" Dunno what that is."
" Did you never learn to read or write ? "
" 1 learn'd to read, me an' Spotty can spell out

some of the big letters in the papers ; Spotty went to

school at nights, he did, but they licked him too much

an' he don't go no more now."
"Who is Spotty?"
" He's me brother ; his name's Jim, but the boys

calls him Spotty. He's two years younger nor me,

but he's partners with me now, he does the rounds |

fin' I sells on the street."

BRIGGS'S YARD.

125

« ^>j '

all was

alwers

[ never

as born
3ver at

I hang
^oin' in,
fur rich

pa' son,

chance,
fur mis-
its oppo-
rivin' me

spell out
f went to
too much

the boys
r nor me,
Le rounds I

<* How do you live ?"

" Me an' Spotty an' Snails keeps house here," the
boy's voice had a touch of pride in it as he said this,
"we pays Mrs. Mullins a dollar a month fur this
room, an' we grubs ourselfs. We aint loafers, we
aint, we pays our way. Say — "he added suddenly,
" how long is I goin' to be laid up here ? I aint got
much money an' I must work perty soon, I aint goin'
to loaf on Spotty an' Snails. I don't feel no pain
now, I can't be very bad."

" You will be ill for some time, I am afraid ; per-
haps you may never recover."

"Well, I can't help that, it aint much use a poor
boy living no how."

•' You are very young, my boy, to have such
opinions ; how old are you ?"

" I dunno ; I 'spose I'm about a dozen "

Just then Dr. Homecraft, who had been for some
splints, returned and set the broken leg. He repre-
sented the boy's case as dangerous, as he feared some
internal injury, but said that with care he might
recover, although it would be a long time before he
would be able to work again.

Both men tried hard to induce the boy to allow him-
self to be taken to the hospital ; he opposed the idea
for a long time, but at last, having extracted a promise
that he should not be " cut up " and have no '' skilley "
he consented, and arrangements were made fo^ re-
moving him at once.

ilj:

. \',

■:§i|

126

OUT OF THE i^UTTER,

The Eev. Charles gave up all idea of a pleasant
Christmas dinner and sat down by the boy to read to
him while Dr. Homecraft made the preparations for
taking him to the hospital. Very gently, very lev-
ingly, the rector read and talked to that boy, endea-
vouring to instil into his mind the truths of the
Gospel. Very kindly and very lovingly ho tried to
let in some light on that dark soul and expose to it
some of the beauties of Christianity. Very tenderly
and very feelingly he drew the picture of the birth
of the Lamb of God on this day eighteen, centuries
ago, and unfolded the plan by which sinful man was
to be reinstated in favor with his Creator. Very
simply and very touchingly he spoke, and a prayer
went up from his own heart as the blessed words fell
from his lips, that the light of truth may be shed on
this dark mind, and that Christ might not have died
in vain for this poor soul.

He used no flowers of speech, he tried none of the arts
of oratory; he spoke plainly, feelingly, touchingly,
and the boy listened ; listlessly, unheedingly at first, but
gradually becoming more interested as if he was hear-
ing some pleasant tale, and something like a smile of
hope, a flush of expectancy stole over his face as he
asked :

*' Do you think I'd have any chance? I ain't a
very bad 'un ; I never stole nothin', an' I don't lie
much nor swear 'cept when I'm mad, an' I never was
took up fur loafin' but on'st. Do yer think there's
any chance fur me ? "

"wm

JililGGS'S YARD.

127

'' No one (^an bo so wicked ; no one can be so lost
or depraved but what there is a chance for him in
God's mercy, if he will only try to avail himself of
it."

" I'd like to be respect' ble," said the boy, half mus-
ingly, '' I'd like to wear good clothes, an' wash clean,
an' be like some other boys I sees ; not them as blacks
boots an' sells papers, but them as goes to school an'
goes to church, an' gets rich when they grows up.
Do 3^ou think I'se got a chance ? "

" There is a chance of success in this world for all
who are honest and sober, and who are willing to
work hard to deserve success. Will you try ?"

" Yes, I'll try. I ain't afraid of work, an' I ken
keep sober if I likes."

" Then we'll make a bargain. You go to the hos-
pital and try to get well, I will come to see you, and
when you are strong again I will see if I cannot help
you to ' a chance ' for a better life in the future. If
God in his mercy spares your life I will try to afford
you the ' chance ' you ask to make that life good
and useful ; will you try to make good use of that
'chance'?"

'' I'll do the best I can, boss ; I'll try as hard as I
know how."

c!||

w*^

S-Jf

CHAPTER III.

MANY YEARS AFTER.

It was a long and desperate fight between life and
death before '' Billy the toac'," was pronounced out
of danger ; and the long winter had passed away and
the first breath of spring was perfuming the earth ere
he was strong enough to leave the hospital, and even
then he was very pale and weak and not able to do
any work.

A great change had come over the boy ; during his
illness Dr. Chessworth had been unremitting in his
kindness and attention, paid him frequent visits,
loaned him books to read which he was capable of un-
derstanding, and gradually laid the foundation for
training the mind at the same time that the body was
slowly recovering. When Billy left the hospital his
good friend, the rector, got him a place on a farm in
the Eastern Townships, and the country air and ex-
ercise soon restored him to health ; but he never
went back on the streets to earn a living ; the good
seed which had be en planted that Christmas Day that
seemed the darkest in his life bore good fruit, an4
Briggs's yard knew him no more,

MANY YEARS AFTER,

129

Years of quiet, patient, earnest plodding, and of
hard honest labor in a country village gave him, by
the time he reached manhood, a good position in the
business he was engaged in, and his employer talked
of giving him a share in the business; but he had set
his heart on other things, and at the age of twenty
two, having saved money enough to pay his expenses,
he resigned his position, and entered college to study
for the church.

lie was a quick and ready scholar and progressed
rapidly, for the acquirement of learning had been the
one pleasure of his life, and he had for years devoted
all his spare time to study, so that when he entered
college he knew more than most men do when they
leave. The same energy and spirit of independence
which has characterised him as a boy clung to him
as a man, and he soon became noticed as one who
would make his mark in the world, llow true that
prophecy will prove remains yet to be seen ; but he
bids fair to fulfill it.

Last Christmas morning there was a largei* attend-
ance than usual at Dr. Chessworth's church to hear the
preaching of a young missionary who had just re-
turned from the Hudson Bay Territory, where he lu'd
been two years ; and it was well understood that he
would probably be offered the position of assistant to
I)r. Chessworth, whose age and declining health ren-
dered him scarcely able to do the work of the parish
alone. From the moment he began to preach the

130

OUT OF THE GUTTER.

W ■ i

attention of the congregation was seized and never
flagged to the end ; but long ore that point was
reached it was settled in the minds of his hearers thiit
he was a man worthy to assist, and possibly, in the
course of time, to succeed the good pastor who had
for so many years presided over them.

It was a vory pleasant party which 'assembled at
the good rector's house that night, and not the least
brilliant amongst the throng was the Reverend Wil-
liam Taylor, the *' Billy the toad " of former years,
and hanging on his arm was a beautiful and modest
young woman whose slight blush at being addressed
as " Mrs. Taylor," showed that matrimony was still
new to her, and in whom I afterwards discovered —
when this story was told me by the rector— the little
crossings-sweeper of years gone by.

" And whore is your brother Jim ? " I asked oTP the
Rev. Ta^dor, who was present.

*' There, I hope and believe," he answered, rever-
' ently pointing upwards, " Jim has been called away
early," ho continued, -^butwo have the* consolation of
knowing that there is every reasonable belief that he
was called to a bettor life than this. Ah, doctor," he
went on, turning to Dr. Chessworth and speaking with
great feeling, ^' What do I not owe you ; what might
I not have been but for your kindness and goodness
to ;ije when you took me out of the gutter,"

iR'.

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JONES, THE LAWYER.

CHAPTER I.

MR. JONES.

Plain " Jones, the lawyer," had his office in one of
the buildings situate on St. James street, between St.
Gabriel street and Place d'Armes hill on the right
hand side of the street, going east.

I call him "Plain " Jones, not because he is plain ;
nor because that is his proper and peculiar Christian
cognomen ; nor because it is a nickname he has ac-
quired ; nor because he is so recorded in the directory ;
nor because he is ever so addressed. I call him Plain
Jones because he is always alluded to as " Jones, the
lawyer," without any special reference to any particu-
lar Christian name ; and as any deiliiit;? appropria-
tion of a Christian name to him is at present unneces-
sary, I will call him, for a while *' Plain " Jones.

Plain Jones had an office in one of those queer
looking houses on what used to be called " Little " St.
James street, which now present so curious an ap-
pearance since the sidewalk on that side of the street

'i\

134

JOJVL'Sj THE LAWYER.

has Been lowered, and look as if they were ashamed
of themselves for allowing a part of their foundations
to be exposed, and were quite shocked at the idea of
three or four little wooden steps being tacked on to
them to enable people to reach their entrance doors ;
somewhat resembling the little flight of moveable
steps which formed the means of access to the lofty
four-post bedsteads of our boyhoods' days.

Plain Jones was a lawyer ; but you must not sup.
pose he had any such plebian word exposed on the
outer part of his office door : no, there he was described
as ai? " Advocate."

It is a curiously noticeable fact that although thei-e
are about one hundred or more persons who have
offices on the two blocks between St. Gabriel street
and Place d'Armes hill, who get their living by '• the
study and practice of the law," there is not a single
sign showing that there is a lawyer on the street.
You will find " Advocates," '' [N'otaries," " Commis-
sioners," without number, but not a sign with the
word " Lawyer " on it. Now why is this ? I have
k)oked up the two words, lawyer and advocate, in
Webster's dictionary with the following result :

Lawyer, n. [that is lawei\ contracted from law-iver,
law-man.'] One versed in the laws, or a practitioner
of law J one whose profession is to institute suits in
courts of law, and to prosecute or defend the cause of
clients.

ADVOCATE; n [l. advocatus.] One who pleads the

MR. JONES

135

cause of another bcibre any tribunal or judicial
court.

Now the only practical difference I can see between
the two definitions is that a lawyer is ''one versed in
the laws, and an ad\'Ocate is " one who pleads the
cause for 'mother before any tribunal or judicial
court," perhaj^s that may be the reason why there
are so many advocates and so few lawyers. And that
is the reason I have called my hero, '' Jones, the
lawyer," for although he had " advocate " over his
door he was a "lawyer," and a good one too, for he
was " one versed in the laws."

P\ain Jones had his office on the second floor, just
at the head of the stairs, at the back, and the door,
from which the paint had long ago peeled off, butted
out at you in an offensive sort of way as you reached
the top stej). It was an antagonistic sort of door
which seemed on the face of it to say, '' You'll find it
a pretty hard matter to get the better of me." And
so it proved, if you tried to ojjen it ; for it was a diffi-
cult door to open and deceived you on the start, the
knob turning round and round in your hand without
causing any perceptible effect on the latch. After
you had pulled two or three times you discovered that
the latch was an entirely independent affair from the
knob, and was controlled by a Uttle iron flange, just
big enough to accommodate your thumb, which pro-
truded in a cautious sort of way, only a few inches
from the door, a little below the knob. When you

;-iiJ

■?' fi.m

136

JONES, THE LAWYER.

got your thumb on the little iron flange and tried to
raise the latch, you woald find that your difliculties
were not over ; for the flange was worn very smooth
and your thumb would slide off, unless you were very
careful ; and when you had a good purchase on it
you would have to pull the door a little to you by the
knob with the other hand, for the latch was stiff and
would not come up without a struggle ; and then
some-one would probably call out from inside " pull
hard." After u tug or two the door would open in a
sullen way, as much as to say, ^'Very well, my friend,
you loould get in, mind, it is not my fault if you find
it harder to get out."

Some people did say it was harder to get out of
Plain Jonos' hands than to get into them, for he bore
the reputation of being rather harder to deal with
even than his door was ; as a good many people had
found out during the twenty odd years he had prac-
tised at the bar.

But Plain Jones was not a dry, musty old lawyei*
at all. He was plump and round faced and oily
looking, with a fine high forehead, slightly bald aboul
the temples, a wipe head of kinky hair, almost white,
which he wore well brushed back, a merry, twinkling
blue eye, and a jolly, good-natured expression. He
had full whiskers shaved all round, leaving the mouth
and chin quite clean, which disclosed the fact that he
had a slight double chin, with a merry little dimple
on it which winked rougishly at you. His whis-

MR. JONES.

13Y

kers had once been red — 'auburn, I suppose I ought to
say — but were now so sprinkled with white that they
looked a light straw color, and gave the appearance
of a fringe around his face. Taken altogether he was
as pleasant-looking a middle-aged gentleman, a little
on the right side of fifty, as could be found in a day's
search; and generally wore a quiet, cheerful little
smile which was very refreshing to see. He was
scrupulously neat and particular about his dress, and
always had a clean, poiished-up look, like a thorough-
bred horse after being- properly groomed.

Plain Jones was a bachelor — of his own free will,
he would take pains to inform you, and not through
any obduracy of the fair sex — and openly boasted
that he was happy in his condition, and did not
intend to change it ; but he was not a musty old
bachelor, nor a crusty one, nor a misanthropical one ;
a»d he avowed no antipathy to the fair sex, not he ;
far from it, he pretended — the sly, old fox — that his
admiration for the whole sex in general had been tho
cause of his never centering his affection on one
member of it in particular.

He was quite a lady's man, was Plain Jones, and
on any fine summer's day he could be seen between
four and five o'clock, dressed in faultless style, with a
gay little flower in his button-hole, promenading St.
James' or Notre Dame Streets, bowing and smiling
at his many lady acquaintances in a style which put
some of the younger beaux. to the blush; and he has

•

138

J0NES,^T1IJ^ LAWER.

If wii,

tyi

even been !4C0i» to give ii «ly wink as some jjiirtieulal y
handsome woman has passed him, and has been
known to make use of such expressions as " very tint
girl" — somehow he had a way of calling all womo-
not grey-headed or ugly, *^ girls " — '^ remarkably neat
figure ;" *' an uncommonly well-turned ankle ;" " what
a perfectly beautiful face," and other similar phrases
which showed that he considered himself quite a
jud<xo of the various phases of female beauty. But
there witL . othing of the libertine about Plain Jones,
and although he frequently had lady clients, young
and pi'clij Oiitis too, sometimes, not a name stood
higher amongst the advocates, and others who did
not call themselves " lawyers* — although other people
Jid — for morality and respectability, than did his.

It was a warm day in September, about four years
ago, and Plain Jones was endeavoring to keep as cool
as circumstances and the weather would permit in
his close, stuffy office, when there came a modest rap,
as from a parasol on the antagonistic door. N^ \h
it known that Plain Jones had tw^o offices, an outer
one into which the antagonistic door opened, and
which was occupied by his two clerks and his boy ;
and an inner one used by himself, and in which he
received his clients. On this particular September
day both clerks happened to be out and the boy was
left in charge of the outer office,

Jones' boy was scrubby.

It seems to me that most lawyers' boys have a ten-
dency to scrubbiness J but Jones' boy had more thun

f^t

Mr. JONES.

139

iilaly
bocn
y line
onuvi
r noat
what
irascs
lite a

But
Jones,
young
stood
ho did
people
lis.

• ^-ears
as cool
mit in
st rap,
^^r Ire
1 outer
d, and

boy ;
lich lie
tember
loy was

e a ten-
ro man

the usual amount. He was short j but he was not fat.
Not that he had any particular disjiosition towards
unusual leanness, ho was simply not fat; and his bones
seemed to be of that kind which devclope themselves
faster than flesh could form to cover them, and gave
that general appearance known, with reference usu-
ally to horses, as " high in bone, but low in flesh."
He was not a pretty boy. His face was large
and flat; with high cheek bones, a dirty yellow-
brownish skin — sadly in need of soap and water
— a short flat nose with extravagantly wide nos-
trils ; and a mouth capable of biting a full sized
pippin in half at one sna]), a feat he was very fond of
performing when he could possess himself of the
necessary two cents. He had too many teeth, had
Jones' boy. Nature had been too bountiful to him in
this respect ; teeth grew out in all sorts of unexpected
places in his mouth, and when he yawned and opened
a chasm in his head something like twelve inches in
circumference, he had the appearance of having an-
other boy's mouth inside his with the teeth trying to
escape. His eyes were round and saucer like, of a
nondescript color ; and his hair was of a brick red
hue, worn close cropped, and with a propensity to
stick up unpleasantly at the crown. But the strong
point about Jones' boy was his ears. I have heard the
terms "clam shells," " flappers," &c., applied to ears,
but in shape, size and general appearance the ears of
Jones' boy more resembled, a couple of those substan-
tial ai'ticles of food known as *^ slap-jacks" than any-

i '

140

Joi!^m, §^iii! lAwrM.

Mt:

fc4i.

thing else. He seemed proud of his ears too, did Jones'
boy, and had a way of working them up and down,
back and forth, making horrible grinaces the while,
which was fearful and wonderful to see. His clothes
were not new, indeed they looked as if they never
had been new and were most ridiculously short at the
wrists and ankles, the bottoms of his trowsers dis-
claiming the slightest connection with the tops of his
boots and the sleeves of his jacket displaying an affec-
tion for his elbows which left several inches of re-
markably dirty wristband constantly exposed to view.
His wristbands were always dirty ; just as his clothes
seemed never to have been new, and although there
is reason to believe that he sometimes changed his
shirt, there was never any very perceptible change in
its color, which led to the belief amongst the fre-
quenters of the office that one of his bigger brothers
wore it for a month or so first, and then transferred it
to him when it had reached a stage where he could
not get it much dirtier.

He was of a playful disposition, was Jones' boy.
Most lawyers' boys have always appeared to me to pos-
sess playful dispositions, and give vent to it in various
ways such as lolling out of windows, dropping pillets
of paper on the heads of passers by ; tormenting the
caretaker's cat if they are so fortunate that she pos-
sesses one ; whistling popular negro minstrel airs in
a very loud key ; practising clog dances in passages ;
performing daring and perilous feats on tl^e bannis-
ters j playing at " tag" in the corridors and on th^

MR. JONES.

141

stairs ; singing little snatches of songs in very dis-
cordant tones ; and in other equally pleasant ways
conducting themselves in a manner calculated as
much as possible to bo agreeable and amusing to the
busy clerks — for they generally take care to see that
their employers are out before they begin to display
their accomplishments — and frequently causing the
sudden propulsion of a book or other missile at their
heads which causes them much merriment ; for they
are quick dodgers, are lawyers boys, and as difficult
to hit as a bat, unless you can be fortunate enough to
steal on them in an unguarded moment from the rear.

