HARPER'S LIBRARY OF SELECT NOVELS. 
 
 Messrs. HARPER & BROTHERS beg leave to call attention to the following revised 
 and enlarged list of their " Library of Select Novels," and to the reduced prices. 
 
 The list has been increased in number and interest by the addition of many works 
 of fiction by leading novelists of the day, whose productions have hitherto appeared in 
 more expensive form [see numbers 493 to 595 of accompanying list]. The series has 
 been long before the public, and its interest and sterling value have been generally 
 recognized. Well-informed readers of fiction have considered the appearance of a 
 novel in this series to be always a guarantee of merit. 
 
 TRICE 
 
 1. Pelham. By Buhver $ 40 
 
 2. The Disowned. By Buhver 50 
 
 3. Devereux. By Buhver 40 
 
 4. Paul Clifford. By Bulwer 40 
 
 5. Eugene Aram. By Bulwer 35 
 
 6. The Last Days of Pompeii. By Bulwer 25 
 
 7. The Czarina. By Mrs. Hofland 40 
 
 8. RienzL By Bulwer 40 
 
 9. Self-Devotion. By Miss Campbell 30 
 
 10. The Nabob at Home 35 
 
 11. Ernest Maltravers. By Bulwer 35 
 
 12. Alice; or, The Mysteries. By Buhver 35 
 
 13. The Last of the Barons. By Buhver 50 
 
 14. Forest Days. By James 40 
 
 15. Adam Brown, the Merchant. By H. Smith . . . 
 
 16. Pilgrims of the Rhine. By Bulwer 
 
 17. The Home. By Miss Bremer 
 
 18. The Lost Ship. By Captain Ntale 
 
 19. The False Heir. By James 
 
 20. The Neighbors. By Miss Bremer 
 
 21. Nina. By Miss Bremer 
 
 22. The President's Daughters. By Miss Bremer. . 
 
 23. The Banker's Wife. By Mrs. Gore 
 
 24. The Birthright. By Mrs. Gore 
 
 25. New Sketches of E very-day Life. By Miss Bremer 
 
 2C. Arabella Stuart. By James 35 
 
 27. The Grumbler. By Miss Pickering 35 
 
 23. The Unloved One. By Mrs. Hofland 4' 
 
 2!). Jack of the Mill. By William Howitt 20 
 
 30. The Heretic. By Lnjetchnikoff 40 
 
 31. TheJew. By Spindler 50 
 
 32. Arthur. By Sue 40 
 
 33. Chatsworth. By Ward 30 
 
 34. The Prairie Bird. By C. A. Murray 60 
 
 35. Amy Herbert. By Miss Sewell 35 
 
 30. Rose d'Albret. By James 40 
 
 37. The Triumphs of Time. By Mrs. Marsh 40 
 
 33. The H Family. By Miss Bremer 40 
 
 39. The Grandfather. By Miss Pickering 30 
 
 40. Arrah Neil. By James 35 
 
 41. TheJilt 35 
 
 42. Tales from the German 25 
 
 43. Arthur Arandel. By II. Smith 40 
 
 44. Agincourt. By James 40 
 
 45. The Kegent's Daughter 35 
 
 4(5. The Maid of Honor 25 
 
 47. Safia. By De Beauvoir 25 
 
 43. Look to the End. By Mrs. Ellis 40 
 
 49. The Improvisator. By Andersen 30 
 
 50. The Gambler's Wife. By Mrs. Grey 40 
 
 51. Veronica. By Zschokke 25 
 
 52. Zoe. 'By Miss Jewsbury 35 
 
 53. Wyoming 30 
 
 54. De Rohan. By Sue 40 
 
 55. Self. By the Author of "Cecil" 50 
 
 5(5. The Smuggler. By James 50 
 
 57. The Breach of Promise 35 
 
 58. Parsonage of Mora. By Miss Bremer. 20 
 
 59. A Chance Medley. By T. C. Grattan 35 
 
 60. The White Slave 60 
 
 61. The Bosom Friend. By Mrs. Grey 35 
 
 62. Amaury. By Dumas 25 
 
 63. The Author's Daughter. By Mary Howitt. ... 20 
 
 64. Only a Fiddler! &c. By Andersen 60 
 
 C5. The Whiteboy. By Mrs. Hall 40 
 
 60. The Foster-Brother. Edited by Leigh Hunt.. . 40 
 
 67. Love and Mesmerism. By 11. Smith. 60 
 
 65. Ascauio. By Dumas 60 
 
 69. Lady of Milan. Edited by Mrs. Thomson 60 
 
 70. The Citizen of Prague 60 
 
 71. The Hoyal Favorite. By Mrs. Gore. . .. 35 
 
 72. The Queen of Denmark. By Mrs. Gore. 35 
 
 73. The Elves, &c. ByTieok 48 
 
 74. 75. The Step-Mother. By James 60 
 
 7(5. Jessie's Flirtations 30 
 
 P3ICE 
 
 77. Chevalier d'Harmental. ByDnmas $ 35 
 
 78. Peers and Parvenus. By Mrs. Gore 35 
 
 79. The Commander of Malta. By Sue 25 
 
 80. The Female Minister 25 
 
 81. Emilia Wyndham. By Mrs. Marsh 40 
 
 82. The Bush-Ranger. By Charles Rowcroft 40 
 
 S3. The Chronicles of Clovernook 20 
 
 84. Genevieve. By Lamartine 20 
 
 85. LivonianTa' 
 
 ilaa. 
 
 8G. Lettice Arnold. By Mrs. Marsh 
 
 87. Father Darcy. By Mrs. Marsh 
 
 88. Leontine. By Mrs. Maberly 
 
 89. Heidelberg. By James. 
 
 90. Lucretia. By Bulwer 
 
 91. Beauchamp. By James 
 
 92. 94. Fortescue. By Knowles 
 
 93. Daniel Denison, &c. By Mrs. Hofland 
 
 95. Cinq-Mars. By De Vigny 
 
 96. Woman's Trials. By Mrs. S. C. Hall 
 
 97. The Castle of Ehrenstein. By James. 
 
 98. Marriage. By Miss S. Ferrier. 
 
 99. Roland Cashel. By Lever. Illustrated 
 
 100. Martins of Cro' Martin. By Lever 
 
 101. Russell. By James 
 
 102. A Simple Story. By Mrs. Inchbald 
 
 103. Norman's Bridge. By Mrs. Marsh 
 
 104 Alamance 
 
 105. Margaret Graham. By James 
 
 106. The Wayside Cross. By E. H. Milman. 
 
 107. TheConvict. By James 
 
 103. Midsummer Eve. By Mrs. S. C. Hall 
 
 109. Jane Eyre. By Currer Bell 
 
 110. The Last of the Fairies. By James 
 
 111. Sir Theodore Broughton. By James 
 
 112. Self-ControL By Mary Brunton 
 
 113. 114. Harold. By Bulwer 
 
 115. Brothers and Sisters. By Miss Bremer 
 
 116. Gowrie. By James 
 
 117. A Whim and its Consequences. By James 
 
 118. Three Sisters and Three Fortunes. By G. II. 
 
 119. The Di.-c'ipiine of 'Life '. '. '. 
 
 120. Thirty Years Since. By James 
 
 121. Mary Barton. By Mrs. Gaskell 
 
 122. The Great Hoggarty Diamond. By Thackeray 
 
 123. TheForgery. ByJames 
 
 124. The Midnight Sun. By Miss Bretner 
 
 125. 126. The Caxtons. By Bulwer 
 
 127. Mordaunt Hall. By Mrs. Marsh 
 
 128. My Uncle the Curate 
 
 129. The Woodman. By James 
 
 130. The Green Hand. A Short Yarn" 
 
 131. Sidonia the Sorceress. By Meinhold 
 
 132. Shirley. By Currer Bell 
 
 133. TheOgilvies 
 
 134. Constance Lyndsay. By G. C. H 
 
 135. Sir Edward Graham. By Miss Sinclair 
 
 136. Hands not Hearts. By M iss Wilki nson 
 
 137. The Wilmingtons. By Mrs. Marsh 
 
 138. Ned Allen. By D. Hannay 
 
 139. Night and Morning. By Bulwer 
 
 140. The Maid of Orleans 
 
 141. Antonina. By Wilkie Collins 
 
 142. Zanoni. By Bulwer 
 
 143. Reginald Hastings. By Warburton 
 
 144. Pride and Irresolution 
 
 145. The Old Oak Chest. By Jamea 
 
 146. Julia Howard. By Mrs. Martin Bell 
 
 147. Adelaide Lindsay. Edited by Mrs. Marsh 
 
 148. Petticoat Government. By Mrs. Trollope 
 
 149. The Luttrells. By F. Williams 
 
 150. Singleton Fontenoy, R.N. By Hannay 
 
 151. Olive. By the Author of u The Ogilvies" 
 
 152. Henry Smeaton. By James 
 
 153. Time, the Avenger. By Mrs. Marsh
 
 Harper's Library of Select Novels. 
 
 HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 154. The Commissioner. By James $ 60 
 
 155. The Wife's Sister. By'Mw. Hubback 35 
 
 156. The Gold Worshipers 35 
 
 157. The Daughter of Night. liy Fullom 35 
 
 l.-.s. Stuart of Dunleath. By Hon. Caroline Norton. 35 
 
 159. Arthur Conway. By Captain E. II. Milimm . . 40 
 
 100. The Fate. By James 40 
 
 161. The Lady aud the Priest. By Mrs. Maberly. . . 35 
 
 162. Aims and Obstacles. By James 60 
 
 lOiJ. The Tutor's Ward 30 
 
 164. Florence Sackville. By Mrs. Burbury 50 
 
 105. Kavenscliffe. By Mrs. Marsh 40 
 
 166. Maurice Tiernay. By Lever 50 
 
 167. The Head of the Family. By Miss Mulock .... 50 
 
 108. Darien. By Warburton 35 
 
 lo'.i. lalkenburg 50 
 
 170. The Daltons. By Lever 75 
 
 171. Ivar; or, The Skjuts-Boy. By Miss Carlen... 35 
 
 172. Pequinillo. By James 40 
 
 173. Anna Hammer. By Temme 40 
 
 174. A Life of Vicissitudes. By James 25 
 
 175. Henry Esmond. By Thackeray 60 
 
 176. 177. My Novel. By Bulwer 75 
 
 173. KatieStewart 20 
 
 179. Castle Avon. By Mrs. Marsh 40 
 
 180. Agnes Sorel. By James 40 
 
 151. Agatha's Husband. By the Author of " Olive" 35 
 
 152. Villette. By Currer Bell 60 
 
 133. Lover's Stratagem. By Miss Carlen 35 
 
 184. Clouded Happiness. By Countess D'Orsay 30 
 
 185. Charles Auchester. A Memorial 50 
 
 ISO. Lady Lee's Widowhood 40 
 
 187. Dodd Family Abroad. By Lever 60 
 
 183. Sir Jasper Carew. By Lever 50 
 
 189. Quiet Heart 20 
 
 190. Aubrey. By Mrs. Marsh 60 
 
 191. Ticonderoga. By James 40 
 
 192. Hard Times. By Dickens 25 
 
 193. The Young Husband. By Mrs. Grey C5 
 
 194. The Mother's Recompense. By Grace Aguilar. 50 
 
 195. Avillion, &c. By Miss Mulock 60 
 
 196. North and South. By Mrs. Gaskell 40 
 
 V.)7. Country Neighborhood. By Miss Dupuy 40 
 
 198. Constance Herbert. By Miss Jewsbury 30 
 
 199. The Heiress of Haughton. By M re. Marsh 35 
 
 200. The Old Dominion. By James 40 
 
 201. John Halifax. By the Author of "Olive," &c. 60 
 
 202. Evelyn Marston. By Mrs. Marsh 35 
 
 203. Fortunes of Glencore. By Lever 60 
 
 204 Leonora d'Orco. By James . 40 
 
 205. Nothing New. By Miss Mulock 30 
 
 206. The Rose of Ashurst. By Mrs. Marsh 85 
 
 207. The Athelings. By Mrs. Oliphant 60 
 
 'Jos. Scenes of Clerical Life 60 
 
 209. My Lady Ludlow. By Mrs. Gaskell 20 
 
 210, 211. Gerald Fitzgerald. By Lever 40 
 
 212. A Life for a Life. By Miss Mulock 40 
 
 213. Sword and Gown. By Geo. Lawrence 20 
 
 214. Misrepresentation. By Anna II. Drtiry 60 
 
 215. The Mill on the Floss. By George Eliot 60 
 
 210. One of Them. By Lever 60 
 
 217. A Day's Ride. By Lever. Illustrated 40 
 
 218. Notice to Quit. By Wills 40 
 
 219. A Strange Story. Illustrated 60 
 
 22(. Brown, Jones, and Robinson. By Trollope 85 
 
 221. Abel Drake's Wife. By John Saunders 60 
 
 222. 01 i ve Blake's Good Work. By J . C. J eaffreson . 60 
 
 223. The Professor's Lady. Illustrated 20 
 
 224. Mistress and Maid. By Miss Mulock 80 
 
 225. Aurora Floyd. By M/K. Braddon 40 
 
 230. Barrington. By Lever 40 
 
 227. Sylvia's Lovers. By Mrs. Gaskell 40 
 
 228. A First Friendship 25 
 
 229. A Dark Night's Work. By Mrs. GRskell 25 
 
 230. Countess Gisela. By K. Marlitt Illustrated.. 80 
 
 231. St. Olave'n. By Eliza Tabor 40 
 
 232. A Point of Honor SO 
 
 233. Live it Down. By ,TeafTi-eson 60 
 
 iiiil. Martin Pole. By Saunders 80 
 
 Mary I.yndsny. By Lady Pon.-onby 40 
 
 '-':;o. r.lennor's Victory. By M. E. Braddon. Ill's. 60 
 
 '-::7. Ka.-hel Ray. By Trollope 35 
 
 'ulm Mnrchmont's Legacy. By M. E. Bniddon 50 
 
 UP. Annis Warlciph's Fortunes. By Holme Lee. .. 6(1 
 
 240. The Wife's Evidence. By Wills 40 
 
 241. Barbara's History. By Amelia B. Edwards 60 
 
 242. Cousin Thillis 20 
 
 24.'!. Wlmt will he do with It? By Bulwer 75 
 
 244 Th.- [Adder of Life. By Amelia H. Edwards. .. 25 
 
 245. Denis Duval. By Thackeray. Illustrated . . . 25 
 
 240. Maurice During. ' By Geo. Lawrence 25 
 
 PKICE 
 
 HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 247. Margaret Denzil'a History $ 50 
 
 243. Quite Alone. By George Augustus Sala. Ill's. 60 
 249. Mattie : a Stray 40 
 
 . My Brother's Wife. By Amelia B. Edwards... 25 
 
 251. Uncle Silas. By J. S. Le Faun 40 
 
 252. Lovel the Widower. By Thackeray 20 
 
 253. Miss Mackenzie. By Anthony Trollope 35 
 
 254. On Guard. By Annie Thomas 40 
 
 255. Theo Leigh. By Annie Thomas 40 
 
 256. Denis Donne. By Annie Thomas 40 
 
 257. Belial 30 
 
 25S. Carry's Confession 60 
 
 259. Miss Carew. By Amelia B. Edwards 35 
 
 260. Hand aud Glove. By Amelia B. Edwards .... 30 
 
 261. Guy Deverell. By J. S. Le Funu 40 
 
 262. Half a Million of Money. By Amelia B. Edwards. 
 
 Illustrated 60 
 
 203. The Belton Estate. By Anthony Trollope 85 
 
 264. Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant 60 
 
 205. Walter Goring. By Annie Thomas 40 
 
 200. Maxwell Drewitt. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell 60 
 
 267. The Toilers of the Sea. By Victor Hugo. Il- 
 
 lustrated 50 
 
 268. Miss Marjoribanks. By Mrs. Oliphant 60 
 
 209. True History of a Little Ragamuffin. By James 
 
 Greenwood 35 
 
 270. Gilbert Rugge. By the Author of "A First 
 
 Friendship " 60 
 
 271. Sans Merci. By Geo. Lawrence 35 
 
 272. Phemie Keller. By Mrs. J. II. Riddell 35 
 
 273. Land at Last, By Edmund Yates 40 
 
 274. Felix Holt, the Radical. By George Eliot 60 
 
 275. Bound to the Wheel. By John Saunders .... 60 
 
 276. All in the Dark. By J. S. Le Fanu 30 
 
 277. Kissing the Rod. By Edmund Yates 40 
 
 278. The Race for Wealth. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell. . 60 
 27'.'. Lizzie Lorton of Greyrigg. By Mrs. Linton... 60 
 2SO. The lieiiuclercs, Father and Son. By C.Clarke 25 
 281. Sir Brook Fossbrooke. By Charles Lever. ... 60 
 
 i.'S2. Madonna Mary. By Mrs. Oliphant 50 
 
 2s:!. Cradock Novell. By R. D. Blackmore 60 
 
 284. Bernthal. From the German of L. Muhlbach. 30 
 
 2S5. Rachel's Secret , . 40 
 
 2SO. The Claverings. By Anthony Trollope. Ill's.. W 
 237. The Village on the Cliff. By Miss Thackeray. 
 
 Illustrated 05 
 
 288. Played Out. By Annie Thomas 41) 
 
 289. Black Sheep. By Edmund Yates. ... .40 
 
 290. Sowing the Wind. By E. Lynn Lmton 35 
 
 291. Nora and Archibald Lee 40 
 
 292. Raymond's Heroine 40 
 
 293. Mr. Wynyard's Ward. By Holme Lee 25 
 
 21I4. Alec Forties. By George Macdoimld 60 
 
 295. No Man's Friend. By F. W. Robinson 60 
 
 21)0. Called to Account. By Annie Thomas 40 
 
 297. Caste , 35 
 
 298. The Curate's Discipline. By Mrs. Eiloart 40 
 
 299. Circe. By liabington White 35 
 
 300. The Tenants of Malory. By J. S. Le Fanu. . . 60 
 
 301. Carlyoii's Year. By James Payn 26 
 
 302. The Waterdnle Neighbors 35 
 
 303. Mabel's Progress 40 
 
 3(4. Guild Court. By Geo. Macdoimld. Ill's '. 40 
 
 305. The Brothers' Bet. By Miss Carlen 28 
 
 306. Playing for High Stakes. By Annie Thom- 
 
 as. Illustrated 25 
 
 307. Margmvt's Engagement 25 
 
 ::os. One of the Family. By James Payn 25 
 
 309. Five Hundred Pounds Reward. By a Barrister. 85 
 
 310. Brownlows. By Mrs. Oliphant 60 
 
 811. Charlotte's Inheritance. By Miss Braddon.. . 35 
 
 312. Jennie's Quiet Life. By Eliza Tabor. 80 
 
 313. Poor Humanity. By F. W. Robinson 60 
 
 314. Brakespeare. By Geo. A. Lawrence. With an 
 
 Illustration 40 
 
 316. A Lost Name. By J. S. I.e Fanu 40 
 
 310. Love or Mnrringe By W. Black 30 
 
 317. Dead-Sea Fruit. By Miss Ilia,!,!,,,,, illustrated. 60 
 313. The Dower House. By Annie Thomas 35 
 
 319. The Brnmlcighs of Bishop's Folly. By Lever. 
 
 Illustrated 60 
 
 320. Mildred. By Georgiana M. Craik S9 
 
 321. Nature's Nobleman. By the Author of ' Ra- 
 
 chel's Secret" 35 
 
 322. Kathleen. By the Author of " Raymond's He- 
 
 roine." 60 
 
 323. That Boy of Norcott's. By Charles Lever. Il- 
 
 lustrated 25 
 
 324. In Silk Attire. By W. Black 35 
 
 ::-'.'>. Hetty. By Henry King-lev 2 
 
 320. False Colors. By Auuie Thomas 40
 
 Harper's Library of Select Novels. 
 
 HARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 327. Meta's Faith. By Eliza Tabor $ 35 
 
 32S. Found Dead. By James Payu 25 
 
 329. Wrecked in Port. By Edmund Yates 35 
 
 ;!3i L The Minister's Wife. By Mrs. Oliphant 50 
 
 331. A Beggar on Horseback. By James Payu 36 
 
 33'.'. Kitty. By M. Betham Edwards 35 
 
 333. Only Herself. By Annie Thomas 35 
 
 334. Hirell. By John Saunders 40 
 
 335. Under Foot. By Alton Clyde. Illustrated... 40 
 
 336. So Huns the World Away. By Mrs. A. C. Steele. 35 
 
 337. Baill-jd. By Julia Goddard. Illustrated 60 
 
 333. Beneath the Wheels 60 
 
 339. Stern Necessity. By F. W. Robinson 40 
 
 340. Gwendoline's Harvest. By James Payu 25 
 
 341. Kilmeny. By William Biack 35 
 
 842. John : A Love Story. By Mrs. Oliphaut 25 
 
 343. True to Herself. By F. W. Robinson 60 
 
 344. Veronica. By the Author of "Mabel's Progress" 60 
 
 345. A Dangerous Guest. By the Author of "Gil- 
 
 bert Rugge" 80 
 
 340. Estelle Russell 60 
 
 347. The Heir Expectant. By the Author of " Ray- 
 mond's Heroine" 40 
 
 848. Which is the Heroine? 40 
 
 349. The Vivian Romance. l!y Mortimer Collins.. 35 
 
 350. In Duty Bound. Illustrated 85 
 
 351. The Warden and Barchester Towers. By A. 
 
 Trollope 60 
 
 352. From Thistles-Grapes ? By Mrs. Eiloart. ... 35 
 3o3. A Siren. By T. A. Trollope 40 
 
 354. Sir Harry Hotspur of Humblethwaite. By 
 
 Anthony Trollope. Illustrated 35 
 
 355. Earl's Dene. By R. E. Francillon 50 
 
 350. 1 )aisy Nichol. By Lady Hardy 35 
 
 357. Bred in the Bone. By James Payn. Ill's 40 
 
 858. Fenton's Quest. By Miss Braddon. Illustrated.. 60 
 
 359. Monarch of Mincing-Lane. By W. Black. Ill's. 50 
 36D. A Life's Assize. By Mrs. J. II. Riddell 40 
 
 301. Anteros. By the Author of "Guy Livingstone." 40 
 
 302. Her Lord and Master. By Mrs. Ross Church. . 30 
 
 303. Won-Not Wooed. By James Payn 35 
 
 364. For Lack of Gold. By Charles Gibbon 35 
 
 305. Anne Furness 60 
 
 360. A Daughter of Heth. By W. Black 35 
 
 307. Durntou Abbey. By T. A. Trollope 40 
 
 363. Joshua Marvel. By B. L. Farjeou 40 
 
 369. Levels of Arden. By M. E. Braddon. Ill's. 50 
 
 370. Fair to See. By L. W. M. Lockhart 40 
 
 871. Cecil's Tryst. By James Payn 30 
 
 372. Patty. By Katharine S. Macquoid 60 
 
 373. Maud Mohan. By Annie Thomas 25 
 
 374. Grif. By B. L. Farjeon 35 
 
 375. A Bridge of Glass. By F. W. Robinson 30 
 
 376. Albert Lnnel. By Lord Brougham 50 
 
 377. A Good Investment. By Wm. Flagg. Ill's.. 35 
 37S. A Golden Sorrow. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey 40 
 
 379. Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant 50 
 
 380. Hope Deferred. By Eliz-i F. Pollard. 30 
 
 SSI. The Maid of Sker. By R. D. Blackmore 60 
 
 382. For the King. By Charles Gibbon 30 
 
 383. A Girl's Romance, and Other Tales. By F. W. 
 
 Robinson SO 
 
 384. Dr. Wainwright'g Patient. By Edmund Yates. 35 
 
 335. A Passion in Tatters. By Annie Thomas 60 
 
 330. A Woman's Vengeance. By James Payn 
 
 337. Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. By W. Black. 50 
 3S3. To the Bitter Eud. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 
 
 Illustrated 60 
 
 389. Robin Gray. By Charles Gibbon 35 
 
 890. Godolphin. By Buhver 35 
 
 391. Leila. By Buhver. Illustrated 25 
 
 392. Kenelm Chillingly. By Lord Lytton. Ill's.. 6( 
 
 393. The Hour and the Man. By Harriet Martineau 60 
 
 394. Murphy's Master. By James Payn 20 
 
 395. The New Magdalen. By Wilkie Collins ' 
 
 396. '"He Cometh Not, 1 She Said." By Annie 
 
 Thomas 30 
 
 397. Innocent. By Mrs. Oliphant. Illustrated 6C 
 
 SOS. Too Soon. By Mrs. Macquoid 30 
 
 399. Strangers and Pilgrims. By Miss Braddon. Ill's. 50 
 
 400. A Simpleton. By Charles Ueade 35 
 
 401. The Two Widows. By Annie Thomas 25 
 
 402. Joseph the Jew. By Miss V. W. Johnson 
 
 403. Her F:ic was Her Fortune. By F. W. Robinson. 4( 
 
 404. A Princess of Thnle. By W. Black 5( 
 
 405. Lottie Darling. By J. C. Jenffreson 6( 
 
 406. The Blue Ribbon. By Eliza Tabor 
 
 407. lliirry Heathcote of Gangoil. By A. Trollope 
 
 Illustrated 20 
 
 409. Publicans and Sinners. By Miss Braddon... 6f 
 
 409. Colonel Dacre. By the Author of "Caste"... 35 
 
 lARPER'S Library of Select Novels- 
 Continued. 
 
