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JOHN REMINGTON

MARTYR

MRS. G. R. ALDEN (Pans^)

AND

MRS. C. M. LIVINGSTON

Authors of
Profiles," " Divers Women," " Modern Prophets," " Aunt
Hannah and Martha and John," etc.

ILLUSTRATED

PHOPERTY OF THE UMARX
UNfVER»fTY Of WATtiaOO

TORONTO

3ll£II-I-IK7«T BRIGGS

29-33 Richmond Street West
MoNTRBAL : C. W. COAXES Halifax : S. F. HUESTIS

{

Entrrid, according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one
thousand ei((ht hundred and ninety-two, by William Briqos,
Toronto, in the Office of the Minister of Afrriculture^ at Ottawa.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

A NARROW DOOR

CHAPTER II.

MADE OVER . ^

CHAPTER III.

TO THE .''RONT

CHAPTER IV.

HOW ONE WORKER WAS MADE . --

55
CHAPTER V.

A PROMISE FULFILLED .... 5^

CHAPTER VI.

"it HAS HAPPENED"

79
CHAPTER VII.

is there any help ? . . . ^ go

CHAPTER VIII.

" IN BONDS " .

••.... 105

CONTENTS,

CHAPTER IX.

A MODEL CHURCH 119

CHAPTER X.

ONE EVENING I32

CHAPTER XI.
"no!" 146

CHAPTER XI I.

LITTLE JOHN 1^7

CHAPTER XIII.

A LITTLE TRAVELER lyo

CHAPTER XIV.

SUSPENSE 186

CHAPTER XV.
"we've GOT him!" 199

CHAPTER XVI.
presentiments 213

CHAPTER XVII.
complications 227

CHAPTER XVIII.

an "APRIL fool" 241

CHAPTER XIX.
midnight r%<^

COi\ ThWT.S.

CHAPTER XX.

PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS

CHAPTER XXI.

PLAIN SPEAKING

• • .

CHAP'J'ER XXH.

TWO "simpletons" .

CHAPTER XXUI.

fores HA DO WINGS

CHAPTER XXIV.

" IT IS VERY strange! "

• •

CHAPTER XXV.

AT LAST

CHAPTER XXVI.

selfishness and self-ahxegation

CHAPTER XXVII.

((

the night comeih"

• •

CHAPTER XXVIII.

the upper chamber

CHAPTER XXIX.

ottissey first " .

• •

270

-^85

300

3^5

330

345

360

376

390

403

JOHN REMINGTON. MARTYR.

CHAPTER I.

ANARROWDOOR.

'I17HEN John Remington's city church rtcd
VV invited him to resign after a brief pas-
torate, he was dismayed for a time ; but an un-
swerving trust, aided by youth and a sanguine
temperament, soon triumphed over despondency.

" It must be all for thf^ best or it would not
have happened," he told himself, " for I was true
to my convictions of duty ; I could not act differ-
ently in the points wherein I offended if I were to
go over it again, unless, indeed, I failed in tact. I
might have spoken with more wisdom often
had I known how, I daresay, but, after all, any
preacher who maintains the principles of total
abstinence and enmity to the rum traffic will not

JOHN REMINGTON, MAKTYK.

be tolerated long in that church. Perhaps that is
the way it is to be purified. Man after man is to
go to them preaching the truth fearlessly, allowing
himself to be humiliated and cast out — an utter
sacrifice, if need be. Why not ? The servant is
not above his Lord."

And so the young minister was not utterly cast
down when he found himself established for a
time, on a farm in the home of his boyhood, with
the old aunt who had reared him. It was truly
blessed to cast off all care — to harness old Dolly
and jog through the green country with his wife,
to lie under the trees in the orchard and read, to
watch the sunrisings and sunsettings, to rest, soul
and body, and let nature minister to him and whis-
per comforting things by means of sweet breezes,
songs of birds and breath of flowers. What other
medicine is half so soothing to a wounded spirit ?

There was another new joy, too, to enp^age his
thoughts, something that had never come, into a
summer heretofore — little John.

So the days flew by ; happy golden time when
husband and wife had leisure for long, pleasant
talks, and opportunity to discover and admire all
the marvelous tricks and ways which a first baby
is sure to possess ; the days which Aunt Hannah
had long a^o dreamed of, when John should bring
home a wife, and tV wide old house should be
filled with a pi asant ustle, with snatches of song
and laughter and bab) cooingit. Aunt Hannah

■ r

A NARROW DOOR.

;ing a

real

was happy. It was almost as good as bei
grandmother.

John Remington had felt quite hopeful that by
the time the month of rest he had allowed himself
should expire there would be open doors from which
to choose a field of labor. He had sent letters to
friends in all directions and asked brethren in the
ministry to bear him in mind for a vacant field.
But as the month stretched itself into three and
no door opened, even so much as a crack, his heart
would grow heavy at times, despite a strong cour-
acre. It came about that the chief interest of the
day centered in mail-time. Each morning he
waited for the fateful hour with feverish eagerness,
G.i.ly to feel the heart-sickness which belofigi to
hope deferred. Every letter was sure to begin
with ** I regret," etc. By some strange providence
there seemed to be no niche for him. Here he
was, young ' strong, prepared for work, and no
work wanted him. He grew almost irritable at
the situation, and occasionally a half-suspicion
crossed his mind that perhaps his radical views
had led some of his conservative brethren, strong
in influence, to decline to speak che magic word
that might open doors to important fields, lest it
be not quite prudent. Indeed, he had heard that
one of them remarked of him, ** When that young
man gets the corners rubbed off and learns not
to run against long-established prejudices, he will
make a useful minister."

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

The waiting and the suspense and the sense of
humiliation became almost intolerable at times to
this sensitive soul. No one can understand the
keenness of the trial unless he has experienced it.
The lawyer and the physician waiting for clients
and patients expect delays and know nothing of
the wounded spirit of one who has equipped him-
self for the work of the ministry, and then, his
whole soul filled with zeal and energy, finds him-
self idle, not even an opportunity to give a sample
of his preaching.

He thought within himself that he would offer
to go as a missionary to the frontier but for the
fact that his wife's mother had long been an in-
valid, and looked forward to frequent visits from
her daughter as one of her chief joys. He could
not think it right to put two thousand miles
between them.

Martha Remington entered her husband's study
one morning — a cosey little loom sacred to the
memory of Aunt Hatinah's husband — and found
her minister leaning on the table, his bowed head
in his hands. Her loving brown eyes were clear-
sighted. She read at once that an additional bur-
den had fallen upon him, although he raised his
head quickly and forced a smile.

" What is it, John } " she asked.

" Only the old story, dear. I had strong hopes
of being invited to the church in Renwick, but
this letter tells me that they have secured Graham,

A NARROW DOOR.

:nse of
mes to
nd the
iced it.
clients
ling of
d him-
en, his
Is him-
sample

d offer
for the
an in-
:s from
i could
miles

study
to the

found
I head
i clear-
al bur-
ed his

hopes
k, but
raham,

of my class. It is selfish to fret over that. If I
were in, Graham would be out."

** No, don't fret over anything," said the bright-
faced young wife, "but be glad that we are to-
gether and well. Aunt Hannah loves to have us
with her. Why can you not wait patiently }
something will surely come before long. Here it
comes now, perhaps. There is Peter with the let-
ters," and she tripped downstairs to meet him,
soon returning with a letter.

She stood at the back of her husband's chair,
looking over his shoulder while he read, expectancy
on her face.

The letter was from Dr. Brown, a prominent
divine who had now taken it upon himself to lect-
ure Mr. Remington in several closely written
pages.

" You will find, my young brother," he wrote,
"as you grow older, thit the pulpit is not the place
for riding hobbies. Your business is to preach the
gospel, and not attempt to mould men's opinions
upon all subjects or to controvert them. Dissen-
sion in the Church is ever to be deplored, and he
who would be most useful must study the things
that make for peace. To speak plainly, my dear
brother, you must avoid that narrowness of mind
and uncharity of spirit which sit in judgment upon
all opinions that do not coincide with your own,
and which render you an unsafe man in an import-
ant church. If you wish to succeed, don't meddle

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

too much with certain issues. Steer clear of the
liquor and wage questions. Discussing them can
do no good, but will create strong prejudice against
you. Of course, things are not just as any of us
would like to have them, but we must make the
best of it. We must do our work and let others
solve perplexing problems pertaining to the laws,"
etc.

The letter ended with a statement that the
church at Stony Ridge had been in a dying con-
dition for some time, but that it needed resuscita-
ting, and was just the thing for him if he was
anxious for work. The Board would give two
hundred dollars toward the salary if the people
would raise two hundred more. Of course, it
would require self-denial to live on such a sum,
but it could be done, as he himself had proved
some forty years ago, and youth was the time to
endure hardship.

"This means," said John Remington, as he
folded the letter, *• that Dr. Brown thinks I should
be starved into more moderation of spirit. He
says not a word concerning two churches to
which I asked tc be introduced. He calls my
denunciation of sin * riding a hobby.* He
means that I should be tolerant toward church-
members who rent buildings for liquor saloons,
but I will never, so help me God, church or no
church, life or death, cease to call sin by its right

•I

name.

>»

A NARROW DOOR.

of the
:m can
Lgainst
J of us
ke the
others
laws,"

at the
ig con-
uscita-
ie was
^e two
people
rse, it
1 sum,
roved
me to

as he
)hould

He
les to
|ls my

He
lurch-
lloons,
lor no
right

"Amen !" said his wife, folding both arms about
his neck.

There was silence between them for a minute,
then Martha said :

** I'm afraid I can't get up any right frame of
mind toward Dr. Brown. I find myself wanting
to say like those naughty children, long ago : * Go
up, thou bald heads'"

** Don't yield to it, dear, else two bears named
Spite and Gloom will come out of the woods and
devour you," her husband said, as he reached
and brought her face round between his two hands
close to his own. "Dearest, we must rise above
all this. We must. If our religion is genuine,
it will be proved in just such times as we are
passing through this summer."

" Yes, I know we must. But, John, don't go to
that little back Stony-something place where he
wants to banish you. Don't I Go to Patagonia
or the Hawaiian Islands first. Don't be ordered
about by him as if he were Pope." And the eyes
of the minister's wife were not soft as she said it.

Her husband's eyes were half-amused, half-sad,
as he looked fondly down at her.

'• Perhaps, dear, Stony Ridge must come into
our lives to transfigure them, to make you and me
able to re-present our Lord."

" O ! John, you do not need it. You are good
already. But me — I shall never have any grace
to boast of."

i i

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" May you never ! " said John.
" But you really will not think of going there,
to a forlorn little place like that } "

" Not if the Master sent me word to go ? "
" But he would not send word by Dr. Brown."
" O, Martha ! "

An old church may be a picturesque object, and
it may not. It depends upon whether it be of
stone with moss and ivy creeping over turrets and
towers, or whether it be a wooden, box-like struct-
ure, streaked and weather-beaten, with dilapidated
roof, broken windows and tumble-down steps.

Of the latter sort was the one church in the
straggling village of Stony Ridge. In its best
da^s it could have laid claim to nothing higher
than respectability, as it belonged to a denomina-
tion which, solid and true though it be, does not
suffer from an excess of architectural taste. A
wide-spreading elm had done what it could to
soften the bareness and squareness of the build-
ing, and there used to be green grass in front,
but it was now grown up to burdock and Canada
thistles. The forlornness of it all expressed as
plainly as words could, the discouraged state of
the church. In fact, the whole village was dis-
couraged. Death had taken the old stand-bys,
others had removed to the cities, and young people
seemed to make it the one aim of their lives to
get out of Stony Ridge. So it turned out that

.S"

A NARROW DOOR.

there,

wn.

ct, and
be of
Its and
struct-
)idated

)S.

in the
s best
higher
omina-
es not
e. A
uld to
build-
front,
anada
sed as
ate of
IS dis-
id-bys,
people
ves to
t that

■A

■■i

1
.»

;

the maintenance of the church, which once was
strong and prosperous, now depended upon a few
faint and feeble-hear.ed folk who seemed to have
lost ambition to do the little they could. The
congregation had dwindled to a mere handful, and
when at last the old minister died, little, if any
effort had been made to secure another. The
church had been closed for many months now,
and the little parish had become quite accustomed
to silent Sabbaths.

On one of those summer Sabbath afternoons an
old woman came out of a gray old house and took
her way across the fields in the direction of the
church. She cast furtive glances about her, as if
to make sure that no prying eyes were watching,
then pulled a key from her pocket and fitted it
into the rusty lock of the church door. Entering,
she locked it behind her and walked slowly down
the aisle to a pew at the farther end. If Mrs.
Blake's neighbors had known that she came often
to the lonely church and spent an hour in silent
worship, they would have shaken their heads and
murmured : " She's queer."

This afternoon she opened her old Bible to well-
known passages — texts of revered ministers who
had long been gone. Memory brought back in-
structing or comforting words treasured through
the years. . As she mused over them her soul was
uplifted and nourished as when she had first heard
them. She opened her hymn-book and read

ihi

;

I 'i

|!i

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

several hymns, and then, although her lips made
no sound, refreshed her heart by singing the hymn
beginning, " I love thy church, O God," to the
sweetly flowing tune of Seir.

So many memories the old tune stirred. She
lived over the long past years. She was a girl
again in the choir. Over there was David's seat.
He used to watch her while she sang, then wait
for her and walk home through the meadows.
There she and David stood when they were mar-
ried, and there at last under the pulpit lay dear
David in his long sleep, and she heard again, as
she heard it that day, the low, sweet singing as if
from far off : "I know that my Redeemer lives."
Here was a little footstool that each baby sat on
when it toddled first to church. They were all
gone now — old minister, babies and David ; only
the dear church was left, and there were rumois
that it was to be sold. Must it be}

She fell on her knees and poured out her griefs
and fears in prayer. It was the experience of the
old prophets finding words again, for, regardless of
all restraints, her voice, broken and pleading,
sounded through the empty church :

" I have loved the habitation of thy house and
the place where thine honor dwelleth. . . .
Why is the house of God forsaken ? Hear my
prayer, O Lord, and let my cry come unto thee."

Was the shaft of light from the setting sun
which streamed through the dusty window and

A NARROW DOOR.

rested like a halo upon the bowed gray head an
earnest of the blessing that was to come ?

A few days afterward John Remington stood
one Saturday afternoon in the church at Stony
Ridge. The sun streamed in through unblind^d
windows, revealing walls stained by leaks in the
roof, bare floors and long lengths of rusty stove-
pipe in all their forlornness. The pulpit was high,
with steep steps ; the cushion worn and faded.
Could anything be more wretched, thought the
young minister.

Not so did it appear to Mrs. Blake, who was
acting the part of sexton. The old church was
glorified in her eyes, for once more there stood in
it one of God's servants. Her prayer had been
answered, her heart sang for joy, her face shone.

"The very dust is sort o' precious," she mur-
mured, as she shook out her dusting-rag.

Mrs. Blake had trudged many a mile that week
to spread the notice far and wide that there would
be preaching on the following Sabbath. When
the morning had really come, and a respectable
congregation were gathered, she sat trembling
with delight as she joined her quavering voice in
the first hymn. Surely it was a day to sing —

** How pleasant, how divinely fair,
O Lord of hosts, thy dwellings are."

The remnants of a choir had been mustered,
and they had asked the privilege of selecting the

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

ill

!1 t

first two hymns lest the strange minister might
chance upon a tune which was not in their reper-
toire. The first two lines were such a sarcasm on
the dreary surroundings that Mr. Remington for-
got where he was, and found himself smiling. But
then Mrs. Blake as she sang had no reference to
earthly " dwellings." It was the -nseen and the
beyond.

The sermon was simple and earnest, suited to
the needs of the hearers and refreshing to the
heart of at least one old saint as cold water to a
thirsty traveler.

At the close of service Mr. Remington laid be-
fore the congregation the proposition of the Board
that if the church would raise two hundred dollars
it should be supplemented by two hundred more
to secure preaching at least a part of the time.

'* Do not suppose, my friends," he said, '* that I
have selfish motives in this. I am simply here to
help you get on your feet again."

There was the usual long silence with which
any proposition is met in some country churches.
Then Deacon Graves, a farmer, with small eyes
close together, who made a good living and had
money in the bank, said he didn't see how it was
to be done ; that there were only a few in that
church to bear all the burdens. He was willing
to do his part — and that would be an infinitesimal
part — but winter would be coming on before long,
and it would take a good deal of wood to warm the

A NARROW DOOR.

r might
ir reper-
casm on
;ton for-
ig. But
rence to
and the

uited to
5 to the
ter to a

laid be-
le Board
d dollars
ed more

ime.

"that I

here to

h which
lurches,
all eyes
and had
w it was

in that
willing

itesimal
)re long,

arm the

old place. And why was it not just as well to
read a sermon at home as it was to be at so much
expense that they were not able to meet ?

Deacon Graves had been the mouthpiece of
that church for years. What he opposed could
not succeed. In another moment a little wizened-
up man who had just life enough to make motions
would be sure to pop up and say, '* I move we ad-
journ," and the short fat man by his side who
always did that work would say in a wheezy voice,
" I second the motion." A few scared hands
would be half-way lifted in assent, and the thing
would be done.

In the silence a tall, white-haired woman, with
strong features and youthful eyes, stood up and
began to speak. There was a decided sensation.
The sisters' voices were never heard in the con-
claves of that church. It was Mrs. Blake. But
what was she saying ? Like a prophetess of old
her voice rang out, clear, and with a sort of ma-
jesty which deep feeling produces in the voices of
some persons.

"How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord of
hosts. My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for
the courts of the house of the Lord : my heart
and my flesh crieth out for the living God. . . .
Blessed are they that dwell in thy house ; they
will be still praising thee. . . . For a day in thy
courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be
a doorkeeper in the house of my God than to dwell

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTVR.

in the tents of wickedness. . . . For the Lord
God is a sun and shield : the Lord will give grace
and glory : no good thing will he withhold from
them that walk uprightly. . . . Forsake not the
assembling of yourselves together ; . . , We will
not forsake the house of God. Brothers and
sisters," she added, " these words say all that is in
my heart far better than I could. I will be glad
to give fifty dollars of the two hundred if you will
make up the rest ; and I'll divide my wood with
the church, too. It won't be a burden ; it'll be a
dear privilege."

Amazement sat on every face. No amount of
good old-fashioned manners could hinder every eye
in that church from turning itself to rest upon
Mother Blake. They all knew she was poor.
She had worn the same faded shawl and old bon-
net — always, it seemed. How could she give so
much ? It was just because of wearing the old
shawl and bonnet that she could. Not one, even
of the most inquisitive of Stony Ridge dwellers,
knew that Mrs. Blake had a well-to-do niece,
whose benevolence supplied her each year with
fifty dollars for clothing.

By means of much skillful management on the
part of the minister, which would have done credit
to an accomplished financier, and some effective
exhortations on the duty of each one to give some-
thing, if it were but a dime, and to give as they
had been prospered, a little more than the required

A NARROW DOOR.

he Lord

ve grace

)ld from

; not the

We will

lers and

hat is in

be glad

you will

)od with

t'll be a

aount of

:very eye

jst upon

as poor.

old bon-

give so

the old

ne, even

Iwellers,

niece,

sar with

on the
le credit
effective
^e some-

as they
required

amount was pledged, in sums of from one to twenty
dollars, Deacon Graves giving exactly ten times as
much as he ever had before. Some of the officers
waked up, too, and asked the minister to preach
to them as long as he could.

Mr. Remington was one of those men who can
not sec a broken-down anything, whether it were
a church or a man, without having his sympathies
enlisted at once to try to save. After a month of
preaching on Sabbath and visitation about t^he
surrounding country, he felt assured that there
was a future for the church, especially as it was
quite certain that a factory was to be established
there at an early day. He began to ponder upon
ways and means for improving the building. His
mind nlled with the irlea, he strolled out one
morning to take a look at the dilapidated struct-
ure. Gazing up at it reflectively, he became con-
scious of the presence of another person. The
two men were not acquainted, though each knew
the other at a glance. Mr. Remington knew that
the rather stout man with florid complexion
and iron-gray hair and beard was Mr. Hargrave,
owner of large quarries and dealer in stone in
the city he had himself just left, and Mr. Har-
grave knew the history of the Kensett Square
Church and the reasons for the young pastor's
dismissal.

Mr. Hargrave had come up to Stony Ridge to
look after an old farm to which he had lately fallen

iii'

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

' t

heir, and to consider the feasibility of establishing
a quarry on some of its granite hills.

*• Pretty well played out, isn't it ? " he said,
nodding toward the church, after they had shaken
hands and introduced themselves.

"Yes," Mr. Remington replied, "but it is not
hopeless. They tell me the frame is good. Some
new shingles and paint would make a vast differ-
ence with it. The steps need repairing, too. It
is strange somebody has not done that before. A
few boards and nails would make that all right in
a short time. I could do it myself. I am going to
try to help them to some repairs — raise a little
money for them, if possible,"

Mr. Hargrave had met with some experiences
which made him cynical toward ministers. He
believed that many of them were instrumental in
binding heavy burdens upon churches which they
themselves would not lift with one of their fingers.
He had made his fortune by hard work, and had
almost a contempt for one who could not or would
not work with his hands. There was a facetious
side to him, too, which enjoyed a bit of humor.
He expected the next minute to be asked for a
large donation to this church — ministers were not
at all backward in that way. But John Reming-
ton seemed to have no intention of that kind at
present. He was examining the support of the
steps with a critical air. Mr. Hargrave looked at
the white hands and well-fitting black suit of the

A NAKROW DOOR.

«!

minister, then, with a half-malicious twinkle in his
eye, said :

"You think you could do it yourself, do you?
I'll give you two days to finish the job. If [t'<
well done and you do it, I'll pay for the lumber
and nails, and give you a check of two hundred
dollars to fix up the church."

'• Agreed ! " said the minister, with a flash in
his eye that Mr. Hargrave liked.

CHAPTER II.

MADE OVER.

iiiii i

il!i:'l

MR. REMINGTON invested a small sum in
a pair of overalls, secured his lumber and
tools, took off his coat, and went to work. Thanks
to Aunt Hannah's training, the work was not so
new to him as might have been supposed, and the
job was finished at the specified time, to Mr. Har-
grave's entire satisfaction. He especially admired
the skillful manner in which a piece had been set
in at the end of one of the steps which had but a
small hole in it, and did not seem to require a whole
board.

" That patch is worth fifty dollars," he declared,
and increased his check by that amount.

The steps improved and money in hand, Mr.
Remington was eager to begin at once to make
other repairs, especially as the church people
waked up as they had not for fifty years. With
full confidence in the minister's ability to do any-
thing well, they put the management of the repairs
into his hands. Those mended steps challenged
their admiration, and produced a more favorable

MADE OVER.

5um m
er and
rhanks
not so
ind the
r. Har-
dmired
en set
but a
whole

dared,

d, Mr.

make
people

With
io any-
repairs
lenged
/orable

impression than a profound sermon could possibly
have done.

Mr. Remington wrote home that he should not
return for several days, giving so enthusiastic an
account of his field of labor and Mrs. Blake's sub-
scription, that Aunt Hannah was moved to add
fifty dollars to the fund.

" Three hundred dollars will go a good ways if
wisely spent," the minister told himself. To that
end he enlisted all who v.^ere "cunning workmen "
to help shingle or paint. One of the men was a
painter by trade. He was to have full wages and
direct those who volunteered to give labor as their
contribution A goodly force assembled one
morning to begin work, among them the minister,
armed with a paint-brush, his wardrobe increased
by a jacket which matched the overalls.

" There's good grit in that fellow," Mr. Hargrave
remarked to himself as he watched the painters,
and noted that not a brush among the amateur
workers was handled with such skill and vigor as
the minister's.

Such fascinating work as it was to make over a
church ! When the outside of it was in order,
the " boss," as the men took to calling him, set
them to work on the lawn, cleaning out weeds,
sodding it where needed and laying a good walk
in front, while he went off to the city to buy paper
for the walls. And behold, just as he was leaving,
a note from Mr. Hargrave said :

,|l:^i

I;;

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" The old church is taking on airs. She must
be all * glorious within ' as well as without. What-
ever she needs to make her comfortable in the way
of carpets, etc., please buy and send the bills t&

»>

Perhaps the stern man of business had tender
memories connected with the church where his
old father and mother had worshiped, or it may be
he had an eye to the coming population which the
new industries about to be established would surely
bring, or it may have been a mere whim of an ec-
centric man to please the young minister to whom
he had taken a fancy.

Purchases so important required Mrs. Reming-
ton's nice taste, so she met her husband in the
city, and together they ransacked stores. They
were exceedingly particular as to tints, tones and
effects, and enjoyed the whole business like two
children.

Behold the church of Stony Ridge, one Septem-
ber morning, transfigured ! A very Quaker it was
in pale gray, trimmed with a darker tint. Inside,
too, the walls and woodwork were of gray, from
dark stone, shading to a soft creamy tint, with a
ceiling of pale green, meeting on the walls in a
band of dark green. The carpet was only ingrain
in shades cf green, but it looked like bright moss.
Green Venetian blinds shaded the windows, and
the pulpit wore a new dress of dark green plush.
A chandelier took the place of two or three smoky

MADE OVER.

; must
What-
he way
)ills !£►

tender
ire his
nay be
ch the
surely
an ec-
whom

eming-
in the
They
es and
iQ two

2ptem-
it was
nside,
, from
with a
s in a
ngrain
moss.
s, and
plush,
smoky

lamps, and the stove-pipes had disappeared, the
rusty stoves having given place to an excellent
furnace which Mr. Remington got for half-price
at a hardware firm where the proprietor was inter-
ested in struggling churches. He specially re-
joiced in that purchase, the grim stoves and long
stove-pipes had so emphasized the dreariness.

The morning the church was reopened for ser-
vice it was nearly filled. Farmers' wagons, with
generous loads of people, had driven early into
town as they did on gala days. Evidently there
was no trouble about gathering a congregation in
Stony Ridge, provided there was sufficient attrac-
tion. It was a surprise to each one as they stepped
in out of a glare of sunshine to the new, clean, cool
place, with the soft air and fragrance of flowers.
Mrs. Blake sat and took it all in, sang hallelujahs
in her soul, and cast admiring glances at the young
wife of the minister who had come over for the
occasion. Then the first hymn aroused her, and
she joined with rapture in the words —

" How pleasant, how divinely fair,
O Lord of hosts, thy dwellings are."

Mr. Remington chose it, remembering they sang
it that first dreary Sabbath when it seemed to
mock them. Many a tired-out man and woman
took heart again and lifted up their heads in hope,
as prayer and sermon fitted to their needs took
hold upon them. It was blessed to hear the song,

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

1 !i

strong and triumphant, go up again, and voices
unused to praise joined in:

" O God, our help in ages past,

Our strength in years to come;
Our refuge from the stormy blast.

And our eternal home."

! m

U:i

ilhjiii^

How safe and sweet and pure the sanctuary
seemed that morning even to the careless ! What
a fair type it was of the eternal home ! By this
time Mr. Remington had forgotten all about dis-
appointing letters and wide fields of labor, so
absorbed had he become in making things over at
Stony Ridge. He began to consider the question
of settling down there, and went so far as to ask
his wife if she could ever consent to it. They
talked it over one day at Mapleton while they
gathered chestnuts.

"The people are perfectly devoted to me," he
said. "The country-side is thickly populated, and
it is now a settled thing that a factory is to be
established there, as well as a stone quarry."

** I don't wonder they are devoted to you," his
wife said ; "you come there and wave a magician's
wand over a tumble-down old church in a weedy
lot, and behold, all is changed. There it stands
now in a dignified gray dress, with a lovely lawn
in front, and that grand elm — what a mercy it is
there, hiding the boxy shape — the neatest, pret-
tiest country church within and without that can

Mil'

MADE OVER.

voices

ictuary
What
By this
)Ut dis-
bor, so
over at
uestion

to ask
They

i they

ne," he
ed, and
) to be

)ii," his
[ician's
weedy
stands
y lawn
:y it is
t, pret-
lat can

■J

be found. It really is a sweet place inside. Those
forays and greens together have just the effect I
wished. It would be interesting to work among
factory people, and almost make a church as it
were from the very beginning, but I fear we
should grow as lean and cadaverous as Dr. Brown
himself, trying to live on the salary he mentioned.
I understand now what ails him ; he was starved
in his youth."

" I could supplement it by writing some articles
for religious papers. You know I have been in-
vited to do so," Mr. Remington said, half-doubt-
fully ; '* but it would seem that in these years of
strength I might do more work than this place
calls for at present Still, how do we know what
is important work .'' The thing, after all, is to do
the will of the Master. If he closes other wide
doors and opens this narrow one, he must mean
that I shall go in and stay until he sends me else-
where. He may see that I am not fitted for a
different place. But my city-bred wife will be
dreary in a country place like that } "

" Now, John, you know you want me to make a
fine speech and say that no place can possibly be
dreary while you are in it, but I shall not humor
you, and I shall put my consent to live in Stony
Ridge on a higher ground. When I knew that I
had given myself to a minister, I promised that
I would never be a hindrance in his work; that I
would school myself to go cheerfully wherever he

i M

III

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

thought he ought to go. John dear, don't you
suppose the Master's will is, in the main, the
greatest thing in life to me, too, even though I am
so full of faults ? "

The tone was wistful.

"You darling!" exclaimed John ; "you are a
brave woman. As to faults, your Father in Heaven
and I both know that mine far outnumber yours."

It was not an easy thing for either husband or
wife to do — to put on this garment of humility, to
cast aside ambitions, the hope of filling a high
place and bearing an honored name as the years
went on. And it was trying to human nature to be
thrust aside from a city pulpit, with its good salary
and other attractive features, and, with rising
popularity and no mean gifts as an orator, to take
this obscure place, with a mere pittance to live on.
But the decision was made in good faith and with
no thought but that, if the people desired it, they
should make Stony Ridge their home for years.

For the present they allowed Aunt Hannah to
carry out her plans for them; that Martha and the
baby should remain with her, and that John should
divide his time between the two places. The only
objection to the plan was the danger of spoiling
the minister. Petted by ?.ll the good old women
of Stony Ridge the last half of the week and wel-
comed with delight each Monday by two other
fond souls, might destroy his humility.

Two months passed away and then Mr. Rem-

'•f

MADE OVER.

I't you
in, the
h I am

1 are a
Heaven
yours."
oand or
ility, to
a high
e years
re to be
d salary
I rising
to take
live on.
nd with
it, they
l^ears.
nah to
and the
should
le only
poiling
women
nd wel-
other

-. Rem-

ington did not appear one Monday morning. In-
stead came a letter saying :

" I cannot come home this week. The most
remarkable thing is happening here. I find my-
self in the midst of a wonderful revival. I had
noticed as I went about visiting the people that
they were unusually ready to speak upon the
subject of religion. Yesterday the house was
thronged. Many were in tears during the ser-
vice, though the sermon was of the most unexcit-
in^r character from the text, * Lovest thou me } *
In the evening we held a prayer meeting after the
sermon, and almost every one remained. Many
asked to be prayed for. They seemed broken in
spirit and eager for instruction. It was easy work
to direct them how to be saved, for the way was
all prepared. This is not the result of my few
sermons or visits ; it is a wonderful visitation of
the Spirit in answer to some saint's prayer of faith,
possibly Mrs. Blake's or Aunt Hannah's, or both.
And I thought my field narrow ! God forgive me
and fit me to labor in it. To think so great a joy
should come to me ! "

The work went on through the winter. Mr.
Remington found little time to spend at Mapleton.
The meetings, after the first three weeks, were not
according to the usual plan of such work — a spas-
modic effort lasting night and day for months, till
soul and body were utterly worn out, to be fol-
lowed by a reaction, mischievous and deplorable.

f < 1

■k

JOHN KKMIN(iTON, MARTYR.

|1|lh|ii

when Satan would smile to himself to see good
people backslide into fretfulness, gloom or stupid-
ity ; when they would berate themselves as cold
and without a particle of grace. And all because
the poor nerves, strained to the utmost in the late
hours and excesses of the past weeks, had snapped.
It is a pity that God's people will sometimes for-
get that they have bodies as well as souls. The
enemy loves to have it so.

The young minister must have had special wis-
dom bestowed upon him for the skillful manage-
ment of this work. He made many calls, not in
a perfunctory way, but with something of that
gracioua sympathy which Christ must have pos-
sessed, making people feel at once that he was a
friend of theirs ; and he preached no sermons but
such as might be expected to produce immediate
results. There was the usual Sabbath-morning
service, and in the afternoon the young people
v/ere gathered for an hour. ** Christian Ethics "
the minister called it, and they liked the sound of
it ; but he talked to them of what he thought they
needed most, or explained to them some of the
doctrines, especially regeneration and faith. The
weekly prayer meeting was followed by an inquiry
meeting, as was also a young people's v/eekly
meeting. Great care was taken to select and cir-
culate attractive religious books through the parish.
And here one had need of great discernment to
fit the right book or tract to the right person. If

•I

MADK OVI'.K.

c good
stupid-
is cold
»ecausc
he late
lapped,
jes for-
;. The

;ial wis-
nanage-
, not in
of that
Lve pos-
e was a
ons but
mediate
norning

people
Ethics "
ound of

ht they
of the
The

inquiry
v/eekly

and cir-

e parish.

ment to

son, If

sure that James' "Anxious Inquirer" or Baxter's
** Call " or Bunyan's " Come and Welcome " would
not be read by certain persons, then there was
a wide field to choose from to secure an excel-
lent religious story, from ** Pilgrim's Progress "
down to Miss Warner's " Queechy " and "Old
Helmet."

Where did the money come from ? The minis-
ter devoted some of his tenth of the past year to
it, and in his former parish was a woman who
spent hundreds of dollars annually in sending
good books and papers where they were needed.
He considered it just as indispensable to have
them as for a farmer to lay in a stock of good
seed when the ground is prepared. He insured
<thc reading of them by promises and by frequent
i^ allusions to their contents in sermon or prayer
•meeting, or by occasional questions in an informal
J meeting. A wise-looking old man or a bright
lyoung woman did not like to be silent and mysti-
■ficd when the minister suddenly turned to them
and asked : " Do you recollect what happened to
Christian just before he reached the Slough of
Despond ?" or, "Whom did Christian meet at the
gate Beautiful.?" And one did not enjoy being
covered with confusion when asked what he
thought of a certain character in "Daniel Ouorm,"
■or how he liked "Mr. Home and His P>iends."
Sometimes the whole conscreecation was asked to
[read through, during the week, a certain book in

«'4

ll
ll

JOHN KKMINGTON, MAKTYK.

the Bible, as Romans or Hebrews, and try to find
the special subject treated of. Or, a theme like
the I'rodij^al Son was given out for prayer meetinj:^,
and each asked to state in a sentence or two what
struck him most forcibly in the parable. The re-
sults were that the people aroused from the apath'^
which settles over the monotonous village a'ld
farm life in a country community, and were kept
awake mentally and spiritually. In short, this
wise minister's aim was to have a revival in his
church that would go on through all the year.

It was spring at Mapleton. An unmistakable
spring day ! If the robin's song had not told you
of it, the pussy-willow in her silver suit would
have said it long before, or the apple-tree's gnarled
old branches blossoming out in pink and white,
or the lilac's white and lavender in old-fashioned
sweetness, or the breezes, would have whispered
it : that soft, delicious, indescribable, witching air
with hints, in its odors, of new grass, of spicy
woods, and mint and thyme, and what not, mak-
ing one feel that he can run and jump and
fly and do anything but settle down to steady
practicalities.

Mrs. Remington was on the piazza giving little
John a lesson in walking. The small rogue was
in high glee. His white flannel dress was daintily
held up by thumb and finger, and when with a
desperate effort one chubby foot after the other
was thrust out and brought down with a thump, he

1 i

MADR OVER.

to find
ic like
cctinj::,

what
rhe rc-
apath^/
ge and
re kept
rt, this
[ in his
;ar.

stakable
:old you
: would

gnarled

1 white,
.shioned
lispered

f spicy
)t, mak-
i\p and
steady

tig

little
orue was
daintily
with a
le other
lump, he

shouted and showed all his ten white teeth in
dimpling smiles.

The next minute the other member of this little
family appeared, coming up the long walk from
the gate, satchel in hand, and Baby John actually
took three steps alone in his haste to be gathered
up into the strong arms and held aloft.

"This sort of life has its compensations," Mr.
Remington said, as he took both wife and baby
into his arms at once. " It is so delicious to get
home to you. I never in all my life looked for-
ward to any pleasure as I do to this."

"John, don't you think, baby can talk!" his
wife said, as soon as the greetings were over.
" You know his shoes have silver buckles on.
Aunt Hannah said over and over again to him
one day when she was dressing him: 'See the
buckle! Pretty buckle!' And behold, the next
morning when he awoke he sat up and looked
around and said : * Buckle ! * And when he
sees anything new he gazes at it a while, then
draws a long breath and says in a solemn way :
'Buckle!'"

" Who knows but he is talking about the great
author of that name, and thinking wise, deep
thoughts ? " said Baby's father, adding : " What a
noble, beautiful boy he is ! It doesn't seem pos-
I sible he belongs to us. Don't you worship him,
[ dear, will you ? else he can't stay with us."

" I don't seem to be the one in most dansfer of

It;

ii'i

'i.i

t I

JOllhJ RKMtNr.TON, MARTYR.

committing that sin just at present," the young
mother replied demurely.

Hut her husband did not retort. He was resting
his eyes with the sight of mother and child, enjoy-
ing one of those rarely blissful moments in a man's
life when it seems that the cup is full, and there
is nothing more to ask.

" I have a letter from Elsie Chilton," said Mrs.
Remington presently, and she read scraps of it
between Baby's shouts and crows while he and his
father played a game of •* peek-a-boo."

•' You clear people, I am hungry for a sight of you " [it began].
" I should have written long ago to let you know that I have not
been 'good,' as the children say. You always think better of me
than I am, so I feel as if I ought to confess. After my step-
mother's death, I had many burdens laid upon me in the care of
the younger children. I don't think I was patient. I fretted a
good deal at my lot, and, though I tried, I was not always entirely
cheerful and helpful in this gloomy house. Things are better
with us now. Aunt Emily, father's sister, has come to live with
us, and be at the head of the house. You do not know her. She
was very fond of my own mother, but after my second mother
cime here she did not visit us because they were not quite con-
genial. She is the dearest auntie in the world, loving and wise
and self-reliant. I feel so rested since she came, as if a great
weight of responsibility had rolled off me. She calms and soothes
us all with her saintly face and gentle ways. I think I shall be a
better Christian now. liut I think I can hear Mr. Remington
saying that it is a very poor sort of religion which flourishes only
in sunshine and when all goes smoothly. I am glad there are
Christians of another sort. It is such a comfort to me that you
and Mr. Remington will not stop praying for my father, even
though he was foremost in having you leave us. T do not think
he is quite ?o bitter toward temperance workers as he used to be.

MAHF. OVF.R.

He does not call mc to account so often, though he knows I have
sung in Kurn Kedpath's gospel temperance meetings two or three
times. I'crhaps it is because his thoughts are absorbed in another
way. That dear girl is going on just the same. She is working
now among the women in the penitentiary. I want you to know
her better some lime.

•' Do you know I hea^d soTiething the other day which gave me
great joy.' Some one told me that there is to be a new organiza-
tion of our church at the West I'ind, and they are talking of Mr.
Remington to take charge of it. Won't that be lovely ? You
would be sure to come, would you not ? "

"Would you ?*' asked Mrs. Remington, looking
up into her husband's face.

i!
I'

s\i]

I
I

. «

I'M

iC:

1 '

1 P'l

CHAPTER III.

TO THE FRONT.

THE summer had but just begun when Mr.
Remington received a letter from Mr. Har-
grave, saying :

" At last we have perfected our new organization on the West
Side, and are about to build. What next? We want you, and
we mean to have you. The desire is unanimous. I say 'we' be-
cause I expect to rent our present home and build on the West
Side, on account of the greater healthfulness of that part of the
city. My relations, as you may know, have been with the Central
Church.

" You can come to us without the preliminaries of trial ser-
mons, etc. Many of the people on this side have often heard you
preach, and, for my own part, I think I wou!d consent to receive
a man of as good pluck as yours, even if I had not heard you
preach two excellent sermons at Stony Ridge."

[Then followed propositions as to the terms, and a house to
live in until the parsonage should be completed, which seemed
generous indeed.]

" We shall not be ready to receive you [he said] before Sep-
tember. Our chrtoel will be completed by that time.

" Do not. I beg of you, scruple to accept this on account of
leaving Stony Ridge. You have done a good work for them, and
another can carry them along. A man of your gifts should have
a wider swee]!. To tell the truth, I have forestalled any objec-
tions you might have to leaving the church alone at a critical

TO THE FRONT.

time, by conferring with my friend Dr. Ray, who has recommended
to me a young man just from the seminary, who can better live
on the small salary they can afford, and who is just the man for
them unless you should know of somebody else."

IP^-

<i:

',hH

III*

1 ■

Mr. Remington received the letter one evening
just after he came over from Stony Ridge. They
discussed the matter at the tea-table, and Aunt
Hannah's usually cheerful countenance wore almost
a cloud after the matter had been fully laid before
her.

" It has come at last," she said. " I might have
known this would not go on forever."

'* No, it couldn't, in any case, dear auntie-
mother," her nephew said, " for the people at
Stony Ridge begin to feel that they have been
defrauded, and I have made arrangements to take
my treasures over there for a time, if you are all
willing. Mrs. Wilbur has a large old house with
plenty of room, and she will board us — she thinks
we are going to visit her, but we are not. It is
next door to Mrs. Blake's, and that old saint is in
a blissful state of anticipation accordingly."

" Yes, I am selfish, I know," murmured Aunt
Hannah ; " I ought to be thankful, and I am, that
that blessed baby has come through the worst of
teething before he goes back to Babylon — if go
he must."

"If we do. Aunt Hannah," said Martha, "you
will have to go, too, and spend the winter with us.

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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I can never have the courage to discipline little
John unless I am upheld by you."

It did not take long to settle the question.
There were many weighty reasons why they should
make the change, and no serious ones why they
should not. Stony Ridge Church was now in a
more prosperous condition than it had been for
years ; the addition of new members and the re-
vivifying of old ones changed everything. They
were able to add considerable to the salary, and
hoped soon to be self-sustaining. Their hearts
were sore, though, at the thought of parting with
one who had been the means of so great good to
them, but they were not unreasonable.

One of the recovered backsliders, an old man
who had been a sea cap*:ain in his youth, put the
thing before them in a few words, quite effectively.

" It is just like this, friends," he said ; " our
captain is ordered to another ship. He only came
down here to tow us out to sea when he found us
stuck Or a sand-bar and badly broken up. He
got us uir and repaired our damages, and now here
we are, all sails flying, making a prosperous voy-
age. Don't let's put on a down-in-the-mouth look
and make him feel bad, but hearten up, and bid
him go, with our blessing, to some other craft
that's maybe in distress and needs him more than
we do."

So it had come about that the Remingtons left
the quiet, safe retreat of the past months and

TO THE FRONT.

plunged again into the heavier cares and burdens
of a city pastorate.

It was a cheery house in which they found
themselves established the latter part of Septem-
ber. That portion of the city had not been thought
desirable by many as a place of residence, because
it was a greater distance from the center than
some of the other suburbs, and so had been
largely built up by persons of moderate means.
It looked like a pleasant village, with its shaded
streets and bits of lawns before each cottage.
Latterly the wealthier class had opened their eyes
to its natural beauty, and a few more pretentious
dwellings were beginning to appear on the sur-
rounding hillsides.

" This is too delightful," Martha Remington
said, standing at her chamber window a few morn-
ings after their arrival ; " to be in the city, and yet
have many of the charms of the country. And
what a view from this point ! That hill all scarlet
and gold, and that thread of a river winding at
its foot. Do see the soft, blue-gray hill in the
distance, just like that one I loved so much near
our first parsonage. I shall like it here so very
much. I am glad and thankful for this beautiful
home. Let us stay here years and years, John, if
we can. We have not made a good record thus
far for stayativeness. We have only been in the
ministry five years, and this is our fourth church,
counting Stony Ridge."

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Mr. Remington was buttoning on a very stiff
collar. Apparently it is never an act that pro-
motes an amiable state of mind. Whether it was
the refractory collar or the remembrance of the
fact just stated which .brought a frown to his face,
nobody will ever know. He was about to say, in
dignified tones, that he was extremely sorry to
have caused her mortification on that account, but
that he should never put a muzzle on his mouth to
please anybody ; that she might as well understand
first as last that ministers could not expect per-
manence, etc. But he was saved from that cross
speech. He happened to cast a glance at Martha
standing there in her pink-and-white morning
gown, with brown hair rippling away from her
face, her eyes, luminous with delight, fixed upon
the distant hills. She looked sweet and fair ; she
had not a thought that her remark had annoyed
him. His heart relented. He was but a few
years the elder of his wife, but he felt old in ex-
perience just then, as he looked at her bright face.
It swept over him for an instant — the realization
that the ministerial life was in a peculiar manner
filled with uncertainties, and that the coming
years might bring keener trials than they had yet
dreamed of. If he could but shield her from them
all ! But he tried to answer in her own light vein
as he said :

" Don't allow Satan to send me any word by
you, dear, and suggest that I feather this pleasant

TO THE FRONT.

nest we have come to with soft speeches and half-
truths when courage to speak unpleasant whole
truths may be required of me."

But despite his intention, the tones were full of
feeling, almost solemn. Martha turned quickly.
Had she touched him in a sensitive spot ?

** John dear," she said, putting both hands into
his, •' that was a thoughtless speech ; forgive me.
Nobody will be prouder of you for speaking whole
truths than I shall, let the consequences be what
they may ; and I don't want you to be one of those
old fossils who stay forty years in one church,
and perhaps have all the people wishing you would
die, because that is the only conceivable way to
get rid of you."

Then, growing more serious, she added :

" O, John ! don't misunderstand me ever, though
I do make childish remarks sometimes, and do
not you think that, for the sake of ease and a
pleasant home, I would wish you to stultify your
conscience. I know that you must speak the
message given you by the Master, and together
we are to take, with a meek and quiet spirit, what-
ever that brings to us."

Then John Remington thanked God again for
the gift of his wife, and they went hand in hand
to little John's crib to look upon the prettiest
sight in the world — a rosy, curly-haired baby in
a setting of lace and creamy blankets, waking in
the morning. What wonder in his eyes at another

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new day ! And there is a grave, puzzled expres-
sion, as if he were trying to account for his return
from Dreamland, and then the little face dissolves
into a rare, sweet smile as he meets his mother's
eyes. Ah ! he has found his bearings. He is not
adrift any longer on the sea of nowhere. Instantly
every sense is awake and alert. He is a bundle
of springs and happiness, and ready for anything,
from being rolled over and over like the round,
soft ball he is, to a toss in the air, which is better
than anything.

It was easy to settle the household this time,
because when they removed fr m the city they
had accepted the offer of a good friend to store
their furniture in her capacious attic.

" I am so glad Aunt Hannah would not hear to
our selling it," Mrs. Remington remarked to her
husband ; " we would not have realized half its
value, and het ^ it is just as good as new. Aunt
Hannah always does know best about everything.
It is such a relief for us to have, like the Peterkins,
' a lady from Philadelphia ' to whom we can ap-
ply in all emergencies, sure that she knows pre-
cisely what should be done." ^

"There is a grand temperance rally in the
opera house to-night," Mr. Remington said, as he
came in from down town. ** We must go, even if
we have just arrived, for Miss Fern Redpath is to
speak amon^ others, and you know we wished tp

TO THE FRONT.

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hear her when we were here before, but lost the
opportunity."

*' I don't see how I can go to-night, but I will,"
his wife answered ; " I wonder if Elsie will be
there to sing ; probably not. You know she wrote
me she should not be at home till the last of Sep-
tember, and this is the twenty-third, is it not ? "

That meeting in the opera house was a sight to
gladden the hearts of the brave minority who wage
the battles of the Lord against the arch-enemy.
Rum. The immense building was filled to over-
flowing. The opening prayer was by a white-haired
old minister whose only son was a victim to the
drink habit, who had hidden himself away from
friends for years. If the object in selecting this
man to pray had been merely politic, it could
not have been planned more wisely, for the audi-
ence could but follow the strong pleadings of
this broken-hearted father. The very atmosphere
seemed filled with prayer from the bowed multitude.

The first speaker of the evening the Reming-
tons saw with delight was their old friend, Earle
Mason. They had supposed him to be still in
Berlin, whither he had gone to take a course of
Roman law. Though connected with one of the
strongest law firms in the city, with a vast amount
of labor expected of him, he was, withal, heart and
soul in the work of reform, and while in the city
was in such demand as a platform speaker, that if
he had accepted all invitations he received through-

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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out the country to speak upon this subject and
others, he might have employed all his time in
that way.

He was well chosen as the first speaker. His
ready wit, his clear logic, his keen satire, his per-
suasive eloquence, combined with a magnetic in-
fluence, carried all before him. Enthusiasm rose
to a high pitch. The audience was ready for
anything. Continuous applause testified to their
delight. If a proposition had been made to then
and there march out in battle array and demolish
all the saloons in the city, they would doubtless
have responded.

After a song by the glee club. Dr. Fletcher, a
stranger, was next introduced — a tall man of fine
presence and striking face, with luminous eyes,
which looked as if they were used to searching
into deep things. He plunged at once into the
heart of the subject, and gave a short address
wherein was packed much scientific knowledge, as
well as weighty arguments, conclusively proving to
some that alcohol was always and ever an injury
to the human system under any circumstances
whatever.

The next moment, unannounced, there stood
upon the platform a lovely girl with a halo of golden
hair about her face, in a gown of soft white, plain
as a nun's, and sang, as only Elsie Chilton could
sing. Many a strong man brushed away a tear as
the simple ballad, " Baby Nellie's Prayer," found

TO THE FRONT.

its way to his heart, burning in a lesson where
logic had failed to make an impression.

At the close of the song Miss Redpath was an-
nounced. Strangers who had come there thinking
to see a typical strong-minded woman, with short
hail and nasal twang, and to hear her rant and
rave, must have been disarmed by the appearance
of the fair, earnest-eyed young woman, who, in-
vested with a sort of sweet dignity, began to speak
simply, and with no more self-consciousness than
if she were in her own parlor. Her modest de-
meanor and pleading words impressed all with the
feeling that herself had been forgotten, merged
into the self-denying labors of her high calling.
She was one of the few women who ever should
feel it their duty to speak to large audiences. T^e-
cause of a peculiar quality in her voice, like a
silver bell, she could be heard distinctly in every
part of the house without appearing to speak above
her natural tones, or make that overstrained effort
which results in screaming. Her plea was for the
women in the penitentiary. Every one with whom
she had conversed had been brought there by
strong drink. She described their desolate homes,
and little children worse than orphaned. One
woman she knew of would be discharged in a few
days. She had promised to reform, to try to re-
cover her lost womanhood. She was eager to get
home to her children ; she had vowed : " I will
make a pleasant home ; I will be a good mother."

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" But what hope is there for her ? On the way to
her home the tempter will meet her. A vile saloon
will beckon her in with its cheerful light and
warmth. She will fall into the trap. She will
drink again, and go out with a fire in her veins
that crazes her brain. She will go back to the
penitentiary. In the name of pity is there no help
for such as she ? "

In the end of the gallery nearest the platform
was a group of men whose hardened faces wore
sneers. Evidently they were not there in the in-
terests of temperance or law and order. Several
times during the evening they had manifested dis-
approval by shuffling of feet and shakes of the
head. Mrs. Remington watched them with a feel-
ing of dread, but was reassured when she saw a
couple of stalwart policemen. While Miss Red-
path was speaking their faces grew darker. They
muttered to each other, and fairly glared upon her
as she alluded to saloons.

Some of Mr. Remington's friends, having heard
of his arrival, made urgent calls for him to come to
the platform. He came promptly, and was received
with much demonstration. The brilliant young
preacher was remembered as a ready speaker, who
would bring credit to any cause he defended.

John Remington never did things quite like any
one else. He began now to recite some words of
Scripture as if they were his QWP» with rhetorical
art and impassioned tone :

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TO THE FRONT.

" Finally, my brethren, be strong in the Lord,
and in the power of his might. Put on the whole
armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against
the wiles of the devil. For we wrestle not
against flesh and blood, but against principalities,
against powers, against the rulers of the darkness
of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high
places. Therefore take unto you the whole armor
of God, that ye may be able to withstand in the
evil day, and having done all, to stand. Stand,
therefore, having your loins girt about with truth,
and having on the breastplate of righteousness,
and your feet shod with the preparation of the
gospel of peace. Above all, taking the shield of
faith, wherewith ye shall be able to quench all the
fiery darts of the wicked. And take the helmet
of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is
the word of God : praying always with all prayer
and supplication in the Spirit. . . And the God of
peace shall bruise Satan under your feet shortly."

The effect was wonderiul. A peculiar stillness
and solemnity fell upon the audience as he in a
few words applied the Scripture to the present
day, boldly declaring that in his opinion Satan was
actually at the head of the whole iniquitous rum
traffic, and that those engaged in it were as really
his minions as any that ever came out of the pit,
whether they knew it or not, even though they
supposed themselves to be only engaged in getting
an "honorable living."

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" It is plainly taught in this Scripture and
others," he went on, " that Satan is the enemy of
souls. Paul says: * We are not ignorant of his
devices.' Neither are we. Who but he could
have got up so gigantic a scheme for ruining
souls ? What diabolical cunning is displayed !
He manufactures a drink to suit all classes and
ages. Not many would fall into the trap if Bour-
bon or brandy were presented first. It would be
horrible to the taste. Ah ! he knows better. He
makes sweet cider first, then some that is not
quite sweet — more delicious still — then n mild,
oleasant wine and a foaming, sparkling, exhilara-
ting beverage called beer, then a little stronger
wine of exquisite flavor, some stronger beer, some
mild brandy, and the thing is done. That appetite
is planted which is stronger than love and cruel as
the grave, which nothing will uproot but one of
God's miracles.

" And who but Satan could persuade a mother
that her delicate baby, when ailing, needs a brandy
bath and a few drops of the same vile stuff ad-
ministered internally.'* Who but he could so blind
the eyes of a young man that he will take a glass
of liquid fire every day for a year, and not know
that he will be bound hand and foot by the habit?
Therein lies his most fearful power, the ability to
blindfold even the elect. How else can you ac-
count for the sorrowful fact that some of God's
ministers not only tamper with the deadly poison

TO THE FRONT.

themselves, but recommend it to others when they
can get a pure article ! Pure ! Think of it ! To
this, too — Satan's power to deceive — may be
traced in part the apathy and short-sightedness
and cupidity of our law-mal^ers. lUit let us, be-
loved, * put on the whole armor, that we may be
able to withstand the wiles of the devil.* And let
us pray always that we may have courage to de-
nounce the whole traffic as sin, sin^ sin, now and
forevermore ! And, brothers and sisters, take
this high word of encouragement from the Lord
himself. Listen ! 'The God of peace shall bruise
Satan under your feet — shortly.* Shall we doubt
or despond after that } Never ! "

As Mr. Remington took his seat his wife's at-
tention was again attracted to the knot of men in
the gallery. A growl, like distant thunder, came
from that corner. One of the policemen changed
his seat, moving nearer to them, and the glee club
broke into song. In the hall the same men came
downstairs just as they were passing out. Mrs.
Remington saw them casting evil eyes toward her
husband, and pointing him out as he stood talking
with some one. They looked fierce, and one man
shook his fist and muttered threatenings. The
young wife shuddered and stepped to the side of
her husband. Her heart sank as she realized for the
first tiine that other harm than the loss of popularity
among conservative people might befall him.

The next morning, soon after breakfast, there

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

was much cooing and fluttering in Mrs. Reming-
ton's nursery. Elsie Chilton, dressed in brown,
her gold hair in a knot below a jaunty little brown
cap, escaping here and there in waves and rings
about her forehead, was kneeling on the floor
beside ]3aby John as he sat on a large cushion sur-
rounded by playthings. So well did the acquaint-
ance progress that he was soon in a bubble of
laughter and frolic.

*• I believe the darling remembers me," she
said to Mrs. Remington ; "he is not a bit afraid."

'* Nobody could be afraid of you," Mrs. Reming-
ton said, regarding her fondly ; ** but you are
giving this baby an extraordinary memory ; re-
member he was but two months old when you
parted from him."

" And now he is twenty months, isn't he ? The
sweetest age ! Does he talk .'* Oh, what lovely
little teeth ! and look, he has taken off his shoe
and stocking ! Such a dear little pink foot ! "
and Elsie fell to devouring it with kisses.

Little John gazed at her in baby wonder and
made clutches at her hair, shouting with delight
when he succeeded in getting such a firm hold of
the soft curls that his mother was obliged to
come to the rescue and unclasp the naughty
fingers.

'* Now get up and be rational," she said to
Elsie. " Take this easy-chair and tell me all
about yourself and everybody."

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CHAPtEk IV.

HOW ONE WORKER WAS MADE.

TELL me more about your lovely friend, Miss
Redpath," Mrs. Remington said, after a
half-hour of confidences. ** You know I only met
her a few times before we went away. It seems
almost singular that one so young and attractive,
and of high social position, should take up such
work. It is quite unusual, unless, indeed, one is
a remarkable Christian."

" She is that," Elsie said; "but I do not think
she would probably have done just as she has if
she had not had a peculiar experience. Her
young brothers were away at school, and were
nearly ruined by means of drink. She became
thoroughly aroused upon the subject, and, after
they were saved, resolved to devote her life to the
work of saving others. There was another reason,
too, for it, and a sadder one, if possible, which she
does not speak of. She did not tell me of it until
we had become quite intimate. She was engaged
to a young physician, but trouble came between
them on account of this question. I do not think

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

she will ever marry now. She is devoted to her
work, and is perfectly indifferent even to the
most attractive young men. She was not herself
last night. She seemed like one who had girded
herself up to be calm under some sort of pressure.
Her calmness was so intense that she was almost
severe. Did you notice how pale and set her face
was ? "

" No, I did not," Mrs. Remington said ; " I
suppose I would not observe it as you, who knew
her well. She looked very beautiful to me, with
her pure face and dark hair, worn in that loose
knot. Her black gown, too, was elegant in its
simplicity. She is charming as a speaker. She
does not rant nor gesticulate. Those lovely white
hands, often clasped pleadingly, are more effective
than mannish gestures. Her manner is charming,
because of her utter lack of self-consciousness."

" Well, I cannot account for her agitation after
the meeting last night," said Elsie. "Judge
Morton asked her to wait a moment so that he
could present to her a friend of his, but she
begged to be excused, and hurried off to her car-
riage without even stopping to speak to me. I
hope she heard no bad news. But I must go.
Father comes home to lunch now, and I do not
like to be late," glancing at the clock. " I am
coming here six times a week. May I ? " and her
bright face was gone.