Jones' boy was an adept at all these accomplish-
ments except looking out of the window, which,
occupying as he did a back office with only one win-
dow presenting a view of twenty feet of blank wall
surmounted by a delapidated chimney, and the sides
of two neighboring house.i, he was unable to practice
to any advantage. This often depressed the spirits
of Jones' boy, and time frequently hung heavy on his
hands when his employer was in, so he invented a
new amusement to while away his spare moments.
He killed flies.

Not in the usual manner with his hand or handker-
chief. He was too much of a sportsman for that. He
took one of the office files and sharpened the end of it
to needle-like fineness ; then he procured five cents
worth of molasses, and pouring a little on a blotting
pad he would poise his spear and wait for game. At
^;*st he used to \fftit for flocks and t^ke his ch^uc^

■ \\

[ife '*i

142

JOy/CS, TUB LAWVrjl.

out of tho lot ; but so adroit had ho now become by
long practice, that ho could bring down his single
fly with unerring percision, just as soon as it alighted
near the seductive but ensnaring sweet. Ho was very
busy on tho September morning I have already refer-
red to, and as flios wore numerous was having good
sport, so that the rap previously mentioned was
thrice repeated before he condescended to take any
notice of it and cry out,

"Come inl"

Then ensued a struggle with tho door, which so
much amused Jones' boy that ho foi*sook his favorite
amusement for awhile, leaving the molasses to be
d'^voured by the flies, and regaled liimself . with the
uneftectual efforts of the party outside to conquer the
antagonistic door.

" Pull it, stoopid," he said in a low voice, so that
Plain Jones in the inner office might not hear him,
" A long pull, and a strong pull and a pull altogether."

" Please open it for me," said a soft, sweet voice
outside. "

" My eyes," exclaimed Jones' boy, "it's a woman,"
and he instantly dropped on his knees and applied
his ^ye to the keyhole. *' Ain't she a pretty one,
Oh no, not at all 1" he continued, as he hastily rose,
licked the palm of his hand, passed it several times
over the crown of his head to plaster down the hair
that would stand up, and lifted the latch for the lady
to enter. .

A young girl, apparently not niore thaii seventeen

^1%.

MR. JONES.

143

or eighteen, exquisitely beautiful, with groat masses
of golden hair flowing loose over her shoulders, and
dressed in the height of fashion, stepped into the
room ; and, after bestowing a glance almost of terror,
at Jones' boy — who was smiling in a sweet seductive
way as only a gorilla or a lawyer's boy can smile —
ac^lced,

" Is Mr. Jones in ?"

*' Yes'um ; right in there, m'um : lady to see you,
sir,'' he said ^uite briskly, showing the way and
bowing politely as she passed him ; but theettect was
sowewhat marred a moment after by his putting his
thumb into one of the pits which did duty with him
ns nostrils, almost up to the first joint, and medita-
tively digging away as ho walked slowly over to his
desk to resume his pleasant crusade against the flies.

Plain Jones rose as the young lady entered, bowed
in his politest style, smiled his blandest smile, and
offered her a chair with a gallant sweep of his right
arm towards it inviting her to be seated.

" Mamma asked me to give you this note and say
she was too unwell to come to you herself and would
take it as a favor if you could make ii. i^^CQVonient to
call on her sometime to-day, or to-morrow ; she
thinks the business is important.''

'* Certainly, certainly, my dear, pray be seated ; "
somehow Plain Jones had a habit of addressing young
ladies as " my dear," but he did it in a fatherly soi't
of way, and they did'nt seem to mind it,

i t

144

JONES, THE LA WYER.

,14;.

'' Mamma is very sorry to trouble you ; but we
only returned from the seaside yesterday, and
mamma found a letter waiting for her which annoyed
her 80 much she is not able to leave the hou ; day.
It is too bad to have to trouble you."

'* No trouble at all, my dear; your mamma" — but
then Plain Jones stopped, puzzled; for he had not
opened the letter and he did not know her mamma's
name. So with old fashioned politeness, which the
youth of the present day don't know, or don't prac-
tice, he asked permission to break the seal ; which
being granted with a smile, he opened the envelope,
and extracting a tiny sheet of rose colored par ''r, very
slightly scented, read the following : — *

Alaska Villa,
15th September, 1869.
Dear Mr. Jones, — I only returned home yesterday
and my nerves are so terribly shaken by a dreadful
letter I found awaiting me, that I am utterly unable
toleave the house to-day. May I ask you as a great
favor to call on me at your earliest convenienee. I
know I am imposing a serious tax on your valuable
time, but the letter says the business is very urgent, and
T must consult my lawyer at once, so pray forgive me.
Apologising for the inconvenience I feel I am put-
ting you to,

Believe me, Yours sincerely,

Louisa Tryson.
P.S. — Tilly will show you the horrid letter \
received, ' »

mmm

Mli, JONES.

145

Pliiin Jones sat for a moment with the letter in his
hand considering^, and while ho is doing so I will
explain who the writer of the letter was.

Mrs. Tr^^son was the widow of an old business friend
who had died some two years ago, leaving a wife,
and one child by a former marriage, and a comfort-
able little property of about S5,000 a year, the man-
agement of which was in Jones' hands.

Plain Jones had had very little trouble in manag-
ing the property ; for it was all invested in the city
and left to Mrs. Tryson entire until Tilly was twenty-
one, when the estate was to b( evenly divided between
the two ladies. The only provisos were that, in the
event of Mrs. Tryson marrying again before her step-
daughter, she should forfeit half of her portion, which
then went to Jones ; and should Miss Tryson marry
under the age of twenty-one she forfeited half of her
portion which in that event also went to Jones ; with
the further proviso that if Mrs. Tryson married first
Tilly should not forfeit any portion of her fortune for
marrying before she was twenty-one.

Now Jones was well acquainted with Mrs. Tryson,
who frequently called at his office on business ; but ho
rarely visited her; and, from the fact of Miss Trj'son
having been at school in England for seven or eight
years past, and only returning during the present
summer, Jones had not seen her since she was a little
girl.

f< Pear me, Miss— -Misi^ Tilly," exclaimed Jones

mt'

I <r

"S^l I

146

JONES, THE LAWYER.

Ni A

'i5f

after his pause," I declare I should never have recog-
nized yon. lou've — j^ou've — grown so much," he
continued, quite ignoring the fact that girls usually
do grow between the ages of ten and eighteen.
'' When I saw you last you were in short — that is,
you were only so high," and he held his hand about
a couple of inches above the desk to illustrate his
meaning.

*' Taller than that, I think," replied Tilly, smiling
and displaying such pretty rows of small sparkling
white teeth that Jones could not help feeling he would
like her to bite him. " I know I have grown a groat
deal and changed very much, so I could not expect
you to recognize me ; but I knev/ you in a moment,
you have'nt changed a bit," — Jones thought she need
not have said that — " unless you have been getting
younger while I have been away." Jones thought
that very neat of her, altho' he tried to ^ay some-
thing about being '' an old man."

*' Oh, you're not an old man yet," rattled on Miss
Tilly, *'. although I can remember you ever since I
was a baby, almost'' — Jones thought she was rather
too fond of ancient history — ** and used to toss me in
your arms and ride me to Banbury Cross. '^ — Jones
thought he would like to do it now, but only smiled
at the reminiscence. " You used to be a good, kind
friend to me when I was a little girl, you must not
be a cross old guardian to me now I am a woman;
although Papa's will does not recognize me as a

MR. JONES.

147

I recog-
ih," ho
usually
ghtecn.
that is,
d about
ate his

smiling
arkling
e would
a groat
expect
aoment,
he need
getting
thought
V some-

on Miss
since I
rather
58 mo in
— Jones
T smiled
[)d, kin;'
lUst not
woman ;
le as a

woman for three year's to come," she added a little
petulantly.

" Oh, that is on only one i*)oint, you know ; and
I am sure you will not want to run away from us
before then. Three years is not long to wait."

Tilly said nothing, but looked as if she thought it
was altogether too long.

*' I am forgetting all about mamma's commission ;
will you go to see her ?"

"Certainly; I have an appointment at twelve, I
will go immediately after that. You may say I will
bo there by two,"

"Oh, then, if you like, I will call for you at half-
past one with the carriage, and we can go up
together. I have some shopping to do which will
occupy me imtil that time."

Jones thought how pleasant it would bo to enjoy a
drive of a couple of miles with such a charming
young creature, and consented ; then he asked for
the letter Mrs. Tryson referred to in her note.

Now Miss Tilly had left the letter on her dressing-
table, and she knew it ; but she went through a most
elaborate search of her pockets and reticule, and at
last, after Jones had several times assured her it was
of no consequence as he could see it when he called,
declared she must have left it at home.

" No matter at all, my dear, don't distress yourself
about it; I darosay it is not very serious, ladies are
so easily frightened by letters they do not clearly
understand the meaning of,"

148

JONES, THE LAWYER.

■^% i

" I know you men think women cannot understand
any letters except love-letters, but I have a higher
opinion of my sex than that.*'

"Oh, you wrong us, at least as far as I am person-
ally concerned; although I do not deny that love-
letters are very pleasant things to receive."

"Do you get many ?" she asked a' ''My, with that
winning smile of hers.

" Not now, my dear. Young ladies do not think it
worth while to favor an old man like me."

"Perhaps you do not try them," she retorted still
in that arch manner.

" Well, to own the truth, my dear, I don't suppose
I do J I have lived too long alone to think of changing
my condition now, and no man has any right to pay
particular attention to any lady when ho has not
* serious intentions,' as the saying is."

Something very like a frown crossed Miss Tilly's
face for an instant ; but she chased it away with & |
smile and rose to go.

Jones insisted upon escorting her down stairs to the I
caiTiage, although she assured him she could find her
way alone very well, or with the assistance of that
"pretty" boy of his; which latter remark being
overheard by Jones' boy, thai young gentleman
acknowledged the compliment by kissing his hand
several times to her as she went down the stairs, and |
then turned a couple of handsprings in the passage,
and stood himself up on his h9a4 in a corner in (iQQor|
pf the occasion^ .

lerstand
k higher

, person-
lat love-

rith that

< think it

ted still

suppose
changing
^t to pay

has not

s Tilly's
,y with a

Irs to the
find her
e of that
k heing
jntleman
his hand
;air8) and|
passage,
in boporl

CHAMEB 11.

MRS. TRYSON.

Mrs. Tryson lived in a very pretty cottage on the
mountain side, and managed to enjoy life as much as
a fascinating widow of thirty-five with a comfortable
jointure, and no small encumbrances possibly could.
She married Tryson, who was twenty years her
senior, when she was nineteen, and as none of her
own children lived she had grown to look on Tilly
quite as her own child and loved her quite as much
as if she really had been. But Tilly as a child and
i Tilly as a beautiful young woman of eighteen were
jtwo very different persons, as Mrs. Tryson found
when she took her step-daughter to Cacouna with her
immediately after the latter's return to Canada. Miss
I Tilly attracted rather the lion's share of attention,
and, altho' Mrs. Tryson was far from being jealous of
her step-daughter, she could not avoid feeling a little
pique at the sudden desertion of some of her most
devoted admirers to worship at a younger and fairer
1 shrine.

Not much fairer though, for Mrs. Tryson was as
Irosy cheeked, buxom, fascinating a little widow as
any in the city, and more than one or two had ti'ied

f. I ,

150

Jones, the lawyer.

to induce her to change her state, but without suc-
cess. Not that Mrs. Tryson was particularly enam-
oured of widowhood, and intended to pass the remain-
der of her days in mourning; but, in the first place
she had not met anyone since Tryson's death who had
made any great impression on her heart; and next,
she had no idea of forfeiting half her fortune by such
a step as matrimony before Tilly was of the age pre-
scribed in her father's will.

Of course, Mrs. Tryson did not think the provision
of the wnll a wise one, which she declared "only put
it into the girl's head to want to get married," but ns
the provision was there and could not be got over very
well, she had almost reconciled herself to the idea
that they must both wait three years. Mrs. Tryson
was in the parlor when Jones and Tilly arrived, and
looked an exceedingly interesting invalid as she lay
half reclining on a sofa with a becoming morning
wrapper pulled around her so as to display to ad-
vantage the general contour of a very pretty figure.

'' Oh, Mr. Jones, how kind of you to come at once,"
she exclaimed, extending her hand, which was par-
ticularly small and soft, as Plain Jones advanced
towards her. ''I would never have troubled you
only that letter frightened me so. What do you think
of the dreadful business ?"

" Well, — really — humph ! The fact is, Miss Tilly
fu>.got to take it with her and I have not seen it yet;
but do not let it annoy you, it cannot be very serious."

MRS. TKTSON.

161

'' Oh, but it is dreadful. It threatens to dejirive
me of all my jjroperty; to turn me out of house and
home. What shall I do. You'll help me, Mr. Jones,
won't you ?" and in her excitement she extended
both hands towards him in an imploring way.

" Certainly, certainly," said Jones ; taking the ex-
tended hands and pressing them gently— I said they
were soft hands and pleasant to squeeze. " You are
exciting yourself unnecessarily, where is this terrible
letter ?"

" Here it is," said Tilly, who had entered the room
just in time to see Jones take Mrs. Tryson's hands ;
but, of course, she did not notice the squeeze.

"Now let me see what this wonderful document
amounts to," said Plain Jones, spreading the letter
open, and placing a gold double eyeglass on his nose;
for Jones used glasses, occasionally, not altogether
because he needed them, but par tl}^ because he looked
well in them ; and then, everybody will admit that a
lawyer looks more imposing with a formidable pair
of double eyeglasses astraddle of his nose than with-
out them.

Plain Jones adjusted his glasses, and read :

Montreal, 12th September, 1869.
Madam,

I am instructed by my client S. C. Tryson, Esq.,
to enter suit against you for the recovery of the prop-
erty now illegally in your possession, under a, so-
called, will of your late husband ) and have to request

■Si!

V( -ill

l&i

JOJfilS, THE lAwrtm.

:Msa

sm >■

that you will favor me with the address of your solicitor,
at your earliest convenience, that I may consult with
him. Mr. Tryson claims to be the eldest son of j'^our
late husband by a marriage contracted prior to his
acquaintance with you; I regret to say that his
claims appear to be exceedingly well founded and
would advise you to lose no time in consulting your
solicitor.

Madam,

I have the honor to be
Your very obedient servant,

PETER SNAP,

Solid foi.
To Mrs. L. Tryson.

Mrs. Tryson watched Jones closely while he read
the letter, and her fears were not at all allayed by the
look of astonishment which crept over his face as he
read. Tilly turned to the window so that her own
face was partly in the shade and she could watch the
others unobserved.

*' When did you get this letter?" asked Jones when
he had finished reading it.

*^ I found it here when I came home yesterday. Oh,
Mr. Jones, isn't it terrible ? And to think that James

should have — "

" It's all nonsense," cried Plain Jones quite hotly,
<* this letter was never written by a lawyer. There
is no such solicitor in Montreal as Peter Snap.
Theic never was a lawyer called Snap, except in Ten
Thousand a Fear, and that's all gammon. My dear

icitor,
twith
f your
to his
at his
)d and
r your

citoi.

le read
by the
3 as he
er own
tch the

js when

ly. Oh,
; James

hotly,
There
Snap.
t in Ten
lly dear

MMS. TRYSON,

153

madam, this is some miserable hoax some unprinci-
pled scamp has had the audacity to perpetrate on you.
The rascal; I'll find him out and teach him what it
is to send threatening lettoMB to a lady;" and Jones
became quite excited and gave the letter a vicious
sort of slap as if he wished it was somebody's head.

" Not true ! a hoax ! Oh, Mr. Jones, are you quite
sure?" and the small, white hands were again im-
pulsively extended ; and again Plain Jones took them
in his and pressed them gently.

** Perfectly certain. It is the work of some villain
who has been trying to frighten you."

•' I am afraid ho succeeded then," said the widow,
trembling violently, and looking very much as if she
would like to put her head on Jones' shoulder and have
agoodcry ; but just then a little sound came from Tilly,
which sounded half like an hysterical sob, and half
like a suppressed laugh, which made them both start;
and Mrs. Tryson resumed her seat on the sofa, while
Plain Jones returned his gold eyeglasses to the pocket
in which he usually carried them, and turned to Tilly
who advanced towards him.

" A hoax !" exclaimed that young lady, " who could
have been so wicked ?"

Ah I That was the question. Who could have
been so wicked? The three sat near together and
discussed this curious letter. Who could have written
it ? What was the object ? What did it mean ?

*' Are you quite sure, Mr. Jonos," said Mrs. Tryson,
"that James, — " l

ira

i %\

154

JONFS, THE LAWYER.

"■o i

*' Nonsense, my dear madam, nonsense. I knew
* James Tryson from boyhood. He was married, as
you know, before he met you ; but as for his entering
into any clandestine nfarriage before thai, it is ridic-
ulous. I knew the man too well for that ; it was not
the sort of man to trifle with solemn matters.**

'' But that man says he is heir at-law ?"

<' Heir at fiddlesticks, ma'am ! What is the good
of his being heir-at-law when we have an incontosl-
ible will to fall back on."

*' Does that make any diflbrence ?" asked Tilly,
quite innocently.

'* All the difference in the world, my dear," replied
Plain Jones, rising to go.

"Won't you stay and take lunch, Mr. Jones?'
asked Mrs. Tryson, hospitably, "I have unintention-
ally spoiled your own lunch, stay and share ours; '
and she accompanied the invitation with a winninj,'
smile which quite captivcd at Jones.

Tilly turned away again, and there was no doubt
this time that she laughed, but very softly fo herself.

Jones hesitated. Some wise man has said, *' who
hesitates is lost," and as far as there could be said to
be any winning or losing in this case, Jones' hesita-
tion was certainly fatal to him, for at that moment
the servant entered and announced lunch, and Jonc.^
consented to remain.

Kow, altho* Jones had occasionally called on Mrs.
Tryson during h©i* widowhood on matters of business,:

/{■ \

MRS. TRYSON.