 10. Through Fire and Water. By Frederick Talbot. 
 
 Illustrated $ 20 
 
 11. Lady Anna. By Anthony Trollope 30 
 
 12. Taken at the Flood. By Miss Braddon 6J 
 
 13. At Her Mercy. By James Payn 30 
 
 14. Ninety-Three. By Victor Hugo.. Ill's 25 
 
 15. For Love and Life. By Mrs. Oliphaut 50 
 
 16. Doctor Thorne. By Anthony Trollope 60 
 
 17. The Best of Husbands. By James Payn 25 
 
 18. Sylvia's Choice. By Georgiana M. Cralk 30 
 
 19. A Sack of Gold. By Miss V. W. Johnson 15 
 
 20. Squire Arden. By Mrs. Oliphant 60 
 
 421. Lorna Doone. By K. D. Blackmore. Ill's... 60 
 
 :22. The Treasure Hunters. By Geo.ManvilleFet.n. 25 
 
 423. Lost for Love. By Miss M. E. liraddon. Ill's. 60 
 
 :24. Jack's Sister. By Miss Dora Havers 60 
 
 425. Aileen Ferrers. By Susan Morley 30 
 
 426. The Love that Lived. By Mi's. Eiloart 30 
 
 427. In Honor Bound. By Charles Gibbon i:5 
 
 28. Jessie Trim. By B. L. Farjeon 35 
 
 29. Hagarene. By George A. Lawrence i>5 
 
 30. Old Myddelton's Money. By Mary Cecil Hay. 25 
 431. At the Sign of the Silver Flagon. By Farjeon.. 25 
 '32. A Strange World. By Miss Braddon 40 
 
 433. Hope Meredith. By Eliza Tabor 35 
 
 434. The Maid of Killeeua. By William Black.... 40 
 
 435. The Blossoming of an Aloe. By Mrs. lloey. . . 30 
 430. Safely Married. By the Author of "Caste.".. 25 
 
 437. The Story of Valentine and his Brother. By 
 
 Mrs. Oliphant 60 
 
 438. Our Detachment. By Katharine King f,5 
 
 439. Love' s Victory. By B. L. Farjeon 20 
 
 440. Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Blackmore 60 
 
 441. Walter's Word. By James Payn 50 
 
 442. Playing the Mischief. By J. W. De Forest... 60 
 
 443. The Lady Superior. By Eliza F. Pollard. ... b5 
 
 444. Iseulte. By the Author of " Vera," " Hotel du 
 
 Petit St. Jean," &c ; 30 
 
 445. Eglantine. By Eliza Tabor 40 
 
 446. Ward or Wife ? Illustrated 95 
 
 447. Jean. By Mrs. Newman 35 
 
 448. The Calderwood Secret. By Miss V.W. Johnson 40 
 
 449. Hugh Melton. By Katharine King. Ill's.... 95 
 
 450. Healey 35 
 
 451. Hostages to Fortune. By Miss Braddon. Ill's. 60 
 
 452. The Queen of Connaught 35 
 
 453. Off the Roll. By Katharine King 60 
 
 454. Halves. By James Payn 30 
 
 455. The Squire's Legacy. By Mary Cecil Hay.. . 25 
 
 456. Victor and Vanquished. By Mary Cecil Hay. 25 
 
 457. Owen Gwynne's Great Work. By Lady Augusta 
 
 Noel 30 
 
 453. His Natural Life. By Marcus Clarke 50 
 
 459. The Curate in Charge. By Mrs. Oliphant.. . . 20 
 
 400. Pausanias the Spartan. By Lord Lytton 25 
 
 401. Dead Men's Shoes. By Miss M. E. Braddon. . 40 
 
 402. The Dilemma. By the Author of " The Battle 
 
 of Dorking." 50 
 
 4G3. Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil Hay 26 
 
 404. Cripps, the Carrier. By K. D. Blackmore. Ill's. 60 
 
 465. Rose Turquand. By Ellice Hopkins 35 
 
 406. As Long as She Lived. By F. W. Robinson. . . 60 
 
 467. Israel Mort, Overman. By John Saunders.... 60 
 
 463. Phoebe, Junior. By Mrs. Oliphant 35 
 
 469. A Long Time Ago. By Meta Orred 23 
 
 470. The Laurel Bush. By the Author of "John 
 
 Halifax, Gentleman." Illustrated 26 
 
 471. Miss Nancy's Pilgrimage. By Virginia W. 
 
 Johnson 40 
 
 472. The Arundel Motto. By Mary Cecil Hay 5 
 
 473. Azalea. By Cecil Clayton 30 
 
 474. Daniel Deronda. By George Eliot 150 
 
 475. The Sun-Maid. By the Author of "Artiste.". 35 
 
 476. Nora's Love Test. By Mary Cecil Hay 25 
 
 477. Joshua Haggard's Daughter. By Miss M. K 
 
 Braddon. Illustrated ^ 50 
 
 478. Madcap Violet. By William Black 60 
 
 479. From Dreams to Waking. By E. Lynn Linton. 20 
 
 430. The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. By B. L. Fai jeon. 35 
 
 431. Anne Warwick. By Georgiana M. Craik 5 
 
 482. Weavers and Weft. By Miss Braddon 25 
 
 483. The Golden Butterfly. By the Authors of 
 
 11 When the Ship Comes Home," <tc 40 
 
 484. Juliet's Guardian. By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. 
 
 Illustrated W 
 
 485. Mar's White Witch. By G. Douglas M 
 
 W>. I leaps of Money. By W. K. Nori is 25 
 
 487. The American Senator. By Anthony Trollope. 50 
 
 433. Mrs. Arthur. By Mrs. Oliphant 40 
 
 4S'>. Winstowe. By Mrs. Leith-Adnms 25 
 
 4'JO. Marjerie Bruco's Lovers. By Mary Patrick... 25
 
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 MIEIAM'S HERITAGE 
 
 3V Storg <rf tl)e 
 
 BY ALMA CALDER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 1878
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1878, by 
 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 'Fresh come to a new world, indeed, yet long prepared, 
 I see the genius of a modern child, of the real and ideal, 
 Clearing the ground for broad humanity, the true America ; 
 Heir of the past, to build a grander future." 
 
 MIRIAM MORGAN'S home is nestled 
 among the mountains of the Dela- 
 ware : a long narrow valley, hedged 
 by hemlock-crowned hills sloping east- 
 ward to the river. A brook, after 
 miles of wandering in the forest, finds 
 an outlet here; leaping merrily down 
 the southern hillside; resting quietly 
 in the pond above the mill ; dashed 
 to glittering fragments on the wheel; 
 then rushes foaming across the val- 
 ley to join the beautiful river, which 
 sweeps unheeding by, until, lingering 
 at a rocky cliff, its current is divided: 
 part hurries onward, and part returns 
 to welcome the noisy little brook, and 
 reflect again the grassy bank, the 
 white cottage, and the green hills; 
 forming one of the prettiest scenes to 
 the eye of an artist, and the best raft- 
 ing eddy to the eye of a lumberman, 
 to be found in the country. 
 
 Here millions of feet of logs and 
 
 WALT WHITMAN. 
 
 lumber are each year rafted by hardy 
 men, who brave heat and cold, fire and 
 flood, to cut, haul, rescue, and raft the 
 lumber, which is their only source of 
 revenue. 
 
 Sometimes a storm overflows the 
 mountain streams, fills the mill-ponds, 
 bursts the dams, and sweeps away 
 buildings, bridges, roads, trees, and 
 lumber. Sometimes a traveller emp- 
 ties the hot ashes from his pipe by the 
 roadside, or a deserted camp-fire will 
 be fanned by the breeze into a flame, 
 and cords of bark and acres of timber 
 are destroyed. 
 
 But oftener the lumber which has 
 escaped these perils, been piled upon 
 the river's bank, withstood the crash- 
 ing ice and roaring flood, been formed 
 into rafts, and started hopefully on its 
 way to market, its oars well manned, 
 its steersman well chosen, its provi- 
 sion-box well filled, and a good freshet 
 
 2046385
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 to carry it to tide -water, will strike 
 against a bridge-pier, collide with an- 
 other raft, or be blown by the wind 
 out of the channel, and become a 
 wreck, scarcely worth the labor and 
 expense of rerafting. 
 
 The men who encounter and over- 
 come these perils, wresting a living 
 from out the hands of Nature, while 
 all her powers seem arrayed against 
 them, develop the hardy, reckless part 
 of their characters rapidly. 
 
 Their faces are keener than the 
 farmer's, coarser than the tradesman's, 
 lighted by a social, shrewd expression ; 
 while their rollicking, reckless man- 
 ners have stamped the name of rafts- 
 man, in town and city, as a synonyme 
 for rowdy ; few aware of the brave, 
 unselfish impulses lying beneath the 
 rude exterior. 
 
 To these wilds, and these associates, 
 came John Morgan, almost forty years 
 ago, bringing his wife, and two boys, 
 aged five and seven years. 
 
 A wealthy farmer's daughter, reared 
 with little knowledge of life beyond 
 the quiet village, where the dominie, 
 the doctor, and the dress-maker were 
 each alike infallible, where the low- 
 est forms of vice were never seen and 
 poverty unknown, Mrs. Morgan found 
 it difficult to reconcile herself to the 
 privations of her new home, harder 
 still to accept those loud-voiced, 
 queerly clad people as neighbors and 
 friends, and was inexpressibly grieved 
 to witness the case with which her 
 husband and sons adapted themselves 
 to the customs of their associates. 
 
 John Morgan was a man of more 
 than ordinary ability and self- appre- 
 ciation; having a singular mixture 
 
 of qualities common to opposite tem- 
 peraments. 
 
 Usually reticent, undemonstrative, 
 unsympathetic, he was always sensi- 
 tive, impetuous, intense. Haughty, 
 selfish, dictatorial, sarcastic, he made 
 many bitter enemies ; but those yield- 
 ing implicit obedience to his will, and 
 doing homage to his judgment, found 
 him a wise counsellor and a generous 
 friend. Proud of a lineage unstained 
 by vice, he exhibited no fondness for 
 the culture which had made them fa- 
 mous. Though ambitious to regain the 
 wealth lost by his ancestors, he insist- 
 ed that a life of ascetic frugality was 
 the noblest and happiest ; social alike 
 to his equals and inferiors, he consid- 
 ered any expression of regard or sym- 
 pathy to his family or employes as un- 
 dignified and injurious: lavish to a fault 
 at times, he was often penurious and 
 apparently unscrupulous. 
 
 Adopting the profession of his fa- 
 ther, a lawyer of some prominence, he 
 studied with him for several years; 
 but upon marrying a farmer's daugh- 
 ter, and receiving with her a well- 
 stocked farm, he abandoned his pro- 
 fession, to till his wife's inheritance. 
 
 Here ten quiet, prosperous years 
 passed. Absorbed in the same occu- 
 pations, members of the same church, 
 interested in the same people and pur- 
 suits, John and Mary Morgan were 
 similar in tastes, harmonious in opin- 
 ions : as two mountains crowned with 
 the same verdure, cultivated with the 
 same care, none could suspect one was 
 filled with veins of gold, the other a 
 latent volcano. 
 
 The monotonous calm of their lives 
 was broken by a fire of religious en-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 thusiasra, which, kindled by an " evan- 
 gelist " in an adjoining village, swept 
 the entire country. 
 
 During the heat of the excitement, 
 John Morgan publicly declared his in- 
 tention of becoming a missionary to 
 India. The entreaties of his wife and 
 the expostulations of his friends were 
 alike insufficient to deter him. Each 
 obstacle added to his zeal. 
 
 The farm was sold ; a house in the 
 village rented for his wife and two 
 boys; arrangements made for their 
 maintenance until he should return, or 
 send for them to join him; and with 
 perfect confidence in the purity of his 
 motives and his fitness for the work, 
 he presented himself to the Board of 
 Foreign Missions. But here new diffi- 
 culties arose. No company was ready 
 to start for India, and the treasury was 
 not in funds. Some knowledge of the 
 language and customs was also neces- 
 sary ; and the zealous young man was 
 advised to spend a half-year in study. 
 Cheap lodgings were found, and days 
 of wearisome study and impatient 
 waiting lengthened into months be- 
 fore the time of their departure came. 
 
 Then some detention occurred ; and 
 the hasty spirit of John Morgan could 
 endure no more. Angry words fol- 
 lowed, and the young man left the 
 presence of the assembled Board in a 
 towering passion, renouncing the idea 
 of sacrificing himself for the benefit of 
 the heathen. Mortified, but not hum- 
 bled, he resolved to find another home 
 before returning to his friends. The 
 purchase of these timber lands was 
 recommended by their owner's agent, 
 and highly praised by the man who 
 had them in charge. 
 
 " Tell ye what, mister," he said, " thar 
 hain't no purtier-layin' land 'long the 
 Del'ware, nor no better timber no- 
 whar. Easy to git at, an' cuts up prime 
 lumber. Thar's a good house, an' a 
 fust-rate mill put up this year, an' a sort 
 o' barn an' a storehouse ; but them'll 
 want fixin' some. Ef ye conclude to 
 buy, an' yer woman '# cum, you'd better 
 make yer plans to git along in April. 
 Ye kin bring yer traps on a raft from 
 Beaverkill ef thar's a fresh ; an' ef thar 
 hain't, ye' kin git along with an ark, 
 and maybe a canoe or a float. 'Twon't 
 cost ye much to move, an' ye'll be 
 hard to please ef the place don't suit 
 ye. Why, I tried livin' in Jarsey, but 
 I couldn't stan' it. Tol' 'em I got to 
 git whar I could smell hemlock an' 
 see maountaius, or I should die. I'd 
 ruther hav' the fun o' gettin' out an' 
 runnin' a raft o' toggle timber than 
 the hull crop o' the best Jarsey farm, 
 ef Iliad to raise it. No sir-ee ! Thar's 
 nothin' in the State fit to hoi' a candle 
 to the upper Del'ware ; 'nless it's the 
 gals an' they're a contrary lot ; think- 
 in' more o' thar ol' Jarsey sandhills an' 
 mud flats than anybody or anything 
 else. But now I tell ye, mister, that 
 thar lot o' lan's offered ye dog-cheap ; 
 an' ef ye take it, ye'll git a bargain ; 
 that's so !" 
 
 The agent also assured him that the 
 country was healthy, beautiful, fertile, 
 well watered, abounding in fish and 
 game, covered with valuable timber, 
 and on the line of the New York and 
 Erie Railroad, now being constructed. 
 
 Captivated by the description, he 
 only waited to assure himself of their 
 location and title; when, without seek- 
 ing the advice of any, he became the
 
 10 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 possessor of five thousand acres of 
 hemlock forest in the unbroken wil- 
 derness, with their overseer, Bill Mor- 
 ris, engaged as foreman. 
 
 A few weeks later, he, with his wife 
 and sons, and all their household 
 goods, were floating down the Dela- 
 ware. At twilight of the second 
 day they were landed on the pebbly 
 beach before the log-cabin, now their 
 only home. 
 
 Exhausted by the wearisome jour- 
 ney, Mary Morgan dragged herself 
 listlessly up the pathway, entered the 
 bare, rude cabin, and waited until the 
 Avorkmen who accompanied them had 
 brought the goods from the raft, cut 
 boughs of fragrant hemlock, scattered 
 them in heaps across the two ends of 
 the room, and kindled a bright blaze 
 in the big fireplace. 
 
 Then she spread some blankets over 
 the evergreens, called the boys to her 
 side, bidding them kneel and repeat, 
 as usual, their evening prayers. The 
 men hushed their laughter and jest- 
 ing, gazing with surprise and awe 
 upon the unusual scene. Their " good- 
 nights " were said, and soon all slept. 
 
 The sunlight, streaming through the 
 uncurtained windows, awoke Mrs. Mor- 
 gan to a strange sense of old things 
 having passed away. The men had 
 risen and gone out an hour before, 
 carrying their boots in their hands, 
 lest they should disturb her slumbers. 
 
 Her boys were still sleeping sound- 
 ly, when, rising, she wrapped a shawl 
 around her, and went out to take a 
 first look at their new home. 
 
 The thickly wooded hills, where ev- 
 ergreen and deciduous trees intermin- 
 gled, wore a wintry look; patches of 
 
 snow covered the fields, and the river 
 was rippled by the chilling wind. A 
 saw-mill beside the brook, piles of lum- 
 ber around it, a storehouse of hewn 
 logs with heavily shuttered windows, 
 and a slab barn : these were all the 
 signs of human habitation. 
 
 A spring bubbled out from a huge 
 rock a few steps from the door; a 
 stump garlanded by leafless vines was 
 beside the pathway, and a pile of un- 
 cut wood and scattered chips lay near 
 the door. A shout of delight from 
 the boys, Jamie and Davy, as they 
 ran from the house, chasing a squirrel 
 up the hillside and scaring a rabbit to 
 its hole, aroused the mother from sad 
 memories, to suggest new fears. Vi- 
 sions of wild beasts upon the moun- 
 tains, snakes among the rocks, and the 
 dangers of river and mill-pond to her 
 venturesome boys, sent a chill of ter- 
 ror to her heart. 
 
 "Well, how do you like it?" said 
 her husband's voice beside her. 
 
 " It is rougher, wilder, than I ex- 
 pected, John. But if it is to be our 
 home, of course I'll try to make the 
 best of it : yet what will become of 
 our boys ?" 
 
 "The boys ! why, it's just the place 
 for them. They'll grow up with the 
 country, and become hearty men ; able 
 to assist me in the management of this 
 immense estate, and become leading 
 men in the community." 
 
 "But they are children now; and I 
 am afraid they will get hurt, or lost, 
 or drowned." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! I expect them to 
 be able to hunt, fish, and swim, like 
 the natives." 
 
 " Oh, John, do forbid their going
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 11 
 
 into the woods alone, or near the wa- 
 ter till they can swim. I mean until 
 they learn to " 
 
 John Morgan's loud laugh silenced 
 her. "Keep them out of the water 
 till they know how to swim ! Well, 
 if that isn't a woman's idea ! No, I 
 don't intend to do anything of the 
 kind. I mean my boys to grow up 
 fearless, independent men, with no 
 sickly sentimentalism about them. I 
 intend they shall learn to shoot a 
 squirrel in the eye, hunt down a bear 
 or a panther, ride a log, steer a raft, 
 swim a mile, or run a saw-mill, as well 
 or better than any one in the country." 
 
 The boys, attracted by their father's 
 laughter, had come up unperceived, 
 and, catching a glimpse of the aston- 
 ishment and anguish in their mother's 
 face, understood her terror. 
 
 Jamie slipped his little brown hand 
 in hers, as his father walked away. 
 
 "You needn't be one bit afraid 
 'bout me, mother dear," he said, pull- 
 ing her arm around his neck; "I 
 won't go into the mill, or river, 'thout 
 asking: and Big Bill (that's what he 
 told me to call him, mother, said it 
 made him feel's if he had on a starch- 
 ed shirt to be called Mister Morris) ; 
 he's going to teach Dave and me to 
 swim: and he's a real good fellow, 
 Bill is; he won't let us get hurt a 
 mite. You'll see." 
 
 The mother stooped and kissed him. 
 " My blessing !" she said, as her eyes 
 filled with tears. 
 
 " Well, J'm going to learn to shoot 
 a gun ; and then noffin' won't hurt 
 me, for I'll kill it. And I kin learn to 
 swim by watching the frogs; Bill 
 said so," added Davy. 
 
 "Here, Mary," called her husband, 
 returning with a panful of fish ; " see 
 what Sanders caught for breakfast. 
 This is the place to live ! Here's fifty 
 speckled trout, caught in an hour, and 
 the woods are full of game. No no- 
 bleman has a park like ours nor an 
 appetite like mine. Come, here's a 
 dozen men ready to praise the cook 
 by eating everything she sets before 
 them. Just give me a tin, and I'll 
 have one of the men clean these fish. 
 Now see what you can get for us to 
 eat." 
 
 "But the stove isn't set up yet," 
 she said; "and the lunch is all eat- 
 en." 
 
 " Well, can't you cook a meal over 
 the fireplace? I've seen my mother 
 get as good meals over a fireplace as 
 I ever tasted." 
 
 Mary Morgan turned from the sight 
 of the struggling, gasping fish with a 
 shudder, and entered the house. Two 
 men were piling up the blankets, heap- 
 ing the hemlock in one corner, and 
 stirring the fire. 
 
 "If one of you will open a barrel 
 of flour," she said, timidly, " I will try 
 to make some biscuit ; but I don't 
 know how to bake them. There's no 
 tin oven, and it will take so, long to 
 heat that outside oven." 
 
 " Guess you hain't never cooked 
 over a fireplace much, hev ye ?" in- 
 quired one of the men. 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Wall, now, yeoujist stir up a john- 
 ny-cake that there is a bag o' Injun, 
 I guess, an' the milk in that jug is 
 sour'n swill an' I'll bake it for ye. 
 An' yeou jist let Big Bill fry them 
 fish. He's so tarnal conceity, Bill is,
 
 12 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 he thinks nobody can't cook fish 'long- 
 side o' him. Here's the coffee-kittle. 
 Xeow I'll jist step out an' split up a 
 slab for this ere fire. 'Spose you nev- 
 er eat no wood-sorrel, did ye ? Wall, 
 neow, I allers like suthin' kindy sour 
 'long o' fish-an'-raeat vittels; an' we 
 hain't got no gardin'-sass started yit. 
 Guess I kin git a hau'ful or two, an' 
 
 them 'at don't like it needn't eat it. 
 Found your saleratus? I've seen my 
 woman burn a corn-cob 'fore now, an' 
 use the ashes to lighten her johnny- 
 cake. May as well be gittin' the ta- 
 ble an' cheers up here too. Don't see 
 what them fellers is all doin' over to 
 the mill : might 'a had everythiu' 
 moved and settled by this time."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 'The meal unshared is food unblest: 
 
 Thou hoardest in vain what love should spend. 
 Self-care is pain: thy only rest 
 
 Is labor for a worthy end. 
 Then do thy work: it shall succeed, 
 
 In thine or in another's day: 
 And if denied the victor's meed, 
 
 Thou shalt not lack the toiler's pay." 
 
 THE spring days lengthened into 
 early summer. Diligent hands had 
 united with nature's efforts to im- 
 prove their surroundings ; and the 
 Morgans were settled in their new 
 home. An addition to the rear, and 
 a veranda to the front of the house, 
 repeated coats of whitewash to both 
 inside and outside, with woodbine and 
 grape-vines twining over the door- 
 way and windows, had transformed 
 the brown cabin to a cosy cottage. 
 