It was a few years before the date of this story

HOW ONE WORKER WAS MADE.

that Paul Fletcher and Fern Redpath met at a
watering-place. She a girl just graduated from
school, and he a promising young physician from
a neighboring city.

Dr. Fletcher had been trained according to good,
old-fashioned methods, and when he left home for
college was a professed Christian. But while he
aimed to be pure-hearted and noble, and yielded an
intellectual assent to the doctrines of religion, it
had never come as a power into his life, causing
him to be rooted and grounded in the faith and
filled with divine enthusiasm. Until one has
loved Christ with his whole soul, he is a fit subject
for the tempter. If Christian fathers and mothers
would but importunately pray for that benediction
of love to come upon their children before they
send them into the world, should we have so many
doubters and men of no moral stamina .<*

And so it turned out that college life had the
effect upon Paul Fletcher that it often has upon
fair beginnings which have not yet crystallized
into strong character. True, his integrity was
unimpeached in the eyes of the world, and his in-
tellectual attainments were brilliant ; but he was
full of ologies and osophies. He was sure of
nothing. He detested radicalism, and adored
people who had no sharply defined lines for any-
thing. Liberty of thought and action was one of
the chief articles in his creed. Conscientious
scruples concerning the easy ways of the world

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

were, in his opinion, the outgrowth of ignorance
and lack of culture. One who could not occasion-
ally take a glass of wine in company, or play a
game of euchre, or dance to fill out a set, was an
unmitigated bigot.

Strange to say, when Dr. Fletcher came to
Mountain Springs that^summer, the girl whom he
eagerly sought out as a companion in ramble or
horseback ride, was one who had received careful
training, such as results in what the young man
termed narrowness and bigotry. And Fern Red-
path was loyal to her training. She did not dance
nor play euchre nor drink wine. She was an enthu-
siastic Christian, with a faith simple as a child's,
but of that quality which would be true as steel in
time of trial. And yet she was charming in all
winsome ways and glad-heartedness. One of those
rare spirits who live for another world, and have,
albeit, a keen relish for the joys of this one.

The days went fast to those young people that
summer. They rambled through the woods and
climbed mountains ; they went fishing and rode
horseback, botanized and geologized and read
poetry, and ended by finding, somewhat to the
astonishment of each, that their two hearts were
welded together.

Fern was pleased to find that Dr. Fletcher was
a member of a church in the same denomination
as her own. He did not obtrude any of his mysti-
cal beliefs or unbeliefs upon her. In fact, he did

HOW ONE WORKER WAS MADE.

not speak much of religious things at all. In her
innocence she inferred that it was his peculiarity
— some men were reserved on that subject — and
took it for granted that one so noble as he held
the same views as herself on all important moral
issues, as she had seen nothing in his practice to
the contrary.

Truth to tell, Dr. Fletcher had an intuitive feel-
ing that amusements such as many others indulged
in, would not be congenial to this girl, whose ex-
quisite refinement and delicacy of character seemed
to raise her above common mortals. Perhaps
there was another reason why he did not ask her
to join the gay company. It suited him best to
sit in a quiet nook and read to Fern Redpath,
watch the changing lights in her face, and then
drift off into pleasant talk. It was surprising how
much there was to be said, and what a oneness of
opinion there was on authors and books and art.
When they parted, after a few brief weeks, they
were pledged to each other for life, with the full
consent of Fern's mother, who had known Dr.
Fletcher's family for years, and was happy in the
prospect of receiving as a son one of whom they
could hear nothing but the highest praise.

A few months of separation, cheered by almost
daily correspondence, and then Dr. Fletcher
came for a brief visit, and the engagement was
announced.

It was during the visit, and the night before he

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was to leave, that a cloud came into Fern Red-
path's sky. It was at a brilliant wedding reception
given by one of the leading families of the city.
Gay groups were gathered about small tables in
the dining-room, Fern sitting opposite Dr. Flet-
cher, each trying to interest themselves in another
person, but at the same time carrying on a
conversation with each other by means of swift
glances.

One instant the girl's face was like sunshine ;
the next it had in it amazement, grief and horror.
She had seen Paul Fletcher take a tiny glass of
wine and put it to his lips. Yes, he did more than
that. He drank it off as if he enjoyed it. She
forgot the presence of others and turned a sur-
prised, pained look upon him. Their eyes met as he
replaced the glass. Was there a slightly haughty
curve about his mouth then, or did she only imagine
it ? She answered the next several remarks of the
young man at her side in a dazed manner, and
was relieved to find people moving away from the
table. How was it possible, she asked herself in
those few minutes, that she had never talked with
Paul about this question ? There had been no
deliberate intention on Dr. Fletcher's part to con-
ceal his sentiments regarding total abstinence.
The subject had never happened to come up in
their talks, and both P'ern and her mother had
simply taken it for granted that he took high
ground on every question of right and wrong. If

HOW ONE WORKER WAS MADE.

he had occasionally heard an earnest word from
Fern on that point, he set it down to a fit of girl-
ish enthusiasm which would soon evaporate. It
was a sorrowful face that was turned toward Dr.
Fletcher, when at last on their return home they
found themselves alone, as Fern said :

" I did not know that you ever drank wine,
Paul."

"0, yes! on occasion," he answered lightly,
and then asked, " Why should you think so ? I
never denied it."

" Because I thought you believed it to be wrong,
as I do," she said, lifting up her head and gathering

courage.

" It may be wrong for some people ever to taste
it, but I do not belong to that class ; I can drink
it or let it alone."

" Oh ! then why not let it alone for the sake of
others } "

" Because I am not responsible for others in
that sense," Dr. Fletcher answered, in a slightly
annoyed tone ; " they must exercise self-control,
as I do."

" Surely you believe that a Christian ought to
help those who are weak and tempted," Fern said,
with widening eyes.

" Certainly. I consider that I do help them —
to maintain sobriety — when I set the example of
governing myself in this as in all other things.
The meaning of temperance is moderation — not

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

going to excess. It is only fanatics who give to
it the name of total abstinence."

" We ought to be very plain with each other
now," Fern said sadly. " May I ask if you do
not as a rule practice total abstinence } "

The young man flushed under the gaze of the
clear eyes which looked into his, but he answered
promptly :

" I do not. I cannot be said to drink liquor as
a beverage except occasionally, and sometimes
socially, but if I feel that a small amount of wine
or ale or Bourbon would be good for me when I
have been under unusual fatigue or exposure in
the way of my profession, I take it with a clear
conscience. But, Fern," he added, looking at his
watch, " it is quite late. Are you going to let a
thimbleful of wine come between us this last
evening t You know we have more important
matters to talk over."

Fern grew sick at heart as it flashed over her
that it might come between them for a life-time.

" I cannot talk about anything else," she said,
"until I feel at rest about this. O, Paul ! can you
not promise me never to taste it again } "

" I cannot," he replied, flushing angrily. " Be-
lieve me, I am not on the high road to destruction
that I must sign the pledge like a common drunk-
ard. It seems you cannot trust me. How can
you respect me if you think I have no self-,
control ? "

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HOW ONE WORKER WAS MADE.

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"But it has been so often proved that the
strongest are weak before the power of that fear-
ful appetite when once it is formed. There is no
absolute safety but in entire abstinence."

" That is mere nonsense, the belief of a few
cranks ! "

" Paul," the girl said, with whitening face, " it
was my father's belief and it is mine. He would
never have given his consent to my marriage with
one who holds such views, and I — oh! I cannot
give my own consent. When you think of all
that is at stake, can you not give it up forever ?
Oh ! say you will."

The young man must have been possessed of a
demon for the moment, to be able to resist the
pleading tones and eager face of the girl he loved.

" I cannot consent," he declared, " to be thus
humiliated. It is beyond anything I ever heard
of. You would break your engagement because
I will not make an absurd promise, the keeping of
which will often bring me into embarrassment and
ridicule ! I might endure that, but the lack of
confidence which requires the promise is insulting
to my manhood. I must be my own judge of what
is right and wrong. I cannot suffer dictation even
at your hands."

He walked hurriedly up and down the room
during the moment of silence which followed, then
he came and stood beside her and said :

** Fern, do you not see where this extreme posi^

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tion is leading you ? Of course, you do not mean
that for so slight a reason you would break a tie
which you have held sacred, and so bring untold
sorrow to both of us. It will be a hard thing for
you to face. Can you not cast this folly aside and
be your own self the few minutes that are left .'* "

The girl sat like a beautiful statue, not in a pas-
sion of tears, but the anguish in her eyes and the
sorrowful curves of her mouth betokened anything
but indifference. When she spoke, the voice was
that of one who had been stricken.

" Oh ! it is not a small thing. It is not folly.
There is the hopelessness of it that you do not
understand how impossible it is for me to be
false to the teachings of all these years, even —
even though it cost me my life."

" I must go," said Dr. Fletcher, with watch in
hand. " I am to consider, then, that you cast me
off ; that there is to be no more between us unless
I recant, or you. Good-by."

His anger had reached a climax. He would
have gone without even a hand-clasp, but Fern
followed him into the hall, and, detaining him for
an instant, reached up, and, like a sorrowing
angel, left a soft kiss on his forehead, which went
with him through the years, and kept him often
from doing the things he might otherwise have
done.

Dr. Fletcher believed that he should not have
been absent many days before he should receive a

HOW ONE WORKKR WAS MADE.

letter from Fern, confessing that she had exagger-
ated a trifle, and begging him to forgive her foolish-
ness. But when weeks passed and no word from
her came to him, he was amazed. Indignation and
despair ruled him by turns. At last he wrote a
reproachful letter, making one last appeal, declar-
ing again his great love, and entreating her to trust
him as she had of old.

The reply was on many closely written pages.
Only the heart of a woman, when her dearest
hopes were at stake, could have so pleaded with
convincing argument and loving entreaty. But
the same sad, firm statement was there. " It can
never be unless you abjure forever that one
dangerous indulgence."

There was a reason for not granting her request
which Dr. Fletcher would not, for the world, have
given to this white souled girl. In fact, he had
but just discovered it himself in its strength and
power. The habit of wine-di inking was beginning
to take firm hold of him. Conceal the truth as he
might under the pretense of wounded dignity,
it was the underlying cause of his unwillingness
to make the promise. And he saw no danger in
taking the small amount of stimulants he allowed
himself. He even persuaded himself that he re-
quired a gentle tonic to tone him up after a hard
day's work.

His was not a shallow nature, which could
lightly cast aside the one love of his lif j and with

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piqued pride fasten his affections upon another.
So he suffered in silence and gloom, hoping that
time would cause Fern Redpath to repent of her
folly and recall him. As the months went by and
he received no word, he decided to change his
plans and go to Europe for two or three years'
study and hospital practice.

ii»ii *

CHAPTER V.

A PROMISE FULFILLED.

AS for Fern Redpath, life had come to a stand-
still. She sat amidst the ruin of her hopes
dazed by the sudden shock, surprised that so great
a sorrow should have come to her. That she could,
by reversing her decision, change it all she never
thought possible for a moment. It was utterly
out of the question. And yet she could not be-
lieve that Paul Fletcher would allow the giving of
a promise on such a question to come between
them forever ; so she waited and prayed day by
day, till weeks and months had passed, for a glad
word from him, a word which should banish Sor-
row's grim face. But it came not.

At last she was aroused from a state of apathy
in an unlooked-for way. Her young brothers were
in danger from that same enemy which had
poisoned her own peace. They had been placed
in a school in a distant city, which was supposed
to be peculiarly excellent, preparatory to college.
They were bright young fellows, but had missed
the guiding influence of a father's firm hand in

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

their training. As the mother was disposed to
indulge them, it had fallen upon their sister Fern
to try to instill into them the principles in which
she had been carefully trained by her father. She
had seemed to be successful until they left home,
then they happened to fall under the influence of
the fast set which is found in every school : boys
with plenty of money, no moral training and pre-
cocious in evil ways. Fern's brothers, though
they loved their sister dearly, soon began to think
that many of her opinions were now quite out or
date and impracticable, especially as they attended
a church whose pastor was known to hold peculiar
views (for a clergyman) on the subject of temper-
ance, as he advocated the drinking of mild wines
and pure beer. The young men of his congrega-
tion, as a rule, were glad to follow such a leader,
though many of them by no means practiced the
moderation he advised. They wished for no slow
trains on the road to destruction. And so these
brothers, mere boys as they were, soon broke over
all restraints ; they squandered their money in
wine suppers, staid out nights, and broke rules
generally. Just as they were about to be expelled
for their misconduct, a friend of their mother's, a
whole-souled woman and grand worker in the tem-
perance cause, heard of it and came to their rescue.
The boys were frightened, and promised reforma-
tion. She interceded for them, saying she would
be responsible for their good conduct ; then, with

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A PROMISE FULFILLED.

their mother's consent, took them into her own
family and watched over them far more wisely than
their mother could have done. The result, after
a couple of years, was two thoroughly recon-
structed boys added to the noble army of young
men who are, under God, to save this country in
a higher, wider sense than it has even yet been
saved.

It was just when Fern was suffering most keenly
from her own trials that this distress and anxiety
came down upon the household. Her mother was
nervous and delicate, and must not be too much
burdened, so she had to rouse herself and try to
be brave and cheerful. It was during these days
when she prayed for her brothers with almost
every breath, that a strong desire took possession
of her to join the great army of Christian workers
in battling against the foe who stalks about deso-
lating homes and hearts. The whole question so
loomed up before her, the misery and sin caused
by this legalized evil, that she vowed before God
to lift her voice against the awful curse at every
oppo^-tunity.

When the Master calls a soul to high service he
sometimes gives it first to drink of the cup of
suffering of which he drank.

Dr. Fletcher had been abroad more than three,
years. They had not been happy ones. If he had
not plunged into the study of sciences connected
with his profession, they would have been intoler-

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

able. He had gained rich stores intellectually,
but was growing into a cynical misanthrope. In
his dissatisfaction with life he often declared that
it was not worth living.

It was one stormy evening when he was con-
fined to his room by a slight indisposition that he
felt positively stranded. His head ached too badly
to pursue a scientific train of thought and he could
not read for the same reason. There was nobody
and nothing to amuse him, and he could not even
sleep to kill time. To make the matter worse, it
was the night before Christmas, that loneliest of
all lonely seasons for a stranger in a strange land.

As he sat with half-closed eyes, leaning back in
his chair, the sound of low, sweet singing came
to him. An American lady and gentleman with
their infant child occupied the rooms near his.
The transoms were opened and the song floated
in. P>idently the young mother had remembered
what evening it was, for the lullaby^ she sang were
on one theme only. Dr. Fletcher bent his head
in eager attention as the old familiar words came
distinctly to his ears :

" When marshaled on the nightly plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky,

One star alone of all the train
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

"Hark ! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every star, from every gem ;

But one alone the Saviour speaks —
It is the star of Bethlehem."

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A PROMISE FULFILLED.

From that she glided into another just as old
and sweet :

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" While shepherds watched their flocks by night,

All seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down.

And glory shone around."

"Just so my mother sang her Christmas hymns
to me long ago ; those very hymns," he thought.

The heartsick man closed his eyes and went
back over the years, recalling many of the words
and tones and ways of the mother who was gone.
How concerned she had been that he should live
on a high plane. Would she be satisfied if she
S2W his daily life ?

The room was only lighted as yet by the beams
of the full moon which smiled in at the wide win-
dow, resting lovingly on a portrait, the mild, sweet
face of the young man's mother.

Dr. Fletcher never allowed himself time for
tender memories of any sort these days. He
resolutely shut them out by keeping every moment
employed. But he got up now and walked over
to the picture, gazing into the soft eyes which
seemed to look reproachfully at him in that strange
silvery light.

Then the pent-up yearning and loneliness of all
the years found voice in " O, mother, mother ! "

He stood long with head bowed on his hands,
going over his life, calling up words and deeds

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

which must have cut that gentle mother's heart
like a knife.

" Fool ! Why did I not live so that I should
have no remorse ? " he asked himself as he began
to walk up and down the room. He thought what
an empty, desolate life his had been at the best.
He had not meant it to be so in his early youth.
What a selfish, miserable character his was con-
trasted with his mother's ! He had even made
another life as desolate as his own perhaps, and
then followed the tormenting doubt as to whether
Fern Redpath had ever truly cared for him. If
she had, how could she let the years go on and
make no sign .■* How could he .-* But he was a
man. Women were supposed to have tenderer
affections. Besides, she was the offender ; she
had not faith in his integrity and strength of pur-
pose. He wished she could know, to show her
the fallacy of her arguments, that he had not yet
become the sot she feared he would. But why
should he think of her this Christmas night.? It
was Christmas time, that happy week he spent in
her own home, and that wretched night when he
saw her last. The moon shone just as it did now.
Hateful moon ! She had probably forgotten him
by this time, except to breathe a sigh of pity at
mention of his name as she might for any wretch.
He allowed his fancy to dwell for a moment upon
Fern in a new home of her own, happy in the love
of another. The thought maddened him. He

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A PROMISE FULFILLED.

drew down the shades, shutting out the obnoxious
moon, and lighted the gas. But he got no relief
from his restlessness. The Lord had come to meet
Paul Fletcher that night. It was of no use to shut
out the moonlight and turn away from his mother's
eyes to try to still the voice of conscience.

A strange thing had happened to him during
the last few days. His studies of the human sys-
tem, and the result of certain new scientific ex-
periments, had convinced him, entirely against his
will, that alcohol was injurious to the delicate tis-
sues of the vital organs, even though taken only
in small quantities. Being thus convinced, he
resolved to make no further use of it in his prac-
tice. But it was not so easy to abjure it personally.
He was exceedingly fond of the amount of stimu-
lus he now allowed himself daily. He had some-
times been tempted to increase it when he had
been through extra fatigues in his hospital practice,
but pride saved him from repeating it often. He
wished to demonstrate that a man may be temper-
ate in the use of wine and brandy, as well as other
things which might result in injury if used to
excess. And yet, blind himself as he would to the
fact, he was aware that his nerves were often un-
steady on account of the stimulus he had taken.
It humiliated and angered him to discover that he
had not strength enough to abandon what he was
now convinced worked injury only. Where was
his boasted self-control }

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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For almost the first time in his life Paul Fletcher
was not sufficient to himself, and his heart cried
out for help. He had never cut loose from his
connection with the Church. He could not abjure
his mother's faith, even though it was a dead
letter as far as answering any needs of his own
r.eart was concerned, it having never influenced
his life in the slightest. He found himself won-
dering now whether it would be possible for him
to be a Christian like his mother, resting on some-
thing which gave him solemn peace and comfort
independent of outward circumstances, squaring
his life by rules made by One unseen and mysteri-
ous. But she loved it all. He did not. It was bur-
densome. Its requirements were tedious. What
a mere farce his church connection was at best !
What was the matter } He was honest when he
made it.

His newspapers lay on the table, just arrived
from the mail. He picked up one idly and looked
it over. It was his mother's church paper. He
never read it and did not value it. But for his
mother's sake he allowed it to continue coming.
His eye fell on a paragraph of a do^en lines, an
extract from the writings of one who 's a master
in spiritual thought of the present generation.

" The well-defined spiritual life is not only the highest life, but
it is also the most easily lived. The whole cross is more easily
carried than the half. It is the man who tries to mako the most
of both worlds who makes nothing of either. He who seeks to

A PROMISE FULFILLED.

i i'

serve ^vo masters misses the benediction of both. But he who
has taken his stand, who has drawn a boundary line sharp and
deep about his religious life, who has marked off all beyond as
forever forbidden ground to him, finds the yo''e easy and the
burden light."

He read them a second time, then cast the paper
aside and took up his march about the room again.
The words, for sonie reason, strangely arrested his
attention, partly because he reverenced the intel-
lect of the author. " He who tries to make the
most of both worlds makes nothing of either."
" Exactly what I have done,'* he said to himself.
" I am a failure, morally, as far as both worlds are
conceriied, and I have sadly missed the benedic-
tion of both. What if I were to take my stand
and draw a * boundary line sharp and deep ' about
my religious lite — if I have anything that can be
called a religious life. Suppose I declare that I
will be different from this night ! That will not
make me so. How shall it be done ? It is a ter-
rible undertaking. I only know I am helpless."

To know that one is helpless is far on the way
to being helped. Before he closed his eyes in
sleep Dr. Fletcher made a full surrender of him-
self to Christ. The old cry, " Lord, save, or I
perish " — when was it ever made in vain ?

He was not conscious that night of exercising
true faith. He only knew that his whole soul
went out in prayer, and that it was not the same
old formula that he had for years been saying over

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

lifelessly as one might use a charm or incantation.
And he was not sensible of any great change in
himself, or uplifting. He was even depressed with
the conviction that there was a mighty work to be
done in him that, little by little, would probably
be accomplished through the years ; his part was
to struggle, and maintain an unwavering purpose.
The next morning, though, he was surprised to
find that his heart was tender toward Gocf, that
the Bible was precious and prayer sweet. He
spent that day alone, shut in from work and study,
that he might look this wonderful thing that had
come to him in the face and reconstruct his char-
acter on a new basis. His past life seemed vile
and hateful, his aims frivolous, his conduct inex-
cusable. It was strange how clear-cut and positive
his opinions became regarding consistent Christian
living. Many of his fine theories would not stand
with this white light flashed upon them. Certain
practices and indulgences which he had allowed
himself as an easy-going Christian, seemed now
utterly out of character for one who was to live
with eternity in view. There was no doubt or
dallying, either, about the question of stimulants.
How could he ever have been so blind as to think
otherwise ? He dashed the thing from him as he
would have done had it been there literally. Es-
pecially did he feel bowed down in humiliation
when he reflected what it had cost him.

Is all this incredible in so short a space ? As

A PROMISE FULFILLED.

• ' I

if the One who said, " A new heart will I give you,
and a right spirit will I put within you," was
limited by time !

And now from day to day this awakened soul
wondered over the power of God to so change one
as to make him in thought and action the exact
reverse, in many respects, of his former self.

We have all been through it, prayed our poor
little prayers with but a spark of faith, and gone
our ways, despondent, half-despairing, over the
evil in our own hearts, when lo ! presently, the
stone has been rolled away^, the mountain of re-
bellion gone, the revengeful spirit sweetened, and
not by our struggles or resolves ! How we forget
that He has promised : " A right spirit will I put
within you ! "

It was not a little singular that Dr. Fletcher
should at once number himself among those peo-
ple he had called " cranks," and begin, in the most
zealous and outspoken manner, to strike blows
against liquor dealing and drinking. He was
specially interested in trying to convince young
men of the folly of moderate drinking and he did
not lack for material to work upon in 2. country
where the fallacy has obtained that cold water is
by far the most dangerous drink one can take.

Having undergone so radical a change, his heart
began to thrill wit!: another thought, and wonder
whether Fern Redpath were lost to him forever;
whether he had any right to dwell upon memories

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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of her ; for, despite momentary efforts to pro-
nounce her bigoted and severe, he was wont to
think of her, in his heart of hearts, as an exquisite
pearl, a rare white rose, queen of all the women
he had ever met.

Should he seek her now and know his fate at
once ? No ; he would wait u year, at least, until
his new principles had withstood the fire of tempta-
tion. He would wait and wnrk, and not speak a
word to her. He must be sure of himself. It
was a severe ordeal, for he had no mean? of dis-
covering if there might be hope for him at the
end of the year of probation.

i^
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CHAPTER VT.

" IT HAS HAPPENED."

THE bitterest drop in this cup of self-abase-
ment for Dr. Fletcher was that he found it
extremely difficult to forego the stimulus to which
he had accustomed himself. The diseased nerves
and tissues rebelled and clamored. It required
constant watchfulness and prayer in seasons of
temptation, and there were hours of darkness and
conflict. He could not realize at once that rely-
ing on struggles and resolves and vows was like
ropes of cobwebs in a hand-to-hand fight of this
sort. It took wearisome days and nights for
him to learn that it is Jesus Christ who saves
from sin ; that he had but to cast himself upon
him, bankrupt and helpless, and look to him
unceasingly.

When at last he was enabled to do it, the
weakened will grew strong again. He felt himself
to be free from shackles which he was now con-
scious had weighed him down. His brain was
clear, the unclogged machinery sent pure blood
leaping through his veins once more, and ther§

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was joy in mere existence, such as he remembered
in early youth.

The probation period he had set himself being
ended, Dr. Fletcher resolved to know at once
what the future bad in store for him, whether
the fulfillment of his dearest hopes or lifelong
disappointment.

He held an important position in a European
hospital, and the time of his contract had not yet
expired. But longer delay was out of the question ;
so, obtaining a month's vacation, he found him-
self in a few days, after f^ve years* absence, in his
old home.

It was necessary to stop there for a day to
attend to a matter of business in regard to the
homestead. He wished, too, to stand for a mo-
ment by a grave that was precious to him, and
whisper : *' P^ioiher, I have done xt. It is as you
wished."

Old friends greeted him glr My .'nd hoped he
had come back to stay. There were? v irm hand-
clasps and expressions of JceT> v^ofaru. An inti-
mate friend of his own profession, into whose
ofifice he stepped, said, after the first greetings :

" I am up to my eyes in work, Fletcher, and
with all the rest I was foolish enough to promise
to make a speech. Yes, actually I did, but I am
so interested in the cause I could not help it. It
is a thousand pities, my friend, that you are not a
thorough-going temperance man. I have an ap-

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pointmcnt to speak at a rousing meeting in

to-morrow night, but I do not see how I am to get
away. If only you were the right sort, I could
send you in my place. I feel a good deal worried
about it."

Dr. Fletcher's face expressed surprise and d'--
light when the name of the city was mentioned,
and then he said :

•' I will go with pleasure."

•'Man alive! You don't know what you're
saying. It is a temperance meeting, and they
expect me to speak from a medical point of
view."

" I shall be glad to represent you as nearly as I
can," Dr. Fletcher reiterated.

•• You could not represent me, my dear fellow ;
that is, if you hold the same opinions upon this
subject which you once did."

'* But I do not. I am now a radical of the
radicals."

Dr. Barnes gave him a quick look which read
nothing but sincerity. Then he came over and
took his hand again, saying :

" God bless you, Fletcher ; sit down here and
tell me all about it."

Considering that the place mentioned was the
home of Fern Redpath, it would seem that Dr.
Fletcher would not be eager to declare his altered
views to her for the first in the midst of a great
assemblage, if perchance she might be present

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

But it was like him to wish to make his surrender
to truth so hearty and unequivocal that there
should be no possibility of doubt. If she should
be there, he reasoned, it might be to her a joyful
surprise. Besides, he now counted it a privilege
to bear testimony in a large meeting.

Seated upon the platform, he cast his eyes over
the sea of faces to find one only. He should
know it at once, be it ever so far away. He took
the seats in their order, and eagerly scanned each
part of the house. What a variety of types ! It
would have been interesting as a study at any
other time. They were all there. The rotund,
easy-going woman ; the dignified woman, with
slow-drooping eyelids ; the nervous one, with
jerky movements and sharp eye, and the funny
one, bubbling over with laughter. There were
thin, careworn faces, and sad ones, and tired ones ;
faces bright, dull, cold, stolid, eager ; and rarely a
face where peace had left its benediction. But
the one face which adjectives would not describe
was not there. Slightly back of him, on the left
of the platform, in a retired coiner half-hidden by
tall palms, sat the object of his search. Almost
near enough to touch each other, and yet neither
knew it !

Fern Redpath's somewhat fastidious mother
had not at first favored her daughter's plan to
engage in active temperance work, which would
unavoidably bring her before the public. But

niriiBwmiMS^

IT HAS HAIM'F.NKD.

little by little her prejudices had given way. She
could not deny anything to one who ministered to
her invalid life with such tender devotion. As
time went on she became interested herself, and
aided the cause pecuniarily, as well as by advice
and sympathy.

" Are you sure that you are comfortable now,
mother.?" Fern said that evening of the meeting,
after she had drawn the curtains and placed a
fresh magazine and the evening paper on the table
by her side. "I shall not be gone long." And
then she bent over her mother's chair and received
a kiss and an admonition.

" Take good care of yourself, dear ; I wish you
need not go out to-night ; you look tired now."

"O, no! I am fresh as possible. Somehow I
feel elated to-night, as if a great event were about
to come to pass. Those strange thrills pass over
me, and my heart leaps up at something, I know
not what. It is a childish state of mind which used
to visit me long ago when I was young, and some-
thing lovely always followed it," Fern said, between
a sigh and a laugh, and then added :

'* I do not know what could come to me, I am
sure, that would greatly rejoice me, except some
good temperance news."

Then the mother and daughter exchanged looks,
and the eyes of one said : " Dear child, I know
you have missed the flower of womanhood. I
grieve for you."

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JOHN REMINCTON, MARTYR.

The Other eyes, wistful and subdued, answered
only: ** God's will is best."

Do finely organized natures possess a subtle
sense to which the air whispers indefinable hints
of things to come ? Fern Redpath wondered
something of the sort before that evening was
over.

She was attending to a small matter of business
with the secretary v;hcn Dr. Fletcher was intro-
duced, and did not hear the name, but was
presently awakened to the fact that the voice was
strangely familiar. She had heard that a Dr.
Barnes was to be the next speaker. How could
that voice — peculiar in its clearness — belong to
but just one person in the world.-* and he — he
would not be reasoning in that fine, strong way,
on that side of the question. It was a forceful
speech, coming from a physician. She followed
his argument with delight. He was making
astounding statements in regard to the effect of
alcohol on the tissues of the brain, and in eloquent
lan^ jage depicting the diabolical process of defam-
ing and destroying the body, the temple of the
Holy Ghost.

It was no mere perfunctory work to fill an
appointment ; his soul was in it, whoever he was.
As he turned and took his seat, Fern had a full
view of his face. It was Paul Fletcher ! She sat
in a tumult of joy while Elsie Chilton sang. She
herself was to be called upon next. How could

" IT HAS HAPPENED.

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she speak the things she had prepared ? She felt
more h'ke singing or praying ; to give vent to
thankfulness, to overflowing praise. Her prayer
was answered abundantly. Paul was changed.
He had returned to her. To her ? Ah ! that
made her heart throb wildly. His wife might be
down there in the audience, looking proudly up at
him. Fern would have given much just then to
be able to slip iway outof it all. Her head reeled.
Was she going off into unconsciousness .'* But
her will asserted itself. She stepped to a door at
the back of the platform, took a long breath of
fresh air and a drink of water, and by the time the
song was finished stood pale and calm, girded up
to do her part.

As Dr. Fletcher, during his absence, had no
means of receiving news of Fern except by directly
addressing her or her friends, he had not heard of
her public work in the temperance cause. Imagine,
then, his amazement when the chairman announced
that Miss Fern Redpath had pr-omised to speak to
them briefly. The delight of hearing that name,
not joined to another name, filled his mind for the
first few seconds to the exclusion of every other-
thought. Only her lovely profile could be seen
from where he sat, but he did not trust himself to
look at her till the musical voice broke the pecu-
liar silence which an audience assumes when a
favorite is about to address it. He had always
cherished an unconquerable aversion to a woman's

II'

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. ..£;;■,

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" haranguing " on the platform. He could not for
in instant, though, consider these words that Fein
Redpath was speaking as being described by that
word. This was a gracious, graceful woman
pleading in a womanly way that these her brothers
who had power and strength would put off the
yoke from the necks of the weak. It was the
Christlike spirit speaking in her, herself of no
repute, making common cause with the lowly,
recognizing in a poor woman of the penitentiary a
sister, a soul. He listened in wonder, his rever-
ence for her deepening with every word. And
this was the treasure he had perhaps lost by his
own insane actions ! Fool and blind !

The moment the meeting was dismissed Fern
hastened away. If they were to meet, it must not
be there before so many curious eyes. She found
her mother in the library, comfortable and inter-
ested in a new book, so she wandered off into the
parlor and sat alone in a shadowy light, grateful
for outward quiet when the tumult of her own
thoughts were so intense.

But there was a ring at the door, an eager in-
quiry, and in another moment Dr. Fletcher and
Fern Redpath stood face to face in the same rocm
where they had parted five years before. A half-
hour later Mrs. Redpath looked up from her book
at the sound of a soft rustle, and beheld her
daughter, transfigured, it appeared. The soft
bio i\Ti of early girlhood was on her face, and her

mmmmm

"IT HAS HAPPENED."

eyes shone like stars. It was not her pale, quiet
daughter, nor her calm voice, which said with
rapturous tones :

" Mother, it has happened ! a beautiful thing !
Paul has come back. He is changed. He is
everything that is right and good. Oh ! it is so
wonderful."

The mother laid down her book, and for an in-
stant a suspicion of her daughter's sanity crossed
her mind as she said :

♦'Dear child, what is it?"

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CHAPTER VII.

IS THERE ANY HELP?

mwm

MRS. REMINGTON was looking over a list
of names her husband had just handed her.
They were the names of church members upon
whom she was to call.

"Mrs. Philip King/' she read ; "that is singular.
Lena Brooks, my classmate, married a young man
of that name. I do not recall where he was from.
I wonder if it can be the same. I attended their
wedding two years before we were married, but I
have never seen or heard of them since. Lena
was a lovely girl. How delightful if she should
turn up here a member of our church. Have you
met any people of that name, John .-* "

Mr. Remington searched his memory, but could
recall no ore.

" Well, I shall go this very afternoon and see/'
she said, consulting her list again. *' These places
are rather near together. I think I can make
about a dozen calls to-day. I can help you ever so
much this winter, John, with Aunt Hannah hereto
see that all goes right with Baby in my absence."

*«■

•mm

IS THERE ANY HELP?

I r-'

"Take care, dear," her husband said; "be con-
tent with six calls in half a day. You know your
besetment to lay out ten times as much work as
you ought to do."

Two hours afterwards Mrs. Remington stood
before the door of the house No. 11 Miller Street,
which had been designated as the residence of
Mrs. Philip King, and lifted an old-fashioned
knocker. In its best days it must have been a
roomy farmhouse, before the city stretched out
and the farm was cut into diminutive lots, but it
now had a decidedly tenement-house look, with its
worn steps and one half of a front blind swinging
loose. Mrs. Remington told herself, as she cast a
look over the dingy house, that it was absurd to
suppose that her fastidious friend lived in such a
place.

She was positively sure of the absurdity when a
childish, high-keyed voice called, " Come in," and
she found herself in the barest room she had ever
been in that Vv'as supposed to be habitable. The
floor was without cover of any sort, and there was
no furniture except a plain wooden table, a couple
of wooden chairs and a cook-stove. The child, a
little crippled boy of six, with a fair, sweet face
and large blue eyes, sat in a small wheeled
chair.

" Will you take a scat }'* he said, with a grave
little dignity. " My mamma went to the grocery.
She will be back very soon."

1 1
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JOHN RKMINGTON, MARTYR.

" Yes, I will wait, thank you, if you will tell me
your name and let me talk with you a little."

" My name is Charles Carroll King," the little
fellow said, holding his head slightly higher as he
spoke it.

" What a very nice name ! It has historic asso-
ciations, hasn't it ? " she said, instinctively feeling
that she need not put her words into baby lan-
guage for th»s wise-eyed boy.

** Yes'm. You mean that a man of that name
signed the Declaration of Independence, don't
you ? " he asked.

** Yes, I do. Do you know about Charles Car-
roll, of Carrollton ? "

" O, yes'm! We belonged to his family. He
is a — a" — he said flushing, and struggling for a
word.

" An ancestor of yours .-*""

" Yes'm, that is it."

*' Well, I hope you will be a brave man like
mi.

Mrs. Remington soon won the heart of little
Carroll. She admired the pictures he was color-
ing, and asked him to read to her from a well-worn
book which bore his name, and found him, as she
expected, far in advance of boys much older than
himself. When she told him that he read well,
he answered in a slow, sweet way :

" I ought to. You see, I have more time than
other boys. I cannot run on errands or play out-

rs THERE ANY HELP?

doors, or do a good many things .that they do.
But I mean to work hard and study, and know
things. Some day I am going to write books and
make a whole lot of money."

** What will you do with your money ? "

*' Buy things for mamma," he said, his large
eyes shining with the joy which the faith of child-
hood gives. No '• ifs " and *' maybes " in its
calculations,

Mrs. Remington was somewhat ill at ease while
she waited. If it should turn out that her old
friend lived here, how embarrassing to both to
meet under such circumstances ! And yet it was
most improbable. There could easily be two per-
sons of the same name, and, whoever lived here,
it was her duty to call upon them. She was not
long kept in doubt. The first glance at the mother
when she entered settled the question. It could
be none other than the one she had known in her
student days as Lena Brooks, although her bright
color had given place to pallor and there were
lines of care on her thin face ; the eyes, too, told
a story of suffering endured, of humiliations and
dead hopes. Tell-tale eyes which will net keep
secrets.

" Is it possible .'' " she said, as her visitor arose

and extended her hand, "Mattie Kirke ! I should

• have known you anywhere. You do not look a

day older," and she sighed half-enviously as she

read in the serene face and happy eyes of her old

JOHN RKMINGTON, MARTYR.

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111

friend the record of a life that had realized the
fulfillment of all sweet promise.

For the instant she for<;ot in her glad greeting
but that they were back in the old seminary and
*• Mattie " had dropped into her room for a mo-
ment. The mortification of it all came upon her,
though, as she realized that she had no comfort-
able chair to offer her friend. What a baf^e, deso-
late place her home was ! and a burning blush
dyed her face. Mrs. Remington, with her usual
tact, appeared not to notice her embarrassment.
She talked about their own return to the city, and
how delighted she was to find that her old friend
lived in that suburb and was a member of their
Miurch.

"No, we have not been here long," Mrs. King
said, in answer to a question, "though my husband
used to live here when he was a boy. An old
friend of his father's offered him, a year ago, a
pleasant position with him in this city. He is
growing old and needed a younger man to attend
to some of the business. We are not very well
arranged for comfort yet, you see," she said, try-
ing to smile, "but we hope to do better by and by.
We have been unfortunate."

Mrs. Remington again turned the conversation
by saying : " I enjoyed a short visit with your
little son. He is going to make a fine reader."

The little fellow looked up quickly at his mother,
his wistful eyes relaxing into a rarely sweet smile.

IS TIIF.KK A\Y MKT.I' ?

She smoo'Jicd his short curls with a tender
touch, and si<;hcd as she said :

•* Dear boy, I am f^lad he gives promise of being
fond of books. It will help to pass the hours
away."

Questions about him cime to the visitor's lips,
but she would not allow herself to speak them
within hearing of one whose face looked like a
sensitive plant. It was when she was taking her
leave and stood for a moment in the small hall
with the door closed that she asked in a low
tone :

** Docs little Carroll suffer much } "

A look of pain came into the mother's face as
she answered :

** At times, severely, but he is a brave little
soul."

•* What is the disease ? Is there no help for
him.?"

" It is a difficulty with the spine, and I fear
there is no perm?nent help for him."

" What is the cause of it ? Has he been so
from birth .-* "

The sympathetic tones were not those of mere
curiosity. The look of anguish that came into the
mother's face then, smote the other woman to the
heart.

" Do not speak of it," she hastened to say, " if
it be too painful."

*' It was caused by an injury," was whispered

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(716) 872-4503

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

with white lips, and then she shut them close as if
fearful that another word should escape her.

" There is some mystery about it all," Mrs.
Remington told herself on the way to the next
place. " What can be the reason of such extreme
poverty ? Poor Lena ! " She visited many other
homes that afternoon, where evidently the burden
of care or sorrow lay heavy upon their inmates.
There were few, if any, without at least a seeming
shadow.

" I am almost ashamed to come back to such a
bright, pleasant home," she told Aunt Hannah, as
she sat just at dusk by the open fire in her own
sitting-room, laughing at Baby John as he tumbled
about on a fur rug. ** There are so many wretched,
uncomfortable, sorrowing homes, I feel guilty en-
joying my blessed lot ; all this brightness and
beauty, and you and John and Baby John to come
home to."

" Well, just take it all and be thankful," said
Aunt Hannah. " It won't help them any for you
to be wretched. Don't go to hunting up misery
when you haven't any ; it will come fast enough.
You need not feel guilty, child, any more than a
flower that was planted in the sunshine. Your
part is to be just like the flower ; give out all the
sweetness you can to comfort and chirk'up others,
and when the cold winds come, bow your head
and take them too, meekly, just as the flower
does."

IS THERE ANY HELP ?

" What nice little sermons you preach, Aunt
Hannah. I ought to carry a note-book in my
pocket and take down some of them."

It was a few days after this chat Mrs. Reming-
ton, sitting one forenoon in her sunny chamber,
was summoned to the parlor to meet a caller, and
found Mrs. King.

" I am so glad to see you, Lena," she said.
** Come right upstairs to my room, where we can
be uninterrupted ; besides, it will seem more like
old times."

Mrs. Remington began talking of school days,
giving bits of news and making inquiries about
classmates, but she saw that her friend's interest
was only forced. Presently Mrs. King asked :

** Mattie, can you listen to a long, sad story ? I
want to tell you my troubles. I shall be crazed if
I keep them to myself longer. I want advice and
help, if help is to be found. There is not another
soul in this city that I would willingly speak to of
them. I tried to put on a brave face and hide
everything the day you called, but you must have
surmised that something was very wrong with us,
and I may as well tell you the whole truth at once.
My husband is the slave of a fearful appetite.
When he was growing into manhood he had a
severe illness which left his lungs weak. The
physician advised that a certain amount of brandy
be taken daily.

"After taking it a few months, he grew to be fond

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTVR.

of it, and gradually increased the quantity, even
to the point of intoxication. He was wretched
when he tried to do without it. In short, he had
discovered that an almost unconquerable thirs:
assailed him at the sight or smell of liquor. The
habit was firmly fixed upon him. Then he became
alarmed, and resolved never to taste liquor again
in any form as long as he lived. It was a fearful
struggle, but he conquered and gained the victory
forever, as he supposed. When we were married
I had never heard of this experience. He felt
that it was a thing of the past, and he need not
trouble me with the matter. You know every one
considered my prospects very bright at the time
of my marriage, and they were. My husband is
well educated, and is thought to have no mean
natural talent. He was a partner in a law firm,
where he was prized for his keen brain.

*' We were very happy those first few months,
especially as my husband, who had long thou2:ht he
was a Christian, decided to unite with the Church.
It is a strange thing to say, but from the day he
took his first communion we have not known a
peaceful hour. I never had thought much about
the wine used on that occasion. I supposed it was
all alike, and of course the right sort. It never
entered either of our minds that there could be
death and sorrow in that cup. That one taste of
wine made him insane for more. He rushed away
without speaking to me of his trouble, and walked

'S THKRE ANY „ELP >

for miles, trying to escape from th. ^
possessed liim. It enderl u u '^^'"°" *hich
that nigl,t intoxicated < If fr ."""'"« ^ome
and go through tortures I am ! ^ '^'"^ >'^^"
ever equal the horrors of 'tha "4? "°'""^ '^'"

I was as much amazed -.nH c
-u'd be if your husband .ere to °""'''' '' ^°"
that state. Of course PhiH! '^""'^ ''"'"^ in

by what had happened h1^ ""' """'"'y '-•™^hed
"evermore allow himself t.T''^ 'hat he would
when he came home the next / °'""'"""^- ^"'
he had been drinkin. L"'f "S"'"^' ^ ^^* 'hat
the smell of the liquor Tu. "" '°"' ™e that

perfectly crazed him after Z ''"''''' ""^ ^^'°°"«
again. ' ^"^'^ havmg once tasted it

" That was the end of ^II k, •
struggled against it like on. l^]"^^^- He has
but the wil, seems potdess "'th^ '"' '^^ '««.
month, perhaps, when he gSsthJT '''" "^ ^
he yelds and spends evemh ^''"'■y- Then
-eeks. He strip' the housTo f" '■! ''" ''' ^<"■
h's clothes and our own VelT '"' ''"'
"-hen he is himself, to le;,^. u ""^^^Sed me,

destruction as fas s po ; .? TH'' ''"" ^« '°
eannot. I consider it a'd s a t' T I "'" "°' >• ^
he was not morally responsble 4^"' "'°"S'^'
to fear from him anv m. T '^''e '^ nothing

^"ble thing happ:ne7somel r^ "' ^ '"" ' '»■
h-m to keep away fr^m T ^ °^ '"'"'^'■°" 'eads
fit state to comeTo ™ " ^"""^ ""^^n not in a

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" It was when little Carroll was six months old
that he came home one night in a perfectly frantic
sLate, and before I could interfere, snatched up
Baby and gave him a fling into the air. He fell
with his little back across the side of the crib. I
thought the breath had gone from him at first, but
he revived. The result was what you saw — a
spinal difficulty. The sight of the dear boy
crippled for life makes his father utterly miserable,
and yet even that does not cure the terrible habit.
I sometimes think remorse and regret become in-
tolerable at times, and tempt him to put himself
into a state of forgetfulness. Step by step we
have gone down. Philip was asked to leave the
firm to which he belonged. Then we were almost
on the point of starvation. I have now no near
relatives to appeal to, and my husband was too
proud to ask help of his. At last, a friend of his
father's, Mr. Renwick, heard of the straits we were
in, and invited him to come here and assist him
and take a new start. He is in the real estate
business, so he opened an office in this suburb,
because there was no liquor sold here, and put
Philip in charge of it. For several weeks all went
well, and I really began to hope. We took a
pleasant little house, and Mr. Renwick helped us
to furnish it plainly. But it did not last. A
saloon was opened almost next door to the office,
and it was the old story. Philip neglects his busi-
ness, and Mr. Renwick is almost out of patience.

IS THERE ANY HELP ?

"Now, why am I humiliating myself to tell you
all this ? Do not, I beg you, reveal it to any one
but your husband. No one but God and us know
how little Carroll came to be helpless. I tell you,
because I want you to know the whole thing as it
is, and see if there can be anybody in Heaven or
earth who can or will help us. I have not had any
hope for a long time until after your call, then I
began to think perhaps God had sent your husband
to this church to help us, for I could not have told
this to one who was an utter stranger."

Mrs. Remington had been silently wiping away
the tears as the sad story went on, and now the
quick word of sympathy and assurance of all aid
that they could give was not wanting.

" My husband," she said, *' is all on fire about
this subject. You may be sure that if it is pos-
sible to do anything to suppress the saloon here,
he will find it out. He is wiser about laws and
their technicalities that I am ; meantime, he will
become acquainted with your husband and try to
influence him. Don't despair, dear Lena," she
said, giving her one of the old-time schoolgirl em-
braces, "God will surely pity you and hear our
prayers if we trust him. He has all power on
earth as well as in Heaven, you know. I wonder,"
she went on, after thinking a moment, " whether,
if it could be brought about, your husband would
be willing to go to an inebriate asylum? Did you
ever think of it ?".

lOO

JOHN KKMIN(iT()N, MAKTVK.

" Mr. Munson spoke to me about it," Mrs. King
answered, the color flashing into her face an in-
stant, •' the other clay when he met me on the
street. He is a professing Christian, and owns the
largest distillery in this locality. It is just outside
the city. He said he had noticed that my husband
was getting into a bad way ; that he was sorry to
see it. He felt kindly toward me, and would do
anything in his power to aid me. He went on to
say that it was a great pity that one should not be
able to exercise the self-control that belonged to a
true gentleman, but when such was the case there
was a remedy that had proved efficacious in some
instances, and that was the inebriate asylum. If
Mr. King would consent to gc» and co-operate in a
cure, he thought he could get him in there, so that
it would not be much expense to me, as he was on
the board of directors of such an institution.

" I did not know till then that I was capable of
such indignation as took possession of me. I
waited a moment till I could speak calmly, and
then I told him I thought it very fitting that a
man who was engaged in manufacturing drunkards
should provide a place in which to cure them ; it
was a mere matter of justice. ' Yes, you can help
me,' I said, 'and you can help thousands of other
women at the same time. You can put out the
fires of that distillery which is dealing out death to
us. How dare you. when you are rolling up your
millions by means of it, mock your victims by

IS THKRK ANY HELP ?

lOI

kindly offering them such aid ? * Then I walked
on and left him standing there. I heard afterward
that he said that probably I myself was the cause
of trouble in our home ; that 1 had a fearful tem-
per. Perhaps I did wrong, but even a worm will
not bear everything. O, Mattie ! this is my horri-
ble besetment, to hate liquor dealers, and hate
men who make the license laws, and despise all
hypocritical Christians like Mr. Munson. I used
to wonder when I was a girl why people found it
so hard to forgive injuries. I thought I was full
of charity and pity toward all, even wrong-docrs.
How little people know themselves until they are
sorely tried."

" I am sure I should be tempted in the same
way, dear," Mrs. Remington said.

Just then there was a knock at the door, and
the servant brought in a tray. Aunt Hannah
knew who was the visitor, that it was a soul to be
ministered to for Christ's sake, and that she would
shrink from meeting others, so, as it was after the
noon hour, she arranged a tempting lunch with a
pot of hot tea and sent it up.

** Come, Lena, draw your chair up ; you will
feel the better for a little refreshment," Mrs. Rem-
ington said as she poured the .ea. " Aunt Hannah
has remembered us. She always does remember
to do little, nice things. Sometime you must
know her. She is a whole gospel of love and com-
fort, and she will help us to pray for your husband."

111

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102

JOHN RKMINGTON, MARTYR.

Mrs. Remington sat a long time absorbed in sad
thoU)";hts after her friend had gone. Never before
had she come in contact with such sharp contrasts
as this wan-faced, broken-hearted woman presented
to the happy, care-free girl she had known in
former days.

The result of a conference between herself and
her husband was that he called that very afternoon
at the real estate office of which Philip King was
in charge. He found him in, and in his right
mind as well, sitting at a desk at work, though
with a sad, gloomy face.

" It is just such bright spirits as this one that
Satan loves to get hold of either to press into ser-
vice or to destroy," the visitor thought within him-
self, as a pair of keen eyes under a broad brow
looked half-defiantly into his. Mr. King had no
wish to meet this other man of his own age who
was making of life a grand succes. while his own
was a failure. But Mr. Remington was no bungler
in his Master's work. He knew that he must first
win the heart of the one whom he would save.
He had come ostensibly to obtain information in
regard to property in this part of the city. Aunt
Hannah had asked him to find something good in
the way of an investment, and why not invest in
real estate >

Mr. King's slightly haughty manner gave place
to his natural courtesy when the errand was made
known. He was all iiutarest, and in a few rapid

Is TiiEKt: AnV help?

103

'II

words sketched the advantages of this and that
piece of property, bringing out clearly the chief
points, accomplishing in a short space of time
what would have taken hours for some men.

Little by little other topics were introduced,
books, authors, politics. An hour passed away
most enjoyably to both. Philip King forgot his
gloom, and was surprised to find his mind stimu-
lated to high thought, as it had not been in a long
time. He felt himself strangely drawn to this
man, whom he had not known an hour before,
and heartily invited him to come again. The in-
vitation was accepted, for Mr. Remington wished
him to feel that he was a friend and brother. He
was in the office daily, now on business, and again
to leave a book, or for a little friendly chat. Mr.
King's attendance at church became quite regular,
and all hoped for the best.

It was during one of his intervals of sobriety
that all this went on, when the evil spirit seemed
exorcised and the man was restored to control
of himself.

Mr. Remington had been diligent in another
direction as well. He had appealed to Mr. Har-
grave, to Earle Mason and others, to rally to the
work of closing the one saloon that had, after long
protest on the part of the people, been opened in
that part of the city. They were now aiming to
convict the proprietor of selling contrary to law,
as they were sure he did, and were watching their

104

JOHN RKMINGTOI^, martvr.

opportunity to arrest him. The small number of
determined spirits who had banded together to war
with this foe had money in the treasury for the
purpose, for, like the brave men who fought in
another conflict, they had pledged " their lives,
their fortunes and their sacred honor" to this
cause. It was not long before they secured an
indictment against the owner of the saloon, and
were now awaiting the slow process of the law.

CHAPTER VIII.

IN BONDS.

ONE morning Mr. Remington stepped into Mr.
King's ofifice, but found him absent. He
went several times that day with the same result.
After another day had passed, he grew uneasy and
called at his home. Mrs. King met him with
swollen eyes, and when he asked for her husband
made no attempt to conceal the fact that she did
not know of his whereabouts.

"I had hoped so much from your influf»nce over
him," she said, " but nothing, nothing is of any
avail. He will be away for weeks now, perhaps,
and a telegram has just come saying that his
mother is at the point of death. I have no idea
where to look for him."

" Remember them that are in bonds as bound
with them." Mr. Remington was one who not
only faithfully expounded this text, but acted upon
it as well. This nee ssitated a search for Philip
King. He inc aired irst in thi« saloon in that
suburb, receiving impuc nt replies from the bar-
tender to pressing questions as t • when he was

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jOHK ItEMlNGTOK, MARTYR.

-1^

last there. The man declared he had not been
there since the morning of the day before.

Pushing on down town, he found the object of
his search. He was just being thrust out of one
of the poorer class of saloons, one which Philip
KinsT would not have entered had his mind been
clear. He had been lying there in a drunken
stupor for some time, and the proprietor said he
was "tired of it."

" Ah ! I see," Mr. Remington said, " I presume
this victim of yours is out of money. You have
no further use for him."

The man gave him an evil look, went into his
shop, and banged the door.

Mr. Remington took Mr. King by the arm and
walked the street with him until the keen air had
somewhat set right the poor brain, and then told
him the sad news. The dazed man took in enough
to have a dim perception that he must start on a
journey at once, and so made pitiful efforts to
recover himself.

Mr. Remington did everything for his comfort
that could be done, and by the time the train
started he was rational enough to experience bitter
shame and sorrow, and to promise his benefactor
that he would taste no liquor while he was gone.
It was a fierce fight. He had all he could do to
keep from rushing out at stations to get a drink.

The old mother, gasping her life awcfy, had often
asked through the hours of the night :

"in bonds

107

Hasn't Philip come yet ?

She had given this son to the Lord in a peculiar
manner, and she had prayed for him as one who
will not be denied. It was a sore trial now to her
that she had come down to the gates of death and
the Lord had not given her her heart's desire.
But faith did not fail. She could still look up and
say : " Lord, I believe."

When at last her son was by her side, she took
his hands in hers and whispered, ** Philip, promise
me that you will never taste liquor again," and
Philip, his heart breaking with sorrow, kissed her
cold forehead and promised. He meant it. He
never meant anything in his life more. He vowed
it again over the sweet old face lying still and white
just before the coffin lid closed for the last time.

He sat down and wrote his wife about it, and
told her that never again shouM liquor pass his
lips. He bade her hope and take courage, he
would start again and life should be brighter for
her, and he would atone as far as he could for the
past.

" I thank you, dear wife," he wrote, " that you
have been to me like an angel of goodness ; that
you have never reproached me when I so much
deserved it. Meet me at the station and let us
never part again."

While in the train his mind was going back
over the days of his boyhood ; visiting the old
place had brought them freshly before him. Keen

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regret and remorse took possession of him as he
realized that his mother's last days had been em-
bittered by him. It would seem that he had
brought sorrow to all who belonged to him. As
he sat in absorbed, gloomy thoughts, a man before
him took from his valise a bottle, one of those
hideous flat ones, poured out a glass of brandy and
drank it off.

At sight and smell of the vile stuff, it was as if
waiting demons entered into the being of that
tempted'man. A raging thirst took possession of
him. He felt like snatching that bottle and drain-
ing it. He was about to say : " For Heaven's sake,
give me a drink." But now the train stopped and
broke the horrible spell. ** Twenty minutes for
supper ! " came the word ; and there, staring the
wretched man in the face, was the red sign of
the saloon. He shut his eyes so that he could not
see it. He set his teeth hard and clinched his
fists. He brought before his mind his mother's
dying words and her still, cold face. He recalled
his promise to his wife. He vowed he would not
yield. He did everything but cry : " Lord, save
or I perish." He forgot that.

" I will go and get a cup of coffee," he said to
himself. He had to pass the fated door on his
way to the restaurant. Why was the whole air
filled with the pungent, hellish odor ? Had one
of the fiends who knows the power of it poured
some outside to entrap a soul ? It had done its

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IN nONDS.

109

work. He rushed through that doorway of the
pit. What was a vow to a dead mother and a
waiting, broken-hearted vyife weighed in the balance
with a glass of brandy to this poor slave }

Despite previous disappointments, Mrs. King's
hopes had risen since receiving her husband's let-
ter. She prepared an inviting supper, talked
cheerily to Carroll of papa's coming, and was
promptly in waiting at the station. Her heart
sank like lead when he did not appear. She tried
to think that he had missed his train and would
come on the next one, but her fears were that he
had stopped in the city and was by this time
steeped in liquor, which was the truth. The sad
wife retraced hei steps over the lonely way, glad
of the falling shadows so that her tears might flow
unrestrained. Surely one of God's kind angels
walked beside her in the darkness and kept her
from sinking utterly. She said, almost cheerfully,
as she met the eager face of her boy :

" Papa did not come, dear. Perhaps he missed
the train, and will be here in the morning."

Bw^ the little fellow's lip quivered and a tear
stood on his cheek.

" Don't cry, dear," his mother said. " Be a
brave boy."

" Why, mamma." he sobbed, " you feel bad, too.
There's cry in your voice."

It was not until several days afterward that
Philip King, awakened from his drunken sleep,

( O'i

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

stood in the city street, looking up and down it in
gloomy apathy. The sky was dark, the air chill,
and occasional snowflakes melting on the pave-
ment increased the dreariness. Now the man was
going through the torments of the afterward.
Wrecked, soul and body, he felt himself, as pros-
perous-looking men hurried by where he stood pale
and shivering. Shame and remorse filled his soul.
The fiend who had followed him the last few days,
whispered in his ear : " You are good for nothing.
You are a curse to all who belong to you. Go and
jump off that dock and drown yourself."

The dark waters of the lake at the foot of
the street beckoned him, and he went. But one
of God's messengers followed him. Just as he
reached the spot he felt a hand upon his arm, and
turned to see Mr. Remington, who laid kind, firm
hold of him, drew his arm through his own, and
turned him about.

"Let me alone," groaned Mr. King. "You
cannot save me. I cannot do right. I have tried.
I am utterly powerless."

"God is not," Mr. Remington said. " '^u are
coming with me now to get a cup of coffee. Then
we will talk about it."

Mr. Remington believed that in a disease of
this kind the true way was to apply directly to
the great Physician, and, dropping all other
refuges, by an act of faith rest upon Christ only
to do this great thing for him. He had repeatedly

't n

IN BONDS

»»

III

urged this upon Mr. King, but as yet he had
seemed unable to grasp it. Like too many others,
he failed to apprehend that an absolute trust in
Christ will accomplish that which struggles and
scourgings on our part could never do.