155

I knew
ried, as
mtering
is ridic-
was not

ho good
iconloisk-

d Tilly,
" replied

JonQB ? "

nteiitioii-

B ours ; "

winning

no douU
X) herself,
id, *'w1h)
oe said to
s' hesitii-
: moment
md Jones

on Mrs.
f business, I

he had never partaken of a meal in the house since
his oki friend died, and, even during his lifetime, Jones
had only dined with him occasionally on special oc-
casions, for their intimacy was more of a business
than a social nature, and he was agreeably surprised
to find the widow's taste so nearly agreed with his
own.

The lunch was a light one ; a cold duck; a cool, re-
freshing salad ; a fruit stand filled with grapes, peaches,
&e. ; a tart and a bottle of sherry comprised its main
features ; and if Jones had been requested to order a
lunch exactly to his taste he could not have suited
himself better ; for Jones Avas something of an ej)icure
in his way and liked good living, lie strongly
maintained, however, that dining in the middle of
the day was a barbarity, and could on no account
have been induced to partake of a hearty meal later
than breakfast, until his ow^n proper dinner hour at
six ; the widow's lunch was, therefore, just the thing
to suit Jones. Still there was a drawback; no earthly
happiness can be perfect and a sudden damper was
put on Jones' pleasure by a thought which crossed
his mind.

He would have to carve the duck.

Carving is one of the lost arts ; and Jones' education
had been sadly neglected in this particular branch.
He had no more idea of the anatomy of a duck than a
a duck had of his ; what little carving he had been
obliged to do, he had always done on general princi-

wii

156

JONES, THE LAWYER.

fr ''

pies ; he wo^ld place the fork firmly in the most
available spot of the bird to be carved, and hew and
hack about until, by main strength, he had reduced
it to a mass of mangled remains. He knew that by
great exertion he could tear the toughest chicken, or
the most ancient duck to pieces, and even come off
partially successful after an encounter with an obsti-
nate old goose ; but his carving never satisfied him,
it was one of the few things he did that he did badly;
and he sighed gently as he took his seat at the little
round table on which the repast was spread.

But the widow soon put him at his ease by insist-
ing on carving the duck herself, altho* Jones riftide a
desperate effort to appear very anxious to save her
the trouble. The widow was obstinate. She was
one of those few women who really carve well, and at
small parties in her own house she was fond of dis-|
playing her accomplishment.

Carving is like everything else, very easy when!
you know how. The widow knew how ; and Jones
sat in silent admiration, watching her, as she pulledl
her loose sleeves out of the wa}'^, thereby displaying!
part of a very plump, white forearm ; gently impaledl
the duck with the fork and gracefully and dexte^ouslyl
carved it. It looked like magic the way the legs!
wings, side-bones, breast, neck-bone, and merryj
thought came apart as -the fair white hands fluttere
for an instant over them ; and as Jones gazed in woe
der he felt that he almost wished he was a duck to

cam^

two

had

the

Plaij

littl

Mns. Tki'so^.

157

80 quickly and scientitically dissected by those fair,

hands. But I fear if Jones had been a du(rk he would

have proved rather a tough one.

Now there was nothing in the fact of Mrs. Tryson's

carving a duck to cause laughter, nor in any way to

account for the merry little peal which suddenly

burst from Tilly's lips ; nor was there any apparent

cause for her blushing so vividly and hiding her face

in her handkerchief and declaring that " something

tickled her." Yet she did it; and several times during

the meal some amusing thought seemed to recur to

her, and she appeared on the point of laughing out

again.
A round table is par excellence the table for a small

party ; everything is within easy reach so that vej y
little waiting on is needed ; and everybody is within
sight and hearing of everybody else. It is certainly
conducive to jollity and our little party of three
were very merry, especially Tilly, who was the mer-
riest of the three, and laughed longest and loudest at
some of Plain Jones' jokes, for he could joke could
Plain Jones, and tell very good stories too when he
pleased, and to use a common expression, " he
came out strong" on this occasion, and kept his
two fair auditors thoroughly amused. Mrs. Tryson
had recovered her health and spirits wonderfully after
the sudden disposal of the threatening letter by
Plain Jones, and now aj)peared as the merry, jovial
little soul she usually w^as.

il-'l

i '■

158

JONES, THE LAWYEn,

.- k*
' &K

■jr- V

After lunch they returned to the parlor, and, Mrs.
TryBon having excused herself for a few minutes,
Tilly played some selections from Offenbach, and
sung a merry little French song, in a style which
perfectly charmed Plain Jones, who was a great lover
of music , and in his enthusiasm he made a confes-
sion which he rarely made.

Ho admitted that he performed on the violin.
''Only a little," he said modestly; but Tilly went
into ecstacies, and engaged him in such a lively con-
versation on musical matters until Mrs. Tryson's re-
turn, that Plain Jones had no opportunity of sug-
gesting the propriety of retiring, which he had for
some time been meditating.

"Oh, mamma! "exclaimed Tilly, enthusiasti-
cally as Mrs. Tryson entered." Only think, Mr.
Jones plays the tiddle ! " bul, seeing a slight shade
pass over the usually serene face of Jones, she colored
up and the next time she mentioned that noble in-
strument she did not forget to call it a violin.

*' Does he ! how nice ; why you can play duetts
together ; if Mr. Jones will take pity on two lone
women and spend an evening with us/' sht aJde^l
with a smile.

Of course, Jones could only expr*. the r>lea8ure it
would give him ; and made a general statement
about " some evening," but Tilly immediately cut
m :

" Come next Thursday," she said," and be sure to
bring the violin.''^

AfKS. TRY SON.

159

Plain Jones promised he would conic and went
away smiling. >

Now there was nothing particularly strange or
amusing, in Mrs. Tryson's inviting an old friend and
legal adviser to spend an evening at her house ; but
it appeared to act with wonderful force on Miss
Tilly's risibilities ; for as soon as Jones had gone
she ran up to her own room, locked the door, threw
herself on the sofa and laughed until she seemed to
be going into hysterics ; then she danced about the
room like a mad thing, singing and laughing ; a*«d
every now and then crying out " Oh, its too good,"
*' Oh, its too funny," and then she sat down and
wrote a long letter beginning, " My dearest, dearest
durling" and ending — well never mind the ending
we haven't quite got to that yet.

Plain Jones drove away— for Mrs. Tryson insisted
(Hi his taking the carriage — in the most enjoyable
frame of mind he had been in for some time ; and ho
frequently confessed to himself that he had seldom
spent so pleasant an afternoon. But the prominent
idea in his mind seemed to be Tilly's growth, and
several times he repeated to himself, '' how she has
L^rown ;" as if the fact of her having changed from
girlhood to womanhood in eight years, was quite a
remarkable one, and evinced an unusual degree of
smartness on her part. And by and by his thoughts
changed a little in form, and he added to his thought,
" and what a nice girl she is," and in this frame of
mind he reached his office.

. BSaii

JRj: ,&';

■■'bm

160

JONES, THE LAWrER.

Jones' boy had liad a happy afternoon in his mas-
ter's absence, and in the various develo| nents of
his happiness had been twice kicked, once cuffed on
the ear until he bellowed again, and at last summar-
ily ejected from the office by the two clerks who had
been trying hard to copy some deeds. He was just
amusing himself singing ^* Good ,bye, Charlie"
through the keyhole for the benefit of the clerks in-
side when Jones returned ; that brought him to his
senses in a moment and he announced quickly, " Mr.
Chops has been waiting for you for over an hour, sir,
and he says he will call again to-morrow as he
couldn't wait no longer,"

" Bless me !" exclaimed Jones, consulting his
watch, " half-past four, and I promised to cox)k iij)
Chops' case for him at three ; dear, dear, what a
pleasant afternoon I must have spent, that I never
once thought of Chops," and he passed into the office,

But Jones' boy did not immediately follow his
master. He stood watching his retreating figure
until the door was closed ; then he shook his head in
a deprecatory manner as if ho wished it to be dis-
tinctly understood that he highly disapproved of
Jones' conduct ; and he solemnly shook his finger in
a menacing way as if to warn Jones that he really
would not be able to overlook such gross inattention
to busines"s. Then a brilliant idea seemed to occur
to him. He smartened himself up a bit ; smiled that
bewitching smile of his ; went through a pantomimQ

■H

Mns. TursoN,

161

J mas-
nts of
fed on
mmar-
10 had
IS just
larlie"
•ks in-
to his
" Mr.
ijr, sir,
as he

of gracefully tucking a lady's arm under his, and
bending low as if whispering soft nothings to his
imaginary companion, proudly promenaded the pas-
sage-way for the next five minutes. What his exact
thoughts were I am unable to say ; but I have reason
to believe he was imitating what he supposed Jones
had been doing when he ought to have been attend-
ing to the case of Chops.

[g his
)Dk up
vhat a

never
) office.
)W his

figure
lead in
be dis-
ved of
iger in

really
ten lion
> occur
ed that
;omimQ

ffl

CHAPTER III.

MR. STEDMAN.

Plain Jones kept his appointment for Tliiirsday
evening, and took his violin with him. He was a
mild and inoffensive performer on that noble instru-
ment, and scraped up and down in a very correctly
mechanical sort of way, throwing no feeling what-
ever into his playing. Just as I have heard some
young ladies, with good voices, sing " Home, Sweet
Home," or Ah, che la Morte^ or some other equally
touching melody with an. almost painfully mechani-
cal and mathematical correctness, but without one
atom of feeling. The fact is, Jones had a supera-
bundance of music in his soul, but he could not suc-
ceed in drawing much of it out of his violin.

Still Tilly was greatly charmed with his playing
and the widow said it was " sweet," and they managed
to get up some very pleasant little musical parties to
themselves. Tilly's singing was far above the aver-
age, and the widovvhad a rich, sweet contralto which
harmonised with Tilly's soprano as well as any two
women's voices can harmonize ; so thev^ samj; duets
with violin and piano accompanyment, and Jones even
tried once to take the bass, but his chin was so iirmlv
closed on the tail piece of the violin that he breathed

MR. SfEDMAK.

163

most of it through the openings in the sound-board
into the body of the violin and the effect was not
liarmonious. He did not try it again.

Of course, it must be understood that the first visit
was only the forerunner of many others, and indeed it
soon began to be looked on as a settled thing that Jones
should spend at least one evening a week at Alaska
Villa; and although he did not, as the saying is,
"hang up his hat in the hall," he certainly did his
violin case and left it there.

Nor was music the only amusement. Tilly soon
discovered that amongst his various accomplishments
Plain Jones could play chess, and as she was a fair
player she at once challenged him, and they had
scvei'al pleasant games together. But Tilly quickly
admii:ed that she was no match for Plain Jones and
handed him over to her step-mother who was a
much better player, and he and the widow had many
mimic battles with varying success ; for the widow
was skilful in attacl and Plain Jones was often hard
pressed to prevent a quick and disgraceful checkmate.
Tilly would sit by and look on, but after a little w4iilo
she usually strayed off to the piano and played and
sung softly to herself, or brought out her writing desk
and began another letter to " my dearest, &c." : it
was surprising what an extensive correspondence this
young lady had just about this time. It w^as notice-
able, however, that Jones' attention was always dis-
tracted from his game when Tilly was not near ; and

^;l

164

JONES, THE LAWYER.

he always endeavoured to avoid chess and substitute
muf ic so that they could all be together. But Tilly
was obstinate and managed in some way or other
to contrive that he should have his dose of chess very
nearly as regularly as his music.

Yery quiet and happy were those evenings at
Alaska Villa, and Plain Jones began to find a home
like feeling come over him there, which he had not
experienced since he was a boy. The change in his
feeling was very gradual, and the Fall had slipped
away and Christmas was close at hand before Jones
himself began to be at all conscious that any feeling
stronger than tliat of pleasure at being in the com-
pany of his old friend's widow and daughter, had any-
thing to do with his visits at Alaska Villa.

But it was not at Alaska Villa alone that Plain
Jones met the Trysons. They had many mutual
friends, and he frequently encountered them at their
houses. On these occasions Plain Jones balanced his
attentions so nicely between mother and daughter
that no one could say he was paying particular atten-
tion to either ; only, he generally managed to escort
Tilly to the carriage, greatly to the chagrin of many

spiring youths, who petulantly observed to each

other, " Why don't the old fool stick to the widow ?"

Nor was it at friends' houses only that they met

either ; for Tilly took a great passion for the theatre,

and became a great patroness of that noble old barn

. in Cotte street ; and it so happened that she usually

VfiV

MR. STEDMAN.

165

managed so that Jones either accompanied them, or
came into their box during the performance. For
Jones was quite a patron of the drama, and sat out
the very mediocre entertainment given, with a per-
severance worthy of a better cause. Tilly too always
evinced great interest in the play, and usually in-
sisted on staying until the finish ; but the widow was
sometimes a little bored, and yawned slightly behind
her fan.

Now it happened, quite by accident, that on the
first occasion of their visiting the theatre, a young
man, with whom Jones was well acquainted, chanced
to be standing in the lobby of the dress circle, and,
not noticing that Jones had ladies with him, stopped
him to say " good evening "; this caused the whole
party to halt for an instant, and that instant sufficed
for Mrs. Tyson to recognize in the young gentleman
a Cacouna acqaintance who had been very attentive
to both Tilly and herself during the past summer.

'' Oh, Mr. Stedman ! How have you been since
you left CacDuna ? "

''Quite well, thanks. You and Miss Tryson have
been quite well, I hope."

" Quite, thanks. fcShall we see you in the box by
and by?"

" Yes, with pleasure."

And so Mr. Stedman '' dropped in " for a few
minutes, and his few minutes proved to be pretty
long ones, for they lasted until the end of the second

'» /

166

JONES, THE LA WYER.

act; and after that, Mr. Stedman manatred, by acci-
dent, to bo at the theatre every evening that Mrs.
Tryson was, and, of course, he always dropped into
her box for a few minutes; he seemed to be a lucky
fellow, too, for it happened, by chance of course, that
on the evenings he did not go to the theatre Mr^.
Tryson was not there.

He was a very nice young fellow, Mr. Henry
Stedman, and Jones, who knew his family well, spoke
very highly of him. He was > n*y attentive to Mrs.
Tryson, and very polite to Tilly; and, after a while,
the former invited him to visit her at Alaska Villa.
After that the trio became a quartette, and Mr. Sted-
man was soon very nearly as constant a visitor at the
villa as Jones.

The amusements became a little more regular after
Stedman's appearance; for Jones almost always
paired oft' with Tilly at the piano, and St<?dmaii
played chess with the widow.

The only one of the quartette who did not seem
perfectly satisfied with this new arrangement was
Tilly; and she made several attempts to get Jones
back to chess with the widow, but met with but little
success, as Jones did not second her efforts very
warmly, and Stedman showed pretty plainly that ho
did not in md to be robbed of his pleasant little tete-
a-tetes with the widow across the chess table; so Tilly
had no recourse but to confide in her '* dearest, dear-
est, &c.," which she did at considerable length.

MR. STEDMAN.

167

acci-
Mrs.
I into
lucky
that
Mrs.

Then Tilly changed her tactics a little, and visited
Jones frequently at his office, sometimes inducing
him to go out driving with her step-mother and her-
self. At first Jones felt a little delicacy about driv-
ing out with the ladies, but he soon got over that,
and Miss Tilly congratulated herself that she hadout-
generalled Mr. Stedman. Not too fast, Miss Tilly;
perhaps yoa have not taken the whole game into
account.

Now Tilly's visits to Jones' office had an effect of
which that young lady little dreamed.

Jones' boy fell in love with her.

It must be borne in mind that Jones' boy was about
twelve years old, a very suscej)tible age ; that he was
scrubby, a state which tends to precocity; and that
he was red-headed, and it is generally said — for what
reason, or on what grounds I do not know — that per-
sons having red hair are more easily overcome b}^ the
God of Love than those who boast of hair of any other
hue. It was about the third or fourth visit of Tilly's to
the office when, this passion of Jones' boy first showed
itself ill visibl« form ; but the first sign was a tre-
mendous one jiS^

He put on a' clean shirt.

Never before had Jones' boy been .vuown to com-
mit such an act, and his appearance at the office
created quite a sensation; but he cared nothing for
that ; he waited anxiously for hery and Avhen she
came he threw open his waistcoat in a careless sort

168

JONES, THE LAWYER.

of way and smiled so markedly that you could not
only see all his teeth, but nearly half way down his
throat. But she was in a hurry that da}'^ and passed
him without looking at him. Then the heart of
Jones' boy sank within him, and in the extreme bit-
terness of his spirit he speared every unfortunate fly
which made its ai^pearance in the office that day.

But the heart of youth is bouyant, and by the next
morning Jones' boy was himself again, and had hit
on a new idea. He washed himself perfectly clean
for the first time in many months, and invested all
his capital in a pot of Castor oil pomatum, which he
had heard somebody say would turn red hair black \
but the only effecjb produced by that was that the
chief clerk, who had a particular antipathy to the
smell of Castor oil, forcibly carried him to the nearest
barber's shop and had him shampooed, an operation
which Jones' boy did not at all relish; fbr, never
having been shampooed before, he kept his eyes open
when the water was turned on his head and both eyes
got pretty well filled with soap suds. A day or two
elapsed before he could pick up courage for another
attempt to attract Tilly's attention ; but when he
did it was a great one,
• He got a new suit of clothes.

You must not suppose that Jones' boy had the
clothes made to order. Not at all. After a desperate
eflbrt he induced his mother to give him three dollars,
and with that he purchat^ed an entire suit from a

^T W'1

MR. STEDMAN.

169

pawnbroker — who had advanced fifty cents on them
— and felt happy. Kow, all the clothes Jones' boy
Imd ever worn before Avere manifestly two small for
him; this suit was just as palpably too large. The
trousers were so long that he had to turn up about
eight inches at the bottoms, and the jacket was so full
tluit he could easily have carried a week's provisions
in it without inconvenience. The chief clerk declared
it *' a good deal of a fit," and he probably was right.
But Jones' boy cared little for the remarks of jealous
clerks — he was sure they were jealous of his good
looks — and having washed his face again and reck,
lossly put on another clean shirt, impatiently waited
Tilly's arrival.

She came; and tho moment she saw him a peal of
silvery laughter rang out such as that dingy old build-
ing had seldom heard within its walls; and when he
grinned in delight, she almost went into hysterics and
ran into Jones' office to ask who that funny boy was.
Jones' boy heard her and his heart grew so big in his
l)osom that he was forced to go down to the street
door and give vent to his feelings; which he did by
whistling '' Rule Brittania " in so loud and shrill a key
that an excitable horse acre ^s the street ran away,
smashed the carriage he was attached to all to pieces
!i;^^ainst a lamp post, and so furnished an item for the
evening papers.