 The old store had also been rebuilt, 
 and the saw-mill was kept busy night 
 and day cutting up the logs \vith 
 which the pond was filled into scant- 
 ling to be rafted for the fall freshet. 
 The few acres of wild meadow -land 
 had been ploughed, and planted with 
 corn, and the garden beside the house 
 jave a supply of vegetables. 
 
 The hills were covered with rasp- 
 berries, whortleberries, and blackber- 
 ries in their turn, and barefooted chil- 
 dren clambered over the fallen trees 
 of the " clearings," and among the 
 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 half-burned stumps of the " follows " 
 to pick them, carrying the fruit of 
 their toil, in well -filled pails, to the 
 store, to exchange for sugar and tea, 
 calico and trinkets ; and Mrs. Mor- 
 gan's ingenuity was taxed to the ut- 
 most to devise ways and means to 
 preserve the berries, their only fruit, 
 for the coming winter. 
 
 All business ceased at " Morgan's 
 Settlement " every Saturday night ; 
 and, various as were the excuses of 
 the settlers coming on Sundays to 
 purchase tobacco, or shot and powder, 
 the store was never opened. The 
 workmen spent the day in visiting 
 their friends; and the family in re- 
 reading the books brought from home. 
 There were no churches or schools. 
 
 A circuit-rider held monthly meet- 
 ings at a farm-house ten miles away, 
 and colporters sometimes preached at 
 the same place ; but no efforts had 
 ever been made to attend their meet- 
 ings. 
 
 " If there were only a school !" the
 
 14 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 mother exclaimed, daily, as her sun- 
 burnt lads ran from the breakfast-ta- 
 ble to examine rabbit-traps, hunt for 
 fish -lines, or play about the mill and 
 store. 
 
 " Why don't you teach them, Mary? 
 You haven't forgotten all you learned 
 at the academy yet, have you ?" 
 
 "But who would do the cooking 
 and cleaning, and bake, and wash, and 
 iron, John ? "We number ten in fam- 
 ily, now, since the night sawyer and 
 the clerk came ; and I work eighteen 
 hours a day to get the housework 
 done." 
 
 " Well, there's Jane Rodgers : you 
 might get her to come and help you." 
 
 " Xo, that wouldn't do; it is as easy 
 to do it all as to instruct and oversee 
 her." 
 
 " Well, then, do as you've a mind 
 to ! If you'd rather the boys would 
 grow up as ignorant as the natives, as 
 wild as hawks and rough ,as bears, I 
 can't help it." And the father walk- 
 ed off to superintend the measurement 
 of some piles of bark and attend the 
 burning of a " follow," as the land was 
 called when, the valuable timber hav- 
 ing been removed, the remainder of 
 the trees were reduced to charcoal and 
 ashes. 
 
 The mother began the day's labors 
 with a heavy heart ; but as one task 
 after another was accomplished, the 
 germ of a resolve grew up in her heart, 
 and blossomed in a song. 
 
 "Jamie, Jamie ! come here; moth- 
 er's a-singing !" shouted Davy, from 
 the wood pile, to his older brother at 
 the spring. 
 
 Their mother heard, and smiled. " I 
 do believe it is the first time I have 
 
 sung since we left home," she thought; 
 "and my boys have noticed it. This 
 is all wrong ! I may be harming an- 
 other life by my discontent. The lit- 
 tle one God is giving me must have a 
 sunny spirit for her dower, and strong 
 nerves and intense vitality. Ah ! I 
 must make a change in some way." 
 
 The scraping of feet on the door- 
 stone announced a guest, and Mrs. 
 Rodgers walked in. 
 
 "How-de-do! how-de-do!" she ex- 
 claimed, rather than inquired. "Dread- 
 ful glad your getting kindy chirked 
 up. Jane said as how you's powerful 
 hum'sick ; but I guessed you was a 
 gittin' over 't when I heerd you a-sing- 
 in'. Camp-meetin'tune,waVt'it? Tell 
 yeou ! nothin' so kindy raises me up, 
 an' goes all through me, like a good ol'- 
 f ash ion' camp-meetin' tune ! An' neow 
 I'll tell yeou right off what I cum fur. 
 It's a burnin' shame the way things is 
 goin' on here ! We've hed fishin' an' 
 huntin' on Sabba'-day all along ; seem- 
 ed like we couldn't help it, cause the 
 men-folks 'ud git powerful tired o' salt 
 pork, and kindy hanker arter suthin' 
 fresh. Then the raftin', an' runnin', an' 
 bark-peelin', an' farmin' all cumin' in 
 right along on top o' one another, so's 
 thar don't seem to be no time for 
 workin' in the gardin, or gittin' any 
 game, 'less it's on Sunday. So I don't 
 say nothin' 'bout that, no more. But 
 las' time Jack was down the river, he 
 got him a fiddle ; walked the hull Avay 
 hum carryin' that thing in his arms. 
 An' next time, like 's not, he'll git him 
 a pack o' keards ! an' finally his day 
 o' grace will be clean run out an' oh- 
 dear-me-suz! seem's ef I couldn't stan' 
 it ! But las' night, 's I was a-layin' in
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 15 
 
 bed, seems to me 's ef the Lord he jis' 
 spoke an' said, ' Go to Mis' Morgan !' 
 An' sez I, Lord, I will, soon 's ever I 
 git the cows milked an' the breakfast 
 work done up. An' so I jis' left Jane 
 to tend the bakin', an' I cum right over. 
 An' neow I want you should tell me 
 what we're goin' to do." 
 
 And the good old woman leaned 
 back in the cushioned rocker and fan- 
 ned herself with her sun-bonnet. 
 
 "Well, Mrs. Rodgers, I think we 
 are living like a set of heathen ; and 
 I know AVC ought to have preaching 
 here every Sabbath. There's the store 
 Mr. Morgan has fitted up ; he had two 
 wings built while the carpenters were 
 here, rather than have them come 
 again ; but they only use one ; and I 
 know the other could be made quite a 
 comfortable meeting-house." 
 
 " Wall, I dew declare ! you're a fust- 
 rate hand at plannin'. But who'll we 
 git to preach ?" 
 
 " I have thought of that too. May- 
 be we can get a congregation large 
 enough to bring Elder Smith over 
 here. But for the present we have 
 some of Wesley's and Calvin's ser- 
 mons, and my husband can read them 
 to us he's a very good reader and I 
 will teach my boys to sing the hymns, 
 and" 
 
 " The Lord bless you ! You dew 
 beat all I ever see fur pickin' up a 
 body's thoughts an' carryin' them 
 right along. Your David's got a v'ice 
 like a bobolink; an' I never heerd 
 nobody tune up sweeter than yeou 
 did 'fore I cum in. My Jack's got a 
 powerful nice v'ice tew. Mebbe yeou 
 could git him int' the notion of singin' 
 suthin' 'side them silly songs o' his'ii. 
 
 And yeou tell Brother Morgan," low- 
 ering her voice and wiping her face 
 with her blue checked apron, " that 
 I wouldn't mind makin' the prayers 
 myself, cf he feels anyways back'ard 
 about it." 
 
 " Oh, I don't think he would mind," 
 Mrs. Morgan said, hurriedly : " we al- 
 ways used to have family prayers, and 
 he often prayed in the conference 
 meetings at our old home. You stay 
 to dinner, and after the men have 
 gone out ask him what he thinks of 
 our plan. We have veal pot-pie for 
 dinner; and I think that will be a 
 treat. Mr. Morgan sent Jenkins way 
 up to Cole's with the canoe after it." 
 
 " Fur the land's sake ! Sent ten 
 mile to git fresh meat ! Well, I hain't 
 hed a bit o' fresh meat sence Jack 
 broke his gun; an', somehow, I don't 
 stomac' wild meat as I used to, any- 
 how. Yes, I guess I'll stay. Our 
 men- folks takes their dinners in the 
 woods with them long's bark-peelin' 
 lasts, and Jane '11 tend to the chores." 
 
 The shadows were creeping up the 
 hillsides when Mrs. Rodgers walked 
 homeward. Her strong face was 
 quivering with emotion, and great 
 tears rolled down the brown, wrinkled 
 cheeks. 
 
 When a turn in the road hid her 
 from view, she knelt beside a mossy 
 log and poured out her thanks to the 
 All Father who had sent these Chris- 
 tians to her help. 
 
 The simple, earnest, tender-hearted 
 woman had long been pained and 
 perplexed by the increasing levity 
 and lawlessness of her neighbors. 
 Believing that all alcoholic drinks 
 were made by the " Enemy of Souls,"
 
 16 
 
 MIRIAM'S PIERITAGE. 
 
 and cards " devices of the devil to en- 
 trap the unwary," the calm peaceful- 
 ness of her nature had been stirred to 
 its depths at hearing of the social 
 glass and games of chance too fre- 
 quently indulged in by her neighbors; 
 and many fervent prayers had been 
 poured out from the mother-heart for 
 her boy, that he might shun " them 
 devil's drinks, an' pasteboard traps, 
 marked with the black of Satan's fin- 
 gers, and painted with the heart's- 
 blood of his victims," often wonder- 
 ing why the Lord did not rise in his 
 wrath and strike down the evil-doers 
 who tempted the innocent into sin. 
 
 To Mrs. Rodgers's consciousness of 
 being the only "professor" in the set- 
 tlement was added a feeling of per- 
 sonal responsibility for the souls of 
 her neighbors, which would have 
 been overwhelming to a more sensi- 
 tive nature, but which, in her, caused 
 frequent and frantic efforts to save 
 the sinners, nolens volens, and induced 
 public and pointed exhortations,wbere- 
 in more zeal than wisdom was mani- 
 fested. 
 
 These efforts for their good, united 
 with generous deeds and gracious 
 
 hospitality, had not been received nor 
 rewarded with that consideration she 
 felt was her due. 
 
 Then, too, her convictions had some- 
 times yielded to circumstances; and 
 it was with a vague hope of a definite 
 standard of morality being estab- 
 lished that she welcomed these Chris- 
 tians to the wilderness; and as she 
 knelt by the roadside, desires and 
 hopes united with her thanksgiving. 
 
 Before the Sabbath came the long, 
 low room had been swept, and gar- 
 nished with hemlock boughs and lau- 
 rel blossoms. Plank seats were sup- 
 ported by blocks of wood. A large 
 dry -goods box, with a smaller one 
 placed upon it, and covered with a 
 large dark -green shawl, formed the 
 pulpit. On the smaller box the fami- 
 ly Bible was laid, and on the project- 
 ing ends of the larger one Jamie and 
 Davy had placed their china mugs, 
 filled with wild-roses. 
 
 " It's jest as purty as a picter !" ex- 
 claimed the Saturday customers to 
 the store, peeping into the room ; and 
 each one readily promised "to come 
 to meetin'" the following day, and 
 bring their friends with them.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 'Think ye that sic as you and I 
 Wha' drudge an' delve through wet and dry 
 
 Wi' never-ceasing toil 
 Think ye, are we less blest than they 
 Wha' scarcely tent us on their way, 
 
 As hardly worth their while?" 
 
 SUNDAY morning dawned bright 
 and clear. Jamie and Davy were up 
 with the birds to welcome the fair 
 day ; but the shouts were louder than 
 the songs as the boys ran to the barn, 
 hallooing to Big Bill the glad news 
 that this was " goiu' to be a real sure 
 enough Sunday, like we used to have 
 home" home being still their birth- 
 place, the village farm. 
 
 The shadows had passed the noon 
 mark, when along the new road, and 
 down the mountain paths, came groups 
 of men, women, and barefooted chil- 
 dren. The men clad in homespun, 
 their " wamusses " of butternut-color- 
 ed flannel tied down the front with 
 brilliant -hued strings; knitted caps 
 on their heads, running up to a peak, 
 and terminating in a gay tassel ; while 
 one or two possessed coats brought 
 from "down the river," and hats of 
 straw braided by the fingers of sister 
 or sweetheart. 
 
 The women wore sun- bonnets or 
 handkerchiefs tied over their ears, 
 with homespun or calico frocks: here 
 2 
 
 BURNS. 
 
 and there a brilliant pink or blue 
 gingham adorned a girlish form, cut 
 to reveal the plump white shoulders 
 and round sunburnt arms. 
 
 Shyly, and with surprised gladness, 
 they met and greeted each other, 
 " goin* to meetin' " being an unusual 
 event, and each having wondered if 
 the other would be there. 
 
 The men talked of "crops," the 
 ".price of lumber," and the prospect 
 of a " June fresh ;" while the women 
 chatted about the last quilting and 
 logging bee, of deaths and marriages ; 
 and not one word was spoken of the 
 subject uppermost in their minds, 
 until across the meadow Mrs. Rodgers 
 came. 
 
 Her cheery face gleamed with glad- 
 ness as she shook hands with her 
 neighbors, exclaiming, 
 
 "I'm powerful glad to see you all 
 a-comin' out to meetin'. I've been a 
 prayin' an' prayin' that some on ye'd 
 flee from the wrath to come. But 
 I'm feard some of ye's jest come to 
 show off your store -clothes. I see
 
 18 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 Lucy Jones has got on that string o' 
 blue an' yaller beads o' hearn. Oh- 
 dear-rne-suz ! When I think what 
 poor dyin' worms we be ! But the 
 Lord is pitiful an' gracious, slow to 
 anger, and plentiful in mercy ! An' ef 
 Brother Morgan 'vites you to come to 
 the mourner's bench, I dew hope some 
 on ye will git couvarted, and come 
 out on the Lord's side, to-day." 
 
 Big sobs choked her voice, and 
 tears rolled down her quivering face, 
 as she pulled her sun-bonnet over her 
 eyes and hurried into the temporary 
 chapel. 
 
 "Neow, I'm beat holler, ef Auntie 
 Rodgers ain't a powerful preacher ! 
 Stew me fur apple-sass ef I wa'nt jest 
 reddy to shout Amen !" 
 
 " You're sassy enuff neow, an' you'll 
 git stewed hereafter probably," said 
 a tall, lank man, sneeringly, as he 
 walked by. 
 
 "Land's sake!" exclaimed the boy, 
 grinning, " Long John can't go by ye 
 in the road 'thout hittin' ye a slap." 
 
 " Mebbe you never felt 's ef ye had 
 a soul, Sam Jenkins," said a clear- 
 voiced, bright -eyed girl, turning to 
 face him ; " an' ef you've forgot the 
 bowls o' gruel Mis' Rodgers made fur 
 ye when you's sick, I guess ye hain't 
 got one's worth savin'." 
 
 "Laws-a-massy, Susan ! heow yeou 
 dew flare up at nothin' ! Hain't I al- 
 ways sed, and stuck tew it, thar hain't 
 no better miss than Auntie Rodgers 
 'n the hull Yankee nation, hey ? nor 
 a cleverer woman nuther ! But then 
 it's my 'pinion she is kinder out o' the 
 current in her ideas 'bout gittin' re- 
 ligin. Neow look at this yer 'arth, 
 all trees, an' purty posies, an' nice 
 
 gals, an' birds, an' sunshine. Stands 
 tew reason, don't it ? the Lord wants 
 his critters to have a good time, else 
 he'd a made everythin' humbly as I 
 be. Neow there's Big Bill : dew you 
 'spose the Lord likes him any better 
 sence he took to mopin' 'roun' than 
 when he was a jokin' an' laughin', an' 
 singin' all day? He done his work 
 jist as good, and helped t'other fellers 
 do theirnjust by keepin' their sperits 
 up. Tell yeou ! that time we stove 
 up in "VVellses, guess we'd lost both 
 rafts, an' gone to Davy Jones's locker, 
 ef it hadn't a' ben for Bill! But 
 sence he's got religin down in Jar- 
 sey don't know's 'twas religin alto- 
 gether, though but I don't b'leve the 
 Lord wants anybody to go groanin', 
 an' snivolin', an' mopin', an' " 
 
 " Neow, Sam, you jest shet up ! Much 
 you know 'bout what the Lord wants. 
 Mis' Rodgers 's 'bout as w r ell acquaint- 
 ed 'ith him 's you be ! Thar hain't 
 none of us but what's done things we 
 orter be ashamed of an' sorry fur, 
 an' ask furgiveness fur, too, I 'spose ! 
 Thar, neow, you'll be a-tellin' what a 
 smart preacher I be too ! Well, I 
 don't care. Come, Lucy, thar goes 
 Mis' Morgan an' her boys. Les us 
 go in." 
 
 The girls entered the wide door 
 and seated themselves on a bench 
 near it. Several young men follow- 
 ed, with much sidevvay glancing to 
 see who were watching them, and a 
 ready sneer to exchange with a com- 
 panion, or transform into a serious 
 smile if meeting the reproving glance 
 of a " professor." 
 
 The scats were already half filled ; 
 and the whispered admonitions to rest-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 19 
 
 less children, the flutter of the par- 
 tridge-tail fans, and the undertoned 
 talk of the men gathered about the 
 steps suddenly ceased as John Mor- 
 gan, with a flushed face, entered and 
 walked hurriedly to the extempo- 
 rized pulpit, opened the black morocco 
 hymn-book, and read the old familiar 
 hymn, 
 
 " Come, tliou Fount of every blessing ! 
 Tune my heart to grateful lays. " 
 
 Mary Morgan arose ; her boys, one 
 each side of her, looked eagerly over 
 the book she held, and joined their 
 childish voices with her sweet treble. 
 Here and there a grumbling bass and 
 a quivering soprano joined in the old- 
 fashioned tune. 
 
 From the garden fence, from the 
 store steps, the curious loungers came, 
 hushing their noisy footsteps as they 
 entered, unwilling to lose one word of 
 the fervent hymn. One by one had 
 risen, until all joined in the attitude 
 of song ; and the late - comers were 
 forced to walk to the bench before the 
 pulpit to find an unoccupied seat. 
 
 Close beside Davy came Big Bill, 
 and next to him stood Jack Rodgers. 
 
 Jamie pushed the hymn-book to- 
 ward them; his mother took the gen- 
 tle hint and placed the open book in 
 Big Bill's hands, with a nod which 
 said " We know it," then sang on, 
 
 "Teach me some melodious measure, 
 Sung by raptured saints above ;" 
 
 The amateur preacher had been 
 fumbling the leaves of a leather - 
 bound volume, with nervous fingers ; 
 now, his heavy bass voice joined them 
 in singing, 
 
 "Praise the mount, I'm fixed upon it ; 
 Mount of Thy redeeming love." 
 
 At the close of the second stanza, 
 Big Bill's voice united with his 
 
 "Jesus sought me when a stranger, 
 Wandering from the fold of God ;" 
 
 And as the final verse was begun, the 
 flute-like voice of Jack Rodgers soar- 
 ed, sweet and clear, above them all, 
 inspiring each to unite in the melody 
 as they shouted, 
 
 " Here's my heart, oh take and seal it, 
 Seal it from thy courts above." 
 
 The hymn ended, John Morgan 
 knelt upon the floor, and, one by one, 
 the "professors" followed his example, 
 the rest of the congregation bowing 
 their heads upon their hands. 
 
 Briefly, but fervently, he implored 
 "Divine assistance, that light might 
 be disseminated, truth be promul- 
 gated, and righteousness cover the 
 face of the earth as the waters cover 
 the great deep," asking also that "God 
 would bless this portion of his moral 
 vineyard, making it to bring forth fruit 
 to his glory." 
 
 Another familiar hymn was sang, 
 and then John Morgan'^ voice an- 
 nounced "A sermon preached before 
 the University, at St. Mary's, Oxford, 
 by John Wesley, June 18th, 1738. 
 Text, ' By grace are ye saved through 
 faith.' Ephesians II., second chapter, 
 eighteenth verse." 
 
 In a deep, distinct voice he began 
 to read. The novelty kept the atten- 
 tion of all until the first five divisions 
 of the three-headed discourse had been 
 logically considered. Then the bare 
 feet of the children began reaching
 
 20 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 for the floor, their eyes wandering 
 to the squirrels chattering a defiance 
 at them through the open -window, 
 to the trees nodding and beckoning 
 in the sunlight. Sprigs of caraway, 
 doughnuts and cookies, frowns and 
 whispered commands to " set still," 
 were all unavailing. One after an- 
 other broke from the guardian hands, 
 and ran out into the sunshine. 
 
 Then the younger ones cried, and 
 would not be pacified. Passed from 
 the arms of one to another, they re- 
 fused to be comforted, and were car- 
 ried out as Mr. Morgan reached the 
 concluding paragraph, and sat down 
 with a sigh of relief that the seven 
 pages of fine print were finished. 
 
 His wife arose, singing, 
 
 "Praise God from whom all blessings flow;" 
 
 several voices joined ; and as the final 
 word of the grand old Doxology was 
 uttered, the handshaking of friends 
 and neighbors began. 
 
 Amidst the greetings and inquiries, 
 Mrs. Morgan stood watching her hus- 
 band until he passed by an inner door 
 into the store. 
 
 The sermon had not been a success- 
 ful venture; the interruptions con- 
 fused, the inattention annoyed him. 
 He had anticipated congratulations 
 and requests to read for them every 
 Sunday ; but no such requests came. 
 
 Evidently the rural congregation 
 had had enough of sermons addressed 
 to universities. 
 
 "Well, he had done his duty. No 
 one could say he had not tried as a 
 Christian to establish the worship of 
 God among these people: now, if 
 they went hunting, fishing, and visit- 
 
 ing on the Sabbath, the fault was not 
 his! 
 
 Mary Morgan read these thoughts 
 in his face; and as he turned away, 
 closing and bolting the door behind 
 him, she sighed heavily. 
 
 "He is right in the first thought," 
 she said, mentally: "reading Wes- 
 ley's sermons will not do; but these 
 people ought to know about' God and 
 Christ : they want to know ! There is 
 Polly Sanders and Sam Jenkins; how 
 eagerly they listened at first. Poor 
 Auntie Rodgers, how disappointed 
 she looked, too ! Well, there is a way 
 to lead these people, and we must find 
 it. Maybe it is a Sunday-school ; but 
 we have no teachers nor books." 
 
 "Mother, mother," called Davy's 
 eager voice, " there's a woman to our 
 house, an' she talks the queerest ! A 
 woman from way off, mother !" 
 
 A blue-eyed, golden-haired girl met 
 her as she entered the rustic gate. 
 
 "Wad ye mind ef I bide wi' ye the 
 day, mistress ? I'm ower-tired ; an' I 
 ken I'm at deith's door wi' hunger." 
 
 "Come in, come in. Jamie dear, 
 run to the cellar and get a pitcher of 
 milk. Davy, can you pick up a bas- 
 ket of chips to build a fire ? Father 
 will want some tea. And you, little 
 children " to the flock of curious ur- 
 chins gathering " run away to your 
 mammas : maybe they have some 
 more cookies for you." 
 
 She drew her strange guest into the 
 house ; and the group of wondering 
 children ran away to claim the re- 
 mains of their lunch, proclaiming the 
 news of the arrival. 
 
 "A yallcr - headed gal talkin' the 
 queerest stuff. Guess she's crazy."
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 21 
 
 Mrs. Roclgers was earnestly exhort- 
 ing Big Bill to "come out boldly on 
 the Lord's side," when the foremost 
 urchin overtook them, shouting the 
 news. 
 
 "What's that yer sayin'?" he 
 asked ; " who 's come ? what's her 
 name ?" 
 
 "I don't know; guess she's some 
 furrin critter. She talks outlandish- 
 like. Mis' Morgan, she took her int' 
 the house and sot her down in the big 
 rockiu'-cheer ; an' " 
 
 " Yes, sir," panted another runner, 
 coming up; "an' she giv' her some 
 breen-milk, an' she's a lay in' down on 
 Mis' Morgan's bes' bed this ere rnin- 
 nit !" 
 
 Many were the wonders and guesses 
 of the neighbors ; but a sense of pro- 
 priety kept the most curious from in- 
 truding upon the family, and no more 
 was seen of the strange woman until, 
 after a refreshing sleep and quiet din- 
 ner, she told Mary Morgan her his- 
 tory. 
 