During the last few days Mr. Remington, in
consultation with one of the directors of the ine-
briate asylum, had learned that the way was open
for Mr. King to enter if he chose, and defray his
expenses by keeping books. His wife was anxious
for him to go. Months before she had applied
for a situation as teacher in the public school of
that suburb, feeling that they must have some-
thing less precarious than her husband's earnings
t'^ depend upon. She had been promised a place
as soon as there should be a vacancy. This had
now unexpectedly occurred through the sudden
resignation of one of the teachers. It had come
to Mrs. King just when she needed it most — at
the beginning of winter, when the prospect of
sheltering her child from cold and hunger had
begun to look dark.

Before Mr. King went home that night, Mr.
Remington had persuaded him to start anew and
go to the inebriate asylum tor perhaps a year. It
had not been difficult to do.

" I am willing to go anywhere, or do anything,
even to plucking out an eye or parting with my
right hand, if it would but free me from this curse
and bring joy to the dearest, best woman on this

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

earth," the wretched man declared. And added :
" If I were fit for another world, I should pray to
be taken cut of this, and have my miserable life,
which is only a torment to others, ended. But I
will gladly go to the asylum and give my whole
soul to the work of reformation."

His good friend furnished him means to start at
once, staid by him until he left, and then accom-
panied him to the very door of the institution, for
which servxe he incurred the still deeper hatred
of the evil-eyed man who kept the saloon, it being
well known by him that Mr. Remington was also
active in procuring his arrest.

The Remingtons tried to persuade Mrs. King to
come and spend the winter with them, but she ab-
solutely refused the kindness, saying that it was
better for her not to break up her home, even
though it was a poor one ; that she wished her
husband to feel that they were there waiting for
him, and moreover, Mrs. Prime, a good old woman
who lived upstairs, would, for a certain compensa-
tion, care for her boy in her absence. Mrs. Reming-
ton sat in Mrs. King's desolate room as she urged
it, and while admiring the courage and self-reliance
of her friend, she sighed as she thought of the
weary days in store for her ; of how the delicate
nature would be burdened and jarred by coming
in contact with all sorts of children, many of them
brought up in a rough way. And then, to come
after a day of toil, to a dreary, desolate home !

HSHWM

IN BONDS.

»»

^ .

It was hard. She resolved to do what she could
to brighten her lot. To this end she must interest
Elsie Chilton in them, who possessed not only a
heart, but a purse.

•* Let me tell you a story, dear," Mrs. Reming-
ton said to that young lady, when she happened
in two or three days afterward.

She began at the beginning, picturing her old
schoolmate, young and joyous, with not a care or
sorrow, and Philip King in his manly beauty and
brilliancy, the fair prospects, the blighted home,
the sad hearts.

There were tears on Elsie's cheeks when she
had finished.

"Oh! why must it be.?" she cried. "Misery
everywhere on account of that horrible stuff. It
makes me so wretched to think that my own father
is a stockholder in a distillery. But I cannot
help that. I have done all I can. Because it is
so, though, I am going to spend every cent of
money I can get hold of to help those who are in
trouble from that cause. It is but just. Wouldn't
it be fearful if money made in that way could
speak and tell of cold and hunger and sorrow and
wrecked lives and lost souls ? "

"Yes," Mrs. Remington answered, with vehe-
mence ; " have it stamped upon it, * This is the
price of blood.* "

" I have a bright idea," Elsie Chilton told her
Aunt Emily one morning, as they were talking

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114

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

over plans for Christmas, which was near at hand ;
♦' come up into the attic, and see if it is not."

The usual collection of cast-off furniture belong-
ing to well-to-do attics was there, hoarded from
that feeling of reluctance to give up entirely
articles which belong to family history.

" Aunt Emily, help me," said Elsie, leading the
way to some dark corners ; " I want to furnish
from these relics two rooms for the Kings."

During the last few weeks Elsie had been a
frequent visitor in that home. She usually spent
an hour with Carroll at least twice a week, and
often looked in upon him for a moment at other
times, occasionally taking him to drive. Besides
her own bright presence, she brought books and
games, and sometimes a basket of fruit. It is
needless to say that the boy loved her, and looked
forward to these visits with eagerness. So Aunt
Emily had heard much of him and his mother, and
her heart had gone out to them in strongest sym-
pathy. She answered now :

" An excellent plan, dear ; so much better than
to have them wasting here."

*'I think," Elsie said, as she dusted off an old
bureau, " that some of these things will be just
what is needed. But what we shall do for a carpet
is a puzzle."

" Your father asked me to have the one in the
library replaced by new. The old one will cerve
your purpose, won't it } It is not much worn^"

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IN noNns.

115

" Capitally ! It is pretty, too, and the one that
used to be in my room will do for their bedroom.
How nice ! See this pretty little rocker ; that
shall go. And this dear old sofa ; I had many a
good read curled up on that when I was a little
girl. Old things are better than new to me."

She went off then, and soon returned enveloped
in a large apron and with a bottle of furniture
polish, taking great delight in selecting just what
articles were needed, and rubbing them with her
own hands.

" But how can you give them to one like Mrs.
King ? " Aunt Emily asked ; "she may not relish
being under so great obligations to you."

" Oh ! I have thought that all out. I am going
to have great fun at it. Mrs. Remington said she
should invite them there to spend Christmas. I
will have the things taken and placed in her house
when she is away, and I will bribe that old lady
who lives upstairs to let us in and keep my secret.
Then Mrs. King will nevei know to whom to feel
indebted. She will fancy it was Santa Claus
brought them, or the angels, maybe."

" One blue-eyed angel," said Aunt Emily.

Accordingly, on Christmas Day, while the Rem-
ingtons tried to make Mrs. King and little Carroll
forget their sadness for a time, Elsie Chilton and
Aunt Emily, by the aid of a man servant, turned
the bare rooms into beauty and comfort. It was
already as clean as hands could make it, so the

116

JOHN RKMINdTON, MARTYR.

work of settling was not long. The bedroom was
first made fair and pretty with the light carpet and
a neat suite of furniture. In the living-room the
worn, rusty cook-stove was replaced by a shining
parlor cook. The floor had a thick, soft carpet,
green with pink and white flowers. A round table
wore a pretty cover. White muslin curtains
draped the windows. Then there was a wide, old-
fashioned sofa, an easy-chair, a rocker, and a new
wheeled chair for Carroll upholstered with finest
springs, softest padding and gay covering. This
last was Aunt Emily's gift. All the other furni-
ture were the treasures of the attic yielded up to
make glad this Christmas Day. A monthly rose-
bush, one of the finest in the Chilton conservatory,
was placed in the sunny window, and then Elsie
stood back and surveyed it all with more delight
than she had ever manifested over any elegant
furnishings in her own home.

" How many wicked attics there are in this
city," exclaimed Aunt Emily, " hcardiug up things
that might be doing good to others ! "

Mrs. King sighed as she turned the key of her
door on her return that evening, thinking how
bare and forlorn their home would seem to her
child in contrast with the comfortable one they
had just left. Mr. Remington had accompanied
them, bringing Carroll in his arms from the
carriage.

** Why, there is some mistake ! " Mrs. King ex-

r 1 1

" IN BONDS."

claimed, as her foot came in contact with a rug,
and the light of a street lamp showed a neat oil
cloth on the floor of the little hallway. " We are
surely in the wrong house," throwing open the
room door and revealing the glowing fire in the
stove, the pretty carpet and the easy-chairs.

Mr. Remington hastened out to consult the
number.

'• Your house is No. ii, is it not } You are all
right. This is the very house I took you from ;
I am sure of that."

But Mrs. King was not satisfied. She stepped
out and examined for herself. It was surely her
house. How could it be explained } She was like
one dazed when she returned. Had somebody
moved in and turned her out ? Just as she was
about to go and consult Mrs. Prime, who, by the
way, was enjoying the whole thing peeping over
the stair railing, she caught sight of a paper
pinned to the wheeled chair. It read :

This chair and all the rest are Christmas things for a dear little
boy named Charles Carroll King.

Your loving friend,

Santa Claus.

" O, mamma ! " said Carroll, his eyes glowing
with excitement, " has Santa Claus really been
here ? But you told me there wasn't any truly
Santa Claus. Then it was fairies — or — or may
be 'twas angels ! "

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JOHN RF.MINfJTON, MARTYR.

•' Yes, good earthly angels, my boy, that the
Heavenly Father sent to comfort his children,"
Mr. Remington said.

"I think," remarked Mrs. King, "you must
know something of their whereabouts, my friend,
and that you probably hold intimate relations with
one of them."

** Indeed, I do not ! " he declared. " It is as
much of a mystery to me as to you. But isn't it
cosey .? "

" Delightful ! beautiful ! Who could have been
so kind to us .'' "

When the whole thing was reported by her
husband to Mrs. Remington, she smiled and
remarked :

" I think I know of her whereabouts, and I
should not be surprised if she resembled in person
and character one of those veritable heavenly
messengers."

CHAPTER IX.

A« M O n E r. CHURCH.

THE time set for the trial of the saloon case
having come, Mr. Remington and his co-
workers found themselves one morning in the
court-room, surrounded by a crew of blear-eyed
men with lowering looks and whiskey breaths.
The temperance party hoped that with such evi-
dence as they had obtained, and with Earle Mason,
clear-brained and enthusiastic, as counsel, their
victory would be sure. And yet there was room
for fear. What chance had they for justice among
those who did not hesitate to perjure themselves
and with a jury which was doubtless bribable }

Testimony came clear and abundant from highly
respectable sources against the accused, but on
the other side witness after witness testified that
they knew the defendant well, and had never seen
him violate the law ; that he was a man of high
moral character !

The jury did not agree, as a matter of course.

With the exception of two or three decided
temperance men, it was made up of stupid, ignor-

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

ant fellows, the faces of some of them showing
plainly that they were unfit to sit in judgment
upon any case which involved a moral question.

A new trial was granted, another jury impaneled
more to the satisfaction of the prosecution, and
now rigid cross-examination brought out the fact
that many of the witnesses for the defendant had
perjured themselves, and that all of them were
miserable victims of the saloon-keeper, and had
been threatened horrible things by him unless
their testimony was favorable. Earle Mason
summed up in a convincing speech. The judge
charged the jury to weigh evidence according to
respectability of witnesses, and they promptly
rendered a verdict of " guilty," without leaving
their seats. Whereupon sentence to the full ex-
tent of the law followed.

This was a triumph indeed to the friends of tem-
perance. They thanked God and took courage.

But the rum party was furious. There were
mutterings of rage at the close of the trial, glances
ominous of evil, and threatenings against their so-
called persecutors. Especially were they incensed
against Mr. Remington, and vowed with each
other to have revenge.

The next morning, the minister's mail began to
be seasoned by spicy communications. Almost
every post ^Or several days brought one. There
was a package which proved to be a Bible with
his name written on the fly-leaf. This was from

A MODEL CHURCtt.

121

Mr. Bombiber, a broad man with a double chin
and red face, who had flourished his fist at Mr.
Remington, and admonished him in this manner
as they left the court-room :

* If ministers would read their Pibles more, they
vvould find out that going to law is petter not for
them. They mus' go for peace an' not be pokin'
der noses into der neighbors* pizness. If you haf
no Pible, I send you one."

And sure enough here it was.

Mr. Remington had a hearty laugh over this.
The next assault, though of a graver character,
was funny as well. It was a greasy, misspelled
missive, which read as follows :

» »:!

This is to let ye NO that ye beter kePe yur I out. Some
cold Led will setULyur HasH if ye dONT stopp medLIN. A
wurd loo the WYSE is sfishent. A FKEnd.

Another one was decorated with skull and cross-
bones. It breathed out threatenings and slaughter
enforced by oaths, and was without signature.

And there was another type of letter, on elegant
paper, of graceful chirography and expression,
which exceedingly regretted that he had appeared
as one of the prosecutors in a court of justice, and
he a minister of the gospel of peace !

The writer hoped that he would receive this
word of warning in the right spirit and hereafter
keep within his own sphere.

This was signed by one of the members of his

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

own church, a lady who had hinted much the same
to him before, and had, besides, criticised his con-
demnation of the use of wine by Christians.

She had also remarked to others that it was
well enough for Mr. Remington, in a quiet way,
to try to restrain the masses, ignorant and vulgar,
who had never learned self-control ; that was a
good work ; but to attempt to do the same thing
for people of culture and refinement, savored of
impertinence.

And there was still another letter from one who
warned him, as a friend, that his life would not be
worth twopence if he persisted in his course ; that
a desperate set of men had become incensed at
him. Prudence would suggest that he desist from
further action and persuade his friends to do the
same, *' For all recognize you," he wrote, " as the
chief mover, however much you may attempt to
disguise it." '

And this was the man who, a few days before,
when urged by Mr. Remington to vote for more
radical measures, had replied :

" Enforce the laws you already have, and you
will be all right."

Earle Mason came into Mr. Remington's study
one afternoon, saying :

" I got my work done, Pastor, so I thought I
would come over and hurrah a little with you over
our late victory. How goes it ? Your head is
still on, I see."

A MODEL CHURCH.

123

If there was one voice above another which
Mr. Remington rejoiced to hear inquiring for him,
it was the same cheery one belonging to this young
man. There was a deep attachment between the
two, and Mr. Mason still continued to address his
former pastor by that name, although, much to
his regret, he felt compelled to continue his mem-
bership in the church of Kensett Square. His
mother and he were the only ones left of the
Mason family. She had life-long attachments in
the old church and he would not suggest a change
on his own account.

" O, yes ! my head is all right," laughed Mr.
Remington, '* but I am the victim of numerous
annoyances. An instrument called a * tick tack *
often raps at my window in the still hours of night.
I have found cords stretched across my front door,
and the other night I was burned in effigy at the
corner where the saloon building stands. A fee
to a policeman insures us from further annoyances
about the house, but look here," he said, drawing
the letters we have read, with several others of the
same nature, from a drawer, " here are tremendous
threats."

Mr. Mason laughed at some of them, and over
others he looked grave.

" I am sorry," he said, " that we allowed you to
appear so prominently in this matter. It may
give you serious trouble. A clergyman ought not
to be a tarofet for rough men."

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** Why not he as well as any man ? I do not
apprehend anything serious, though. These men
are mostly cowards, I daresay."

"They are very angry, you must remember.
Martin Boch's friends will try to avenge his lan-
guishing in prison, you may be sure. I saw black
looks and heard fearful threats for all of us, so
take care of yourself, my dear pastor. Don't
expose yourself to peril unnecessarily.

*' To change the subject, what sort of a people
have you here .<* " he asked. " I hope they are an
improvement upon your former charge in this
city."

•' They are, that is a fact. They are as good as
gold. It promises to be a model church. One
reason is, because they have neither poverty nor
riches, with a few exceptions in both those states.
They belong, as a rule, to that substantial, con-
scientious middle class, well-to-do, content with
their lot, loving and reverencing their minister in
the good, old-fashioned way. It is a delightful
charge. Mind you, I said there are exceptions.
There are a couple of wealthy families who think
the world, especially this corner of it, was made
for their particular use. The letter about * the
masses * came from one of those women. We hope
to have grace to bear with them and do them good,
or else that the kind Father will remove them from
us, money and all. But we have some grand peo-
ple here. There is Mr. Hargrave, always on the

A MODEL CHURCH.

125

right side of everything, a man of few words, but
true as steel, liberal, everything which rejoices the
heart of a pastor ; and his wife and daughter are
just like him. There are many others who possess
the same qualities without his wealth, but are
none the less highly prized. It is going to be a
remarkable church in which to raise money, too."

" That is singular ; new organizations usually
have a hard time in that respect. And you say
they are not wealthy. Do your two or three rich
men bear all the burdens ? That is not good for
the church."

" Not by uiiy means. Everybody gives. Every
man, woman and child pledges to give a certain
amount each week or month. Perhaps it is only
a penny, but they give it. If they are away, they
send it. They place their contributions in a sealed
envelope, and no one knows what another gives,
so there is no embarrassment if one can give but
a small sum. We divide the sum between the
church and its benevolences in a proportion agreed
upon, and so far it works like a charm. The ex-
penses are met and my salary is promptly paid
monthly, besides having a generous sum to give
away."

" And you need no fairs or oyster suppers to
piece out } " asked Mr. Mason.

** Not yet. Nor any teasings and scoldings.
They expect to give. They wish to. After one
has devoted a certain amount of his income to give

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

it regularly as a part of worship, he enjoys bestow-
ing it as he never could hap-hazard giving. Still,
we should not have such easy sailing if we had not
Mr. Hargrave and another man like him, wiio,
when the people have done all they can, quietly
make up the balance, quite secretly often. How-
ever, that will not be necessary as the church in-
creases in numbers, if each continues to give a
tenth of his income."

" However did you manage to get them into
that way?"

" By starting out so in the beginning. I pre-
sented to them the subject of tithes ; many were
surprised to learn that a Jew did not regard the
offering of a tenth of his income as a gift at all,
but simply paying a debt. We discussed syste-
matic beneficence in prayer meeting and distributed
a masterpiece of a tract on giving. Thomas Kane
is the author ; the best thing I have ever seen.
Then we voted to adopt the envelope system,
leaving each one to determine the percentage for
himself. Some fell in with the tithing idea at
once ; others followed, and now nearly one half
of the members are in the habit of setting apart
a tenth of their income."

*' I have always thought it a shame to us," Mr.
Mason said, ** that our money seems to come less
freely than in Romish churches. Of course, it is
compulsory there, but they give it and expect to,
and live besides. My mother's servant, Nora, said

A MODKL CHURCH.

127

the other day : ' If I haven't saved money enough
to get a new shawl and give to the church, too,
the church must have it, and my back must go
widout till it earns it.' And it seems to be real
devotion on her part. Our people as a rule are
trained to consider their backs first, and then if
there be any left give it to God's work."

*• Can I not see Baby John before I go > " he
said, rising. " I feel sort of tired out ; as if noth-
ing would rest me but a walk in the woods, or a
lot of flowers, or a look at a sweet baby face."

Mr. Remington led the way into the back parlor,
where were Aunt Hannah, Mrs. Remington and
Elsie Chilton, who was playing a game of hide-
and-seek with the baby. He forsook her at once,
however, as soon as he saw his father and Mr.
Mason, and was soon perched on the latter's
shoulder, intent on examining all the articles in
the room which were far out of reach, and so the
objects which he most coveted.

The satisfaction on the gleeful little face was in-
tense as he put forth one finger, and half in awe
touched one of the globes of the chandelier ; then
broke into shouts of glee when brought close to a
large picture with cows in the foreground.

••Poor little fellow," said Aunt Hannah, "he
wants to go back to the country and see a cow and
get some good milk."

In the midst of the laughing and gay talk,
Mrs. Remington was mentally going over her bill

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

of fare, and deciding that it would do, resolved
within herself to keep those two people to dinner.
But to the confusion of her plans, Elsie Chilton
looked at her watch and declared that she must
go. There was a protest from every member of
the family, but she smilingly said her "good-night "
and went out.

" I especially wished you to stay to-night, Elsie,"
Mrs. Remington said, following her into the hall.
" Do, please ; Mr. Remington will take you
home."

" I cannot," she said ; " I promised my father
to go out with him after dinner. I shall but just
have time to go home and get dressed. I cannot
break my promise to my father, especially as he
seems to have softened in his feelings toward me
lately." And she went.

Mr. Mason accepted the invitation, although he
could ill-conceal his disappointment at the de-
parture of Miss Chilton. He had scarcely met
her since his return, and then there were so
many about her that he had no opportunity for
conversation.

The two men, finding themselves alone for a
half-hour before dinner, began to talk of Philip
King, in whom Mr. Mason was greatly interested ;
of his fine qualities ; of the man he might be if
only he were forever free from his fetters ; of the
almost utter helplessness of anything short of a
miracle working a permanent cure in such desper-

bit

A MODKL CHURCIf.

129

ate cases ; and then of the nobility and heroism of
his wife.

" I should think," said Mr. Mason, " that with
an unclouded brain and his temperament it would
be perfect torture to him to stay there and know
that his wife is at home slaving, as she must."

" I suppose it is, poor fellow, and all the more tor-
ture because he brought it upon himself. And yet,
did he } When a boy of eighteen is ordered by his
physician to take a certain amount of brandy each
day or else the consequences will be fatal, there
are few who would resist. Neither he nor his
parents would hesitate in most cases."

" Miserable doctors ! " exclaimed Mr. Mason.
" Why do they not understand that it is preferable
for one to die young rather than live to be a curse
to himself and his friends, dying a thousand deaths
instead of one .? And physicians do not agree by
any means that death would be the alternative. I
know of several eminent medical men who use a
substitute for alcohol with great success, and one
of the greatest hospitals in Europe, located in
London, has abandoned its use entirely."

"By the way," said Mr. Remington, "did you
hear of the surprise Mrs. King had in her absence
on Christmas Day } While she was spending the
day with us, some mysterious beings (whom no-
body can tell) took possession of her two bare
rooms and furnished them comfortably, almost
with elegance, and left beside a bin full of coal.

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JOHN REMINfiTON, MARTYR.

It strikes mc, my brother, that possibly you know
something of this — had a hand in it, perhaps."

" I am sorry to say I did not ; wish I had. I
should never have thought of an act so beautiful.
A woman must have done it, or gotten it up at
least."

" My wife strongly suspects Elsie Chilton of
knowing all about it, but nothing can be learned
from her."

" I have scarcely seen Miss Chilton since my re-
turn," said Mr. Mason ; " she seems to avoid me.
Her father forbade me to enter his home just
before I went away, so I cannot call upon her."

" Impossible ! " exclaimed Mr. Remington ; ** how
could he so insult you ? "

" I think he must have imagined that his
daughter had a fancy for me, because she wished
to break her engagement with Mr. Palmer. How-
ever it was, I attended her home one evening when
there had been some misunderstanding with their
coachman as to time, for which service her father
met us at the door, and with a haughty air an-
nounced that he would relieve me of further
trouble in the care of his daughter, that night and
henceforth, and that I was to understand that my
presence in his house would not be desirable at
any time."

"The villain!" and Mr. Remington rose and
walked about in his excitement. " What did you
say.?"

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A MODKL ClIUKCH.

131

" Well, of course I felt like knocking him down
for a minute. I was more angry than I had ever
been in my life. I was brought to myself by Miss
Chilton's pleading eyes, which gave me a look as
if to ask ' Be quiet ; please go.' And I remem-
bered this besides : * Who when he was reviled,
reviled not again.* So I had the grace given me
to say nothing but 'Good-evening, Miss Chilton.* *'

" It is not difficult to understand his enmity to
you, after all," Mr. Remington replied. " You
were my friend, opposed my dismissal, and said
plain things on the subject of Christians deriving
income from the liquor traffic ; I see it all now.
But Elsie seems to think he is softened somewhat
since the death of his wife, and does not feel so
bitterly toward the temperance reform as he did.
He knows that she sings in the meetings, and he
does not forbid it. Still, he may begin to realize
that she is more than of age, and has a right to
judge for herself. And then, his conscience may
be troubling him. I wish it would."

Notwithstanding his pleasant visit, Mr. Mason
realized as he walked home that something had
occurred to depress him. When he came to
analyze it, it was that Elsie Chilton had withdrawn
almost as soon as he appeared. Had her father
prejudiced her hopelessly against him?

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CHAPTER X.

ONE KVKNINtJ.

ONE evening a week the Remingtons aimed
to reserve for themselves, shut in from the
outside world — except, perhaps, a stray caller or
an invited guest who was especially dear — an
evening devoted to the culture of the home, when
care should be dismissed and they might draw
nearer together around the table by the shaded
lamp ; read aloud favorite authors and discuss
them ; talk over news from friends and repeat
Baby's last sentence of small, crooked words.
They usually ended by singing old hymns. This
made a cheery, pleasant time for Aunt Hannah, a
thing which young people often forget to plan for
— small joys thrown in as they hurry along, to be-
guile the tedium of the way to those whose steps
are growing slow. Each looked forward to the
time with pleasure, and made it a sort of festive
occasion.

It was on one of these evenings that they were
partaking of a six o'clock dinner. There was the
aroma of oysters, celery, coffee, and other odors

132

OKE EVENING.

133

belonging to good cheer, and there were flowers,
oranges and dainty dishes. Elsie Chilton was the
favored guest. Little John was allowed to come
to the table when the guest was almost one of the
family, as was Elsie. He sat now jubilant in his
high-chair, though his meal consisted only of bread
and milk. He was usually content with this, and
enlivened the time by pretty babble, except occa-
sionally when the naughty self, which lurks in all
human kind, peeped out. At such times, little
John was summarily removed from the table by his
father and placed in a corner until he was good.

On this evening, after eating a few spoonfuls of
his frugal supper, the spirit of mischief entered
into him, and he made a dive for the sugar-bowl,
bringing out a pink fist full of the article and scat-
tering it about. Order being restored again, he
was quiet long enough to have vigilance toward
him somewhat relax, when he suddenly seized a
potato from his mother's plate and plumped it into
Elsie's coffee, laughing in high glee at the exploit.
Then, as he caught sight of his father rising from
his seat, assumed a look of deepest distress and
penitence, declaring in pitiful tones : ** Me dood !
me dood ! " Elsie interceded for him, and one
more trial was allowed. He managed to sustain a
good character until dessert was served, and then
he set his covetous eyes on a big orange. This
fruit was allowed him morning and noon, but it was
an inflexible law that he should have none at nisfht.

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

He coaxed for it at first, in his pretty way ; finding
that unsuccessful, he demanded it with loud and
angry outcries, which would not be silenced by the
voice of reason or authority. Altogether he was
a shameless acting baby, and patience ceased to
be a virtue. It went to iiis mother's heart to see
him carried screaming from the table and after-
ward standing with his face to the wall, leaning
his head on his chubby arm, shaking with sobs.
When no guests were present he was allowed to
cry it out till he gave evidence of repentance, but
now Jane was sent for to take him from the room.
It was her afternoon out and she had not yet re-
turned, so he cried on. Elsie Chilton cast sorrow-
ful glances at him, and Aunt Hannah looked dis-
tressed. She did not always entirely agree with
her nephew and his wife on family government.
She had her " views," but she did not speak them
out now, nor did she maintain that uncomfortable
silence which oppresses and criticises by its very
rigidity. She was that rare woman who knows
how to be the "third one " of the household.

And now another interruption came. The ser-
vant brought word that a man was waiting at the
door to see Mr. Remington, who found there a
rough-looking fellow with hat drawn over his eyes,
a id so muffled that little of the face was to be
seen. Mr. Remington eyed him suspiciously and
questioned sharply when he made known his
errand. He said that a sick man wished to see

ONE EVENING.

I3S

the minister, and he had brought a carriage to
take him.

The voice sounded so like that of a villain that
Mr. Remington hesitated, remembering his promise
to observe utmost caution in view of threats which
had been made.

" Give me the address," he said ; " 1 will go in
the morning."

" Mornin* won't do ; the man's a-dyin'. I told
'em you wouldn't come, but the sick feller said
you would 'cause he'd heerd you preach and you
had a mighty soft heart."

Concluding that his first impressions were wrong
regarding the man, notwithstanding his instincts
as to the voice, and deciding that he was but a
simple laborer, Mr. Remington resolved to go.
Making hasty preparation, he stepped into the
carriage, dismissed his apprehensions, leaned back
at his ease, and began to think out the text for
next Sabbath's sermon.

When Mrs. Remington turned her attention to
Baby John, he was found in a little heap in the
corner fast asleep, with a tear like a dew-drop on
his roseleaf cheek. His mother and Elsie bent
over him, murmuring "Poor darling," as women
will, having pity and love for even thf very naugh-
tiest of babies, and Aunt Hannah said, half under
her breath : " Poor little victim."

Jane came and carried him upstairs to bed,
Aunt Hannah following, ostensibly to make sure

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

that all went on right, but truly to surreptitiously
hold her treasure in her arms a few minutes and
murmur a lullaby over him, although he was al-
ready far away in the confines of that beautiful
realm where babies go when they sleep ; but it was
a delight to hold his round cheek to hers, whisper
"Dear little lamb," and sing a prayer over him
which if translated into words would have been
fragrant with love and high aspirations.

Mrs. Remington and Elsie returned to the par-
lor, and the latter, dropping into a low seat near
the glowing grate, exclaimed :

" This is an ideal home. Such lovely rooms,
in exquisite taste and harmony, with not a single
gaudy effect ! Mrs. Remington, do you know you
have everything that is worth having in this world,
and the blessing of the other one besides ? Let
me see," she added, with a reflective air. " There
is dear Aunt Hannah, just as good as having a
grandmother in the house, and little John, the
beauty, prince of babies, and your husband, best
and noblest of men."

" You forget one thing," Mrs. Remington an-
swered smiling ; " I have not much money."

" You have all that is necessary. Plenty for
your own needs and quantities to give away, ap-
parently. Is not that enough .-* "

** I am content, but many people, knowing of our
small income, would smile at the idea of envying
me."

ONE EVENING.

137

" What is money compared with a happy home?"
the girl said wistfully. " Mine was not always
happy, and I have never known but a few that
were, even in my short life. Oh ! there is so
much wretchedness in the world. It impresses
me more because I have been to the penitentiary
to-day, where I have been singing to the women
after Fern spoke to them, and their faces haunt
me. Poor creatures ! How they hang upon her
words ! And no wonder ; such tenderness, such
love as shines in her face and speaks in her soft
tones ! And what she says is exactly enough and
no more. She does not preach to them and make
them feel that she is a glorious angel away up on
a high cloud, and they can't touch her. When
she says ' friends,* or * sisters,' in that inimitable
voice of hers, I know they feel like worshiping
her. Fern is so happy these days that her face is
aglow all the time. She looks more as if she be-
longed to earth than she did."

" And yet," said Mrs. Remington, " it must be
a trial to both of them to postpone their marriage
and be separated so soon again, after enduring all
they have."

" Yes, but it seemed necessary. Dr. Fletcher
was pledged to return for a few months. He
pleaded hard to take Fern with him, but she
had also made many engagements to speak in
various places ; besides, her mother is too deli-
cate to be left. They were both so delierhted to

138

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

find each other free that they can live upon that
for a time."

" I was in at Mrs. King's this morning," Mrs.
Remington said. "She had just received a letter
from her husband, and is quite hopeful over him.
She said lovely things about you, but take care,
Elsie, that you don't make Carroll break one of
the commandments. You are certainly an object
of adoration to him. His mother says he is never
tired of sounding your praises. You are to him
the embodiment of all that is beautiful and wise
and good. You certainly have done wonders for
both of them. Mrs. King says the house is always
filled with sunshine when you come, and that it
warms and cheers even her sad heart. This little
private mission of yours is a great success, and
you deserve credit for tact and self-denial."

" Not a bit of credit," exclaimed Elsie ; " it is
half of it pure selfishness. I Lve the little fellow,
and have to go to see him and carry him things ;
it gives me pleasure. And I admire his mother,
too ; she is a fine, strong character. How brave
and sweet she is ! I should just fall down in a
wilted heap if such trials were put upon me, I
fear."

" No, you would not, dear ; do not underrate
yourself. Great trials did befall you — one of
them the keenest that can come to a girl — and
you bore them with remarkable fortitude. It takes
courage of the highest type to do what you did —

ONE EVENING.

1^9

give up one for conscience' sake who was linked
with the dearest plans a woman can have on earth,
and come out of it all not soured and gloomy for
life, as many do."

Elsie was silent a moment, looking into the fire ;
then she said slowly :

" Mrs. Remington, I ought to undeceive you.
You give me far too much credit. Breaking my
engagement with Aleck Palmer did not break
my heart, as you supposed. It is true I was deeply
attached to him for a time, and when my eyes
were first opened to the worldly sort of life I was
leading, and when I realized the horrors of the
liquor traffic, it troubled me greatly that he was
not of the same mind. But after I discovered that
he derived part of his income from that source,
and that he had deceived me about that and other
things, telling absolute untruths, and when he
attempted to tyrannize, actually commanding me
to give up the little temperance work I was doing,
then I saw that we scarcely had one sympathy in
common, and suddenly one day all the love I had
ever felt for him went, and I never could get it
back. I was in deep trouble though, because it is
humiliating to have your affairs on every person's
tongue, and because my father was displeased
with me. Aleck Palmer is rich and highly con-
nected, and father liked him besides ; he was
greatly disappointed. But I have no regrets on
my own account. As the months went on I was

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

i Mm'

exceedingly glad of my freedom. So you can con-
sider me heart-whole, and not a martyr for the
truth's sake, as it turns out."

" Is that so.?" Mrs. Remington exclaimed, with
delighted eyes ; " how happy I am to know it ! I
feared your life was clouded by the affair. At the
same time I was glad when it was broken off, be-
cause my intuitions told me he was not the one
for you. But Mr. Palmer, what of him ? "

" He is more than consoled. He went to
Europe, and married a lady who is royally con-
nected and holds vast estates in her own right.
Mrs. Remington, some of my iiiends think I did
very wrong in breaking such a promise. But the
promise was made to the type ot man I supposed
him to be, which he was not. Must not a wife
reverence her husband ? "

"The Bible says so."

" Then he must have qualities to command rev-
erence, or she must fancy he has, at least. Fancy
deserted me, and left the bare truth standing out."

** You are right, of course. A love based upon
anything else than noble character will not en-
dure. But, dear, is there no one on all the wide
earth that you think you could reverence in that
way.?" Mrs. Remington asked, looking straight
into the blue eyes which dropped their gaze into
the fire as Elsie answered demurely :

" Yes, just one ; but I'll not tell you who it is,
and he himself will never find it out."

ONE EVENING.

141

The carriage coming for Elsie just then put an
end to further confidences.

Mrs. Remington went up to find Aunt Hannah,
who was watching her idol's slumbers.

" Now, doesn't he look like a saint who was
never naughty in all his life ^ " the young mother
said, bending over where he lay amidst the soft
whiteness of his crib, serene and sweet, with one
hand under his rosy cheek ; then without waiting
for reply :

" Aunt Hannah, I want to call you to account.
Why, when you stoi d looking at Baby in the din-
ing-room, did you call him * little victim * } "

" All children are more or less, at times, victims
of their parents' thoughtlessness or inexperience,"
declared Aunt Hannah, almost grimly.

" Why, Auntie dear, I thought you were a fa-
m. us disciplinarian. Did you disapprove of J ohn's
correcting Baby at the table ? You said the other
day I was a brave mother because I would not
yield until I had conquered him, though it took
me an hour and nearly broke my heart, the day he
was determined to have my best fan to play with,
you know."

" Yes, you couldn't do anything else. You told
him not to touch the fan, and he kept taking it
up again, though he knows perfectly what * No *
means. He must learn to obey."

" Now, sit down here. Aunt Hannah, and explain
all about it. Give me a nice, good lecture on dis-

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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cipline ; I need it. I feel utterly helpless and per-
plexed sometimes before that small bit of humanity.
What was wrong to-night ? "

" Child, I ought not to have said it, maybe ; I
always did disapprove of a meddler in a family.
There is a deal of unhappiness made in that way.
But I will just tell you what I meant to-night. Of
course the little fellow can't have a thing because
he cries for it, and he can't have what is not good
for him, any way. He had to be corrected. I
think the wrong was in bringing him to the table
at all at night. He ought to have his bread and
milk at five o'clock, and be put to bed by another
hour. After he has studied and planned so much
mischief, and his little feet have trudged all day
to carry out his plans, he is tired. He feels as we
do when we are all tuckered out and call ourselves
nervous. We are as ready again to cry or fall
into a fit of temper as when we are fresh. Then
comes something on the table that he likes and
can't have. He does not see why he can't. He
is wonderfully tempted. His heart feels fit to
break, and he is angry besides. If the Lord taught
us grown-up folks to pray * Lead us not into temp-
tation,' shouldn't we see to it that we don't tempt
poor babies beyond what they can bear ? "

•'Yes, I see," his mother answered, meekly.
** I wish I knew just how to manage him in all
things."

*' Well, I don't feel as if I had divine wisdom on

ONE EVENING.

the subject by any means," Aunt Hannah said.
" I never brought up any child but John. He had
a big will, and I had many a tussle before he
learned to know that he had to give it up some-
times, but, if I could help it, I never had a settle-
ment with him at meal-time. I would sooner let
a child go without his dinner another hour than
to have a crying spell in the midst of it. You
know how it is yourself, when you've had a lump
in your throat and feel bad. You don't want to
eat ; if you do, it lies there like a cannon-ball and
makes you feel miserable. Children with cross
mothers are made into dyspeptics, I daresay, by
eating when they are all stirred up."

"I never thought of it in that way," Mrs. Rem-
ington said. " It is reasonable, and it is true that
children are victims to thoughtlessness. How
would it do to have Baby take all his meals alone
till he is a little older } It is quite trying to cor-
rect him so much at the table. I know I always
feel as if I could not eat a mouthful while he is
crying."

" I don't think that would do at all. The little
fellow would be lonesome, and so would we. How
would he ever learn to behave at the table if you
don't begin with him when he is young.-* Suppose
you let him come to breakfast, and what you call
lunch. If you have noticed, he is more easily con-
trolled then than he is at night. He doesn't set
up his will so strong when he isn't tired. Then,

144

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

if he misbehaves, let Jane come and carry him off
and not bring him back to that meal. It isn't like
being posted up there, a little sinner with us all
looking- at him. Afterward you can talk with him
about it, and tell him he can never stay at the
table when he is naughty. An ounce of preven-
tion is worth a good deal, too. Impress it upon
him just before he goes to the table that he must
be good."

"Why, Aunt Hannah, we thought it would help
him learn — to keep him in the room and let him
feel that he is disgraced."

" But has it helped ? He has cried in that cor-
ner for six weeks now. He knows he can come
back to the table as soon as he says, * I will be
dood,' and sometimes his big will won't let him
say it for ever so long. But let him see that there
is no more coming back for that meal and my
young man will change his course. I would rather
go to the stake myself than hear his sobs, that
sound as if his poor little heart was breaking."

" He will cry all the same if Jane takes hini
away, don't you think .<*"

"No, he won't cry a second. His mind will be
turned to something else on the way out."

" I wonder," the young mother said, as she
sighed, " whether there ever before was such a
mischievous baby as ours."

" Yes," answered Aunt Hannah decidedly, " lots
of 'em. His father before him was, and I shouldn't

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ONE EVENING.

145

a bit wonder if you were good at it yourself. It is
only babies made of putty that are always saintly.
Besides, we must remember that a good deal of
what we call mischief, isn't at all. It is exploring
and experimenting. How else are little scraps of
men and women to learn all they have to learn } "

" Aunt Hannah, it is your bedtime, and I am
keeping you. You almost nodded then. Don't
wait another moment. John will soon be here, I
am sure. He did not expect to be gone as long
as this."

Three hours later, when the clock chimed out
the midnight hour, Mrs. Remington stood shiver-
ing by the old lady's bedside, saying :

" O, Aunt Hannah ! it is twelve o'clock and
John has not come yet. I am so troubled I
cannot sleep."

ill!

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CHAPTER XI.

no!"

MR. REMINGTON, once launched on a text,
gave himself no concern as to his route.
He became absorbed in sounding the depths of
the wonderful passage he had chosen. After the
topic and divisions of his sermon became clearly
defined, he recalled himself to material things and
reflected that he had been a considerable time on
the way. He looked from the window to try to
discover his whereabouts. To his surprise, street
lamps had disappeared. He was out in the open
country and the night was dark. He called to the
driver :

" Where are you taking me to ? Have you not
got out of your way ? "

The man told him gruffly that it was " a ways,
out " and a half-mile farther. It looked dubious,
but Mr. Remington told himself that it was all
right ; probably a farmer living out a few miles
had sent for him.

Presently the carriage stopped, but he could
see no house in sight. Perhajia it was hidden by

146

no!"

147

trees. The driver got down and silently opened
the door.

Mr. Remington stepped out, asking, " Which
way } "

"Follow me," the fellow said, as he tied his
horses to a tree. They passed through a bit of
wood and came out on the river bank. A light-
house on the distant opposite shore revealed dark
waters, and yet there was no dwelling to be seen.
But the forms of two or three men dimly outlined
became visible.

" What does this mean ? " asked Mr. Reming-
ton. *' Where is the man who wished to see me ? "

" Here he is. We all want to see you," a mock-
ing voice replied.

At this the others set up a coarse laugh.

" There's no use in mincing matters, Parson,"
the heavy voice continued, " so we'll come right
down to business. You are in for it now, sure.
We've brought you here to have a settlement.
You've got to promise to back down and let us
alone or you'll have to face the music."

Then he went on to say, interspersed with many
oaths, that the saloon just closed was to be re-
opened ; that they meant to have one there in
spite of anybody. If he chose to let them alone,
well and good ; he should not be molested. If he
would promise that, then and there, swear it, then
he should be driven back to his home at once. If
not, then prepare himself for the worst.

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148

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Almost as soon as he stepped from the carriage,
Mr. Remington felt suspicious that some plot
against him was on foot. Rapidly he reviewed the
situation. He was several miles from the city, in
the hands of a band of lawless men. The hour
v/as not late, but the locality was lonely, being
quite a distance from the highway. If he should
shout for help it would be of no avail ; it might
perhaps hasten a catastrophe. There was abso-
lutely nothing that could be done by him in the
way of defense. Suddenly there came to his
senses a realization of the near presence of Christ.
He almost looked to see among the dark figures
about him, a shining One ; " the form of the
fourth." It instantly calmed his heart and cleared
his brain, enabling him to speak to them with
coolness and dignity. He began to try to reason
with them. They were evidently astonished at
his courage, but one might as well reason with
wild beasts. They hissed and hooted, drowning
his voice, and the spokesman cried with an oath:

" That won't do, Parson ; we don't want any
p:-2ach ! Will you swear to let us alone and stop
your temperance gabble.^ That's the question.
Say * yes,' and you can go home. Say ' no,' and
you shall be .ducked in the river till you come to
your senses."

" No ! " and Mr. Remington's voice rang out
clear and firm.

"Nab him, Bill," roared the leader "Bring

no!"

149

him along. It won't be hard work to duck him,
he ain't very hefty."

Two of the men had gone down to the river to
find a suitable place for carrying out their demo-
niacal plans, after seeing that their victim intended
to submit peaceably, leaving the other two with the
prisoner. One of these was undoing a rope or
strap, while the other clutched the prisoner's arm
with a firm grasp.

" Stand aside ! " Mr. Remington said. " Let
me take off my overcoat." There was so much
authority in the tone that the fellow involuntarily
loosened his grasp and stepped back. The next
instant the coat was handed over to him, and like
a flash Mr. Remington turned, vanished into the
darkness and ran like the wind. Shots were dis-
charged, balls whizzed by him, but like a hero of
old in the hands of his enemies, " no manner of
hurt was found upon him."

In college days Mr. Remington had been some-
what of an athlete. His classmates called him the
champion runner. The long unused accomplish-
ment — that peculiar, swift gliding over the ground
which can only be attained by training — served
him now to good purpose, as the lithe form, now
that he was out of the woods and could see the
way clearly, ran fleetly, noiselessly, on over fields,
leaping lightly over fences, on toward a point he
had in mind, far from the main road, as nearly as
he could judge his whereabouts.

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

On went the fugitive, never slacking his speed
until, after having gone a long distance, a light
glimmered at the foot of a hill. But when he
neared the house it proved to be not much more
than a hut. He dared not stop there. Possibly
it was the very den where the ruffians lived. An-
other two miles of rapid walking, and then, just as
he began to feel utterly worn out, he came upon
a substantial-looking country house.

The lights were out, but he ventured to knock
at the door, which, after a little, was opened by a
man with a lighted candle in his hand, who de-
manded in a gruff tone :

" Well, who are you and what do you want this
time of night ? "

" Is it possible I have struck one of the rascals
here ? " was the tired intruder's mental comment
as he ventured to briefly tell why he was there.

It was not the first time that Mr. Remington's
voice had been his passport — clear, manly, with
that unmistakable ring of sincerity which be-
gets confidence. There was, too, an indefinable
manner of speech which bespoke the educated
gentleman.

Farmer Morgan, as he stood there winking and
blinking in the light of his tallov^ candle, his gray
locks straggling from under his red nightcap, was
ashamed of himself with the first words the
stranger uttered. He was a good man and kindly,
but cross at having his first sleep disturbed.

"no!

151

" Come in, come in ! " he said the next minute.
"Bless me! and you are a preacher, too, aren't
you ? The rascals ! They ought to be hung ! I
vum ! I'll take my old gun and go after them," he
declared in excitement.

But Mr. Remington assured him it would be of
no avail, as they were far out of his reach by this
time. '

" Well, wife," he called, " let's stir round and get
this man something to eat. He's had a five-mile
run."

Good Mrs. Morgan made a cup of tea and
brought out substantial stores, to which the traveler
did ample justice.

While so engaged his host insisted on hearing
the whole story repeated, clapping his hands and
hurrahing when he got to the point of escape.

** I'm glad," he declared, " to have those scoun-
drels of saloon-keepers come up v/ith, and I'm
mighty glad that somebody had grit enough to
make a row with 'em. Why, that's the reason I
don't move into town. It makes me blazing mad
to see a saloon on every corner. I can't stand it,
and I won't !

" Well, now, you're a good piece from home,
Doctor," he went on, as they rose from the table ;
" stay to-night with us — the piece that's left of it ;
get a good sleep, and in the morning I'll take you
home."

*' There is pnly one thing in the way of that

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

pleasant arrangement," Mr. Remington answered.
*' I have a little wife at home who will start the
police out searching for me if I do. I really must
go and relieve her anxieties. If you will kindly
lend me a horse, I will return him in the morning."

"I sha'n't do any such thing," the old farmer
said. ** If you're going to-night, I'll take you,
and my gun'll go along, too. I'm not going to
have you gobbled up again."

So he harnessed his swiftest horse, insisted on
the minister's getting into an overcoat that was
much too large for him, tucked him up with blank-
ets and robes, and they were soon on the way.

When they arrived and Mr. Remington was say-
ing his good-by and thanks, Farmer Morgan
fumbled in his pocket-book and brought out bills
to the amount of twenty-five dollars.

" Here's a little something," he said, " to help
fight 'em. Go ahead, and God bless you."

As the clock on the church tower struck two,
the minister entered his door again. The house
was lighted and his wife and Aunt Hannah in
waiting.

'• What ! still up ! " he exclaimed. " I thought
I should find you wrapped in slumber."

" As if we could sleep when you were away, no
one knew in what peril," his wife said, in a voice
that almost trembled in tears, so great had been
the tension upon her nerves.

" Dear womankind," he answered ; " she always

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153

fancies that waking and watching and afflicting
her soui will avert the evil and bring back the
lost one if only she steadfastly watch. It was my
sole consolation to hope that perhaps you both
had gone to bed and to sleep and knew nothing of
my absence." >

His attempt to make light of the whole thing
and evade inquiries, for the present at least, was
unsuccessful. They would not rest till they had
heard a particular account of the night's doings.

" But I am through it unharmed, with no loss
except my dignity and my overcoat. I had to
laugh to myself as I went, at the ludicrous figure
I must have cut streaking it over the fields and
flying over fences, had it been light enough to see.
As for the overcoat, I hated to sacrifice it, but I
could not think of any other way to get off. It
may prove to be a clue to the miscreants, though."

" Don't speak of the overcoat, dear," his wife
said, still trembling with excitement. " It was a
small price to pay for your liberty."

'• Remember it was a new one," laughed her
husband, " and a particularly nice one. I begin
to feel regrets like an avalanche coming over me.
I shall probably never see it again."

" O, don't ! How can you make light of what
you have passed through ? It is fearful ! horrible !
To think those wretches were going to plunge you
into the water ; a winter night, too ! " and she
shuddered again.

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Aunt Hannah, divining her nephew's attempt
to lighten the strain on his wife's nerves by divert-
ing her mind, joined him and remarked :

" You see, Martha doesn't feel about the loss of
your coat as the woman did about her bag."

" How was that. Aunt Hannah ? "

" Why, her husband, on his way to take his
grist to mill, was drowned, and when the news was
brought his wife, she only said : * Then that new
bag has gone down, too. That's just my luck ! * "

Even Mrs. Remington had to laugh at that,
through tears, and Aunt Hannah said :

" Come, John, you have had two rides and two
suppers and a race this night. The next thing in
order is some sleep, so I will bid you good-night."

" Yes, you must sleep, dear," his wife said,
clasping him close when they were left alone. " As
for me, I feel as if I must stay awake and thank
God for your deliverance."

The next morning Mr. Remington sought out
Earle Mason to consult with him as to the plan of
procedure for the apprehension of the villains who
had assaulted him. They decided to place the
matter in the hands of a detective, and meanwhile
be on the watch for developments.

Mr. Mason asked for a particular description of
the overcoat, which Mr. Remington essayed to
give, but, abandoning the idea in despair, referred
him to his wife, " who knows to an iota exactly
what and how it is."

" NO ! '*

15s

" Black beaver doth," she answered promptly,
" quite heavy, lined with silk serge ; sleeve linings
are black and white silk. The collar is of velvet,
and I worked my husband's initials in red silk in
the right-hand sleeve lining, because the clothes
of you men are so much alike, you are always mak-
ing off with one another's hats and coats."

It was the same week that Earle Mason, follow-
ing his usual habit of giving one hour a day to
Christian work, took his way among the slums of
Water Street to visit a little boy who had been
absent from the mission Sabbath-school several
times.

Turning into an alley he went up a steep flight
of stairs, then through a dark passage and knocked
at a door. It was opened by the little boy he had
come in search of. The child said his mother had
gone out to be gone till night, leaving him in care
of a younger brother, not much more than a baby.

While Mr. Mason sat talking with little Tim in
his pleasant way, his eyes, roving about the room,
chanced to fall upon a coat hanging on the wall.

Tim's mother took great pride in that coat, and
had that very afternoon rescued it from the rough
box where her husband had thrust it. She be-
lieved, as he had told her, that it was a present
from his employer, so she brushed it and hung it
up, " like any other gentleman's coat," she told
herself with great satisfaction.

The description given of Mr. Remington's coat

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

came at once to Mr. Mason's mind. As nearly as
he could judge a few feet away, this one corre-
sponded with the description. He would like to
examine it near by and hit upon a method. Tak-
ing a dime from his pocket, he said to Tim :

" Would you like to go down to the grocery
around the corner and buy some candy for you and
your little brother, and I will stay with him till
you come back ? "

Tim would. He promised to be right back, and
was gone in a twinkling.

Then Mr. Mason walked over to the coat and
eagerly inspected it. Sure enough, it was beaver
cloth ; it had a velvet collar ; its sleeve linings
were of black and white silk, and near the bottom
of the sleeve were three small red letters, J. S. R.

Mr. Mason hastened away with all speed as
soon as the child returned, and dispatched a de-
tective to the house, who secured not only the
coat, but little Tim's father as well.

! 1

CHAPTER XII.

LITTLE JOHN.

A ^b the time of the temperance mass-meeting
-t^. in the autumn there were certain evil men,
minions of the rum power, who vowed that night
to "watch out" and find opportunity, if possible,
to have revenge on every person who spoke on
that occasion.

Of late a feeling of intensest hate had been
brewing toward the few dauntless spirits in that
city who had dared day by day to fling out their
colors and sound the war-cry against the liquor
traffic.

Maddened by recent events, the loss of the
saloon case and the failure of their plans to bring
the heroic minister to terms, they grew desperate,
especially as one of their number. Bill Wicks, the
man in whose possession the overcoat was found,
now lay in jail awaiting his trial.

Mr. Remington proved to be the person to
whom their fury was especially directed, and it
was not strange —the one who had been active in
prosecuting the saloon, who wrote stirring anti-

157

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158

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

saloon articles for the daily papers, and used an
unusually eloquent tongue whenever and wherever
he found opportunity to stir up public sentiment
against the rum power.

There were other offenses as well. John Rem-
ington was no "temperance man — but"; moder-
ate, temporizing and pacificatory. He was heart
and soul committed to wage a war for ** God and
home and native land " against this diabolical
enemy. He surged with indignation ; he glowed
with enthusiasm ; he imparted it to others, and
wielded a strong influence over young men.

He also carefully watched over the boys of his
congregation, forming them into a loyal legion,
and infusing into them temperance principles so
stanch that not one could be coaxed or hired to
enter the saloon. And now, a strong band, they
were reaching out and drawing in other boys who
were under no good influences whatever, and who
were attracted and held in the society at first by
the ingenious devices of their leader to make it
the most fascinating place that could be found in
which to spend an hour, and afterward, if they did
not become enthusiasts in working for the cause,
they remained because they enjoyed the meetings
and loved the leader. So this society was a great
blow to the interests of the saloon-keeper who had,
as it turned out, small material to work upon in
the initiatory steps necessary to make drunkards,
and he was incensed accordingly. The situation

•#»'

LITTLE JOHN.

159

was discouraging, with few if any boys hanging
about the door to whom he might toss a handful
of brandy drops, or pass over the dregs of the
glasses for them to drain, or even on occasion
treat to a mild decoction of whiskey (mostly water
and sugar).

How, with such a state of things, could the
prophecy of the old rhyme ever be fulfilled }

t r

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" The drunkards all will never be dead,
I'll tell you the reason why :

The young ones they grow up
Before the old ones die."

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The suburb of Greenhurst, where Mr. Reming-
ton lived, was but two or three miles from the city
proper. The walks between were good in good
weather, and that was during much of the winter,
for this was in a latitude where snow seldom came,
and did not remain long at any time.

Baby John was taken out daily by his young
nurse, who was devoted to him, and in whom Mrs.
Remington had much confidence.

One bright morning, as she trundled the little
equipage down the streets, more than one person
turned as they passed for another look at the beau-
tiful child. He wore a blue plush coat and a cun-
ning little Scotch cap of soft, white wool, with
short yellow curls about his head like a halo. The
white fur robe contrasting with the blue coat and
pink mittens made a bright bit of color on the

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

wintry air. The soft bloom of health was on his
cheek, and his blue eyes grew bluer and darker,
dancing with delight as, in the gayest of spirits,
he told how the cow mooed, how sheep baaed, how
doves said "Coo, coo," and babies cried " Wah,
wah," and then made a kitty mew in all notes of
the scale.

It was a warm, sunny day for the time of year,
and two disreputable-looking men who were hang-
ing about their much-loved haunt, the saloon which
had just been re-opened, were sprawled on a bench
outside the door sunning themselves after the
manner of all reptiles. The baby's gleeful laugh
attracted their attention as Jane drew the carriage
slowly by, herself intent only on enjoyin??^ his
happiness.

One of the men got v.p and sauntered to the
side of the carriage, and Jam?, rlways proud of her
charge, and only too happy to show him off on all
occasions, halted a moment.

" Look here, Jim," said the man, and Jim got
up and shambled over.

Baby John was no aristocrat. He smiled
sweetly on the rough fellows and began again to
go through his little re^pertoire of mimirric", at
which they burst into laughter so boisterous that
Baby was frightened.

" He's a cute chap," said one, and the other
aske^ :

" Whose kid is he ? "

LITTLE JOHN.

i6i

"He's Mr. Remington's little boy," Jane an-
swered, with some dignity.

"Oh! the parson's, eh.^" and his face darkened.
" D'ye hear that, Jim ? "

The nurse hurried on, for she smelled the fumes
of whiskey, and inwardly resolved not to walk on
that side of tl^e street again.

That same night two men stood in one of the
alleys of what might be called the sediment of the
city. The gaslight at the corner sent occasional
flickerings into their faces as they talked together
in low mutterings. Did one ask the other how it
fared with him in the ups and downs of the way,
and bid him in the name of God take courage and
press on ? Or was it earnest warning and entreaty
to seek a new life which he whispered in his ear ?
But such words are not spoken in secrecy at the
dead of night in back alleys and haunts of wicked-
ness. This fiend in the shape of a man had a far
different communication ; he was divulging to the
other a plan how they might wreak vengeance on
the head of a good man whose only crime had been
a brave attempt to make them and the world better.

It was about a week after this that little John
had an unusually long outing.

Jane liked best to walk out toward the country,
where the houses were set in wide lawns with
grand old trees ; it reminded her of her native
land. It was drawing near to spring, and the
sun's rays were warm and fell full in little John's

1 62

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

face, causing drowsiness after the long ride ; so
he lay back among his cushions, the long lashes
drooped on his cheeks, and he was fast asleep.

As the nurse turned about to go home, she was
seized with a sudden thirst. They were just in
front of a large house, and a pleasant-looking girl
stood in the kitchen door.

" Now, what harm would it be," thought Jane,
" to leave little John here while I get a drink of
water ? "

So she brought the carriage inside the wide
gateway close by the hedge where it was screened
from the street, carefully steadied the wheels
against a tree so that he could not possibly tip
over, and ran quickly up the walk.

There was delay in getting the water. The
pump was out of order and had to be primed.
Then the girls recognized each other as being
natives of dear old England, and several minutes
flew by while they asked and answered questions,
each delighted to find the other. But Jane, pres-
ently remembering her charge with a twinge of
conscience, fairly flew back to the gate.

What was her horror to find the carriage empty !
She rushed out to the street, thinking that per-
haps little John had awakened and climbed out,
but nobody was to be seen either way, and there
was no other place to look for him, as this house
stood quite by itself.

** Oh I maybe he is in here," the distracted girl

LITTLE ;OHN.

163

exclaimed, darting in and out between the shrub-
bery, and calling " Baby ! Baby ! little John ! Oh !
where are you ? "

Coming back, she stood and gazed in a dazed
way at the empty carriage ; then, noticing for the
first time that the cushion and fur robe were gone
too, screamed out :

'• Oh ! somebody has carried him off. What
shall I do ? You ask your missus to help me,
won't you ? "

But the girl said her mistress was down town,
adding : ** There's nobody about the place but me."

" I can never go home without him ! " Jane de-
clared, but nevertheless she took hold of the car-
riage and started, sobbing as she went ; then,
realizing the need of haste, started into a wild
run, never slacking her speed till she reached
home.

Mrs. Remington was in her room, engaged in
ma!:ing a dainty dress for little John, and Elsie
Chilton had dropped in for a morning call. Elsie
happened to glance out the window just as Jane
appeared.

"Why," she exclaimed, "here comes Baby's
nurse, but he is not in the carriage ! " Then,
knowing from the girl's appearance that something
must have happened, rushed from the room and
ran downstairs, Mrs. Remington following.

Jane looked up into her face, and was dumb
with gi'ief and fear,

If "

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164

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" Where is he ? Speak quickly ; tell me !
What has happened to Baby ? " the mother cried
with white lips, as an awful pang went through
her heart at sight of the empty carriage.