After this little episode the current of Jones' boy's
love took another turn The summer was quite gone

. «'

i -a

170

JONES, THE LA WVER,

now and with it the flies, and he found it difficult to
amuBe himself while Jones Avas in the office; so lio
became epistolatoiy, and used to amuse himself
writing love-letters to Tilly, which he never deliv-
ered. He even went so far as to endeavor to soar
forth in poetry, and after a whole afternoon spent in
the throes of composition he produced the following:
butiFul gurl of ml sole

smile oN the 1 who Adoors the

But there his muse suddenly deserted him, and no
amount of persuasion could induce her to return. Not
being able to succeed at poetry, he next tried his
hand at art and'spoiled all the paper he could got from
the clerks, endeavoring to draw Tilly's likeness.

This passion of Jones' boy was innocently fQ{\ by
Tilly, who would sometimes sa}^ a few kind words to
him if Jones happened to be out when she called ; and
this little encouragement so elated Jones' bo}' that he
began to argue to himself that Tilly did not come to
the office really to see Jones, but to see him. Then
he determined to make known his passion, and in
order that he might gain all the advantage Avhich his
most imposing appearance could give hiui, he plastered
his head again with the Castor oil pomatum which led
to his expulsion from the office by the chief clerk the
moment he made his appearance.

This occurred just a week before Christmas. The
snow was down, winter fairly closed in, and Jones'
boy, expelled from the office on account of the un-

MR. STEDMAN.

171

pleanant odor of his head, found refuge in the lower
hall-way, and amuHcd hiniHolf peeping through one
of the little side windows at the sleighs going by. JIo
had not been at his post more than five minutes when
a covered sleigh with a lady and gentleman in it drew
up at a short distance from the office, and })efbre the
lady alighted Jones' boy distinctly saw the gentleman
kiss her and she seemed to like it too. s

The lady was T'lWy.

To say that the hair of Jones' boy's head stood on
end would be to state an inaccuracy, it was too tightly
plastered down with Castor oil pomatum for that ;
but it made the best effort it could to rise, and deadly
and dangerous thoughts darkly flitted across his mind.
Oh, that he had now the spear in his hand with which
he has been used to impale flies, how gladly he would
have plunged it into the heart of that base miscreant
who had dared to press the lips of his beloved ! And
to think of her, the deceitful thing, coming to the
olfice to see him and allowing another to kiss her on
the way, when even he had never dared to take such
a liberty ! It was teirible to think of; and in his
jealouPj rage Jones' boy scowled darkly at Tilly as she
passed him at the door, which made her laugh even
more than his hmile had frightened her; for as his
smile was terrible so his scowl was irresistibly funny.

That smile decided Jones' boy on a scheme of
'Vengeance. He determined that if he could not have
Tilly himself that black-moustached stranger should

172

JONKS, TIIR LA WYER.

'sM.

it:'.^.

not have hor, so ho went to his desk and penned the

following unique note to Jones:

Thare is a feLla makin luv tu yur Giirl i seed

him Kiss er luK out

a Fren

This epistle he addressed to Jones at his private
residence, stamped it with an office stamp and posted
it with his own hand while Tilly was talking to Jones
in the inner office.

Now a little change had taken place in the arrange-
ment of the quartette of late, and the change was
owing to the widow's suddenly and unexpectedly giv-
ing the cold shoulder to Stedman and bestowing all
her blandishments on Jones. Neither Tilly nor Sted-
man seemed to object very much to being thrown
more together ; but Jones scarcely appeared to relish
the arrangement as much as when he was more in
Tilly's society.

So matters stood on the day when Jones' boy wrote
his anonymous note to Jones.

On that same evening Jones received the note and
it angered him more than such a trifle ought to have
angered a staid, middle aged bachelor. He fumed
over it, and delayed himself dressing to think of it;
and the more he thought of it the more it seemed to
annoy him. At last, his mind was made up and he
hastily finished dressing for the party he was going
to, and where he expected to meet Mrs. Try son and
Tilly- All that evening he devoted himself to Tilly,

MR. ST/COMA^.

173

^(^ that tho widow was (iiiito tirt'od, and when liejiskcd
permission to call on her next morning, slio answered
rather pettishly, which somewhat surprised Jones.

Jones handed Tilly to the carriage, as usual ; ami
as he stood for a moment on the door step he over-
heard young Trimmins say to Potts:

" What does old Jones run after that girl so for , if
he wants to marry her why don't he do it, I'm sure
he is old enough ; and if he don't mean to marry her
he has no business to pay her so much attention."

'' Of course not," replied Potts, "confounded selfish,
he can't marry them both ; he ought to stick to the'
widow and give us young men a chance at the girl."

" Certainly," responded Trimmins.

Jones said nothing, but walked thoughtfully away;
and as he drew on his overcoat he murmured to him-
self,

"I'll do it to-morrow."

ClIAPTEB IV.

HOW IT ENDED.

Jones dressed himself with more than usual care
next morning, and appeared at the office in all the
glory of a white waistcoat, although it was nearly
mid winter. Jones had great confidence in while
waistcoats; he said there was " a finish" about them
which no other style of waistcoat possessed, and ho
always wore one x:)n important occasions.

Jones' boy was fairly overpowered by his appear-
ance, and immediately drew a caricature of him,
adopting the easy plan of displaying the white waist-
coat to proper advantage by filling up all the rest of
the figure with ink.

Jones sat for a while in his office and seriously
thought over the step he was about to take. The an-
onymous letter he had received, and the words he
had overheard on the previous evening had decided
him. A great change had come over him since his
visits to Alaska Yilla commenced. The glimpses of
domestic happiness which had been disclosed to him
had entirely changed his views, and he now began to
think he had made a mistake in not marrying earlier
in liie.

Was it too late ?

now IT ENDED.

175

V6i of

Jones had asked himself this quQstioii several time^,
but had not arrived at a satisfactory answer. The
conversation ho had overheard had raised a new
question in his mind. Had he been too particuUir iu
his attentions to one of these kidies ? Had he gone
beyond the bounds of friendship and led others to
suppose that he had other intentions ? Jones asked
himself these questions, and his conscience did not
qu'te acquit him. Then Jones asked himself: Shall
I get married ? and his conscience answered, yes.

Then Jones put on his overcoat and gloves, pulled
his cap well down over his ears, and started for Alas-
ka Villa.

Mrs. Tryson had not passed a very happy night ;
in fact that estimable little widow had not been in
quite as good spirits as usual for some days past .
She had made a discovery. She had found out that
she was not quite as contented in her present condi-
tion as she had thought she was. The widow was
past the ago of girlish sentimentality, and was not
likely to be caught merely by a good tigure or a hand-
some face. The three months that she had been
thrown into frequent association with Jones had
given her an opportunity of studying his charactei*,
and the more she studied him the more slic found to
admire in him ; in a word the widow discoveied that
she cared more about Jones thati she would have
liked to confess without a proposal from him; and.
tkerefore, his sudden devotion to Tilly the previous

•1 III

,im

176

JOiSES, THE L 'WVEIi.

evonCng, and consef|neiit iio,i';!cc*t of her had somuj-
what nettled her, and caused lier to answer petulantly
when he had asked permission to call on her.

But the morning brought with it cooler reflection ;
and calm consideration told her that it must be some-
thing of importance which Jones wished to speak to
her about, or why should he make a special appoint-
ment when he had ')een in her company all the even-
ing and could easily have spoken to her then about
any oru. nary business.

Could he intend to propose ?

The thouglit made the widow blu^h a little, and
slie glanced anxiously in the glass several times while
she was dressing', to be sure that she was looking
well ; and she dressed with more than usual care, so
that she should look as attractive as possible.

And very pretty and charming she did look as
Jones entered the room and advanced towards her ;
and Jones evidently thought so as he took her hand, for
he looked admiringly at her, and bowed with even
m.ore than his usual empresstment.

'' It is very kind of you to admit me at such an un-
usual hour," began Jones, in the manner of a man
who has learned a speech by heart and means to say
it before he can possibly forget it; " and nothing but
the importance of what I have to say could have in-
duced me tu intrude on you at such an hour."

The widow interrupt€vl him with an assurance that
she vvas^ always charmed to see him at any time; but

■mik^

Mow IT ENDED.

177

iiisteiicl of piiUiiii^ liim at his ciu^e this assurari'-o
seemed to confuse him, for he appeared to liave for-
gotten the connecting link in his speech and to bo
unable to proceed.

'' You cannot be surprised, after what I have said,"
continued Jones, getting into the middle of his speech
and forgetting that he had said nothing yet, " that I
should have become weary of my present mode of
life." The widow said nothing, but discreetly turned
Iier head away, leaving her hand, however, lying
carelessly on her lap so that Jones could take it
easily if he felt so disposed.

" It is rather late in life, perhaps," he went on,
"for me to think of matrimony; but I am not a
very old man — " •

" Oh, certainly not," breathed the widow in a
scarcely audible voice.

" And you know the common saying, ' It is better
to be an old man's darling than a young man's
slave.' "

The widow did not exactly see the point of this
argument, and therefore contented herself with a
non-committal sigh.

" I can scarcely expect a very warm affection at
my time of life," continued Jones, gently taking the
hand which lay so invitingly before him in his, *' but
I flatter- myself that I can command that fooling of
respect which is often more histing, and more con-
ducive to true happiness than a mere girlisli passion
for a man of fewei* years than myself."

I ■ I!

178

JONES, THE LAWYER.

The widow gave the slightest nod of assent and
turned the least bit toward him.

'' It is curious," continued Jones, abstractedly
squeezing the hand he held in his, " but I have some-
times thought that this was what my old friend in-
tended when ho put that curious provision in his
will."

The widow bowed her head in acknowledgement
that the same thought had occurred to ner.

'' For in this case the forfeiture will he a mere
nominal one."

Again the widow bowed in assent, and a thouglit
crossed her mind that he was rather lonirer in com-
ing to the point than there was any necessity, for.

" The arrangement will not be distateful tp you, I
hope ?" continued Jones insinuatingly, with another
little pressure of the hand he held.

The widow sighed gently, and faintly articulated

" ^NTo."

" And I may count on your consent?"
' " Yes."

" Why then," said Jones, we may consider it
settled."'

'' Yes," retuv d the widow, s])caking vei'y low
and turning on him a face radiant with happiness,
and covered with blushes.

Jones was a little astonished at this, but he went

iimoved ," 1 am more than ever con-

ipji

dly

vinced I am following out the wishes of my old

now rr ended.

17{)

I'l'ioiul in this iiiiittor ; and covttiin roiuin-ks I ovcr-
liearcl last night have decided me in the opinion that
it is time Tilly should have a m«le protector ; and it'
her aflections are not already engaged — "

" Tilly !" interrupted the widow, " What has slie
to do with it?'

"■ Why, as the person most interested, her inclina-
tions must certalidy be consulted. I shall see her at
once and "

But Jones did not finish that sentence ; for the
widow suddenly withdrew her hand from his and
turning on him a look in which rage, contempt, sur-
prise and shame Avere curiously blended, left the
I'oom without a word, her handkerchief going
quickly. to her eyes as she got near tlie dooi*.

Jones could not understand this strange ^.'onduct,
and severely blamed himself for forgetting his pre-
jiared speech and precipitating the matter so, " I
was too sudden in my announcement," he thought,
" the prospect of losing her step-daughter so unex-
pectedly has overpowered her ; I will await her
return."

A full half hour did Jones wait but the widow did
not return, so at last he grew impatient and ringing
the bell sent a servant to enquire whether Mrs.
Tryson would see him again before he left. The
servant soon returned with a message that his mis-
tress was suddenly indisposed and would be unable

I' ^1

i?.?

180

JONES, Tin: LAwrER.

5 1\ « f- '

to return, and luinded him a note which Jones
opened in some surprise and read as follows :

Dear Sir,

If you think it wise and expedient at your time of
life to marry a girl young enough to be your daugh-
ter, and the young lady is willing, I have no opposi-
tion to oU'er.

Yours truly,

Louisa Tryson,

It struck Jones that the consent was not couched
in very flattering terms, but he did not pause to con-
sider that and at once asked for Tilly.

'^ Miss Tryson went out about an houi* ago, sir, and
said she would not return until lunch time," re])lied
the servant.

As it wanted two good hours to that time Jones
lett a message for Tillv that he would call in the
evening and returned to his office.

On his way to the office Jones seriously thought of
the events of the morning, and finally decided that
he would make his proposal to Tilly by letter, as he
felt confident he could acquit himself better on paper
than if he urged his suit v^erbally ; he, therefore, set
liimselftohis task as soon as he reached his desk:
but had only written the words '^ my dear" when there
was a little struggle with the antagonistic door, and
Tilly herself entered his room looking quite flushed
and excited.

"Oh, Ml". .lones,".she said before he could uttei* a

//o^r IT KxnFA).

181

word, ''I have been lioro once already this mornins^
jmd you were out ; I want to ask you," hut tlion her
eloquence suddenly deserted her and she became quite
confused.

"lam very sorry Miss Tilly, that we chanced to
miss each other, for I desired to see you this mornini^
and have just returned from your house."

"Wanted to see me?" she exclaimed, turnini^ pale
for an instant and then flushing up again, '^ That is
singular. What is it about?" Instead of answering,
Jones rose and went to the door of the private office
to see that it was properly closed, and it was only by
the exercise of the greatest agility that Jones' boy
escaped from the key-hole in time to avoid detection
und seated himself at his desk where Jones found him
industriously engaged in sticking an oflice file into a
piece of paper. Little did Jones imagine thit that
])aper bore a caricature of himself in his white vest
and that the boy was engaged in imagination instab-
binir him to the heart with the lile with which ho had
tbi'nierly imolated flies.

Ilavinic satisfied himself that the door was closed
and that they were safe from intrusion, Jones return-
(xl to his seat and asked what Tilly desired to see him
al>out.

''Oh nothing — that is nothing important," said
Tilly a Utile nervously. *'Tell me what you Avanted
to see me about that was of so tnuch consequence."

Thus urgedj Jouos in brief terms made a i'ormul

182

JONES, TJ/E LAWVER.

IV.

proposal lor hci* hand. It must be confessed that lie
did it more in a fatlierly than a lover-like way ; hv
made no great protestations of a'^'cction, but mci-oly
said that in his opinion it was time she ought to be
married ; that if she married anyone but him for
three 3'ears to eome she would forfeit half her fortmic,
to him, and that altho' should that happen he had in-
tended to restore it to her in his will, yet he tcit he
would not be carrying out her father's wishes if he
did not claim it during his own lifetime; then he al-
luded to the impression on his mind that this was just
what her father intended by the curious provision in
his will, and concluded with the usual promise that he
would dev^ote his life to her happiness.

Long before he had linished Tilly was hiding her
face in her hands, crying softly ; and Jones' boy, who
had again applied his e^^e to the keyhole, but could
hear nothing, was shaking his fist in impotent rage at
his master — who he felt assured was scolding Tilly —
in fancied security, the door being between them.
But alas for the vanity of human exjiectations ! The
chief clerk, returning unexpectedly^ at this moment,
caught him by the collar, conducted him to the door,
and without further ceremony^, kicked him down
stairs.

Tilly recovered herself a little as soon as Jones
ceased s])eaking, and half sobbed out :

*' You don't — mean to say — you want to — nriarry
—me!"

I-*

JW]V IT ENDED.

183

" That is what I proposed, my dear," said Jones,
soothingly.

" You ought to le ashamed of yourself," who said,
so suddenly and unexpectedly that Jones involun-
tai'ily started; '• Xo, no ! I don't mean that. Oh,
Mr. — Jones,'' with another burst of tears, " what
made you — think — of— such — a — thing ? I don't
want to get married." Then, after a little pause,
during which Jones looked on in too much astonish-
ment to interrupt, ''Just as 1 thought — everything
was so nicely arranged, too" — more sobs — "and I'm
sure mamma expected it, too,'' Jones started at this ;
"and I'm sure Harry did," Jones started still more
wlien he heard this announcement, '' and all my tine
])lot — gone — for — nothing," and another burst of tears
closed this very intelligible speech.

J(mes sat and looked at her in a state of astonish-
ment he had rarely experienced in his legal career;
and it somehow occurred to him that he did not
understand the female sex quite so well as he had al-
ways prided himself he did.

Now, you must remember that Jones was not vi-
olently in love with Till^^ ; it was a mild sort of deter-
mination on his part, arj'ived at from a sudden
conclusion that he was not happy as a bachelor ; and
his selection of Tilly as the object of his attcction was
as much due to what he had ovei'heard young Trim-
mins and PoLts say, and to Avhat he considered the
intention of Tryson's will, as anything else; therefore,

']:!

184

jojXks, TiiH LA}yyKn,

!•

!■■

ulthoiigh ho was somewhat astonished at Tilly's sucUlen
outburst, and naturally felt a little chagrin at his
rejection, he felt none of the *^ pangs of rejected love"
which all authors arc in duty bound to describe as so
terrible.

In fact, I am rather inclined to think that Jones,
after the first moment of surprise, was rather relieved
than otherwise, and was disposed to be as kind as
possible to Tilly in her apparent distress.

'' Come, come, Miss Tilly, he said, kindly patting
her on the head, " don't cry so ; this is only a foolish
fancy of a stupid old man, and 1 will soon get over it.
Believe me, child, that the silly notion I had will
make no diffel'ence in my feeling towards you. I
should probably make a very poor husband for a
lively young girl like you, and I was a fool ever to
think of it; come, let me be a good friend to you in-
stead. Judging from your manner I should say you
have some little trouble of your own, tell me what
it is, and let me see if I can help you."

He said this in so kind and fatherly a manner that
Tilly just threw her arms around his neck and gave
him a sounding kiss without any more ado, which
proceeding so astonished Jones that he quietly sub-
mitted to be kissed without offering any resistance ;
and Jones' boy, who had returned to his desk, and
who heard the sound, was so exasperated that he
made a violent stab at the ink bottle, broke it, and
was for vtbe next few minutes busily engaged wiping

now IT E.SDED.

1R5

lip ink from tho de-^k, papers and floor with tlio blot-
ting pad, which proceediiif^ quickly obliterated all
traces of tlie cai'icature of Jones, white waistcoat
included.