 Then she walked across the mead- 
 ow, and stood leaning upon the bars 
 opening into the pastures, awaiting 
 the large comely man who was com- 
 ing down the hillside, driving the 
 cows before him. 
 
 "I ken it wad be better sae," she 
 said to her sympathizing hostess ; 
 "my een greit wi' th' thocht o' seein' 
 his bonny face agen. I dinna ken the 
 words I'll whisper in his lug, but he'll 
 forgie his lassie, an' n'er fash o' me 
 agen. Eh me ! the lang, lang day 
 sin syne ! Forgive me, lady, I maun 
 greit, tho' I dinna want to do V 
 
 The cattle came up and stopped at 
 the fence; the man stepped forward 
 
 to let down the bars, gave a long 
 stare at the woman standing beside 
 them, then bounded over the fence, 
 and caught her in his arms. 
 
 "Bess, my bonny lassie! my little 
 wife! so ye changed yer mind, did ye ? 
 You've come into the backwoods, af- 
 ter all, hain't you ? An' here I'd jest 
 made up my mind to give up lumber- 
 in' and go back to Jarsey, and work 
 the farm. I swan ! ef that hain't cur- 
 'us now. Jest as I give up my way, 
 you give up your way ; an' here you 
 be ! I couldn't stan' it no longer 
 'thout you, an' you couldn't stan' it no 
 longer 'thout me an' you're jest as 
 purty as a picter, Bess," holding her 
 at arm's -length, while happy tears 
 trickled down his cheek and over his 
 bronzed beard. "Thar hain't a gal 
 'roun' yere ken hoi' a candle to ye, 
 lassie, an' yer my wife, too! an' ye 
 come all the way from Jarsey to git to 
 me. I swan! an' I a-thinkin' mebbe 
 ye'd got to hatin' me fur leavin' yer 
 so !" And he clasped her to his heart 
 again. " But how did yer come ? not 
 walked from Pleasant Point! For 
 the land's sake ! Oh ! why couldn't 
 I know'd ye's comin' ! Seems like I 
 kinder felt it too. Auntie Rodgers, 
 she thought I was under conviction ; 
 guess I was, too. Lord knows I've 
 enough to repent of to you, comin' 's I 
 did to yer hum an' promisin' the ol' 
 folks I'd stay an' work the farm, ef 
 they'd let me hev ye. Jehoshaphat ! 
 I'd a' promised anything ! But I sort- 
 er hankered fur the hills an' the 
 woods; seemed like I couldn't stand 
 them Jarsey flats another year ! An' I 
 r'ally thought, Bess, ye ought to leave 
 yer hum an' come to mine. I couldn't
 
 22 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 bear ye should think more of the ol' 
 folks 'an me ; that's what made me 
 madder 'n anything. But I see dif- 
 fer'nt now, Bess. I read in the Good 
 Book t'other day jest happened to 
 cum across it how 't the husban' 
 must leave his father an' mother fur 
 his wife ; but it don't say nothin' 'bout 
 her leavin' t' ol' folks fur him. By 
 jimminy ! I liked to holler'd when I 
 see that ; an' I says, says I, I'll go 
 back to Bessie, ef she'll Lev me agen, 
 an' I'll work them Jarsey flats etar- 
 nally ef she w r ants me to. I swan I 
 will, Bess, ef ye don't like it here an' 
 '11 jest say the word." 
 
 "Ah, Willy, me braw bonny lad- 
 die !" cried the Scotch girl, clasping 
 both his brown hands in her own, 
 " wad ye do sic a thing as that fur 
 hive o' me? Wad ye be leavin' the 
 heelands, an' the work yer sae fond 
 o', an' bide wi' my kin in the low- 
 lands ? Eh, Willy ! I ken ye luv me 
 weel noo. But I wad na' hae ye mak' 
 sic a sacrifees. Our gran'sire cam' 
 an' he brocht Marian to bide wi' my 
 mither. An' 'twas jes ruggin' an' 
 reevin' at my he'rt the thocht o' ye ; 
 maybe sair-he'rted, or may be waur 
 than that gacin muckle wrang, wi' 
 nane to hand ye oot th' ill gait ! an' 
 I cud na' reist, but whan th' win- 
 ter gang awa', an' I see the rafts a 
 gaein by, an' some stoppin', I hoped 
 ye wad cum agen. Many lads cam' 
 fur metheglin, an' buttered sconces 
 (as ye did first, Willy), an' my fai- 
 ther speired o' ye, an' they tellt him 
 ye staid at hame an' waur douce an' 
 dourie. Willy ! I cud beir na mair. 
 I did nathing but greit, an' then 
 well I cam' awa' an' I foun' my ain 
 
 luv ! I winna leave ye noo ; sin ye 
 canna bide i' th' braw lowlan's, we'll 
 mak' a bonny hame i' th' wildwood 
 t'gither. 
 
 " 'Where thou bidest, I will bide.'" 
 
 The reunited pair walked hand-in- 
 hand to the cottage door, where John 
 and Mary Morgan, with their boys, 
 were seated. 
 
 "Mis' Morgan," said Big Bill, his 
 face radiant with delight, " this is my 
 wife, as I s'pose she's tol' ye. Mister 
 Morgan, this here young woman is 
 Missis William Morris. Came all the 
 way from Jarsey to hunt up a good- 
 fur -nothin' lummux of a husbau', 
 that never knowd what a rale treasure 
 he'd got till he thought he'd lost her, 
 and. jest by his own sheer contrari- 
 ness, too. Ain't she the purticst little 
 lassie ye ever sot yer eyes on ? Wall, 
 I swan ! I don't see what sech a 
 piece of pink-an'- white china ken fin' 
 in me that's worth comin' nigh unto 
 a hundered an' fifty miles after, any- 
 how !" 
 
 And he threw himself on the door- 
 steps, and gazed admiringly into his 
 wife's face; while she, laughing, blush- 
 ing, with eyes brimful of tears, sat in 
 the big rocker, and told of her home, 
 her friends, her wearisome journey, 
 and her new-found, sweet content. 
 
 " Can't ye give us a song, Bessie ? 
 Not one of yer ginuine Scotch, ye 
 know ; but one that a feller can un- 
 derstan'." 
 
 Bessie smiled. "Hae ye forgot all 
 the Scotch I taught ye, Willy ? 'Tis 
 Sabbath night, ye ken, an' " 
 
 " Oh, call it Thanksgivin'. We don't 
 either of us feel like chantin' a psalm
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 to-night; besides, Bessie, the sun's 
 gone down." 
 
 "Weel, I'll sing ye a ballad ye 
 ne'er heard, but needna' spcer the 
 meanin' o'." 
 
 And, slipping her hand in his, her 
 sweet, clear voice warbled, 
 
 "The lowland lads think they are fine, 
 
 But O they're vain an' wondrous gawdy. 
 How much unlike the graceful mein 
 An' manly looks o' me Highlan' laddie ! 
 
 " O'er Benty hill wi' him I'll run, 
 
 An' leave me hame an' lowlan' daddy, 
 Frae winter's cauld an' summer's sun 
 He'll screen me wi' his Highlan' plaidie. 
 
 "Nae greater joy I'll e'er pretend 
 
 Than that his love prove true and steady, 
 Like mine to him, which ne'er shall end 
 While Heaven preserves my Highlan' laddie." 
 
 A silence fell on the little group, 
 and the husband moved closer to the 
 singer and laid his head against her 
 arm. He would not lose one instant 
 of this delicious stillness for the sweet- 
 est speech. 
 
 The rippling waters, the insects' 
 chirr, and whippoorwill's plaintive 
 notes harmonized with the twilight 
 hush. The thoughts of each were 
 
 busy with the past. It is the alter- 
 nating joy and grief that make histo- 
 ries, as pictures are formed of vary- 
 ing light and shade. 
 
 Mary Morgan's voice dispelled the 
 silence. 
 
 "Your song was very sweet. I 
 hope you have come to stay. Did 
 you say you left your chest at the end 
 of the stage route, and walked the 
 rest of the way ?" 
 
 " Ah weel, I didna' tire." 
 
 And she looked at the head which 
 rested against her knee, as a loving, 
 faithful dog's might have done. 
 
 " Bessie, little wife" and the big 
 head raised slowly, as though roused 
 from slumber "I've got to git that 
 chist here 'fore to - morrow night ! 
 Mebbe 'twill seem's though 'twant all 
 a dream then, an' ye'd come to stay. 
 Guess likely Mis' Morgan can keep us 
 a spell, till we can knock up a cabin 
 of our own. "Wall, I dew say ! ef 
 thav ain't them cows a-waitin' thar by 
 the bars yit ! Git me the milk-pails, 
 Jamie. Jehoshaphat ! ef thar's a hap- 
 pier feller 'n I be 'long this here river, 
 I'd like to shake hands with him."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 'Have I not said that womanhood involves all? 
 Have I not told how the universe has nothing better than the best woman?" 
 
 WALT WHITMAN. 
 
 IN a week's time the domestic ar- 
 rangements in John Morgan's home 
 had undergone a change, Bessie Mor- 
 ns taking entire charge of household 
 affairs, leaving Mrs. Morgan free to 
 begin the promised school. 
 
 A score of rosy-cheeked, bright-eyed 
 girls and boys entered the long bare 
 room one Monday morning, where 
 Mrs. Morgan, in cushioned rocking- 
 chair, sat awaiting them, and with 
 much whispering and giggling, seated 
 themselves on the high, hard benches, 
 their shoeless feet dangling several 
 inches from the floor. 
 
 " Children, haven't any of you a 
 book ?" inquired their teacher. 
 
 There was more whispering and 
 giggling. 
 
 "Mar said I better bring 'long a 
 Testamunt," one of the largest girls 
 answered, "but par said 'twant no 
 use." 
 
 "But has no one brought a Reader 
 or a Speller ? I didn't expect geogra- 
 phies or arithmetics, but I hoped you 
 had spelling-books of some kind. Well, 
 when there's a freshet, we can send 
 down the river and cet books. Until 
 
 then, we must get along with these 
 two which I have. But I want you 
 all to go up the creek to the stone- 
 quarry and get smooth flat stones to 
 mark on. Get them as big as this 
 book when it is open so, and as thin 
 and smooth as you can. Then get 
 some small pieces of soft stone to mark 
 with. They will do for slates and 
 pencils until we can do better. Polly 
 Brown, can you read ?" 
 
 " I guess I kin a little : pop learnt 
 me ; but I hain't no book but a Testa- 
 ment : t'other's all wore out." 
 
 "All who have Testaments, please 
 hold them up," said the amateur and 
 much perplexed school-ma'am. 
 
 Four much-soiled volumes were ex- 
 hibited ; and a voice announced, 
 
 " Mar has got one in her chist ; an' 
 Bob guesses his folks '11 let him bring 
 theirn." 
 
 "Very well; bring them to-morrow, 
 and any school-books you can find. 
 And now, Sammy Brown, you and 
 Dicky come here, and tell me the 
 names of these letters." 
 
 A little urging from older sisters 
 brought them to her side; and after
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 25 
 
 wriggling and giggling a moment, 
 staring hard at the pictured page, 
 both muttered, " I don' know." 
 
 " That is A, Sammy ; say it 'A.' " 
 
 "A what?" inquired the boy; and 
 the other children, big and little, 
 laughed outright. 
 
 "The letter A, Sammy : there, there, 
 children, stop laughing ! Letter A, and 
 letter B. Here they are on. this page 
 too." 
 
 " Oh, I know now ; that's what pop 
 says when he's a-milkin', and I'm a- 
 helpin' : Let 'er be let 'er be !' " 
 
 At this the boys and girls broke 
 into another peal of laughter, in which 
 their teacher was forced to join. 
 
 Just then came a rap at the half- 
 open door : the laughing ceased as sud- 
 denly as it had begun; and as Mrs. 
 Morgan arose, the form of a tall dark- 
 eyed youth appeared in the door-way, 
 and hesitatingly entered. 
 
 " How-de-do, Mis' Morgan : I thought 
 as how, seein' I was out of a job, meb- 
 be you'd let a feller uf my size cum to 
 your school fur a spell," he stammer- 
 ed. " I hain't never hed no chance fur 
 larnin' nohow. An' I thought I'd like 
 to know a little suthin', cf I hain't too 
 dumb to git at it." 
 
 "lam glad you've come, Jack," said 
 Mrs. Morgan, encouragingly; "you 
 can help me teach the children to 
 sing, and I can help you study. What 
 do you wish to learn most ? Can you 
 read a chapter in the Bible ?" 
 
 " Wall, I -guess I cud git the sense 
 out oft ; but riggers is what I'm after 
 nco\v. I should like to larn cipherin' 
 uncommon well. You see, fellers gits 
 the tallest kind o' pay fur countin' 
 lumber and measurin' off land, an' sich 
 
 work. An' ef you can larn me to cal- 
 culate how many foot o' lumber there 
 is in a tree, an' how many acres there 
 is in a lot o' land, why, I tell ye 
 what! I'd be powerful 'bliged to ye, 
 and wouldn't mind payin' ye suthin' 
 middlin' handsome fur it, tew ! Guess 
 't wouldn't take more 'n a week or so, 
 would it ? For I'm goin' off the 
 Fourth, an' I'll hev to pitch into the 
 work soon's ever I git back." 
 
 "How far have you ever studied 
 arithmetic? Have you ciphered 
 through the ' four rules ?' And do you 
 know all the tables?" 
 
 " Tables ? Don't know nothin' 't all 
 'bout it, Mis' Morgan. Never seed 
 no figgerin'-book, as I know on." 
 
 " Why, Jack Rodgers ! to learn all 
 you wish to know of arithmetic will 
 take a year at least. But I want you 
 to try, and I'll help you all I can." 
 
 "A hull year! well, I dew say! I 
 can't go to school an' work tew, I 
 s'pose. An' there's the foller to burn ; 
 an' it ought to be got into buckwheat 
 right along. An' there's the bark- 
 peelin' an' hayin' an' raftin', an' mebbe 
 three or four chances to go down the 
 river. Bill Morgan said he'd trust 
 me to steer a toggle-timber raft next 
 spring, ef I'd go down with him a cou- 
 ple o' times this season. I tell ye I 
 hate to think o' bucklin' right down 
 to a book. But ef I go at it, I'm 
 bound to go through ; blamed ef I 
 won't ! 'n ef you'll kinder help me 
 along, I'll jest set right down an' go 
 at it now. Ef you want any o' these 
 young uns thrashed, or anything else 
 done that's in my line, why, jest call 
 on me." 
 
 Jamie's slate and pencil were
 
 20 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 brought, and the numerals copied 
 from a page of his arithmetic again 
 and again, until the uncouth charac- 
 ters began to stand erect and resem- 
 ble the Arabic numbers. 
 
 By this time Mrs. Morgan had or- 
 ganized the little school into three 
 distinct classes. The ABC schol- 
 ars ; the Primer class, which included 
 Davy; and the Testament readers, of 
 which Jamie, though least in age and 
 stature, stood first. 
 
 The whole school received instruc- 
 tions in arithmetic and geography, 
 with daily information regarding the- 
 ology, history, and etiquette. 
 
 A few rules were laid down for the 
 government of the school, and the 
 circulation of the two spelling-books 
 among seven pupils. Then they were 
 dismissed, one by one, each turning at 
 the door to bow or courtesy to their 
 teacher, which ceremony at first near- 
 ly convulsed the school with suppress- 
 ed laughter; but a few days sufficed 
 to give more ease and grace to the 
 queer "bobs" of the boys and the 
 comical "curcheys" of the girls, as 
 they imitated the oft-repeated exam- 
 ple of their teacher ; and soon a whis- 
 pered command from the older girls 
 to the smaller children to " make 
 your manners," as they left their seats 
 to start homeward, was a sufficient re- 
 minder for all. 
 
 The introduction of the simple 
 words "Please" and "Thank you" 
 was also a strange innovation ; but as 
 no request was granted unless prefix- 
 ed by the first, and withdrawn unless 
 followed by the second, the custom 
 soon became a common one, in the 
 school-room at least. 
 
 The singing, however, was the chief 
 charm and the greatest incentive to 
 study. 
 
 " If every word of these two lines is 
 spelled correctly, children," Mrs. Mor- 
 gan would say, holding up the Web- 
 ster's Elementary before them, " we 
 will sing * There's Much Good Cheer,' 
 and the ' Happy Land ' before we go 
 home; but whoever misses will have 
 to stay and study ; and that will take 
 up all the time." 
 
 Very eager were the faces as they 
 hurried to their positions in the spell- 
 ing-class and placed their bare toes in 
 line with the designated crack in the 
 floor. 
 
 Very happy were they when word 
 after word was correctly pronounced 
 and spelled ; and if at last some un- 
 lucky urchin blundered through inat- 
 tention or ignorance, no greater pun- 
 ishment was needed than the black 
 looks of his comrades, censuring him 
 for depriving them of a song. 
 
 As .the failures occurred less fre- 
 quently, the singing became quite a 
 feature of the school, all standing, 
 with their hands clasped behind them, 
 heads erect, and shoulders back, thus 
 resting body as well as mind while 
 they sang, 
 
 "I think when I read that sweet story of old, 
 
 When Jesus was hero among men, 
 How he called little children as lambs to his 
 
 fold, 
 I should like to have been with him then." 
 
 Wednesday was a half-holiday, and 
 the morning was devoted to various 
 kinds of handicraft and singing. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan encouraged the boys 
 to learn to knit, sew on buttons, darn 
 their stockings and mittens, as well as
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 make fish-lines, braid whip-lashes, and 
 whittle toys. 
 
 The girls brought blocks of calico 
 for bedquilts, straw for braiding hats, 
 and knitting. 
 
 After the work was well under way, 
 Mrs. Morgan would read or tell a sto- 
 ry, historical events usually suggest- 
 ing the theme. 
 
 One day Jamie electrified the 
 school by reciting " Casabianca ;" and 
 from that time speaking pieces be- 
 came the "reward of merit," Mrs. 
 Morgan promising as a great favor to 
 teach the best boy some verses " by 
 heart," for the succeeding Wednes- 
 day ; and they who recited, 
 
 "Poor and needy though I be, 
 . God, my maker, cares for me ; 
 Gives me clothing, shelter, food, 
 Gives me all I have that's good," 
 
 never forgot the words. 
 
 "My school governs itself," said 
 Mary Morgan, one evening nearly 
 three months after its beginning. 
 "The very boys I was afraid might 
 give me trouble seem, to try as hard 
 to please me as I do to please them. 
 I overheard that comical little Sammy 
 Brown telling Jack Rodgers that by- 
 words { was jest a baby way of swear- 
 in', 'cause teacher said so.' And I no- 
 tice, too, that they are all getting 
 quite polite to each other as well as 
 to me. Not a day passes without a 
 gift of flowers a hollyhock or nastur- 
 tion from their door-yards, or wild 
 flowers with mosses and ferns: the 
 tin cup I have for a vase is always 
 filled. And they are getting on nice- 
 ly with .lessons, too. Jack Rodgers is 
 learning multiplication and division 
 already, and will soon get into frac- 
 
 tions. But having so few books is a 
 great bother. Some will learn their 
 spelling-lesson in ten minutes, and be 
 on the lookout for mischief, while oth- 
 ers would keep the book an hour. So 
 I have arranged to let them hear each 
 other go over the lessons, in a whisper 
 of course, the one waiting for the book 
 playing teacher, which hurries the stu- 
 pid ones considerably. I find they 
 take a great deal of pride, of late, in 
 seeing how quickly they can learn a 
 lesson. If I can only keep on a few 
 weeks longer, I can teach them writ- 
 ing; that is, if your husband ever 
 finds time to make those desks, Bes- 
 sie." 
 
 " 'Deed, rna'am,William wud be mair 
 than glad to do yer will, but the 
 wark's over-lang for the days, an* the 
 nichts na' fit for sic a job." 
 
 "Oh, I'm, not particular how it is 
 done, so I have a shelf put up around 
 the room for the books just a little 
 slant, so that the children can rest 
 their slates on it as they write. We 
 have so little paper in the store, it 
 would be useless to begin using it ; so 
 their home - made slates and pencils 
 must answer until there comes a 
 freshet, and I can send to my brother 
 in Philadelphia for what we need. I 
 have made out a list to send him, but 
 the weather will soon be too cold to 
 use the room ; so I expect nothing 
 better this term. If you will stay 
 with me, Bessie, maybe I can teach 
 again." 
 
 "An' hae a braw new scholar i' tli' 
 schule, eh? I wonder what bonny 
 name will ye'll enter i' th' buik 'mong 
 the lads and lassies? John is na' sae 
 bonny, but"
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 " I feel very sure we shall call her 
 Miriam. 'Twas my mother's name," 
 said Mrs. Morgan, softly. "Do you 
 know, Bessie, I do so love to read of 
 the mother of our Lord. I wish there 
 was more about her in the Bible. I 
 don't want to pray to her, you know ; 
 but I love to think about her, and 
 how she must feel for all women." 
 
 "What popish nonsense is that 
 you're talking, Mary?" said her hus- 
 band, rising suddenly from the door- 
 stone, where the evening shades had 
 concealed him. "A woman of your 
 sense ought to know better than to 
 talk such stuff as that. Why, you'll 
 be having a crucifix hung up by your 
 bed, next, and a string of beads to 
 pray on, and all the rest of it. I'm 
 astonished at you ! Perhaps you 
 better send for a priest to come 
 here and form a church, you're so anx- 
 ious " 
 
 "Oh, John! John! don't talk so! 
 Please don't! You frighten me when 
 you speak so loud. It makes my 
 heart flutter so ! I did not know you 
 were sitting there." 
 
 " Well, what if you didn't ? What 
 do you talk such popish nonsense for? 
 I don't know why it is, but I can't 
 speak to you lately but it sets your 
 heart a-fluttering! You never used 
 to be so silly. I think I have enough 
 to make my heart flutter! There's 
 Long John been peeling over forty 
 cords of bark on my land ; pretends 
 he don't know where the line is, and 
 intimates that I don't. I'll prosecute 
 him, sure's he lives !" 
 
 "I thought he wanted tew settle," 
 said Big Bill, who had just entered. 
 
 " Settle ? Yes, he offers to pay for 
 
 the bark ; but what's that ? Am I to 
 have my property damaged that way 
 hemlock-trees cut down that I want 
 standing and then let him settle on 
 his own terms ? Wrong is wrong, and 
 right is right ! And here are store- 
 bills coming due next month, and not 
 a cent to meet them. Goods trusted 
 out, and not a dollar in the country 
 till after we get a freshet ; and no 
 signs of rain either !" 
 
 And the man strode out of the house 
 and down to the saw-mill, the wheels 
 of which had long stood idle for want 
 of water. 
 
 "Ah me ! puir winsome leddy !" said 
 the kind-hearted Scotchwoman, kneel- 
 ing by Mary Morgan's side, and chaf- 
 ing her cold, trembling hands, "I wad 
 ye cud greit an' let out the heart- 
 ache." 
 
 " Oh, Bessie, I'm silly to get fright- 
 ened at nothing !" she answered, laugh- 
 ing hysterically. " He didn't mean it ; 
 he never used to talk so in our own 
 dear home. But now though I have 
 been so much stronger since you came, 
 you dear, kind w T oman but I feel 
 Hark ! is that wind ?" 
 
 A low, shuddering moan crept 
 through the trees, then a quick gust 
 of wind swept through the house, ex- 
 tinguishing the light, slamming the 
 doors, and awaking Jamie and Davy, 
 whose screams added to the confu- 
 sion. 
 
 A flash of lightning, a peal of thun- 
 der, a downpour of rain came almost 
 in the same instant. The men came 
 running from the barn and mill, drench- 
 ed to the skin in the momentary ex- 
 posure. 
 
 The storm had crept unseen over
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 29 
 
 the western hill-tops, and broke with 
 fury in the narrow valley. A blaze of 
 light a horror of darkness a crash 
 of cloud artillery that shook the earth 
 and filled every heart with terror; 
 then a cry of bitter agony from Mary 
 Morgan's white lips; and they carried 
 her to her room, and laid her, fainting, 
 on the bed. 
 