They managed to make out the terrible truth at
last, told incoherently with wild sobbing. Then
both stood appalled before the fact that Baby's
father had gone to attend a funeral, and would
not be at home for two or three hours.

Mrs. Remington seized her hat and cloak, with
but one thought in her mind, to go to the spot
where her darling was last seen. But her limbs
refused to bear her, and she sank down limp and
white-faced on the doorstep. Elsie called Aunt
Hannah to care for her, then said hurriedly :

" I will go ; I wiK get others to help me. We
will find him, dear Mrs. Remington," and sped
away as fast as feet could move, half-dragging the
nurse after her.

And now Elsie Chilton, unaccustomed to re-
sponsibility or to emergencies which called for
prompt, wise action, suddenly found herself the
one person upon whom much depended. Instead
of rushing aimlessly about in a distracted way,
she coolly made her plans and rapidly carried
them out, and that, because she knew how to send
a swift communication, swifter than telegraphy, to
One who flashes back in the twinkling of an eye
the right word or thought or deed to the waiting
SQul down here in the dark.

LITTLE JOHN.

i6s

Elsie went first of all to the nearest lolice sta-
tion and enlisted their aid, securing a detective to
accompany them to the place where the child had
dis ippeared. She had strong hopes that he would
be easily found ; perhaps some motherly woman
had taken him into her house a few minutes to
enjoy his prattle. But when she reached the
place and saw only the large house in the midst
of extensive grounds and quite a distance from
other dwellings, her heart sank. They went into
the house, and searched the grounds, then visited
all the houses in that vicinity, with no result. No
one had seer, a child of that description.

The terrible certainty began to force itself upon
Elsie that dear little John had been stolen. Tak-
ing a carriage, she went with the detective to the
nearest railroad stations. She sat in crowded
waiting-rooms and eagerly watched every person
who entered, penetrating even into the smoky at-
mosphere of ^he men's room. She watched the
crowds pour oat and enter the trains; then, to be
doubly sure, went through the cars herself.

It was all in vain. There were babies of all
ages and sizes, but not the golden-haired, dimpled
darling she was in search of.

In despair, she bethought herself of one who
would be keenly alive to the situation, and she
hastened to Earle Mason's office. A few hours
ago she could scarcely have conceived of anything
which would have induced her to call upon him

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

there, but this was no time for strict observance
of society rules.

Mr. Mason had a knotty point in a case to un-
ravel that morning, and having been hindered
several times by long calls from importunate
clients, had given orders that he should not be
disturbed for any cause during the rest of the
morning. It was therefore with annoyance and
surprise that he looked up at the sound of the
opening door to see his office boy standing there
with an apologetic look on his face and a lady's
card in his hand.

*' I couldn't help it, sir," he said, as he handed
the card to his superior. " She wouldn't go away.
She said she must see you right away."

Mr. Mason took the card and glanced at the
name ; then his face lighted up, and he arose
hastily, saying :

*' I will see her."

His expression changed to grave concern as
soon' as he saw Elsie. Evidently she was deeply
troubled.

** O, Mr. Mason I " she exclaimed, in an eager,
trembling voice, "little John is lost. I am sure
you will know what to do," and then she rapidly
told all that had happened.

But his face grew more anxious than her own
as he listened, and realized all that evil men had
it in their power to accomplish either for revenge
or gain, hidden as they were in the great city.

LITTLE JOHN.

167

Giving his affairs into the hands of a brother
lawyer, he went with Elsie back to the Reming-
tons to see if the child had not already been
found, but nothing had yet been heard, and he
hurried away to secure a large force of detectives
of undoubted skill, and to carry on the search him-
self — eagerly, unwearyingly.

There were many among the lowly who loved
the very name of this young man. He was to
them all that stood for goodness, truth and benefi-
cence. So now he went from one place to an-
other, into cellars and attics, holding conferences
with washer-women over their tubs ; penetrating
into the smoke and clatter of machine shops and
factories ; and interviewing grimy men to see if
they had heard dropped any word that could pos-
sibly point to any clue. Mr. Hargrave joined him
later in the day, and together — the experienced,
wise man of business and the keen-witted young
lawyer — gave the best that was in them of in-
tense thought and unfailing effort toward solving
the awful problem. They devised new plans and
offered large rewards for the return of the child.
Indeed, before many hours the whole church was
enlisted, besides many members of Mr. Reming-
ton's former charge in the city. The excitement
grew to be intense as night settled down, and no
tidings — not even the least clue — had been
obtained.

Mr. Remington when he returned and the fear-

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

ful news was made known, sat for a moment as if
turned to stone. Then he got up, went to his
study, locked the door, and carried on the conflict
of his soul with none but God to see. Before he
left it he laid his only darling son by faith in the
very arms of the prayer-hearing God, and came
forth calmed, ready to sustain others and to join
in the search.

It was a night of horror, though, to all, even
with divine help to bear the strain. Had it not
been for that help they must have lost their
reason.

It was so torturing to see Baby's little chair and
playthings dropped where he left them. There,
too, was the empty crib and the white flannel
gown hanging near it, the sleeves rounded out to
the shape of the plump little arms. Where was
the dear baby ? Did he sleep on a pile of filthy
rags, in some vile den, watched over by some
miserable hag.? And was he at that moment cry-
ing piteously and calling "Mamma," or "Gamma,"
as he called Aunt Hannah ? Or was he living at
all ? It would be almost a relief from this cruel
suspense to know that he was safe in the arms of
the tender Shepherd.

The long night passed heavily away, especially
to those who sat at home waiting for tidings.
Mr. Remington joined those who spent the night
in searching the city. Many others went to the
suburbs and neighboring towns. Aunt Hannah

LITTLE JOHN.

169

fled to her stronghold, literally praying through
all the dark hours, sometimes encouraging the
heart of the stricken mother with a promise from
God's Book, sometimes for her comfort audibly
speakiii^ words of prayer ; importunate pleadings,
strong in faith.

..i.i

CHAPTER XIII.

A LITTLE TRAVELER,

MORNING dawned on haggard faces and torn
hearts, and yet uhere was no hope. Must
the years stretch out before them filled with gloom
and horror, unsatisfied longing and fruitless search-
ing ? For if their darling were not returned to
them, life must henceforth be one long search.

The young mother lay for hours like one stunned
by a terrible physical blow, able only to take in
the fearful thought : " My baby is lost ! "

When she roused herself and moved about, wan
and white, she came upon Jane weeping in a dark
corner of the back hall. The girl, by a finer in-
stinct than one might have given her credit for,
feeling that the sight of herself would be painful
to her mistress, had kept out of the way, and she
started up now like a culprit to flee ; but Mic.
Remington stopped her, laid a kindly hand upon
her shoulder, and, in a gentle voice, assured her
that she believed she had not intended to do
wrong, then sent her upon some small errand.

It was an act never forgotten by the girl, and

170

A LITTLE TRAVELER.

171

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which led her years afterward to declare her mis-
tress to be "just an angel of a woman." In truth,
however, Mrs. Remington was no more angelic
than the rest of us. The sight of Jane made her
inwardly shudder at first, and for a moment she
felt like telling her to go at onct and never let
herself be seen in that house again. But this
child of God had long ago surrendered her will to
him, and now, though her feelings rebelled, she
met their every complaint and resistance with the
words, "Thy will be done," saying them over and
over to herself at every new suggestion of the
tempter. He had steadfastly attempted to linger
near her all through the hours of that dreadful
night, and had whispered in her ear: "God loves
you, does he ? As if he would allow your only
child to be taken from you in such a cruel way if
he did ! Vou and your husband have tried faith-
fully to serve the Lord, have been brave and true
and self-denying, and this is your reward ! He
could keep your child safely and send you good
news of him this very hour, and he does not do it."
But Satan must have soon slunk away defeated
at the sight of that brave little household lifting
up their heads in faith, reiterating : " Thy will be
done. Though he slay me, yet will I trust him."

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" 'Twould be a tall heap o' money that *ud be
paid fer that brat if he should turn up missin'
some day; now, wouldn't it, Jim ? "

172

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

This is what one of the two men in front of the
saloon had remarked to the other as they watched
little John's carriage out of sight the day Jane had
stopped a moment to let them admire the pretty
boy.

No sooner had he spoken the words than there
shot into his mind a scheme which might not only
bring money, but would satisfy revenge as well.
Doubtless Satan furnished the hint, for the
strangeness of it all is that we may have either
aid we apply for ; the crafty suggestions of the
prince of darkness, or the wisdom that cometh
from above.

Pete Nolan got up then and went off by himself
to think about it. Jim wasn't worth a cent for
head-work. No use talking to him. He must go
down town and see Dan Stokes, who was one of
the ringleaders in planning bold undertakings;
although the crafty fellow managed always to es-
cape the penalty of the law himself ; partly owing
to the fact that he possessed a low cunning like a
serpent, and because he was seldom thoroughly
intoxicated, being able to drink quantities without
producing that effect.

"Kill two birds with one stone, don't yer see.?"
chuckled Pete Nolan, after he had presented the
daring scheme to his accomplice that same night.

The idea stiuck Dan Stokes. He reckoned,
though, it might be a "tough job," because of the
difficulty of accomplishing it without detection.

A LITTLE TRAVELER.

173

So it took long plottings in the shadow of the
alley to agree upon a plan which might be success-
fully carricc. out — a plan to abduct Mr. Reming-
ton's child! All preliminaries were finally settled,
however, the conference ending with :

" And hark ye, Pete ! Keep yer mouth shut.
You don't want to blab this out. Don't tell any-
body but your old woman. She'll have to help."

The pla:i was to steal the little one when he was
taken out for a ride ; to watch their chances when
the nurse should leave his side for a moment ; or,
in an unfrequented street, frighten her into giving
him up. She could even, if occasion required, be
rendered insensible by means of a little chloro-
form, not enough to do harm, but sufficient to
quiet her for a few minutes and prevent outcries.

But where to secrete the child when he should
be captured was the question. It would not do to
keep him in the city. That would be sure to be
searched from end to end. At last Dan Stokes
hit upon a method.

" I've got it !" he exclaimed ; "my sister lives
way up in the hills, a hundred and fifty miles or
so from here or anywhere. She thinks heaps o*
me, thougl I haven't seen her this seven year.
We can send the little kid there ; get up a story,
you know, that my wife is deal, and will sue keep
the young one a spell till we send for him.^ She's
a good woman, if she is my sister. Her heart's
soft's butter, an' she hain't got any brats of her

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174

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

own. She'll take him in, an' he'll be as safe as if
he was under ground. Nobody on earth would
ever think o* lookin* up there for him."

"It's a boss plan !" Pete declared; "but we'll
have to disguise him like, before he starts, won't
we } "

"'Course! I'll think that all out an* have a
mighty pretty job fixed up by mornin'. We'll
leave him there long enough to punish his daddy.
Then, scz I, we'll bring him back whenever they're
ready to down with the dust. Won't we make
'em shell out, though, an' no questions asked.? It
might be a good idee to keep him up there a year
er two. That'll bring down the parson's feathers,
you bet ! " and the man grinned a demoniacal grin,
much as if he were one who had already crossed
that "line by us unseen," and must even now be
numbered among those for whom there is no for-
giveness, neither in this world nor in the world to
come.

During the next week there might have been
seen, at about the same time every morning, a
horse and spring-wagon jogging leisurely along
the streets of Greenhurst containing a man and
woman. They were none other than Pete Nolan
and his wife. Pete's bare, bony face had taken on
a long iron-gray beard, and unkempt locks of the
same hue straggled from under a broad-brimmed
old hat. His wife had smoothed her frowzy hair
down over her forehead, tied a frilled cap about

A LITTLE TRAVELER.

175

her broad face, and over that a large, old-fashioned
bunnet, donned an immense pair of spectacles, and
wrapped herself in a respectable gray shawl. They
were effectually disguised, especially as they were
not familiar objects to the better portion of the
community, except as Pete lounged in front of
the saloon. They looked the quiet, elderly farmer
and his wife going in and out of the city carrying
produce to market and returning with <;roceries.
A barrel with a few potatoes stood in the wagon
behind, and the box was half-full of loose hay.
They were well stocked besides with everything
that might be necessary in this difficult undertak-
ing. There was a shabby outfit for a baby, and
the long pocket of Mrs. Nolan's dress held a bottle
of milk, a piece of bread and some sticks of red
and white peppermint candy, besides a bottle of
paregoric.

On that pleasant morning when last Baby John
was taken out,, thC; ^ ere following his carriage at
some Utile ''isiincc s they had done for several
days. Sumchovv ^uus far there never had come a
propitious moment for carrying out their purpose.
Perhaps Pete's wife could not quite screw her
courage up to act in unison with him at just the
right point, or she was more cautious than he and
held him back. He was just now muttering that
he was " 'bout tired of this business," when his
wife touched his elbow and said :

" Look ! the gal's goin' up to the house,"

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Then they both looked toward all points of the
compass, and seeing no one in sight Pete got out
and sneakeJ in at the gate, watching and listen-
ing ; but all was quiet. In another moment he
had 'Stealthily lifted the sleeping child, laid him on
the hay in the wagon, spread an old cloak over him
and covered the whole with hay, leaving a small
space for air. Then the wagon rattled on toward
the city. If the public had been oi) the lookout,
they would have seen nothing in that vehicle to
awaken suspicion. J ust a plodding old farmer try-
ing to sell a few potatoes, and that innocent-look-
ing hay to bait his horse.

Little John was in the stage of his sleep when
it was at the soundest, and did not waken, the
motion of the wagon when it started only causing
him to sleep the sounder, to the great delight of
the wretches who were carrying him off.

They drove with all speed to a freight wharf,
and went on board a barge used for carrying com-
modities to different points on the river. There
was a rude sort of cabin, to which the sleeping
baby was carried and laid on a bunk. When he
stirred as if to awaken, Mrs. Nolan put a few
drops of paregoric in his mouth, which he swal-
lowed and slept on. And then, with ingenuity
and skill which might have served a better cause,
she rapidly carried on the work of transforming
the baby. Mrs. Nolan had long ago lost all traces
of true womanly character in the hard life she led

A LITTLE TRAVELER.

"^77

with a brute for a husband, but now, as she saw
little John, the picture of innocence and beauty,
warm and sweet and rosy, with damp rings of
yellow hair about his forehead, something of the
mother heart stirred within her, and looking
stealthily about she stooped and kissed his cheek,
and a half-regret stole over her that she had aught
to do with this wicked business. But it was too
late to back down now. Time was precious,
besides.

She hurriedly brought out a basket, and, takmg
from it a pair of shears, clipped off Baby John's
yellow curls. She was half-afraid of the soft,
shining things as they fell about him ; then, with
a decoction from a bottle, she colored the hair that
was left to a dull brown. She also rubbed his face
and neck and hands with a cloth dipped in a liquid
that changed the delicate pink and white skin to a
tawny, sallow h'le.

The narcotic was taking effect and the child
slept heavily, so that Mrs. Nolan had no difficulty
in changing his clothes. The pink wool stockings
and kid shoes were exchanged for clumsy, streaked
socks, with stubbed little leather shoes, and the
soft cashmere dress for one of calico. When his
disguise was completed by a close-fitting red and
black hood, and a shabby brown coat much too
large for him, the detective himself might have
pushed his way in and compared this child with
the description he held — " fair, blue eyes, yellow

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

.Ji't'

curls, dress of blue cashmere and cloak of blue
plush " — and have gone his way without suspi-
cion. Even little John's own mother might have
passed this swarthy little creature by as he lay in
heavy sleep, never dreaming that it was her own
darling.

So it came to pass that while Elsie Chilton and
the detective were waiting at stations and piers,
no attention was paid to a rude barge which sailed
from a wharf at the foot of Water Street, and
while a large police force searched the city and its
surroundings, this craft went quietly on its way
till it reached a certain port where Pete Nolan and
his wife were to take the cars for the country place
among the hills.

The whole thing was well planned. The villain
who conceived it had brains keen enough to have
held positions of honor requiring unusual executive
ability, if only when, as a boy, he stood at the
place where two roads meet, some kind hand had
turned his course into the right path.

After the effects of the paregoric had worn away,
little John awoke from his long sleep and looked
about him. The woman who watched, her hard
outline somewhat softened by the cap and spec-
tacles, sat still to see what he would do. His
new surroundings held his wondering eyes for
some minutes, then he softly spoke the word he
always did when first he awoke, *' Mamma," and
after an instant's silence, " Gamma.**

A LITTLE TRAVELER.

179

ay,
^ed
ard
3ec-
His
for
he
and

Mrs. Nolan now appeared on the scene and
bent over him, subduing her harsh voice as much
as possible, for she did not wish him to be
frightened and make trouble.

*' Here's grandma," she said.

Little John opened his eyes wide in astonish-
ment. He knew better. That was no grandma
of his, but he was not afraid of strangers, so he
beamed upon her with one of his rare smiles.
This was a good beginning. She hastened to
produce some bread and milk.

But Baby's appetite was not so sharp as usual,
partly owing to his unusual treatment, having
never before swallowed a drop of paregoric, or
even soothing syrup. After a little he began to
fret, and call " Mamma " in an imperative tone.
Not even the red and white candy mollified him
for long, so he was again put to sleep as before.
They were a long time on the way, owing to de-
tentions and the slow mode of travel for part of
the journey. That day and night and the next
day had passed betore they reached their destina-
tion, the last five miles being by stage.

It was evening when they arrived at Stony
Ridge, the veritable little village where Mr. Rem-
ington had done some of his best work, and were
set down at the house of David Bailey, a respect-
able mechanic who lived in a small house on the
outskirts of the village. Pete staid outside, send-
ing his Wife in to leave the baby and the letter

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

which Dan Stokes had sent. A young girl opened
the door at her knock, who said that Mrs. Bailey
was " sick a-bed," and couldn't see anybody.

" Well, I ca.i't help that," said Mrs. Nolan ; "I
brought her brother's baby to her. His wife's
dead, an' he wants her to keep it a while. I've
done my job, and here's the letter he sent her,"
whereupon she deposited her burden on a lounge,
and departed before the astonished girl could ask
a question or make a demur.

Mrs. Bailey was ill of a fever, and on thai even-
ing having what her neighbors called an unusually
" bad turn." So for some time no attention was
paid to the strange bundle which occupied the
lounge in the sitting-room. Good old Mrs. Blake,
who lived near by and, as must be remembered,
was the chief pillar in the old Stony Ridge church,
had just come in with a basket of delicacies and
comforts for the sick woman, and now stood bend-
ing over little John, asking :

" Who in '"he world is this .-' "

''Read the letter, won't you. Mrs. Blake," said
David Bailey, who was just starting out in anxious
haste on an errand, "and see what it's all about.
I'm sure I don't understand it."

By the time the contents of the letter were
known, little John had awakened, and begun his
call : '* Mamma, Gamma ! " The voice was faint,
for he was weak from long fasting and worn
with all he had passed through.

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A LITTLF. TRAVELKK.

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When he saw strangers bending over him again
he curled his lip in a grieved way and began to
sob, for the little hero would never cry outright
so long as he could keep it in.

Fearing that his cries would disturb the sick
woman, Mrs. Blake hastily gathered him up in her
arms, saying :

"He can't stay here to-nii;ht, whosever baby he
is. I'll just take him home and take care of him
till they know what's what "

She fed him generously with warm bread and
milk, which he seemed to relish better than that
provided by Mrs Nolan, and by the time the last
mouthful had been swallowed was asleep again,
being still drowsy from the effects of the drug.

" Poor little lamb," Mrs. Blake said, as she un-
dressed him and improvised a night-dress, ** I
ought to give him a good wash, but he is so tired
I won't bother him to-night."

In the morning little John having an excellent
constitution, was quite himself again. He smiled
and chattered and fiisked, much to the delight of
Mrs. Blake, who had not had a baby in charge for
twenty years.

She prepared to give him a morning bath in the
old-fashioned way with a quart of water and a
" wash-rag," but Baby John rebelled. He kicked
and squirmed, and reached cut his hands and
splashed in the basin, trying hard to put his head
in too, with other demonstrations so plain, that

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182

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

the meaning of them at last dawned upon Mrs.
Blake.

"The little soul!" she exclaimed, "he's used
to gettin' into a tub, I do believe, an' he shall,"
whereupon she wrapped him in an old blanket,
went to the kitchen, filled a small tub half-full of
warm water and plunged him into it.

Little John was in his element. He splashed
and shouted and ducked his head under water,
coming up dripping like a little bird from its bath;
and Mrs. Blake knelt by the tub shaking her sides
with laughter, trying to scrub off some of the dirt
on his face and hands with her soapy cloth.

" My patience ! " she ejaculated, " how it comes
off ! I've seen dirt before, but nothing like this.
Why, we shall have a white baby pretty soon."

** Of all things in the world ! " she exclaimed,
while she wiped him dry, a\id saw that the child
with a dark, muddy skin and brownish hair had
been transformed by his bath into a fair,rosy boy,
with golden hair turning itself up into little curls
all over his head.

" Is this a miracle } " asked good Mrs. Blake of
herself, mystified beyond all conception.

Another thing perplexed her, too, as she dressed
him. His garments were - M coarse and rough ex-
cept the little shirt which Mrs. Nolan had decided
to leave on him. It was of soft, creamy knitted
wool, daintily edged at neck and sleeves, with a
tiny blue ribbon run in and tied in a bow.

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A I.ITTI.K TRAVELER.

183

** Well, that's curious," she reflected, examining
it more closely. "And I declare if it isn't exactly
like the little shirt T sent Johnnie Remington ! "

Mrs. Blake grew excited when she found a letter
J on the front of it. *• It's the very same shirt ! "
she exclaimed aloud, while little John looked up at
her in wonder.

Several years before, a lady from Boston, spend-
ing the summer at Stony Ridge, had taught Mrs.
Blake to knit babies' shirts. She was very proud
of the accomplishment, and had knitted one with
extreme care and worked on it a small J in sampler
stitch and sent it to " Johnny," as she called him,
at Christmas. And no\v here it was. Did Mrs.
Remington care no more for her gift than to give
it away to some poor folks } Her heart swelled
with a hurt feeling, but she put it away. There
was no time to grieve over it now, Baby must be
dressed.

Mrs. Blake eyed with disgust the coarse, shabby
clothes that belonged to this stray baby. Then,
wrapping him again in a blanket, she went to an
old chest, brirjging from its depths a bundle. It
contained the clothes of a dear little grandchild
who had died years ago. She selected from the
treasures a red flannel dress and a white apron,
some warm little skirts, a pair of red stockings
and blue shoes. When Baby was dressed in
them, she turned him about to admire and kiss
him.

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" Nothing in the world so sweet as a clean
baby," she told him as she buried her face in his
plump neck.

Little John smiled up at her, showing his
dimples and white teeth, and then Mrs. Blake
noticed a something in the expression which set
her off again into exclamations.

" Well, this does beat all," she declared. " This
looks like the Remington baby himself. It's that
uncommon 'lighting-up' look that he and his father
both had when they smiled. What a pretty creat-
ure he is ! But it's all queer. I don't know what
to think ; " and Mrs. Blake rocked back and forth
with her baby in her arms, absorbed in perplexing
thought, till little John, refreshed and soothed, fell
into sweet sleep.

She laid him on the bed, tucked him up, and
went to the door to answer a knock. It was Mr.
Porter, the young minister of the church.

" I am sorry to say there is bad news for you in
the morning paper, Mrs. Blake," he said. " Your
Mr. Remington is in terrible trouble. He has lost
a child. It was stolen day before yesterday and
they have no clue to his whereabouts."

Mrs. Blake was horror-struck a moment, then a
flash came into her face, and she said : ** Come in !
come here ! " leading the way to the bed. •* Look
here ! That's Mr. Remington's baby, I know it

IS.'

Then she told him all the strange story, and the

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A LITTLE TRAVELER.

Tft5

two agreed ihat it certainly seemed as if this child
could be none other than the lost one.

David Bailey was then summoned and the whole
matter rehearsed to him. He was an honest man,
whom they could trust. He disclaimed all knowl-
edge of the child whatever, and said that his wife
was too ill to be told anything of the matter ; but
the letter was from her rascally brother, who lived
here and there and anywhere. They had not
heard of him in years. From all the circum-
stances it looked as if this might be one of his
evil tricks, and it was more than likely that this
was the lost child.

" It can do no harm at least to telegraph Mr.
Remington to come here at once," Mr. Porter said.
" I'll go immediately and attend to it."

" No, don't ! I'll go myself and take him," said
Mother Blake. "Tell me where 'tis. I'll risk but
what I can find the way."

" But if this should not be the child } "

" He is the child. * I'd know that baby among a
thousand, and it's just like our Heavenly Father —
bless his name — to send him here to me and let
me take care of him and carry him home, and I'm
going to start this very day."

'* I also go with thee," said Mr. Porter.

! ' I

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CHAPTER XIV.

SUSl'KNSE.

MRS. BLAKE was true to her word, and
within two hours from the time when she
had reached her decision, she, little John and Mr.
Porter were on the train, speeding toward the
city. The good woman had been entirely willing
to brave the perils of the city alone and unguarded,
sure that she and her treasure could find their way
somehow to Mr. Remington's; and sure that no
one would be likely to molest a woman and a baby.
Mr. Porter did not feel so positive ; he reflected
that the miscreants who had done so foul a deed
as to steal a child, must have had strong reasons
for doing so, must have thought that they laid
their plans well, and must be on the alert through
these first exciting days to see that in no way
they miscarried. During the hour in which he
was engaged in hastily packing his valise in order
that it should be ready if he decided to accompany
Mrs. Blake, he revolved in his mind several other
plans; one, of course, being to telegraph to Mr.
Remington to come on immediately.

i86

SUSPENSE.

187

This was discarded. In his own bewildered
brain the f^ood man felt by no means certain that
the fair-haired child who had won Mrs. Blake's
heart was John Remington, Jr. To be sure, he
had never seen the baby. ** And if I had," he
murmured, as he nervously opened and shut
drawers, and hunted for handkerchiefs and collars
and neckties, " I shouldn't know him from any
other little chubby face. Mrs. Blake thinks she
remembers him ! The idea of bcinfj; able to dis-
tinguish one baby from another after an absence
of six or eight months ! I don't know much about
them, but I know they change in a remarkable
manner during the first few years of their lives.
It seems impossible to believe that the villains
who stole the Remington baby made such an
egregious blunder as to send him out here, where
every man, woman and child loves the ground his
father trod on. To be sure the rascals might not
have known anything about that. It may be all
a wonderful, providential chain of events, but it
won't do to send for the father ; to raise his hopes
to the seventh heaven of bliss, only to dash them
to the ground again, perhaps. More than that, he
jught not to leave the mother ; and the mother
ought not to have the strain of travel upon her,
with the alternate hopes and fears. No, Mrs.
Blake is right ; it is best for us to go, and take
that baby. If it's all a mistake, why we shall have
had a fool's errand, that's all. If it should happen

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(716) 873-4503

i88

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

to be the right baby, that will repay us for all the
possible chances of bein^jj laughed at for the next
ten years to come. We'll go, and I'll telegraph to
my friend Dr. Coles to know what Mr. Reming-
ton's address is, so there shall be no delay when
we get there."

Little John was entirely satisfied with the pro-
gramme. To be sure he wanted his ^* mamma"
and his " Gamma," and puci^ered his lip several
times that morning and asked for them ; but on
being assured by Mrs. Blake that he should go
a-riding on the cars, and go to "Gamma" and
"mamma" just as fast as the iron horse could
take him, he concluded to be reasonable, and rub
the cat's fur the wrong way, and frolic with the
dog in a manner which would have brought terror
to his mother's heart, could she have seen him.

A queer little chap he was when ready for his
journey. Good Mother Blake's baby wardrobe, so
carefullv laid aside, was neat and clean and whole-
some in every respect, but not of the very finest
material, nor in the extreme of the fashion, as Mrs.
Remington and Elsie Chilton between them had
contrived to keep John Junior all his little life.
On this particular morning his long gray cloak
was too large in the neck for him, and bunched
out in the back in a way which would have dis
tressed his mother ; and the queer little cap, with
blue ribbons tied under his chin, was too small for
his splendid head.

SUSPENSE.

189

Little did John Shield Remington care for trifles
like these. When the train was fairly under way
he was in a glow of delight. He went through
with all the pretty things he had ever been taugh^
in his life. He " mooed " like the cow, he barked
like the '* bow-wow," mewed like the kitten, and
even mimicked the screech of the engine success-
fully, to the great delight and appreciation of his
fellow passengers.

"He's a wonderfully winning 'hild," said Mr.
Porter, "whether he's Remington's boy or not."

" Now you needn't say that," said Mrs. Blake;
"I know, just as well as I know that I am sitting
here, that this is Johnny Remington. He's got
his father's eyes. Do you suppose I could be mis-
taken in those eyes ? The idea of such a child as
this being the son of that worthless fellow! Why,
Mr. Bailey says they haven't had a line from him
for seven years, and the most comfort they had out
of him in their lives, any way, was not to hear from
him at all. He's a drinking, thieving wretch, Mr.
Porter ; and worse than that, if there is any worse.
Don't tell me that this child ever belonged to him !
Why, the very way in which he uses his pretty
hands shows that he has been brought up among
refined people, and taken care of all his life. You
ought to have seen him when I plumped him into
a ba^h. I wasn't going to do it, you know. I saw
he needed v/ashing badly enough, but I got a bowl
and a wabi.-rag, just as I used to do with poor

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JOHN KKMINGTON, MARTYR.

Jimmy, and this little fellow as good as told me
that he wasn't used to any bowls, nor anything of
that sort, and he wanted an ocean, at least, to
splash around in ; you would have thought he was
a regular duck if you had seen him splash the
water over him, and heard him chuckle when I put
him into a tub — just a common wash-tub, you
know.

" Bless you ! he didn't care for that, so there
was plenty of water. Now, Mr. Porter, it stands
to reason that folks who have gone to wreck and
ruin as that poor Mrs. Bailey's brother has, don't
take pains to put their babies in a bath-tub every
morning, to splash and kick and crow for fifteen
minutes. I tell you this baby has been very
daintily taken care of. If Mrs. John Remington
won't give a good yell when she sees him, then I
miss my guess."

Nevertheless, of course there was a great deal
of nervous excitement attendant upon this journey.
Mr. Porter sent a telegram to Dr. Coles, and found
a reply waiting for him at one of the stations.

He and Mrs. Blake kept their own council during
the journe), Mr. Porter arguing that there was a
possibility of there having been a mistake, and
that if the story got abroad it might not only hin-
der in some way plans which had undoubtedly been
set on foot for finding the child, but would suggest
to all manners and conditions of people the possi-
bility of getting money out of the stricken father,

SUSPENSE.

191

by telegraphing him for means to bring stray chil-
dren to his house.

"The fact is, Mrs. Blake," he said, in response
to that good woman's incredulity, "you do not un-
derstand the wicked world as well as I do. In some
things you are a great deal wiser than I ; but I'm
disposed to think that I know more of what evil
men will do to carry out their designs, or to get a
little money, than has ever entered your mind.

"Why, a few years ago I was mixed up in a case
somewhat similar to this. A child was decoyed
away from home for the purpose of getting hold of
the pretty clothes that it wore, and the gold chain
around its neck, I suppose ; and during the seven
weeks that the search was kept up before any trace
of that baby was found, to my certain knowledge
the father received no less than thirteen telegrams,
calling upon him to telegraph money orders suffi-
cient to defray the expenses of bringing children
who were supposed to be his."

" For pity's sake ! " said Mrs. Blake aghast.
" Where did they get all the children.^ "

Whereupon Mr. Porter, full of anxiety as he
was, relaxed sufficiently to laugh outright.

" In most cases there were no children," he ex-
plained. "The money was telegraphed of course,
the father being too distracted to do other than
try to follow out every possible clue ; but no baby
was forthcoming, and investigation proved that no
such person as applied for and received the money

192

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

order, could be found in the place. They were
put-up jobs, you understand ; though in one in-
stance a woman went to an orphan asylum and
borrowed a baby, on the plea that she would take
it into the country for a few days. Her plan
worked well from her point of view ; she was
sharp enough to more than double the amount she
would need for traveling expenses ; so she had a
trip to another city, a visit wiih her relatives, gave
the baby a day's outing, and made money."

•• Well, I declare ! " said Mrs. Blake. " It makes
one ashamed to live in this world, doesn't it } Some-
times there really isn't any comfort in anything,
except in remembering that the Lord reigns."

These conversations were indulged in, of course,
while John Remington, Jr. slept. When he was
awake, he required the united attentions of Mrs.
Blake and Mr. Porter ; or at least he received them
whether they were required or not.

" He is an interesting little chap," said Mr.
Porter, in the interval of a grand frolic with the
boy. " I declare if he isn't Mr. Remington's child
I should like to adopt him. I might bring him up
for my son and get you to be his grandmother,"
and the young bachelor laughed and regarded the
•* grandmother " with a pleased look, as she skill-
fully straightened out the crumpled clothes and
brushed back the little yellow curls upon Baby
John's white forehead.

" There will be no chance for you to adopt this

were
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baby," she said complacently. ** He was stolen, I
tell you. His name is John Shield Remington.
Why, if you had see him when I first did, you'd
know, Mr. Porter. He was all stained up with
some stuff to make him look sallcw. When I put
him into his bath and the yellow began to wash
off, I tell you I was scared ! Then his hair has
been cut in a queer fashion ; kind of chopped off.
That description you brought me of the baby, you
know, said he had long, yellow curls. Look at all
those little yellow rings around his head. Any-
thing to hinder their having been long curls a few
days ago } I know as well as though I was there
this minute ; you'll see a sight to-nighi^ that will
make you happy for a lifetime, Mr. Porter, if only
the poor mother hasn't gone crazy before this ;
though I don't think she has ; she's as lovely a
Christian as ever lived in this world. She has
gone straight to the P'ountain Head for comfort,
and got it, too; and I'll put the blessedest piece
of comfort into her arms to-night that she has had
for many an hour, I'll venture."

"God grant it," said Mr. Porter gravely. Then
he went out to have a consultation with the con-
ductor. He was a cautious man, fairly well versed
in the ways of this wicked world. It was no part
of his intentions to appear alone, unprotected and
unaided, at the railroad station not far from which
the Remingtons lived, with possibly their stolen
baby in his arms,

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194

JOHN REMINiiTON, MARTYR.

He reflected that the villains connected with
this business would be more than likely to have
emissaries at the railroad, watching the train, lest
possibly something should develop that might
criminate them. " These rascals cannot trust one
another," he said to himself ; "they cannot be sure
but that the very ones whom they trusted have
decided to give away the whole thing. I shall be
prepared for emergencies of every sort."

Therefore, when the train steamed in at the
station, and Mr. Porter, gathering the sleeping
boy in his arms, followed closely by Mrs. Blake,
appeared on the platform, he was met at once
by two stalwart officers of the law, the foremost
Oi whom touched his cap and said, •' Porter.^ " and
receiving a nod, they escorted them swiftly and
silently to a close carriage, and both mounted with
the driver.

** For the land of pity," said Mrs. Blake, fairly
gasping for breath, " if I didn't think we were
took ! What's all that for } How did there hap-
pen to be a carriage right here, Mr. Porter, and
those policemen on guard ? Did you plan that ?
Were you afraid there would be some attempt to
steal the baby again > I never thought of it. You
have a long head, that's a fact. I should have
just plunged right in and asked everybody I met
the way to Mc. Remington's. But it might have
been dangerous, that's true. O, dear me! I hope
there is no mistake.'!.

SUSPENSE.

1 95

with
have
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and
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have

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it have
I hope

Within the Remington parsonage an excited
company was gathered in consultation. Mrs. Rem-
ington sat back in the rocking-chair, her hands
clasped in an almost convulsive effort to keep her-
self quiet ; her eyes closed, her face as pale as the
white woolen gown she wore. She was taking no
part in the eager talk, and looked like one who
was holding herself away from it, trying to learn
not to have interest in it. John Remington, lean-
ing against his wife's chair, was giving earnest
heed to every word that Earle Mason was pouring
out with rapid utterance.

" I am sure it is a clue," he said ; " I know almost
to a certainty that it is little John's curl ; and Mrs.
Nolan was excited and embarrassed to such a
degree that she contradicted herself twice in the
course of a very brief conversation. I have ar-
rested her and her husband, any way. They are
conferring together in the lockup to-night. Un-
less they can concoct some story that will agree
better than the one which they have told me sepa-
rately to-day, it will go hard with them. I am
persuaded that in some way they are implicated in
this."

** But yc!\ could get no clue to the possible
whereabouts of the child.?" faltered John Reming-
ton, **as to whether he is alive, even ? "

" No," said Earle Mason reluctantly, " not yet."

Then for the first time Mrs. Remington spoke :
** John, cannot you pray that he is at this moment

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196

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

in the arms of the Shepherd? If he is not, think
what he may be suffering ! " A convulsive shiver
ran through her frame.

" Black-hearted villains," muttered Earle Mason
between clenched teeth. '• If they had any hearts,
I would like them to see what ruin they have
wrought here." This in an aside to Elsie Chilton,
who was standing near him, listening intently to
every word that was spoken, but with eyes fixed
upon Mrs. Remington.

She drew them slowly away now, and looked at
Earle Mason. " Isn't it terrible } " she said, low-
toned. " It is so much worse than it would be if
she would cry or scream or wring her hands. I
wish she would not control herself so terribly.
I am afraid her reason will give way."

"Sometimes to lose one's reason for a while is a
merciful deliverance," said Earle Mason gravely.
"DM you give her the curl. Miss Chilton } "

" Yes, I did ; I thought then that she would cry,
it looked so like his, lying there soft and silky in
her hand. But she didn't ; she smiled, and said
to me in that strange tone of hers, which suggests
that her heart has broken, * If I could know to a
certainty that the little head which wore it was
resting on Jesus* breast ! ' She has not shed a tear
to-day."

'• Then she knew the curl," said Earle Mason ;
" I was sure she would. It could belong to no
q^her head than little John's. Miss Chilton, I dp

SUSPENSE.

197

not think the child is dead ; I feel hopeful to-night,
more so than I have before I haven't, perhaps,
what sounds like a very good reason for it, but I
cannot get away from the feeling."

" Tell them so," said Elsie quickly. " Tell them
how you feel ; they have such confidence in your
judgment, I think it will help them."

'• It is not a matter of judgment, but of faith,"
he said, with a grave smile, but he turned toward
the father and mother.

'• Dear friends," he said, " I cannot believe you
are to think of little John as utterly gone from
you. I cannot get away from the growing convic-
tion that we shall find him safe and well. If I
had any tangible proof of it to put into your hands,
I do not know that it would influence you any
more than to tell you that the feeling came to me
while I was on my knees. I believe the Lord put
it into my heart. I think in some way, I don't
know how, we are going to get word of the little
one before long. I know I was never so sensible
of a direct answer to prayer in my life, as I was
to-night."

" God bless you ! " said John Remington, his
voice broken and tremulous like that of a man
bowed with years. " To have a friend like you,
who prays as well as works, is worth everything to
us now. Mattie dear, I cannot help having some-
thing of the same feeling which Mason expresses.
Not so strong as his, perhaps ; I will confess that

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JOHN KKMlNr.TON, MARTVR.

my faith has been sorely tried, but it came to me
from the same source as his. I think God sent
it ; let us trust him, Mattie."

" Amen !" said the white lips, but the speaker
did not unclose her eyes nor move a muscle of her
face ; and Aunt Hannah, who, unable to sit still,
had been moving softly up and down the long
room, shook her head and murmured : " Poor
lamb ! poor stricken lamb ! "

At that moment the door leading into the back
hall opened softly, not more than two or three
inches, but enough to reveal Jane's eyes and her
beckoning finger, as she tried to get the attention
of P^lsie Chilton. Something in the eyes thus
wildly staring at her made Elsie, the moment her
attention had been arrested, move swiftly toward
the door, open it just enough to allow herself
egress, and passing out, she closed it after her.

*• What's the matter, Jane ? " she asked quickly.

CHAPTKR XV.

•• \V I. ' V K (i U 1 M I M ! "

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** ^^ MISS CHILTON!" said the girl, clasp-
y ing her hands hysterically, and speak-
ing in a stage whisper, " we've got him ! we've
got him ! He is out there in the dining-room,
all well and everything, and I didn't know how
to tell them ; and I'm afraid it -vill kill her ! "

'* Come with me," said Elsie, and she took swift
strides toward the dining-room. The sight which
met her eyes was photographed on her bn?in. never
to be forgotten. Near the door stood a > .;, cleri-
cal looking ;oung man, hat in hand ; apparently
nobody had thought to offer him a seat, or show
him ordinary courtesy. Assuredly Elsie did not ;
for, plumped into a dining-chair in the middle of
the room, was a grandmotherly looking woman,
plain of dress and face, holding fast to a little
bundle of gray cloak, above which arose a well-
shaped head covered with moist rings of yellow
nair, the owner of which, with his back to Elsie,
Wis gazing around him, apparently in unspeakable
delight. Elsie never knew how she got from the

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

door to that chair, nor how she looked as she laid
hands on the gray cloak and turned its occupant
around. Nor could she ever describe how she felt
when the beautiful blue eyes of little John met
hers, and his face broke into that radiant smile
peculiar to himself, as he said in sweetest tones,
"Ottissey," for this, be it known, was the remark-
able name by which he had designated Elsie.

Earnest and often repeated had been the at-
tempts to teach John Shield Remington to say
Aunt Elsie. Why the rosebud lips had obsti-
nately refused to frame those syllables, when he
spoke other and more difficult ones with perfect
ease, and had chosen to call her with distinct and
clear ut*"erance, a word of his own coining, " Ot-
tissey," will be known only to those philosophers
who succeed in translating baby language and
giving us a satisfactory treatise on baby mental
science. But " Ottissey " Elsie Chilton was, and
" Ottissey " would she probably remain to the end
of this opinionated young man's career

" Oh, you darling ! you darling ! you darling ! "
fairly screamed Elsie, snatching the radiant child
and smothering him in kisses ; then dashing him
back, all in the same breath, into the arms of the
motherly woman, said, addressing her and speak-
ing frantically : " How shall we do it ? Oh ! how
shall we tell her ? I'm afraid it will be too much
for her ! What shall we do > "

" I would advise," said Mr. Porter, coming

" we've got him ! "

201

laid
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quietly forward in this emergency, " that you call
the father, perhaps ; or, if he cannot leave his
wife, and there is any other member of the family
— is there a grandmother ? "

*' O, yes ! " said Elsie eagerly ; " Aunt Hannah,
the best grandmother in the world. That is just
the thing, thank you."

She took great credit to herself afterward, for
the composed manner in which she opened that
sitting-room door, and the natural tone of voice in
which she said, " Aunt Hannah, will you come
here a moment, please ? " Though Earle Mason
assured her that nothing so ecstatically unnatural
had ever before issued from her lips.

" I felt a series of electric thrills," he declared,
" from the crown of my head to the soles of my
feet, the moment I heard your voice. I knew that
something magnificent had happened ; and what
could have been magnificent just then, but one
thing."

However, neither father nor mother heard the
summons. Aunt Hannah went swiftly, leaving
Earle Mason to hold the fort and control his im-
patience as best he could. ** Child, what in the
world is the matter > " asked Aunt Hannah, as
soon as Elsie had closed the door after her. " You
look as though — as though " —

" Yes," said Elsie, " I do. It is so, Aunt Han-
nah ; we've got him, alive and well. Oh, the
darling ! Come here, quick ! "

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202

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Aunt Hannah, nearer fainting than ever she was
in her life before, had only time to sternly tell her
foolish heart to stop its fluttering and behave
itself, before she heard the sweetest music that
she thinks will ever enter her ears. "Gamma,"
said the dear voice, that she had thought never to
hear again on earth, ** Gamma," with a little
happy chuckle over the name, and shaking off the
gray cloak which had been a trial all day to little
John, he held out his queer little red woolen arms,
and laid his head with a gurgle of infinite satisfac-
tion on her breast, and was enfolded once more in
the loving arms that ha'i ached so to gather him.

"Thank the Lord!" was Aunt Hannah's first
fervent cry. Her next thought was for somebody
else. •* How shall we tell his mother ? "

" Yes," said Elsie, " we thought you would
know. What shall we do, Aunt Hannah ? "

" It is a good plan to let her hear his voice ; then
some one ought to carry him to her at once. Who
will do it .? "

"Aunt Hannah," said Elsie, "you are the one
who ought to have the honor of taking him to his
mother." Then Aunt Hannah rose to the heights
of her best nature. Long and fierce had been the
struggle with her heart to endure the sight of Jane.
Jane, who had been unfaithful to her trust, and left
their darling under the tree, and gone away out of
sight, out of hearing of him, to get herself a glass
of water !

((

WE VE GOT HIM

203

" I shall never be able to endure the sight of
the gill in this world or the next," she had said
once, in fierce excitement. It was the stricken
mother who had turned her dumb by answering :
" O, Aunt Hannah ! think how the poor girl must
suffer. She loved little John."

Over and over had Aunt Hannah said those
words to herself, said them respectfully, rever-
ently, as one who had heard the voice of an angel.
*• She is a better woman than I am," she told her-
self, "with all my sixty years of profession. I can
keep along a smooth road with some kind of de-
cency, but when it comes to such a place as this
I'm nowhere. I won't say another word against
the girl, and I'll try to be sorry for her ; but I
don't know whether I'll ever learn to stand it to
have her around ; and I do hope it won't be my
duty to speak to her very often. If I were at the
head of things I should try to get her a good place,
and see that she was treated all right ; but it
doesn't seem to me that I could have her
around."

All through the hours this battle had been
fought. Aunt Hannah had not been able to bring
herself to ask Jane to give her a glass of water, to
close the blinds or move the screen or do the least
thing for her comfort. Jane, who had been deft-
handed and quick-witted, and was a favorite with
her to the deoree that she had devoted much of
her leisure time while Baby John was sleeping, to

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204

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

looking after Aunt Hannah's comfort — how could
Jane bear it? And how could Aunt Hannah bear
it herself ? She hated herself for the feeling. ** I'd
get over it if I could," she told herself humbly,
"and maybe after a long time I can ; but just now
I can't abide the girl, and that's the whole of it.
A drink of water, indeed ! If she hadn't been
thinking so much about drinks of water, I'd have
my lamb here in his crib this minute. And me to
forgive her ! when I know all about taking care of
a baby, and never let my John out of my sight five
minutes of a day until he was old enough to take
care of himself."

Poor Jane had understood all this as well as
though it had been said to her. Nou a word of
reproach had Aunt Hannah uttered in her pres-
ence ; she had simply looked — or failed to look.
And Jane shrank from her, and cowered before
her, and trembled at the thought of her, yet felt in
her inmost heart that it was no more than she de-
served. " I'd do just so myself, and worse too,"
said the poor girl. " I'd kick her out of the house
if I was the mistress, and she'd gone and lost him
just for a drink. I wish I needn't ever drink no
more water as long as I live. To be sure the other
one — the mother — she put her hand on my arm
and said she knew I didn't mean to do wrong; but
then, she's an angel, and everybody knows she is ;
and folks can't be angels, all of them ; there's got
to be women. O, my land ! I don't expect her

" wp:'ve got him ! "

205

ever to forgive mc, 'cause I never mean to forgive

yself,

never

So these two had lived their trying lives together
during these terrible days. It all flashed over Aunt
Hannah, the spirit that she had shown, the added
burden which she had laid upon the heart of the
poor girl. In an instant her resolution was taken.
" Where's Jane .'' " she said, looking around her.
"Didn't I see her? Here, Jane, you may take
him to his mother."

" O, ma'am ! " said Jane, coming forward, her
hands clasped hysterically, " O, ma'am ! you can't
mean it .^ "

** Dane ! " said little John, in the most gracious
and condescending manner possible, and then, with
one of his sudden baby impulses, he flung himself
forward from his grandmamma's arms into those
of the almost crazy Jane. "Aunt Hannah," mur-
mured Elsie, *' that wa;; sublime."

"Now," said Mr. Porter, who had decided that
he must be commander-in-chief of this bewildered
regiment, "lead the way, somebody, and open the
parlor door." Then to little John : " Call your
mamma, my boy."

"Aunt Hannah," said Elsie, seizing that trem-
bling woman's arms, "let's go in," and she made
a dash for the back parlor. Earle Mason was still
pacing distractedly up and down the floor; he had
given over any attempt to talk to the father and
mother, and was waiting with strained ears and

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

■iP„

fast-beating heart for developments which he felt
sure were coming from the other room. Mr. Rem-
ington bent over his wife, and was lost to all but
her, murmuring low in her ear tender, pitiful,
soothing words. Neither of them noticed that
the door was opened.

** Hark ! " Mr. Mason said suddenly, stopping
short before Mrs. Remington's chair, impelled, he
declared afterward, by the look in Elsie Chilton's
eyes. Clear and sweet rang out on the evening
air "Mamma!"

It was the one voice in all the world that could
appeal to the depths of Mrs. Remington's very
soul. She gave a spring, sat upright, and looked
at her husband in a strange, puzzled way. "John,"
she said, " have I died, and is this heaven.?"

Then appeared before her the very earthly vision
of Jane, trembling so that she could hardly hold
the wide-awake, eager boy in her arms. Then
again, and this time gU^efully, rang out that happy
voice : "Mamma," and little John gave one of his
great bounds, and settled his head in a pretty,
roguish way in his mother's neck.

" Let us pray," said John Remington, dropping
on his knees. "Somebody pray."

It was the clear, strong voice of the stranger
minister which, after a moment's silence, took up
the words of prayer ; he realized that he alone, of
all that company, could be expected to have suffi-
ci^pt sqlf-contrpl to put into a form of words th^

•

"we've got him ! "

2oy

hallelujahs which must needs go up from the home
that night.

" Well," said Earlc Mason, giving a long-drawn
siixh, which with him indicated relief from a severe
mental strain that had been upon him for some
days and nights without any let-up, " the question
is. What will come next? What will tho^e creat-
ures, bent on self-destruction, concoct next in re-
venge against the temperance workers, and who
will be their victims?" They were alone together
in Mr, Remington's study. The two men, having
always had much in common, had been drawn
closer together by the experiences of the last few
weeks.

Mr. Remington was seated at his study table,
and had a package of letters before him, but he
was tilted back in his study chair in a position
which meant restfulness, and Earle Mason had
thrown himself into the large rocker which stood
between the windows, and while they talked was
giving partial attention to the passers-by on the
street.

Two blissful weeks had passed since little John
returned to his earthly kingdom, and never did any
of royal blood reign more supremely than he, or
have more devoted subjects. Mrs. Remington,
despite her earnest attempts to regain self-control,
had hardly yet been able to allow him out of her
^ight during a single moment of her waking hours,

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JOHN REMINCiTON, MARTYR.

^ll

and indeed she slept with one hand resting on his
crib, and gave sudden frightened starts into wake-
fulness many times through the night, because her
brain took revenge for the fearful strain which had
been imposed upon it, and lived over again in
dreams the terrible scenes of those two days. His
royal highness had not been out in his little car-
riage since his return ; indeed, the carriage had
been banished to the attic, and not a member of
the family, least of all Jane, ever wanted to see it
again. This had not been done during the baby's
absence. The mother had herself arranged pillows
and sunshade and gay afghan, just as she would if
it were going to be used in a few minutes, a..d
directed that the carriage be left in the back hall
in its accustomed corner, ready. But directly she
had her darling in her arms again she was seized
with convulsive shudders at the sight of that car-
riage, and began to realize, as she had not before,
what a fearful strain she had imposed upon herself.
Not that little John was housed ; he walked out
twice a day, but always with mother on one side
and father on the other, each holding a little bunch
of soft down which represented a mittened fist,
and oftentimes with Aunt Hannah and Elsie Chil-
ton bringing up the rear, to say nothing of Earle
Mason, who joined them as often as opportunity
afforded. "I do not wonder at Mrs. Remington's
nervousness," he said gravely, on one of these oc-
9^sions ; " I find that every sense is on the alert.

"we've got him !"

209

and that I study the face of every stranger we
pass, lest possibly evil designs may lurk behind
them. Also, I confess, in the hope that there
may come the man I am looking for, or some of
his accomplices."

For this young lawyer had set his heart and
wits upon finding and bringing to stern justice
the worthless man whose evil brain had concocted
and carried out the scheme so worthy of him.
Of course as soon as Mrs. Blake's story was heard
it had been discovered who was the leading spirit
in the matter. But although Earle Mason had
before midnight on the day of little John's return,
set at work forces calculated to find him in his
haunts, he was nowhere to be found. There were
people in plenty who had seen him during the
week — yesterday, the day before, yes, even that
very day, but a few hours before — yet apparently
the earth had opened and swallowed him ; for as
yet no clue had been found with which to trace
him.

The disappointed searchers would have under-
stood the matter better had they known that
the man himself was skulking around the station
on the night of Baby John's return ; not watching
for developments connected with that scheme —
he was satisfied with those arrangements, and con-
sidered the matter well out of his hands for a time
— but intent upon another plan which needed his
personal supervision. He was astonished and di§-

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

mayed to see a tall man appear on the platform of
the in-coming train with a child in his arms who,
asleep though he was, could yet be distinctly seen
in the strong electric light, and, in the choice lan-
guage of the disturbed looker-on, was pronounced
to be "that Remington brat if it was anybody I "
And he watched, with what feelings may be imag-
ined, the approach of the two tall policemen, and
their prompt escort to a close carriage in waiting,
not failing to notice, also, that they mounted the
box with the driver.

Within half an hour of that moment the accom-
plished villain knew that the sooner he made good
his escape and covered up all trace of his flight,
the safer it would be for him. So while he skulked
and glowered in the smoking-car of an out-going
train that night — a train which left the station in
less than two hours from the moment that Baby
John arrived — he went over all his well-laid plans
and tried to contrive how it was possible they should
have miscarried. It was years since the fellow had
known anything of Stony Ridge. His memory of
it was an out of the way, forsaken, desolate place,
back from the railroad, and indeed back from every-
thing. As he knew the place they took no daily
papers, nor, for the matter of that, weekly papers,
and had no civilization of any sort.

" 'Tain't even place enough to have a saloon,**
he had explained to his worthy comrades, when he
was planning the hiding-place of little John. And

"we've got IlIM !"

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he reflected complacently that there "wa'n't no
Sunday mectin's and parsons to interfere, either."
How under the sun people so benighted and un-
civilized could have any knowledpje of what was
going on in the great world, or, having heard of
the stolen baby, could have conceived that the
motherless chap whom his tender-hearted father
had consigned to such careful hands and sent to
claim the sympathies of his long-suffering sister,
was the child for whom Sx^arch was being made,
was more than the brain behind those scowling
brows could imagine. Had he nc': written a letter
about how the mother had died, how he had tried
to care for the young one himself, but had felt that
it must have a woman's hands about it, and so
begged her to receive his poor boy for the sake
of the love she used to bear him ? And now here,
within three days of the time when he had run
such risks, and been at such expense, behold the
young one steps off the incoming train, shielded
and guarded on every side ! and by this time there
was no telling how much of his share in the
matter that pesky father and his pesky lawyer
knew.

*' It was one of them long-haired ministers," he
muttered, " that has outwitted me again. I'm
blamed if I don't hate the whole race of *em. He
was one, I'll be bound ; I'd know them in Botany
Bay. Smooth-faced, smooth-tongued, prinked-up
looking fellows, goin' around meddlin* with other

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

folk's business ! I'd like to wipe *em all out of
existence. Just look at the time and money I've
lost on this job ! Now got to skulk off in the
night like a thief."

t.ven tnis man gave a little start as he thought
these words. It came upon him with a sudden
sharp twinge just at that moment, that the word
actually described him ; he was a thief, that mean-
est of all thieves, a child stealer ; that he had
risked what shreds of reputation he had, and made
himself an object of such hopeless suspicion that
perhaps he would never dare to go back to his
home again. And all for nothing ! Being the
man he was, it is no wonder that he muttered
curses on the whole race of whining hypocrites
known as ministers and their dupes, nor that he
drew out a black bottle from his shabby pocket
and drank deeply. But he kept wits enough about
him to cover up his trail so effectually that, thus
far, Earle Mason's most earnest efforts had failed
in discovering any clue which might lead to him.

, I

CHAPTER XVI.

PRESENTIMENTS.

I'LL tell you what it is," said Mr. Mason, sud-
denly sitting bolt upright, and gazing out of
the window after a passer-by, " I have a suspicion,
or a presentiment — I hardly know what to call it,
I certainly have not proof enough to say it is a
conviction, perhaps fear is the word I want — that
Miss Redpath will come to grief in some way.
She is very fearless, Mr. Remington ; you should
have heard her last night. I have heard her speak
several times at those gospel temperance meet-
ings, but last night she was at her best. She told
one or two tremendous stories, which were enough
to reach the heart of a stone ; mentioned streets
and names, and vouched for the truth of every
word she uttered. There are always some hard
characters in her meetings, and she is beginning
to be, like yourself, a special mark for evil eyes.
I don't know what will come of it, but if she were
my sister, 1 should be afraid ; and for the matter
of that she is my sister, you know, in the highest
sense of the word, so I am afraid. I waited last

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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night until nearly every one had left the hall —
hung around the door for the purpose of seeing
them safely to their carriage, and then was nervous
to the degree that I hailed a policeman and told
him to keep it in sight until it reached the main
avenue."

" Who was with her ? " asked Mr. Remington.
•• She doesn't go to these meetings unattended ? "

" O, yes ! she does ; that is, there is always
some lady friend, but no one who could protect
her from insult. Miss Chilton was with her last
night ; she sang at the meeting, and sang a little
better than I have heard even her sing before ; one
of those terrible ballads, full of pathos and power.
It had as great an effect as the lecture, and led on
to fear that the singers, as well as the speakers, are
beginning to be very obnoxious to the trade. It
is gC'.ting to be a dangerous world, Mr. Reming-
ton, now that's a fact. If I had l, very great deal
of influence with either of those ladies, I would
try to impress upon them the importance of always
being attended by a gentleman, and by one who
would be on the alert and know what to do in case
of emergency."

** But what could they do } " asked Mr. Reming-
ton. "There is no child in either lamily to steal,
and Miss Redpath's brothers are quite out of the
question- — as much beyond their reach as you
and I. It isn't possible that they would dare to
offer personal violence ! What is it you fear ^

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PRESKNTIMENTS.

215

" I do not know," said Earle Mason gloomily.
" I have all faith in the ability of these vvretcnes
to concoct evil. Just how they could touch either
lady, I am not sure, but I know that both are
watched by some of the vilest looking men which
this city affords, and I am getting nervous to the
degree that, as I say, I would give some earnest
advice if I had the right to do so."