''Oh, you good, dear, kind, darling-, old guardy,
exclaimed Tilly, accompanying each adjective with a
kiss, "JSTow I can love you ever so much again."

" Yes, yes, certainly," said Jones, somewhat em-
barrassed ; ''but what did you want to consult mc
about?"

It was Tillv's turn to be confused now.

" I thought," she stammered, " that you — that is
mamma — and Harry sai I — [ mean ifsho— " and then .
she stopped short and looked at Jones so helplessly
that he could not refrain from smilinu' i»:oodhumor-
edly.

"Oh, ho !" he said with a rouguish twinkle in his
eye, ''Harry is it; I begin te think your objections
to matrimony are more to the object than to the
state. Come, tell me who Harry is!"

''Oh, you know him," replied Tilly blushing violent-
ly-, " Mr. Stedman."

"Phew!" whistled Jones in such a loud key that
the boy in the next room, who was industriously
swabbing up ink, involurjtarily started, and in so
doing overturned a chair, which attracted Jones'
attention to him and caused him to order the boy to
go to dinner and bolt the outer door after him to pre-
rent bis return.

(■

^^^<

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

2.2

46 3

If: 140

2.0

1.8

1.25 1 1.4

^ ^— 6" -

►

aW^

c*:*- J^i ^y

%*/!''''?

Photographic

Sciences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) S72-4S03

186

JONES, THE LAWYER.

*' Mr. Stedinan, ell !" said Jones, ai^ain takiiio- hi-j
seat by Tilly. " You sly puss ; why I thought — "
but he did not say what he thought, but stopped sud-
denly and looked very hard at the carpet as a new
idea seemed to occur to him.

" Yes," said Tilly, interrupting what he thought,
" I know; but you a/^e wrong. I told Harry he would
overdo it and spoil everything."

*^ Spoil what!"

''Why— why— our little plot."

" Your little plot ; what was that ?!*

Instead of answering directly, Tilly slipped off her
chair and knelt on one knee by Jones' side, with one
arm thi'own over his shoulder and her face resting on
the white waistcoat, so that he could not see it. Then
she began to take all the starch out of that vest by
crying on it, and it was a little while before Jones
could get her to compof^e herself and answer his ques-
tion. Then she said,

^' Don't be angry with me — Harry and I loved each
other so much — and that will made me lose half my

4.'

fortune if I married for three years — unless
mamma — and if she married you — fortune would
remain — and so I got Harry to write that let-
ter — and I brought ypu together and I thought
that you two — and I never thought— oIj, do don't be
angry with me ; I thought it would be so nice," and a
fresh tap was turned on which threatened to wash
the white waistcoat quite away.

now IT ENDED.

187

'' Dear me !" exclaimed Jone.H, " TImt never struck
me before; of course, the will says — why perhaps
that is what Tryson meant; if so — "

"Oh, I'm sure of it."

" Are you ? Well ; dear me, dear me, what a mess
I have made of it. It certainly would be a better
match in every respect for both parties ; and I think
— " but igain Jones did not say what he thought, and
only looked at the carpet,

" You're not angry !" said Tilly raising her head
and looking slily at him.

" If the widow marries before Tilly," mused Jonts
abstractedly, " she forfeits half her fortune to me, so
that if she marries mo it is the same as no forfeiture.
Ah, I see!"

" Yes," said Tilly, looking up archly at him ; " and
if mamma marries before I am twenty -one then I — "

"I see what you mean ; then you can get married
as soon as she does. Oh, Miss Sly-boots ought' nt you
to be ashamed of yourself to plot against your old
guardian this way."

'* Don't scold ; tell me you're not angry with me."

"No, no," replied he smiling, " now run away and
leave me to see if I can't plot a little ; but Tilly you
needn't tell anyone, that is, it's not necessary for any-
body to know what an old fool — "

" Don't you ever say another word about that
again, and I never will, there," and she kissed him
again and ran laughing out of the ofiiee,

^■ii

■ •■is

188

;0M5, THE LAWYER,

T?hen Jonos 8at down and hatched his diabolical
plot, and several times he laughed to himself as if it
was quite a merry matter he was thinking of At
last he drew a sheet of paper towards him and com-
menced to write.

The letter was to the widow, and Jones told a lot
of stories in it ; for he said that he did not under-
stand what she had written him about marrying
Tilly; that he n^'^er had any such intention; that
Tilly was engaged to Mr. Stedman ; that she had con-
fessed it to him and asked his help; that he had
thought what an easy way out of the difficulty it
would be if' he could persua<ie her [Mrs. Tyson] to
marry him [Jones] ; and how in trying to tell her of
his love and Tilly's engagement at the same time he
got the two subjects mixed, and, probably created a
wrong impression in her mind. He wound up with
an offer of his hand and heart and an intimation that
he would call in the evening for his answer.
• It was an artfully written letter and put the widow
a little at disadvantage as long as she did not know
that he had actually proposed to Tilly; and so Jones
thought after he had despatched the boy with it, and
he laughed quietly at his own cleverness.

The widow did not prove obdurate, and Jones was
mrde a happy man that evening. A double wedding
took place the following February, the widow and
Jones being the first couple united, so that by a legal
fiction Tilly did not lose her fortune. The quartette

now IT ENDED,

189

►olical

IS if it

f. At

com-

l a lot
under-
[•ryin^^
; that
id cou-
le had
ilty it
;on] to
hei" of
me he
sated a
p with
)n that

widow
i know
Jones
it, and

les was
edding
>w and
a legal
artette

spent the honeymoon in Europe, and then settled
down at Alaska Villa where they now are with a
couple of little Jones' and Stedman's making the
house young again with their squalls.

Jones' boy is Jones' boy no longer. The four years
which have elapsed since my story opened have
transformed him into Jones' diily articled clerk, and
he talks largely of what he will do when he is " called
to the bar." He is quite a swell now, has all his
clothes made by a fashionable tailor whom he "prom-
ises " to pay ; smokes cheap cigars which generally
make him sick; cultivates assiduously three or four
red hairs under his nose which he pompously refers
to as his " moustache," and boasts of taking his ^' girl"
out driving and to the theatre. In short he sets up
for a *' fashionable " young man, and gives promise
of coming to nogoodeud unless ho materially alters
his mode of life. *

i * K -• '

ki of Ike Jnaw.

- V.

i' ?

¥4

[ill

OTl,

OUT OF THE SNOW.

!■■•

It was Christmas Eve and a light snow was filling
the air with fleecy particles, w^hirling and wheeling
gracefully about and gradually covering the streets
and housetops with its pure white robe. It was early
in the evening, although the lamps had long been
lighted, and the fitful gas disseminated its feeble ra^^s
on the thronged and busy street. Along St. James
and Notre Dame streets, merry crowds thronged the
way, and laughed and sang as they went on their way
home laden with Christmas gifts, or burthened with
loads of good things intended to grace the Christmas
table on the morrow. The great crowd kept surging
on, crowding the highways and branching off into
St. Lambert, Bleury and other side streets. Gay
sleighs spun with lightning-like rapidity over the
frozen snow, and the merry tinkle of thoir cheerful
bolls broke out on the frosty air. The whole world
seemed filled with gladness, and one seraphic shout
of joy burst from the crushing crowd ; all hurried
along so intent on the universal joy or general plea-

^ i

•1

tj«'.

i-i'i

194

OUT OF THE SNOW.

sure that they failed to notice one sad form — one
crouching figure — one breaking heart, thrown down
in the utter exhaustion of its hopelessness, lying
prone on the frozen snow in front of the French
Church, with its weary head resting on the iron
rails.

It was a girlish figure, crouched up for warmth
and but thinly covered by the light summer dross
and scant shawl ; her head was uncovered, and the
drifting snow was forming in little heaps on the
dark auburn curls which fell in heavy masses over
her shoulders. The face was wan, and pinched with
want and suffering, but its clear oval outline, fair com-
plexion and general contour gave evidence of beauty
under more favorable circumstances. And there she
lay in a death-like sleep or torpor, with the wild
crowd swaying past her in their glee, and the snow
falling in masses about her and threatening to enve-
lope her in Its cold embrace, and usher her into the
spirit land through its frozen medium.

^JU •Af %A^ ^0 %|# ^^

^f% *^ ^J* *^ ^* 0fk

Mr. Alfred Johnson stood before his desk in the warm
counting house in his employer's office in St. Paul
street, on that same Christmas Eve, and reviewed his
own private affairs for the past year. He was young,
probably not over two or three and twenty, fair
haired, with a fine open foreh-'^ad, but rather an un-
certain expression in his clear blue eyes. He was
making up an account; and his brows grew con-

GUI OF TUB SNOW.

195

L — one
down

French
3 iron

armth
dross
ind the
on the
3S over
)d with
ir com-
beauty
ere she
e wild
e snow
envo-
nto the

e warm
;t. Paul
wed his

young,
ty, fair

an un-
Ho was

W COU'

tmctod and his manner more and more serious as
the balance slowly but surely showed itself to bo
heavily on the wrong side. It was his own private
account with his employer, which, as canhier, he could
" bridge over " during the year, but which would now
have to stand the severe test of the books being
balanced by the bookkeeper — an old enemy — and the
personal scrutiny of his employer, a most exact and
careful man of business, who, although ho had every
confidence in Alfred, whom he had known from child-
hood, would, as a matter of business, make minute
examination of the accounts at the close of the year,
80 as to see exactly how his affairs stood.

The account was finished, and, examine it how he
would, Alfred found the balance over five hundred
dollars against him; which was clearly money of his
employer's which he had appropriated during the
year. He was by no means what would be called a
bud yo'ing man ; he was a good son and brother, had
worked up to his present responsible position by
steady industry and strict integrity ; his salary was
a good one, and he contributed most of it to the sup-
port of his widowed mother and two sisters, younger
than himself, who had been thrown almost entirely
on him when his father died two years before.

Up to within the past year he had always been
steady and wholly devoted to his mother and sisters ;
but during the last twelve months he had fallen into
bud company, had got into the habit of spending the

i' I

it I

196

OUT OF THE SNOW.

evenings from home, and was seldom to be found in
the family circle after tea. He had got accubtomod to
dropping into saloons for " a quiet drink and a
friendly game of cards ; "and had also learned to play
billiards, a very expensive game to learn, as beginners
usually discover. His means soon proved inade-
quate to the new demands made on his purse, and
then — hard pressed for ready money — he was tempted
to ''borrow " ten dollars from the thousands entrusted
to his care.

Of course he intended to return it; few men in
his circumstances ever commit a cool, deliberate rob-
bery. The devil is very insidious with them, it is only
the " use "* of the money they want for a few days?
not the money itself, and it is so much easier to take
it tcmporaril}' from the funds committed to their
i'iwa than to borrow from a friend and stand the
chance of being refused, or having to explain why
the money is wanted. Youth is very hopeful, the
darkness of to-day is sure to be dispelled by the
imaginary brightness of to-morrow, and the present
difficulty is in fancy evercomo by the success of the
future. *' I shall be able to return it in a little while,"
is the bait with which the evil one catches most of
his youthful defaulters, and is the one hardest for
them to resist.

80 it was with Alfred Johnson ;. he felt confident
of being able to return that first ten dollars ; but the
daj^ of return never came, and^ the first false step

OtiT OF THE SNOW.

being taken, he kept mnking deeper and deeper into
defalcation, driven madly onwards by the hope of
being by some means able to make restitution, until
now he stood involved beyond all hope of extrication.

He closed the book with a heavy sigh and sat
down to think about it. Look at it any way he
would, there seemed but one path out of the difficulty,
to plunge deeper in, to take two or three thousand
dollars more from the large sums of which he ha<i
full control and escape to the United States with ais
ill-gotten gains, and l:y, by leading a better and
more steady life *'^ that land of promise, to recover
the sum he had misappropriated, nnd by an earnest,
useful life, recover, if possible, his own self-estocm
and the respect of all good men, which he would
forfeit as soon as his crime was known.

But that way meant disgrace to the name he bore,
and which had been handed down to him stainless
by an honest and upright father; H meant shame
to the grey hairs of his mother, and sorrow to his
fond and loving sisters; it meant more than that, it
meant destruction to all hope of another and a dilfor-
ent love which had, almost without his knowing it,
been growing up in his heart ; he might prosper in
the States, but he would be disgraced and friendless
in Canada. And yet, to stay and be publicly tried
as a defaulter ? for that would be the alternative. He
knew his employer to be a kind, but just and honest
man who would not overlook his misconduct, lest it

s \

ill
II'

198

OUT OF TTTE SNOW.

hIiouUI prove ii had exanipio to otliors. The proMtuu
wjus too bard to solve, utuI he siit with Ins head biiiMeii
in his hands, thinking bitterly over it.

At last he was resolved ; the evil day of discovery
could not be put oil' for more than a week, as the books
would be balanced at the opening of the new yeiir
and then discovery was inevitable: he, thereibre,
determined to make his preparations at once, break
the sad intelligence as kindly as possible to his mother
and sister, and start for the States before the year ran
out. Settling the matter thus in his mind he wrapped
himself in his overcoat, and pulling his cap well
down over his ears went out into the niij-ht.

His way was up St. Sulpice street, and as he bent,
forward a<^ainst the keen air at the corner of Notre
Dame St., he stumbled against a crouching tigiuv
and almost fell. Stooping to see who it was lyini;'
exposed to the storm, Alfred noticed that it was a girl ;
the face was pale and w^an, and frost mark's were com-
ing out on the cheek and nose. The girl raised her head
for a moment when he struck against her, but quickly
returned to her recumbent position and seemed to be
thoroughly numbed by the cold, and fast freezing to
death. Alfred w\as kind-hearted almost to a fault.
and the sight of this lone sutt'ering girl moved him
greatly; he shook her gently by the shoulder and
tried to move her.

*' Get up, get up, my girl ; if you lie here much
longer you will freeze to death." The girl stirred a

•ml^

OUT OF THE SNOU^.

199

little when lie sjx^ke to her; and us ho eoutinued
blinking her, with his assistunee, rose to her i'eet.

" Why don't you go homo ?"

She gazed dreamily about for a minute, then said
slowly and sadly,

^'I have no home."

*' Where is 3'our father?"

'• I don't know. I don't know if I hav^e one now."

" Where is your mother ; w'hy don't you go to
her ?"

^•1 am going to her, I ho])e; she is in Heaven.'*

'* Have you no friends."

'' None.''

Alfred was puzzled and scairely knew what to do.
The girl stood half leaning against the iron rail, and
*half supported by him; but her momentary strength
seemed fast giving w^ay, and he ecmld feel her weight
growing heavier on liis arm. What should he do
witk her? Should he take her to the Police Station,
or to the Hospital, or some charitable institution ?
The idea of abandoning her in the snow never occurj-ed
to him for a moment. His dilficulty was solved for
him by a passing carter calling out gaily,

"Sleigh, sir?" , .,,

" Yes," he said, as an idea occurred to him. " Take
mo to No. — DorQliester street." He thought as ho
half lifted the girl into the sleigh and tenderly sup-
ported her, *' I'll take her to mother, she'll know what
to do with her, and to-morrow or next day we will

200

OttT Ojr THE SNOW.

■ % .

Bee what can be done for her. It would be rather too
hard to let a girl freeze to death on Christmas Eve."

Mrs. Johnson was very much surprised at the
strange companion her son brought homo with him;
but she was a kind hearted woman, although weak
and foolish, and the poor girl was well tended and
gently and tenderly nursed.

But want and exposure had too surely done their
work, and brain fever quickly set in. The doctor,
whom Alfred called to attend her, gave no hope of
her recovery ; nature was too much exhausted, he said,
and although she may rally a little and regain her
reason, the system was too much shaken for her to
regain her health, and she would probably sink from
debility. The girl remained unconscious all night
and the next day, not raving, but moaning and mut-
tering incoherently ; < and Mrs. Johnson and her
daughter, nursed her tenderly and carefully.

%^ ^^ ^I^ ^i^ ^^ ^^ ^^ ^^

*^ ^^ ^^ w^ 0^ 0^ ^^ *J^

Christmas Day did not pass off very joyfully at thc^
Johnsons'. Alfred was ^^out of sorts," as his mother
expressed it, and rather disposed to be pettish, so
that the dinner was rather a stiff affair, and there
was little conversation after. It was late in the even-
ing when Alfred, returning from a walk, found his
mother seated by the bed-side of the still unconscious
girl. He had made up his miud^hat the disclosure
of his crime must be made to his mother now, and|
he was very pale and ill at ease as he took a seat byj

OCTT OF THE SNOW,

201

thcr too

Eve."

at the
th him ;
rh weak
(led arul

>ne their
) doctor,

hope of
L, he said,
jo-ain her
)V her to
link from
all night
and mut-

and hev

lly at the;
s mother
ettish, BO
and there
the even-
found his
iconscious
disclosure
now, and
: a seat hy

her, fully determined to tell her all. As he seated
himself he glanced toward the bed and asked how
the girl was.

" A little quieter," replied his mother, " she has
just fallen into a light sleep."

** Mother, I want to tell you something; something
that will make you ashamed of me, perhaps, but you
must know it sometime, and it is best you heard it from
me." He drew a stool to her feet and hiding his
face in her lap, told her all.

Mrs. Johnson was a weak-minded woman who was
more accustomed to take advice from her son than to
giv« it ; and she was totally unfitted to oifer him any
good counsel, or to persuade him from his mad desire
to run away. She saw only the danger of his remain-
ing, and already pictured to herself her darling placed
in the felon's dock, and condemned to the prison cell.
All her love and fear was roused for her son, and she
not only approved of his intention of going to the
States, but besought him through her tears to go at
once and not rislc the chance of discovery by remain-
ing in Montreal.

** Go, go at once, Alfred," she said, " you have
done wrong, but you are young and can and will
repent and pay ba^k all you have taken. Don't run
the risk of Mr. Homespun's discovering you, for I
know he is a hard man, although a just one, and he
will have no mercy."