 All night the storm raged without : 
 the horses pranced and neighed, trem- 
 bling iii their stalls; and the cattle 
 ran to and fro in their pasture, seek- 
 ing shelter from the storm. The brook 
 sprung out of its sluggish sleep, and 
 dashed and foamed over the rocks it 
 shrunk from months before. 
 
 The trees moaned and shivered with 
 the violence of the wind. The blue 
 blaze cleft the darkness every instant ; 
 the thunder roared, and the mountains 
 gave back their muttered defiance. 
 The clouds spread their black man- 
 tle up the valley to the source of the 
 stream, threatening destruction to all 
 the property along the brook. 
 
 Yet inside the tiny cottage on the 
 
 river-bank raged a far more fearful 
 conflict. It was a conflict between 
 life and death, while remorse, grief, 
 sympath)', and anxiety were helpless, 
 trembling witnesses ! 
 
 No human aid could be obtained; 
 only the God of nature could decide 
 the struggle ! and the night dragged 
 wearily away, while with staring, sense- 
 less eyes Mary Morgan looked death 
 in the face, but knew it not, and 
 clung to life, unconscious of the grasp. 
 
 Slowly the clouds passed away, the 
 thunder reverberating in the distant 
 mountains. Slowly the pale light of 
 dawn crept over the eastern hills. 
 
 More slowly death retreated, and 
 the light of reason illuminated the 
 pale face of the mother. 
 
 Her eyes sought the little bundle in 
 Mrs. Rodgers's arms. 
 
 Bessie leaned over the pillow and 
 whispered, 
 
 " Ye hae yer will. It is Miriam !" 
 
 A happy smile swept over the face, 
 and then 
 
 "Being faint with jor, the mother slept."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 'For us the wealth-laden world laboreth ever: 
 For us harvests ripen, winds blow, waters roll ; 
 
 And he who gives back in his might of endeavor, 
 I'll cherish a man ever dear to my soul." 
 
 GERALD MASSET. 
 
 TIIE next morning the river was 
 pronounced only two feet below a 
 rafting freshet, and still rising. Being 
 a " lightning fresh," that is, one caused 
 by thunder -showers, its height and 
 duration depended on the direction 
 the last night's storm had taken ; and 
 it might "ran out" as rapidly as it 
 had risen ; so no time was lost by 
 those who had lumber to send to 
 market. 
 
 Before sunrise the river's bank was 
 thronged with men and teams ; and 
 the business of rafting began. Long 
 John was engaged to raft the toggle- 
 timber, and Sam Jenkins the logs; 
 while Big Bill took charge of the 
 sawed lumber. 
 
 Hemlock-scantling rafts differ only 
 in size ; while a piling or toggle tim- 
 ber raft has the appearance of a num- 
 ber of large poles huddled together 
 with little regard to size; the con- 
 structor's skill being shown by col- 
 lecting the largest number of sticks in 
 the smallest space and shortest time, 
 with the fewest possible fastenings. 
 
 The raftsman's skill culminates in 
 the construction of a log raft. That 
 their proficiency in so placing each 
 log that its largest and smoothest 
 side be uppermost, and all defects be 
 hidden, is of art most artful, can be 
 proven by the purchasers. 
 
 Mr. Morgan watched the men roll 
 the logs down the steep bank into the 
 river, leap lightly on them from the 
 shore, and ride them to their places in 
 the raft with such apparent ease that 
 he was vexed to think he had yielded 
 to the demands of the log-riders for 
 the highest ^vages. 
 
 " That's more like play than work," 
 he said to Jenkins, as he walked up 
 the bank to select another log. "I 
 think Pll take the place of one of 
 your men." 
 
 Sam cut a wedge from the plug of 
 tobacco in his hand, turned one eye 
 upward to squint at the clouds hurry- 
 ing across the sky, and in his peculiar 
 drawling tones, ending each sentence 
 with an " uh," quietly replied, 
 
 " Mebbe ye wouldn't like it 's well 's
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 31 
 
 ye think ye would. 'X ef you should 
 send off one of these boys, I don' 
 know whar ye'd fin' another 'twould n't 
 rather worruck 'an play 'ith logs in 
 that there current: darned ef I do. 
 I'm agoin' tew run daown a double- 
 length naow, an' yeou kin ride daown 
 'ith me, an' see haow ye like it. Roll 
 in that twenty-four-foot, boys !" 
 
 " None of your tricks now, Sam," 
 said Mr. Morgan, who thought he de- 
 tected mischief in the solemn lines of 
 Sam's countenance. 
 
 "I was jest a thinkin' w'at yer wife 
 Vd say ef Hed'nt ye better giv' 
 me yer watch to kerry fur ye ? Spile 
 it to git it wet, won't it ? But ef ye 
 stan' stiddy, 'ith yer heels square on 
 top th' log, an' yer toes turned aout, 
 I guess I kin git yer daown t' th' raft. 
 Ye'll hev to dew some purty lively 
 dancin' fust, though : the roll off the 
 bank sets the log a-spinnin' mighty 
 rapid ; an' then yew'll hev to handle 
 yer feet middlin' lively goin' under 
 the lash-poles, ur th' '11 trip ye intew 
 th' river quicker 'an lightnin'. Thar 
 she comes ! Wait till I maount her, 
 an' steddy 'er daown a little. Xaow, 
 then, jump !" 
 
 Mr. Morgan picked up a pike-pole, 
 and, taking a flying leap, came down 
 upon the log so heavily Sam was near- 
 ly thrown from his balance ; but by 
 the skilful use of his feet and pole 
 he stopped the log rolling, and guided 
 it to the raft. Morgan stood firmly, 
 his eyes upon the men who were fast- 
 ening a single -length log to the pro- 
 jecting sticks which held the raft to- 
 gether. 
 
 " Xaow, jump the lash-poles !" yell- 
 ed Sara, obeying his own command. 
 
 Mr. Morgan sprang over the first 
 and second as the logs passed swiftly 
 under them ; but the third caught his 
 foot, and he fell headlong into the 
 river, barely escaping being drawn 
 under the raft by the current. He 
 crawled upon it, while the men shout- 
 ed with laughter. Angered by their 
 rudeness, but too wise to betray the 
 feeling, he accepted the joke, saying, 
 
 "That skip-the-rope movement was 
 too much for me, boys ; but I can ride 
 a log as well as any of you. I'll ride 
 them down to the point here, and you 
 can place them with your boat-hooks." 
 
 A sly wink from Sam betokened 
 mischief. 
 
 " Wall, I want a twelve-footer nex'. 
 Ye'd better try a smallish un fust, 
 hadn't ye?" 
 
 "I'll get the log you need, whether 
 it's large or small," Mr. Morgan an- 
 swered, impatiently. "I could have 
 been half-way down with it while 
 you've been talking. You hang on to 
 your words as though you liked the 
 taste of them, and grunt as if every 
 sentence hurt you." 
 
 "The glibbest talkers ain't allers 
 the fastest workers, Mister Morgan ; 
 an' though I like fun, I hope my words 
 ain't so bitter as to taste bad, nor so 
 sharp as to hurt me nor nobody else," 
 Sam replied, with more dignity than 
 one would have supposed possible for 
 the lank, freckle-faced young man to 
 assume. "An' naow, sir, ye'd better 
 take a fool's advice an' leave log-rid- 
 in' fur them as understan' it. Least- 
 ways, ye'd better dew yer practisin' 
 in still water." 
 
 "When I want your advice, Mr. 
 Jenkins, I will ask for it; and it might
 
 32 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 be well for you to remember who is 
 the employer and who the employed 
 in this business." 
 
 "All right, Mister Morgan ; but 
 somehow we mountain men hev free 
 ways. We live free, work free, an' 
 talk free, an' actilly b'lieve we be free. 
 "We hain't got to usin' gold weights 
 to weigh men with here yit ; an' ef 
 ye live, an' work, an' talk 'ith us, 
 yeu'll hev to take a joke 'ith us." 
 
 "Well, well: it will be no joke if 
 this freshet runs out before this raft 
 is done ! Now let's make up for lost 
 time ; and I will get that twelve-foot 
 log." 
 
 The oxen had already hauled the 
 log to the roll - away ; and as he ar- 
 rived, it went thundering down the 
 bank, and plunged into the water, 
 dashing the spray high irt air. 
 
 "Light on 'er 'fore she gits in the 
 current !" shouted one of the men. 
 
 Morgan sprang; the log whirled 
 rapidly beneath his feet his feet 
 danced more rapidly to keep on top of 
 the log ; faster, faster the log rolled 
 as the current caught it; a slip a 
 plunge and he disappeared beneath 
 the water. He rose, swam to and 
 mounted the log, only to be rolled un- 
 der it on the gravelly bottom; rose 
 again ; caught his pike - pole, then 
 sank, and was borne out into the swift 
 current. 
 
 Sam leaped from the raft and 
 caught him by the arm. Swimming 
 to the shore, he drew the half-drowned 
 man to the bank, and helped him to 
 the house; while Jack Rodgers sprang 
 upon another log, overtook the estray, 
 and brought it to land. 
 
 All were as busy in doors as out. 
 
 Mrs. Rodgers's " men folks " having 
 no lumber to run this freshet, she re- 
 mained to assist Bessie in the unac- 
 customed labor of preparing provision 
 for the rafts. 
 
 Even Jamie and Davy were furnish- 
 ed employment in looking over beans, 
 beating eggs, and keeping a roaring 
 fire under the kettles where whole 
 hams and huge chunks of pork were 
 boiling. 
 
 " Keeps 'em from pullin' the blank- 
 ets off that blessed baby every min- 
 nit, ennyhow," said Mrs. Rodgers, " ef 
 they dew hinder 'bout ez much ez 
 they help. I guess they've kissed 
 her ban' more 'n fifty times a'ready. 
 Wall, it's, a marcy they 'er so much 
 tuck up 'ith havin' a little sister ! 
 They hain't never thought o' goin' 
 to the river an' gettin' drownded 's 
 their mother's allers 'fraid they would 
 when th' ' fresh ' come. Wall, JT'm al- 
 lers a-crossin' a bridge 'fore I git to 
 it; an' then like 's not find thai* hain't 
 no bridge thar, nor never wus." 
 
 And she thrust a big pan of beans 
 and bacon into the stove-oven, while 
 Bessie placed another of pumpkin 
 bread beside the pile of doughnuts, 
 which seemed to Bessie's unsophisti- 
 cated eyes sufficient for a regiment 
 of men. 
 
 The channel of the Delaware being 
 narrow and rocky, with frequent rap- 
 ids, it is necessary to find a landing 
 every night, the men seeking lodging 
 in taverns or farm-houses, wherever it 
 can be obtained ; often a score in a 
 room, their beds on the floor any 
 place where they can lie stretched out 
 talking, laughing, singing, or sleep- 
 ing, from dark till dawn.
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 Then rising, with shouts and jest- 
 ing, they hastily swallow their break- 
 fast of fried ham and eggs, buckwheat- 
 cakes and coffee, and hurry to their 
 rafts while the white mists of night 
 still hang heavily over the river, 
 spring to their oars, push out, and 
 glide down the stream. 
 
 Dinner is a cold lunch, and a well- 
 filled dinner-box a necessity. 
 
 Dry clothing and a cup of hot tea 
 had restored Mr. Morgan's vitality, 
 but not his equanimity ; and the face 
 that stooped to kiss his little daugh- 
 ter, though smiling, was not an ami- 
 able one. 
 
 "Are you sure you are not bruised, 
 or have not taken cold ?" inquired his 
 wife. "How did you happen to fall 
 in ? I couldn't hear all that was said 
 in the kitchen." 
 
 "Oh, 'twas nothing serious; don't 
 worry about me. I'm not the worse 
 for it, and shall raft scantling this af- 
 ternoon." 
 
 "Oh, father! mayn't I help you? 
 Who's bossing it Long John ?" 
 
 "No, Bill Morris. Ybwhelp? Well, 
 I guess you better wait a few years. 
 But I'll tell you what you can do. 
 I'm going to have "Fred help raft, and 
 you and Jamie can attend to the 
 store. Only, mind you don't eat the 
 candy." 
 
 " Tend store ? Oh, that's lots of 
 fun ! Can we sell things ?" 
 
 " Yes ; if you get the money for 
 them. Don't let any one go behind 
 the counter." 
 
 "Is Fred strong enough to raft?" 
 inquired Mrs. Morgan, feebly. 
 
 "Yes; he's stronger than he looks. 
 I don't suppose he'll be of much use, 
 3 
 
 but 'twill do him good. He thinks 
 too much about his white hands and 
 rich relation. His uncle sent him up 
 here to work some of the nonsense 
 out of him ; and I think rafting will 
 do it." 
 
 "Mister Morgan," said Mrs. Rodg- 
 ers, coming to the door, "ken that 
 dark o' yourn fix them pervision 
 boxes ? Tea-boxes is the handiest ef 
 ye've got enny empty; an' there's 
 holes got to be bored in the sides, 
 to put rope -handles in. Leastways, 
 that's the best way to fix 'em." 
 
 Promising to see the boxes made 
 ready, Mr. Morgan hastened to the 
 river to join the forces of Big Bill ; 
 but Morris seemed disposed to find 
 him employment elsewhere. 
 
 "Tell ye what 'tis, Mister Morgan," 
 he said, " thai- hain't no time t' lose 
 ef we git off on this fresh ; an' I jest 
 wish you'd go an' hurry up them 
 teams. We hain't got more 'n half 
 th' filiin' fur the cribs down here yet. 
 An' sen' down a bag o' wedges an' a 
 bundle o' grubs, ef that thar shiftless 
 Mose has got 'em made yit. Can't 
 you take Fred an' go up on th' hill 
 an' cut a couple o' dozen oak or hick- 
 ory saplin's? Git 'em 'bout four foot 
 long, an' two an' a half or three inches 
 through. Kinder grub 'em up so's 
 to leave th' bulge o' th' root fur the 
 head o' th' grub. Guess that'll keep 
 him busy fur a spell," he added, as 
 Mr. Morgan walked briskly away. 
 " He's a nice man, Mister Morgan is, 
 but 'pinionated as a mule! He's 
 boun' to see into th' hull business o' 
 raftin' ; an' he's so' chuck-full o' ideas, 
 he'd see some new way o' doin' every- 
 thing; an' nothin' so conflusticates a
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 lot o' men's to make 'em do a thing 
 they understan' in a way they don't 
 understan'. I'm powerful glad to get 
 shet o' him till we git these 'ere cribs 
 in. Hallo, Mose ! like to got them 
 grubs here 'n time fur nex' fresh, 
 didn't ye ? Guess Mister Morgan put 
 a leetle spring into ye. What's he 
 doin' ? Hope he'll stir up them teams, 
 an' git that thar stuff down here 'fore 
 long." 
 
 " Wall, I seed him an' Fred down 
 by th' lumber pi-iles; but I didn't 
 see no wagon a-loadin'," Mose re- 
 plied. 
 
 " Well, I hope they'll move faster 'n 
 your tongue, when they dew git start- 
 ed. Fur th' land's sake, put down 
 them grubs, an' help lift this crib off! 
 Guess ye was born on a Saturday, 
 Mose, an' purty late in th' afternoon 
 tew ! Yew allers work an' talk as 
 ef thar wa'n't no more to dew this 
 week." 
 
 Mose put down the grubs he had 
 been holding upon his shoulder, and 
 lazily picking up a handspike, he 
 placed it under the corner of the crib, 
 and putting his shoulder against the 
 stick, inquired, " Reddy, be ye ?" 
 Then, with a giant's strength, gave a 
 lift and a shove that threw the crib 
 off the slide and his corner to the wa- 
 ter's edge. 
 
 "Why didn't ye keep yer eend 
 up ?" he chuckled ; " ycr a purty big 
 ma-an, Bill Morris, an' likely ye was 
 born tolerably airly in th' mornin'; 
 
 but yeou can't pull an even whipple- 
 tree with me yit." 
 
 " Wall, Mose, you be the blamedest 
 critter I ever see ! Yer stronger than 
 an ox whe.n you're a mind to do any- 
 thing. Now you jest take holt agin, 
 an' git this 'ere crib onto th' slide and 
 into th' water." 
 
 "Wall, I guess I've got to go down 
 an' see to that toggle -timber naow. 
 Mister Morgan he wants me to steer 
 it, an' I w-o-n't trust nobody to hang 
 an oar for me. 'Sides that, thar cleark 
 said he was comin' daown to ra-aft: 
 an' I wan' to be tha-er t' see th' 
 fu-un." 
 
 "Fred goin' to raft toggle -timber? 
 Wall, I swan ! He'll git the starch 
 tuck out o' him, I'll bet !" exclaimed 
 Morris. " Jehoshaphat ! look there! 
 ef there hain't that York Yankee 
 comin' down th' creek on a float o' 
 lumber. Here we've ben a-haulin' it 
 through th' mud on wagons, an' never 
 once thought o' floatin' it! Blamed 
 cf I hain't reddy to bag my head, an' 
 sell it fur a pun'kin." 
 
 "That's a smart idea o' Mister Mor- 
 gan's," said Long John, coming down 
 the bank. " Guess we kin hev all th' 
 teams a-haulin* logs now. But ef he 
 brags any, you jest twit him o' ridin' 
 logs." 
 
 "Come, all hands," shouted Mr. 
 Morgan, pushing the float to the 
 shore, " pull out this scantling before 
 we go to dinner. There goes the 
 horn !"
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "The pure sweet fountains chant of heavenly hope: 
 The chorus of the rills is household love: 
 The rivers roll their song of social joy : 
 The ocean's organ voice is sounding forth 
 The hymn of Universal Brotherhood." 
 
 A SCORE of men entered the kitch- 
 en, after stamping the mud from their 
 feet upon the door-stone, and using 
 the tin wash-basin and crash -towel 
 hanging outside the door. 
 
 With much scraping of chairs and 
 shuffling of feet upon the bare floor, 
 they seated themselves around the 
 well-laden table. 
 
 A few heads were bowed while Mr. 
 Morgan murmured words of thanks to 
 the Giver of all Good ; and then the 
 work' of emptying the dishes began, 
 Bessie and Mrs. Rodgers refilling them 
 as soon as their contents were exhaust- 
 ed. Indeed, a looker-on might have 
 supposed the consumers and suppli- 
 ers were each trying to overcome the 
 other. 
 
 But in twenty minutes the suppliers 
 conquered ; and the consumers one by 
 one left the scene of conflict, until only 
 Mose remained to demolish the piles 
 of potatoes, corned-beef, and pumpkin- 
 pie still left upon the table. In five 
 minutes more he, too, retreated, and 
 the women were left to dispose of the 
 debris of the meal. 
 
 SARA J. HALE. 
 
 The clerk accompanied the men in 
 his usual city dress, they exchanging 
 glances, and muttering their guesses 
 that "them store-clothes won't look 
 so slick long." 
 
 Reaching the river-bank, the group 
 divided, each party going to its own 
 place of labor. Fred joined the forces 
 of Long John above the logs and be- 
 low the scantling-rafts. 
 
 Running lightly across the loose 
 sticks which lay between the shore 
 and the raft, Long John left them 
 whirling and plunging behind him. 
 
 Seeing the men were waiting for 
 him to pass over, Fred followed. The 
 small, slippery logs rolled and sunk 
 beneath his feet ; but to the evident 
 surprise and disappointment of the 
 spectators, he reached the raft with 
 only one bootful of water. 
 
 "Wall, tha-at wa'n't bad fur a green- 
 horn !" exclaimed Mose, who had has- 
 tened to the bank, and stood with his 
 hands in his pockets, and a grin of 
 expectation upon his leathery face. 
 " I've seed ol' han's do wus 'n tha-at !" 
 
 "Oh, that's nothing," said Fred,
 
 30 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 lightly ; " though I believe Long John 
 set those poles spinning and plunging 
 on purpose to give me a cold bath. I 
 am sorry to disappoint you all, but I 
 don't think I can afford to entertain 
 you as Mr. Morgan did. If I can't 
 keep my balance and footing with any 
 of you, let me know it, please ;" and 
 the young man executed a brilliant 
 rigadoon upon the log, whirling and 
 bowing to an imaginary partner. "I 
 have practised walking a slack-rope, 
 riding a horse bare -back, and leap- 
 ing and tumbling with circus -boys 
 in New York rather too much to be 
 taught anything in that line by you 
 fellows," he said, with a toss of the 
 head and a half-contemptuous smile. 
 
 " That's so, boys," said Long John. 
 " You thought you'd have a leetle fun 
 seem' a greenhorn ride an' raft tog- 
 gle-timber; but you'll hev to go to 
 school to him to learn to do it circus 
 fashion." 
 
 Fred, uncertain how to take the 
 laugh which followed, determined to 
 outdo them all, and proposed to ride 
 one of the timbers about the size of a 
 sloop's mast to its place in the raft. 
 
 But Long John, with an expressive 
 glance at Fred's soft white hands, or- 
 dered him to try boring holes first. 
 
 " Take this long auger. 'Tain't nat- 
 eral fur you to stoop ; an' you kin use 
 this an' keep yer chin level with yer 
 ears." 
 
 "I was taught that man was cre- 
 ated upright," retorted Fred, " and the 
 place for his chest was under his 
 chin ; but you fellows shoulder your 
 chests and go bent over like hump- 
 backs." 
 
 u Well, well, we've fooled away too 
 
 much time already," said Long John, 
 impatiently. " Carry yer chest and 
 chin where you please ; an' ef you 
 stan' upright, see 't you bore them 
 holes down right." 
 
 Fred's voice rung out loudest in the 
 laugh that applauded this witticism ; 
 but his contemptuous " you fellows " 
 was not forgotten. 
 
 His gymnastic exercises had so 
 strengthened the muscles of his arms, 
 shoulders, and loins, that probably no 
 man upon the raft could drive an au- 
 ger with greater ease and rapidity 
 than he. Intent upon again surpris- 
 ing them, he walked across the raft 
 with the auger upon his shoulder ; 
 but he quickly learned that a toggle- 
 timber raft was a series of traps for 
 the unwary; for the second stick sank 
 as he stepped upon it. He sprang to 
 another, but his foot slipped, and he 
 came down astride it, and up to his 
 waist in water. 
 
 "That's circus fashion, I s'pose," 
 said Long John; "much obleeged fur 
 th' show : but ef you've got cooled 
 off, I'd like to hev ye go to work." 
 
 With an exclamation more em- 
 phatic than polite, Fred succeeded in 
 drawing himself out of the water, 
 looking more heated than cooled. 
 
 "You call this timber rafted, do 
 you? only the forward end of the 
 sticks fastened! The slippery, squirm- 
 ing eels!" exclaimed Fred, as, after 
 several slips and many falls, amidst a 
 running fire of comments from the 
 men, he scrambled across the raft. 
 
 "See Fred a-coonin' of it!" shout- 
 ed Mose. "Look out, ur ye'll git yer 
 che-est wet !" 
 
 " Good at tumblin', ain't he?" said
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 another; "practised 'ith circus boys, 
 ye know." 
 
 " Got yer foot in, but lost yer bal- 
 ance, didn't ye ?" said Long John. 
 
 "If you had rafted the timber 
 properly, I shouldn't have got my 
 boots full of water," Fred answered, 
 good - huraoredly. "I'd like to see 
 any man walk on these loose poles 
 with a couple of gallons of water in 
 his boots ! There's room enough for 
 a horse to fall between them in some 
 places." 
 
 "Mebbe so: a boss's cousin kin, 
 we know." 
 
 "Pretty good, Uncle John; you're 
 quite a poet ! To walk your raft 
 would take a go-at," retorted Fred, 
 laughing. "Now I'll get even with 
 the slippery fellows by boring them." 
 
 " Use yer auger then, and give yer 
 tongue a rest," growled Long John, 
 " or ye'll bore us 'stead the timber." 
 
 " Wall, John, yev got yer ma-atch 
 in that youngster. I guess he's 'bout 
 as tonguey ez yew be ; an' he han'els 
 that thaer auger 's tho' he's use' to it." 
 