Mr. Remington mused a few minutes silently,
and wheeled his chair around so that he was face
to face with his guest, and said with a smile and a
slightly apologetic note in his voice : " Mason, I
am about to presume on friendship and ask you a
very peculiar question, which perhaps I have no
right to ask; and if you think so, I will excuse
you from making any answer. But 1 am some-
times filled with wonder as to what you can be
about, to let a young woman like Miss Chilton
walk in and out before you day after day and week
after week, and not be seized with the desire to
secure the right to protect her from any possible
indignities which you may fear. In other words,
I am so fond of you both, that I would quite enjoy
meddling and turning matchmaker, if I knevvr how.
But I haven't given any attention to that line of
work, and I am afraid I should be a bungler."

Mr. Mason was silent for so long as to almost
make his host fear that he meant to take him at
his word, and offer no reply whatever. At last he
spoke in a somewhat constrained voice : " It is

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

not necessary to waste any of your strength on
wonderments, my friend. I don't know why I
should not frankly tell you the whole story ; it is
a very short one. I became interested in Miss
Chilton the first time I ever met her; and the in-
terest grew so rapidly in a week's time as to
almost alarm me. Then I discovered that she was
engaged to Aleck Palmer, and of course knew that
she could be nothing to me, and that it was my
business not to think about her at all ; but it was
a business in which I failed somewhat," with a
faint smile. " The trouble was, I knew as well
then as I know now, that the man was unworthy
of her. I had never seen such a monstrous sacri-
fice as it seemed to me that would be ; there were
whole nights when I tossed on my bed, wide awake,
absolutely certain that it ought not to be, that
something ought to be done — somebody ought to
step in and save the sacrifice. I told myself that
I was perfectly conscientious in this matter, and I
believe I was ; that I had no sinister motives; that
I could give her up willingly, for her sake, to one
who was worthy of her ; but to see her married to
that man seemed almost more than I could bear."

The lounging chair had held this gentleman as
long as it could ; at this point he sprang up and
began a nervous pacing back and forth through
the room, struggling visibly with intense excite-
ment.

" I beg your pardon," said Mr. Remington, with

PRESENTIMENTS.

217

respectful gravity ; "I did not know I was probing
so deep a wound, Mason ; I had no business to
interfere,"

" Your interest in me can never be considered
interference," said Earle Mason earnestly. ** You
cannot understand, I suppose, why I am so excited
over it now, nor why, feeling as I did, I stood
by with apparent indifference, content with mere
friendship, when she has so long been free ; but I
had my reasons. In the first place, I wanted to
be sure of my own self, that I was not a mean
wretch who desired to break the hearts of other
people if I could not have what I wanted for my-
self. During the first months after their estrange-
ment I suffered for her ; my heart ached for her.
I tell you honestly. Remington, I never looked out
upon a moonlight evening without a groan in my
heart for the thought of the dreams that must be
shattered because of the hopes centered in a man
utterly unworthy of them, yet whom she must
have invested with all the virtues, in order to have
promised herself to him at all. I thought that
the least I could do was not to intrude myself upon
her during that time. Then there was another
consideration, a very grave one, of course ; I
was, and am, as you are aware, utterly obnoxious
to her father ; I grow more so, apparently, as the
days go by. You say Miss Chilton thinks he has
softened considerably ; I hope it may be so, to her,
but he certainly has not changed in his feelings

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

toward me. From barely recognizing me on the
street he changed at first to a cold stare, then to
almost a sneer. He will even cross the street
sometimes, apparently to avoid meeting me. I
cannot understand why I should be an object of
such special hatred, unless he has the impression
that my ambitions aspire even as high as his
daughter, and scorns me for the thought."

He was silent for a mom.ent, during which time
he resumed his seat near the window. " I am
going to make a clean breast of it," he said at last,
with a faint smile. " I had not thought when I
came in here, to make you my confessor, b'ic you
started me yourself in this direction. The fact
is, brother Remington, I have known for a long
time that I was probably destined to lead a lonelier
life than most men choose. Since I have dis-
covered that there was but one woman in the
world whom I should ever care to have for a life
companion, and discovered at nearly the same
time that she was not for me, I have fought the
battle out, and decided that I must be satisfied
with friendships, such as strong, good men and
pure-hearted Christian women could give me, and
with borrowed homes such as yours and a very few
others where I am welcome."

" But, man alive ! " said Mr. Remington, begin-
ning in his turn to pace the floor, *' what do you
mean by yielding the ground in this tame manner ?
It isn't in the least like you. Why should not

!»RESENTIMENTS.

219

that ' one woman in the world ' be for you ? Cer-
tainly the way is perfectly clear now, so far as any
other friendships of hers are concerned ; and as
for her father, women have married before without
their father's consent, I am disposed to think
they will again, and be justified in it, when a per-
fectly unreasonable man has nothing but preju-
dices to offer in argument against the persons of
their choice. What's the matter, Mason, that you
take such a resigned view of the case ? You are
not the man to be resigned, generally, to circum-
stances which can be overcome."

Mr. Mason seemed to find it hard to express
himself. He yielded to another spell of silence,
so long that had not both men been absorbed in
their own thoughts, and entirely familiar with each
other, it might have been embarrassing. Then he
said, clearing his voice and speaking with some-
thing of an effort, " I do not think you know Miss
Chilton, brother Remington, as well as I do. I
think she is a woman who would refuse to marry,
if her heart did not go with the ceremony, despite
any command which her father might give her.
But on the other hand, I think she is a woman
also who would refuse to marry contrary to her
father's wish. She is loyal to the heart's core,
has borne a great deal from him already, and is
formed of the material of which they made martyrs
in olden times. Understanding her as well as I
believe I do, I declare to you that in her loneliness

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

and possible dreariness, I held aloof, lest the very
fact that there was a vacant, and somewhat dreary
corner in her heart, might lead her to become in-
terested in me, simply because I was near at hand
and she was lonely ; and that in the end this
would mean only more trouble for her."

Mr. Remington gave an exclamation of impa-
tience. "That is a height of self-abnegation to
which I really think you have no right to have at-
tained," he said emphatically. " I don't believe in
it ! If a man loves a woman and has reason to
think she may be interested in him, let him tell
her so frankly ; then, if difficulties arise in their
pathway, let them bear them together. I do not
think Mr. Chilton is the sort of man to whom his
dau^chter ouo;ht to be sacrificed. If she made a
choice unworthy of a Christian woman it v\ ould be
another matter altogether. But when a father
places money and political influence and social
position, and all those meaner motives, before cul-
tured Christian manhood, that is another thing.
I confess I do not understand your resignation,
nor approve of it."

" I may have been hard on myself," said Earle
Mason gravely ; " I do not know. It \i a serious
thing to come between father and child. I have
thought I would never be guilty of it. Does it
occur to you, Mr. Remington, that Mr. Chilton's
eternal welfare may rest upon the influence which
his daughter continues to have over him ?"

PRESENTIMENTS.

221

**No," said Mr. Remington emphatically; "if
his daughter did wrong, and thereby lost her in-
fluence over him, then, indeed, it might be cause
for bitter self-reproach ; but in this age of the
world, and in this country, a man who is not a
tyrant does not dictate to a daughter in these
matters when she arrives at a suitable age to
choose for herself, and when her choice is one en-
tirely above reproach. I say. Mason, I think you
are doing injustice to yourself, and possible injury
to her. Moreover, I should not be surprised if
you were making more of Mr. Chilton's disfavor
than the circumstances justify. He is not specially
in love with you, of course, nor a great admirer of
the ways by which you have circumvented some
of his schemes ; but at the same time he is a
shrewd man, and has a great deal of common
sense. His darling scheme with young Palmer
failed utterly, and is out of the question ; now he
knows that his daughter will probably marry some
day, and he must know that Earle Mason is one
of the leading young lawyers of the city, and that
report says 'destined to stand as high in his pro-
fession as men get.' Mr. Chilton is a man with
whom that would weigh a great deal ; and he is
not a man who must necessarily be a boon com-
panion with his son-in-law, or his devoted friend
in any way. He could hardly expect to be, since
his daughter's tastes are what they are. I don't
know anything about it, Mason, except by what

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Mrs. Remington calls * intuitions,' which, I be-
lieve, men have occasionally as well as women ; but
I tell you, I don't imagine the obstacles in your
way are insuperable, nor believe in the least in
such a meek state of resignation as you have
worked up to."

There was a poor attempt at a smile on Mason's
face as he said significantly, "I am glad I suc-
ceed in appearing resigned." Then, after another
pause: "Mr. Remington, you .said Mr. Chilton's
plans in regard to the other matter had utterly
failed. Do you feel so sure of that } "

" What ? " said Mr. Remington. " I was sneak-
ing of Aleck Palmer."

" So was I."

** Well — of course they failed ! I understand
that he has married a lady of wealth and rank
abroad, and settled there."

"He did," said Earle Mason, "but he also buried
her, only a few months after the marriage cere-
mony, though that part of the matter he seems to
have taken some pains to keep altogether private.
I did not know of it until a short time ago, though
it is six or eight months since her death, I believe."

" Is it possible ? " said Mr. Remington.

"That isn't a fair statement," added Earle
Mason quickly. " I have no right to say that he
kept quiet about the matter. It may have been
simply that he did not have intimate personal
friends here with whom to correspond. It is of

PRESENTIMENTS.

223

no consequence. The thing is very well under-
stood now, and he has returned to make his per-
manent residence here, I believe ; settled up his
foreign affairs, and come back to honor our city."

" You amaze me ! " said Mr. Remington ; " this
is news indeed. But then, Mason, what of it all ?
So far as what \'e have been discussing is con-
cerned, under the circumstances it is hardly possi-
ble that his intimacy with that family will ever be
renewed. I should not expect the man to have the
impudence ever to call upon Miss Chilton."

Earle Mason smiled significantly. " It was the
passing of a carriage which held those two per-
sons that started a portion of this conversation,"
he said gravely.

"Held Elsie Chilton and Aleck Palmer!" ex-
claimed Mr. Remington. " You can't mean it,
Mason ! "

" Mr. Chilton's carriage passed your window,
my dear sir, not fifteen minutes ago. On the
back seat were Miss Redpath and Miss Chilton,
and sitting opposite them, talking with them, was
Mr. Aleck Palmer.

" Oh ! by the way, there is another item of for-
eign news. Dr. Fletcher is expected very soon, I
understand. At least the ladies will have an
escort to their temperance meetings hereafter.
There is so much to be thankful for."

" I cannot understand it ! " said Mr. Remington
impatiently. "Women are curious creatures. I

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

should suppose, after what has been repeated to
me as having passed between those two, that com-
mon propriety would prevent his offering her any
attention. It isn't possible that she respects him.
It must be that wretched father's influence over
her. When fathers influence their daughters to
receive the attentions of men not worthy of them,
I think some one would be justified in interfering."

" Mr. Palmer may have changed," said Earle
Mason, rising ; " I have not known much about
him since his residence abroad. People do change
for the better sometimes, my friend, and there are
such things as second marriages."

At the door he hesitated, and turned back to
say : " It is a surprise to me that I have talked
this subject over with you as I have. I had a
feeling that no one would ever hear a word from
me in this connection ; but you are almost my
second self, brother, and " —

"And I almost forced your confidence," inter-
rupted Mr. Remington. "I beg your pardon, my
dear friend, if I have hurt you. As I said, I had
not an idea as to how the matter stood. But I
assure you again I would not quietly submit to
what need not be the inevitable. Assuredly, if I
had any fears that a man like Aleck Palmer was
beginning to persecute that young woman again,
and I respected her heartily, to say nothing of
a warmer feeling, I would try to come to her
rescue."

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PRESENTIMENTS.

22$

"It is a very delicate matter to rescue people
who perhaps do not wish to be rescued," said
Mr. Mason, as he opened the door. " Remember,
I have no claim upon Miss Chilton whatever. I
have, and have had, no right to proffer her even
ordinary attentions. I have had no right to call
upon her at her father's house. She has received
me pleasantly, cordially, in your house, as she
would any friend of yours. For aught that I know
to the contrary, she thinks of me only as a friend
of yours. I think you can see what little right I
would have had under such circumstances to show
her any attention. I really do not think 1 know
how to be intimate with a lady who has a home of
her own from which I am shut out."

"Isn't it altogether possible that you make too
much of that. Mason } People are in ill-humor
sometimes, and speak more than they intended, or
more than they really mean. I cannot imagine
that a man like Mr. Chilton, in sane mind, and
under reasonable self-control, would refuse a gen-
tleman like you the courtesies of his home. I can
readily understand, as I have told you before, how,
for various reasons, he should dislike you ; but we
neither like nor admire a great many people whom
we meet in society, and treat with ordinary cour-
tesy. If you should call on his daughter at her
own home, I cannot imagine that you would be
refused admittance."

"Mr. Remington, if you had been distinctly told

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

by the head of the house that your calls were noc
desired, would you attempt it?"

" It would depend upon how much I respected
the character of the head of the house, and how
much I desired to see the other members of the
family," said Mr. Remington, with unabated
energy.

And then Earle Mason went away.

The minister, on his part, found himself so per-
turbed with the information he had received, that
he deserted the study, letters, sermon and all, and
went in search of his wife. In her room, with lit-
tle John asleep in his crib beside them, the two
discussed earnestly Elsie Chilton's affairs, past,
present and future, and decided emphatically that
there was not the slightest fear, not the very
slightest, that she would ever change her mind
■with regard to Aleck Palmer.

" And Earle Mason is a simpleton ! " said Mrs.
John Remington, with such emphasis that little
John started in his sleep, and threw up a protest-
ing hand ; " I really thought he had more sense
and more skill in reading human nature than to —
O, well ! I'm not going to say that ; only, he
doesn't deserve to have Elsie Chilton if he cannot
win her, that is all."

"He has an unusually high sense of honor," said
Mr. Remington thoughtfully, "and it obliges him
fp stapd ^p his own light sometimes."

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said
him

CHAPTER XVII.

COMPLICATIONS.

MEANTIME, the object of all this solicitation
was having, as the days went by, an unex-
pected experience.

The advent of Mr. Aleck Palmer into her social
world again was somewhat startling. He had been
in town but three days, when he passed in the
Chilton carriage, with Elsie and Miss Redpath for
companions. Various social duties had held Elsie
for the unusual space of three days, from making
her accustomed trips to the Remington home,
which accounted for the new arrival not being
heralded there.

As for the ride together which had disturbed
Earle Mason so much, it was no part of Elsie's
planning. She was at first not disturbed by Aunt
Emily's announcement that " Mrs. Hargrave said
Aleck Palmer had lost his wife, and settled up his
foreign affairs and come home to stay." She had
evinced but little interest in the information, and
had shown by her manner that Aleck Palmer
and his comings and goings were nothing to her.

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

«:'

She reflected that it was not likely they would
rneet for some time, at least. Probably, since he
was in affliction, he did not go into general society ;
and indeed she went herself as little as possible
into the society which belonged to his clique. So
within a half-hour from the time when she heard
of his arrival she had dismissed him from her
thoughts, and was astonished and not a little an-
noyed to meet him on that very evening at their
own dinner table. She had been detained in the
library by one of the secretaries of their missionary
society, and had sent word that they were not to
wait for her, so dinner was in progress when she
entered the dining-room.

" We had to waive all ceremony, daughter," said
Mr. Chilton, as she paused on her way to her seat
at sight of a stranger with his back to her. " I
have a special engagement this evening, and was
obliged to hasten. We have an old acquaintance
here, Elsie, as a surprise for you."

At the sound of the word, " Daughter," Mr. Aleck
Palmer had risen and turned to meet her. His
manner was simply perfect. There was no effusive
pleasure expressed, no excitement, no embarrass-
ment. His face and action said as plainly as
words could have done : *' Yes, we are old ac-
quaintances, it is true, but a gulf has rolled between
us since that time — a gulf of sorrow and wrecked
hopes."

He had the air of a man who had lost his home.

COMPLICATIONS.

229

and his friend, and left his heart in a grave. He
was quiet, reserved and apparently indifferent.
Before the dinner was over Elsie had decided that
she was sorry for him, and that she had nothing to
fear from him in the future ; which thought would
not have given her so much comfort, perhaps, if
she had realized that this was precisely the impres-
sion which he desired, and intended to make.

When the family adjourned to the parlor the
guest had but veiy few words for Elsie, and these
mere commonplaces. He appeared exceedingly
well, said just enough about his own experiences
to impress one with the feeling that here was a
man who had suffered, and that the wound was too
deep to be touched.

" You have heard of my great bereavement, I
suppose ? " he said. And Elsie explained that she
had not heard it until a very short time before ;
and tried to express in a brief sentence the proper
sympathy.

sHe interrupted her, sorrowfully. ** It was
months ago," he said ; " but I find that my friei ds
in America know nothing about it. That is not
strange; I did not write — I could not. Some
things cannot be written. It is hard enough to
have to live them." With a long-drawn sigh and
a grave bow h*". turned away, and gave his exclusive
attention to her father for the next fifteen minutes,
then excused himself.

*' Poor fellow ! " said Mr. Chilton, returning from

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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the door when he had seen his guest out. "He is
crushed. I never saw such a change in a man.
He cannot even attend to business, though he
has plenty of it, and of great importance upon
his hands. He will break into the midst of a
business statement with some reminiscence of his
wife."

Elsie listened complacently. She was certainly
better satisfied with Aleck Palmer than she had
been before in years. If he had married a good
woman and was capable of chiTishing her memory,
Elsie thought it might have been of great benefit
to him. " Though I should think," she told her-
self, " that it must have been a comfort to her to
die. Why, what am I saying! Of course she
loved him, or she would not have married him ; but
it seems so very strange that a good woman could !
though perhaps she did not know him as I do: I
hope she did not. Since she was to be his wife, I
really hope he succeeded in seeming g;ood to her ! "
And then this young lady dismissea ■ im from her
thoughts and her world.

Two days afterwards, she and her fiiend Miss
Redpath were making a series of business calls.
As the carriage passed her father's office Elsie
said, ** Oh ! I must stop here a moment. I have a
telephone message for papa that he will need to
receive at once."

Mr. Chilton had been sent for, and had come to
the carriage door to receive the message, accom-

•uu.

COMPLICATIONS.

231

panied by Aleck Palmer, who simply lifted his hat
and waited.

The business matter settled, Mr. Chilton said :
" Which way, daughter ? Are you going to drive
out to Greenhurst ? Then just take Mr. Palmer
in, will you ? and set him down at the real estate
office. That will be a shorter trip for you. Palmer,
than it will to go around by street car. Oh ! of
course it's convenient ; these ladies do not care
where they drive, so that they get the air. More-
over, they are going direUly-past the place. Jump
in.

Thus urged, Mr. Palmer took his seat, and wa.s,
during the long drive, the same g/ave, preoccupied
man who had dined with them two days before ;
and the carriage rolled in due time past the Rem-
ington parsonage ; its occupants being distinctly
visible to Earle Mason in the e^sy-chair.

The weeks which followed were full of curious
bewilderments to Elsie Chilton. No dove shel-
tered securely in her nest, was ever more closely
watched by a wily serpent than was she.

Truth to tell, Aleck Palmer was a gentleman
who knew generally what he was about, and he
never knew better than at this moment. He had
married in haste, and the uppermost feeling in
his mind during that exciting time when he had
planned the engagement and marriage, had been
an intense desire to pique Elsie Chilton. So little
did he understand the past that he could not be-

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

lieve, however angry she might have been with
him temporarily, that she had the least intention
of losing him entirely. He had for so many years
believed himself to be the most important mar-
riageable gentleman in society as to be unable to
conceive of the possibility of a woman who had a
chance to marry him, actually refusing to do so.
She was simply testing her power ; and he re-
solved to prove to her the sharpest of all lessons —
that it was possible for a woman to go too far.
Since she had dismissed him in the indignant way
she had — insulted him, indeed — he would show her
the result. And the result was, his wedding cards.
Let me hasten to do him the justice to say that
he did not break the heart of the woman he mar-
ried. She was older than himself, in wretched
health, and very tired of all the people by whom
she was surrounded. She admired Mr. Palmer,
and had the impression that he was wealthy
enough not to desire to marry her simply for
money — which was the demon that had haunted
her life heretofore. She imagined that he would
be an agreeable companion in the daily, weary
drives the physician obliged her to take ; that he
would look after her houses and lands, and stocks
and bonds, and was sharp enough not to allow her
to be swindled ; that he would protect her from
fortune hunters, and agents of all description —
and in short, give her a chance to finish her life
in peace.

'^4

COMPLICATIONS.

233

All this, be it known, he had clone. Being a
gentleman when he chose, and finding the elegant
home to which the lady invited him agreeable, the
guests which they succeeded in gathering about
them, sharp business men with whom he coald con-
fer to his advantage, and finding that his wife
claimed no more of his time or his interest than
he chose to give, and finding that he could be a
source of comfort to her as she steadily failed, he
took up that part of his life which he saw was to
be brief, and played it well to the very end.
Nevertheless when he bade good-by to that por-
tion of the world and started for home, such heart
as Aleck Palmer could be said to possess was not
buried in an English grave. Truth to tell, as
much as he was capable of loving any one beside
himself, Aleck Palmer loved only one, and that
Elsie Chilton.

There had been times when he repented having
given her so severe a lesson ; there had been times
when he feared it would be a longer lesson than it
had proved ; but now that it was well over he de-
cided that, all things considered, it was the best he
could have done for himself and for her. It gave
him an opportunity to approach her from an en-
tirely new side of his character, to take her un-
awares ; to discover to her that he, the grave,
reserved, broken man, was nevertheless necessary
to her comfort. To accomplish this he set him-
self, with all the skill which his wily nature and

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

keen brain possessed. Nor did he doubt that he
would have a faithful ally in Elsie's father. He
had not been Mr. Chilton's confidential business
friend and adviser for so many years for nothing.
He knew almost to a fraction the condition of
that gentleman's affairs ; moreover, he knew some
things which Mr. Chilton did not.

It had been part of his plans to complicate their
business relations, that no one but himself could
understand, or work his way successfully out.
Also he had so complicated them, that he could
work them out successfully or confuse them the
more, whichever he chose. Part at least of the
contusion was growing painfully plain to Mr.
Chilton.

That Mr. Palmer was responsible for such a con-
dition of affairs he did not understand; but that
Mr. Palmer alone was capable of saving to him a
large amount of money, was only too app. rent.

If Mr. Palmer was a schemer, so also was Mr.
Chilton. No sooner had he received a cablegram
announcing that gentleman's coming, than he be-
gan to think : " What if his thousands which were
in peril, could be saved to him and added to by
almost innumerable thousands by making his in-
terests and Mr. Palmer's one ? And how could
this better be done than by reviving the old plan,
the failure of which had been the heavy disappoint-
ment of his life .<* Men as young as Palmer were
sure to marry again. This had been but a brief

COMPLICATIONS.

23^

episode in his life, easily forgotten ; and Elsie was
a girl whom to know once was to remember."

Mr. Chilton felt almost certain that Palmef
would be willing to scheme with him in this re^
gard. Nor had they been long together when
they perfectly understood each other. Not that
they were bold, outspoken men who would make
coarse reference to any project of this sort. Noth-
ing was further from the polish of the two courtly
gentlemen.

Mr. Chilton's manner of giving condolence, and
Mr. Palmer's manner of receiving it were perfect.
But as he introduced his guest to one room to
make his toilet, and retired to his own for the same
purpose, he said, " He hasn't forgotten Elsie, by
any manner of means. He's just as willing to see
her as he ever was."

And the guest as he washed his carefully kept
hands with the perfumed soap, said to himself with
a complacent smile : " The old gentleman is twice
as willing as he was before, that is evident. Now
if he will only consent to keep in the background
and let me manage the daughter, he will find that
I can float him through."

And as the weeks passed in the same courtly,
careful way in which it was all to be managed, Mr.
Chilton was given to understand that it was Mr.
Palmer's intention to "float him through " ; and
to do it by the means which he himself would con-
sider the safest for all concerned.

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Meantime Elsie, in blissful ignorance of all this
scheming, moved on at first in her quiet way ; re-
lieved exceedingly to find that Aleck Palmer con-
tinued his grave, courteous, indifferent bearing
towards her. Never calling at the house with the
ostensible purpose of seeing her, but asking always
for the father. Explaining always that business
complications had arisen which made it necessary
for them to meet ; giving always exceedingly few
words to her.

" He has really improved very much," Elsie ex-
plained to her one confidant, Mrs. Remington, as
they sat together on a rainy evening. " I could
almost enjoy his society sometimes nowadays.
He has had rare opportunities abroad, you know,
this last time, for meeting celebrities, visiting
fine private libraries, and seeing private collections
of rare paintings. It is really interesting to hear
him talk. He addresses very little of his conver-
sation to me ; but sometimes when papa keeps him
waiting, he entertains Aunt Emily. I am always
a little sorry for him he has such an air of sadness
about him, as if it were an effort to talk, but as
though he realized that he must exert himself and
entertain her. If I could forget a few things in
the past, Mrs. Remington, I could almost respect
Mr. Palmer, just because of the feeling he evidently
has for his dead wife. Someway I didn't believe
it possible that he could have loved her. I think
I didn't expect him to love anybody but himself."

COMPLICATIONS.

237

" Do you see much of him ? " inquired Mrs.
Remington.

" Oh ! very little indeed, and then as I said,
only by accident. He has some complicated busi-
ness connections with papa. I don't understand it,
but it is something which has been worrying papa
I think in the past, and which is being settled to
his satisfaction now. I know he has great con-
fidence in Mr. Palmer's powers of management.
Whenever any complication occurs, matters have
to be talked over. So Mr. Palmer calls frequently.
When papa is at home and at leisure they retire at
once to the study, and we see no more of them that
night. But if, as often occurs, he arrives when
papa is down town, or before he has left his dress-
ing-room, it becomes necessary of course for some
one to entertain the guest ; or rather for him to
arouse himself and entertain us, which he does I
tell you, always with an effort. The result of
which is he succeeds in being entertaining.

" I don't know that I can make you understand
what I mean, and it is an extremely silly thing to
say — I shouldn't think of saying it to anybody
else — but it is really such a pleasant sensation to
sit in the same room with Aleck Palmer and know
that I am nothing to him, and he is nothing to me,
and that we are both satisfied about it, and per-
fectly indifferent to each other, that it actually
gives me almost a sense of comfort in his presence
such as I never experienced before,"

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

i i)

If Mrs. Remington had spoken her thoughts,
which she was much too wise to do, they would
have been after this manner : " I wish I had Earle
Mason behind that closet door listening to this
confession. He would understand some things
better than he does now."

So the weeks went by. The first days of spring,
which came early in that region, were making lit-
tle John wild with delight, and causing older
people to feel languid and unlike entering upon
their heavy duties. For instance, Elsie Chilton at
the close of one of these enervating spring days,
while she dressed for an evening rehearsal, de-
clared to herself that she wished benefit concerts
were out of fashion, or that she did not have to
sing at them ; that at least they did not have
to spend this April evening in a weary rehearsal ;
she felt utterly unmusical ; felt indeed like noth-
ing in life so much as having a frolic with little
John, and a quiet visit with his mother, after
little John was asleep. Truth to tell, there were
beginning to be some perplexities in these spring
days, which Elsie would have been very willing to
talk over with Mrs. Remington.

She was seeing much more of Aleck Palmer
than she had any desire to. Not that his atten-
tions to her were marked or offensive ; his manner
continued to be perfect ; but the phase of the
question which tried Elsie was the comments of
the outside world. In one way and another, all

COMPLICATIONS.

239

of which seemed perfectly natural at the time,
Klsic was thrown into Mr. Palmer's society,
luther her father called to her in passing, and
asked her to " take him up and drop him " at
this bank, or that real estate office, or he overtook
her as she was about to make her way across a
crowded street, or as she was trying in vain to
signal a crowded car, and offered his services as
pilot ; or he came to see her father at a time when
that gentleman was detained at a committee meet-
ing and Aunt Emily was kept in her room with a
sick headache, and waited with a subdued air of
submission to the inevitable, sometimes for two
mortal hours, during which time it seemed to Elsie
that most of her acquaintances, especially of the
class given to commenting upon other people's
affairs, called upon her. By these and various
other methods, had been started little ripples of
talk in the circle to which the two belonged. The
result of which was, that Elsie oftener than was
by any means agreeable, overheard her name
coupled with that of Aleck Palmer once more.

There was a reason which she did not put into
words, for being annoyed about all this. Indeed,
she scarcely put it into definite thought. It was
unpleasant enough, certainly, to have any of that
uninteresting class of people known under the
general name of " society," gossiping about her,
planning her future for her in such an absurd con-
nection as this^ but suppose that the gossips,

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

knowing certain facts, and being able to call upon
their imaginations for more, should gossip before
Earle Mason, for instance, and lead him or any-
other person whom she respected, to imagine that
she could for one moment be guilty of receiving
again serious attentions from Mr. Palmer ! The
bare supposition made Elsie's cheeks burn like
fire, and the fingers which were trying to fasten
the pin at her throat, trembled, as she said aloud
and vehemently: "I wish I need never see him
again ! I wonder why it is that poor papa always
has to be mixed up with people whom it is so hard
for me to receive ? Th^'«5 is too disagreeable to
endure. It must be ver 'ying to him as well as
to me. It is really an insult to the memory of his
wife. If I were he, I could manage things dif-
ferently. It cannot be that he knows there is any
such absurd talk, or he would avoid coming here at
times when I am almost compelled to see him.
Though after all, he is as careful as he can be per-
haps. If only papa could be more considerate ! I
wish I could go away somewhere and stay a long,
long time, until people would forget about me and
let me alone. But I can't go away now before
Fern is married."

The meditations and the toilet, which had been
somewhat hurried, were concluded together, and
Elsie rushed downstairs to meet the impatient boy
who had been sent to attend her to the concert.

Iff

I H\4i^\

CHAPTER XVIII.

AN " APRIL FOOL.

SHE opened the library door to give a final ad-
monition to her father, who was reading the
paper. " Now, papa, don't come earlier than ten
o'clock ; because if you do you will have to wait
for mc ; and don't be later than ten, if you can
help it, because then I shall have to wait for you.
I'm resolved not to stay later than ten, to-night.
They ought to get through by that time, and if
they do not, they can get along without me."

" Very well," said her father without raising his
eyes from the paper, and Elsie and her escort
departed.

It was nearly two hours later, when Elsie com-
ing from behind the scenes, into the audience
room, to give some directions to one of the chorus
singers, met the eyes, and received the quiet bow
of Mr. Aleck Palmer, who stood, hat in hand, near
the door looking about him. The audience room
was partially filled, with brothers, fathers, uncles,
and intimate personal friends of some of the per-
formers ; waiting in various stages of impatience

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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for this rehearsal to draw to a close. But Aleck
Palmer's presence was a surprise. lie had no
sisters or cousins or intimate friends, so far as she
knew, to wait for.

Why should he be here ? He made his way to-
ward her, speaking low : " I beg pardon, Miss Chil-
ton, for the intrusion, but your father has been
unexpectedly called to the Third National Bank,
where a meeting of the Directors is in progress
to-night. He had a very peremptory summons
while I was with him attending to some business
matters ; and he delegated to me the duty of see-
ing you safel)^ home, if you will kindly allow me to
take his place, under the circumstances ? "

Elsie, distressed and annoyed by so marked an
attention coming on the very evening when she
had resolved to arrange matters in a way to pre-
vent that tiresome public from coupling her name
so frequently with Mr. Palmer's, yet felt, of course,
that there was nothing to do except to thank him
for his courtesy and murmur her regrets that he
should be obliged to wait.

** It is very tedious," she said ; " they are exceed-
ingly slow. Some of the leading singers among
the tenors are not here yet, I am afraid it will
not be possible for us tc get through by ten
o'clock ; though I told papa not to be a moment
later than that."

" I will wait of course," he said quietly. " I
promised your father that you should have all due

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AN "APRIL FOOL.

»>

243

care. He bade me tell you he would have sent
the carriage, but that Mike had departed, no one
knew whither, taking the keys of the stable with
him. However, I can get you a carriage, if that
should be your pleasure."

Elsie promptly declined this special attention.
No carriage should be summoned by Aleck Palmer
for her. It was a comparatively short distance to
walk, and there would be groups of walkers mov-
ing in the same direction ; to join them would look
better than to take an exclusive trip, probably in
Mr. Palmer's own private carriage.

So these two resigned themselves to their fate ;
Elsie to go over and over again the leading parts
in the difficult selections so that one tardy comer
after another might be sure of himself. This was
the last rehearsal before their public appearance ;
and the responsible ones felt more or less ner-
vous. Elsie found it g»"owing much later than ten
o'clock, yet felt that she could not conscientiously
leave, under existing circumstances. There were
some complications, changes to be made at the
last moment, owing to the illness of one of the
leading singers, and she was expected to rearrange
the parts. Once she had gone down the hall to
Mr. Palmer, explaining the necessity for longer
delay, and urging that he leave her in the care of
her friend, Mi'ss Allison ; whose uncle had come
for her, and who lived very near their own home.

Of course he politely declined to do any such

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

thing ; and Miss Allison, who was one of the
chorus singers, finally departed with her uncle ; as
indeed did most of the others who had minor parts
in the programme.

Meantime Mr. Palmer had come forward with a
suggestion. Some old college friends of his were
having a little social gathering in the dining-room
below, " a sort of * bachelor's supper,' " he said,
smiling sadly; "though I do not belong in that
list, of course. I declined their formal invitation ;
but while I am waiting will look in upon them a
few minutes just for old friendship's sake, if you
have no objection. I shall take care tc return be-
fore the hour which you have set for adjourning."

Elsie not only had "no objection," but was re-
lieved. It made her nervous to think of that man
sitting there with folded arms, waiting patiently for
her, while silly girls giggled and commented on the
degree of intimacy which it indicated. She assured
him that he need not take great pains to be back,
even at the hour she had mentioned ; for as mat-
ters then looked there was very little hope of their
being through before eleven o'clock, at least. " I
am very sorry," she said ; " but indeed so many un-
expected complications have arisen that it seems
impossible to plan otherwise."

Then Mr. Palmer assured her again, with that
air of gentlemanlv indifference which became him
so well in Elsie's estimation, that it was " of no
consequence," and went away.

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AN "APRIL FOOL.

245

"Old college friends," some of those were, it is
true, who gathered in the room below. Some of
them were rather newer friends ; men with whom
Mr. Palmer, being a gentleman, had very little in
common, or would have had but for the fact that
certain schemes of his required their assistance,
and made it desirable that he should be on ex-
ceedingly friendly terms with them ; but he sought
the gay scene below at an inopportune moment
for himself. All of the dozen young men gathered
there had already been drinking more or less
deeply, and not five minutes before he made his
appearance, conversation after this fashion had
been going on between two of them.

" I say. Bill, I was hoping that Palmer would
get in to-night just for a few minutes, and give us
a chance to have some kind of a practical joke on
him. It's the first of April, you know, and all's
fair on that day of the year. He is such a stuck-
up prig, especially lately since he has had his
pockets lined with English gold ; it is about as
much as I can stand to meet him. I don't know
of anything that would be greater fun than to see
that fellow taken down a little."

" He is prouder than he ever was before," said
the young person addressed as Bill, " and I should
say that was unnecessary ; but he knows what he
is about every time, and I'm afraid you would have
to get up very early in the morning to get ahead
of him."

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" I have a plan," answered Charlie with a silly
laugh ; " it would work like a charm I believe, if
we could get him here. He is waiting upstairs
this minute for the Chilton girl, and if he would
only come down and let us entertain him while he
waits, we could send him back to her in a state
that would furnish some fun for this evening,
and make rather rough sailing for him in the
future."

"Well," said his companion, "I grant you it
would have been great fun to have played a joke
on him, but I don't sec how you would have done
it. He doesn't drink much, you know ; never was
overcome by it in his life, before folks."

" That's so ; but there has to be a first time,
don't you know .'* If he were down here and we
had a chance to treat him, as it would be our duty
to do, to our guest, don't you and I know of a cer-
tain, kind of first-class liquor to order for him ? It
wouldn't take much of it to send him back in a
very pleasant frame of mind to Miss Chilton.
She's out and out temperance to the core.

" In the first place it would be a tiptop joke to
see him in just a funny frame of mind, you know,
and think of him as trying to walk steadily and
talk properly to her ; and in the second place, his
cake would be all dough, so far as she was con-
cerned. It is a capital plan if we could only get
hold of him."

Just then, as Aleck Palmer's evil genius would

. ]

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AN "APRIL FOOL.

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ind

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247

have it, the door was thrown open, and in all the
dignity of his immaculate evening dress and grace-
ful carriage, the gentleman in question moved
down the room. The two who had been wishing
for him came forward eagerly, effusive in their
greeting. They considered it a special honor to
have his company, if only for a few minutes.
They seated him at one of the banqueting-tables ;
they offered him the choicest that their menu
cards afforded.

In vain he protested that he had not expected to
be with them, and was not in the habit of taking
any refreshments at so late an hour.

They urged their hospitality upon him. At
least he would have a glass of the best wine the
country ever produced. " Better than any you
found in England," declared the worthy whom
they called " Charlie," with an aside wink to his
accomplice for the time being. ''Some of the
Governor's own importing, this is, and a little
ahead of anything we have ever had in this coun-
try before. Any way, the Governor thinks so, and
he's a good judge." And Mr. Palmer, who rarely
drank in public, who never drank anywhere to ex-
cess, holding himself in too high esteem to per-
mit anything to dethrone his mental powers, yet
fell into the snare thus rapidly laid for his dignified
feet, graciously received the goblet presented to
his hands and touched the wine to his lips, intend-
ing to take only a sip or two, according to his

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JOHN REMINGTOJ^, MAkTYR.

custom in society, just to please these rollicking
fellows who were bent on playing host to him.

But it was rare wine, indeed ; unlike any which
Mr. Palmer, who did not pride himself on being a
connoisseur in these matters, had ever tasted.
The first few swallows seemed to awaken within
him a strange, almost feverish thirst. Before he
realized what he was doing, he had drained the
glass ; before he realized what others were doing,
it had been filled again. He did not mean to
empty it, he did not seem to be conscious that he
was doing so ; yet, when some time afterwards
he arose from that table, it was with a dim con-
sciousness of the fact that he had drank more wine
than at a single sitting had ever before passed his
lips, and that it was wine which had a strange
power over him.

It was growing late. The clock directly oppo-
site him had tolled the hour of eleven some time
before ; and there was now recalled to his confused
mind the fact that somewhere was a lady waiting
for him.

The boys watched him out of the room in ill-
concealed delight.

" Isn't that a lark ? " asked Charlie, slapping
the shoulder of his friend. "The fellow actually
staggers. You see he isn't used to that kind of
wine. It isn't the kind that they offer ' straight *
in polite society, but it suits his palate ^orall that.
The old fellow would better look out, sharp as he

AN "APRIL FOOL

249

thinks he is. If he is as fond of that sort of stuff
as appeared to-night, he will have to steer clear of
it pretty soon, or find himself in real downright
trouble one of these days. Upon my word, I
would give something to find what Elsie Chilton
will say to him to-night."

'• It is rather mean on her," replied his compan-
ion ; "he doesn't half-know what he is about."

" Oh ! he will know what he is about well enough
as soon as he gets to the street ; the cool night air
will revive him. But he won't talk very straight
I fancy, and he may stagger a little, now and then.
These girls who are fighting the liquor business,
are so out and out scared at the sight of a man
whose breath smells of liquor, that I don't know
as she'll go home with him at all. This is the
jolliest April fool time I have had in years."

They were not friends, those young men. They
were not even sharpers. They were just good-
hearted ; in the main, commonplace, wreckless,
foolhardy fellows, who had made the least of
their opportunities in life ; who were sometimes
ashamed of it, and sometimes repentant ; but too
weak, or, at least, up to this point in their lives,
controlled by motives and influences too weak to
keep them steered in the right direction. The
most of them were going quite swiftly to ruin;
but they were doing it in a fashionable way.
They were all society young men. They were all
well-dressed, and the sons of fathers who had

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JOHN REMIN'GTON, MARTYR.

■

reasonably good bank accounts ; and they were all
fellows who in their graver moments would not
have been guilty even of the intrigues to which
the gentlemanly Aleck Palmer stooped. But as
they felt towards midnight on this the evening of
their annual supper, they were all capable of join-
ing in hilarious laughter over the probable discom-
fiture of their victim !

" Victim " he certainly was. The more surely
so that he did not fully realize his condition.
That he felt dizzy and bewildered, and for the mo-
ment did not quite know which way to turn, or
just what he was expected to do, was apparent to
him ; but the cause thereof was already a confusing
memory in his mind.

" It waG so insufferably hot in that room," he
said, " I don't see how those fellows stand" it ! "
and he tugged at the light overcoat which he had
put on to go out into the evening air, as he stum-
bled and fairly felt his way up the stairs to the
hall. He did not need to go all the way up. At
the head of the stairs, wrapped for her walk, and
evidently waiting was Miss Chilton ; who as she
saw him approach, turned to the janitor : "Thank
you, William, you can turn out the lights now ; my
friend has come. I am sorry to have kept you
after the others were gone."

Then she ran swiftly down the stairs to Mr.
Palmer. ** It is much later than I had imagined
we would be detained," she said; " I am afraid my

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AN "APRIL FOOL.'*

251

father will be anxious. It is very unfortunate that
he should have been called away on this particular

evening.

Mr. Palmer's very first uttered sentence, al*
though he tried to make it as polite as possible,
sent terror into the heart of his companion.

Perhaps few young women of her age and posi-
tion in life had thought more about the sin of
drunkenness and the curse of alcoholism than had
Elsie Chilton. Yet it ha])pened that so far in her
experience she had never come into personal con-
tact with a man who was under the influence of
liquor ; never until at the moment when she
realized that, very near the hour of midnight, she
was walking through a comparatively deserted
street, her sole protector being a man so far ad-
vanced toward drunkenness that he actually stag-
gered as they walked ; and his words were so
thick and unnatural as to be hardly recognizable !
The outer door of the great hall had closed upon
them before Elsie had made this terrible discovery.
She had heard the click of the lock, and the deaf
old janitor turn the ponderous key. She knew
that by this time he was up three flights of stairs,
in a back room where he spent his nights ; there
was scarcely a possibility of making him hear ;
and the private residences on either side of the
street, were, so far as she could see, closed and
dark. This portion of the city world seemed to
retire early. Moreover, it was a street with

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252

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

which she was unfamiliar, so far as the residents
were concerned ; it seemed to her almost impos-
sible to appeal to them for help. What could she
say ? And, for the matter of that, how could she
explain her movements to the stumbling man who
had her hand resting on his arm ?

She had been the very last person to leave the
concert hall ; indeed, had been greatly annoyed be-
cause she had been obliged to keep the old janitor
waiting ; while along with her annoyance had been
a feeling of surprise that so fastidious a gentleman
as Aleck Palmer should consume the extreme
limit of the time set, before returning to see if she
were ready ! She told herself that he must have
been detained, but that it was certainly an ex-
tremely awkward situation, and one in which she
would take care that she was not caught again.

At that time she had no idea in what a terrible
way she had been caught. Thoroughly unfamiliar,
as I said, with intoxication, she was even more
frightened than she would have been had she
known that there was a probability that Aleck
Palmer, unsteady and silly though he was, would
succeed, after all, in getting her safely to her
father's house. She could not be sure but that he
would fall in a drunken stupor on the street, as
she had heard of men doing. Or, even worse than
that, grow insane with liquor and commit some
terrible deed, as she had heard too often of others
doing. - :

AN "APRIL FOOL."

2S3

Carrying on this distressing train of thought,
looking right and left about her, wondering what
had become of all the policemen, wondering if she
should appeal to him should she happen to dis-
cover one ; torn by a thousand conflicting terrors
she yet moved on.

It seemed unaccountable that the streets should
be so deserted, yet it was one of private residences
only ; occupied by a class of persons who lived
busy lives all day, and when nothing special in the
way of business or entertainment kept them up at
night, retired as early as they could.

Suddenly she heard swift footsteps on a side
street, whose corner they were passing ; a man's
footsteps, coming rapidly. Should she appeal to
him for protection ? Could she do that to a stran-
ger ? How could she tell but that he might be
one who would put her in greater danger than she
was even now !

If it only could be some one whom she had seen
before !

Then this terribly frightened girl sent up a swift
cry to her Father in heaven to tell her what to do.

Meanwhile Aleck Palmer stumbled along as
best he could ; dizzy, half-blinded, with a strange
stupor stealing over him, he yet struggled with
thick speech and bewildered ideas to entertain his
companion ; dimly conscious the while that he was
for some reason not making so good an appearance
as usual

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254

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Elsie made no answer whatever to his silly
attempts at conversation ; but this he did not
appear to notice, and maundered on. Meantime
the swift-coming feet had turned the corner and
were gaining on them ; and Elsie Chilton, if she
lives to be a hundred years old, will never forget
the thrill, both of relief and of shame, which she
felt when a low, but distinctly recognizable voice
said :

"Do not be frightened, Miss Chilton, I am
closi^ behind you ; or will you have me call a
carriage?"

" O, no ! " she said, shuddering with the terror
which the thought of his leaving the street to call
anybody or anything brought upon her. " Do not
leave me lor :^ moment."

*' ( will not," said Earle Mason. " Do not be
frightened. There is really nothing to fear now."

n-Pif

CHAPTER XIX.

MIDNIGHT.

ALECK PALMER'S thick brain caught the
words : " Do not leave me for a moment."
In his bewildered mental condition he appropria-
ted them of course ; and it seemed to him entirely
proper to respond co so eager an appeal as that.

" Course I won't ! " he said, with a slow, offen-
sive drawl, which was as unlike the fastidious gen-
tleman as human speech could possibly be. " I'll
never leave you again ; you and I belong to each
other. I always knew it; and I always meant it.
I was just giving you a little punishment, you
know ; I didn't expect it to last as long as it did ;
but I knew it would come out all right in the end,
and you see it has. You've learned now to do as
I say, and it's all settled as fast as a ceremony
could make it ; and I'm willing to have the
ceremony any time ; it can't be too quick for me."

It was not the way in which Aleck Palmer had
intended to offer again his heart and hand to this
young gijl. He had planned, almost to the details
of speech and surroundings, how this should be

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

done ; and had decided but a few days ago that it
would noc be necessary for him to wait very long.
Indeed, his prospective father-in-law's affairs made
it necessary that matters should be settled beyond
the possibility of a mistake. But no part of his
carefully conceived plan had included a midnight
scene like this. It is true that he only dimly real-
ized what he was saying or where he was ; but
he knew fairly well who his companion was, and
had an exulting feeling that she had appealed to
him, as he had felt all along that she ought to do.
As this thought lingered with him he laughed
over it, the silliest possible laugh, and said again
with that sickening drawl :

" I thought I'd bring you to your senses, though
it took a long time. But you needn't be afraid
now ; I never'll leave you again. It's a stupid life
without you. Say, Elsie, this contract ought to
be signed and sealed with a kiss, oughtn't it }
Right here and now, if it is on the street ! "

He gave an unsteady lurch toward her, which
attention Elsie received with a little scream, and a
sudden jerking of her hand away from the arm on
which it had hitherto rested, because she had
been afraid of consequences should she attempt to
remove it.

At that instant Earle Mason's resolution was
taken. Stepping suddenly between the two, he
thrust one strong arm through the half-drunken
man's, offering his other silently to Elsie, and

MIDNIGHT.

257

I at it
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; but
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said, in a friendly, matter-of-course tone, " Good-
evening, my friend ; you are not feeling well, I
see. Allow me to give you a little assistance."

Mr. Palmer's sudden lurch forward had brought
on such overpowering dizziness and such a sense
of utter bewilderment, that he did not even recog-
nize the man who had stepped between them.
Truth to tell, the unusual quantity, as well as the
unusual quality of the liquor which he had been
drinking, was beginning to benumb his perceptions
to such a deg'"ee that he felt only a sense of relief
in the fact that somebody had appeared whose arm
seemed to have strength to hold him from falling.
He muttered something incoherently about being
" distressingly dizzy," and very grateful for 'sis-
tance in his plans; guessed that "be-between
us we will g-get the 1-la-lady home all right ; he
had promised not to leave her again." Then he
subsided into silence, and leaned more and more
heavily against the young man who had undertaken
the task of saving both him and his companion
from publicity as much as possible. He spoke
low and rapidly to Elsie now.

"• Can you bear up, Miss Chilton, until we reach
your home } We are almost at your corner. I
know people in these houses ; the second house
from this, for instance, is lighted on the third
floor. You might ring there, and I could assure
you protection, while I take care of this man.
He is incapable of reaching home alone."

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

"O, no! no!" Elsie answered earnestly. "I
can get home if you can take care of him. Isn't
this terrible.?"

" Do not be frightened," he said, soothingly.
** I can get him home without any difficulty."

" But, Mr. Mason., he is leaning against you
with all his weight ! You are almost carrying
him. Is he unconscious ? Will he fall, do you
think ? "

" I do not fear it. He is under the influence of
liquor, Miss Chilton, and is falling into a sort of
stupor ; but it is not unconsciousness, and he is
helping himself considerably. I think he has been
the victim of a practical joke of some sort."

Angry and indignant as he was, Earle Mason's
conscience obliged him to speak those last words.
He knew perfectly well that such a condition as
this was not habitual to Aleck Palmer. Of course
he told himself that the fellow had been victim-
ized in a way which could overtake no man who
was not in the habit of using intoxicants of some
sort on occasion ; yet nevertheless he must have
been led by something besides his love for liquor
into his present condition and position.

Elsie made no reply, but in her heart she recog-
nized the true nobility of the man, who even
under such circumstances, could find a word of
apology or explanation to offer for a fellow-man.

" And one whom he does not admire," she said
to herseli. "I know ^e neither ad;nires nor

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IS nor

MIDNI'/HT.

259

approves of Mr. Pain »n Oh ! can I ever cease
to be thankful that it was he who came to my res-
cue to-night ? yet can I ever cease to be humili-
ated before him by the thought that I needed
rescue ? That I should have to do with people
who could by any possibility of accident, bring
upon me such humiliation and terror ! "

The city clock tolled slowly and solemnly the
hour of midnight as Earle Mason, leaving one
companion sitting stupidly on the lower step,
guided the other up to her father's door and rang
the bell.

*' What will you do ? " she said hurriedly while
they waited. " What can you do with him } "

" I will whistle for that policeman on the corner
below, and tell him to send me a carriage ; then I
will accompany the gentleman to his rooms and
see that he is comfortable. He has undoubtedly
been victimized. It is the first of April, you
remember ; the time when fools consider it re-
spectable to play all sorts of practical jokes. I
strongly suspect that this is one of them."

" Then it is too terrible ! " Elsie said, her face,
which had been burning with humiliation, growing
suddenly pale; "then everybody is in danger. If
he is a victim, my father could be victimized ; Mr.
Remington — you, Mr. Mason. Is it so that
everybody is in danger from this curse ? "

" Hardly ! " he said, his eyes flashing. " You
have mentioned certain men whom it would be

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

very difficult to make the victims of a practical
joke of this sort. Remember that one who ne\^er
touches light wines of any kind, at any time or in
any place, would hardly be persuaded to try a new
variety."

Just then the key of the Chilton door turned in
its lock, and the master of the house threw open
his door, and received the grave and courteous
bow of his daughter's attendant with an astonished
stare.

" Mr. Mason came to my rescue, papa," ex-
claimed Elsie, her voice trembling with excite-
ment. "But for him I do not know how I could
have reached home at all. I will not try to thank
you, Mr. Mason ; you have not time to hear thanks
to-nii^ht."

"Her companion was taken suddenly ill," ex-
plained Earle Mason gravely, following the amazed
and horrified glance of Mr. Chilton to the bundle
of humanity on the lower step. " I will give him
all proper attention. Good-night."

Then, as the door closed, Elsie heard the short,
sharp whistle which she knew summoned a police-
man to his aid.

It was a very silent ride which Mr. Mason and
his companion took through the quiet streets of
the city. When the carriage drew up before the
magnificent hotel where Mr. Palmer had rooms,
it was with some difficulty that he was roused
sufficiently to descend the carriage steps. There

"^o

MIDNIGHT.

261

were reasons why his attendant had a very great
desire to get him quietly to his room without ex-
citing the suspicions of lookers-on. Therefore it
was that he almost carried him across the pave-
ment and up the steps to the private entrance of
the hotel, while only appearing to support him.
To a porter who came promptly forward he said :

" Find Mr. Palmer's man for me, please, without
delay. He has been taken suddenly ill, and should
go at once to his room. It is an attack of dizzi-
ness accompanied by faintness ; tell his man to
make all possible haste."

He came down the stairs alone in a very short
space of time, having had a realizing sense of the
fact that the utmost which needed to be done for
Mr. Palmer was to put him to bed and let him
alone; thus giving him a chance to sleep off the
effects of the poisons, whatever they were, which
he had swallowed. A number of habitues of the
hotel, acquaintances of Mr. Palmer, gathered
around him with eager questions, their faces full
of concern.

'• Is it a serious attack, do you think, Mr.
Mason ? "

" Like apoplexy, is it not } though Palmer isn't
the build of a man whom one would expect to see
overtaken in that way."

" Too much brain work," said another; " a man
who carries such varied business interests as he
does, and works day and night for them, is bound

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262

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

to break, sooner or later. I have warned him a
number of times."

" Yes, and he has had heavy afflictions to weigh
him down," explained a third ; "his nervous sys-
tem is all worn out. Was it a sudden attack,
Mason } Was he taken on the street } "

*' I met him on the street," answered Mr. Mason
briefly, "and saw that he was — suffering. He is
very quiet now, and I think needs absolute rest
more than anything else. May I suggest that his
friends take care that he shall not be disturbed by
any callers to-night.? His man understands just
what to do for him." Then he broke away from
more questions which he saw were ready for him,
and went out to his waiting carriage. Having
given the order to be taken to his rooms, Earle
Mason threw himself wearily back among the
cushions, and gave himself up to some of the bit-
terest thoughts' with which his heart had ever
struggled. It was not possible to get away from
the belief that the old intimacy between Aleck
Palmer and Elsie Chilton had been renewed. How
else could he account for the fact of their being
alone together on the streets at midnight ? How
else, indeed, account for the fact that they seemed
to be together constantly .'* Must he, after all that
he had borne, and after all his gratitude because
of what she had escaped, sit dumbly by and see
that fearful sacrifice made at last ? What could it
mean ? How could one account for human hearts ?

MIDNIGHT.

263

How was it possible for a girl l''':e Elsie Chilton to
be drawn to a man like Aleck Palmer ! Would it
be possible to her, after this night ? Yes, he told
himself despairingly. " If she has give., her faith
to him again, it will be possible for her to forgive
him, and to accept his plea that he was victimized.
Well, I must be true to my conscience, I believe
he was. He is too wary a man, too thoroughly a
surface gentleman, to ever walk coolly of his own
choice into such peril as that. The fact that it
was, probably, a practical joke must be admitted.
And practical jokes are not, as a rule, repeated
upon the same victim. Miss Chilton will be as-
sured that such a calamity could not occur again ;
she will believe him. She will even believe that
for her sake he will give up the occasional sipping
of wine. I do not ! I do not believe there is man
enough in Aleck Palmer to give up even that much
for her sake. But there is suavity enough to him
to make her think he will. As for her father, I
am afraid he would marry her to a fiend who would
save his fortune to him ! Oh, to be able to do
something to save her ! How can Jesus Christ
bear it to see human lives wrecked that he knows
iiight be saved if only they would ! "

What comfort could be derived from the thought
that he had done his best for the man, Mr. Mason
took to himself. He had been sorely tempted to
call a policeman and ";eave the fastidious gentleman
in his hands to be done with as he would ; but he

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

sternly upbraided himself for this temptation ;
such an act would not be in accordance with his
principles of Christian living. If he could conceive
of himself in such a situation as Aleclc Palmer was
to-night, and be able to decide how he should want
himself treated, it was manifestly his duty to give
like treatment to his fallen brother-man. More-
over, there was another motive which must not for
a moment be put in the background. Miss Chil-
ton's name must be shielded as much as possible
from the public ; Miss Chilton's feelings must be
thought of ; therefore Earle Mason had done his
best.

It will be readily conceded that Aleck Palmer
had put himself in an embarrassing situation. No
one could have realized this more fully than he
did, the next morning. He lay still and considered
the matter as well as he could, with a throbbing
headache, and with every nerve of his body keenly
alive to pain. What had happened to him the
night before ? Who had been his companions ?
What had he said ? done ? How had he finally
reached his home ? In his mind was a most con-
fused disorder of many people, flashing lights,
music, wine, noise ; and mingling with these a
strange sensation of having been associated some
way with Miss Chilton, and with some one else;
some one who annoyed him, vexed him, yet some
one who had served him. In vain he tried to
steady his memory and make a plain statement of

»'*».

MIDNIGHT.

265

the case to his critical self. The last distinct
memory he had, was of sitting in an overheated
room in company with some hilarious young men
who had annoyed him by their familiarity, and
jarred his fastidious taste in many ways. Yet he
had remembered that he was their guest, and that
he meant, in the near future, to ask certain things
of them which would make it advisable for them
to be on very friendly terms ; therefore he must
accept of their hospitality. He remembered rais-
ing a wine glass to his lips, intending to take the
customary sips which he allowed himself in public.
He remembered that it had a strange, yet delicious
taste and odor ; and he remembered clearly noth-
ing more. But the very vagueness of the images
which haunted him, and the possibilities wrapped
in them, seemed to set his brain on fire.

The door opened very softly and Jenkins, his
well trained and obsequious attendant, came in on
tiptoe. " You are awake, sir } " he said, in a re-
lieved tone ; ** and I hope you find yourself better
this morning ^ I was extremely anxious about you
last night, and so was your friend."

*• What was the matter } " asked Mr. Palmer,
suddenly resolved upon putting on a bold face.
** Did I have a fit, or a fainting turn, or what hap-
pened ? I find I have no recollection of anything
beyond the fact that I was suddenly taken iii.''

** Yes, sir," said Jenkins eagerly, " and that is
about all we know about it, sir. The gentleman

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

who brought you here in a carriage said that he
met you on the street, and saw that you were
suffering very much, so he called a carriage and
brought you home, and helped to get you to your
room. He was very kind and thoughtful, sir, and
as anxious about you as possible."

Jenkins had his own reasons for believing that
Mr. Mason's version of the story would do no
harm.

" Who was the gentleman ? " was Mr. Palmer's
next question.

** J' was Mr. Mason, sir, the lawyer who has his
I'ooms on Court Street near the Exchanire."

Had Mr. Palmer been in the habit of whistling,
and been in a sufficiently cheerful frame of mind
to indulge', a short, sharp note expressive of aston-
ishment mingled with several other feelings would
have been in order here. Had he even been in
the habit of swearing, he thought it might be a
relief. As it was, he simply lay perfectly still and
considered the matter for some minutes ; then he
called for a cup of coffee, drank it eagerly, sent
Jenkins to a drug store near at hand to procure an
opiate which he was in the habit of taking when
attacked with these peculiar and blinding head-
aches, and, in the course )f another hour or two,
arose, made a careful toilette, and had his immediate
future planned out before him.