" Do not go," said a swe3t clear voice, ard mother

** > .i

*■■•)

202

OUT OF THE SNOW.

and son both turned instinctively toward the bed
from whence the sound proceeded, and saw the girl
they hud thought asleep sitting up, with the light of
reason once more in her eyes, but an excited, wild
look in her face. ** Don't go, don't go," she cried,
speaking rapidly and with increasing excitement \.
'' I have heard all ; forgive me for listening ; I did
not mean to, but I could not help it. I know you
have been good and kind to me ; I remember your
taking me out of the snow, and I know gentle hands
have been nursing me. It comes like a dream, [
cannot put it all together ; but I am sure you have a
good heart, and did not intend to do wrong. Go to ,
your employer, tell him what you have done and ask
him to forgive you. and give you a chance to regain
his confidence. If he is a good and Christian man
he will be merciful with a sinner as ho hopes for
mercy hereafter from the gi-eat and merciful God who
says, ' Judge not that ye be not judged.' Oh, do not
do this thing ; don't bring shame on the name you ,
bear, sorrow and disgrace on those who love you. I
have seen it ; I have seen a wife's heart broken and a
daughter almost reduced to shame, when all might
have been well, with a little courage to speak the
truth, and a little faith in God to judge the intent and
not the deed. Go to your employer, tell him all,
throw yourself on bis mercy,' and ask him to forgive
you ; do not increase the wrong you have already
done by further injuring or deceiving him. Confess

OUT OF THE SNOW.

203

to him now ; he will pardon you. I know ho will ;
I can see it. Tell him the poor girl — you — saved

Her voice had grown strong with the excitement
which waswcrkingiuher, her face had flushed as she
hent her body forward, her earnest, pleading tones,
her fervent impressive manner seemed like one in-
spired, and her two auditors sat spell bound as if listen-
ing to the words of prophecy. She broke off abruptly,
her face blanched, her gaze became tixed and rigid, a
faint sigh broke from her lips, quickly followed by a
small stream of blood, she fell heavily back upon her
pillow, and before* mother or son could reach the bed-
side, the soul of the poor outcast had winged its way
to its Maker.

:K^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ He

Three days passed ; the poor friendless girl was
placed in the strangers' vault, for no one knew her
name nor where she came. On an old worn pocket
handkerchief was found marked the word '^ Marian,"
and by that name she was entered on the funeral
register. Alfred alone accompanied the body to the
cemelery, and as he stood beside the plain, unorna-
mented coffin a strnnge superstitious feeling came over
him, and he thought he could hear that sweet earnest
voice saying, ** Go to your employer, tell him what
you have done, ask him to forgive you and give you
another chance."

He could not shake off the feeling, and that night

204

OVT OF THE t'NOW.

in his dreams he again saw the animated and inspired
face, and again the words rang in his ear, *^ Confess
to him now; he will pardon ; I know he will."

Next morning he went to the office with a firm
determination of telling Mr. Homespun everything,
but somehow he put it off and it was not till after
dinner that he found courage to enter Mr. Home-
spun's private office and ask him for an interview.
Even then he almost lost courage, and it was only
with the greatest difficulty that he managed at last to
get out in broken, disjointed sentences a confession of
his guilt. He did not spare himself, but told what his
intention had been, how he had meant to take more
and go to the States, but he did not tell what had
caused him to change his determination.

Mr. Homespun sat and listened in wonder, almost
doubting the evidence of his senses. He had known
Alfred from childhood, and regarded him almost as a
son ; but there was a good deal of the Spartan about
him, and he thought it was his duty to society to ex«^
pose the crime and ingratitude of the boy whom he
loved better than anything on earth except his daugh-
ter Fannie.

" Alfred," he said — and the old man's voice was
pained and broken so that Alfred scarcely recognised
it — *' what you have told me has given me greater
pain than anything I have heard since it pleased the
Almighty to take my own son from me. Had anyone
else told tne, I should not have believed it, but your

out OF THE SNOW.

2Q5

confession leaves no room lor doubt. I liuve loved
you Alfred, and I hoped some day to reward your
services with an interest in my business ; but now I
must do my duty."

The old man paused for a moment, and before he spoke
again, the door leading into the outer office was thrown
open, and a bright, sunny-haired girl of about eighteen
or nineteen came running in, and pulling a chair close
up to the cheery wood-fire burning in the grate, put
her feel on the fender, and, giving a little lady-like
shiver, commenced poking the fire vigorously, de-
claring she was freezing to death.

" Come, you old papa," she said, looking over at Mr.
Homespun," "no more business today ; I have come
to capture you and take you off ;ileigh-riding ; no ex-
cuse," she continued — going over to his chair and
throwing her arms round his neck — "or I'll pull all
your dear old whiskers out."

As she stood behind her father's chair she shot one
rapid meaning glance at Alfred, but he stood with his
head bent down gazing intently on the carpet, and
the hot blood rising rapidly in his face ; it was hard,
very hard, he thought that Fannie should be the first
to hear of his disgrace.

The girl saw at a glance that there was something
wrong, and looking from one face to the other she
left her father's side, and crossing to Alfred laid her
hand on his shoulder and said, half playfully, "What
iv the matter, has Alfred been a naughty boy and

' ^' !'l

■Ml

206

OUT OF THE SNOW.

that cross papa of mine been scolding him ? Well it
serves him right, for he greatly needs to improve his
manners. I think, sir, you might have spoken to
me when I came in; and your conduct lately has
been shameful, you haven't been to see me for over a
week. Don't make any excuses about business, for
1 shant believe them ; and don't ever speak to me
again."

Her tone was half bantering, half earnest, but the
look which accompanied them was full of meaning,
and as Mr. Homespun looked up and saw it, it let in
a flood of light on his mind, and he began to wonder
at his own blindness. Alfred and Fannie had grown
up together as brother and sister, and it had never
occurred to the old man, totally absorbed in his one
child, that the brotherly and sisterly feeling might
grow into a deeper and stronger affection. Now he
saw in an instant that, on one side at least, it had ;
and his duty did not seem quite so clear to him.

" Fannie," he said very gravely, " I cannot go with
you to-day ; Alfred and I have a very serious matter
to talk over, and I cannot leave the office."

'' Well, bring Alfred with you and you can scold
him all you w^ant to ; I shan't ask you to spar<f him."
At last she had her own way, and her father con-
sented to go, but nothing further was said about Al-
fi'^d's accompanying them. As they were leaving
the room Mr. Homespun said with great emphasis to
Alfred, who had remained motioaless during the short
dialogue. \

OCT OF THE SNOW.

207

Veil it
[)ve his
cen to
\y has
over a
ss, for
to me

mt the

aning,

; let in

wonder

grown

I never

his one

might

J"ow he

t had;

^o with
matter

1 Bcold
fhim."
ler con-
out Al-
leaving
iasis to
le short

" I shall expect to meet you here on my return ; do
not leave the country w^ithout seeing me again."

"Leave the country!*' exclaimed Fanny, turning
pale for a moment, then flushing up again, *^ where
is he going ?"

" 1 think," said Mr. Homespun, speaking very
slowly and evidently with difficulty, *' that the pros-
pect Alfred has of advancement in the United States
is too good for me, as a friend, to advise him to re-
fuse it. His absence will probably be a long one,
possibly he may remain there altogether."

He laid great stress on the last few words, and Al-
fred felt that he was pardoned, but with the condition
that he left Canada.

Fannie said nothing more, but walked out of the
office, evidently wanting to be alone for a few min-
utes if possible, for she looked very much as if she
wished to indulge in that great female^ luxury, a
good cry.

When she had left the office, Mr. Homespun turned
to Alfred and said, " You shall go to the States ; I
have a friend in Xew York who will take j^ou into
his office, and you will have another chance. Be
careful that you make good use of it. You will leave
to-morrow, but you must never return to Canada."

He went towards the door, and as he was passing
through, shook his head sadly and said to himself, " I
am not at all clear that I have done my duty, but—

'•

208

OUT OF THE SNOW.

He did not finish tlie sentence, but followed Fannie
to the sleigh.

*«l# ^U ^^ s^ ^U ^^ s^

1* 1* 'T* T* •!* ^ "^

Alfred went to the States, and entered on his new
duties. His lesson had been a sharp and severe one,
but he profited by it. He had no idea of remaining
in the States all his life, and by steady industry and
good conduct, in two years he so raised himself in his
employer's estimation, that he was promoted to a very
responsible position, and sent to Cfinada on special
business by the firm.

It is very easy to see how it ended. Fannie had
not changed during the two years, and Alfred had
found out by absence how dear to him Fannie was.
And Mr. Homespun ? Well he did not like it much
at first ; but he went to New York and satisfied him-
self that Alfred's conduct during his two years' exile
had been perfectly exemplary, and when Fannie teased
him for his consent to their union he could not" resist
long, and seemed to have no difficulty at all in seeing
clearly that he had " done his duty."

Oh dear! its twenty years ago now since that
Christmas Eve which proved so eventful in the career
of Alfred Johnson, and Mr. Homespun has long since
been gathered to his fathers, and Alfred has succeed-
ed to the business and is now one of our leading and
most prosperous and most honored merchants, and
talks of retiring and " taking it easy."

OUT OF THE SNOW,

20^

not even Fannie — over know how near the brink of
ruin ho had stood. Fannio is a sober little matron
now, and many young olivo branches adorn the fami-
ly tree. But whenever Christmas Eve comos around
there always returns to Alfred tho memory of that
Christmas Eve, twenty years ago, when he had stoo<l
on tho verge of disgrace, and then comes to him tho
vision of a plain marble cross with the woi*d ** Mar-
ian" on it, and ho thinks of the unknown, friendless
girl whose good advice saved him, and who came to
him '< Out of the Snow."

y ihrisfma^ in fkf f Ite^.

IP'

i,1

•

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ti

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•

/ CHEISTxMAS IN THE FLIES.

A CURTAIN man's STORY.

CHxVPTER I.

ON DUTY.

Perhaps you don't know wliut a curtain man is,
and very likely you never heard of any other flies
than those that buzz about in the summer time, or
those you drive about in ia rainy weather; but [
don't mean those sort of flies, I mean the flies of a
theatre; the phice up over the stage which the
audience never sees, and v/hich they know nothing
about; and I'm the man that tends up in the flies
and pulls the curtain up and lets it dowr.

It's a queer place to be for three hours or so while
the play is going on forty or fifty feet below, and
queer sights we see sometimes looking down ; things
not meant to be seen, and not set down on the bills.
I've watched many a curious performance, and wit-
nessed more than one serious accident during the

'f 1.

'jii ■i.m

■I ■ t

B -i

214

CHRISTMAS IN TJJE FLIES.

p'K«<

years I've been at work in the flies ; but one of the
saclde^^t I ever saAv occurred a few years ago w^hen I
was at work in an East End theatre in London, and
it took place on a Christmas Day.

There wasn't any performance that night, but there
was a full rehearsal called for the pantomime, which
was to be brought out on Boxing-night; and I was
giving the scene-shifters a hand, managing the bordcr>i
and such things, up in the flies.

I may as well explain that the borders are those
strips of muslin painted to imitate woods, or clouds,
or ceilings, as the case may be, which hang across the
stage, and have to be changed when the scene and
wings change ; and, also that a platform gallery runs
down each side over the wings, so that the scene
shifters can move about from j)lace to j)lJice as neces-
sity may require. ' t 7 . ; r ;

It was a heavy scenic pantomime, and what with
, transformations, and quick changes, and new effects
\ to try, and new machinery to get into good working
order, we had a busy time of it.

There was one scene, the last transformation, which
was expected to be very tine, and on ^hich the suc-
cess of the piece to a great extent depended ; it was
called " The Fairies Grotto of Delight," or some
such thing, and amongst other effects a number of
fairies were to be suspended in mid air, and lowered
by a windlass to within a few feet of the head of the
Fair^ Queen, who was to stand in a vast flower in the

■■■

ON DUTY.

215

B of the
) when I
Jon, and

)iit there
e, which
id I was
3 bordcr>»

re those
* clouds,
cross the
[iene and
ery runs
10 scene
as neces-

lat with
w effects
workinif

n, which
the suc-
[ ; it was
or some
imber of
lowered
ad of the
er in the

centre of the stage. This was rather a difficult thing
to do; and the ballet girls who personated the fairies
were a little nervous at first, and half afraid to trust
themselves to the ropes which were to suspend them.

I was rather late in getting to the theatre, for I
lived some distance away, and I hurried up into the
flics at once as rehearsal had commenced.

Just as I reached my place I met Jim llarkins,
one of the stage carpenters who woi'kcd in the flicv^'.

" A Merry Christmas to you, Jim," I said.

Mc 7 Christmas be hanged," he answered quite
gruffly and shortly for him, for Jim was a civil-spoken,
quiet young fellow, who was well liked in theflieisand
a regular favorite with all who knew him. I took
another look at him as he spoke, and noticed there
was something wrong, he seemed out of sorts and
wasn't paying attention to his business,' which^was
unusual with him, but looking down at the stage most
of the time. ,

'' What's wrong, Jim?"

"Nothing; haul that front border up a little, it
fouls the flat." .

lie turned away, and I didn't say any more at the
time, but I watched him, and from his looking down
at the stage so much I got looking at it myself, but
I soon began to watch the actors and actresses off tho
stage rather than those on it.

It's curious work to sit up aw^ay over everybody's
head and watch what is going on \v ithout being somi

216

CHRISTMAS IN TllhJ FLIES.

and I soon got quite interested. There were a good
many people about the theatre that night besides the
regular company, although there was no performance,
for it was a full dress rehearsal and the manager had
invited a number of the critics of the different news-
papers and some friends of his own to have a private
view of the new piece. Most of them were in front,
but some of the favored ones were behind the scenes,
either in the green-room or at the wings, talking and
laughing with the actors and actresses and the ballet
girls, and somehow I fell to watching the wings more
than any other place, and many nice quiet little flir-
tations I saw that were never intended for my view.
I knew most of the company and was pretty well
acquainted with the ballet, for my wife had been a
ballet girl in this same theatre, and we often had some
of them up to tea witli us on a Sunday night ; and I
amused myself during the time I could spare from
duty watching some of them ^* cutting up." It was
fun to me to see some of them quietly poking fun at
the " nobs" who had got behind the scenes, for per-
haps the first time, and many a quiet little laugh I
had all to myself. v.;.:v • ^ ^ ^ .

I noticed one young swell in particular who didn't
appear ever to have been behind the scenes before and
who seemed to be looking for something, as he kept
peeping about this way and that, getting tangled up
in the flats sometimes, and occasionally losing him-
self amongst the scenery to the great amusement of

th(
cai
ap

) a good
ides the
rmance,
ger had

it T1CW8-

privato
n front,

scenes,
ing and
e ballet
2^8 more
itle flir-
y view,
tty well
I been a
id some
and I
from

It was
fun at

or per-

augh I

didn't
ore and
3 kept
led up
g him-
aent of

•e

ON DUTY.

2if

the girls, and to the great annoyance of the stage
carpenters who swore at liim, but in low tones, for he
appeared to be a great friend of the manager's, and it
would not do to insult a friend of his--.

He was quite a handsome young gentleman, tall
and well formed, and with a slightly aristocratic air
about him which well became his classic cast of fea-
tures. He strolled about half listlessly, now exchang-
ing a few words with some acquaintance, and occasion-
ally speaking for a minute to the manager; but I
noticed that he kept glancing about him, not with an
air of vulgar curiosity, but like a man in search of
something. -

I got quite interested in this young gentleman, and
watched him in an idly curious way while I waited
for the end of the scene to change for the ballet which
was to come next.

Just before the signal was given to change I saw
him lift his hat to some one, who was out of siuht
from where I stood, and advance with a pleased smile
of recognition on his face. The next ijistant thu
prompter's whistle sounded and I was busy changing
the scene for the ballet, antl when I got through he
was leaning against a wing alone, watching the gii'ls
practice a new dance.

I never did understand much about these ballet
divertlsementSj as they are called ; which pretend to
express all sorts of passions and emotions by a series
of jumps, pirouettes, posturings, and facial and bodily

218

cnursTMAs in the flies.

*M ^

1st. '-

"•<

oontortions, often of the ugliest and least gracei'iil
kinds. Ballet pantomime was alwaj^s too difficnlt a
conundrum for me to solve ; when I have seen a coryphee
dancing around one of the characters in the ballet,
now taking long, sliding steps, then short, quick
jumps in the air, kicking her feet quickly together
two or three times the while; then making various
spirited and vigorous kicks at the nose of the person
she was dancing around ; next revolving rapidly on
one toe until she assumed somewhat the appearance
of an insane teetotum of peculiar shape; and finally
throwing herself on one knee with one \Qg very much
extended the body bent backwards until her head
almost touched the ground, and her arms held up to
the central figure — which has stood stock-still and
exhibited no more emotion than a pump ; I could not,
for the life of me, fancy that it was intended to show
her love and devotion to the object of her affection
until I was told so. I have seen a little dog go through
a somewhat similar performance at sight of his master,
the principal differences being that the little dog-
barked with joy and the coryphee didn't; and that the
coryphee exposed her person rather unnecessarily and
indecently, and the little dog didn't. 'I confess, I aiu
n i ' T>'vi'tial to ballets, and I don't think many
«.u> . really admire them for what they call the
*^ po . motion," and the '-grace of action," and
all that rubbish ; just put the ballet girls into panta-
loons and high-necked dresses, and very few people
W9uld find any grace or poetry in it.

ij3i^

ON DUTY,

219

ii;racoi'iil

ifficult 51

I coryphee
Q ballet,
^t, quick
together
; various
le person
pidly on
pear an ce
id fiiuiUy
Biy mucli
her head
leld up to
-still and
:;ould not,
I to yhow
affection
) through
lis master,
ittl© dog
i that the
arily and
fess, I am
nk many
'- call the
ion," and
to panta-
w people

T never derived nineh pleasure from sitting up in
the flies watcdiing the ballet, but this night I was
jmrticularly intei-ested ; for Betty Langley, the only
daughter of my old friend Dicdv Langlcy, who used to
play Harlequin in the pantomimo for many years at
our theatre, and who had died about two years ago,
was to make her tirst appearance as a solo dancer the
following night; and I was anxious to see how she
acquitted herself in the hop])ing and skipping and
pirouetting line. v « , .

Betty was about eighteen, small, beautifully formed
and '* pretty as a picture." as the saying is. She had
been in the ballet a little more than a 3 ear, and by
close attention to her business had made herself a,
favorite with the manager, who had promoted Jicr lo
a leading part in the new bailer. You must not sup-
pose, however, that she was announced on the bills as
Betty Langley ; Oh, no I that would have been alto-
gether too common and plebian, so the bills intbrmed
the public that "Signora Bettini Langleggi " would
make her " tirst appearance" in the new pantomime.