 " Well, I guess he'll larn a leetle 
 somethin' yit 'fore he's through raft- 
 in'," Long John answered, giving a 
 final blow to a bow which held a log 
 to its lash-pole. 
 
 "Likelier 'an no-ot," answered Mose, 
 chuckling. "Neow I'm goin' up to 
 help Big Bill a spell. S'pose he's 
 growlin' fur more grubs 'fore this 
 time." 
 
 While the men were making a 
 boom to catch and hold the lumber 
 from being floated down the brook, 
 Morris was inducting Mr. Morgan 
 into the mysteries of rafting scant- 
 ling. 
 
 "Here goes fur the las' crib," he 
 said. "Ketch holt o' this ere plank, 
 will ye? Turn 'er up sideways, an' 
 stick grubs thro' them auger -holes 
 (guess it would be better to hev th' 
 heads all on one side, wouldn't it?). 
 Turn 'er down now, heads under; 
 now this one. That's all right. Now 
 another; keep it straight on the slide! 
 There, now, the runners is ready for 
 the side -pieces. Take any of 'em; 
 they're jest alike. Now lift 'er; hold 
 her stiddy till I git the grub an' au- 
 ger-holes so's they'll match. Your 
 eend right ? Now slide 'er down ! 
 Now fur t'other two. All right ! 
 Now han' me that there axe, will ye? 
 Ye see I jest cut into this grub an' 
 split down a sliver of it tew th' plank; 
 an' then drive the wedge into th' grub 
 an' the auger-holes to onct; an' thar 
 can't nothin' work this frame apart. 
 Now fur th' fillin'. Any o' them 
 there eighteen -foot '11 dew; but the 
 las' plank must be jest wide enough t' 
 fit tight an' wedge 'em all in. Nex' 
 comes th' caps: they're put on th' 
 grubs, jest like the runners, to hold 
 th' fillin' firm. Thare, sir : we've got 
 th' las' crib ready fur lanchin' ! Guess 
 we kin git off to-morrer forenoon, 
 sure. Hallo, boys ! come an' help git 
 this crib in !" 
 
 " No, no, Bill. Just put rollers un- 
 der it, and we can get it in alone. 
 These bits of lash - poles are just' th' 
 thing." 
 
 "Rollers? Well, I swan ! I don' 
 know but we kin. Blamed ! I don't 
 see why I couldn't thought o' that 
 m'self. Here I've ben liftin' nuff to 
 bust a blood-vessel, an' got th' crib 
 all yanked out o' shape too. All
 
 38 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 ready? Heave -o-he! Slides in stid- 
 dy 's a board, don't sue ? S'pose you 
 an' me kin couple th' crib alone ?" 
 
 " Well, I think Sanders and Jim can 
 get the lumber down as fast as you 
 will need it, and you can have the 
 other boys on the raft. They seem to 
 have plenty of time for fooling on 
 that toggle-timber." 
 
 " Wa'n't that ruther rough on Fred? 
 Raftin' those leetle logs ain't no fool 
 of a job; an' Long John hain't no 
 more feelin' fur a greenhorn than a 
 pine knot." 
 
 "'Twill do him good, do him good ! 
 Take the conceit out of him. I only 
 hope Long John '11 get the raft fin- 
 ished before night." 
 
 " Oh, he'll git it done. There ain't 
 no better worker 'long this river. 
 Wall, now we want one o' them 
 planks 'long -side o' ye t'other one, 
 with a hole bored in one end and two 
 in the middle. Now jest slip the end- 
 hole over the middle grub; an' th' 
 middle holes fits into these 'ere grubs 
 on this crib an' that jines the cribs an' 
 holds 'em stiddy," Big Bill ejaculated, 
 between the blows of his axe, which 
 drove the plank firmly to its place. 
 
 "I see," responded Mr. Morgan. 
 "This end overlapping, strengthens 
 the raft one each side, and one in the 
 middle. Now I suppose the bottom 
 is done." 
 
 "Yes, sir. Come, boys, more lively 
 there! we've got to git one course 
 on by moonlight, ef we don't afore. 
 There '11 be a boorain' fresh by morn- 
 in', judgin' by th' clouds, an' we've 
 got to pull out 'fore noon. Sanders, 
 haul out more o' that twelve -foot 
 stuff. Got to begin with that, Mister 
 
 Morgan, so 's not to break jints 'tween 
 th' cribs. Each course must lap over 
 the ends o' the one under, you know. 
 'Twould be a purty shaky concern to 
 git over Cochecton falls an' Lacka- 
 wack dam ef th' timber was all th' 
 same length. Take as many steers- 
 men as there was cribs 'fore she'd run 
 under Trenton bridge. Hello, Mose ! 
 thought we's so nigh through you'd 
 venture down here, did ye ? I jest 
 wish ye hod to buckle right down to 
 work like the rest of us once blamed 
 if I don't!" 
 
 " Wall," drawled Mose, "I ca - ant 
 see no use in workin' hard 's ye kin 
 the hull time ; and I'm jest ez well off 
 as any on ye. I've got 'nuff t' eat, 
 an' 'nuff t' we-aur, an' thar hain't no 
 smarter woman 'n I've got 'n all cre- 
 ashun." 
 
 "That's so; ef she wa'n't ye wouldn't 
 allus hev plenty tew eat ; but " 
 
 Shouts of laughter from the toggle- 
 timber raft again attracted their at- 
 tention, and Mose sauntered away to 
 learn the cause of their fun. 
 
 Fred was again the victim. The 
 auger turning in his ungloved hands 
 made them smart furiously; and he 
 looked about for some new employ- 
 ment. 
 
 Fastening the logs in place by 
 wedging the wooden bows into the 
 auger- holes looked simple and easy; 
 and the moment one of the men went 
 ashore for more plugs, Fred dropped 
 the auger and took up the axe. 
 
 "Hold on; I ain't swopping jobs !" 
 the man called out. 
 
 "Oh, I want to learn the whole 
 business. I know all about boring 
 holes. Give me a plug, like a good
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 fellow; and show me how to get 
 these loops of wood apart. You 
 fasten them together to keep them 
 bent, don't you? They spring out 
 nearly straight, now they're apart. 
 Well, you mountain men have heaps 
 of ingenuity, or Yankee-nuity, rather. 
 The middle of the bow cut thin to 
 let it bend, and the ends shaped like 
 wedges; then the ends of each loop 
 caught in the loop of the other to 
 hold them in shape. I say, you just 
 change works with me for a few min- 
 utes, won't you? And then I'm go- 
 ing to ride logs." 
 
 The man good-naturedly picked up 
 the auger, while Fred, after driving 
 the bow in its place, put a plug in the 
 hole beside it, and raised the axe for 
 one vigorous blow which should drive 
 it firmly in. 
 
 The axe came down the plug flew 
 up and poor Fred staggered back- 
 ward with one hand over his nose, 
 and the blood trickling between his 
 fingers, the rebounding plug having 
 struck him full in the face. 
 
 "Wall, neow, that's rough!" ex- 
 claimed the man with the auger. 
 "The tarnel ol' plug must a knowed 
 you's a greenhorn. You quit yer 
 laughin', boys ! I'll bet you've bin 
 hit on th' nose yerselves, an' hain't 
 forgot the feeliu' nuther." 
 
 " Much obliged, Brown ; but I ain't 
 hurt, only got the nose - bleed," said 
 Fred, dipping his handkerchief in the 
 river and pressing it to his face. 
 "Pour a little water on the back of 
 my neck with your hand, will you? 
 There, now I'm all right." 
 
 " I vum ! ef you ain't 'bout the 
 pluckest chap fur yer size I ever 
 
 see'd. Accidents will happen can't 
 allers hit a thing squar' on th' head 
 but ther' ain't nothing like ac- 
 cidents fur provin' ye'r good tim- 
 ber." 
 
 "That's so!" assented the other 
 men, as they resumed their work. 
 
 Some long sticks lying on the up- 
 per banking ground were wanted; 
 and Fred, although his hands were 
 badly blistered and his nose stinging 
 with pain, immediately volunteered to 
 bring them down. 
 
 "Better try one o' these in the 
 eddy fust," said Brown. 
 . Fred hesitated. 
 
 "Yes, we hain't got no time to 
 chase arter runaway logs, nor drag 
 th' river fur drownded boys," added 
 Long John. 
 
 "Don't fret your gizzard about me, 
 Uncle John," Fred answered. "You 
 won't be called upon to mourn the 
 untimely loss of life or lumber on my 
 account;" and, pike - pole in hand, he 
 carefully but quickly picked his way 
 across the raft and loose logs to the 
 shore. 
 
 The required sticks were rolled in. 
 Jack Rodgers sprang lightly upon 
 the foremost, and steered it down the 
 stream, while the log glided through 
 the water like a huge snake. Fred 
 leaped upon the next one, using his 
 pike-pole as a balance-stick, standing 
 upon the rolling log with perfect ease 
 and grace, singing, 
 
 " What the city boys don't know, don't know, 
 The Delaware boys can't show, can't show ; 
 For they work all day and dance all night, 
 And are ready for a row, a fire, or a fight. 
 And all the girls are crazy to catch a city beau, 
 That's so, boys ; that's so, that's so."
 
 40 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 "Steer yer log toward shore," 
 called a man from the bank. 
 
 "Let him alone," said another; "do 
 him good to git a duckin'." 
 
 " It's gittin' a strong pint to Jarsey. 
 I want to see him git her aroun'." 
 
 The log was gliding toward the op- 
 posite shore w r ith no apparent inclina- 
 tion of joining its companions in the 
 eddy. 
 
 Fred tried to change its direction 
 by placing his pole on the lower side 
 of the log ; but the current was swift 
 and strong ; the pole caught against a 
 stone ; the log struck the pole, and, 
 like a flash, Fred was thrown head- 
 long into the river. 
 
 The shouts of the men mingled 
 with the roar of the water in his ears 
 as he rose to the surface. He saw the 
 log on his left hand, and beside him 
 the pike -pole bobbing along, the iron 
 point sinking to the bottom. He 
 grasped the pole and swam to the log. 
 Remembering Mr. Morgan's experi- 
 ence, he decided not to mount it; but 
 plunging his pike -pole deep into the 
 end, he swam to the raft, towing the 
 log behind him, and puffing like a 
 steam-tug. 
 
 The men laughed and cheered ; and 
 even Long John was forced to admire 
 the pluck which redeemed the prom- 
 ise of saving lumber as well as life. 
 
 "Wall, Fred," he said, pulling him 
 upon the raft, "you're a purty good 
 steamboat, ef you ain't much of a log- 
 rider. But we've hed enough of your 
 circus performances. Every man an' 
 boy has hed to quit work an' watch 
 your shines; and I hain't agoin' to 
 hev any more foolin'." 
 
 "Sa-ay, Fred," called Mose from 
 
 the bank, "guess ye've got to stop 
 raftin' neow. Mister Morgan says 
 there's some wimmen t' th' store th' 
 boys ca-an't wait on." 
 
 Fred seated himself upon a pile of 
 plugs, and deliberately pulled off his 
 boots and emptied the water from 
 them ; then slowly drew them on. 
 
 "I'd really like to try another 
 stick," he said, looking up the river ; 
 "but business before pleasure even 
 the pleasure of hearing Uncle John 
 growl. So here goes for a trade be- 
 tween butter and buttons, or cheese 
 and calico." 
 
 The morning sun saw the glittering 
 hill-tops rising like islands in a sea of 
 mist. A white frost had gilded the 
 hemlocks, silvered the rocks, jewelled 
 the moss, while the valleys were filled 
 with white billowy fog, which rose, 
 cloudlike, upward, then drifted into 
 fragments, and floated away. Soon 
 the sunbeams, gliding earthward, light- 
 ed up a busy scene. 
 
 One raft was pulling out from 
 shore ; some boards were being added 
 to the cargo of another; while Big 
 Bill, everywhere present in person or 
 voice, was giving final directions in 
 regard to the scantling raft which he 
 was to steer. 
 
 "We've got three courses clean 
 thro'," he was saying to Mr. Morgan, 
 "an' that's enuff fur th' ends ; but we 
 can take four more layers in the mid- 
 dle (each course runs ten foot back o' 
 t'other, ye see) ; an' them cherry an' 
 bird's-eye maple boards kin go ef you 
 say so, though the river won't git no 
 higher this fresh. Hello, Sanders! 
 got them tie-pieces bored yet? All 
 right ! Now, Mister Morgan, ye kiu
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 41 
 
 help put blades in these 'ere oar- 
 stems. I'm mighty particular 'bout 
 the oars on the raft I steer. A poor 
 oar makes a poor hand ! "Wall, I 
 guess this '11 strike th' water th' hull 
 length ; though I'd ruther hev a maple 
 blade, an' a leetle thinner at th' fin- 
 end ; this is purty springy, though. 
 Sanders, jest bore another cross-piece 
 fur a head-block, will ye, while I git 
 these oar-pins ready? You see, Mister 
 Morgan, it's a particular nice job to 
 git the oar-pin in plumb; so I ruther 
 tend t' that myself. Now, let's run 
 out the oar an' git its balance. It 
 ought to hang so 's ye could raise th' 
 blade out o' the water by pressin' 
 down on the tip end o' the oar- stem 
 with yer finger. Kin ye do it? All 
 right. Now hold 'er stiddy while I 
 mark 'er fur borin'. You see I bore 
 one auger -hole clean thro', and two 
 holes part way, an' so make a taperin' 
 mortice ending in a auger-hole : that 
 lets the oar play up an' down 'thout 
 wabblin'. Now les' ship 'er ! Hangs 
 a leetle too low; ought to come to 
 my waist. Brown, toss over that butt 
 of a lash-pole ! That '11 do fur an oar- 
 block. All right now ! "While you're 
 finishin' th' loadin', boys, I'll git th' 
 dinner-box. See 't yer ready when I 
 be." 
 
 " Wall, don't stay to kiss yer wom- 
 an more 'n onct, fur th' water's fall- 
 in'." 
 
 "I meant to took my wife 'long, 
 Sanders, but Mis' Morgan can't spare 
 
 her now. I swan ! I hope she won't 
 cry," he muttered as he went up the 
 path to the door. 
 
 He found Bessie awaiting him with 
 a smile and a kiss ; but no tears vent- 
 ured farther than the brown lashes 
 of her blue eyes. 
 
 "If you see me mither, or ony o' me 
 kin, tell 'em I'm happy a' th' day." 
 
 The dinner - box was ready, some 
 clothing tied in a colored handker- 
 chief on top of it ; and Mr. Morgan, 
 after a hasty " good-bye " to his wife 
 and children, helped to carry it to the 
 raft. The rope was untied from the 
 tree and thrown on board. The men 
 sprung to their oars, while those upon 
 the shore pushed and pried. Jamie 
 and Davy shouted ; Fred waved his 
 hat; Bessie stood in the door-way and 
 let the tears flow unchecked, until the 
 autumn -tinted hill, the sunlit river, 
 and gently gliding raft mingled in a 
 rainbow-tinted mist. 
 
 Two weeks passed, and the rafts- 
 men were all home again, with gifts 
 which more than atoned for their 
 absence. Besides the messages from 
 the old home, and the new bonnet for 
 Bessie, Morris brought a package of 
 books for Mrs. Morgan, which glad- 
 dened the hearts of the whole house- 
 hold. 
 
 A week later Mr. Morgan returned 
 in better humor with himself and the 
 world than since the purchase of his 
 Delaware estate, having disposed of 
 his lumber at good prices.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Folks say a wizard to a Northern king 
 
 At Christmas-time such wondrous things did show, 
 That through one window men beheld the spring, 
 And through another saw the summer's glow; 
 And through the third, the fruited vines arow ; 
 While still- unheard, but in its wonted way, 
 Piped the drear wind of that December day." 
 
 WILLIAM MOBRIS. 
 
 WINTER came : the snow lay three 
 feet deep upon the ground. Paths 
 from the barn and store and the well- 
 beaten roads alone broke the white 
 wilderness stretching from the cot- 
 tage to the wooded hills. River and 
 brook were hidden, roofs and trees 
 loaded, and still 
 
 "All the air was dizzy and dim 
 With the fall of glittering, fluttering snow." 
 
 " What is SHOW, mother ?" inquired 
 Davy. 
 
 They were sitting by the window ; 
 Mary Morgan with her babe in her 
 arms, and her boys beside her, wea- 
 ried by a snow frolic with Big Bill. 
 
 "The snow, my son?" his mother 
 said, dreamily. "I think it is the 
 christening robe of the New Year." 
 
 "I remember when Davy was chris- 
 tened, mother," said Jamie. " 'Twas 
 in Grandpa Walton's church, and Un- 
 cle Dave was sponsor. Who's New 
 Year's sponsor, mother?" 
 
 I guess. She makes the 
 promises, and keeps them as well as 
 sponsors generally do." 
 
 "And who is father and mother to 
 New Year?" 
 
 "Time is the father, and I think 
 Earth must be its mother." 
 
 " Where be they ? I don't see 'em," 
 exclaimed Davy, climbing upon a 
 chair, and flattening his nose against 
 the window-pane. "Where's New 
 Year?" 
 
 "With God; he'll send it to us 
 soon." 
 
 "Mother Nature's hair is getting 
 white," continued Jamie. "See the 
 hemlocks on the hill. The baby year 
 is going to have a soft bed; the wind 
 is fixing the blankets so 's to be all 
 ready. See !" and Jamie pointed to 
 a whirling mass of snow hovering 
 over and then settling down upon 
 the meadows. 
 
 "And now they're shaking up the 
 pillows. Oh, look ! see how the feath-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 43 
 
 ers fly," and he laughed merrily as 
 the large snow-flakes fluttered against 
 the window. 
 
 " Yes, I see," said his mother ; " and 
 the clouds are weaving beautiful flee- 
 cy garments for the New Year to 
 wear; and Frost is making sparkling 
 jewels and dazzling toys for it to 
 play with." 
 
 " Well, I can't see anything but a 
 snow-storm," said Davy, impatiently ; 
 " an' there ain't no bed, nor baby, nor 
 nothin'." 
 
 " Oh, you prosy little mortal ! there 
 isn't a particle of poetry in you. You 
 arc as like your name-author as a lit- 
 tle pea is like a big one ! I hoped we 
 would get a letter from your uncle 
 David this week. I want one for my 
 Christmas present." 
 
 "And to-morrow is Christmas, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes, Jamie." 
 
 " Will St. Nicholas find us here in 
 the woods, do you s'pose ?" 
 
 "I think so; though he cannot 
 bring any nice toys so far ; so a little 
 must satisfy my boys." 
 
 "How's he going to get his sleigh 
 through the drifts, I'd like to know ? 
 Jim said the snow was over the logs 
 so the oxen couldn't haul 'em out. 
 An' I don't believe reindeers is big- 
 ger 'n oxen ; be they, mother ?" 
 
 "Are they, Davy. I never saw St. 
 Nicholas's reindeers ; but if he can't 
 come with his sleigh through the 
 drifts, he can on foot. Hark! didn't 
 some one knock ?" 
 
 " Oh, it's him, Davy ! it's St. Nick, 
 I'll jest bet anything !" cried Jamie, 
 pressing his face close to the window 
 to catch a glimpse of the man knock- 
 
 ing at the outer door of the adjoining 
 room. "He's all dressed in fur, an' 
 he's awful big ! Run and see !" 
 
 And he laughed merrily as Bessie 
 opened the door, and the stranger en- 
 tered the kitchen, while Davy rushed 
 frantically out to welcome St. Nich- 
 olas. 
 
 A large, portly man, in a wolf-skin 
 overcoat and fur hat, was stamping 
 the snow from his feet, as Davy walk- 
 ed up to him and, looking earnestly 
 into his face, said, " Be you St. Nick- 
 las?" 
 
 " Me, St. Nicholas ! Well, no, son- 
 ny, I guess not; but" seeing the 
 disappointed look stealing over the 
 little face "you see the ol' fellow 
 couldn't get here, 'count o' the drifts, 
 an' so Jcome." 
 
 " Oh, goody, goody ! Hollo ! Jamie, 
 he's come. 'Tain't him, but he says 
 he sent him. Oh, mother, ain't you 
 jest as glad as you can be ? I'll bet 
 he's got a letter or suthm' for you 
 too, cause that's what you want ; an' 
 you're awful good, ain't you, mother ? 
 An' suthin' for Bessie, too !" 
 
 "Davy, Davy, don't go wild, my 
 son." 
 
 And Mrs. Morgan came from the 
 inner room to greet the visitor. 
 
 "How-de-do, how-de-do, Mrs. Mor- 
 gan? An' how's your family? All 
 well, I trust. You do not recognize 
 me, eh? I'm called Noyes Squire 
 Noyes. Most everybody knows me 
 hereabouts. But I never had the 
 opportunity of visiting your domicile 
 before that is, since your occupation 
 and transformation of it until this 
 inclement evening. Exceedingly in- 
 clement, truly ! The snow is nigh
 
 44 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 unto five foot deep, and my beast of 
 burden stands shivering without. Is 
 your man about? Ah! how -de -do, 
 how -de -do, Mr. Morgan? I trust I 
 see you well !" 
 
 "Very well, sir; very well," re- 
 sponded that gentleman, shaking 
 hands cordially with the stranger. 
 "Take off your coat and sit down 
 to supper with us. The men have 
 put your horse in the stable, and you 
 can't get any farther to-night." 
 
 An hour later they sat around the 
 blazing wood fire, Squire Noyes the 
 centre of the group, with a boy on 
 either knee. 
 
 "Do you live with old St. Nick?" 
 Davy was inquiring. 
 
 " Well, no, sonny ; I don't know as I 
 do live nigh neighbor to him. What 
 made you think I was him ?" 
 
 " Why, you look jest 'zactly like 
 him ; don't he, Jamie ? 
 
 " ' He was all dressed in fur ; an* his eyes how 
 they twinkled ! 
 
 An' his droll little month was drawn up like 
 n bow ; 
 
 While the beard on his chin was as white 
 as the snow ; 
 
 An 1 he shook when he laughed like a bowl- 
 ful of jelly !"> 
 
 he added, triumphantly, as one by one 
 these points of resemblance recurred 
 to his mind, while the squire was 
 obliged to put both the boys off his 
 lap as he united in the roar of laugh- 
 ter which followed Davy's apt de- 
 scription. 
 
 " Well, well, well !" he exclaimed, 
 wiping his face with a red bandanna, 
 " I'm glad I look so much like a saint ; 
 maybe I'm his brother. Anyhow 
 you just hang up your stockings as 
 
 you did to your grandpa's. Ef the 
 ol' fellow kin get here, he'll come. 
 An' you get your ma to hang up 
 hern, just for the fun of it ; and Mis' 
 Morris too. OP Kriss Kringle (that's 
 what they called him when I was a 
 boy), he likes grown-up folks too." 
 
 "An' little sister's stocking, too," 
 said Davy. 
 
 " Certainly ; though I apprehend 
 her wants are all supplied." 
 
 "Do you know what he's going to 
 bring us ? Bill bet he'd bring us 
 hand sleds." 
 
 "Quite possibly he may. I flatter 
 myself that I have an idea. You see 
 'twan't more 'n a fortnight ago, I see 
 the clouds one evening as red as 
 them coals of fire ; an' I have been 
 assured that when the sky looks like 
 that ol' St. Nick is baking his cake 
 for Christmas. An' likelier 'n not 
 he'd be making 'lasses candy at the 
 same time. But now, I tell you, he'll 
 never come while we sit here and 
 have such a blazing hot fire. We've 
 all got to go to bed, an' the fire must 
 go out, an' everybody go to sleep, and 
 then I apprehend he'll put in an ap- 
 pearance. But should any individual 
 try to get a squint at him, he'll get 
 nothing but a gad, or a snowball in 
 his stocking. Now you go an' get 
 your ma's, and the baby's, an' Mis' 
 Morris's, an' I'll hang 'em up with 
 your'n right here 'front of the fire- 
 place." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan was putting little 
 Miriam into her cradle, and Bessio 
 making preparations for the morning 
 meal. Davy's movements were un- 
 noticed ; and the stocking basket was 
 brought to the fireside. '
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 45 
 
 Hammer and nails were found by 
 Jamie; and in a moment the men 
 were laughing, and the women aston- 
 ished at the sight of a long white 
 stocking flanked by a gray one, a tiny 
 red sock, and two blue ones, all sus- 
 pended from the mantle. 
 