In the first place, the role he was to play was
evidently that of an invalid. Jenkins, upon being

MlDNimiT.

267

cross-questioned, furnished incidents which proved
as much ; even before the arrival of several cards,
expressing the compliments of certain gentlemen
friends who boarded in the same house, and the
hope that he was better this morning.

" It was a very sudden attack, but one not un-
usual with me," he explained carelessly, to one of
the most talkative of the set whom he admitted to
his room. "At least, it had not been unusual of
late, since I have been so overworked and over-
burdened. I ought to be more careful about late
hours ; but various unexpected engagements held
me prisoner last night, after an extremely fatiguing
day spent in perplexing business. I remember
struggling very hard with a feeling of languor that
was creeping over me ; bringing all my will-power
to bear upon the effort to get home without creat-
inic any sensation, but it seems I didn't succeed ;
it is well that I fell among friends."

'' Yes, it is indeed," his companion answered
heartily. " The young man who attended you was
extremely solicitous for your welfare ; gave his
orders like one who knew ^^ow, and even took the
trouble to assure some of us, who were anxious to
go in and see what we could do for your comfort,
that you must not be disturbed ; he was confident
that rest was what you needed."

" He was right," said Aleck Palm6r, passing his
hand across his forehead, and letting a grave smile
hover on his face for a moment. *' He was right

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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in that respect certainly ; though I thank you all
the same for your intended kindness, I should
have disliked to alarm my friends needlessly ; these
attacks are not serious, I think ; they are simply
annoying. I have never even consulted a physi-
cian for them, though I have thought I would.
Still I believe that, as my friends say, a few hours
of rest is the best medicine for me. I shall remain
quietly in my room to-day, and not aitcmpt to
transact much business; but I shall expect by
to-morrow to be myself again."

And then his caller, feeling himself dismissed,
went away, leaving Aleck Palmer to attend to the
business of writing such a letter as he could, to
Miss Elsie Chilton.

If he could only recall the conversation which
passed between them the night before ! If he
could but remember what he said just before the
time came when he could converse no longer, he
fancied that it would greatly relieve his mind !
But search his memory as relentlessly as he would,
it refused to recall anything distinctly. After a
while he abandoned the hope of knowing. Cer-
tainly he could not ask the lady herself to give bim
a detailed programme of the evening, and probably
no one else knew much about it ; unless, indeed,
Earle Mason had appeared some time before he
became unable to converse !

" Probably that fellow could give me some inter-
esting facts if he chose," said Mr. Palmer, rising

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269

and walking thoughtfully toward the window. For
a time he revolved in his mind the propriety of
sending for Mr. Mason ; of receiving him cordially,
gratefully, as one who had done him a favor; of
putting on a very frank air and informing him that
he had been overcome with a kind of liquor to
which he was totally unaccustomed ; overcome in
a manner which he did not in the least understand,
and that he was exceedingly grateful to him for
the altogether friendly courtesies which he had
shown. And then to ask him boldly to tell him
to what degree he had made an idiot of himself
before the unconscious stage came upon him. But
the more he reflected upon this line of action, the
more averse he became to it.

It seemed a very cruel Providence that, of all
the men in the city, Earle Mason should have been
sinocled out to perform a service of this sort to him !
'\ lut'i to tell, Aleck Palmer would rather kick the
'v.-.nn2^ man downstairs at this moment than thank
hm 'or anything.

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CHAPTER XX.

PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

*HE truth was Mr. Palmer looked upon Earle
Mason as the one who had been the chief
cause of most of his serious troubles with Miss
Chilton, and as one who was trying now, by every
means in his power, if her father was to be
believed, to secure that lady's fortune. Mr. Chil-
ton professed to believe that he c-.ed for nothing
outside of that.

Could Aleck Palmer stoop to thank such an one,
or to hold any conversation with him .'' He could
not deny that Mason seemed to have treated him like
a gentleman. Treated him, he told himself, in a
very different manner from what he should have
done had the circumstances been reversed ; and
he fell to wondering what possible motive the
young man could have had for such careful plan-
riing, and such careful explanation as he had
-evidently given. Was he really such a simpleton
iis not to understand the nature of the illness }
This question passed through Mr. Palmer's mind
and was promptly negatived. Whatever else

270

PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

2/1

Earle Mason might be, he was certainly not a
simpleton. But people did not act without mo-
tives in this world, and Mr. Palmer, thrown off
the main "track, set himself steadfastly to studying
what they were in this case.

Be it remembered that he knew nothinc: about
that highest of all motives, the Christlike rule of
living : " Whatsoever ye would that men should
do to you." He simply would have sneered had
any one presented to him such a motive. He had
heard the words of course ; he even had a vague
impression that certain women might be trying to
order their lives after such an ideal pattern, but
that men, business men, successful business men
such as Earle Mason was becoming, ever gave
serious heed to such an unbusiness-like admonition
as this, Mr. Palmer did not believe. He stared
thoughtfully out of the window, and planned and
rejected theory after theory to account for the
treatment he had received at this man's hands.

Suddenly his brows grew darker, but the look
of perplexity left his face. He believed he had
solved the mystery ; that he was the victim of a
practical joke, or of a practical meanness of some
sort, he did not doubt for a moment. No ordinary
glass of wine, such as was in common use in
polite socierty, would have had such a strange
effect upon him. Somebody had deliberately
planned to disgrace him in the eyes of the woman
with whom his name was so much associated ; and

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

among all the persons with whom he was acquainted,
none would have had any motive for so doing
except Earle Mason himself. The moment this
thought flashed upon his mind, he called himself
a dumb-headed idiot for not having realized the
situation from the first. Earle Mason plotting his
ruin, had called to his aid a couple of half-intoxi-
cated fellows, who, for the sake of having what
they were pleased to call fun, were prepared to do
anything that sharper brains than theirs could
plan. It was all as clear as sunlight ; and a more
fiercely angry man than Aleck Palmer, as he
thought of and carefully planned out the steps
which his enemy had taken to humiliate him, it
would have been difficult to find.

It all seemed increasingly plain to him. This
would account for the fact that Mason, of all per-
sons in the city, should happen to be the one
walking on that particular street at that particular
hour of the night. It would account for his
exceeding care in apparently shielding his victim
from publicity. For what could look better, if the
story came to light, or make '' more improbable
in the eyes of the world that Lj had anything to
do with the disgrace .'' Mr. Palmer felt that the
scheme had been only too successful. He cared
for the eyes of the world, it is true, byt little in
comparison with what he cared for the eyes of one
young woman, before whom he had been, he knew
not how deeply, humiliated. Fiercer and fiercer

PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

i'^l

raged the storm of anger in his heart, and before
he could leave the subject to attend to a matter of
more immediate importance, he could not forbear
trying to plan some way emphatic, yet so far as he
should have a hand in it dignified method of
revenge.

But before the morning was quite gone he
realized the importance of sending some sort of a
communication to Miss Chilton ; and necessarily a
humiliating and painful communication it must be,
look at it from what point of view he could. It
required hours to write anything that he was will-
ing to send. More than a dozen sheets of paper
were torn into small fragments, thrown into the
empty grate, then carefully gathered and labori-
ously burned by the aid of matches from the safe,
before he finished one, which, with a long-drawn
sigh, he pronounced the best that he could do.

In the interval between the tearing and burning,
it seemed to him that he tramped miles up and
down his room. But the letter, when it was
finally completed, vvas certainly a marvel of skill.
In spite of the extremely undignified circum-
stances by which he found himself surrounded, Mr.
Palmer had contrived to be dignified on paper.
He explained that both he and she had been the
victims — he could not call it of a practical joke;
but the fools' day of the year had been chosen to
lend color to a bit of practical villainy carefully
planned and arranged by one who had an object

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JOHN REMINGTOxN, MARTYR.

in view, and had succeeded but too well. Miss
Chilton must not for a moment suppose that such
disastrous consequences followed the sipping of
three or four swallows of wine in the ordinary wn.y^
as was customary among gentlemen when at a
public banquet. This was a deeply laid plot to
get him to do what he was never in the habit of
doing ; and he wanted to assure her that he was
no more responsible for what he did or said v.'hile
in the condition which had followed than an insane
man would have been, could he have escaped from
a lunatic asylum and taken a walk with her. At
the same time, as was usual in underhanded crimes,
he, the victim, must be the sufferer.

It was his terrible sorrow that he had brought
to her, this friend of so many years, standing, em-
barrassment, pain and humiliation. It is true he
had no recollection of what had taken place, after
he was successfully poisoned, but whatever it w.'js,
must have caused her great pain ; and so great was
his grief over this, that he would not on any
account think of intruding himself upon her until
he received from her a word of assurance that sho
understood the situation and exonerated him from
intentional blame.

Miss Chilton read this letter attentively, not
without a slightly curling lip over some of its sen-
tences. It v/as so manifest that the writer con-
sidered himself only as a victim, and in no sense
of the word a sir,icr V<^1 it seemed to her ^y^

PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

275

could herr the throb of indignation in Earlo
Mason's tone as he explained that there were men
who could not be made victims of such practical
jokes as these.

On the whole, Mr. Palmer did not succeed in
appearing at his best, even in this carefully-worded
letter ; but he succeeded in giving Elsie Chilton a
perplexed hour, when she tried to decide how to
reply to him.

If she only need make no reply whatever ! But
that would not be Christian, would not be even
decent. She must not be so indignant that she
could not accept an explanation. Truth to tell,
she was not so bitterly indignant as might be sup-
posed. She had been frightened and humiliated,
but now that the terror was over, and the first
sense of humiliation was passing away, she was
too utterly indifferent to the cause of her terror to
feel bitter indignation.

** I wish I might write to him that I would for-
give frankly and fully all the terror and disgust he
caused me, on condition that he would be so kind
as never to let me see his face again ! " she said,
with an impatient frown. Then she too repeated
the tearing up of note paper in a vam attempt to
satisfy herself with a reply. It was ready at last,
and read after this fashion :

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" Miss Chilton regrets, of course, the painful and hnmiliatinpf
experiences connected with the last evening which was spent in
Mr. Palmer's company, and regrets exceedingly that the habits of

J-'M

276

JOHN K MINGTON, MARTYR.

all her acquaintances are not such as to make it impossible for
them to fall victims to practical jokes of this character, perpe-
trated by evil men. At the same time she recognizes the fact
that there is no reason whatever why she should presume to dic-
tate to Mr. Palmer, or suggest any change in his manner of life;
and begs that he will not consider it necessary to think of her in
this connection, or to make any further explanation to her."

This was not at all satisfactory to the writer.
She would like to have spoken much more plainly.
She held her pen poised for several minutes, re-
volving in her mind a sentence which she would
like to add ; but deference to her father's strangely-
complicated business relations with this gentleman
held her in check.

Several days passed, during which time Elsie
was absorbed by a slight illness of her Aunt Emily,
and the added household and social duties which
such illness involved upon her part, and saw noth-
ing of either Mr. Palmer, Mr. Mason, or her friends
at the Remington Manse. Neither, to her sur-
prise, had she been called upon by her father to
give any more detailed account of her humiliating
experience than she had given, somewhat coldly,
and under the influence of strong excitement, on
the night of its occurrence.

" Father," she had said, the moment the door
c!osed upon Mr. Mason, " I trust I shall never
hereafter be compelled to accept the attentions of
a person of such doubtful character that it may
require the assistance of a policeman to get him
safely home. Aleck Palmer is intoxicated ! "

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PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

277

After which astounding statement she had turned
and run quickly up the stairs. She had expected
to be called to account, to be questioned and cross-
questioned ; but not a word had her father spoken
to her on the subject; and he was more than ex-
ceptionally kind and thoughtful of her comfort.
Indeed, several times she was greatly touched by
a tender word or two from him, and an unwonted
caress. Undoubtedly they would have impressed
her differently had she known that her father had
been in close consultation with Aleck Palmer, and
was acting in accordance with his distinctly ex-
pressed suggestions. That gentleman was biding
his time. He had resolved to let perhaps several
weeks pass without making the slightest attempt
to see Elsie. She should have time to recover
from the feeling of indignation which he knew, from
the tone of her letter, must possess her, and to
grow used to the fact that he was simply a victim
to some one whom he had been unfortunate
enough to make his enemy by being superior to
him.

During this time he was by no means idle. He
might almost be said to be living for the purpose
of tracing to its depths the plot of which he be-
lieved Earle Mason was the foundation. He had
spoken very plainly to Mr. Chilton on the subject,
assuring that gentleman that he had reason to
know that he was correct in his surmise. But at
the same time he had taken great care to impress

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278

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

it upon the father, that it would be by no means
wise to report this state of things to Miss Chilton.

'• In the first place, it is very unnecessary," he
said, with a philanthropic air. " She naturally
looks upon the man as her protector. Moreover,
he is a friend of her very special friends, the Rem-
ingtons, and any reflections against his character
would, through them, hurt her. In due time it
will, of course, be necessary to let her know what
sort of person her friends are trusting. But faith
in human nature ought not to be shaken in the
minds of young people, where it is possible to
avoid it. I would rather your daughter should
think well of her acquaintances as long as she can.
And you will oblige me very much, Mr. Chilton,
by not mentioning that person's name to her.
There are other reasons also for this request, which
I may make plainer to you in the future."

So it came to pass that for several weeks the
various people who during the last few months had
seen a great deal of one another, were quite isolated.
Mrs. Remington, on her part, was housed and
absorbed, for little John had the measles ; and
Earle Mason, while he came and went as usual,
saw nothing of Elsie Chilton, and heard nothing
of her, and refrained from asking any questions.
Such a state of things could not last long.

Aunt Emily rallied slowly from her illness, but
the day came when she was downstairs in her
usual place at table ; and Elsie announced herself

PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

279

relieved from a burden of responsibility, and de-
clared that she was going to spend the afternoon
and evening with Fern Redpath, provided her
father could be absolutely certain that he wuuld
call for her, or, failing in this, if he would see to
it that Mike and the carriage were in attendance.

They were at lunch when this statement was
made, and Mr. Chilton had given no reply. But a
short time thereafter he called to his daughter
from the library and closed the door upon her as
she came in.

" I shall have to reconstruct some of your plans
for the evening, my dear," he said. ** This is pre-
cisely the evening when it will not be possible for
me to get away. There is a very important meet-
ing of railroad directors to-night. Moreover Mike
is sick and Joe is too young a driver for me to be
willing to trust you to him through city streets at
night."

"Oh ! very well," said Elsie promptly, ** I will
wait until some other time then, papa, I had for-
gotten that Mike was sick."

" No," said Mr. Chilton kindly, " that will not
be necessary, daughter. You have been housed
so much of late, I do not like to disarrange your
plans. I vnll tell you how I can manage, my dear.
Palmer has to be at the directors* meeting, too ;
but he is a younger man than I, and does not hold
so important an office. He said he would have his
carriage there, and would bring me home after

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280

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

the meeting. Now I can send him around at any
hour you name for you, and you can pick me up
on your way back ; I shall probably be able to get
ready by the time you return. It is quite a drive
out to Redpath's."

He spoke quite rapidly, and avoided looking at
his daughter's face. He was drawing on his gloves
as he talked, and had buttoned the last one with
his closing sentence. Had he looked at Elsie he
would have seen that there was a strange flash in
her eyes, and that her lips were set in a way which
meant determination.

" So that will be all right, dear," he added with
alacrity, and was making all speed for the door
when his daughter spoke :

" Father, excuse me ; I must detain you a mo-
ment. That is very far from right, sir. I can
change my plans without being discommoded in
the least ; to-morrow or the next day will answer
my purpose quite as well as this evening; but as
for being called for by Mr. Palmer, and riding
home in his carriage, I must be excused. In view
of what has so recently occurred, I decline to ac-
cept that, or any other attention from him."

Mr. Chilton took several steps back into the
room, and made a visible effort to control his
nerves and speak gently.

"My daughter, I am astonished and grieved!
This is the last exhibition I sihould have expected
from one of your profession. Mr. Palmer was the

PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

28 1

victim of plotters, or rather of a set of tools under
a plotter who is envious of his good fortune. It
was very trying, of course, but is certainly no reason
why his friends should cast him off, or stand upon
dignity with him. You surely understand the
situation, Elsie?"

'* I understand qui<-e enough of it, papa. I am
not angry at Mr. Palmer, nor can I be said to have
cast him off ; that his habits are such as to make
it possible for him to have become the victim of
such persons, I should think would be very trying
to his friends ; but there is no sense in which I
can be said to be one of them. I have tried to be
polite and respectful to Mr. Palmer, papa, solely
for your sake; not because I admire him. He is
not the kind of person whom I should choose for
a friend. I do not enjoy his society, and this sim-
ply affords me an opportunity which I have wished
for to make it plain to you, and to him, that any
attentions he might offer are disagreeable to me.
I fully understand," she went on hurriedly, seeing
her father about to interrupt her, ** that he uoes
not consider himself as offering attentions to me.
Had I not realized this, I should not have ac-
cepted his courtesies heretofore. I know that cir-
cum.stances have thrown us together, and that
they were not of his planning, or desiring. They
merely happened. But owing to his business re-
lations with, you, the happenings were too fre-
quent to be pleasant. I do not like to be the

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JOHN REMINGTON', MARTYR.

subject of gossiping tongues, papa, nor do I like
to put myself in a position where it will be possi-
ble for the humiliations which I experienced a
few weeks ago ever to occur again. Mr. Palmer
and I live in different worlds, and are content
to do so ; and what I want to ask of you, papa,
is that you will help me ; will see to it that I am
not compromised in any such ways again. Of
course, absorbed with business cares as you are,
you do not realize what it is to me. I know you
would shield me if you did. But really and truly
it is so unpleasant that I cannot think of having
raiy more of it."

Mr. Chilton walked to the window and looked
out. His mind was torn by conflicting theories.
He could not decide whether to tell his daughter
that she was a simpleton ; that any young woman
with common sense would know that Aleck Palmer
was as deeply interested in her as he had ever
been in his life, and that he made a great many of
the complications of business for the sole purpose
of getting himself thrown in her society ; or
whether to tell her that the complications of busi-
ness were so great and so serious as to make it
absolutely necessary for her to be friendly to
Aleck Palmer; to marry him, indeed, in order
to save her father from financial overthrow ; or
whether to assume the roll of indignant parent,
and assure her that as his daughter she would be
obliged to treat his friends with courtesy and re-

PLOTS AND COUNTERPLOTS.

2S3

spect ; to accept their attentions, and go and come
with them as convenience might demand, without
any absurd talk about " compromising herself," or
making herself the subject of gossip.

These were three, and distinct lines of action,
and he found himself at the moment utterly un-
able which of them to follow out. Elsie helped him
to a decision. He was standing with his side-face
towards her. She noticed for the first time that
he was growing very gray, and that there were
certain wni.kles about his face which she had not
observed before ; and when he turned a little as if
about to speak, she noted the troubled, anxious
look in his eyes. It all came over her with a sud-
den sense of pain that her father was growing old,
faster than it seemed to her there was any neces-
sity for ; that he was weighing himself down with
anxiety, paralyzing his higher and better life with
heavy and perplexing cares, such as it seemed to
her he might avoid.

" Dear papa," she said gently, " I wish you
would untangle yourself from all this perplexing
extra business that you seem to have taken lately.
Why do you wear yourself out with so many and
varied interests.? Haven't we money enough to
live a quiet pleasant life together without your
being so burdened ? I would rather have ever so
much less money, and more of you. I wish you
would give up all this new business that is con-
nected with Mr. Palmer, and just do your own

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

regular work as you used to do. We had a great
deal happier times when I was a young girl, papa,
than we have ever had since. Couldn't you give
a little less time to business, and a little more to
me.?"

Mr. Chilton turned toward her with his eyes
dim with unshed tears. He knew now which line
of argument he would take.

i .

CHAPTER XXI.

PLAIN SPEAKING.

((

COME and sit beside me, daughter," ne said
gently, "and let us have a little talk.
You and I do not have much time for each other.
This is a hurrying, wearing world, Elsie ; I have
always found it so, and of late years more than
ever."

He had taken a seat on the wide, old-fashioned
lounge, and drawn his daughter to him. One arm
was thrown around her, and his other hand played
with the fingers which lay idly in her lap.

" I had not thought to appeal to you, daughter,
for sympathy, or to confide in you sufficiently to
make you understand my perplexities ; but I believe
I will ; I feel sure I can trust you."

Then followed a careful and somewhat detailed
account of his business perplexities, so far as Mr.
Chilton himself understood them. Just how he
had been led to make grave business mistakes
just when his affairs began to get into a strange
entanglement, that seemed to become more and
more bewildering as he studied them, he could

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

not himself explain. There were matters which
he frankly admitted that he did not understand ;
this much, however, was clear to him, and he made
it very clear to his daughter, that his business in-
terests were inextricably mixed with those of Aleck
Palmer ; and that while he had grown poorer, Mr.
Palmer had manifestly grown richer, and was the
one man in all Mr. Chilton's extensive business
acquaintance who could rescue him from imminent
peril.

Elsie's face had grown momently paler as she
listened. She had a very clear brain for business
when she chose to give it close attention, and
nothing was plainer to her than that her father
was, in a sense, in Mr. Palmer's power. Or ai;
least that that gentleman had it in his power to
befriend him in a way which would save many
thousands of dollars, if he chose to do so. It was
humiliating to be dependent upon Mr. Palmer, yet
Elsie could see that time and patience were really
all her father needed. "Just a helping hand, to
tide him over present difficulties," was his pathetic
way of putting it.

• Mr. Chilton sat in silence after having finished
his story ; apparently he was waiting for Elsie to
speak.

" Well," she said at last, feeling the necessity
for giving some response to her father's confi-
dence, " I thank you, papa, for explaining all this
to me ; I think I understand some things better,

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287

at least. You need help for a little while, and
Mr. Palmer seems to be the only one who can
help you. It is strange that in all your extensive
business acquaintance there is no one else ; but
since there is not, is he willing to come to the
rescue } He v/ould not lose money by it, eventu-
ally, would he ? It would be only a matter of
accommodating you for a little while."

" That is all," her father answered eagerly ; '* I
am not afraid but that I could straighten every-
thing if I had time ; but accommodations of that
sort and a few thousands of ready money, mean a
great deal in business, my daughter ; not every
man is willing to take the risk ; Mr. Palmer is —
for a consideration."

" For a consideration ? " she repeated ; " that
seems strange friendship ! What are his terms V*

Mr. Chilton frowned. He felt that he was mak-
ing a mistake. " I do not of course mean for a
consideration," he said hastily ; " I mean that there
are certain things upon which he depends. If
there were a possibility of failure in those direc-
tions, I could not in conscience ask him for help.
Elsie, it is not possible that you are so blind as
not to see that you hold the same place in Mr.
Palmer's heart which you used to hold ; that he
wants you, and no one else in this world ; that his
interest in your father and in your father's affairs,
are simply and solely because you are your father's
daughter. I had not meant to speak thus plainly

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288

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

to you, but we have gotten so far that it seems
impossible to retreat. The bald facts are, my
daughter, that my fortune, my future prosperity, I
might almost say my life, are in your hands. The
question is, will you help me .-* I know as well as
though I had heard him speak the words, that Mr.
Palmer desires nothing in life so much as to be-
come my son-in-law. Assured of that, his princely
fortune would be at my disposal. He not only
could, but would save me, and more than save me.
He would tide me royally over this dangerous
place in my affairs, and place them on such a basis
that danger in the future would be impossible.
All this without the loss of a dollar to himself;
and yet, you can readily see how impossible it is
for me to ask favors at his hands, or to receive
them, when I so fully understand his intentions,
unless there is a prospect, not now, of course, but
that some time in the future he will be rewarded
with the only thing for which he cares. The
question is, Elsie, will you simply receive him as
a friend .? Accept the ordinary courtesies of friend-
ship at his hand, and try to see if you cannot,
sometime, give him what he wants."

Absolute silence, then, between them for sev-
eral minutes. Mr. Chilton did not choose to look
at his daughter's face. If he had it would have
been a revelation to him. He thought she was
considering the matter. What she was trying to
do, was to choke down the bitter feelings tugging

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F^AIN SPEAKING.

289

at her heart, that she might answer her father as
she felt that a daughter should.

At last the silence grew too much for him to
endure ; moreover it emboldened him. If Elsie
could hesitate, she certainly could not intend an
utter refusal. "I am waiting, my daughter," he
said, not unkindly, but with a little tone of re-
proach. " Am I not to be answered at all }
Time is very important to me, and I have given
you a good deal of it to-day."

Then she spoke in a tone which even she
scarcely recognized as her own : '* Father, am I to
understand that you wish to sell me, and that Mr.
Palmer is the highest bidder } "

Mr. Chilton sprang up, and moved several feet
away from his daughter. " What do you mean ? "
he asked sternly. " What have I ever said that
should lead you to use such improper language as
that to your father.^"

" I beg your pardon, sir, if it sounds improper.
What I mean is : that I thought this whole mat-
ter was distinctly settled between us long ago.
If it is not, I will try to make it plain. I not only
do not care for Mr. Palmer's friendship, but I do
not respect him. It is not possible for me to con-
ceive of circumstances which would make me
willing to receive his attentions. Since his return
home I have tried, as I said, to treat him courte-
ously, for your sake alone. I had imagined that
he was changed, that he had no interest whatever

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JOHN KKMINGTON, MAKTYR.

in mc ; that it was for your sake he came here,
else I should not have clone even as much as I
have towards receivin<; him courteously. I cannot
believe it possible that you are correct in your
estimate of him, but if you arc, I certainly despise
him more than 1 supposed ! That a man who has
so recently buried a wife can be plotting and
planning for another, while he expresses in her
presence the most devoted and heart-broken at-
tachment to the one who is gone, is something
scarcely conceivable; and that Aleck Palmer, of
all persons on earth, should imagine for a single
moment that he could ever be anything to me but
an acquaintance whom I tolerate for my father's
sake, is equally inconceivable. I cannot feel it
possible, father, that you, knowing all that has
passed, can in your serious moments desire me to
receive attentions from this man. It hurts me to
think so, even more than it humiliates me to think
that he is planning in that way.

" Father, even though I were attached to him,
could you bear to have me marry a man who had
to sit on your doorstep only a few weeks ago,
until a policeman was summoned to help him
home ? "

Mr. Chilton uttered an exclamation of disgust.
"I thought that was the matter, Elsie," he said
sharply. ** You let your fanaticism get in the way
of all your interests, and even your father must be
sacrificed to it. It has been so from the first. If

PLAIN SPEAKING.

291

I could have saved you from friendships with fa-
natical men and women, it would have saved your
life for you. Pray, what is your profession of
Christianity worth, if you cannot forgive ^ espe-
cially when it has been most carefully explained to
you that Palmer was the victim of a villain's
scheming } Is he to be cast aside as unworthy of
your notice because some one succeeded in mak-
ing him swallow that which he would never have
done voluntarily, and so brought him to humilia-
tion, just as was intended } "

There was an unmistakable curl of scorn upon
Elsie's lips. "Papa," she said coldly, " I beg that
I may not hear that excuse again. It is the
weakest of all excuses. Could a man who was not
in the habit of tasting a drop of liquor have been
made a victim of in any such fashion ? I choose
to select for my friends those who are such utter
fanatics on this question, that no wine glass, how-
ever small, of home-made wine, or of sweet cider,
could be prepared so as to injure them, for the
simple reason that they ignore the entire list, from
sweet cider down. Were Mr. Palmer a gentleman
of that stamp, villains might have schemed in
vain."

Mr. Chilton was walking slowly back and forth
through the room. He seemed to be lost in
thought, and Elsie could not be sure that he had
heard the last things she had said. She waited in
painful doubt as to what to say next, or as to

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292

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

whether, indeed, she had anything to say. At
last, touched again by the gray hairs and the
wrinkles on his worn face, she spoke more gently :

"Papa, let us understand each other at last.
There is nothing which is right that I would not
do for you. I feel sure I could willingly die to
save you any more trouble, to ensure you an old
age of comfort ; but I could never marry any man,
though he might be good and noble, simply to
save my father from business losses. I could not
lie, you know, and such an act would be a lie.
Dear papa, I wish you would not let this matter of
monty weigh you down. We do not need so
much of it. We could live on a great deal less, I
am sure. I would be glad to do so to save you
anxiety. We could live in a smaller house, and
keep fewer servants, and I could sing and earn
money in that way, and teach others how to sing.
Papa, there are endless ways in which I can help
you, if you will let me."

" Nonsense ! " said Mr. Chilton, in short, sharp
tones ; " don't talk like an idiot. There is exactly
one way in which you can help me, and I have
explained it to you as carefully as I knew how ;
humiliated myself to ask your help, and received
the answer which I might have expected. Your
love for your father and for i >ur home, and for
the friends you might 'je exp. ':ted to !<ove, has
been lost in fanatical zeal for those who are
nothing to you. At this moment I believe you

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293

. At

d the
ently :
t last.
Id not
die to
an old
yr man,
iply to
lid not
; a lie.
itter of
eed so
I less, I
ive you
se, and
id earn

sing,
in help

t, sharp

1 exactly
I have

how ;

feceived

Your

ind for

^ve, has

ho are

tve you

have more interest in the villain who plotted Mr.
Palmer's ruin, than you have in any of your own
station in life. Palmer had magnanimity enough
to want to shield you from the Icnowledge, because
it was so hard for young people to have to ' lose
confidence in their friends.* Lose fiddlesticks!
It is time you lost confidence in people not worthy
of it. I am not going to be hushed into silence
any longer. Let me tell you, Elsie Chilton, that
it was your model of a Christian gentleman, Earle
Mason, who plotted successfully for Palmer's
humiliation. It did not seem to occur to him that
he would involve you in the same disgrace, or
perhaps he knew it would be sufficient for you if
he were the rescuer. He may understand you
better than the rest of us do. At any rate he
planned skillfully ; played the philanthropist and
the magnanimous gc >man to his heart's content,
I hope. His triumph will be short. Palmer has
got hold of the whole chain of evidence, and in
due time will produce it. You will like to appear
as a witness in his favor, I presume, when the suit
is brought. I warn you in time so you can get
your evidence ready."

Elsie had risen from the sofa and now con-
fronted her father, her cheeks perfectly pale, her
eyes blazing with indignation ; but as was usually
the case when wrought up by intense excitement,
she succeeded in making her voice sound, though
not quite natural, yet perfectly calm ; and it was

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294

JOilN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

never clearer than when she said, speaking slowly,
and looking steadily into her father's face :

" Father, that is an infamous lie, gotten up, I
do not hesitate to believe, by Mr. Palmer himself.
One who could attribute such actions as that to a
gentleman like Earle Mason, would do anything.
I hope it will come to trial ; I shall be only too
glad to appear as a witness for a true, good man.
And I tell you now, father, once for all, I despise
Aleck Palm.er. I will not receive a call from him,
nor accept any courtesies at his hands, nor even
recognize him on the street as an acquaintance,
from this time forth."

Then she turned and moved with dignity from
the room.

The days which immediately followed this con-
versation were full of perplexity for Elsie Chilton.
Her father, as much as one could, who in his saner
moments was a gentleman, ignored her existence ;
that is, he spoke to her only when the proprieties
of life made it absolutely necessary, and then
always briefly and coldly. He immersed himself
in business more deeply than ever before ; the
lines of care and anxiety deepened on his face.
Elsie, who tried in all dutiful ways to be helpful,
was never rewarded by so much as a smile ; and
many and bitter were the tears which she shed in
her own room, as she wondered what the outcome
of it all would be.

Meantime, she was not without her own

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295

out

Schemes, which she planned and carried
successfully. Beginning to understand her father
fairly well, she judged that if he were correct in
his estimate of Aleck Palmer's intentions — and
the more she thought about it, the more she
feared he was — he would keep his own council,
and leave Mr. Palmer to find out the condition of
things as best he could. This indeed was pre-
cisely what Mr. Chilton did ; only intimating in
response to the former's careful cross-questioning,
that he feared his daughter was more "fanatical "
than ever ; that " the Redpath girl," as well as
others of the same stamp, had in some way
acquired a very great influence over her, and he
feared exceedingly that it would take some time
to overcome the effects of that one disastrous
evening.

"The fact is, Palmer," he said, "I don't know
of anything which will open Elsie's eyes conclu-
sively, unless you can prove to her satisfaction that
that rascally Mason was at the bottom of the
whole affair. She has rather pinned her faith to
his integrity. It would be a shock that would
make her realize a good many other things, if she
could understand that. How soon will you be
prepared to bring the testimony connected with it
before those most interested } "

" I don't know," said Mr. Palmer curtly. "I
have matters in mind at present of graver import-
ance than to undertake to prove to any lady that a

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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villain is a villain." And his significant tone,
coupled with Mr. Chilton's own knowledge of
affairs, made that gentleman sigh and turn away
with an embarrassed feeling that he was in the
power of the younger man, and must move and
speak carefully.

A very unhappy man was Mr. Chilton during
these days. He had spent a life which was
rapidly verging towards sixty, vath the single pur-
pose of building up a magnificent fortune, and a
business that should do honor to his sagacity and
foresight. To have succeeded brilliantly for so
many years, then apparently by a few bewildering
turns of Fortune's wheel to be actually trembling
upon the verge of bankruptcy, was a burden
almost too great for such a man to carry. He
tossed on his sleepless bed night after night, and
studied the problem. It was growing very dark
to him. He had almost given up the hope of
being saved ; the utmost that he could expect to
do was to gain a little time by keeping Aleck
Palmer in ignorance of th. true state of affairs.
To do him justice, he did not really want to sell
his daughter ; he was simply angry with her
because the proposition he had made was not
accepted as an honor, instead of looked upon as a
sacrifice. He was more angry with the friends,
or as he always called them, " the fanatics," whom
he believed had brought about this state of things.
He had worked himself into the belief that Earle

PLAIN SPEAKING.

297

Mason was the most consummate hypocrite of
that entire set ; and he assured himself, as he
tossed upon his bed, that Elsie would find he
could be obstinate, too. If she persisted in her
infatuation for that fellow, he would disown her as
surely as his name was Chilton ; not one penny of
his money should that man ever have. Then he
groaned as he thought how slight at present was
the prospect that he would have any money with
which to punish Elsie, and said aloud, " If I
could only have time, and twenty thousand dollars
in cash, I could straighten out the whole thing."

It seemed extraordinary to him that his affairs
should be in jeopardy for so paltry a sum of money
as that. Given time, he could have raised it,
without exciting suspicion ; but the only one who
could raise it for him, without needing to ask any
questions, was Aleck Palmer, and he hung back in
a strangely exasperating way ; and was waiting
manifestly for Elsie Chilton to recover from her
" ill humor," before he could decide what to do.
So the days passed, and Elsie, as I said, planned
too. When Mr. Palmer called, as he presently be-
gan to do again, asking for her father as hereto-
fore. Miss Chilton, to whom his card was taken in
the absence of her father, invariably sent down
word as to what hour and moment the said father
would be expected, and begged the gentleman to
be kind enough to entertain himself in the library
until that time ; then he was left to his own de-

298

JOHN REMINGtON, MARTYR.

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vices. If he staid to dinner, as he had on two
or three occasions, at the proper moment the ser-
vant appeared with the statement that Miss Elsie
begged to be excused ; she was very much en-
gaged, or she was not feeUng quite well, or she
had dined earlier with some friends ; in short,
there always appeared to be good and sufficient
reasons why Miss Elsie could not be seen. She
could not be caught by any scheme which her
father or his friend could devise ; and Aleck
Palmer grew angrier every hour against those
who had plotted the dastardly trick to which he
laid all his misfortunes.

Nor was he by any means so successful as he
expected to be ."^ planning to bring the offenders
to justice. The boys connected with the college
banquet, one and all disclaimed any knowledge of
the event, or complicity in it, except of course,
the two whose connection with it could easily be
traced ; and these were so devoid of refinement as
to be honestly surprised that Palmer couldn't pass
it off as a good joke ; " laugh over it and let it go."
What was it to be overcome for a few hours, any-
how ? All gentlemen knew by experience about
that ! Of course it wasn't agreeable to be found
out by a lady, and there came in the first-of-April
joke ; and they laughed while they were talking
about it. And then honestly declared they didn't
know he would take it to heart so, or they wouldn't
have done it. It was just a bit of fun. They

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MISS ELSIE WAS VERY MUCH ENGAGED. Page 298.

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PLAIN SPLAKING.

299

weren't exactly themselves of course, or they prob-
ably wouldn't have carried it out. If he wanted
them to, they were willing to go to the lady and
say that they had planned it, and that they had
taken a glass too much probably, when they did
it. That was square certainly. What more could
he expect ?

Then thjy, too, scowled and frowned, and grew
angry in turn over his bitter denunciation of the
whole thing, but only laughed uproariously over
his insinuations that there was some one back of
it all who had instigated the plot.

" Not a bit of it ! " said Charlie ; " bless your
heart, I don't pretend to be very smart, but I am
equal to a first-of-April joke I should say, without
any assistance from any quarter. And that is all
in life it was ; man alive ! what's the use of making
such a row about it ? If the lady in the case is
reasonable at all, she will take our explanation.

" No, sir, we were not put up to it. We are not
schoolboys, or rowdies for that matter, who can be
hired to do dirty jobs for other folks. You forget
to whom you are speaking. Palmer, upon my
word."

And Palmer went away from them more angry
th?n ever.

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CHAPTER XXII.

TWO

"SIMPLETONS."

Jli

MATTERS were in this condition, when one
evening Elsie Chilton made arrangements
to attend a grand temperance rally, at which Fern
Redpath and Dr. Fletcher were to be the leading
speakers, and she herself was to sing.

Miss Redpath's inti'.iiate friends had known for
some time that this was to be her last appearance
in public under that name ; and the general public
knew it now, for the wedding cards were out. Of
course a certain degree of curiosity was felt by
some, to know how the lady would appear under
such circumstances. " For of course," said the
lookers-on, " no one but Fern Redpath would
think she could appear at all ; " and they won-
dered not only how she would dress, but whether
she would be embarrassed by the unique situation
and not do so well as usual. In short, several
minor matters conspired to make this a very im-
portant occasion to the general public. The
largest hall in the city had been secured for the
rally, and it was generally understood that people

300 •

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TWO "SIMPLETONS.

sot

would be present who were not in the habit of
attending the average temperance meeting.

Following the public programme, was to come
a reception to Miss Redpath, tendered by one of
the fashionable ladies of the city, who played at
philanthropy in a graceful way, and had spared no
pains to make this an elegant affair.

As for Elsie Chilton, her part of the programme
of arrangements consisted, as it had frequently of
late, in determining how she could, with the least
embarrassment, get herself to and from the several
places included in the evening's plans. Aunt
Emily had recovered health sufficiently to attend
to her home duties, but was not able to act as
chaperone to any of Elsie's goings and comings.

Once since their estrangement, Elsie had asked
her father if he would attend her to an evening
gathering where she was expected. He had an-
swered her sharply in the negative, and added that
since she chose to do her own planning she would
have to do it without any interference from him.
She must depend upon her own friends, if those
of his selection were not to her mind. On this
occasion Elsie determined to take his advice and
depend upon her own friends. She sent a note to
Mrs. Remington, assuring her that she knew little
John was perfectly safe in the arms of Aunt
Hannah, even though he had had the measles two
weeks before, and was quite well again ; Dr.
Fletcher told her so. And Mrs. Remington must

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

certainly go to the temperance rally, and to the
reception afterwards. It would be her duty to go,
for she, Elsie, expected to have her company. '• I
shall invite myself to dinner at your house," she
said, "and accompany you to the temperance
meeting and to the reception afterwards ; and then
return home with you. I am invited to spend the
night ; you may not know it, but I am ! There
are reasons why I especially desire it. I am sure
I hope it will be convenient, for I am bound to
stay."

Mrs. Remington had laughed over this charac-
teristic note ; and having dispatched Jane with a
cordial reply, made all her arrangements to enjoy
the self-invited guest.

" It could not have planned itself better," she
told Mr. Remington gleefully. " I have asked
Mr. Mason here to dinner, you know, and to go
with us ; now Elsie will not accuse me in her
mind of having schemed to get them together. I
know that she has thought that I did this occa-
sionally in the past, and has resented it in her
sweet, gentle way by overturning my schemes.
She will not be maneuvered over by any one. But
she cannot say a word to-night, for this is her own
arrangement ; I shall take pains to let her know
that Earle Mason was invited three days ago.
Isn't it perfectly ridiculous, John, how those two
go on ? I don't know which I want to shake the
most. Elsie has staid away from here for several

) the

go,
"I

•• she
ranee
[then
d the
rhere

1 sure
nd to

harac-

A^ith a

enjoy

," she
asked
to go
In her
er. I
occa-
lin her
ernes.
But
;r own
know
ago.
\q two
:e the
leveral

TWO "SIMPl.F.TONS.

303

weeks in order to avoid seeing him, I thoroughly
believe. She says her Aunt Emily hasn't been.
well, and she has been very busy ; but that is non-
sense. I have heard of her in other places. She
has become afraid people will gossip about her
coming here to meet Earlc Mason. I wish she
weren't so afraid of gossip."

Be it understood that this good lady knew noth-
ing about the midnight walk, and the consequent
shrinking upon Elsie's part from meeting her
rescuer.

It had been a part of Earle Mason's Christian
policy to be entirely silent upon that subject, even
to his most intimate friends ; but he had indulged
in some wonderment as to how he and Elsie would
meet, and where, and had gone more often to Mr.
Remington's than usual, in the hope of seeing
her; but as the days went by and he heard inci-
dentally that she had not been there for several
weeks, and discovered by the conversation which
ensued that it was a very unusual proceeding upon
her part, he grew more and more certain that pub-
lic gossip, which coupled Miss Chilton's and Mr.
Palmer's name together, was correct ; and that
having received his explanations and condoned his
offense, she naturally shrank from the embarrass-
ment of meeting the one who had shared in her
humiliation.

Truth to tell, there was considerable innocent
scheming on the part of all concerned that night.

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Mrs. Remngton counseled her husband to say
nothing whatever to Mr. Mason when he should
arrive, about Elsie Chilton's being there. " I have
not told her," she said ; " I have not mentioned his
name. She is getting to be such a simpleton that
I am afraid she would run home if I should let her
know he was coming ; and as for him, he is de-
veloping such idiotic qualities in connection with
her, that I feel by no means certain he would not
get up a telephone message or something of the
sort, to call him immediately to the office, if he
should know before the dinner bell rang that Elsie
was in the house."

" My dear little wife," said John Remington,
with an indulgent smile, " have you undertaken to
make a match between two people who seem to be
resolved that there are, and shall be insuperable
obstacles against their coming together?"

" No," she said briskly. " I have only under-
taken to bring them together. They have been as
stupid and blind as two idiots could be, but I have
resolved upon bringing them together once more
in my own house ; or rather Elsie resolved upon
it herself ; I shall have the pleasure of reminding
her that she invited herself. That is the part of
it which relieves me from embarrassment and from
responsibility, you see. Now, if they don't know
enough to plan their own affairs when given a
chance, why " — She left her sentence unfinished
and her husband completed it.

'•^I

say
lould
have
d his
, that
t her
s de-
, with
d not
)f the

if he

Elsie

ngton,

ken to

\ to be

erable

lunder-
^een as

1 1 have
more
upon
linding
)art of
Id from
know
iven a
inished

TWO "SIMPLETONS.

• »

305

"Why, then, you will plan again. Very well,
dear, I wish you success. I will obey orders to
the letter," and he went away to receive his friend
in the study, and entertain him there for a while,
according to their usual habit. Meantime, IClsie,
who had come early, and had brought with her
the bag containing what she called her •* platform
dress," was in simple home attire, and had given
herself up to the delights of an afternoon with
Mrs. Remington and little John ; putting aside,
for the time being, all her perplexities and fore-
bodings, and being apparently as merry and light-
hearted as a child.

Yet with all her light-heartedness, there was a
background of quiet dignity and reticence as re-
i;arded herself, or her home life. She did not
mention Mr. Palmer's name, and she had appar
ently forgotten the existence of such a person as
Earle Mason. Over Fern Redpath she was en-
thusiastic.

"Have you seen her lately.^" she asked Mrs.
Remington. " She is just as lovely as can be !
Isn't it delightful that those two are to be mar-
ried at last, after going through seas of difficulties ?
If I were Fern I should be in a hurry to have
the ceremony. I think I should be superstitious,
almost, lest something at the last minute should
come in to disarrange matters. I was so afraid
you couldn't go to hear her to-night, Mrs. Rem-
ington. I think she is going to astonish some

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306

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

people. She told me that she had some very plain
speaking to do, and that she was glad there were
to be some society people present ; they so seldom
had opportunity to hear plain truths. And Dr.
Fletcher is a regular warrior, you know. Oh ! we
shall have a wonderful meeting! I feel it in my
heart ; and I am going to sing better than I ever
did before. Did you know that ? "

" I haven't a doubt of it ! " said Mrs. Reming:-
ton, laughing. " It is an infinite pity that little
John cannot be there to hear you. He is an ar-
dent admirer of your musical talent, Elsie ; did you
know it .'' I really thought last night I should
have to send for you to get him to sleep. He be-
came possessed with the idea that ** Ottissey "
ought to be there to sing. In vain I tried song
after song, in my sweetest voice ; he besought me
to send for ' Ottissey ' ; actually cried, at last, and
had to ^e scolded a little bit, before he would
settle down to good manners, and take his mother's
voice, instead."

"Appreciative child ! " said Elsie, bestowing in-
numerable kisses on her young admirer's fair
cheeks. " He knows a good thing when he hears
it. He knows * Ottissey ' is superior to his mother
in every r^^pect ; of course she is ! Blessed little
darling, I hope you will always love me." This
last sentence with almost a tremble in her voice,
and a sudden burying of her face among the boy's
curls.

TWO "SIMPLETONS."

•j
307 1

Mrs.

Remington looked on, watchful

and

appre-

ciative.

She

was sure that her young

friend was

passing

throu

gh some sort of trial, of such

a char-

♦- 1« /

acter that loyalty to somebody prevented her men-
tioning it. Since she had seen Elsie that after-
noon, she had not been able to get away from the
feeling that something had passed between Mr.
Mason and her which had bound her to persistent
dumbness when his name was mentioned. This
was very bewildering, and she could uuc help feel-
ing anxious ; these two people had proved them-
selves so successful in misunderstanding each
other ! Still she believed that when she saw them
together she shouM be able to decide what the
" something " was, and perhaps help to remove its
restraint. So with a little sigh over the blindness
of some people and the obstinacy of others, she
determined to avoid all personalities for the pres-
ent, and wait for the dinner table developments.

When Mr. Remington came to his dressing
room, just after little John had been tucked away
for the night, he said to his wife : " Mason is in
the back parlor. Why do not you and Elsie go
down and visit with him for a few minutes before
dinner ? It would seem more home-like, would it
not.?"

Then Mrs. Remington, restraining her an.xious
desire to know what the meeting would develop,
said, ** I am not quite ready ; I will send Elsie,"
and went back to her sitting-room. " Elsie dear.

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

are you ready to go down ? Will you stop at Aunt
Hannah's door and say to her that little John is
asleep, and Jane can do all that is necessary, so
she need not come up? and then wait in the parlor
for me, dear. I shall be down in a very few
moments."

Downstairs flitted Elsie, gave her message to
Aunt Hannah, then, humming a strain from one of
the songs she was to sing that evening, opened
the parlor door. Mr. Mason was standing by the
table, book in hand. The sudden and unmistak-
able light in his eyes as he turned and saw her
would not have revealed any more to Mrs. Rem-
ington than she believed she knew before ; and
the quietness with which Elsie schooled herself to
come forward and speak to him would have told
nothing at all.

" This is afi unexpected pleasure," he said, hold-
ing out his hand. " I did not know you were to be
here."

"Our ignorance is mutual," she answered, smil-
ing. " I had no idea of meeting you. Are you
quite well, Mr. Mason } "

** Quite well, thank you," he said gravely.
" Have you read this } " And he plunged her at once
into a discussion of one of the latest books, which
was creating a sensation in the literary world.
Certainly nothing could be quieter or more matter-
of-fact than the manner of both ; yet each knew
that the other was thinking of the last time they

^.^/I

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TWO "SIMPLETONS.'

309

had met, and of the terrible experience rt had been
to both.

" If she is deeply interested in him," said Mason
to himself, ** it must be very hard for her to meet
me. I would go away if I could, so that she need
not be distressed at the thoughts which the sight
of me must bring to her."

She on her part was thinking, " He does not
exactly despise me for permitting myself to be in
company with a man who could sink so low, but
he feels superior to me ; and I do not wonder, I
am sure."

So these well-intentioned simpletons blundered
on their way.

The temperance meeting was something to re-
member that night. Certainly Fern Redpath had
never appeared nor spoken better. Her platform
dress was a plain black velvet, its intense black-
ness relieved at throat and wrists by a very narrow
line of white, and at her waist by a mass of white
rosebuds, fastened of course with the white ribbon.

The large hall was filled almost to overflowing
at an early hour. The fashionable world was cer-
tainly there in force. The name of Redpath was
an old and honored one in the city, and aside from
the curiosity which they felt, they had come out
to do honor to Miss Redpath's last appearance.

Moreover, many of them were guests for the re-
ception. They heard some plain truths that night.
The customs of fashionable society, not only as

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

they related to wine, but to cards, and other kin-
dred temptations, " hopelessly associated with
wine," the speaker said, were dealt with in a very
plain, searching manner. Fern Redpath was no
" kid-gloved speaker " ; she had a solemn message
to deliv^er, and here were the people whom she be-
lieved in her soul were in need of being arrested
upon their gay and flippant way, by just such a
message as she could bring.

She held them to close attention, while she
poured her avalanche of facts, and her inevitable
and startling deductions therefrom, upon this fash-
ionable audience.

Nor was Dr. Fletcher one whit behind her in
vigor and plainness of utterance. More than one
fashionably dressed gentleman frowned ominously
as he saw his own career mapped out before him,
in language too solemn for his conscience to avoid,
and heard the inevitable end described.

As for Elsie Chilton, Mrs. Remington felt in
her heart that no truer word had been spoken
than Elsie's, when she had declared that she was
going to sing better than she ever did before.
She was in white, as she almost invariably was on
the platform ; soft, white silk that seemed to float
around her like a cloud. There was not the slight-
est ornament about her, nor touch of color. "Just
a white angel ! " Earle Mason said to himself, and
he folded his arms and compressed his lips until
the pain of doing so recalled him to himself. In

TWO "SIMPLETONS

»f

311

an opera box near at hand sat Aleck Palmer,
faultlessly dressed, and with eyes fixed iiitently on
the platform ; but with an ominous frown upon his
face, that could not have been meant, surely, for
Elsie Chilton !

. Out of respect for the white-robed maiden who
accompanied them, as well as for his wife's recep-
tion dress, Mr. Remington had taken a carriage,
instead of coming by street cars, as was his usual
custom, and it was waiting for them when the tem-
perance rally was over.

" We will go round to the dressing-room door,"
he told Earle Mason, as they moved down the
aisle. " Mrs. Remington promised Elsie to be
there. She is our guest for the night. May we
put her in your charge } "

" You may command me, of course," said Mr.
Mason, with a very grave smile. " It gives me
pleasure always to follow your directions," and he
wondered as he passed through the hall and saw
Aleck Palmer glower at him, what he would give
to be familiar with the family who had Elsie Chil-
ton as their guest for the night.

" Mr. Remington has given me a very pleasant
charge," he said to Elsie, as he held open the car-
riage door for her to enter. " I hope you will ratify
it ? He told me you were their guest for the even-
ing, and that I might have you in charge."

" I shall be very glad to be taken care of," said
Elsie. As he took his seat beside her he asked

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312

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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himself what she would say if she knew how glaJ
he would be to care for her all her life ! And Elsie
on her part thought : ** He remembers how much
I need somebody to take care of me ; and that he
has had it to do before ! I wonder that he dare
undertake it again, if he knows what vile slanders
he is the subject of on that account ! " As for
Mrs. Remington, she looked at the two dignified
young persons opposite her, almost with a feeling
of vexation ; in fact, could not help muttering to
herself, ** Simpletons !"

As a matter of course, the evening's exercises
were more or less the subject of discussion at the
reception.

The hostess, a lady with more heart than brains,
had no better taste than to explain to a group
who surrounded one of the refreshment tables:

" Of course I did not dare offer anvthins: stronger
than coffee, and chocolate, and little innocent drinks
of that sort, this evening, since Miss Redpath
and Dr. Fletcher were to be my guests ; to say
nothing of Mr. and Mrs. Remington, and that
grave-faced young lawyer who they say is as ram-
pant a fanatic as any of you. Was it not fortunate
that I had my vits about me and tabooed every
thing except what was above reproach ? Else I
should certainly never have dared to lift my head
again after this evening's addresses. Honestly,
now, don't you think you were just a little hard on
us good-natured, thoughtless people ? '*

TWO " SIMPLETONS.

313

The "any of you " to whom this speech was ad-
dressed, included Miss Redpath and Dr. Fletcher,
as well as Mr. and Mrs. Remington and a half-
dozen others not of their stamp. Elsie and Mr.
Mason were making their way down the room from
another table where they had stopper at first. Dr.
Fletcher, seeing that a reply seemed to be ex-
pected, and that no one else was disposed to make
any, asked gravely :

•' Do you mean in regard to the reference made
to some of the customs of polite society } No
names were mentioned this evening, Mrs. Green-
waide. Are we to understand that you recognized
yourself in any of the persons described .^"

" Now, Dr. Fletcher ! " said the gay lady, " isn't
that the * unkindest cut of all ! * Just because I
can't quite be a fanatic, you know, I am supposed
not to have any conscience ! What I say is, that
you people are too wholesale in your denunciations ;
you do not discriminate enough between classes
in society."

Little Mrs. Milburn was one of the group ; a
society lady who tried at all times to say pleasant
things whether they expressed the real thoughts
of her heart or not. At this point she came to
the rescue, and undertook to sustain the fanatics.

"Well, really," she said, with an appreciative
little sigh, " I do not know but we shall all have
to turn fanatics, if the stories afloat in society this
season are half of them true. I heard a few weeks

f !

'^^v'vnwipniNHPB

•S^srr^^X^-^ ^r>» > «~i> dm m

314

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

; i.j
M

ago that in some of our first circles a company of
gay young men had instituted a new entertain-
ment ; practical jokes, I think they call them.
The joke consists in getting estimable young men
who are very careful of their habits and reputa-
tion, to drink — too much, you know, until they
are really — offensive. I think I never heard of
anything so disagreeable as that ! "

Was this subject entirely accidental, or were
there some in the company who knew whereof
they spoke, and were taking the opportunity to
secure added information. This was the question
which presented itself to Earle Mason, as he and
Elsie joined their friends in time to hear Mrs.
Milburn.

r.i

CHAPTER XXIII.

iM Mm.

ii.il

A 11

FORESHADOWINGS.

WHILE he was considering it, Miss Forester,
a younger woman with pronounced ideas
on nearly all subjects, chimed in :

"Yes; I have heard those stories, and with
names and dates attached to some of them. I
wonder what foundation there is for them. Are
such jokes common, Mr. Mason }"

" Not in my set," replied Mr. Mason calmly.

Whereat a general laugh ensued ; the incon-
gruity of such doings being found in his "set"
presenting itself forcibly even to those who were
not by any means fanatical in regard to this
subject.

Meanwhile Elsie could not help sending a
startled glance toward the last speaker, and one
almost of apprehension toward Miss Forester.
What did she mean about names and dates }
Could she know Elsie's own humiliating story ?
Was it to be spread out at this reception for the
entertainment of the guests } But Miss Forester
was engaged in planning how she would reply to

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316

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

what she considered Earle Mason's rudeness. Be-
fore she had decided, good-natured Mrs. Milburn
came to her aid.

"Why, Mr. Mason, of course she doesn't mean
in your set ; but we all look upon you in the light
of a philanthropist you know, and we thought you
would be posted as to what was going on in this
wicked world,"

" I wish I deserved the name," he answered
gravely. And then Miss Forester rallied and
persisted.

" But, Mr. Mason, we really want to know. Are
the young men of our city engaged in such enter-
tainments to any extent } "

" I shall have to confess my ignorance, Miss
Forester," her victim responded good-humoredly.
*' I should li.ve to pose as a philanthropist, or even
as a well-informed person, but circumstances will
not permit it. I have heard of such blots as you
mention, but for the honor of our city I trust they
are rare."

Elsie Chilton now became aware of the presence
of another guest ; one who stood at the refresh-
ment table nearest to theirs, and in a position to
readily hear every word which had been uttered.
This was none other than Mr. Palmer, who was,
at the moment when Elsie discovered him, looking
in the direction of their party, and so thrown off
his guard that he wore an unmistakable and por-
tentous scowl upon his face. Elsie was not sur-

I"/

FORKSHAI)()\VIN(;S.

317

prised at the scowl. What would that persistent
and too well informed Miss I'orester say next, in
pursuit of further information ? She did not keep
them long in suspense.

"Well, I wish I knew a little more about some
things. I have heard certain statements made
that I would like to have corroborated ; and now
that we have the rare opportunity of being able to
refer to a medical college professor, it seems to me
we might as well learn something. Dr. Fletcher,
enlighten me, will you, in regard to one point .'' I
have a special reason for desiring to know the
truth. We were talking about these practical
jokes, a few days ago ; a lady well known in so-
ciety and myself; and she knew a case in point,
and gave me some of the details which were very
interesting, I assure you ; were I at liberty to
mention names, you would agree with me. I was
expressing my indignation that such things were
possible, and remarked that no one was safe from
society pests known as practical jokers ; that any
gentleman was liable to be caught in their snares,
and humiliated in the same way as the one of
whom she had been speaking. Now to my sur-
prise, this lady assured me emphatically that such
was not the case ; that there was not the slightest
danger of a gentleman who was a total abstainer
being humiliated in any such manner. Dr. Flet-
cher, I want to know if she is correct ? "

AU e^es w^re now turned upon Pr. Fletcher,

318

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTVK.

g iS

and some of the company, at least, were listening
with almost painful attention, their hearts full of
a horrible fear of what mij^ht come.

Miss Forester had the name of being brave
enough to be very outspoken when she chose ;
and no one could be sure how much she knew.
Elsie Chilton felt that she would not have been
astonished to hear her own name called as a wit-
ness to the truth of some of the lady's statements.
Dr. Fletcher, however, who knew no reason for
being very especially interested in this conversa-
tion, responded composedly :

" Have the goodness to state your proposition
specifically. Miss Forester. If my professional
reputation is at stake I must answer very
carefully."