It must be confessed that the name was not a pretty
one, and implied a great injustice to Betty's pedal ex-
tremities which were short and elegantly shaped ; but
it sounded foreign, at least the manager thought so, and
that was a great point; for it is a well-known and
generally accepted fact in theatrical circles that
although an English, Irish or American girl may
have as fine a voice as Grissi, or be more graceful

220

CHRISTMAS IN THE FLIES.

m ■

than Tnglioni, 3'ot it is almo.^t impossible for her to
get credit for being able to sing or dance, if she ap-
pears under an English name. It stands to reason ;
how would it look on the bills to announce '* Mihs
Mary Smith, the celebrated singer;" or " Miss June
Brown, the eminent dancer ?" Only Frenchify it a
bit and see how much grander it looks to put on tlio
bills "Mademoiselle Marietta Smitherrinni, the world
renowned cantatrice," (whom nobody ever heard of
before) or " Signora Juanita Brownoroso, premier dun-
sumae to H. J. H. the Emperor of Nooneknowswhero."
It is all very fine for Shakespeare to ask ''What's in
a name ?" I tell you there is a good deal in a name,
especially in the theatrical profession. And so tlio
manager of our theatre changed Betty's name for her
to Langleggi, and the first thing she knew of it was
seeing it announced in the bills.

Betty got through her dance in splendid style ; and
even the manager applauded when she finished, and
paid her some very high compliments. She did not
wait long to hear them, for the stage was cold and
' her dress light, but hurried away towards the wing
whore the swell T had already noticed was standing,
with a long cloak over his arm, which he threw
around her as she approached, and said something
which appeared to please or amuse her; for she drew
back with a merry laugh and a low, half- mocking
bow, which I had often seen her make when she was
in high spirits.

^r her to

i* she ap-

reason ;

•e

[iss Jaiio
chify it u
it on the
:he world
heard of
miier daii-
'^swhere."
What's in
1 a name,
.nd so the
10 for her
of it was

OX DUTV.

221

He bent over her a little as they moved off side by
side towards the green room, for she did not come on
again until the last scene but one, and I thought ho
Htooped down to her rather closer than was necessiiry.
I could not get a veiy good view from where I stood,
and I might have been mistaken, but I thought she
blushed as she turned away, and glanced up into
the flies for an instant, as if looking for some one.

rti»''-'j

jtyle; and

ished, and

tie did not

cold and

the wing

standing,

he threw

something

' she drew

if- mocking

jn she was

^»^

■I
I

* ■!

ili

CHAPTER II.

ON THE WATCH.

I WAS rather astonished and grieved at what I had
seen, for Betty was almost like a daughter to me, and
I took more than a common interest in her, not only
for her own sake but for that of her father, who had
been a bosom friend of mine for years ; and I didn't
like the idea of this young swell walking away with
her in that familiar manner. I knew Betty was as
pure and good a girl as ever lived, altho' she did
dance for a living, and I did not fear her coming to
harm; I knew her too well for that; but I was afraid
that this young swell might fill her head with foolish
notions of grandeur which might keep her heart away
from a good honest man who wanted to make her his
wife ; and I was on the point of leaving the flies with
the intention of speaking to her when I was seized by
the arm with a pretty tight grip, and a voice said
almost in my ear: >

*' Jobson, did you see that ?"

I turned to the speaker and saw Jim Harkins
standing by my side. His face was deathly pale, his
teeth clenched tightly together, his eyes blazing, and

ON THE WATCH.

2i3

t I had
me, and
lot only
irho had
I didn't
ay with
' was as
she did
aiing to
IS afraid
1 foolish
irt away
) her his
ies with
eized by
•ice said

Harkins
pale, his
ing, and

he squeezed my arm so hard it almost made mo cry
out.

*' See what?" I answered, more to gain time than
for any other reason.

" That fellow making love to Betty," he answered,
grinding his teeth in a way that seemed to turn all
the blood in me to sour milk and send a frozen ram-
rod down my back.

" Making love ?" 1 sakl in a tone of surprise. *' I
saw him speak to her; that was all."

" That wasn't all ; he was making love to her, and
she liked it." •

" Come^ come, now Jim," I said, tiying to get him
a bit cool, " you ought to be ashamed of yourself to
speak of Betty like that. There isn't a truer hearted
girl in the world than she is, and when she gave her
word be sure her heart went with it, and won't
change; so don't be a jealous fool."

'* Jealous !" he replied with a sneer and a couple of
irrinds at his teeth that ought to have dislocated his
jaw-bone. '' Jealous ! That's always the way. The
moment a man shows any anxiety at the conduct of
the girl he loves it's 'He's jealous.' That's what
Betty said this morning when I spoke to her about
it."

"Oh, ho!" I said, "you've been talking to her
about it, have you ; and yo I've had a lover's quarrel,
I suppose."

"We've had no quarrel. I told her it wasn't pro-

ill

224

CHRISTMAS IN THE FLIES.

U I

1^ 1

per to litivo that fellow dangling after her; that was

all."

"ITowcan he liavo been 'dangling after her;' I
never saw him before to-night, and I don't think Betty
ever did."

'' You don't know everything, Jobson, altho' you
think you do. He has been meeting her nearly every
Sunday for over a month, and paying her a good deal
of attention, and I won't stand it any longer. AVo
must come to an understanding to-night ; if«he wants
to have that swell make love to her, well and good ;
but she is no wife for Jim Harkins," and he ground
his teeth again so terribly that I felt all over ice uml
needles.

" Look here, Jim," I said, '^do stop grinding your
teeth that way; or, if you must grind them, put your
finger, or a piece of rubber, or something in your
mouth so that you can feel the satisfaction of grinding
away without making that disagreeable noise which
sets my teeth on edge, and makes me feel like pins
and needles all over. And what noiiser se are you
talking about Betty meeting this swe^i jvery Sunday
lor a month ? Why she and her mother have taken
tea with my wife and I nearly every Sunday evening
since Dick died ; and I am sure that swell chap never
was in my house."

*-Who said he was? Don't Betty go to other
places besides your house? Don't she go to see the
manager's wife almost ever}' Sunday* afternoon ; and

ox THE WATCJl.

225

don't that fellow drop in thoro ' by clianco' wlioncvcr
she is there ? Don't tell mo ; I know all about it only
too well, and I tell you tliis thinj^'s got to bo put a
Btop to; and to ni^ht too."

I could'ntsay a word for a minute or two, I was so
astonishoJ. If some one had told mo that Mrs. Job-
son had eloped with all our eleven children I could
not have been more surprised, and I could only sit
an<l stare at Jim without saying a word. J. knew
there must be some mistake or misunderst jinding some-
where ; but where ? I would have staked my life on
Betty's truth and innocence, but wh}^ had she never
said anything about having met this man at the mana-
ger's ? J t wasn't Hetty's nature to be secret or sly
about anything; when Jim Ilarkins asked her, at the
wing, while she was waiting to go on one night, if she
would many him, she told mc of it while we were
walking home together after the performance ; and
there never wa-^ any new acquaintance she formed, or
any little trouble she had but Avhat mv wife and I
knew of it; then why had she never mentioned to us
her meeting this man ?

I knew she loved Jim, and they were to be mari'ied
as soon as Betty got her salary raised — foi- Jim could
not art'ord to take her oft' the stage at once, and Betty's
mother being an invalid was totally dependent on her
ihv support — :but why should she take to flirting with
f wells just at this time, when she would never speak
to one ol' them before she was engaged, and had the

^e-

\i%

226

CHRISTMAS IN THE FJJBS.

reputation of being the strictest girl in her couduct
in the whole theatre ? I confess it puzzled me, and I
could not make it out. All at once an idea came into
my head, and I said :

Jim, I have an idea that " ^l;;

((

Phe-e-0-e-e-e-w!" went the prompter's whistle to
change the scene, and Jim and I had to go different
parts of the flies, and I didn't have a chance to tell
him what I had thought.

This was the scene immediately before the ballet,
and we were kept pretty biisy getting ready for the
grand transformation scene, fixing the windlass,
arranging the fly borders, etc., and the machinist was
preparing his magnesium lights to throw on from
above. Jim was working in the gallery over me
adjusting the ropes which were to suspend the fairies
in the la^t scene and I could not speak to him.

The scene was more than half over when the ballet
began to gather at the wings, ready for their scene ;
and a few seconds after I saw Betty come out of the
green room and stand at the wing ift fourth groove,
from which place she was to make her entrance.

She was to dance a Spanish dance in this scene, at
least I think it was a Spanish dance but could not be
very sure; I know a long, light gauze scarf had
something to do with it, and Betty had this scarf
wound round her head and neck as she stood waiting,
and it struck me at the moment that I had never
seer her look half so handsome as she did standing

)uduct
and I
tie into

Htle to
fferent
to tell

ballet,
for the
ndlass,
ist was
>n from
ver me
) fairies
I.

e ballet
scene ;
; of the
groove,
ce.

3ene, at
[ not be
irf had
is scarf
waiting,
I never
tanding

ON THE WATCH.

227

there in her flimsy ballet skirt with that light dia-
phanous mass of white scarf floating about her.

She did not stand there long alone, for the swell,
whom I had not seen since he \vent away with
her, suddenly appeared again, and taking his place
by her side, entered at once into conversation with
her.

I watched them close now, and noticed that altho'
Betty appeared pleased at his attention, she did not
seem quite at her ease, but kept glancing up into
the flies in an anxious manner as if al'raid that Jim or
I was watching her.

I was, that was sure ; but she could not see me as I
was hidden behind the borders; whether Jim was or
not I could not tell, but I saw him out on a little
staging at the extreme back helping the machinist
arrange his lights, and I did not think he could see
her from where he was. • ; ;' ;. > ^ v vri

;fil ;

- '.- ""• 'M-: ■•.;;

...■.t'

'Ji

-« I

(;■,

i-**-

CHAPTER III.

ON FIRE.

The scene soon changed, and Betty did her solo.
Again she wc.s successful, and again she received the
plaudits of the manager and his friends. She was all
flushed and triumphant as she went back to her place
at the wing while the ballet finished, and I saw her
smile proudly as the swell spoke to her.

He did not say much ; but I saw him put his hand
in his pocket, take out a paper and hand it to her
with a smile, and then she gave a little cry of delight,
clasped her hands for a moment, and then suddenly
seizing his hand she pressed it to her lips.

At that instant there was a sudden dazzling stream
of light thrown from above; the lime light had been
turned on the pair with startling -suddenness and
Betty jumped away in aftright at the unexpected
shock.

How can I describe what followed.

The scene was all set for the transformation ; there
were gas jets in all parts of the stage, and Betty in
her terror sprang so near one of them that the light
gauze scarf blew against it, and quicker than tongue
can tell or pen can write her liead and neck were

ON FIRE.

22<»

' solo,
ed the
tvas all
r place
iw her

3 hand
to her
elight,
Idenly

stream
d been
is and
reeled

there

tty in

) light

ongue

X. were

wrapped in flame, and the poor, half-maddened girl
was rushing towards the foot-lights.

A scream of horror and terror broke from all pre-
sent; the poor ballet girls rushed about in. all direc-
tions endeavoring to save their own light clothing
from contact with the fiery element, and the utmost
confusion reigned ; but high above all other sounds
came a fearful cry from the very top of the theatre,
'' My God, I have killed her!"
I involuntarily looked up for an instant and there
stood Jim Harkins on the little platform, sixty feet
above the stage, looking like one beside himself. Some
of the ropes by which the ballet girls were to be sus-
pended hung near him, and before I could even think
he had seized one of tlie longest, sprung from the
platform, and was sliding rapidly down to the stage.
It was a terrible feat for anyone but a practiced acro-
bat, as the rope was at least twenty feet too short, but
love or madness supplied the place of skill, and almost
as quick as thought he slid to the end of the rope,
fell lightly and safely to the stage, and darted toward
the blazing figure.

But he was a moment too late. The swell had
been almost as quick as Jim, only he had paused an
instant to seize the heavy shawl which Betty had left
at the wing when she went on to dance ; and just as
Jim reached the stage the shawl was flung around the
burning girl, and she was thrown to the floor, while
the swell bent over her and endeavored to stifle tho
terriblQ fire.

I. ,«.■'

^30

CHRISTMAS IN THE FLIES.

'SStand back," cried Jim, flirusting the swell asitle
and kneeling beside the now motionless llgure of the
poor girl. '' Oh, my darling ! my darling ! I've mur-
dered you !" and the great, strong man threw himself
down on the stage and sobbed in his agony.

We had got up some tidy sensations at our theatre
during my time, and we had had some of the most
celebrated actors and actresse*' play there ; but never
had there been anything before fo terribly real and
yet so dramatic as the scene that ni ;;ht.

There lay poor Betty motionless almost in the mid-
dle of the stage, with the shawl wrapped closely
around her, and little spirals of smoke from the burnt
dress and charred flesh still curling about her. She
was a fearful sight; her face, neck, and arms were
skinned, blackened with smoke, and fast swelling up;
all that was left of her beautiful hair was a smoking
mass of stumpy little black cinders clinging to her
head, and her dress and underclothes w^ere burnt into
great holes, down to the skin. She w^as quite insen-
sible, but an occasional spasmodic gQsp, and a slight
quivering of the limbs, showed that she w^as alive and
sensible of pain. By her side, crouched down on his
h^iees, his head buried in his hands, and his whole
frame shaking with convidsive sobs, was Jim, with
his coat off and his shirt sleeves rolled up, just as he
had been at work ; and at the back and wings stood
the terrified ballet girls, supernumeraries, and others
looking on in horror and dismay at tlie terrible tra-

ON FIRE.

231

11 aside
e of the
ve mur-
bimself

theatre
le most
it never
eal and

:hemid-

closely

e burnt

r. She

IS were

ng up ;

moking

to her

nt into

B insen-

a slight

ive and

on his

whole

n, with

3t as he

s stood

others

ble tra-

gedy which had been so suddenly enacted befoic
them. It was the most awful, and at the same time
the most dramatic " situation" I had ever seen, and
I could not help thinking so as 1 hurried down out of
the flies.

It had all passed like a flash; and I involuntarily
looked at the wing Avhere I had seen Betty only a
moment before, and could scarcely realise that the
charred, blackened, smoking, disfigured remnant of
humanity before me, was the same happy, joyous,
brilliant creature I bad seen scarce thirty seconds
ago in all the pride of her youth and beauty.

It was a wonderfully short scene to act, altho' a
long one to describe ; and it was all over before I
could get to where Betty was lying. : « ^ i

The first person to regain his presence of mind —
indeed, he seemed to be the only one who had never
lost it — was the swell. He trembled violently, and
seemed greatly agitated, but was as calm and col-
lected as if the burning to death of ballet girls was
an every day aflair with him, and not worth getting
excited about; but it wasn't that; it was his immense
self-control and power of keeping cool under trying
circumstances, and I admired him for it.

*' Here, my good man," he suid, laying his hand on
Jim's arm, *' take her up and bring her into the
green room, lift her carefully, she is terribly burned.
Run for the nearest doctor," he continued to one of
the stage hands standing by, "give him that card

ill

till

CIlRtSTMAS m THE FiJfJS.

'V'.<

and tell him not to lose an instant; and, here, buy a
pound of unslacked lime and a bottle of. linseed oil
from the chemist's on your way back." He put a
card and a sovereign in the man's hand, having first
written on the back of the card " Chalk," "Linseed
Oil," so as to remind him what he was to bring in case
lie should forget the names, which was very possible
in his excited state.

It is surprising how q n'ckly one calm, cool, col-
lected man can restore quiet and order in an excited
crowd : no sooner h}i<* the swell issued his orders than
everybody Jieemed to regain confidence and presence
of mind. Jim lifted Betty tenderly and reverently
in his arms, carried her to the green room and laid
her on a sofa, which some gentle hands had already
covered with shawls and other soft things for her to
lie on.

A doctor was by her side by the time she was laid
on the sofa, for there happened to be one present only
he had been too much scared to say anything before.
Restoratives were applied, and another man sent for
a cooling lotion which the doctor ordered to bathe the
wounds with, and after a little while Betty returned
to something like consciousness ; but she was in dread-
ful agony, groaned and moaned without ceasing, and
could not articulate a word. The doctor said she had
swallowed some of the fire and was scorched internal-
ly so that her recovery was very doubtful ; only he
did not say so in as plain terms, but used some long

ON FIRE.

233

, buy a
eed oil
) put u
n<jj iirwt
[jinseed
;in case
)ossiblo

>ol, col-
excited
H's than
resell CO
erently
ud laid
already
• her to

vas laid
lit only
before,
lent for
ithe th«^
Dturned
1 dread-
ng, and
she had
iternal-
)nly he
ne long

jaw-breaking Latin words which neither he nor any
body else understood ; but we all understood that
poor Betty was in great danger, and altho' the man-
ager dismissed the rehearsal at once, not one of tho
company left the theatre, but all waited anxiously to
hear what the second doctor, who had just arrived,
said. ■": '^■• - ■■'■'.-.'■ ■- --^•■■♦- -r^ ...•...:■-

I had left the green room and was going back to
the flies to get my coat, for I had to break the terrible
news to Betty's mother, when I saw something lying
on the stage near the wing where Betty had been
standing ; it was the note the swell had given her just
before Jim had thrown that fatal light on her; me-
chanically I picked it up and opened it, this was whut
it contained ; ^ " :-:..x/-;:;;i>--.-->'.^:* .>.::-■ :':-.."''-'''^".' ^..' '■-- /> ■■■- ■■/-■-,

West End Theatre,

* Christmas Day.

Dear Harcourt,

Mdlle. Jumpellini leaves me after the New Year,

and I shall be in want of a Columbine ; if your young

protege is only half as pretty and clever as you say —

and I place great confidence in your judgment- -she

is just the girl for me ; and if you are satisfied with

her performance to-night, I authorize you to offer her

£10 a week for three months, and possibly longer.

She must be ready to open with me on 6th January.

"Wishing you the compliments of the season.

Believe me,

Ever 3'ours truly,

Q 0. Baggs.

234

CHRISTMAS IN THE FLIES.

I carried the letter up into the flies with me and
•never took my eyes off it while I put my coat and hat
on. I understood all about that swell now, just as
well as if Betty had explained every word to me her-
self. I could tell what made her go civil and polite
to him, and I knew why she kissed his hand out of
gratitude. YCs, the whole thing came to me just as
clearly as if it had been written out on a piece of
paper; this man had met her at the manager's, and
promissed to get her an engagement at a West End
theatre, where she would get a salary large enough
to enable her to marry; and she had kept it from us
so that we might not be disanpointed if she failed to
get it,~ and have an agreeable surprise if she did. Poor
girl, that innocent desire to surprise us all cost her
her life.