 The gray dawn was drifting 
 through the windows, when two little 
 figures crept quietly from their trun- 
 dle-bed and stole into the kitchen. 
 
 Morris had been there before them ; 
 and a fire crackled in the cook-stove 
 at one end of the room, and roared 
 and sparkled in the fireplace at the 
 other, lighting up the row of stock- 
 ings and the words MERRY CHRISTMAS 
 in evergreen letters on the white wall 
 above them. Over the doors were 
 rustic arches of mingled hemlock and 
 laurel, and each white curtain was 
 festooned with evergreens and scarlet 
 berries. 
 
 But the boys saw only the five 
 stockings, stuffed to the toes with St. 
 Nicholas's gifts, and beside the fire- 
 place two tiny red sleighs. 
 
 For a second they stood in mute as- 
 tonishment ; then, with shouts of de- 
 light, they seized the ropes of their 
 designated sleighs, and commenced 
 drawing them across the floor. 
 
 "But the stockings!" shouted 
 Davy. "I want mine right away, 
 quick !" 
 
 Morris, entering, placed the treas- 
 ures in their upraised hands. Their 
 loudly expressed joy soon aroused the 
 household. A big red apple; a 
 doughnut, resembling either a man, a 
 monkey, or a bear in shape ; a primer ; 
 a fish-line, and a pair of little red mit- 
 tens were in each stocking. 
 
 A doll, with cloth head, adorned 
 with ravelled yarn for hair, a thin 
 skin of cambric over the pink muslin 
 cheeks and lips, and inked eyebrows 
 arching over the bead eyes, leaned out 
 of Baby's stocking as though medi- 
 tating a leap to the hearth. 
 
 The long gray-and-white hose hung 
 undisturbed until Mrs. Morgan, and 
 Bessie, more surprised than the boys 
 at St. Nicholas's remembrance, sat 
 down by the fireside to examine their 
 contents. Gingham for aprons was 
 first pulled out; then gloves, apples, 
 and a handful of nuts ; but something 
 flat and thin remained in the foot of 
 each stocking. 
 
 "My certie!" cried Bessie, "but 
 auld St. Nick is na coif ! 'Tis a letter 
 I have, an' frae me ain mither, I ken 
 weel. What hae ye, missis ?" 
 
 "A letter too, from my brother. I 
 never knew St. Nicholas to be a mail- 
 carrier;" and Mrs. Morgan looked 
 smilingly at Mr. Noyes. " But he 
 could not have brought me a more ac- 
 ceptable gift." 
 
 " Weel, weel, we hae muckle daffin' ! 
 The letters maun bide till bra'kfas's 
 weel awa';" and Bessie slipped the 
 treasure into her bosom, and hastened 
 to put the griddle over the fire, turn 
 the slices of frying ham, drain the 
 boiling water from the potatoes, and 
 set the coffee-pot upon the hearth, be- 
 fore setting the table for the morning 
 meal. 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Morgan was hasti- 
 ly scanning the pages of St. Nicholas's 
 best gift, assisting the children in 
 dressing, and admiring their Christ- 
 mas presents. 
 
 "Now, mother," said Davy, skip-
 
 40 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 ping across the floor with his sled at 
 his heels, "I kin take you ridiu' down- 
 hill. You set behind an' jest hang on, 
 an' I'll steer ! Is that a real sure 'nuff 
 letter from Uncle Dave ? What does 
 it say? Noffin' 't all 'bout me? Oh, 
 goody, goody ! breakfus' is reddy, an' 
 I'm hungrier 'n a bear! "Well, I'm 
 mos 1 hungrier, mother." 
 
 The morning meal was over; the 
 men gone to their labors at mill and 
 barn ; the boys started up the hillside 
 to find a clear place for coasting, when 
 the treasured letters were again 
 opened, and each sentence carefully 
 and thoughtfully read. 
 
 "My brother has a plan that I hope 
 you will like as well as I do, Bessie. 
 He wants us to come down the river 
 on a raft, next spring. Here is what 
 he says : ' With a cabin built on the 
 raft for a shelter from the winds and 
 possible rains, plenty of straw and 
 blankets, you could keep yourself and 
 baby comfortable, even if the weath- 
 er should be chilly. The scenery 
 must be grand through the mountains 
 of the Upper Delaware ; and below 
 the Water Gap it is indeed lovely. 
 Just fancy the country clothed in 
 spring's fair verdure ; the mossy 
 rocks ; the mist-like pink of budding 
 foliage ; the thick masses of ever- 
 green, changing as you glide along 
 to the blossoming orchards and ver- 
 dant fields. Wreaths of radishes, 
 bouquets of asparagus, garlands of 
 garlic, shall greet you ! Banquets of 
 spring chickens and green pease will 
 await you. Cabbages and catfish 
 shall lie at your feet. The city shall 
 be in readiness to receive you, with 
 door-steps newly cleaned. Let noth- 
 
 ing but ill - health or unfavorable 
 weather prevent your coming.' " 
 
 "Eh, mem, the thocht o' gain' to 
 the auld hame niakes me hert loop i' 
 me briest! Ah, I'll bide weel con- 
 tent ef we can gang awa' i' the 
 spring. Hoots, but I darna lippen 
 too 't ! Not that I'm at a' mceserable, 
 mem, but the wark's some wersh like, 
 an' we're baith fashin' fur a change. 
 Yer brother's o'erfond o' damn'; he's 
 sae merry - hearted. Wad ye like a 
 bit o' my letter noo? Ye see, mem, 
 I tellt her o' th' fine blackberries on 
 th' brambles, an' the big gran' wuds, 
 wheer there's na eend o' bonny blos- 
 soms a' sae fair an' fragrant; an' noo 
 she tells me o' the fruits on the fairm 
 at hame: 'We hae gathered thirty 
 bushels o' pears, as big as yer t\va 
 neeves' that's two fists, mem ' out'n 
 the arichard yer daddy bought sin' 
 ye been awa'. Ye never saw sic big 
 anes in a' yer life; an' peaches grow 
 jist like apple-trees in th' Auld Coun- 
 try. Naebtfdy has th' brick wa's to 
 fas'en th' trees tae here. We hae 
 muckle o' grapes ; but ye were made 
 acquaint wi' them, an' diuna like them 
 sac wecl, I ken, as th' gossarts up at 
 th" Ha' i'th' auld hame.'" 
 " What are gossarts, Bessie ?" 
 " Gooseberries ye ca' them ; but 
 they're nane sae sweet as th' ancs the 
 auld gardncr wad be givin' me frae 
 the squire's garden i' Scotland. Ah, 
 hoo I wad like to sind an air o' corn 
 to auld Sandy ! I canna mak' him 
 unnerstan' hoo th' grain grows on a 
 cob, a' set i' rows, jist like pearly teeth, 
 frae anc eend to t'ither; nor hoo it's 
 wrapped round aboot wi' th' bonny 
 thrieds like soft spun silk, an' th' braw
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 47 
 
 green leaves ane above anither. He 
 jist minds him o' aits an' siclike 
 grains, an' winna b'leve corn grows 
 higher 'an his heid wi' a stalk like 
 his airm. He'll ne'er unnerstan' 'less 
 he comes aw a' t' see." 
 
 "Mistress Morgan and Bessie, do 
 come out and ride downhill with us ! 
 It's perfectly glorious out-of-doors, 
 and coasting is the jolliest kind of 
 fun. Do come, won't you ? We have 
 the boys' sleds and a deerskin, and 
 the crust will bear a horse's weight." 
 
 Fred's voice reached them before 
 his face, flushed with exercise and 
 radiant with mirth, appeared in the 
 door-way. 
 
 "Do bundle up the baby and let 
 me take her. You want to come, 
 don't you, Mira ?" 
 
 The little girl smiled, and cooed as- 
 sent. 
 
 "Why, Fred! you dear crazy boy! 
 to think of taking an old woman and 
 her baby out riding downhill. We 
 will look out of the window and see 
 you. But Bessie is young; she can 
 go." 
 
 " 'Course she can," said Morris, also 
 entering; "I ain't goin' to draw lum- 
 ber on a Christmas-day. I'm going 
 to take you to a frolic over the river 
 to-night, Bessie, ef ye'll go; an' I 
 may as well put in the hull day. So 
 you jest get on your fixin's, an' we'll 
 have a ride fust. Bundle up your 
 ears, for Jack Frost is waitin' to give 
 'em a nip. We'll cum down that hill 
 like a streak o' greased lightenin'." 
 
 "My certie, Willy," exclaimed his 
 wife, " wad ye mak' yersel a gay 
 young spark agen by crackin' me pow 
 acren a rock? Ye better 'ware th' 
 
 wuddie ere ye do sic a thing as that," 
 Bessie answered, her laughing eyes 
 contradicting her pretended alarm. 
 
 " Never ye fear my breakin' yer 
 head ; ef I'm ever hung on the wud- 
 die, 'twill be fur crackin' the pow o' 
 some fellow that's winked at you." 
 
 " Wad ye let me stay wi' th' wean, 
 mem, an' let ye come oot ?" said Bes- 
 sie, looking at her husband for ap- 
 proval for her sacrifice of the sport ; 
 " or wad ye hae yer ride efterhin ? 
 Aiblins yer frightit at th' wee sled- 
 dy?" 
 
 " I am a little afraid of tumbling 
 off, and very much afraid of spinning 
 downward through the air. But you 
 will like it, so go on." 
 
 Placing the baby in the cradle, 
 Mrs. Morgan wrapped a shawl about 
 her, and followed the coasting party 
 out into the sunshine. From the up- 
 permost trees on the furthermost hills 
 to the door-stone at her feet spread 
 the glittering snow, broken only by 
 icicled rocks and frosted trees ; a daz- 
 zling scene, from which the eye turn- 
 ed to watch the figures climbing the 
 neai*est hillside : Jamie and Davy in 
 advance, Bessie's tartan plaid and 
 Fred's gay scarf contrasting brightly 
 with the blackness of rocks, and ever- 
 greens, and the whiteness of the snow. 
 
 Up, up the steep path they climbed 
 (made straight and smooth for roll- 
 ing logs) until they reached a rock 
 a quarter of a mile above the road. 
 Then they paused, Fred seating him- 
 self upon Davy's sleigh, the owner 
 crouching between his knees. A mo- 
 ment's pause 
 
 "All ready ? Hold on tight, Davy !" 
 
 And downward they flew, past
 
 48 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 rocks, trees, bushes, stumps faster, 
 faster the air rushed against them, 
 bearing away breath, sight, feeling, 
 and leaving a bewildering whirl ! A 
 stop, and Davy saw the barn -yard 
 gate and the cattle and chickens 
 around him. 
 
 "Get up, Davy, and see Big Bill 
 come down. That deerskin will be 
 no easy thing to steer. Now they're 
 off. Whew, how they fly! They'll 
 hit that stump no, they don't ! 
 They've run into that bush ; I knew 
 they would. On they come ! Bessie 
 has lost her hood. Hear her laugh ! 
 Here they are ! My gracious, Bill, 
 that's what I call fast flying ! How 
 do you like it, Bessie ?" 
 
 "My certie !" she exclaimed, catch- 
 ing her breath. " O-oh it's fine ! Les' 
 try it agen, Willy ; an' go na farther 
 than th' oonmainnerly bramble that 
 sto' me snood." 
 
 "All right, I'm ready for another; 
 an' I'll try an' keep clear o' the bush. 
 I'll bet that buckskin never went so 
 fast afore, not when the hounds wus 
 after it. Davy, your ma is waitin' 
 thar by the door fur you to tell her 
 how ye like ridin' downhill." 
 
 "Fred, you better bring Jamie 
 do\vn nex' time. I guess he's kindy 
 'fraid to venture all alone." 
 
 True : Jamie was seated on his sled, 
 with heels braced firmly in the snow, 
 dreading the laughter of those who 
 had dared the danger, yet dreading 
 the danger more. 
 
 "Oh, pshaw! what's he afraid of? 
 We came down safely. Come on, Ja- 
 mie !" yelled Fred. 
 
 " Stay there, Jamie !" shouted Bill. 
 "I'll come an' fetch ye! He don't 
 
 know nothin' 'bout steerin' a sled. 
 Likelier 'n not he'd upset an' skin his 
 nose, ef nothin' wus." 
 
 Again they climbed the steep hill- 
 side, until they reached the clump of 
 briers and laurels, where Bessie's hood 
 yet swung in the wind. 
 
 "I'll bring Jamie down, Bill," said 
 Fred. " You needn't go any farther." 
 
 "All right: we'll wait till you go 
 by. I hain't no notion o' bein' run 
 into by your sled ; and this plaguy 
 skin is ez likely to swing round and 
 slide sideways ez to go ahead." 
 
 As they stepped from the "run- 
 way" upon a moss -covered rock, a 
 white rabbit bounded awaj r , a flock 
 of snow-birds fluttered to the tree-tops, 
 twittering a moment, then settling 
 down again upon the spot of bare 
 earth the overhanging rock had shel- 
 tered from the snow. The crimson 
 plumes of the sumac, the brown fo- 
 liage of the oak, and the scarlet and 
 yellow berries of the bitter-sweet 
 gleamed among the dark-hued hem- 
 locks and deep-green laurels, while the 
 golden sunlight filtering through the 
 forest gilded and illumined the scene. 
 Far below them lay the valley, clad 
 in glittering white. 
 
 Before the store, horses and sleighs 
 were standing, their owners coming 
 out now and then to stow away their 
 purchases in the straw under the seat 
 of the rude home-made vehicles. At 
 the mill a group of red-shirted men 
 were rolling logs and piling scantling; 
 while the ring of the file upon the 
 steel, as the sawyer sharpened his saw, 
 sounded clear as a silver bell. The 
 river was a narrow field of snow, 
 hedged by steep banks, and broken
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 only by holes some fishermen were 
 cutting through the ice. 
 
 "There's the square a-settiu' tip- 
 ups; don't you see him down in the 
 eddy ? He'll hev fish enough fur din- 
 ner, I'll bet." 
 
 " 'Deed noo," exclaimed Bessie, " we 
 raus' mak' haste a\va', or tho partridges 
 weel be ill dune for deener. Haud 
 awa' wid ye, Mister Fred, an' ne'er 
 stari' starin' theer like an unco gawk ! 
 Faith, though, I could bide i' these 
 bonny green wuds a' th' day. See 
 the winsome birdie, Willy ! ane wi' 
 a scarlet coif an' t'ither \vi' bonny 
 blue kilt an' brown breeks. Coom 
 awa,' lads, or ye'll get na deener this 
 day !" 
 
 " Here we go !" shouted Jamie ; and 
 instantly they darted past and flew 
 clown the hill. The deerskin was ad- 
 justed on the glittering snow, Morris 
 holding the bushes, while Bessie seat- 
 ed herself behind him, her skirts tuck- 
 ed closely about her, and her arms 
 clasping her husband's waist. 
 
 "All ready now? Whew!" 
 
 A long gasp ; a mad rush of bushes 
 and trees up the hillside ; a grating of 
 the steersman's heels in the icy 'crust; 
 a swift whirl as the smooth skin swung 
 to the right; a backward slide; and 
 they stopped beside the garden wall. 
 
 "How do you like coasting, Bes- 
 sie ?" Mrs. Morgan asked, as she was 
 removing her wrappings. 
 
 " Hoots, mem, it's jist gran' ! 
 Theer's nair birr to 't an' slidin' 
 (though it's mony a clyte I've had in 
 slidin'), but it takes ane's brith awa'. 
 Dinna speer me 'bout it; jist hae a 
 try at it yer am sel." 
 
 But the sun's rays soon softened 
 4 
 
 the snow, and riding on the crust was 
 abandoned. 
 
 The Christmas dinner Avas prepared. 
 Roasted partridges and pigeon - pie 
 were flanked by pyramids of mashed 
 potatoes and hulled corn, yellow tur- 
 nips, and crimson beets. A blackber- 
 ry pudding and pumpkin - pie, with 
 cranberry jelly and golden cheese, 
 furnished the dessert. 
 
 "Mother," called Davy, pausing 
 with a wedge of his favorite " bren'- 
 butter " at his lips " mother, this is 
 Jesus' birthday, ain't it ?" 
 
 " Yes, my son." 
 
 "I s'pose he's real glad we're hav- 
 in' such a nice time down here. Ef 
 he wus here now and wa'n't grow'd 
 up, you know I'd let him ride on 
 my new sled jes' as long 's he'd a 
 min' to." 
 
 The mother- heart understood the 
 self-abnegation of the boyish impulse, 
 and her face smiled approval before 
 the father's voice uttered its harsh re- 
 buke. 
 
 "David, never let me hear you 
 speak of the Omnipotent King of 
 Heaven in that manner again. Do 
 you know he is able to destroy 
 you this instant for such irreverent 
 thoughts? It is plain enough where 
 you get such ideas ; but I call them 
 downright blasphemy." 
 
 "I know, John" and Mary Mor- 
 gan's face flushed, and her voice fal- 
 tered " I know you and I do not feel 
 quite the same on this subject ; but it 
 seems to me Jesus was a boy, and a 
 man, just to give us a pattern to live 
 by ; and if he had been born ten 
 years ago instead of eighteen hun- 
 dred, and here instead of Bethlehem,
 
 50 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 he would have shared Davy's sled 
 with pleasure." 
 
 " Well, well, I don't see where you 
 have any authority in the Holy 
 Scriptures for such irreverent ideas ; 
 and for my part, I want my boys to 
 be brought up to regard the name of 
 their Redeemer as something too sa- 
 cred to be talked of with levity ; and 
 I don't want to hear any more of it ! 
 Let me help you to some more par- 
 tridge, squire; and take another cup 
 of coffee." 
 
 The clatter of knives and forks 
 went on, but the frown on her hus- 
 band's brow and the mist gathering 
 in Davy's eyes clouded the sunshine 
 in Mary Morgan's heart, and the old 
 pained, perplexed look came to her 
 face. 
 
 "Can you go and play with little 
 sister, Davy ? I hear her waking : 
 your pudding shall be saved for you." 
 
 The little fellow choked down the 
 
 sobs, and ran hurriedly into the next 
 room, where his voice was soon heard 
 mimicking the baby's crows of de- 
 light, and singing one of Bessie's fa- 
 vorite cradle songs : 
 
 "Creep awa', my bairnie, ye're ower young to 
 
 learn 
 
 To tot up an' down yet, my bonny wee bairn ; 
 Better creepin' cannie than fa'in' wi' a bang, 
 Dunlin a your wee brow creep afore ye gang. 
 
 " Ye'll creep, an' ye'll hotch, an' ye'll nod to yer 
 
 mither, 
 
 Watchin' ilka step o' your wee donsy brither ; 
 Sest ye on the floor till your wee limbs grow 
 
 strung, 
 An' ye'll be a braw cheil yet creep afore ye 
 
 gang. 
 
 "The wee birdie fa's when it tries ower soon to 
 
 flee, 
 Folks are sure to tumble when they climb ower 
 
 hie; 
 They wha canna walk right are sure to come 
 
 to wrang : 
 Sae creep awa', my bairnie creep afore ye 
 
 gang." 
 
 iM-fi 
 
 p*
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ' Three-storied larnin's pop'lar now : I guess 
 We thriv' es wal on jest two stories less ; 
 Fnr it strikes me ther's such a thing as sinnin' 
 By overloading children's underpinnin'. 
 Wal; here it wus I learned my ABC, 
 An' it's a kind o' favorite spot to me." 
 
 BABE MIRIAM increased in size and 
 beauty daily. Shy, sensitive, she 
 clung to her mother and Bessie with 
 unvarying affection, received the ca- 
 resses of her brothers with evident de- 
 light, and the admiration of the work- 
 men with timid pleasure; yet the 
 child shrunk from every attention of 
 her father with apparent terror. 
 
 In vain did Mrs. Morgan strive to 
 overcome without directly referring to 
 this strange repugnance, grieving se- 
 cretly with bitter self-reproach at her 
 own unconquered weakness of months 
 before, which now threatened to mar 
 their daughter's inheritance of happi- 
 ness. For the father, quick to per- 
 ceive the babe's shrinking from his 
 slightest touch, resented the aversion, 
 and grew apparently indifferent to 
 her, not unfrequently complaining 
 that the baby occupied more time and 
 attention than necessary, and was an- 
 noyed by its mother's and brother's 
 loving words and tender caresses. 
 
 Nothing delighted Bessie more 
 than to take the little <rirl in her arms 
 
 HOSEA BlGLOW. 
 
 and sing to her the ballads of Bonny 
 Scotland. 
 
 A weird, sweet melody would make 
 the little lips quiver and brown eyes 
 fill with tears ; if quickly changed, the 
 face was as suddenly irradiated with 
 smiles; if continued, the tears would 
 leap out over the dimpled cheeks, and 
 the little form be convulsed with 
 grief. Nothing but a gentle lullaby 
 would then quiet the sensitive child, 
 who never cried loudly, but passion- 
 ately as a woman. 
 
 To the mother the babe was more 
 than pet, plaything, and employment. 
 Day by day she grew to be the confi- 
 dante of all her cares. A feeling of 
 reverence mingled with her love, as 
 the dark steadfast eyes looked ear- 
 nestly into her own, as if with subtle 
 instinct they gazed into her inmost 
 soul, recognizing each aspiration, com- 
 prehending every limitation, with calm 
 trust foreseeing, and with loving loy- 
 alty defying all. 
 
 Hours of silent, blissful communion 
 were these, when the infant head rest-
 
 52 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 ed upon the mother-heart, and fancies 
 came thronging to her mind demand- 
 ing utterance. 
 
 After such an hour she wrote these 
 
 lines: 
 
 TO THE BABY. 
 
 Your eyes have opened on a world 
 Of gladness and of sorrow ; 
 But naught you fear, 
 
 baby dear! 
 
 The shadows of to-morrow. 
 
 Your mother's face, the moving forms, 
 Your little clumsy fingers, 
 All make surprise : 
 In your bright eyes 
 A thought half wakened lingers. 
 
 Or are they only germs of thought 
 Your mind is just receiving? 
 
 Your face reveals 
 
 And yet conceals 
 A wonder and a grieving. 
 
 I half believe, my little girl, 
 'Tis not the things around you 
 
 That make your eyes 
 
 So wondrous wise, 
 But mem'ries that surround you. 
 
 Say, are they mem'ries, little one, 
 That fill your eyes with wonder? 
 
 Some that are glad, 
 
 And some so sad ? 
 Eyes smile with tear-drops under. 
 
 I wish your lips could form the thoughts 
 Your eyes are half expressing. 
 
 Have you a Past ? 
 
 Boundless and vast, 
 Of peace, and joy, and blessing ? 
 
 Are visions of a life that's gone 
 Over your senses stealing ? 
 
 And do you grieve 
 
 For what you leave ? 
 What will dispel the feeling ? 
 
 Maybe you know the spirit tongue ! 
 Are voices now addressing 
 Some words of cheer 
 
 1 cannot hear? 
 
 I'm weary of my guessing. 
 
 I only know, my precious child, 
 This life is just beginning, 
 
 With loss and gain, 
 
 With peace and pain, 
 With pardon for the sinning. 
 
 Weakness to conquer, doubts to crush, 
 While daily strength attaining; 
 
 With light we're led, 
 
 With manna fed 
 Till heavenly stature gaining. 
 
 And if we consecrate each day 
 As holiest of the seven, 
 Christ's will is done, 
 His kingdom come ; 
 And earth is fair as heaven ! 
 
 Then do not falter, my own ! 
 Or grieve at coming sorrow. 
 
 Your Yesterday 
 
 Is in To-day, 
 And all joy in To-morrow. 
 