"Why, the proposition is simple enough. What
I want to know is : Can you, for instance, Dr.
Fletcher, who I suppose are a total abstainer, be
made the victim of a practical joke by the use of
stimulants ? "

" May I claim a teacher's privilege and answer
your question by asking another ? Suppose you
were constitutionally and on principle opposed to
the drinking of coffee ; suppose that you never
allowed yourself to drink a single drop of it at any
time ; suppose you were so thoroughly fixed in
this determination that you had pledged yourself
never to do so under any circumstances, could
I, do you think, play a practical joke upon you by

nswer
you
ed to
never
it any
:ed in
urself
could
ou by

FORES HA DOW I NGS.

319

presenting you with a cup of coffee prepared in
any manner whatever ? "

The conclusion was so entirely self-evident that
Miss Forester felt that her powers of discrimina-
tion had not been shown to advantage ; and the
smile which greete I Dr. Fletcher's reply annoyed
her.

" I beg your pardon," she said ; " I forgot I was
speaking to a fanatic. That is the name by which
you pronounced people choose to be known, I be-
lieve ? Of course my question had reference to
people who do not take such pronounced and one-
sided views upon any subject that they are not
open to argument, and perhaps to solicitation. I
should dislike, for instance, to be so violently op-
posed to coffee that I could not take a few sips
of it if propriety seemed to demand. It will not
do for ladies and gentlemen to be too arbitrary
about anything, will it. Dr. Fletcher } "

" It depends," he answered gravely. " With
your explanation of the case. Miss Forester, I
should reply unhesitatingly that only fanatics
could be absolutely sure of not becoming victims
to practical jokers, in the line which you mention."
And then Earle Mason, who felt that this conver-
sation had gone as far as was safe for several
parties concerned, abruptly changed the subject,
and as soon as possible moved away with his
charge.

"Do you think," Elsie asked as soon as they

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320

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

were at a safe distance, "that Miss Forester meant
us — me ? that she can know about — that night?"

" I think it hardly possible," he said. ** There
are so few persons who know the truth with re-
gard to that matter. I do not think the fellows
who were guilty care to talk about it. My im-
pression is that Mr. Palmer's statements to them
have been too severe to give them any desire to
be prominent in such work, and, indeed, they
were probably two thirds intoxicated at the time.
When they were sober they would, every one, be
ashamed of it. As for the other persons, the
gentleman would undoubtedly be silent, and I
took the utmost precaution. Miss Chilton, that no
outsiders should understand the matter in the
least. Indeed, I am confident that Mr. Palmer's
man is the only one besides ourselves who has a
suspicion with regard to it, and no one under-
stands the importance of being silent better than
Mr. Palmer's man ; so that I do not think it could
have been possible that anything personal was in-
tended to-night."

*' I have wanted to thank you for that evening's
work," she said simply, " and for the way in
which you nonaged everything, but I have not
known how."

" I do not need to be thanked," he answered,,
speaking coldly, and he felt that he could not trust
himself to say more, nor endure another word on
this subject. He felt humiliated for the girl whQ

lings
lay in

re not

rered,

trust

ird on

rl who

FORESHADOWINGS.

321

walked beside him. He believed she was thank-
ing him for taking care to guard the name of the
man who was her friend. He seemed to hear
again the slo\y, sickening drawl and the offensive
words with which the half-drunken man had pressed
his suit that night, and if the memory of it
turned him fairly sick with disgust, how was it
possible for this woman to think of it in any other
light ? He began at once to talk about indifferent
topics ; and took care that no sentence should be
so framed as to lead back to this dangerous one
again. Moreover, he took care to relieve his
charge of his attendance as soon and as much as
propriety would admit, during the remainder of
the evening. She had been consigned to his care,
and he would see that she had every attention ;
but the man whom he believed to be her choice
was one of the guests, and he resolved not to
stand in the way of their enjoying each other's
society. However, something manifestly stood in
the way. Not once during the hour that they
linsfered did Mr. Palmer cross to the side of the
room where Miss Chilton kept her stand near her
friends the Remingtons. Earle Mason watched
this condition of things with growing indignation.
His explanation of it was that Mr. Palmer was not
willing to associate for a few minutes with people
whom he disliked, even for the pleasure of having
Miss Chilton's society ; yet she who took such de-
light in her friends was willing to give them all up

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

for him. He decided that it was an incompre-
hensible world.

i I

The next event of importance in the social
world was the marriage of Fern Redpath. Not at
all a society lady herself, yet because of the old
name, and the associations clustering around it,
on special occasions society claimed her. Her
lady mother, who had an aristocratic vein running
through her system, took care that on this occasion
society should have its due. Invitations were very
numerous, and included some of the choicest
names in the social world.

The ceremony was to be in the morning, at ten.
"A most unfashionable hour," Fern Redpath ad-
mitted, " and my mother is grieved that I cannot
be fashionable on this day of my life at least. But
it is really quite necessary that we take the noon
train in order to make important connections.
And since the through train has the bad taste to
start at thar, ii >,ir, there seemed to be nothing for
it but to chou3e an earlier one for the ceremony.
So far as I am individually concerned, I like it.
I can be ready at ten o'clock, as easy as I could
at twelve."

On the evening before the marriage, when the
parties chiefly interested were gathered for a re-
hearsal, unexpected complications arose. The
little family and their very special friends were
in Fern's reception room awaiting the arrival of the

n the

a re-

The

were

lof the

FORESHADOWINGS.

323

evening train, which was to bring Grove Redpath,
the elder brother, and Dr. Fletcher's " best man."

" I cannot think what detains them," Fern had
said. " It seems to me that they have had ample
time to drive from the station. Still the train
may have been late."

"No," said Dr. Fletcher, "the train is not late.
I heard the whistle as I came up town, and timed
it. I had planned, you know, to meet the train
myself, but missed it because of the call I men-
tioned ; and I remember I was afraid Grove would
reach here before I could, and was relieved by
hearing the whistle of the train just as I caught
the Avenue car."

" Then they certainly have had time to reach
here ! " exclaimed Mrs. Redpath. " Why, Doctor,
it is a half-hour since you came, is it not ? "

"There is the postman's ring," said Fern. "I
do hope there is no letter from Grove saying
that he cannot come until to-morrow morning.
Wouldn't it be dreadful to have that boy wait
until morning when we haven't seen him for a
year ? I thought it was wretched in him to put
off coming until to-night."

She went herself to meet the postman, and
came back presently with an open letter in her
hand, and a grave face.

" What is it ? " asked her mother quickly. " Is it
from Grove .^ O, dear! has anything happened?"

" Nothing serious, mamma ; but something

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JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

rather trying." And she passed the letter into her
mother's eager hands and explained to the others
that Grove could not be there for the wedding.
He had been ill — not seriously ; one of his old at-
tacks ; and had said nothing about it, confidently-
expecting to be able to start on the appointed
day. But behold his physician, with the " pig-
headedness " which seemed to belong to the pro-
fession — and here the writer begged his future
brocher-in-law's pardon — had utterly refused to
allow him to travel. It was the most utter non-
sense of course, and if he had not been badly
brought up to yield implicit obedience to the
family physician, he should be there in spite of
him, but as it was, Fern was not to refuse to be
married on his account, and they were none of
them to worry the least bit ; he would come him-
self with a carriage to welcome the bridal party
— and mother — to his bachelor quarters; so it
was only a disappointment of a few hours, after
all. The letter was finally read aloud, because the
mother was so proud of its brightness that she
could not resist the temptation.

*' Well," said Elsie, meditatively, when the first
excitement was over, " it is very strange ; but
there cannot be even a marriage ceremony, it
seems, without a change of programme. I never
knew a concert programme to be carried out exactly
as it had been planned ; but I thought weddings
were different."

FORESHADOVVINGS.

325

Idings

br. Fletcher laughed. "Weddings are subject
to the laws of mutability, my dear Miss Chilton,
along with the rest of mundane things," he said
gayly. "It is too bad to miss Grove, but let us be
glad that it is no worse. I know about those
attacks of his ; and he is to be congratulated on
the ' pig-headedness ' of his physician It would
have been very imprudent for him to have traveled.
Now, we need to hold a council of war, do we not?
Or, I beg pardon, of peace, of course. Miss Chil-
ton, you are suddenly deserted. What is to be
done under such circumstances ? "

" I do not know, I am sure ! " said Elsie, in a
tone of mock resignation. "Since I cannot have
Grove, could I be expected to care what was done
with me } "

^ Following these first merry sentences, calculated
to help the family cover their disappointment over
the non-arrival of the son and brother, whose com-
ing had been so eagerly awaited, there was an
earnest discussion of plans. Elsie had so long
been selected by her friend as her sole brides-
maid that she declared any change in this regard
to be impossible. The only thing was to fill
Grove's place ; and how could this be done with
any propriety at so late an hour ?

"Of course Miss Chilton's preferences are to be
considered," said Dr. Fletcher, when appealed to
as to whom among his friends he would select.
** So far as I am personally concerned I have no

326

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

very intimate friends within a serviceable distance.
Among my newer friends, if he would be willing
to serve me, I should not hesitate to choose Mr.
Mason. It is true I have not known him long or
intimately, but I am intimate enough to respect
and admire him ; and if it were agreeable to all
concerned, I should be very glad to ask him to
stand by me. Nor should I hesitate in the least
to do so because of the lateness of the hour;
Mason's strong good sense is a characteristic of
him. Moreover, he is a man of resources, and
would not be embarrassed by the position. What
do you say, am I to look him up and throw myself
upon his mercy, or have you other suggestions ? '*

Apparently no one had any advice to offer ;
Elsie promptly retreated behind her first senti-
mental statement, *-hat since it could not be Grove,
why should she be expected to have any interest
in the matter ?

" But you must have interest in the matter," in-
sisted Fern, in an undertone ; " Elsie, you know
very well that the only objection Earle Mason will
have, will be the fancy that you do not desire it."

" Why should he fancy that ? " asked Elsie.

"Because," said her friend, emphatically, "both
he and you can fancy a great deal, on occasion.
You can be unaccountably stupid, sometimes,
Elsie Chilton."

But she declined to comment on this statement,
and Elsie was left to make out of it what she

," in-
Iknow
In will

•e it.
lElsie.
1* both

Lsion.

:imes,

Iment,
she

FORESHADOWINGS.

327

could, while Dr. Fletcher went to see if he could
secure Earle Mason's services.

"The rehearsal is indefinitely postponed!" he
said with mock solemnity, as he departed. " I
wonder if it is a foreshadowing of other delays ? "
Fern thought aloud, rather than addressed to any
one. " If I were superstitious it might make me
anxious. Delays connected with wedding cere-
monies are bad omens, are they not ? "

"I do not know," said Elsie gayly. "I do not
see opportunity for any other delays which could
be serious. Dr. Fletcher and you are certainly
here, and in the event of Dr. Oliver's illness, an-
other clergyman could be secured, so I think it is
quite safe. Fern. But I must say I am sorry for
poor Grove, as well as for ourselves. What a
disappointment it must be to the boy ! "

" Yes," said Mrs. Redpath tremulously, " and
to the boy's mother, as well. It does seem hard
that when their only sister is to be married Grove
should be ill, and Willard separated from us by a
great ocean."

" Never mind, mother," said Fern cheerily, "you
and I will be with Grove in two days more, and
Willard is coming home in the fall."

Earle Mason was found, and showed all the
good sense for which Dr. Fletcher gave him credit,
by being heartily willing to serve his friends even
at the eleventh hour.

" Personally, it will give me great pleasure to do

lb'

•■[;

^■l| t

t :!!

328

JOHJJ REMINGTON, MARTYR.

SO," he said promptly, " but " — and then he hesi-
tated, and flushed in a way that Dr. Fletcher did
hot understand.

" I suppose it would not be possible to — make
other arrangements ? " he said at last.

" Why, rny dear fellow, of course ! " said Dr.
Fletcher ; " it would be quite possible to have the
ceremony without any bridesmaid, or groomsman ;
but then, as we all happen to want you, if you are
willing, I do not see any difficulty. What other
arrangements suggest themselves to you as
desirable .^"

** None that can be carried out. I was thinking
that if Miss Redpath and you were intimately ac-
quainted with Mr. Palmer it would be courteous,
at least, to give him the opportunity."

" To be my groomsman ! " said Dr. Fletcher, in
such an astonished tone that Mason was obliged
to laugh. " Upon my word, I do not think it
would ; I should consider it an insult if he should
offer me the same position. My dear sir, what
suggests such a wild proposition as that ? It is
not possible you can be planning for Miss Chilton's
sake.?"

" I suppose such to be the case," said Mr. Ma-
son, growing instantly grave, "but I am not in the
lady's confidence, and of course do not know. It
simply occurred to me as an arrangement which
might be pleasant for her, but under the circum-
stances I suppose it is not possible."

FORESHAbOVVINGS.

329

he hesi-
:cher did

— make

said Dr.
have the
)msman ;
f you are
lat other
you as

"No," said Dr. Fletcher emphatically. « It is
not possible, nor can I believe it possible that you
are correct in your suppositions. If you were, Ma-
son, you and I should do what we could to keep
such people apart ; should we not .? "

" But if we cannot ? " said Earle Mason, with a
constrained smile; and then without more ado he
made himself ready, and went to the marriage
reherrsal.

thinking
lately ac-
Durteous,

:tcher, in
> obliged
think it
le should
sir, what
t? It is
Chilton's

Mr. Ma-
ot in the
now. It
nt which
; circum-

^ !!i • (

■ i.

CHAPTER XXIV.

" IT IS VERY STRANGE !

THE marriage morning was beautiful with sun-
shine and birds and flowers. It was still
early in May, but a hint of June was in the beau-
tiful balmy air. "The most summery day of the
season," the guests remarked, as in groups and
singly, they began to arrive at the Redpath home.
The long parlors had been transformed into
bowers of beauty. Elsie Chilton's skillful fingers
had been at work there, among the flowers, since
early morning. It was she and Fern who had
planned most of the floral decorations. " No for-
mality, please," Fern had said ; " I will not have
my home nor myself put into the hands of profes-
sionals. Don't let us have any marriage bells, nor
marriage mottoes, nor formal society proprieties of
any sort. They always remind me of the pillows
and crowns and harps that one sees at funerals.
I want the flowers scattered around as though the
children had come in with their hands full, and
tossed them where they would. Do, Elsie, see to
it that everything looks exactly unlike what a pro-

330

ith sun-
as still
e beau-
I of the
ips and
1 home,
ed into
fingers
s, since
ho had
o for-
t have
profes-
11s, nor
eties of
pillows
nerals.
gh the
11, and
see to
It a pro-

IT IS VERY STRANGE

f '»

331

fessional florist would do." Elsie had seen to it
with great delight, and the result, in its simplicity
and beauty, astonished the eyes of the fashionable
world.

"This is nothing but wild flowers !" exclaimed
one, stopping before a mass of bloom in a: window
seat. " Who would imagine that anything so
pretty could have been made out of them .^ Just
look at that moss ! It never came from any florist's
in this city I know."

" It came from the back of an old log way down
in the woods, twelve miles from here," explained
an intimate friend .of the family; "and one of
Fern's mission boys who used to be with her last
winter, trudged here last night and brought it to
her. Doesn't it make a lovely decoration } "

So the guests gathered, and wandered about and
admired, and entertained themselves as best they
could, and watched the solemn, old-fashioned
clock in the hall, and wondered if this bride would
be prompt. Promptness was one of her virtues.
Her public meetings always commenced at the
hour and moment when they were advertised.

Upstairs in the bride's room everything was
quiet. Fern Redpath had declared that she could
be ready at ten o'clock as well as twelve ; she
could have been ready at eight o'clock as well as
ten. She was quite ready, even to the white
gloves which completed the purity of her dress,
and sat by the eastern window whervt she had, in

■ I

■ 1 '

t .

J :

332

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

the early mo.-ning, watched the sun, as he came
up in splendor to glorify this new day. Only
Elsie was with her, Mrs. Redpath having retired
to her own room. They had been having a last
talk together, the mother and daughter. At least
the mother had called it *'alast talk," and had
wiped the tears from her eyes as she said it.
These two had been much to each other ; and Mrs.
Redpath could realize, perhaps as her daughter
could not, what it was to have their lives divided.
" Mother thinks it will make a difference be-
tween us," Fern, said to Elsie, smiling gravely.
* She thinks I cannot be the. same to her when I
1 married woman. I am going to live for the
purpose of showing her that I can be more to her,
and more to every one with whom I have had to
do ; I expect to be more to all my duties in life
than I ever was before. I have lived a divided
life for years, Elsie, and no one but myself has
realized it. Paul was in Europe, and I never ex-
pected to see him again or to be anything to him.
I lived a divided life all the time. Now our lives
are one, and nothing can ever separate them again,
not even death. Isn't it beautiful, Elsie, to think
that death cannot separate us from our beloved ?
Yet some brides cannot feel that," she added with
a thoughtful, far-away look ; " I wonder how it
feels to be the bride of one who has no interest
beyond this life } no plans except those which the
grave can break ? Can you imagine how a Chris-

came
Only

retired
a last

.t least

id had

3aid it.

id Mrs.

lughter

livided.

ice be-

;ravcly.

when I

for the

; to her,
had to
in life
:livided
elf has

ever ex-
o him.
ur lives
n again,
o think
eloved ?
ed with
how it
interest
ich the
Chris-

" IT IS VERY STRANGE !

333

tian can deliberately put herself in any such
position as that .^"

"No," said Elsie gravely. "I cannot imagine
how a Christian, who felt that Christ should be
first and must be first, could marry a merely
nominal Christian ; one who acknowledged Christ
indeed, but made him secondary. I should be
miserable in trying to live such a life as that. I
am glad for you. Fern, that Dr. Fletcher is more
than a temperance man, more than a moralist, more
than just a church member ; that his life is hid
with Christ in God, and that he makes one think
of Paul, his namesake, when he said, 'This one
thing I do.' "

Fern turned toward her with radiant eyes.
" Does he impress you so ? " she asked. " You
have never spoken so plainly before. I am glad
to have you tell me this. I know just what you
mean. I feel it to my heart's center. He is
noble ; he is single-hearted ; he puts Christ first
in all things, small as well as large, to a degree
that seems to me unusual in a man. There is not
a fiber of his being that I cannot trust, Elsie, and
I pity the woman who is planning to marry a man
of whom she cannot say as much."

" Amen ! " said Elsie, with quiet gravity, as one
who accepted this as a matter of course ; and Fern
Redpatli, looking at her with keen eyes, said to her-
self: "She never means to marry Aleck Palmer.
I wonder if that young man will go on stumbling

\-t

ti"

334

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

over him until he loses her ? Something ought to
be done to help those two ; only I do not know
what it would be, such hopelessly reserved people
as they both are ! and with no one Jiaving any
right to give them advice or information.**

She broke off this train of thought to ask a
question which had been on her mind for some
minutes.

" Has Dr. Fletcher come yet, Elsie ? '*

" Oh ! I .hink so. It is almost ten o'clock, and
I heard Mr. Mason's voice in the hall some time
ago ; I have been expecting their summons for sev-
eral minutes. I suppose you want to be prompt .?"

" Indeed I do," Fern answered emphatically.
" 1 have always said that I could see no reasonable
excuse for a bride keeping everybody waiting. If
any person on earth should be ready beforehand,
with plenty of time to be deliberate, it seems to
me it is a bride. I would not like to be married
in a flurry ; nor, I confess to you, would I like to
be even five minutes behind time. I believe
promptness has become one of my eccentricities,
I have been so tried by tardiness in others. That
is Mr. Mason's voice now, is it not ? ** Elsie re-
plied by opening the door to his tap, but instead of
admitting him, she went into the hall and closed
the door after her.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but I want to
see Dr. Fletcher a moment. Can you direct me
where to find him .<* "

;ht to
know
Dcople

y any

.if ;

ask a
some

:k, and
e time
for sev-
jmpt ?"
atically.
Lsonable

mg.

rehand,
ems to
imarried
like to
believe
ricities,
Tiiat
:isie re-
jtead of
closed

Ivant to
rect me

" IT IS VERY STRANGE !

>»

335

" He is not in his dressing-room," said Elsie.
" I passed it a few moments ago, and the door was
open."

" Then he is with Miss Redpath, perhaps ? **

*' No ; Fern is here in her sitting-room, and he
is not with her ; has not been, this morning. I
thought he came with you, did he not .-* "

" No," said Earle Mason, looking anxious, he
hardly knew why. " I have not seen him this
morning. He was to call for me, but he did not,
and I decided that in the excitement he had for-
gotten it ; and as the hour was growing late I
came on without him. But I will return at once ;
he may be waiting."

" How very strange ! " said Elsie. " He surely
would not have waited for any one this morning,
and he is a very prompt man. It is nearly ten, is
it not > "

" It is quite ten," said Earle Mason. " I will
go at once and find him."

Elsie returned to the sitting-room, filled with a
nameless anxiety. Earle Mason had looked so
astonished, so bewildered, when he learned that
Dr. Fletcher was not in the house, and it was so
utterly unlike him. ** Still," Elsie reflected, " there
are a dozen things which might have detained him
against his will. Something about the carriage,
or the horses, or there may have been a blockade
through the streets where he had to drive. I will
not worry. How absurd ! " And she explained

I-

1 1 I

iV:

136

JOHN RKMINGTON, MARTYR.

to Fern, in as unconcerned a manner as she could
assume, that the knock was Mr. Mason's ; he had
stopped to ask her some question concerning
details, and had gone downstairs again.

Then the solemn, old-fashioned clock in the
hall struck the hour of ten.

Fern started from her seat. " Why, it is ten
o'clock ! " she said. ** Dr. Fletcher and I planned
that we would leave this room just as that clock
began to strike! It is very strange that he is not
here. I do not like to be late, Elsie. Really and
truly, I canrot help feeling almost superstitious
about that ; I have thought about it so much, and
made a point of it."

" Then that accounts for the delay," said Elsie,
trying to laugh. ** When people pick out such
very little matters and try to make points of tliem,
the points are almost certain to be broken off.
Five or ten minutes beyond the hour can never be
supposed to be late for a bride. Pon't be absurd,
my dear, and allow yourself any little eccentrici-
ties of nerves, just because you are going to be
Mrs. Fletcher so soon."

Fern laughed and settled back in her chair
again ; and Elsie, unable longer to restrain her
nervous impatience, slipped from the room. Five,
ten, fifteen minutes passed, twenty minutes, half
an hour; then Elsie came in, her face white to her
lips.

" Wlj^}- is a ? " asked Fern, turning; tpw&rd her

:ould

had

ning

I the ,

s ten
anned
clock
is not
ly and
titions
:h, and

Elsie,
such

them,
len off.

ver be

.bsurd,

ntrici-

to be

chair
tin her

Five,
is, half

to her

ird her

" IT IS VERY STRANGE !

337

instantly, and speaking with unnatural calmness.
" What is it, Elsie ? tell me quick, please ! I know
something has happened."

" No," said Elsie, " nothing has happened except
a vexatious delay. You are not to be nervous,
Fern, nor unreasonable. We do not know what
has delayed Dr. Fletcher. Something of impor-
tance, of course. He will explain when he reaches
here."

** Then he has not come } "

*' No ; and Mr. Mason, who went to his house
to learn the cause of the detention, says that it is
closed and the shades drawn, as it would naturally
be at this hour ; and the clerk at the Belvidere
says that he heard Dr. Fletcher go out this morn-
ing very early, before sunrise ; and he does not
think he has been back since."

" That is very strange ! " said Fern, " he would
not dress for the day before sunrise. He must
have returned, of course. Did the clerk see him
when he left the house ? "

" Not to speak with ; but he says several gentle-
men stood on the doorsteps with him, very early ;
and he saw him lock the door and move away with
them. There is no one in the house to inquire of,
is there, Fern ? "

Miss Redpath shook her head. " O, no! he has
no servants as yet. One of the chambermaids
from the Belvidere has charge of his rooms ; and
he takes his meals at the Arnold Club Rooms.

'(. i;

iHf

at ftf

338

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

They were very anxious to have him remain with
them ; and the time was so short before he would
be in his own house, that he thought he might as
well. Has he breakfasted at the Arnold this
morning, Elsie ? "

" I do not know," said Elsie. " I do not think
Mr. Mason knew of that arrangement. I will go
and tell him."

She came back almost instantly to Fern, and
seemed relieved to find her still sitting quietly by
the window ; very pale, it is true, but with no look
of terror, or even of dismay overspreading her face.

" It is very strange," she said, looking up with
a little smile, " but do you know I am reminded of
what we were talking about a few moments ago ?
It is pleasant to be able to have absolute trust in
Dr. Fletcher. I know quite as well as I shall when
he has told me about it, that something beyond
his control has detained him. It is so different
from what it used to be years ago when I first
knew him ! There was a time when delays had an
indefinable dread for me ; now it can be nothing
more serious than an accident to somebody ; a
matter of life and death, perhaps, which obliges
him to stop and render service. It cannot be an
accident to himself, else he or somebody would
think to send me word."

" Yes," said Elsie respectfully. She had come
in to try in some vague way to comfort this wait-
ing bride, and instead had herself beeii comforted,

with

vould

;ht as

this

think
nil go

[1, and

itly by

10 look

2r face.

ip with

[ided of

s ago ?

rust in

lU when

beyond

lifferent
I first
had an
othing
ody ; a
obliges
be an
would

come

[is wait-

iforted,

*' :t is very strange !

339

" It must be beautiful to have such faith in the
man one is about to marry ; and certainly I should
never marry one in whom I could not have it," she
told herself firmly. Then they waited and waited.
And the minutes were not slow ; they seemed
fairly to wing themselves away. If it only would
not get to be eleven o'clock ! What could the
guests below be thinking .<* And oh ! what should
they do with Mrs. Redpath who never knew what
time it was ? nor was astonished at any amount of
delay } Yet when the fact dawned upon her that
it was not only eleven, but was actually danger-
ously nearing the hour of twelve, what would be
said to her, or done with her ?

The minutes rushed away; the solemn old clock
tolled out twelve. Mr. Mason came and went like
one distracted. Mr. Remington, who was one of
the invited guests, having joined him in the search,
together they planned and wondered, and went
from one point of possible detention to another,
and as yet they had no word of the missing bride-
groom. At last Dr. Oliver, Fern Redpath's white-
haired pastor, stated very briefly, and without any
details, which he could not give, that an accident
had prevented Dr. Fletcher from keeping his
appointment, and the guests were asked to quietly
disperse.

Mrs. Remington had gone some time before,
at Elsie's earnest solicitation, to Mrs. Redpath ;
and Elsie, white-faced and miserable, was simply

:H>

»l

340

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Staying in the room with Fern, not daring to say
a word.

" Don't!" Fern had said, in sudden sharp tones
a little while before, as Elsie was trying timidly to
give voice to some surmise which might have an
element of hope in it. " Don't, dear. Forgive
me. I know you mean to comfort me, but I can
not bear your voice, cannot bear any voice just
now. I must be still. Do not imagine for an
instant that I distrust him. There has been some
accident, but it is something which he cannot help.
It is all right, only — don't talk to me." And she
sat perfectly still, with her white-gloved hands
clasped in her lap. She neither stirred nor shiv-
ered, even when the old clock said in slow, solemn
tones, " One, two, three," up to twelve ; even
when the train in the distance gave a long, loud,
parting shriek ; the train which was to have borne
her away a bride ! Even when the carriages began
to roll from the door, carrying with thc-m the dis-
appointed guests. Fern Redpath sat with those
closely-clasped hands, and said not one word. She
did not even turn her head to listen when Elsie's
strained ears caught the low sound of a tap at the
door, and went softly out to meet Earle Mason in
the hall.

"I have nothing to report," he said, shaking his
head in answer to her eager look, "and I only
came to tell you so. There is no one living,
apparently, who has seen Fletcher this morning."

" IT IS VERY STRANGE ! "

341

**He must be dead! " said Elsie, in awe-stricken
tones. " I know Fern thinks so ; and there is
nothing else, no accident which could have hin-
dered him from communicating with us."

** But even the dead leave some token," said
Earle Mason. " The doors were closed and locked,
and the curtains drawn ; and there was no key in
the lock. He must have gone out somewhere.
Miss Chilton, there has been foul play ! Mr.
Remington thinks we should put detectives on the
track; but v/e hesitate to do so without conferring
with the family. Could you learn from Miss Red-
path, do you think, whether that should be the
next step } "

** Oh, I do not know ! " said Elsie, in deep dis-
tress ; then she told of Fern's last words to her,
and of the solemn silence in which she was sitting
at that moment. And then Earle Mason thought
of a man whom he had not yet seen, who might
possibly offer some clew by which this mystery
could be solved, and went away ; and returned
again, Mr. Remington with him, both of them
utterly without knowledge, both convinced now,
that without another hour's delay detectives should
be set at work.

'• We are losing precious time ! " said Mr. Rem-
ington excitedly. " He may be in great peril at
this moment. He is one of the victims, Elsie, to
the curse that is upon our country. I feel sure of
it. There have been muttcrings in the air ever

'ini

ill

i'ili

t .

lil-

i '

I (

342

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

since his lecture the other night. He spoke more
plainly in some directions than any other speaker
has had the courage to do. I felt then that he
would have reason to remember it ; if he has not
had to answer for it with his life, we have cause
to be deeply thankful. I know some creatures in
the liquor business who are angry enough for any
sort of revenge. Which reminds me, Mason, that
we have not seen Peterson yet. I am going to
see him at once ! I don't think that man can de-
ceive me, and he generally knows what is going
on among his set."

And Mr. Remington vanished, leaving Earle
Mason standing irresolute in the hall. " I do not
know which way to turn next," he said ; " I can
not but feel, as Mr. Remington says, that we are
losing valuable time. Do you not think that Miss
Redpath might " — then he was interrupted by
the arrival of one of the frightened servants of
the house, who appealed to Elsie.

** O, Miss Elsie! a dirty boy has just brought
this for Miss Fern. Ought I to give it to her } "

It was a bit of twisted paper, much soiled, ap-
parently by ill-kept hands. There was scarcely a
possibility that it could be a communication from
Dr. Fletcher ; yet Elsie grasped at it eagerly, and
looked at Mr. Mason for advice.

** Open it ! " he said quickly. " Learn what it
is, before you give it to Miss Redpath; let us
spare her anything we can."

% 'J

** IT IS VERY STRANGE !

343

It proved to be a badly spelled, wretchedly
written note addressed to Fern, and making the
startling statement that if •' Mis Redpath woud
go to dr. Flecher's room she woud find that his
Frends had done evrything that respeck and
afecktion coud sugest ; the doors was locked, but
the key was on top of the clock which stood in
•the Hole at the hed of the stares."

Amazement and consternation held Mr. Mason
quiet for the first moment after reading this re-
markable message. In the next one he had formed
his plans. " Let us go immediately, Miss Chilton,
and see what clew this may offer. There has been
some evil work done. If I am not mistaken in
Miss Redpath, she will want to go at once. Will
you see to that part of it ? There *is a carriage at
the door for her and you."

Elsie turned and sped into Fern's room.
"Fern," she said, "they have sent for you. Be
very quick ! There is no time to make any change
of dress. Will you wrap this about you ? " And
she seized upon a handsome traveling wrap spread
out on the bed, and covered with it the fair bridal
robes.

Fern had risen the moment she was spoken to,
and was rapidly drawing off her white gloves. It
was she who seized her bonnet, tied it on hastily,
and said :

" I am ready. Where are we to go } "

Elsie, meanwhile, sought among the hangings

r !

• ii

344

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

of the closet, and produced a light gossamer for
herself, which she wrapped about her, and in an
incredibly short space of time the two appeared
in the hall. Mr. Mason hurried them into the
carriage, gave his order, and they dashed away
down the avenue. As they went, he made Fern
acquainted with what little they knew themselves ;
not in the baldly suggestive manner which the
note had used, but with careful phrase ; preparing
her mind for some accident, the character of which
he could not determine.

•* We must wait," he said, "and trust for a few
minutes longer ; then any knowledge will be better
than this suspense, will it not ? "

And the carriage halted before Dr. Fletcher's
elegant home, which he had prepared for the
reception of his bride.

CHAPTER XXV.

AT LAST.

THE front door was closed and locked, but Mr.
Mason had already borrowed the latch key
of the chambermaid from the Belvidere who had
charge of the rooms, and had been upstairs, only
to learn, as he had stated to Elsie, that the door
of Dr. Fletcher's room was locked and the key re-
moved. With swift, silent movements the three
made their way up the long winding flight of
stairs, and Earle Mason sought with nervous
haste for the key on the "clock which stood in
the hole." Certainly here was a key — he could
not be sure that the sensation with v/hich he
grasped it was one of relief. It fitted itself
promptly to the lock and he threw the door wide
open. Will they ever forget the sight which
greeted their eyes .<*

A large handsome room, furnished with exquisite
taste and care, shovving everywhere the touch of a
refined and cultured hand, but in the center of the
room, spread upon a table, was an awful shape,
shrouded in white, and almost literally b'^ried in

345

346

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Hi I'll i|

flowers. A pillow at the head made of immor-
telles, bore the word " Rest " formed of English
violets, and placed at proper distances were cross,
and crown, and harp, and all the various devices
in flowers that modern custom has decreed shall
be prepared for the honor of the dead. The air
was breathless with the odor of tuberoses, hya-
cinths, heliotropes, and all rich and delicate per-
fumes which choice hot-house flowers could bestow.
"He is dead !" said Fern ; "I knew he was."
These were the first words she had spoken since
they started, and her voice was unnaturally calm.
It was evident that her bewildered brain did not
take in the strangeness, not to say the insulting
features of the situation. If Dr. Fletcher were in-
deed dead, what right had other minds than theirs
to order his surroundings ? This thought flashed
instantly upon Elsie, but to judge from Earle
Mason's face there were darker ones in his mind.
He strode forward and tore, rather than removed,
the white covering ; tumbling crown and harp
upon the floor and trampling upon one of them in
his frantic haste. There before them was Dr.
Fletcher's face, the eyes closed, the features set.
He wa^, in evening dress, just as he had left them
the night before. Fern Redpath had moved for-
ward and stood looking down at him, still with
that utterly unnatural calm upon her face ; but
Earle Mason, without so much as glancing at her,
tore away the strictures from about the throat of

AT LAST.

347

the apparently dead, in wild haste, issuin^^ his
orders at the same moment in sharp quick tones.

" This is a case for the doctors ; he is not deaii.
Miss Redpath, take the carriage and drive for Dr.
Wadsworth and Dr. Tluirston. Wadsworth is the
nearest ; do you know where to find him ? Brinpj
him first, and then go for Dr. Thurston with all
possible speed. Elsie, run to the Belvidere and
tell them to send me two men and a pail of hot
water ; and fly both of you ; we will save him
yet ! "

The effect upon Miss Redpath was different
from what he had expected ; she had started at
his first words like one roused from a trance, and
the color rolled in waves over the face which had a
moment before been pallid. She clutched at Earle
Mason's sleeve and spoke in a terrible whisper:

•* Mr. Mason, you say he is not dead ; is it
alcohol ? "

" No," said Earle Mason ; " it is poison. Be
quick, I tell you ! " But he had no need to say the
words ; she had turned on the instant and was
gone, her white bridal robes trailing utterly un-
heeded down the stairs.

That strange day reached its close at last. Cer-
tainly it had been an eventful one to those con-
nected with the tragedy which had been lived
through since its dawning. The physicians sum-
moned in wild haste by Fern Redpath, and two

348

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

others whom they had promptly called to their aid.
had worked for hours as those who were battling
with death. Mr. Mason, Mr. Remington, and others
who joined them, had rushed hither and thither
obeying the orders given them ; while P'ern and
her mother with Mrs. Remington and Elsie staid
in the elegant parlors below, and did that other
harder thing, waited. Fern Rcdpath moved with
quick steps up and down the room, or went out
into the hall and ga::ed up the stairs at the closed
door above, like one who was holding herself in
check by almost superhuman powers ; she had not
yet reached the stage where she could endure the
sound of human voices in inquiry or in sympathy ;
she even looked imploringly toward Mrs. Reming-
ton to answer for her, when her mother spoke.
At last Earle Mason came to them ; the tense
lines p'jout his face were relaxed, and a faint smile
hovered around his lips.

" I bring good news," he said, looking at Fern.
"They have conquered; he is rallying steadily;
the doctors believe that the danger is past." And
then Fern Redpath turned and moved, or tottered
rather, toward a seat, and would have fallen had
not she been caught in Elsie's watchful arms. "

" Poor darling ! " said the mother, bending over
her, ** she never fainted before in her life ; in all
the terrible experiences through which she has
been, she never gave way before. I am afraid it
will kill her."

*^^^yr

iri

AT LAST.

349

"O, no ! " said Mrs. Remington soothingly ; "it
will rest her. I am glad she has fainted ; she was
too self-controlled to endure it longer."

Toward ten o'clock of that same day, they were
lingering, these friends who had lived through so
much together, in Dr. Fletcher's upstairs library.
Weak as he was, he had quietly insisted upon
being dressed, and was sitting back in the large
rocker " being entertained," he said with a smile.
Very little knowledge had they as yet of the facts
connected with the strange experiences of the day.
Truth to tell. Dr. Fletcher knew almost as little
as any of them. He had found some one waiting
for him, he explained, on reaching his rooms the
night before. The son of a poor woman whom he
had befriended ; the boy was in distress ; his
mother was very sick, and the doctor in attend-
ance did not seem to them, to know what he was
about. If Dr. Fletcher would only come and see
her he felt that she would be cured. So Dr.
Fletcher went, of course, and found that there
was need for his services, and staid long, quite
into the night ; then coming home felt exhau.sted,
faint, and remembered that he had been in too
much haste that evening to take his usual, dinner.
He resolved. to step into a coffee-house near at
hand and take a cup of coffee and some rolls.
The coffee-house was one of the more common
sort, he explained, but he was interested in the
young fellow who was trying to keep it, and often

»;
i:

\ ■>■

350

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

stopped there for a cup of coffee or a glass of
milk, in order to encourage the man. He noticed
that there was some delay in serving him that
night ; it had led him to ask after a while, if he
was too late for coffee ; but they assured him that
it would be ready very soon, so he waited not to
hurt the feelings of the proprietor. He noticed
that he was served by a new waiter, one who
seemed unused to the business, and was awkward ;
and the proprietor apologized and said their regular
help for that hour was out, and they had to take
what they could get.

When the coffee was finally brought, he dis-
covered that it was not even so good as usual — and
it was never remarkable for goodness — but this
had a peculiar and disagreeable taste ; however, he
drained the cup, for the same reason that had
brought him to the house ; the proprietor was
watching him, and had no doubt done the best he
could. Then he had gone out, feeling stran^^cly ;
feeling after a few minutes as if the night was grow-
ing chill, and he was getting numb ; he had tried to
walk rapidly to overcome the sense of lethargy,
and had wondered at his being so extremely
tired ; he began to realize that he could not move
rapidly, that his strength was leaving him; then
he became aware that some person or persons met
him, stopped and spoke to him, took hold of him ;
after that he knew absolutely nothing more ; saw
nothing, felt nothing, until roused by a stinging

AT LAST.

351

dis-
and
this
^r, he
bad
was
t he

row-
ed to
argy,
mely

love
then

met
Ihim ;

saw

sensation and be saw Earle Mason bending over
bim. The solemnly awful condition in which he
had at first been found Dr. Fletcher did not yet
know ; flowers and ghastly drapery had been hur-
riedly pushed out of sight, long before he recovered
consciousness.

Many and various were the theories advanced
concerning this strange and, in some respects, hor-
rible experience. In fact, the house had been
alive with speculation all the afternoon.

The doctors in attendance had kept their own
counsel, only admitting, in response to Mason's
eager inquiries, that there had been an improper
use of an opiate ; probably administered by some
person who was ignorant of the true nature of
the article he used, and of the seriousness of its
effect on a constitution like Dr. Fletcher's.

" It is another specimen of those vile attempts
at practical joking, I presume," Dr. Thurston said,
as he drew on his gloves and prepared to depart.
** There is a good deal of that going on, and it
touches high circles, I am told. The miscreants
who planned this probably did not understand
what they were about. They did not mean mur-
der, I suspect ; they only meant a lethargy which
would delay his marriage and cause conster'iation
and misery to a number of persons ; that is some
people's idea of a practical joke. But this was a
very narrow escape. I congratulate you, Mason,
on not being five minutes later."

■ii

^ 11

^i hi

(i':'j!

11^

352

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

"Who could have planned such a thing?" ques-
tioned Mr. Remington. " This coffee-house, for
instance ; the proprietor knows Dr. Fletcher, has
been befriended by him ; I know the young fel-
low ; if I can believe in anybody any more, I
cannot think that he would be guilty of underhand
dealing."

" Probably he was not," answered Dr. Thurston ;
" more than likely the doctor was watched, his
footsteps dogged all the evening with a view to
practicing upon him. Possibly they had planned
to carry out their designs at his club that evening,
or wherever he dines, and as he says he did not
dine at all, and so failed them there, they traced
him elsewhere ; and delayed the coffee, as you
heard him say, and made friends with the new
waiter, who was 'awkward in the business'; or
smuggled one of their number in as waiter pro
tern. ; there are a great many ways of managing
these matters, Mr. Remington. Clergymen can
not be expected to be posted. Dr. Fletcher has
been unfortunate enough to secure the ill will of
some of the hard characters in our city ; it will
not do for either clergymen or physicians to be
too pronounced in their ideas. But I congratulate
you all on the happy termination of what was very
nearly a tragedy, and will bid you good evening."

And this was as far as their efforts at investiga-
tion had led them as yet. But they lingered and
talked in Dr. Fletcher's library.

I ' %

AT LAST.

353

pro

:o be

lulate
very

;tiga-
and

During the afternoon Elsie had been home and
had returned attired in a plain street dress. Also
she had been at the Redpath home, and had
brought to Fern a dress more suitable to the day,
as it had developed, than her bridal robes. Mrs.
Remington, to whom Mrs. Redpath had clung all
day, as one on whom she could lean, had not been
home at all ; but Mr. Remington, who had been
back and forth during the day, had now come tv.
take her away.

" It is time we all went away," said Mr. Rem-
ington, " and left this man to rest. What are the
arrangements for the night. Mason .^ who is to
stay.?"

" I can," said Earle Mason, " if that will be
agreeable."

Then Dr. Fletcher, who had been having a low-
toned conversation with Fern, as she stood beside
his chair, turned toward the group of planners and
electrified them.

" Good friends, before you go I have a great
favor to ask. We were, as you are aware, to have
been married at ten o'clock. It is now nearly ten,
and we are together, and I do not feel as though
we could be separated again. What I ask is that
you will all remain with us a few minutes longer,
and that Mr. Remington will make us husband and
wife."

" Why, my dear Fern ! " exclaimed Mrs. Red-
path. " Surely you will not, you cannot, dear, be

■11

ii- !

354

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

married under such strange circumstances and in
that dress ! "

" Yes, I can, mother." Fern's voice was clear
and calm. " I feel with Dr. Fletcher, that it is
not possible for us to be separated again. I am
not going to leave this house to-night, and I should
be glad to have the right to stay beside him."

" Amen ! " said Earle Mason, in so grave a tone
that no other word would have seemed to fit.

" But, my dear child," urged Mrs. Redpath,
*' what will people say ! And the guests, and then
the elegant wedding breakfast ! "

It was not possible not to smile at this. But
Dr. Fletcher laid one hand on his future mother's
arm. ** My dear mother," he said persuasively,
** think what we have been through ! Will not
the guests forego the pleasure of the marriage
ceremony, in view of what we have suffered ? As
for the ' elegant wedding breakfast,' can we not
have it, say day after to-morrow, and bid them all
to enjoy it with us } Then we will quietly carry
out the other part of the programme and take the
twelve o'clock train. I shall be quite ready for ?
wedding breakfast and journey by that time; but
as for separating us in the meantime, we have
already borne enough."

*' Yes," said Mr. Remington heartily, " I re-
spect your judgment in the matter. Miss Red-
path's nerves have certainly borne enough ; besides,
there is a sort of poetic justice in being married

>.■•■:

AT LAST.

355

after all, despite all your enemies have done to
prevent it, on the very day and hour which you
appointed."

Mrs. Remington, who felt that this conversa-
tion had run in grave channels as long as was
wise for the nerves of some of them, here inter-
posed.

" Really, dear Mrs. Redpath, you may as well
yield ; Mr. Remington is evidently resolved upon
performing this ceremony himself ; I think it gives
him great pleasure to take Dr. Oliver's place.
But do let me put this bride into white again ; the
bridal robes are here, and it will not take the
bridesmaid and myself ten minutes to arrange
them."

So it came to pass that just as the little cathe-
dral clock from its niche in the hall, told in silver
tones that it was once more ten o'clock, the bride,
white-robed and beautiful, stood beside her pallid
bridegroom, and the marriage vows were taken.
Surely there was a peculiar solemnity in the min-
ister's tones, and a peculiar fitness in the words :
" I pronounce you husband and wife. And what
God hath joined together, let not man put
asunder."

Not long thereafter, the groomsman took his
bridesmaid home in a carriage. Of course, as they
rolled through the quiet streets, the startling, con-
stantly varying events of the day were almost of
necessity the topic of conversation.

■ I \

. \ ■

' 1

. "1

Jii

356

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" I do not understand it in detail," said Earle
Mason, " but there are circumstances connected
with it which lead me to believe that it is an ex-
ceedingly complicated piece of business. The
illiterate note, the obscure coffee-house and the
vile cup of coffee are all in keeping with the low-
down class of conspirators ; but the exquisite
villainy exhibited in the management of the whole
after-scene leads me to suspect that another class
of mind was the instigator of the whole. Those
flowers, Miss Chilton, were exquisite ; and all the
appointments costly and beautiful, from the stand-
point of the society world. It looks to me as
though some villain in high life had planned, and
by means of money, or threats, or in some other
way had secured the co-operation of the lower
class. It was the very refinement of villainy, if I
may use the term, which planned all that elegant
array of horror, and left the victim alone to die."

"I know," said Elsie, catching her breath. "I
feel what you mean. It does not seem to me that
I can c^ver again endure the scent of tuberoses, or
mignonetie, or even the sight of English violets.
Wasn't it too awful to place that pillow of flowers
at his head ! Mr. Mason, do you know, I believe
that Aleck Palmer had to do in some way with this
whole matter } "

And then Earle Mason experienced such a shock
through all his frame as none of the previous
occurrences of the day had been able to produce.

AT LAST.

35;

In his astonishment he was guilty of repeating
her words :

" Aleck Palmer had to do with it ! Is it
possible that you have any reason for such a
statement ? "

" No," said £lsie, already ashamed, and realiz-
ing for the hundredth time the immense difference
between the two men. One could originate a
slander against a character which had been above
reproach through all the years of its history, the
other was shocked at the bare suggestion of such
evil, even though he could have no respect for the
character of the man whose name she had
mentioned.

"I ought not to have said that," Elsie made
haste to add; "I thought aloud. But your sug-
gestion that the whole scheme was planned by
some one in high life brought it forcibly to mind.
Mr. Mason, Aleck Palmer hates this whole subject
of Gospel temperance with an extreme hatred.
He has hated Fern, and Dr. Fletcher especially I
think, since the evening of the temperance rally.
I saw him at the reception that evening, with such
a strange, fierce scowl upon his face when he looked
at them, as might have preceded almost any evil
planning. And — he can speak so terribly ill of
others, without any provocc.;;ion, can consider
others capable of such awful things, that 1 feel
sometimes as though it might almost justify me in
thinking that he himself is capable of them. I

fif

358

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

believe him to be a bad man ; and I have reason to
think that he would stoop to any form of revenge,
against those whom he dislikes, provided there
was a fair possibility of his not being discovered."

Mr. Mason was so silent under this avalanche of
astounding words as to fairly force from Elsie her
next hurried sentences.

"I know, Mr. Mason, you think me cruel, un-
christian in my conclusions; I know I ought not
to have spoken as I did, without proof ; but that
man has become such an offense to me, I despise
his character so utterly, that I could hardly help,
under the excitement of the moment, saying what
I did."

*' I could as soon accuse an angel of being cruel
or uncharitable," he said at last, and there was a
strange new note in his voice, almost of exulta-
tion. "I am simply bewildered. Miss Chilton —
overwhelmed ; I have been deceived ; I had sup-
posed, that is, I had been led to think of Mr.
Palmer as your nearest and dearest friend ; and I
thought that any other than respectful words about
him was an insult to you."

Elsie made a little movement almost of impa-
tience, and spoke quickly : " Is it not almost an
insult to me, Mr. Mason, that you conceive of a
man like the one whom you seated on my father's
doorstep while you summoned a policeman to help
him home, as being my nearest and dearest friend ? "
Ah but, I believed you thought him simply

((

ft-.

AT LAST.

359

the victim of the sins of others," he said eagerly,
** even as Dr. Fletcher was to-day. That is what
I thought you had been taught to believe ; the cir-
cumstances are entirely different, T know ; they
did not drug Dr. Fletcher with alcoholic poison,
they were wise enough to know they could not do
that. But I did not know you understood the dif-
ference, fully ; and indeed, Miss Chilton, I thought
I had good authority for my belief ; I tell you
frankly, I overheard the gentleman himself say
that it was an engagement. That it is not so ;
that I hear from your lips that all this is false,
gives me such a feeling to-night as I cannot de-
scribe ; gives me such a hope as I thought never to
have. Elsie, I have been utterly deceived myself ;
have I deceived others .'* Is it news to you that
there has for years been but one woman in the
world to me ? That " —

But these two who have blundered so long and
so well, who have had innumerable opportunities
for enlightening each other, and have but suc-
ceeded in plun']jing themselves into deeper bewil-
derment, may surely now, toward the midnight of
a day so full of excitement, and care, and pain, as
this has been, be permitted to have a little quiet
conversation to themselves, without any intruding
eye to watch, or any inquisitive ear to listen.

,'ii'i

ill'

CHAPTER XXVI.

SELFISHNESS AND SELF-ABNEGATION.

was several days afterwards that Mrs. Rem-
ington told as much as she knew of the story
to her husband, and confided to him the hope that
those two would have peaceable times now, they
have had such a bewildering and stormy acquain-
tance heretofore. ** It does seem to me," she had
said, with a long-drawn sigh, "that it is time for
us all to have a little peace. We have been
through seas of trouble and anxiety, and aLiost
everything that can happen, has. If we cou^ '
only find out the details of that horrible ' ^hcwc
about Dr. Fletcher, and discover what sen;*" Aleck
Palmer to Europe at twenty-four hour--' icf e, '
think I should be willing to settle down for a
while, and let the outside world alone."

"We cannot let the outside v/orld alone," he
had replied gravely. " We must be about our
Master's business. There is a great deal of work
to be done, and ' the night cometh when no man
can work.* I think I must prepare a sermon on
that text ; it has been with me all day ; I have

360

SELFISHNESS AND SELF-ABNEGATION. 361

said it over repeatedly in my study. The night
Cometh when no man can work."

"You are working too hard," his wife had said,
giving him a swift, anxious glance; but he laughed
cheerfully. " I } No, I am in my prime. I never
felt stronger, or better able to work. I am glad
to be a young man yet, and to realize that I have
probably long years before me in which I can
serve Him. But even to the longest life, Mattie,
' the night comcth.' "

The summer sped away. Mr. Remington and
his family went, for the month of August, to the
old farm at Maplewood. There they took long
walks and drives, and lived over again those earlier
days of their life together ; and felt that they were
a great deal older and wiser ; were indeed getting
to be middle-aged people who had had "experi-
ence." Mrs. Remington confided to her husband
that in those early days she had rather longed for
the time to come when she might consider herself
matronly, and of course, wise !

Little John rolled and tumbled in the hay,
frisked with the lambs, fed the chickens, and man-
aged Aunt Hepsy with the skill of a general, and
with twice the success that he had, even with
Aunt Hannah.

One beautiful Saturday they all drove over to
Stony Ridge, and spent the Sabbath ; and Mr.
Remington preached in the old church which he
had helped make new, and compared notes with

•■I

■■M

"• J

362

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" Brother Porter " and cheered that young man's
heart with words of commendation and encourage-
ment ; and little John spent one entire morning
with Mrs. Blake, and his mother was shown the
tub which his majesty had insisted on using for a
bath on that memorable morning, and the clothes
the sallow-faced baby had worn on the night of his
arrival, and Mrs. Blake confided to sympathetic
ears the pangs of wounded feeling she had suffered
over the little shirt ; and the two women had
laughed, and cried, and kissed little John, and
prayed together about it all ; and knew that their
two hearts were knit together in a bond of affec-
tion which deat:! could not sever.

August vanished all too soon. They came back
early in September, to the heat, and the cares,
and the joys of the city.

Mr. Remington took hold of his work with re-
newed vigor. He declared that he had a new lease
of life, and Dr. Fletcher told him, in a significant
tone, that he worked as though he had several
leases of life.

Once more Elsie Chilton renewed her frequent
visits to the Remington home. Not quite so fre-
quent as they used to be; because she had now to
go often to Dr. P'letcher's to keep '* Mrs. Professor"
company, while her husband attended to his duties
in the college.

Apparently, as Mrs. Remington had wished,
life had settled, for them all, into quiet lines at last.

■-*?▼'!

SELFISHNESS AND SELF-ABNEGATION.

fis

)urage-

orning

vn the

g for a
clothes
t of his

athetic

uffered

'■•'

^n had

in, and

at their

)f affec-

le back

cares,

nth re-

\v lease

nificant

several

-eqiient

; so frc-

now to

fcssor"

s duties

wished,

at last.

At least, outwardly. Certainly nothing could be
brighter, or calmer, in the truest sense of that
word, than Dr. and Mrs. Fletcher's life together.

As for Elsie Chilton, what Mrs. Remington con-
sidered the disturbing element in her life, had de-
parted suddenly for Europe. Elsie knew what
had hurried him Lway; her father suspected it,
but she kept her own counsel.

It was after the temperance rally which has been
described, and before the day appointed for Fern
Redpath's marriage, that she received a communi-
cation from Mr. Palmer, dignified and somewhat
haughty. In it he mformed her that he confessed
to some astonishment over the treatment he was
receiving at her hands, having looked upon her as
the very embodiment of refined Christianity. He
had explained to her in detail the manner in which
he had fallen victim to a conspiracy against him ;
he had hinted that he knew who the chief conspir-
ator was, and had only refrained from mentioning
his name, out of motives of courtesy to her, since
she had been so unfortunate as to number him
among her acquaintances. He had failed to hint
what he strongly suspected : that jealousy was the
ruling motive prompting the villainous act, be-
cause he himself had the honor to be known as
her friend. It seemed strange indeed to him, that
having made all possible explanations, and borne
much in silence, in order to shield her from un-
pleasant notoriety, he should be treated so coldly,

i'-

364

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

SO — if the lady in question were anybody but
Miss Chilton he would have to say — discourte-
ously. Would she kindly inform him what further
concession she demanded at his hands? In what
way could he show that he was willing to serve not
only her, but her father, to the extent of his poor
ability ?

If he had not been plain-spoken enough in the
past, if she would afford him opportunity he
should be only too glad to express himself with ut-
most plainness. He had supposed that there was
an implied understanding between them ; that of
course the old friendship was as strong as ever.
If he had been misunderstood, or if there was any-
thing which he could do to make his position, and
his intentions perfectly plain to Miss Chilton, he
was prepared to do it, but he felt that he had the
right of a gentleman to demand that he should be
treated with ordinary courtesy. So long as she
chose to frown upon every attempt on his part
to see and converse with her, what could he be
expected to do

This long, rambling, and in some respects, con-
tradictory letter was read hurriedly by Elsie, and
responded to promptly, with unmistakable plain-
ness :

" Miss Chilton declines to hold any further
communication with Mr. Palmer, either by letter
or conversation, upon this subject or any other,
from this time forth."

fit,.- ■,

; I
I

i ■

"KT-r

SELFISHNESS AND SELF-ABNEGATION.

36s

Within a very few days thereafter Mr. Palmer
had sailed for Europe. There were, however,
other reasons for his sudden departure, best
understood by himself. Elsie Chilton's rash
statement charging him with complicity in the
crime connected with Dr. Fletcher, had more
foundation than he would have cared to own.
Not that he had lent himself deliberately, or in
any sense of the word openly, to such a disgrace-
ful proceeding; nevertheless, he was unpleasantly
conscious that the conception of the whole plan
might possibly be traced to him. He had certainly
felt bitterly angry against Dr. Fletcher for taking
care to make a public and detailed statement to
the effect that only those who were habitual
users of stimulants could be the subject of prac-
tical jokes. It is true Dr. Fletcher did not make
any such statement, but it was easy to imagine he
had ; also he was angry with Dr. Fletcher on
general principles, as a man who was succeeding
in the plan of life which he had mapped out for
him.self, and as one of a certain clique which, by
tacit consent, had shut him out ; that Elsie Chilton
belonged to that cUque, was the sore point.

The "scowl " which had seemed to Elsie a fore-
runner of evil, had indeed accompanied evil
thoughts. Mr. Palmer, remembering his own
disgrace, which was certainly known to at least
two persons belonging to that clique — and he
could not be sure to how many more — felt an

366

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

almost consuming desire to make the immaculate
Dr. Fletcher a marked victim to the skill of prac-
tical jokers.

He went directly from the reception to a cer-
tain club meeting which was composed of young
men who had money enough, and drank high-
priced liquors enough to make them dare to
undertake anything, and reported as much of
the conversation he had overheard as he chose, to-
gether with quotations, highly colored by his
imagination, from the evening's addresses by
Fern Redpath and Dr. Fletcher. He knew that
these society young men were sufficiently under
the influence of liquor at the moment to deeply
resent what they would call the insult to their set ;
then, when he had produced the right impression,
he admitted that such people ought to be taught a
lesson, and related a striking instance of "getting
the better " of a certain man who considered him-
self above the common lot of mortals. The boys
were deeply interested in the story ; noisily
applauded some portions of it, and openly declared
that they should like to see that *' piece of perfec-
tion who considered it his business to go around
giving public lectures about them, come up with "
in some way. Then they actually fell to discuss-
ing how it could be managed ; and some one
suggested that Joe Patterson and his set could
maucL, J ll:^ dirty part ; they were up to any kind
of mean woik that could be imagined, and hated

■rr-

SELFISHNESS AND SELF-ABNEGATION.