When I returned to the green room, I saw by the
faces of those at the door that there was no hope. The
second doctor had just given his opinion ; he said that
she might live a few hours, but hjer internal injuries
were too severe for her to recover ; and it was very
doubtful whether she would regain her consciousness
or reason before she died.

Poor Jim stood by the softi looking down at her he
so loved, and had expected to make his wife, without
uttering a word or moving b muscle ; what he thought
no man can tell, but his face showed the deep anguish
he felt at the result of his jealous' lit.

I broke the news to Mrs. Langley, who was ill in bed ;

ON FIRE.

235

me and
and hat
just as
ine her-
l polite
out of
I just as
)iece of
i*'s, and
3st End
enough
from us
rt,iled to
d. Poor
!Ost her

by the
pe. The
aid that
injuries
is very
ousness

. her he

without

hought

mguish

in bed :

and leaving my wife with her returned to the theatre,
the doctors having said that Betty must remain
there as moving would kill her. I found everything
pretty much the same as whon I loft : Betty was still
moaning a little but had not spoken, and Jim stood
still looking at her as if trying to impress her features
on his mind so that they never could be erased ; one
of the doctors had gone, and nearly all the company,
finding they could do nothing, had left the theatre ;
Mr. Harcourt was not in the green room, but I knew
he was in the manager's room with him waiting for
the end.

He had not long to wait.

A little before midnight she grew more restless,
and seemed to be struggling to speak; the doctor
touched Jim on the shoulder and said,

" Whisper to her.**

He obeyed like one iu a dream, and putting his
lips close to her ear said,

" Betty, do you know me ? "

She turned her head to him and put out her hand ;
she could not see, for her eyes^ were almost burnt out,
and were bandaged down. Jim took the little, scorched
hand in his and pressed it to his lips ; something like
a smile passed across her face, and with a great
effort she articulated, very faintly, but distinctly,
one word,

"Darling!**

And with that one word her spirit took its flight.

236

CHRISTMAS IN THE FLIES.

'j'^''

There isn't much left to tell. I found out after-
wards that Mr. Harcourt was a clerk in the War
Office, and also a very able critic, and had great in-
fluence with the mana,iijer8, all of whom liked to have
him visit them at their houses — as ho always re-
fused to go behind the scenes. He had met Betty
two or three times at our manager's house, and taken
quite a fancy to her. She had told him of her en-
gagement and her hopes, and he had promised her that
if she made a success in the new pantomime he would
try to get her an engagement in a West End theatre
where she could earn enough to enable her to marry
and still support her mother comfortably. He had
succeeded sooner ard easier than he had expected,
on account of Mdlle. Jumpellini breaking her con-
tract with Mr. Baggs, and had come to the theatre to
tell Betty her good fortune ; the rest we know.

Jim Harkins never went back to the flies. He was
soon told the whole story, and it seemed to break his
heart to think he should have doubted Betty, and
have caused her death. He loafed about London for
a few weeks and then went to sea, and was lost in a
storm some three years after in the Indian Ocean.

That was years ago, and I am rather too stiff
in the back and weak in the knees now to tend the
curtain, and I expect I shall soon have to give it up ;
but never a Christmas comes around but I think of
my sweet little Betty and that memorable Christmas
I spent in the flies.

t after-
le War
;reat in-
to have
rays re-
t Betty
id taken
her en-
her that
e would
theatre
marry
He had
xpected,
tier con-
leatre to

He was
reak his
tty, and
ndon for
lost in a
3cean.
too stiff
tend the
ve it up ;

think of
hristmas

■ ^ 4-

Ijorftrj,

A CHRISTMAS PRAYKR.

Blessed Saviour, to whose praise

Dedicate we all this day,

Teach me how my thoughts to raise

Mould my lips the form to pray ;

Guide me to that bl6st abode,

The Heaver of which Thou art a part,

Instil in me its holy love.

Make it Christmas in my heaj't.

As the sages did of yore

By thy manger bend the kne3,

Asking simply to adore.

To behold and worship Thee ;

So let me in spirit call

A vision of Thee as Thou art,

Saviour, Friend, Redeemer, All,

Make it Christmas in my heart.

'%'\

240

DREAMLAND.

Make me" feel that Thou wilt hear
My humble sueing at thy feet ;
Make me conscious Thou art near
Whatever danger I may meet ;
Oh give me strength to cling to Thee
So that we never more may part,
Then shall I know 'twill truly be
Eternal Christmas in my heart.

^i!i

^^^^^■HL.. ..

y^rwxT

^^m

Xi U W

^^^K

)

^^■L, ik

DEEAMLAND.

Oh, call me not back to my earthly abode,
Prom roaming through dreamland with those that I

love ;
Oh, break not the spell by which shadowy thread
I was linked witli the loved ones, the absent and
. r" • -; f^''.?:-^ _ ^j^'-' ' dead.

I dreamt of my boyhood, so joyous and free
Ere the cares of the world had grown heavy on me,

Forgot W8S my sorrow, unheeded my pain,
In the bright, sunny days of my boyhood again.

I dreamt of my mother, so gentle and kind.
My sister, whose light laugh threw care to the wind ;
My father's fond smile, and my brother's loud

cheer, ^
Now where are the loved ones? Sad echo sighti;

"Where?"

ME OLD FOLKS' CHRISTMAS.

241

From the home of my childhood I've faded away,
A stranger and exile I wander to-day,

So let me rove on in the shadowy sphere, ^
And call me not back to the world and its care.

THE OLD FOLKS' CHRISTMAS.

se that I

ove;

y thread

sent and

lead.

je ■'^^■■■^ "■
y on me,

gain.

he wind ;

3r's loud

leer, ^

10 sightly

*' Draw up to the fire, old woman,
And as the sparks fly away
We'll watch once more together,
The coming of Christmas Day.
It's the seventy-second coming
We've so watched for through life,
As children, friends or lovers ; .
And sixty as man and wife.

^' It does seem hard, old woman,
Not one should be left behind
Out of all we have loved and lost,
Out of all whoVe been good and kind.
Death's sickle has been o'er busy,
And our branches lopped away,
Only the old and withered trunks
Have been allowed to stay.

ifii

SIM

242

THE OLD FOLK^ CHRISTMAS.

' Our boys and girls whose Spring time
We hoped would support our Fall,
Have been reaped to the Heavenly garner,
And we have outlived them all.
The merry little children
Who have played about your knee.
We thought would close our eyelids,
But God said it might not be.

" E'en our darling, bright-eyed Annie,
The youngest, last and best,
Just budding into womanhood —
We've laid her, too, to rest.
Last Christmas she was with us
So joyous, gay and kind—
Oh, would that we'd been taken,
And she been left behind!

" It has often soothed our sorrow
And chased away our pain.
To sit by the dancing fire
And see Christmas come again ;
But now we are,, oh, so lonely,
We can only humbly pray
* Father in thy great mercy
Suffer us not to stay ;

ner.

ma OLD POLES' CHRISTMAS.

^ Thou hast seen fit to leave us
The last of all our race,
To gain Thy Heavenly presence,
To viow Thy gracious face ;
Grant that the time may shorten
Which Thou hast yet to give,
But also grant, in mercy,
That when we die we live ' "

f v H* T* 'i* 'n

I ■

Hand in hand together
As they'd sat long ago,
The aged couple waited ;
Counting the seconds slow,
As creeping round the dial
The minute hand held its way,
Towards the hour which to^ien'd
The coming of Christmas day.

•M

And as each second fleeted

Into time's^eternal space.

They felt it brought them nearer

The finish of their race j

And they bowed their heads in silence

While their lips were moved in praj'er,

In that heart and soul communion

Only God and his angels hear.

244

Mirsia

The tall old clock in the corner
The hour of midnight lolled,
Slowly and grandly it's refrain
Upward and onward rolled .
And the aged heads bent lower,
And the hands wore tighter clasped,
As they counted each stroke of the hour,
All to the very last.

Then, as the bells in concert

Bung out in wild delight.

Heralding in the morning

Their spirits took their flight.

No more of weary longing

To be with loved ones 'neath the sod ;

They had -gone to spend their Christmas

In Heaven with their God.

MUSIC.

There is music in the air,
As in zephyr breeze it blows,
Telling of opening Spring time
Ending the reign of snows.
There is music in the blast,
As in mighty wrrth it breaks
Over th<^ lakes and oceans,
Crested with foamy flakes.

MUSIC.

245

There is music in the brooklet
As it trickles to the river ;
There is music in the noble stream
Which floweth on for ever.
There is music in the ocean
When in thunder's tone it speaks,
And raiseth up it's haughty crest
In foamcapped, towering peaks.

'^W

There is music in a clump of trees
In the^calm, still twilight hour,
When every happy little bird
Is flitting to its bower.
1 here is music in the forest
When the wind, with giant might
Strides fiercely through and leaves
It's pride, all shattered in a night.

iii

\ \

There is music all around us
Above and underground,
A solemn voice of warning
In every form and sound.
In every little pebble
We kick away from sight,
TheVe isnatui'e's music ringing
If we only hear aright

246

GHOSTS ON THE WINDOW PANE.

God's voice is always near us,
In every sound we hear ;
In the loudest roar, or faintest sigh,
That falleth on the ear.
Sometimes in mighty accents
It tells us of His might,
Sometimes in peaceful whispers
It wooes us to His sight.

GHOSTS ON THE WINDOW PANE.

The ghosts of the leaves have come agais,
And bloom once more on my wirdow-pane;
In tiny leaflet or slender vine,
Or giant leaves on branches fine
The frost takes shape ; in fancy's eye
Like the forest groves of days gone by ;
And Summer's glory I see again.
Traced in white on my window pane.

The ghosts of the flowers once more are seen,
And bud anew in the crystal's sheen ;
The rose, the lily, and forge t-me not,
And dairies grown in some shelter'd spot ;
The buttercup bright, and pansy fair,
Fancy can see ail pictured there,
In liie ghostly landscape traced ih white
On my wiudow^ane by the frost last night.

THE CHILD'S GRAVE.

24t

U2,

^r-pane

Fancy again can see the grove

I've wandered through with those I love j

In fancy I again inhale

The perfume sweet of some flow'ry vale,

The ghost of which so deftly drawn

I find on my wiridow-pane at dawn ;

Traced as no artists' hand can trace

In all the beauty of nature's grace.

So, when Wintry age shall on me lie,
And my Summer of life has flitted by,
On the glass of memory may there be
Some leaves and flowers traced for me ;
Ghostly traces, but memories yet
Of happy days I would not forget ;
And thoughts to teach me so to die
That Summer may bloom beyond the sky.

''i

5 seen,

ot;

be
light.

THE CHILD'S GRAVE.

The clear cold air of Christmas-Day
Was resting on the churchyard scene.
When two aged figures bent their way
The snow clad graves and tombs between ;
Until they reached a sheltered spot
Beneath a weeping willow's shade,
Where trimly kept and unforgot
An infant's narrow grave was laid.

248

THE CHILD'S GRAVE.

Only a tiny piece of clay,
Only a little mound of earth,
Only a baby passed away,
And gone back to its mother earth.
Brief was the joy or pain it knew,
Swiftly ran out life's feeble sand.
Little of life's faint breath it drew
Then passed back to its spirit land.

Great was the void it left behind
In the two hearts that loved it so —
Father and mother ; who can find
Words in which their grief to show.
It was tbeir first, their only one.
And granted to them late in years,
No more were sent, that one is gone.
And they bedew its gr^ve with tears.

The heads were grey which o'er its grave
Bent down to kiss the unconscious sod,
The hearts were green which humbly prayed
To meet this loved one with their God.
But while they wept a spirit band
Seemed in the air to echo sound,
And tell them of that golden land
Where all the weary's wounds are bound j

(ioD In nature.

249

To whisper words that he who* came
On Christmas day so long ago,
To save the world from sin and shame,
Would heal their grief and quench their woe ;
That in the land beyond the sky,
Where peace and joy for ever reign,
Where no tear drop shall dim the eye,
Their darling they shall meet again.

GOD IN NATUEE.

Out in the sunlight, the broad burning sunlight,
I think of God's justice. His power I scan ;

I trace in each sunbeam that comes with its bright
gleam,
The course of His anger on renegade man.

The sun brightly glowing, seems evermore growing,

And ready, in anger, to rush from the sky ;
Its rays seem to warn me, and caution and learn
mo,

Of the fate which behind hard, stern justice doth lie.

And then each bright beam doth suddenly seem.
To be welded and formed into Justice^s stern sword ;

And the winds seem to breathe " Repent and believe,
Or dread the just anger and wrath of the Lord."

■ A^4i.^fc^kU.

^50

00 D IN NATURE,

Out in the moonlight, the calm gentle moonlight,
I think of God's mercy and pity for men;

And I watch the soft beam, which like silver dotk
seem,
And calm thoughts and holy come over me then.

Then I call up the story of the Angel of Glory,
Who came in the moonlight to shepherds of yore ;

And told them of Him who would save them from sin
And guard them from evil and death evermore.

While such thoughts come o'er me, the moon seems
before me,
To grow and expand to the home of the blest ;
And an iangel of lightness sings out through the
bidghtness,
<* Come home, thou poor sinner, and fold thee to rest."

Then the thin slender rays seem, to my amaze,
To form in a ladder which leads to the skies,

And I hear the soft call which, like fairy notes fall,
*' Awake thou worn soul, and on Mercy arise."

Thus whether by sunlight, or under the starlight,

God's attributes ever before us are shown ;
His Justice, bright gloaming, like sunlight is stream-

While the moon in mild Mercy, leads up to His
Throne.

)n light,
nlver dolk
me then.

3 of yore ;
1 from sill
rmore.

3011 seems

)lest ;
ough tlie

Je to rest."

izo,

es,

tes fall,
•ise."

•light,

3 stream-

) to His

mis DYING CHILD.

251

THE DYING CHILD.

But how can she be dead, nurse,
What do you mean by dead ;
For good people can never die
So mamma always said ;
And mamma never told a fib
She was so good and true,
Why has she gone away nurse,
And left me here with you ?

You say that she's in Heaven, nurse,
But how am I to know ;
And why can't I be with her,
I'm sure I want to go.
You say she looks down on me
With loving, watchful eye ;
If so, why can't I see her
However hard I try ?

You say the stars are eyes, nurse

Of dead ones whom we love,

Who nightly keep their silent watch

Upon us from above.

If so, l*m sure the evening star

My mamma's eye must be,

For never mind which way I turn

It alwajrs looks at me.

r ■

inigii

/-.

252

THE DYWG CBtLD,

So lay me by the window, nurse,
Where I can watch its ray ;
And while it's shining on me
I'll lift my hands and pray,
That God will kindly take me too
Into his Heavenly rest.
And let me go to sleep once more
Upon my mother's breast.

I heard the doctor say, nurse,
1 was about to die,
Oh, how I hope I soon may be
With my mamma on high ;
And when J am a star, nurse.
In the Heaven above so blue,
I'll try to shine bright every night
Just to look down on you.

When you see a little star.
With the evening star shall be,
Nestling quite close beside it
You'll know that star is me j
And I'll ask mamma to help me
To watch o'er you, and pray
For the one who's been so kind to me,
Since she was called away.

So do not cry for me, nurse,
I shall be happier far up there.
Sleeping again in mamma's arms
And floating in the air,

fli^ PAdtORY GIRL.

See how the star grows larger
And wings come long and bright ;
I See my mamma's face now
So nursey dear, good night.

THE FACTORY GlEL.

She wasn't the least bit pretty,

And only the least bit gay ;

And she walked with a firm elastic tread.

In a business-like kind of way.

Her dress was of coarse, brown woollen,

Plainly but neatly made,

Trimrfed with some common ribbon

Or cheaper kind of braid ;

And a hat with a broken feather,

And shawl of a modest plaid.

Her face seemed worn and weary.

And traced with lines of care,

A.8 her nut-brown tresses blew aside

Ip the keen December air ,'

\ ot she was not old, scarce twenty.

And her form was flill and sleek.

But her h'^avy eye, and tired step.

Seemed of wearisome toil to speak ; ,

She worked as a common factory girl

For two ^^ollars and a half a w^k,

254

THE FACTORY GlttL.

Ten hoiirs a day of labor
In a close, ill-lighted room ;
Machinery's buzz for music,
Waste gas for sweet perfume ;
Hot stifling vapors in summer,
Chill draughts on a winter's day,
iRo pause for rest or pleasure
On pain of being sent away ;
So ran her civilized serfdom —
Four cents an hour the pay.

" A fair day's work," say the masters,
And " a fair day's pay," say the men ;
There's a strike — a rise in wages.
What effect to the poor girl then ?
A harder struggle than ever
The honest path to keep ;
And so sink a^little lower.
Some humbler homo to seek ;
For living is dearer — her wages,
Two dollars and a half a week.

t^.',.

A man gets thrice the money,
But then " a man's a man,
** And a'moman surely can^t expect
"To earn as much as he can."
Of his hire the laborer's worthy,

PLEASANT REVERIES.

265

Be that laborer who it may
If a woman can do a man's work
She should have a man's full pay,
Not to be left to starve — or sin —
On forty cents a day.

Two dollars and a half to live on,

Or starva on, if you will ;

Two dollars and a half to dress on,

And a hungry mouth to fill ;

Two dollars and a half to lodge on

In some wretched hole or den,

Where crowds are huddled together,

Girls, and women, and men ;

If she sins to escape her bondage

Is there room for wonder then.

(«.

PLEASANT REVERIES.

'Tis sweet from earth to wander,

Through fancy's realm to roam ;
On former joys to ponder,

Or build a future home.
How old scenes rise before us,

And fill the visioned sight ;
Old mem'ries come back o'er us

With rapturous delight.
Some long forgotten feeling

Comes filling us with joy,
And o'er the senses stealing

Makes bliss without alloy.
/

ite

Pleasa^tt revMieS.

Or far into the future

Is cast our dreaming gaze,
And a new born scene, far happier,

Arises from its haze.
We hear the rippling fountain,

We smell the balmy flowers ;
We see the stately mountain.

And cool Arcadian bowers ;
In fancy's mind we picture

Perpetual realms of bliss,
WE^ fond hearts beat together

And seal love with a kiss.

«W«i

■ •.at.