367

the temperance ring with all their hearts ; and
then Mr. Palmer had excused himself in some
haste, and gone away. As he reflected upon all
this afterwards, it made the color flame into his
face to think how startlingly like the incident he
had told, were some of the details of Dr. Fletcher's
experience. Only of course the fellows blundered.
Who had supposed they would be so reckless as
to narrowly escape causing the death of their
victim ? He had not dreamed of such a result.
But suppose for a moment that some of the
bunglers should be caught — and there was every
reason to fear it ; that Mason fellow was quick-
witted and long-brained, and meant to succeed ;
and suppose a detailed account of his conversation
in the club room that night should actually come
into court } It would have an ugly sound. Of
course a man could not be arrested because he
had talked carelessly with a party of half-drunken
fellows, but it certainly would not comport with
his dignity to be cross-questioned, for instance ;
perhaps by Earle Mason himself. Horrible !
After giving heed to that thought for the space
of a minute, Mr. Palmer hastened his departure
from the country, and planned to make his stay
indefinite.

Mr. Chilton's affairs went swiftly toward their
consummation. Disaster was in the air. Almost
ruin looked the troubled man in the face. Then
arose a most unexpected deliverer. A business

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368

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

man of undoubted integrity, whose name was
a power in the business world, but with whom
Mr. Chilton had had very little in common, came
suddenly forward and volunteered the use of his
name to an almost unlimited extent. He would
make no explanations as to the reason for this
strange conduct, and laughed at Mr. Chilton's
embarrassed and voluble efforts to be sufficiently
grateful.

"Why, man," he said heartily, "there is no
occasion for such deep gratitude. I understand
the situation perfectly. I do not expect to lose
a cent by you. I am an old man, ar d have been
through all these stages of depression and anxiety.
I have been able to look into your affairs some-
what, and I see plain sailing for you in the future,
with a little management just now ; therefore I
offer the helping hand. It is no more than any
man of common sense, who had the money lying
idle, would be willing to do. It is a business
transaction, done in a friendly way. There is
nothing incongruous between business and friend-
ship, Mr, Chilton."

And the bewildered man of business did not
know then, though he did long afterwards, that
the merchant prince was the devoted friend and
admirer, I might almost say lover of the young
lawyer, Earle Mason. It hardly need be added
that he was also a lover of the Lord Jesus Christ,
and ordered his business life, p-s well as all

SELFISHNESS AND SELF-ABNEGATION. 369

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his other concerns, under the guidance of that
master mind. So the financial crash was averted,
and Mr. Chilton " floated through " without the
aid of Aleck Palmer, greatly, it must be confessed,
to that gentleman's bewilderment and chagrin.
Nevertheless, this did not make " smooth sailing "
for his daughter. Obstinacy was Mr. Chilton's
ruling passion. She had thwarted him, this one
child of his ; had overset the darling plans of his
lifetime. His fortune was saved to him and to
her, but the magnificent estates which might have
been joined to his were lost, simply through her
obstinacy. Since she would not marry Aleck
Palmer — and he discovered at last that this was
precisely what his daughter meant — she certainly
should not marry, with his consent, that " upstart
of a lawyer," who had his own way to make in the
world, with nothing to fall back upon, and who
had made all the trouble between the other two.

They had had upon this subject, he and his
daughter, what Mr. Chilton called some " plain
English." At which time he informed her that,
as she had chosen to upset all his plans, of course
there was nothing to be done but to take the con-
sequences. He meant to be perfectly frank with
her. That Mason fellow had had the impudence
to ask his permission to address her, for which he
was glad, as it gave him an opportunity to tell him
what he thought of him. If Elsie had decided to
remain at home, he was entirely willing ; it would

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370

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

probably be more pleasant to have her in t.ie
house than out of it, and he had enough to sup-
port her ; but as for her marrying that Mason
fellow, she must understand, once for all, that she
would have to choose between them. She was of
age, and could no doubt do as she pleased ; but so
could he. From the hour when she should marry
that person, she might understand that he would
have no more to do wit)i her than if they were
total strangers. Miss Chilton he was willing to
support, but Mrs. Mason never !

His daughter listened very quietly. There was
perl.aps an added pallor to her face, but no sur-
prise in look or manner. She understood her
father, better than he thought. When at last he
gave her an opportunity to speak, her voice was
very quiet.

"Papa," she said, "you have certainly spoken
very plainly; I will do the same. If you care to
have me with you, and I think you do, I will
promise never to leave you ; never to marry any
one without your full and free consent. I have
known for a long time that there was only one
person whom I could ever marry, and that person
is Mr. Mason. But I can remain unmarried, and
if that will give you a little comfort, papa, I shall
be glad to stay with you always ; and I will try to
be as good a daughter to you as I can. I am
sorry I had to act contrary to your wish, for I love
you, papa, with all my heart ; and I am willing to

, t

i^TT"

SELFISHNESS AND SELF-ABNEGATION. 37I

prove it by giving up my way for your sake, I
had to disappoint you, because to do other than
I did, feeling as I did, would have been a sin ; but
you may understand now, that from this time I
belong to you ; and I will not trouble you about
this matter again."

Then she had stooped over the chair in which
he was sitting, and touched her lips ever so
lightly to his forehead, and gone away.

Mr. Chilton sat there for an hour, feeling like
a brute. Indeed, he frankly called himself a
selfish man ; more selfish than he had ever sup-
posed he could be. Yet so carefully had he
trained himself to have his own way in the world,
so persistently had he refused to yield his plans in
the smallest degree to others, that he presently
accepted the condition of things as one accustomed
to ruling, and arose at last to go to his business,
feeling that his troubles were well over, and that
if Elsie would settle down and be happy, they
could have a pleasanter life, on the whole, than
would have been possible with Palmer as a hus-
band and son, dictating to them both. And so
absorbed was he with his business, that I do not
think he realized how completely he had crushed
the blossoms along his daughter's path. There
were two who realized it, however ; and there was
one woman who did not hesitate to tell Elsie that
she believed she had done wrong in yielding thus
to her father's unreasonable prejudices ; but Earle

ii!i

372

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

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Mason never told her so. " She must be true to
her conscience," he told himself with a long-drawn
sigh. " God forbid that I should ever come
between a .soul and its duty, as the Lord Jesus
Christ reveals it."

As soon as the autumn evenings were of suffi-
cient length, Mr. Remington carried out one of
his plans, which had been maturing all summer.
That was to institute a series of Gospel temper-
ance meetings, beginning in his church. He
called to his assistance a noted temperance
worker, a man of energy and power, and one
whose experience as a worker had been among
some of the hardest classes to be found in large
cities.

Finding, after a brief experience, that many of
the hard characters whom he was trying to reach
could not be induced to enter a church building,
Mr. Remington rented a hall in the heart of the
city, Mr. Hargrave, Dr. Fletcher and others of
their stamp rallying around him for this purpose.
Then began aggressive temperance work, in a
locality which was surrounded on all sides by
saloons of almost every type.

That the work was owned c.nd honored of the
Master could be proven any night by watching
the groups of blear-eyed, red-faced, fallen human
beings who tarried to the after-meeting, or ling-
ered about the door to have a word with Mr.
Remington, or rose up to be prayed for when the

SELFISHNESS AND SELF-ABNEGATION.

373

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invitation was given. Among those half-intoxi-
cated and wholly miserable who shuflled forward
one evening and knelt around the platform, having
been asked to give that indication of their desire
to begin a new life, was one whom Earle Mason
noticed with a start which had dismay in it as well
as surp'.ise. He was standing in the aisle, waiting
to speak a word to some one who he krew was
weighing the question whether he should move or
not, when the fellow stumbled past him. He
leaned forward with one eager glance at the hard
face, then bending to Mrs. Remington, who occu-
pied an aisle chair near him, said in an undertone:

"The one who just passed you in Dan Stokes."

Now Dan Stokes was a name which had power
to bring terror to Mrs. Remington's soul. It was
the name of the man for whom they had been
looking so long and persistently. It was the
name of the man who, they believed, had planned
and carried out the capture of little John.

The mother's face was white with pain as the
thought of those awful days, when she had lived
without knowledge of her baby's whereabouts, re-
turned to her ; and she leaned forward and gazed
with frightened eyes at the fellow for whom they
had been so long hunting.

** Are you sure .<* " she asked in a trembling voice.

" Very sure," answered Earle Mason ; " I knew
the fellow quite well by sight. I wonder that he
has dared to show his face here ! Look ! the poor

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wretch is kneeling, and Mr. Remington is talking
with him. I do not suppose he has the least idea
who it is ; but the fellow must know who is bend-
ing over him ; though perhnns not, he is partially
intoxicated. Mrs. Remington, I feel very much
like sending for an officer and arresting him at
once. Shall I do so ? "

"No," came from Mrs. Remington's grave lips ;
" not now ; not yet, at least. I do not know. How-
can we tell but the Lord is speaking to him ?
Look ! my husband has dropped en his knees
beside him, and is praying for him."

For the remainder of the evening Mrs. Reming-
ton had eyes only for Dan Stokes. She watched
him with a frightened face and a fluttering at her
heart which she could not control. She noticed
that her husband kept him in sight, even after he
had risen and stepped back a little from the plat-
form. At intervals Mr. Remington would turn
and speak a few words to him. When the meet-
ing closed, as the minister caught sight of his wife,
he motioned her forward. Mr. Mason, who had
seen his call, made a way for her through the
aisle, and followed her.

" Do you know who yon have here ? " he asked,
speaking low to the minister, with a significant
movement of his head toward Dan Stokes, who
stood with hands in his pockets and eyes on the
fioor, noticing no one, and seeming like the very
embodiment of despair.

SELFISHNESS AND SELF-AnNEGATION. 3/5

"Yes," said Mr. Remington, in clear tones, "I
know. Mattie, I want your advice. What can we
do with this man ^ He is terribly tempted ; he
does not dare to go out of this building ; he does
not dare to promise that he will get to his attic
to-night without going into some of these saloons.
He is urged on by an awful appetite which makes
him long for drink in a way that you and I cannot
understand ; he is urged on by boon companions,
who are determined that he shall not reform.
And yet he wants to, I can feel that he does. Do
you know who he is, dear.? Has Mason told you .-*
Well, what is there I can do for him ? If I had
an asylum where I could take him for a few days,
and stand by him and help him fight this battle
out, he might come off conqueror in the name of
Jesus Christ. But there is no place in this city
for such sorely tried souls as his."

** Bring him home," said Mrs. Remington, her
voice firm and resolute. "Bring him home, John,
and we will help — Aunt Hannah and little John,
and I."

"God bless my wife!" said Mr. Remington,
and now his voice quivered. Then, observing that
his friend had heard every word, " What is such a
wife as that worth, Mason ? Will you go and g-^t
a carriage for me, large enough to hold my family
and Dan Stokes — and yourself; come with us,
will you ? "

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE NIGHT COMETH.

»»

' ^ W/'E liave had a hard fight," said Aunt
V V Hannah a few days afterwards, as she
sewed bright buttons all over little John's kilt suit,
and told the story of Dan Stokes and his experi-
ences to Elsie Chilton; "a real downright hard
fight all around. Dan Stokes has been fought for
by all the demons in the p't, ever since he has
been in the house. My John — bless him — did
not leave the fellow day or night for forty-eig^t
hours; and I believe he has come off conqueror;
or rather Jesus Christ has. It has been a strange
experience, Elsie ; the strangest feeling I ever had
in my life, was when I knelt down in this room
last night at family worship, and heard Dan Stokes
try to pray! It was real praying, too ; there was a
good deal of stammering about it, of course ; but I
sometimes think stammerings get translated up
there into language that would astonish us. You
ought to have heard him pray for little John ! "
And then Aunt Hannah's voice broke, and she
stopped to wipe away the tears. " It beats all how

376

"THE NIGHT COMETH

that little fellow takes to him ! he has just petted
him all day long ; showed him his horses, and his
' toot ! toot ! ' and his soldiers, and all his pictures,
and I don't know what not. He has patted his
hand, and brushed the hair out of his eyes, and
actually kissed his great rough face ! That broke
Dan Stokes' heart outright. He just put down his
head and cried like a baby ; and little John said,
' Poor man, poor sorry man ! don't cry.'

" We have all had a victory," continued Aunt
Hannah, as Elsie wiped her eyes suspiciously,
"Jane and I among the others," and she glanced
around at Jane, whose face grew red as she bent
over the grate she was brushing, but who answered
the glance with an appreciative smile. " We
couldn't stand Dan Stokes at first, either of us.
Jane said she 'couldn't abide him * ; she should go
wild with fear if he staid in the house all night.
And I felt a good deal so myself, though I made
up his bed. But I took off the white spread, and
the white toilet things on the bureau, and put
them away. I wasn't going to stand having Dan
Stokes touch any of them. And she came in,
don't you think, and put the white spread on again,
and fixed the toilet things, and added some more
to them, and put flowers in the vase."

"Jane did } " interrupted Elsie in surprise.

" Jane, child ! no ; Martha of course ; the guar-
dian angel of this household. She fixed things
all up again as nice as she could have done for her

.!l

378

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

own mother ; then she put her arms around my
neck and kissed me. Says she, * It is for His
sake, dear Aunt Hannah ; you know He died for
Dan Stokes ! and I cannot forget it.* I'll be
bound if I hadn't forgotten it outright ; it all
came over me like a flash how He would have man-
aged ; and here I wasn't willing for him to have the
white spread on his bed ! Well, as I say, we arc
all conquered. When little John kissed him, that
was the end of it for me ; and it was about the
end of it for him too, I guess. I never saw a man
cry so in my life. I made up my mind that if
Jesus Christ can save Dan Stokes — and I believe
he has — there is no limit to his power."

Truly He was making his power visible during
the days which followed. Dan Stokes, clean-
shaven, cleanly dressed, standing up in the Gospel
temperance meetings and declaring in plain, simple
words that the Lord Jesus Christ had met him on
the way, and saved his soul and given him a refuge
from his enemy, was testimony that could not be
withstood. " God bless you ! " said Philip King
holding his hand in a firm grasp one evening.
" You've got hold of the right helper. Brother
Stokes ; He will carry you through, provided you
trust Him entirely. You know me, don't you .-* I
was a worse drunkard than you ; lower down, in a
sense, for I had better opportunities in life to sin
against. I tried all sorts of reforms ; and I couldn't
reform any more than a drowning man can keep

THE NIGHT COMETH.

• >

379

himself from drowning. Then I tried Jesus Christ
half-way ; partly I trusted in him, and partly I trusted
in the good resolutions of Philip King ; that was
a failure ; good resolutions unless they are built on
the Rock Christ Jesus, are walls of sand. Then I
tried him in a way which I now know to be pre-
sumption : I walked into temptation, when I could
have gone the other way, and expected him to
save me ; Stokes, I don't believe he v/ill ever do it.
There is a sense in which the Lord e.xpects us to
do our part ; and our part is that which we can do ;
you and I know there are places where we cannot
do ; and those he looks after. Do you get my
meaning } "

•* Aye," said Dan Stokes, brushing away the
tears, " I understand ; and I mean to keep out of
temptation just as much as I can in this awful
world ; it is an awful world for fellows like me,
now isn't it } I have to pass seventeen saloons on
my way home from work. But I know what you
mean ; they told me you got tempted inside the
church walls. I won't have that to fight against.
I'm going to be in Mr. Remington's church, sir,
and he won't have no temptation of that kind in
any church where he goes. Maybe you don't know
him .? "

** Indeed I do !" answered Philip King, his eyes
lighting. " I know him, Stokes ; but only the Lord
himself knows all that he has done for me."

"That's it," said Dan Stokes j "words won't tell

fi'

38o

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

it, they won't ; but I'm going to give my life, I
am, to showing him and his wife, and his boy, that
they have saved me. It is the greatest wonder to
me yet, that they could care to have me saved ;
but they did — even the little fellow. 'Poor sorry
man ! * he said, * don't cry,* " and then Dan Stokes
got out his clean white handkerchief and wiped
away the tears.

Two more wonderful weeks passed ; the Gospel
temperance meetings were still in full tide of
power, when Mr. Remington left them one even-
ing in charge of others, and went to answer a call
to another part of the city, where there was a
political rally.

" Gospel temperai^ce is all very well," said the
man who had come to urge for his help, " I be-
lieve in it with all my soul ; you know that, as
well as anybody ; but so do the saloon men, if you
don't go any farther. That is, they are willing
you should pray a good deal, and sing as many
gospel hymns as you please ; they can even stand
the conversion of Dan Stokes and a few fellows
like him, who have spent all their money in the
saloons ; tney are willing to tolerate all this if you
will let their votes alone. They a^e more or less
mad, it is true, at all temperance workers, on gen-
eral principles ; but the people for whom they
have a downright and ever-increasing dislike, to
put it mildly, are the people who touch the politi-
cal side of this question. They don't understand

THE NIGHT COMETH.

»»

3S1

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the power of prayer, and are therefore not so much
afraid of it ; but the power of a vote they can ap-
preciate; just as long as they can keep the pray-
ing on one side, and the voting on the other, they
consider themselves comparatively safe."

But Mr. Remington, in his speech that night,
by no means kept " the praying on one side, and
the voting on the other." "Vote as you pray,"
might almost have been said to be the text of the
sermon he preached. A strong, keen, logical ser-
mon, addressed to keen-brained men, voters, every
one of them ; men who listened intently, and
weighed carefully the problems which he presented
before them, and the facts and figures with which
he clinched his arguments.

The man who had called for him walked back
with him to the hall when his twenty minutes*
speech was concluded.

" You did some good work for the cause to-
night, Mr. Remington," he said. " That speech
will give us a dozen more votes at least, I believe ;
and we are getting where a dozen more votes will
tell. We are gaining on the enemy, Mr. Reming-
ton, as sure as the world ! If we could only have
all the church members with us, how quickly we
would sweep this curse out of the land !"

" Yes," said Mr. Remington, and he could not
forbear a sigh. Even in his own beloved church
there were men who loved him, and prayed with,
an4 for him, and who worked earnestly in the

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382

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Gospel temperance meetings, and were honest to
the heart's core, he knew, yet who would in a few
days go to the polls anc. array themselves against
him, and on the side of the saloons which he and
they were fighting.

" It is very strange," he said. " It is the prob-
lem of the centuries how to understand the honest
Christian people of our country on this question.
There is nothing like it ; we see eye to eye on
every other moral question under the sun. I do
not understand it ; the utmost tliat I can do is to
work and pray and wait. I am willing to do the
working and praying," he added with a slight
laugh, " but there are some of my people for whom
it seems hard to wait."

•' I know it," answered his friend ; " I know pre-
cisely how you feel. I have a brother, as good a
man as ever lived ; as good as gold, and as square
as he can be on all other questions, as you say ;
but when it comes to tb's, there isn't a bat in the
world as blind as he. It is unaccountable to me,
except on the principle that the 'god of this world
has blinded his eyes,' When I get to thinking
about it, and get all wrought up, as you have
wrought me up to-night, Mr. Remington, by your
speech, the only language in which I can express
myself is the old ciy, *0, Lord! how long .-* ' "
Then they reached the door of the hall where the
temperance meeting was still in progress, and
3hook hands and separated. A few steps away,

"THE NIGHT COMETH.

383

then the gentleman turned and called out : " Oh !
hold on, Brother Remington. I forgot one or
two things. Do you have service to-morrow
evening?"

" Yes, sir ; service every evening," said Mr.
Remington, in exultant tone ; these Gospel meet-
ings held night after night, with as much persist-
ence as the saloons, were his soul's delight.

" Can you get away and go down to the South
End for a few minutes* talk, such as you have
given to-night } "

" O, yes ! I can go for a little while ; I have good
helpers in these meetings."

" All right ; thank you. And how about Sun-
day } Can you give us a little Gospel temperance
talk, say fifteen minutes or so, at the South End
Mission ; for the young people — the boys — who
will be voters in another year or two, you know } "

" Yes," said Mr. Remington, again speaking
heartily ; " yes, I can ; I am glad to speak to the
boys, every chance I can get ; the boys who will
vote in a year, or two, or three, are the hope of
our country to-day. Your meeting is at four, is
it not } I will be there, if nothing unforeseen
prevents."

It was nearly two hours later when Mr. Rem-
ington was taking swift strides up the street,
making all speed to catch the last car which would
go out his way that night. The meeting had been
long closed, but he had tarried to have a little aftep

i^i:^:

384

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTVR.

meeting talk with half a dozen evil-looking men,
who yet looked better this night than they had
before in months, some of them in years ; in that
they were nearly sober, and had within them a weak
longing after a better life. Two of them, in par-
ticular, held Mr. Remington late ; their lines in life
were hard; they had families — little children ; they
were very poor ; they were weak in body, through
long dissipation ; unable to work much, had work
been at their hands ; they needed good food, and
care, and kindness, and patience, such as Jesus
Christ, had he been on earth, would, without ques-
tion, have bestowed; and Mr. Remington, who was
coming into daily and hourly contact with just
such cases, felt at times almost in despair, because
Jesus Christ, in the person of his Church, was will-
ing to do so little for such as these. Since the
world was what it was, how were such as these to
be saved ?

He took a cross-cut through one of the darker
by-streets of the city, revolving the problem as he
went. How to meet the needs of these men, who
with feeble effort were reaching toward reform ?
How tide them over the gulf which lay between
them and respectability ? How steer them past
the many open doors of saloons wooing them with
brilliant lights, and sounds of laughter and good
cheer, and odors which enticed them in a way that
men like himself could not understand.

If I only had a house," he said aloud, ^'a hom«^

"THE NIGHT COMETH.

(•

3S5

of my own that I could make into a sort of earthly
refuge for even a few of them at a time, and tide
them over! If we had a home in which to put a
man like Philip King, what could not he and his
wife and little Carroll do for tempted souls ? Oh,
for some of the millions which are being wasted
in this city! If I could have " — but the sentence
was never finished. He had been conscious for sev-
eral minutes of steps behind him, moving rapidly
as he did, crossing streets when he crossed ;
vaguely conscious of it, not attaching any special
importance to it.

He halted near a street lamp and drew his watch
to time himself as to the probability of his secur-
ing that last car. He was but two blocks away
from it now, and the footsteps gained on him. He
struck into an alley, which would take him by a
still shorter route to the avenue. The footsteps
followed him. It was just as he said to himself,
** If I could have," that there came the sharp re-
port of a pistol shot startling the quiet air ; and
then another following it in quick succession.
But apparently there had been no need of that
second one; for with the first Mr. Remington had
fallen to the ground The alley was dark and de-
serted ; the footsteps that had dogged him had no
difficulty in turning .' nd fleeing in the direction
whence they ad come They were lost even to
sound ")y the Jme the policeman, stationed near
the co-ner, couk reach tne spot, though he made

11^

lil'n

3S6

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

all speed in the direction of the sound which had
startled him.

As he bent over the prostrate man he uttered an
exclamation of dismay :

'• It's the preacher ! " Then he wh'stled for
help.

At the parsonage, Mrs. Remington and her
friends were quietly awaiting the home-coming of
the head of the house. Mrs. Remington had not
been down to the evening meeting, and Elsie Chil-
ton, who was spending several days with her, had
been attended home from the first meeting by
Earle Mason. Dr. and Mrs. Fletcher were also
there, having driven out after the service, to enjoy
a few minutes' chat.

" We ought not to have come out here to-night,"
said Dr. Fletcher, consulting his watch ; " of course
we knew we would stay too late, if we came. But
I thought Mr. Remington would be at home be-
fore this, and I wanted to see him a moment about
that committee work he has set me at."

•* He meant to be at home early," said Mrs.
Remington ; " he said he meant to plan to work a
little in the study this evening ; he is not ready
for the Sabbath, and expects an unusually busy
day to-morrow with outside duties. Something
extra must have occurred to detain him so late
to-night."

"Those half-dozen men who went into the sec-
ond meeting are the unexpected detentions, de-

■T*

"THE NIGHT COMETH

387

late

lec-

1 de-

pend upon it," answered Earle Mason. " One of
them is a fellow for whom he has been watching
and praying for weeks ; he enjoys the reputation
of being one of the hardest cases in the city. He
will need a great deal of help and care, to-night, I
presume. I suspect I ought to have staid to see
what I could do towards caring for him ; but I
was too sorely tempted." This last in undertone,
with a smile for Elsie. There were times when
this young man thought that the lines of his life
were fallen in hard places. The woman he loved,
and who loved him, was as hopelessly shut away
from him as ever she had been. He did not feel
at liberty to visit her in her father's house ; at
least, he did not feel comfortable in doing so, and
they were, most of the time, dependent upon chance
meetings at Mr. Remington's or at Dr. Fletcher's.
Mrs. Remington was greatly tried about the whole
matter. "It is perfectly unnatural," she assured
her husband, " and the whole thing will have to be
righted in some way. I don't know how, I am
sure. I do not want Mr. Chilton to die, and yet "
— here she came to a sudden stop.

" And yet, my dear, you could consent to even
that affliction for the good of the cause ! Is that
your meaning ? " her husband had asked, smiling.

"No; but really, John, something ought to be
done ; two lives like theirs ought not to be wasted
in that way."

" Something will be done," he had answered.

388

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" In His own good time all that i,«> wrong will be
righted, Mattie dear ; we must trust Him for Elsie
as well as for ourselves."

It was growing very late. Dr. Pietcher looked
again at his watch and starting up, p.nnounced that
they must go at once. " And by the way," he
added, " there goes the last up-town car for the
night. Was not Mr. Remington coming in it ? "

" There is no accounting for Mr. Remington,"
Earle Mason answered lightly. "He doubtless
thinks he is, but in nine cases out of ten it is my
opinion that he loses the last tar, and has to come
on foot ; which will be my fate if I tarry longer."

" Hark ! " said Mrs. Remington, " some one is
coming ; that must be John. Why ! there are sev-
eral coming up the steps. Do you suppose he has
brought the * half-dozen ' home with him ? If he
has, you must all stay and help get them settled
for the night."

By this time. Dr. Fletcher, who had been stand-
ing near the window, uttered an exclamation, and
started for the hall, followed closely by Earle Ma-
son. Mrs. Remington looked after them in sur-
prise, turned one bewildered glance upon Mrs.
Fletcher and Elsie, and asked, " Do they think
anything is wrong ? " Then she too went toward
the hall in time to see the tall forms of two police-
men carrying something very tenderly in their
strong arms.

** He is not dead," said Dr. Fletcher, turning

THE NIGHT COMETH."

389

hastily toward her; " he has been injured, and has
fainted from loss of blood. You must be very
brave, Mrs. Remington ; you are needed to care
for him."

And it was Mrs. Remington who led the way up
stairs, and prepared the bed, and brought scis-
sors, and wet cloths, and restoratives, and obeyed
swiftly and silently the brief hurried directions of
the doctor.

' i

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE UPPER CHAMBER.

* ^ \ Tl 7ILL he die ? " asked Mrs. Fletcher, clutch-
V V ing at her husband's arm as soon as she
could get speech with him. *'• Paul, is it a mortal
wound } "

"I do not know, dear, yet ; I cannot tell." He
was hurriedly writing a few lines on a piece of
paper as he spoke, and now handed it to Earle
Mason. " Take my carriage," he said, "and I need
not tell you to make all speed. This note will ex-
plain to my assistant boy what is needed. Bring
Thurston back with you, and Delafield if you can
find him."

The gray dawn of the November morning was
creeping in at the eastern window beffore Dr.
Fletcher turned from his charge with a faint smile
for the wife who had been speechless, tearless and
efficient during all those terrible hours, watching,
waiting for, she knew not what !

** We hope he will live, Mrs. Remington," he
said. " We have not dared to say so before."

" Mamma ! " called a wondering voice at the

390

'< !■

THE UPPER CHAMBER.

391

chamber door, and little John in his white woollen
gown, his curls all in a lovely tangle, and his face
with the flush of sleep still upon it, looked in with
astonished eyes upon the scene. His mother
made haste to him, gathered him in her arms,
buried her face in his curls and wet them with the
first tears which had come to relieve her burning
eyes during all the night vigil.

Yes, he lived. But it was days before they
were sure of it ; long, terrible days and more ter-
rible nights ; when the valuable life hung in the
balance, and it seemed as if a hair's breadth would
turn the scales. During all this time, excitement
ran high in the city ; men of all shades of belief
and unbelief united to express their horror of the
crime ; and gathered in groups, and in societies
and in clubs to discuss the terrible questions of
" How ? " and " Why ? " They organized vigilance
committees whose avowed purpose it was to seek
the murderer and bring him to justice. Resolu-
tions were passed by the dozen ; and indignant
men declared that the thought that such deeds
were possible was a disgrace to civilization ; and
said that the would-be-murderer was drunk, of
course ; no man in the possession of his senses
would ever have been guilty of such a cold-blooded,
cowardly, unprovoked outrage as that. And then
they voted, some of them, some of these very men,
and within a few days* time, to license more liquor
saloons ! Not all of them ; not all even of those

392

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

who had been in the habit of voting the license
ticket were counted on that side in the election.

The first bit of nev/s Earle Mason ventured to
tell the wounded man was that the Ward about
which he had felt most anxious, and for which he
had worked the hardest, had had a temperance vic-
tory in the late election. " Directly traceable to
your address that night," he added eagerly. "The
vote was close, and if three men, who it is said
changed their views that night, had not done so,
we should have lost it." And then he wondered if
he should add another item of news, to the effect
that the mystery connected with the assault upon
Dr. Fletcher was solved, and the leading conspir-
ators were now av/aiting trial. He reflected that
he would not ; there was an element of pain in
that bit of news ; two of the men were those for
whom Mr. Remington had prayed and worked
much. Of course they ought to be punished for
their crime ; but it was the old story ; if they had
not been " in liquor" they would never nave been
guilty of such a deed. What need to tell the man
who had tried so hard to save them, of the depth
of their fall. "It is really Aleck Palmer who
ought to suffer in their stead," the young lawyer
muttered. For the developments connected with
the trial were to be fully as disgraceful as that
European gentleman had imagined they might be.

Mr. Remington lived ; but what a shattered life
it was !

THE UPPER CHAMBER.

393

The first time his wife was told of it, that the
beautiful strong limb, which had been swift to go
with its fellow upon errands of love and mercy all
these years, must be cut away as the only hope of
saving the precious life, she shut herself into her
own private room for hours. She did not dare to
look upon her husband's face, she could not even
take little John in her arms ; she had to go away
and be alone with Christ, and fight the battle out
with her rebellious breaking heart. How could
she have him in his strong young manhood, in the
full glory of his successful work, broken and
maimed before her — a cripple for life ! Yes, more
than a cripple ; she had known for several days
that the spine was injured, and that the doctors
feared he might not walk in a long, long time.

Now he could never walk ; except possibly to
hobble around on crutches, and even that was very
doubtful. Her brave strong athlete, in whose
unusual strength she had so gloried, to be shot
down in the night by a drunken wretch, one of
those whom he was spending his life to save.
How could she have it so ? How could this Chris-
tian nation tolerate the curse which had made such
an experience possible ? Nay, there was a harder
battle than that to fight : the poor hard-pressed
trembling woman was assaulted even on her knees
by the powers of darkness gathering under the
banner of that one awful question : How could
God be good and have it so } Why, why had he let

394

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

this horror of suffering and helplessness come upon
his young willing servant ?

She came off victor ! oh ! you know that. He
never leaves his own, for the enemy to vanquish.
But she had to fight the battle on her knees, in
bitterness of soul ; and to cry out, again and again :
" Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him."

She came out from that closed room a victorious
woman, and answered the smile on her husband's
face and his murmured, *• Mattie darling, it is all
right ? " with a steady, " Yes; it is all right ; " and
added with a sort of solemn triumph in her voice,
" And they rejoiced that they were counted worthy
to suffer shame for His name."

The weeks went by ; tne sacrifice was made,
^nd by Christmas time the wreck of the once
splendid form, with his right leg gone, and his left
arm partially paralyzed, and his back too weak to
sit erect, could yet rest among the pillows of the
curiously constructed chair planned for such as he,
and smile, and visit with his friends, and inquire
after the Cause. He was full of cheer ; the light-
est-hearted one, apparently, of all the group that
gathered around him.

" He has never once broken down," said Mrs.
Remington to Elsie, "neither before Aunt Han-
nah nor myself. He has never spoken other than
cheerfully, I might almost say joyfully of his
future. He begins the day with a merry word for
little John, and ends it with a prayer of thanks-

THE UPPER CHAMBER.

395

giving for mercies ; in a strain as cheery as though
his life did not stretch out before him with all its
hopes and plans crushed. My husband is a per-
petual wonder to me."

Earle Mason heard the words, but made no sign
that he could tell a different story. He had seen
Mr. Remington once, when iic had broken down.
They were alone together, and had been quiet for
some minutes, when the minister had said sud-
denly, ** ' The night cometh when no man can
work ; ' I was writing a sermon on that text when
my night came. I am not to preach any more ! "
Then he had closed his eyes, and one by one the
tear- had followed each other slowly down his
face. And Earle Mason had felt that he had not
a word to say ; that there were no human words
which would not sound like mockery. He had
walked to the window, both to hide his own tears,
and to let Mr. Remington feel that he was not
being watched. Only a few moments afterwards
he had heard the voice of the sick man again with
the quiver gone out of it.

•* Forgive me, Brother Mason, and come back ;
I did not mean to hurt you so. What matters it,
dear brother } I can pray — thank the Lord I can
pray ! and there are others who can preach ; the
Lord does not need me in my pulpit — does not
want me there, or he would have spared me.
Surely I do not want to preach against his will."

** There is some one preaching," Earle Mason

39^

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

had told him a few days after this, " of whom you
will be glad to hear. Philip King has spoken
every night this week at the South Side Mission ;
spoken grandly ; he has a great power over those
poor fellows. They are rallying around him, and
he is throwing himself with all his soul into the
work. He says he must help fill your place as
much as he can, Brother Remington."

"Thank the Lord !" said Mr. Remington heart-
ily; "my ministry of pain is bearing fruit already,
then. Philip King has rare power in that direc-
tion. He will reach men whom I could not ; if I
have been permitted to start him in his work, the
Lord has been very good to me."

" You are especially privileged, Mrs. Reming-
ton," Dr. Fletcher said to her one day, as he came
out from the large bright room where by degrees
they were gathering all sunny and beautiful things
with which to surround their beloved. " You are
especially privileged : you can spend your days
with a Christian martyr ; one of the most beautiful
witnesses to the power of the religion of Jesus
Christ that I have seen in all my experience."

" Yes," said Earle Mason, as the two walked
down the street together, having gone two blocks
in utter silence ; ** yes, that is a good name for
him; 'John Remington, Martyr.' I will tell you
a good text to accompany the name : * It must
needs be that offenses come, but woe unto that
man by whom they come ! * If the Christian world

THE UPPER CHAMBER.

397

had done its duty, there would have been no need
for such martyrdom, Dr. Fletcher."

It is a marvelous thing, when one stops to think
of it, how soon life can accommodate itself to great
and startling changes. Before the new year was
a month old, it might almost have seemed that in
the Remington home the.''e had always been a
large, sunny room, furnished with special refer-
ence to a permanent occupant, and an invalid
chair, and a man in the prime of life, with a pale
face and one nearly helpless arm, and one foot
resting on the cushion arranged for it, always sit-
ting there, with books and papers and writing
material convenient to his touch.

They were not to move from the parsonage, as in
the first bewildering days it had been supposed of
course they would have to do. Mr. Hargrave and
two or three others had attended to that. Instead,
the young minister who had been called to fill the
vacant pulpit, had been installed in the home as
one of the family ; welcomed with rare delight by
every member of it, especially by little John, who,
it was declared, acted precisely as though he re-
membered him ! And really there was, perhaps,
nothing so very strange about that, for had not
Mr. Porter given him devoted and undivided atten-
tion for one long-to-be-remembered day ? And
had he not declared that he would like to adopt
the boy for his very own ^ For all practical pur-

398

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

poses, it was an adoption. At least, the reverend
gentleman became little John's most devoted and
submissive slave ; trying in a way which certainly
had its pathetic side, to do for the boy all that a
strong-limbed, active, thoughtful father might have
been supposed to do.

Neither was there necessity for any especially
anxious hours concerning the future. " We haven't
got bread and clothes to worry about, anyhow,"
Aunt Hannah had said. " We have enough,
child, for all of us, until little John gets old
enough to take care of us. It is all yours, of
course ; whose would it be } "

But it was soon found that the brave little church
had taken care of that matter ; and had voted to
the disabled pastor a life-salary, to be paid in reg-
ular quarterly installments.

" I am young to be a senior pastor," he had said
with a brave smile to Mr. Porter, when they con-
ferred together. And he had been answered with
a smile as bright as his own.

" Yes, we are young men together ; I am but a
trifle younger than you are yourself, and together
we will shoulder this church. Brother Remington,
and make it a power for God in the world. You
are the senior pastor — that is the church's vote —
and I am the co-pastor. I rejoiced in the vote ; it
is as it should be. I glory in the union. And I
warn you, brother, I expect to lean upon you ; for
although you are not much older in years, you are,

THE UPPER CHAMBER.

399

you remember, in experience ; and you have had
rare success with this church. And besides,
brother, do you not think that to those whom the
Lord calls to witness for him in the baptism cl'
suffering, he gives a double portion of his spirit?"

So, all things considered, there was a great deal
of sunshine in the upper room, beyond that which
the grand luminary in the sky made for it. And the
brave man in his chair took up his long laid aside
literary work again ; began to study, and think,
and write, with a view to reaching the outside
world through his pen, since he could not longer
by his voice. He said one day to Mr. Mason, with
that rarely sweet smile of his: "I do not know
but I am to preach, brother, after all ; I have been
lying here this afternoon and thinking of the little
word I wrote about Christ last week, which is in
the newspaper to-day, and which thousands of
people may have read by next week this time. I
made it a sermon straight from my heart ; perhaps
the Master will let me preach it to a larger con-
gregation than I could ever have reached from the
pulpit."

One evening, Mrs. Remington, having presided
over the dainty dinner which had been sent up-
stairs, and which little John and his father enjoyed
together — that graceless young man if he thought
anything about it, doubtless rejoicing that at last
there had been a rival dinner table set up which
he was permitted to honor with his presence —

400

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

had come downstairs to do the honors of the
table spread in the dining-room ; for both Earle
Mason and Elsie Chilton were her guests that
evening. Just as the dinner bell sounded its sum-
mons, the doorbell was also heard.

" Go down to dinner, Aunt Hannah, please, with
our friends," Mrs. Remington said ; " I will wait
and see what is wanted ; if it should be some one
to see John I shall have to attend to it, you know."
• So they had all gone downstairs while she
waited in the back parlor for a summons, and pres-
ently stepped nearer to the gaslight to see if her
eyes did not deceive her, in regard to the name on
the card at which she was gazing.

" Robert L. Chilton." That could certainly
mean none other than Elsie's father ! what possible
errand could have brought him thither ? He had
never honored them with a call since their return
to the city. Mrs. Remington had met him but
once in all these months, and then was recognized
only by the coldest and most formal of bows. She
felt embarrassed and troubled at the thought of
meeting him. She feared that his errand por-
tended some fresh annoyance to Elsie. Did he
know, she wondered, thai his daughter and her
dearest friend met very often under her roof, and
did he possibly resent her attempts to smooth the
hardness of the path he had obliged Elsie to
tread ? She drew herself up proudly as she
thought of it. If he had come to lecture her, he

THE UPPER CHAMBER.

401

would discover that he had chosen the wrong per-
son. Poor Elsie might be his victim, if she would ;
for herself, she would speak plain truths if he gave
her an opportunity. Certainly she had no fear of
Mr. Chilton. Then she went forward to meet him ;
a very dignified little woman, bristling inwardly
with a desire to speak her mind ; the more she
thought about it, really tempted to hope that she
should have an opportunity.

His first words disarmed her. *' Good-evening,
Mrs. Remington. Would it be possible for me to
see your husband for a few moments ? I have a
very great — need — to have a little talk with
him."

He hesitated before that word "need," and
seemed to use it advisedly. Had he asked to have
his daughter Elsie brought to him immediately, that
he might cloak, bonnet and carry her home like a
disgraced child, or had he asked to have Earle
Mason presented before him that he might horse-
whip him, Mrs. Remington felt that she would
have been prepared. But to ask in tones which
were actually almost tremulous if he might see her
husband, embarrassed her; she knew not what to
do or say. She stammered out some incoherent
reply, and finally succeeded in seating her guest ;
then she went with all haste to John.

"Mr. Chilton.?" he said, stopping in his frolic
with little John, to hear his wife's words ; " why
certainly, my dear ! I shall be glad to see him.

402

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

You may show him up at once ; but I think per-
haps you would better take little John away. He
may entertain him too vigorously."

So little John, to his grief, was consigned to
Jane, and Mr. Chilton was escorted to the bright
room, where Mrs. Remington left him with her
husband and betook herself in a bewildered frame
of mind to the dining-room. She was clear in re-
gard to only one point ; namely, that she would
keep silence as to who was John's guest, lest all
sorts of surmises might be awakened in Elsie's
mind, and her visit be spoiled. Meantime she
could not keep herself from wondering what was
going on upstairs ; and her wonderment would
have deepened had she been there.

CHAPTER XXIX.

OTTISSEY FIRST.

T TOW do you do, sir?" Mr. Remington had
1 1 said in the old cheery tones which his
caller remembered so well ; and he had reached
forth his hand as he spoke. " I cannot rise to
meet you, you see, but I am very glad to welcome
you. Draw your chair nearer the grate, will you
not ? The night is very cold, they tell me."

Thus much Mrs. Remington had heard before
she closed the door. She had heard no reply ;
neither indeed had Mr. Remington.

Mr. Chilton, who looked much older than the
younger man had imagined him, and who had ap-
parently grown feeble, dropped himself into the
depths of the easy-chair, and said not one word.

This was embarrassing, but his host talked on,
resolved to give him time to recover his breath, if
that was what was amiss with him. " The winter
has finally set in with great severity. They tell me
the sleighing is very good ; and judging from the
clouds there is a prospect of still more snow. Is
not that an unusual state of things in this region.?'*

403

404

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Still no reply. It was growing very embarras-
sing. Mr. Remington turned to keep his eyes
upon his guest, whose chair was a little in the
shadow, he having pushed it so that his back was
to the firelight.

Was it possible that there were tears in the
faded blue eyes ?

Presently the old man — I use the adjective ad-
visedly, for he seemed that night an old man —
drew his handkerchief and deliberately wiped his
eyes, only to have them fill again.

Mr. Remington now regarded him with great
concern.

" I beg your pardon, my dear friend," he said
with respectful sympathy. " I see that you are in
sorrow, and 1 did not know it. Has any trouble
come to you, sir, and can I help you in any way .?"

It was so natural for this man to offer help ! It
flushed his face a little, the moment he had spoken
the words, to remember how helpless he was him-
self; then in another moment he had thought with
a little exultant thrill, " I can pray!"

At last Mr. Chilton had found his voice ; broken
it was, and husky.

.*' Mr. Remington, I have to beg your pardon.
I did not know I was so weak. The sight of you,
sir, has unmanned me. I did not realize it was
so bad ; and I — I do not know how to tell my
story ; but my heart is all broken down, and my
pride, and my remorse is very great. I have had

"OTTISSEY FIRST.'*

405

to come to you ; I was driven to it ! You do not
know it, sir, but I was the cause of your terrible
injury. I blame myself for it all."

" My dear friend," and Mr. Remington's voice
was full of astonishment and incredulity, " how
has it been possible for you to work yourself into
such an idea as that } It was some poor drunken
creature who arrested my steps ; I felt his shadow
following me long before I realized any danger. I
know perfectly the slouching gait and the uncouth
appearance of the man. I almost think I could
recognize him if he were brought before me,
though I did not see his face. What has led you
to conceive of such a mistaken idea, sir ? "

Mr. Chilton shook his head sorrowfully. " I
feel only too sure of it," he said. " I will tell you
just how it was. I was present that night when
you made your address, down at the lower hall.
It was a critical time with us ; there were some
political questions at stake which we felt sure
would affect our business ; and some of us busi-
ness men were painfully anxious, and could not
but feel that your talk would help turn the vote in
the wrong direction for us. We were very much
excited ; and I was the next speaker on the pro-
gramme, chosen to present our side of the ques-
tion. I felt that a good deal depended upon me,
and those who had put me in that position were
watching me. My excitement was so great that
some of the time I hardly knew what I was saying.

4o6

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

" I spoke very severely of you ; not by name,
of course, but plainly enough for all present to
understand. I spoke more severely, much more,
than I had intended ; and reflected upon your leav-
ing your legitimate work to dabble in politics. I
said a great many things which I afterwards re-
gretted, though I was sincere enough at the time.
But I had no idea, not the remotest, what wild pas-
sions I was feeding. I thought I was speaking to
honorable men ; men who would fight with their
tongues and their votes only. Coming out of the
hall I met a villainous-looking fellow ; I knew him
as a sort of ringleader of a bad set. Ordinarily, he
would have passed me without a word, and I him
without recognition ; but I wasn't myself that
night, and when he said to me, 'Mr. Chilton, what
is needed is a little cold lead to settle these med-
dling parsons,' I replied in my excitement and
anger : * It will come to that before long, I have
no doubt.'

"But I had not a thought, Mr. Remington, of
the meaning which might be attached to my words ;
not the faintest idea that they would be applied in
any way. And my horror and despair, when I
heard the next morning of the terrible crime, can
not be imagined by one who has not had it to
suffer. Now you know why I feel so sure that I
am responsible for your condition, but you cannot
know the months of agony which I have spent
because of that knowledge."

"OTTISSEY FIRST."

407

Mr. Remington responded by a genial smile, and
spoke rapidly : " My dear brother Chilton, believe
me, you are suffering unnecessarily. We have
enough burdens to bear in this world, my friend,
without adding to them by our own imaginings.
Surely in your quietest moments you feel that
something more than a passing remark from an
excited gentleman swayed the man who has laid
me aside ! It was a deliberately planned and pre-
pared for attack ; and the fellow covered up his
retreat with skill, and unquestionably had accom-
plices to aid him. I cannot think for a moment
that a hasty remark, made in the heat of the ex-
citement which follows political debate, had any
thing to do with the tragedy of that night. And,
brother, let me beg that you will put it away from
your thoughts as something with which you did
not have to do."

'* I cannot," answered Mr. Chilton, with lips
which quivered, and he wiped his eyes again, that
were dim with tears ; " I cannot put it away ; it
haunts me day and night. I know, Mr. Reming-
ton, that your life was valuable, that you were
doing a great work for the Church, and for the
cause of Christianity, and that your motives were
pure ; and to think I should have come in and
stopped it all, and set you down in your room to
live a life that is worse than death, is a terrible
thought ! I do not know how you can forgive me,
sir, and yet I came to ask you to forgive me."

408

JOHN RLMINGTON, MARTYR.

Mr. Remington shut his lips together suddenly,
in a curious, repressive way that he had, and they
were almost colorless. His guest had touched a
wound, and, as it were, laid it bare for the moment,
and set his nerves to trembling. There were dark
hours in his days when he felt set aside to a life
that was " worse than death." His friends had
all been brave before him, and had spoken no such
words. ]^ut this excited man was thinking only
of himself and his pain, and did not realize how
he was stabbing the wounds.

There was only a moment of silence. To Mr.
Remington it was one of prayer, and then his
voice was clear and steady. " My brother, I still
think you have made yourself responsible for that
which was, in no sense of the word, your work ;
nevertheless, since you mention the word, let me
assure you that if I have anything to forgive,
V I forgive it freely, fully and with all my soul, as I
hope for forgiveness for the many mistakes of my
own life. God bless you, brother, and give you
in these latter days a perfect understanding of
Him who has power to hush all the tumults of this
life of ours, and to set our eyes steadily toward
the light of home. It is only a little while, my
brother. The longest life is a short one, when we
remember eternity."

Now the tears dropped unchecked from the
faded blue eyes, and Mr. Chilton's voice was very
tremulous :

OTTISSEY FIRST.

409

"I cannot feel in that way, Mr. Remington.
I have lived a good many more years than you
have, and have had what men call a successful
life ; but it has not been a happy one, sir, and as
it nears its close I am very far from happy. I am
losing my hold on the present, breaking, physi-
cally, before my time ; and I feel that I have no
hold at all upon the future. I am an officer in the
Church, as you know, sir, and I used to think I
was a Christian ; but it is years since I have had
any comfort in the Christian life ; and of late,
within a very few months indeed, I have begun to
feel that I know nothing about it. I look back
over my past and I cannot tell where I began to
have no deep interest in such matters, or no joy
in them. I do not know where the false steps
were in the first place, nor how to retrace them.
I am a very unhappy man, sir, and since this ter-
rible affliction has come upon you I have not seen
a quiet hour. I resolved to-day that I could en-
dure it no longer alone ; that I must go to some
one for help, and that I would come to you and
tell you the whole wretched story, and get your
advice, if there is anything that I can do to" —

"Begin again^ brother," interrupted Mr. Rem-
ington, his voice full of tender sympathy ; " never
mind the past ; the story of our past is wretched
enough, always ; if we had to get our comfort from
that, we would be * of all men most miserable.'
Never mind how far back the first false step was

{

410

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

taken ; let it all go, and come to Jesus Christ.
Give all the mistakes and the miseries into his
keeping, and take his righteousness in their place.
Never mind whether you were a Christian a year
ago, or two years ago, or forty years ago, be a
Christian now, to-night. Give yourself to the
Lord just as though this were your and his first
contract together, and live for to-day and to-mor-
row ; not for yesterday. The Lord Jesus Christ
is the only friend to whom we can come in this
way ; all others need explanations, but he knows
the whole story so much better than we do that
all he asks is the longing cry of the soul, reach-
ing out after him. Brother Chilton, will you get
down on your knees, here and now, and give your-
self to Christ in everlasting covenant .'' "

There was a moment of intense silence, such as
could be felt, then the one who could kneel bowed
himself before the Lord, and the other with head
bowed on his hand, began to pray.

Mrs. Remington and her guests lingered long at
the dinner table that evening ; she, with her ears
attent for her husband's bell. On the new pro-
gramme by which the family ordered its life, it
was set down that when Mr. Remington had a
caller whose business was not personal, and whom
it would be pleasant to meet socially, or when he
was disengaged and ready for company, he was to
touch the bell which connected him with the back
parlor ; then any one who belonged to the family,

OTTISSEV FIRST.

411

or any guest so familiar as to be almost included
in the family, could go up to the bright room if he
chose and help make a family circle. Moreover,
since little John had arrived at the dignity of sit
ting up until seven o'clock, it had been the custom
to gather in the father's room soon after the din-
ner hour, for family worship.

On this evening, after they had at last adjourned
to the parlor, Mrs. Remington listened and won-
dered. Could Mr. Chilton be making so long a
stay, or had Jane attended him to the door ? If
so, why did not her husband's bell ring > What
could have been the object of the call ? If the
guest were still there, he must be wearing John
out ; and his errand must be private or somebody
would be called to help entertain him. Once she
went half-way up the stairs resolved to see how
matters were, but returned to the parlor irresolute.
It might be a private matter ; and Mr. Chilton was
a strange man. Twice she opened her lips to sug-
gest to Mr. Porter that perhaps Mr. Remington
would like to see him, and decided that she would
not. Meantime, she entertained two ladies who
called to inquire how the invalid was, and went to
the hall to be interviewed by Dan Stokes, who
was Mr. Remington's devoted friend, I might
almost say slave ; and who never let a day go by
without calling to sec if there was anything he
could do to serve this family. Very often, indeed,
he was shown into the upper room, and had a

412

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

helpful little talk with "his minister," as he always
called Mr. Remington.

*' Good-evening, Mr. Stokes," Mrs. Remington
said. "We are all very well to-night, thank you ;
and there is nothing special to be done, except to
mail these letters, if you please. I cannot ask you
upstairs, I think Mr. Remington has a caller ; but
I will give him your message and tell him you are
as faithful as ever." Then she returned to the
parlor, smiling. " Dan Stokes is a constant joy
and rest to my husband," she explained to Mr.
Porter ; " * Mr. Remington's brand,' Dr. Fletcher
calls him. How can people, looking on at the
transformation in such lives as his, and Philip
Kmg's, and a host of others, for that matter, doubt
the power of God to save to the uttermost ? "

Just then Mr. Remington's bell sounded, and
she turned quickly toward the hall, little John
close at her side. " You would better not come
up," she said, " until I ring ; I do not know
whether Mr. Remington wishes us all to-night or
not. He had a caller while we were at dinner;
but if I ring the bcil in a few minutes, you may
consider yourselves invited up to prayers." Per-
haps ten minutes passed, and once more the bell
gave its summons.

"There!" said Elsie, rising briskly from the
piano, where her fingers had been idly toying with
the keys while she talked to Earle Mason, who
was looking through piles of music for a favorite

OTTIS.SKV MKhT.

»»

413

song, "now the rest of the children can go up-
stairs. Come, Aunt Hannah."

Mrs. Remington threw open the door to receive
them ; but on the threshold Elsie paused, her fair
face slowly flushing even to her temples. Could
that be her father sunken in the depths of the
easy-chair, very near Mr. Remington ? How old
and worn he looked, yet there was a peculiar light
in his eyes and a strangely subdued expression on
his face. Why was he here } And was he going
to remain to family worship ? How very strange!
It is true it was the habit of the house to invite
any guest who called at this hour to join with
them ; but that it should be her father was almost
beyond belief.

"Come in," said Mrs. Remington, smiling;
"and for little John's sake, we must make our ser-
vice brief to-night ; it is already past seven, and
the ' sand man ' must be very near the door.
Aunt Hannah, you remember Mr. Chilton, I think ?
Reverend Mr. Porter, Mr. Chilton. Now, Elsie,
sing : ' Blest be the tie that binds.' "

It was Mr. Remington's voice which led in
the prayer that followed the song, and Elsie's
tears dropped fast as she listened to his peti-
tions for the "brother pilgrim whose feet had
trodden the paths of earth longer than anv of
theirs ; and who had this night set his face anew
toward the sunlight, with fixed purpose of heart
from this time forth to be entirely the Lord's."

414

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

Could he possibly mean her father ? Or was he
speaking of. some other caller who had been there
that day ; for Eisie Chilton knew that this upper
chamber was becoming a very bethel for tried
souls ; yet certainly the prayer sounded as if the
one prayed for was close at hand. Had something
wonderful and beautiful happened to her ? It was
a very tender prayer ; like a son holding converse
with the Father he loved ; like a brother drawing
into close fellowship with the Elder Brother ; and
there was an undertone of jubilation in it that did
not escape the ears of any present.

The moment they arose from their knees word
came that Mr. Porter was being waited for down-
stairs, and he excused himself at once.

Mr. Mason went forward, bowing to Mr. Chil-
ton as he passed, and bent over Mr. Remington's
chair with the usual inquiries as to his welfare and
commands ; for Mr. Remington called Earle Ma-
son his telephone communication with the other
world. Elsie advanced timidly, uncertain what to
say to her father ; she had little John by the hand ;
she wondered if her father had noticed him ; he
used to love little children ; and there had been a
little boy wh^ died, around whom his heart strings
had twined ; but that was long ago ; and he had of
late been so cold to her that she hardly knew how
to approach him.

" Good-evening, papa," she began, and then
little John took matters into his own hands. With

((

0TTIS5EY FIRST.

415

was he
1 there

upper
r tried
, if the
lething

It was
onverse
drawing
^r ; and
that did

;es word
3r down-
er. Chll-
lington's
Ifare and
:arle Ma-
;he other
a what to
the hand ;

him ; he
ad been a
irt strings

he had of
knew how

and then
.ds. With

a firm placing of his slippered foot on the loung-
ing chair, he said with grave decision, ** Little
John will sit with this Grandpa " ; and without
further words mounted upon Mr. Chilton's knee.
Aunt Hannah looked dismayed and took a step
forward to relieve their guest, but by that time
Mr. Chilton's arm was around the boy, and with
his gray head touching the yellow curls he was
whispering softly to him, little John listening
with a pleased air of condescension and approval.
Aunt Hannah turned away with a relieved smile ;
there was no accounting for little John's move-
ments, and there were no hearts apparently which
he did not steal.

A moment more, and Earle Mason lifted himself
from his brief conference with the head of the
house, and said as he looked at his watch : " Well,
good friends, if there is nothing I can do for any
of vou I must be excused, I think. I am to take
the nine o'clock hour at the Mission to-night, and
I shall no: have much more than time to reach
there. I will report to you in the morning, sir,"
turning again to Mr. Remington, " how that mat-
ter stands; and will make the statement to the
committee tj-night which you suggested. Now,
little John, will you give me a kiss for good-night } "

Little John puckered his rosy lips into the form
of a kiss, and was just abouc to graciously grant
the favor, when his eye alighted upon Elsie stand-
ing beside her father, one hand resting on the arm

4i6

JOHN REMINGTON, MARTYR.

n !

of his chair ; and his fertile brain prepared on the
instant a new programme.

" Kiss Ottissey first," he said gravely ; and
Elsie's fair face, from which the color had receded,
now flamed into scarlet again, as she caught the
flash in Mr. Remington's eyes, and the look of sur-
prise, not unmingled with satisfaction, upon his
wife's face. The only perfectly composed person
in the room was little John. With distinctness
and gravity he reiterated his command : "Kiss Ot-
tissey first." Every one present save Mr. Chil-
ton knew perfectly who " Ottissey " was, and the
flash of intelligence upon Mr. Remington's face,
as well as the look upon Earle Mason's, told the
keen-eyed old man just what the command meant.

*' She will not let me, little John," said Earle
Mason, in utmost gravity. *' I would be very glad
to do so, but she will not allow it."

" Yes," said little John in positive tones, " she
will ; won't you, Ottissey } It is naughty not to
let people kiss you when they want to very bad ;
isn't it, this Grandpa.-*" and he patted with
condescending touch the trembling hand which
supported him.

Mr. Chilton had not been a courtly, self-pos-
sessed society gentleman for more than forty years,
for nothing. This was an eventful evening to him ;
tremendous interests had been at stake, tremen-
dous decisions had been made ; some already ex-
pressed upon his knees, and some that he had

"OTTISSEY FIRST.

417

meant to express very soon. He had not expected
to be quite so prompt, nor to have so large an audi-
ence ; yet he was quick-witted ; here was little
John's appeal ; here was his opportunity ; he rose
to the occasion.

"She is my little girl," he said, "my boy,"
and his voice had a world of tenderness in it ;
" and she is a good little girl ; she tries always tc
do as her father says."

Little John was equal to the situation. " And
will you tell her to let my Mr. Mason kiss her
first ? " he asked with the slow dignity of a sover-
eign waiting for the decision of a subject.

"Yes," said Mr. Chilton, " I will ; " and reach-
ing for Elsie's hand he placed it within that of
Earle Mason.

And Earle Mason, entirely willing to obey, bent
his head and kissed " Ottissey first " ; while his
royal highness drew a sigh of satisfaction at the
loyalty of all his subjects.