 'The wintry days grew shorter and 
 colder. March came and passed 
 away, but brought no sign of spring. 
 A sudden storm raised the river, and 
 at midnight a roaring and crashing 
 was heard, and a voice shouted, 
 
 " The ice 's gc4n' out !" 
 
 The men hurried to the river-bank 
 and mill. The lanterns went flash- 
 ing and glimmering in the darkness; 
 voices rung out above the noise of 
 pelting rain and howling wind ; then, 
 one by one, the men came back to the 
 house, announcing the danger past, 
 the lumber safe. When morning caine 
 the storm was over and the ice gone. 
 
 Preparations for rafting began, al- 
 though the snow lay thick upon the 
 ground, and the weather freezing cold. 
 Each sunlit day was followed by one 
 of storm, and the hope of a pleasant 
 journey on a raft grew daily fainter. 
 . "Ah me!" Bessie cried, as the sec- 
 ond week in April brought a snow-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 fall that again whitened the hills, 
 " will the gloomy winter ne'er gang 
 awa' ? I mind me faithev's tellin' the 
 bairns 
 
 " ' IIoo Mairch borrowed from Aprill 
 Three days : an' they were ill. 
 The fairst day was snaw an' sleet, 
 The second day was wind an' weet ; 
 The third day there cam' a sair freeze, 
 An' froze a' the bonny buird's 'nabs t' th' 
 trees.' 
 
 An' I'm thinking Mairch has paid 'em 
 back wi' a score mair o' the same 
 sort." 
 
 "Giving more than compound in- 
 terest, you think," replied Mrs. Mor- 
 gan, glad to divert Bessie's thoughts 
 from a contemplation of the dreary 
 scene outside. " When was that bar- 
 gain made?" 
 
 "Ah, 'tis lang sin' syne. 'Twas a 
 fierce battle 'tween th' Scots an' the 
 Romans; and their gods would hae 
 it ended ere the year was dune; 'twas 
 when the new year cam' i' Mairch, 
 ye ken. Weel, they foucht on, an' 
 whiles th' las' day was near dune, 
 an' the Romans were winnin'; then 
 the Scots cried out for more time, an' 
 the gods lat them hae three mail- 
 days borrowed from the nex' year, 
 ye ken but tak' a' th' fairness out 
 o' ilka ane o' them so 's to be mair 
 creedit to 'em suld they win." 
 
 "And did they win?" 
 
 " Oh ay, mem ! 'Twas a great vic- 
 tory, spite o' weet an' cauld ; an' th' 
 three days hae jes' keepit th' ill 
 weather e'er sin'. Mayhap the mor- 
 row may be fair." 
 
 And she looked out upon the gray 
 sky faintly tinged with the sunset's 
 yellow hues. 
 
 But the morrow brought a cold east 
 wind. The river was low enough for 
 the rafts to start; and one by one 
 they were completed, pulled out into 
 the channel, and carried away by the 
 rapid current. 
 
 " Hoots, mem !" exclaimed Bessie, 
 dashing the tears of disappointment 
 from her eyes, " we ha' na time to be 
 douce an' dourie wi' th' gardenin' an' 
 house-cleanin'. Willy was awa' 'fore 
 milkin', an' th' co's a' lowin' fur him 
 noo;" arid, taking the milk-pail, she 
 hurried to the barn. 
 
 Before a fortnight had passed, the 
 men had returned, the lumber reach- 
 ing market with few accidents. 
 
 The proceeds were largely invested 
 in dry -goods and groceries for the 
 store; and the teams were sent to 
 meet them at the terminus of the ca- 
 nal. The gardens and fields were 
 ploughed and planted; the berries 
 had not begun to ripen. Between 
 these busy seasons the children grew 
 clamorous for school. 
 
 Books, slates, pencils, and paper had 
 been procured ; and one bright May 
 morning little Miriam's cradle was 
 brought into the room, where new 
 seats and desks had been constructed, 
 and the child's school life began. 
 
 To the great delight of the urchins, 
 she smiled her approval at all the ex- 
 ercises, and expressed her interest by 
 clapping her dimpled hands and crow- 
 ing as only a baby can. Bolstered 
 by pillows in her cradle, or lying on 
 a blanket on the floor, she amused 
 herself by watching the children, or 
 shaking a string of spools and the 
 wooden rattle manufactured for her 
 by Morris.
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 A special reward of merit for the 
 younger scholars was a seat beside 
 the baby, playing " Bopeep " until lit- 
 tle Miriam laughed outright. 
 
 "Altogether a model baby for a 
 school-room," said Mrs. Morgan to 
 Mrs. Rodgers, when a fortnight of the 
 term was ended. "Jamie brings her 
 to Bessie if she frets ; but she oftener 
 falls asleep over her play, and after a 
 long nap wakens with a smiling 'a 
 goo? Her example is worth some- 
 thing in keeping restless bodies quiet. 
 But I see I must invent some stimulus 
 to study; get up some competition 
 for a prize, I think. Mrs. Rodgers, 
 can you tell me how I shall make the 
 scholars get their lessons ?" 
 
 Mrs. Rodgers was trotting little 
 maid Miriam to "Banbury Cross" 
 to buy the baby a plum ; but the 
 " white horse " suddenly stopped as 
 she replied, 
 
 "Make 'era git their lessons ? Why, 
 I don't know of nothin' better 'n a 
 switch, 'nless it's a gad Land's sake 
 alive! I don't see how you've got 
 along 'thout givin' some on 'em a 
 lickin' 'fore this- time. You know 
 how I laughed at you las' year when 
 ye scd ye wa'n't goin' to hev no whip- 
 pin' in your school ; an' I declar' for 
 it, I was jest 'mazed to see how ye 
 managed them thar young uns ! An' 
 I sed to my ol' man, says I, Mis' Mor- 
 gan's allers preachin' 'bout rnliu' by 
 love 'stead o' fear, an' I'm beat ef I 
 don't believe thar's suthin' in it ! An' 
 I s'pose it does do better fur to coax 
 'an drive sometimes, and with some 
 young ones. Now, thar's my Jack; 
 land's sake alive ! the whippin's that 
 thar boy's stood an' never whimper- 
 
 ed, and never give up nuther! My 
 man throws it in my face yit that I 
 never broke that boy's will. Well, I 
 hope the Lord '11 git arter him, an' 
 give him no rest day nor night till he 
 gives up an' gits religion. Seems 
 like he's kindy alterd sence he's ben 
 agoin' to school to you. Not that 
 my Jack is worse nor other boys; 
 he's a sight better 'n many a one 'at 
 don't live a hundred miles from this 
 house! But, then, Jack is set on 
 worldly pleasure; an' I'm powerful 
 'fraid " And the mother sighed. 
 
 "But you's askin' 'bout some way 
 o' makin' the young uns git their les- 
 sons. Now, I never went to school 
 only a little spell; but I mind how 
 the master use' t' take every one of us 
 that didn't know our lessons perfec', 
 an' stan' us all upon the floor, an' tie 
 us all together in a ring with a big 
 cord 'round our wrists, an' then he'd 
 bring out his gads used to keep a 
 dozen on 'em seasonin' agin the raft- 
 ers an' he'd dr.iw his whip long his 
 han', kindy feel in' of it, an' a-glarin' 
 at us (land's sakes ! how our hearts 
 'ud pitty-pat !), an' then he'd raise it 
 up an' give it a. whirl (tell you, we'd 
 jump an' yell), an' down 'twould 
 come on somebody's bare feet an' 
 ankles. Why, that feller jest enjoyed 
 it ! He actilly used up more 'n forty 
 whips on us young uns ; an' he didn't 
 teach but three months neither. Tell 
 ye ! we ginnerly lied our spellm' 
 when we know'd what was a-comin' 
 ef we didn't ! Though thar was some 
 that got so scared cf he jest looked 
 at 'em, they didn't know nothin', an' 
 they was allers gittin' licked. So I 
 s'pose it takes diller'nt ways fur dif-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 fer'nt kinds; an' I guess you're 
 'nough sight wiser 'n I be 'bout such 
 work, anyhow." 
 
 " Well, I want these boys and girls 
 to do right because it is right, and be- 
 cause it is more safe and more pleas- 
 ant. I think that is the way God 
 teaches us. He shows us what is 
 wrong, and if we will do it, the 
 wrong itself hurts us ; but if we do 
 right, the right itself makes us hap- 
 py. And I think if the good people 
 would always be the most pleasant 
 people, young folks would try to imi- 
 tate them ; and if the right way Avas 
 made pleasantest, the children would 
 all try and go that way ; so what I 
 want is something to coax them along 
 in the right way. Bessie, can't you 
 think of something ? I cannot afford 
 gifts, you know, nor get medals." 
 
 " Weel, I dinna ken what wad gie 
 the bairns here maist gude ; they're 
 sae muckle sculduddery ! But I mind 
 a custom in the parish schule where 
 the maister hed a sou'reign, an' a 
 crown, an' a shillin', wi' holes i' them, 
 an' a ribbon put through ; an' th' lads 
 an' the lassies wha stood heid i' their 
 ilka class wore ane o' them hame th' 
 nicht ; an' verra proud were we when 
 we won the honor, tho' we parted 
 wi' the prize i' the mornin'." 
 
 " Did they ever lose them ?" 
 
 "That ne'er happened but aince. 
 A big lad wore the son'reign hame, 
 an' did na' fess it back the morn 
 'twas los', he said. Weel, the maister 
 took a strip o' white paper, stiff like, 
 ye ken, an' he put on it in sic big let- 
 ters, 'This lad hae los' our sou'reign' 
 an' pinned it on his back. Then he 
 put a bit o' leather AVI' a cord 'bout 
 
 his neck, stead o' the prize (for he 
 wan it agen) ; an' 'fore nicht he bro't 
 the sou'reign to th' maister's han' ; 
 an' it was ne'er los' agen." 
 
 " I Avonder ho\v that would do here? 
 A dollar for the first class Avith a blue 
 ribbon, a half-dollar for the second 
 with green, and a quarter-dollar Avith 
 red ribbon for the A B C class. Then 
 the one Avho left off head the most 
 times should have the piece of money 
 to keep. Why, Bessie, I think that is 
 a capital plan ! I Avill speak to Mr. 
 Morgan about it this very evening." 
 
 "An' wha' for s'uld ye spake o' the 
 maitter at a' ? Ye hae the siller, I 
 ken." 
 
 " Yes, my brother sent me a num- 
 ber of pocket-pieces with the gifts to 
 the children. Yet I feel as though I 
 ought to ask my husband's opinion 
 about it." 
 
 The family were gathered about the 
 hearth-stone that evening for though 
 the days Avere sunny, the nights were 
 cool and a bright fire leaped and 
 sparkled in the fireplace. 
 
 Jamie and Davy were popping corn 
 in the hot ashes; Babe Miriam glee- 
 fully watched the sport, enthroned in 
 her mother's arms. Two men were 
 engrossed in a game of checkers, with 
 chips and buttons for men. Bessie 
 and her husband sat together in the 
 cushioned settle in the chimney-cor- 
 ner, while Mr. Morgan, Avith account- 
 books before him on the table, leaned 
 his head upon his hands, absorbed in 
 thought. 
 
 Dreams and aspirations of youth, 
 hopes and plans of manhood, mingled 
 their contrasting forms and varied 
 hues in a kaleidoscopic vision. Past
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 and present grew confused. Where 
 were the desires of earlier years; the 
 anticipations of usefulness, the self-ab- 
 negation, the fervor? "Was this back- 
 woods life a result, or a contradiction? 
 Was money -getting a means, or an 
 end? 
 
 "I have some new scholars to-day," 
 said his wife. 
 
 "Hm-m," he responded, without 
 raising his head. 
 
 "Two English children, by the 
 name of White : quite good scholars, 
 I think. Do you know anything 
 about the family ?" 
 
 "Just come. Live near the grist- 
 mill." 
 
 " Oh, they are new settlers. John, 
 I want to ask your advice about a 
 plan for coaxing the children up the 
 hill of knowledge;" and Mary Mor- 
 gan turned toward the table with an 
 expectant smile. 
 
 Her husband gathered up his books. 
 
 "You must manage your school 
 without any of my help. I've got 
 enough on my hands without being 
 bothered by that. Only, I want to 
 tell you, once for all, I won't have the 
 young ones hanging around the store ! 
 They are a perfect torment, with 
 wanting a slate-pencil, or a stick of 
 licorice, or a bottle of ink, or a few 
 peppermints, a dozen times a day ! 
 and bringing pails and baskets for 
 things their mammies sent for. Then 
 when your school is out, in comes the 
 whole drove ; and bags, and buckets, 
 and half- gallons, and quarter-pounds, 
 and names, and young ones, are all 
 mixed up for half an hour. Fred 
 don't know one young one from an- 
 other, and is continually getting 
 
 things charged to the wrong per- 
 sons." 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Mrs. Morgan, 
 " that my school should annoy any 
 one; but I cannot help the children 
 doing errands for their parents." 
 
 " Well, you can keep them from 
 running into the store play-spells and 
 noonings; and they can keep their 
 baskets and bundles until school is 
 out. As for the rest, you can whip 
 them, or do anything you like. I 
 don't care ; and I don't want to hear 
 anything about it." 
 
 And John Morgan, unheeding the 
 surprised looks of his children, or the 
 disappointment in his wife's face, 
 picked up his books and went to the 
 store. 
 
 "What ails papa, mother?" said 
 Davy, coming to her side with his tin 
 cup filled with parched corn. 
 
 "I don't know, dear; I suppose his 
 business bothers him. But it is bed- 
 time now for young folks." 
 
 "'Tis, hey?" exclaimed Sam Jen- 
 kins, sweeping the checkers into a 
 box just as his opponent was crown- 
 ing a king. "That means me; an' I 
 hain't goin' to set here an' be beat 
 agin at no sech baby game as check- 
 ers is; hanged if I be!" And amidst 
 the laughter of his companions, he 
 climbed the steep stairs leading to 
 the men's room, followed by his vic- 
 tor. 
 
 Big Bill took a candle, and, lighting 
 it by a brand from the fireplace, went 
 to his room ; and Bessie, after finish- 
 ing preparations for breakfast, cover- 
 ed the fire, and followed him. 
 
 But Mary Morgan sat for hours 
 with her sleeping babe in her arms,
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 57 
 
 gazing intently into the smouldering 
 ashes, as though they held the secret 
 of her expiring hopes and chilling 
 disappointments. 
 
 The new "rewards of merit" were 
 prepared, and exhibited to the school 
 the following day. The eagerness 
 with which each pupil studied show- 
 ed a determination to be the first to 
 win the prize. 
 
 The glittering coins pierced by the 
 gay ribbons were laid beside the 
 home - made book that recorded the 
 attendance, behavior, and recitations 
 of each pupil. 
 
 Maid Miriam was in her happiest 
 mood, cooing and laughing quietly as 
 she rattled a bit of paper, or twisted a 
 scarlet thread around her taper fin- 
 gers. 
 
 The prize was awarded to a blue- 
 eyed girl, who spelled the one -sylla- 
 bled words correctly, and knew; the 
 country, State, county, and township 
 of which she was resident. 
 
 The next class passed triumphant- 
 ly down the column of spelling, but 
 wavered before the formidable ques- 
 tions, "Who is President of the 
 United States ? Who is governor of 
 this State ?" and the bright half- dol- 
 lar was finally suspended by its gay 
 ribbon from the neck of a curly-head- 
 ed urchin', who could scarcely wait 
 until it was sewed to his jacket be- 
 fore he rushed homeward to show the 
 prize to his mother. 
 
 The remainder of the class took 
 their sun -bonnets and followed him, 
 eagerly telling how they were "jest 
 goin' to say " the correct answer 
 when they gave the wrong one. 
 
 " Now. young people," Mrs. Morgan 
 
 said, holding up the remaining coin, 
 " I wonder who will wear this silver 
 medal first? But, remember, if you 
 miss to-night, you may win to-mor- 
 row ; so keep trying. First class in 
 spelling !" 
 
 All the largest boys and girls left 
 their seats, and ranged themselves be- 
 fore the teacher's desk in a long row, 
 carefully toeing the mark. 
 
 " Henry, this is your class," said 
 Mrs. Morgan, turning to a pale-faced, 
 white-haired boy near the door; "you 
 can go to the foot to-day that you may 
 win a place at the head to-morrow." 
 
 The boy's face flushed crimson, 
 making the whiteness of his hair and 
 eyebrows more apparent as he rose 
 and walked awkwardly to his place 
 at the foot of the line of giggling ur- 
 chins, who stared at his blue cloth 
 " roundabout," adorned with rows of 
 brass buttons from the bottom of the 
 waist to the top of the shoulders. 
 The tightly fitting black pantaloons 
 contrasted strangely with their loose- 
 ly hanging cotton trousers ; and the 
 leathern gaiters stumbled along as 
 though feeling out of place among the 
 bare feet of the other boys. 
 
 "Number," commanded the teacher. 
 
 "First," said Jamie, who stood at 
 the head; "Second," "Third," "Fifth." 
 
 "You stand foitrth, Polly Brown." 
 
 " No, ma'am ; I stood fifth yester- 
 day, and I hain't got above nobody," 
 said the girl, twisting the corner of 
 her checked apron and glancing shyly 
 down the class. 
 
 "How is this?" inquired the teach- 
 er ; " who stood above Polly ?" 
 
 " Wai, I guess I wus up thar yis- 
 terday; but I'd sooner stay here, ef
 
 58 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 it's tli' same tew you," answered Jack 
 Roclgers, who, being a man in height, 
 felt out of place among the smaller 
 children. 
 
 "I prefer your keeping your place, 
 Jack ; it saves time and trouble, and 
 I don't think Polly minds your being 
 above her. Now number again 1" 
 
 " Theme" pronounced the teacher. 
 
 "Tevth" 
 
 The words were spelled as rapidly 
 as pronounced. 
 
 * Eighth" 
 
 It was Jamie's turn; but his eyes 
 were fixed upon a spider weaving a 
 web across the window-pane. 
 
 "Next." 
 
 Jamie started, and blushed as he 
 realized he had lost his position. 
 
 " I'm sorry, ray son ; but you must 
 stop that habit of day-dreaming. Dan, 
 it is your turn." 
 
 " E-a-g-h-t-h," said the boy, confi- 
 dently. 
 
 " Next." 
 
 " E-y-g-h-t-h," faltered Beckie San- 
 ders. 
 
 "Next." 
 
 " E-i-g-h-t, eight? said Jack. 
 
 "That's not the word. Next 
 eighth." 
 
 "E-a-y Oh, I don't know," ex- 
 claimed Polly, the tears starting to 
 her eyes at losing a chance to go up 
 head. 
 
 "The word is very easy; only think 
 how it looks on the page. I do not 
 see how any of you can misspell it. 
 Try it, Sammy." 
 
 " A-i-g-h-th," said Sammy, trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 "Next." 
 
 "A-y-gh-t-h," said the next boy. 
 
 The interest grew intense ; the head 
 and foot of the class unconsciously 
 kept stepping forward to see the spell- 
 ers, until the straight line became a, 
 curve. 
 
 The new scholar was quivering with 
 excitement. His fingers were clasped 
 and unclasped in impatient agony lest 
 some one above him should spell it 
 correctly. His face twitched, his eyes 
 dilated, his breath came quick and 
 hard. 
 
 "Next," said the teacher; and his 
 turn had come. 
 
 A triumphant smile swept over the 
 crimsoned face ; he drew himself up, 
 and in- a shrill crescendo voice be- 
 gan, 
 
 " He-hi-g-haitch-t-haich !" 
 
 The last letter was a scream, and 
 he started instantly for the head of 
 the class. 
 
 A burst of laughter convulsed the 
 whole school. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan closed the book, and 
 gave the command to " number," try- 
 ing in vain to control her face suffi- 
 ciently to restore order. 
 
 Little Miriam began to cry with 
 fright; and it was for her sake the 
 noisy boys tried to suppress their 
 laughter. 
 
 "Henry White has won the medal 
 for the day," announced the teacher; 
 " and though he misuses the letter Jf, 
 no doubt lie sees as great blunders in 
 our speaking. So let us all help each 
 other to sjieak right, and act right 
 no one getting angry at a joke, and 
 no one carrying a joke too far. The 
 class is dismissed. Put your desks in 
 order, then go out quietly. Good- 
 night."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 [ A mistiness broods in the air the swell 
 
 Of east winds slowly wearing autumn's pall, 
 With dirge-like sadness, wanders up the dell; 
 And red leaves from the maple slowly fall 
 With scarce a sound: what strange mysterious rest 
 Uath Nature bound the Lotus to her breast?" 
 
 MOLLIE MOORE. 
 
 " IP this 'ere spell o' weather holds 
 >ut, you may as well git your traps 
 eady fur Jarsey, little woman," Mor- 
 is said, as he stamped the mud from 
 lis feet at the kitchen door. 
 
 " Hey, Willy," Bessie exclaimed, 
 >ausing with a ladleful of golden but- 
 ,er over an earthen jar, " be ye daffin', 
 100?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it, little wife ; I'm in 
 lead airnest. The river's riz six inch- 
 is sense las' night, an' ef it keeps on 
 aisin' there'll be a fresh, sure." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan came from the other 
 oom with Miriam in her arms. 
 
 "Are you very certain we can go?" 
 she asked, her face lighting up with 
 jleasure dimmed with fear. 
 
 " Wall, no, marm ; I hain't certain 
 >' nothin'. But there's a raft all 
 eady, 'ceptin' the loadin', an' there's 
 i fresh' lackin' 'bout ten inches. The 
 clouds are puttin' in thar best licks 
 now, an' I'm goin' to the mill to look 
 irtcr some cherry boards we're goin' 
 to take fur loadin'. So ef you tew 
 
 wimmen really want to go 'long, why 
 you'd better be gittin' reddy; an' ef 
 yer don't want ter, an' won't nohow, 
 why, ye might be gittin' up a dinner- 
 box fur us poor fellers what hev to 
 go anyhow," and, laughing, he walked 
 away. 
 
 " Eh, mem, 'tis maist unco gude to 
 be true. But I'll gang on with the 
 airnin', an' we hae enough breid. 
 S'all I mak' ginger- cake? An' wad 
 ye like some corn - beef, or wull the 
 ham be sufficient?" 
 
 "If we can go, we had better take 
 a box of provisions for ourselves be- 
 sides the men's. I will make some 
 sandwiches. My trunk has been 
 packed nearly all summer except a 
 few things for the children ; and 
 baby's cloak and hood are not quite 
 done. It does seem too good to be 
 true. Oh, how I hope nothing will 
 prevent our going ! Mother Rodgers 
 said she would come any time and 
 keep house. A rainy day never look^ 
 ed so cheery before."
 
 CO 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 The preparations went on rapidly ; 
 and when Mr. Morgan returned, wet 
 and weary, from a two days' collect- 
 ing tour, he saw faces so expectant of 
 LI iss they were almost tearful. He 
 had met with better success than he 
 had anticipated in collecting store 
 debts, and, with more than enough 
 money to pay for running the lum- 
 ber, he was very willing to give his 
 family a pleasure so long deferred. 
 
 Another day was spent in prepara- 
 tion. The boys were wild with de- 
 light. Jamie constructed a ship, with 
 paper sails, to float beside the raft. 
 
 Davy prepared fish-lines and hooks 
 and a box of bait. And little Miriam, 
 appearing to understand that packing 
 up was the order of the day, collected 
 her dolls and their clothing, her rattle- 
 box and primer, and stowed them all 
 under the pillow in her cradle. 
 
 "How she will miss her rock-a- 
 bye!" Mrs. Morgan said, as the curly 
 head lay down for a noonday nap, 
 singing a sleepy song without words, 
 while her mother gently touched the 
 cradle as she sewed. 
 
 "Never went to sleep 'thout rock- 
 in', did she?" said Mrs. Rodgers. 
 "Wall, neow, Jack, can't you holler 
 out a log an' make a cradle fur her, 
 like you wus rocked in ?" 
 
 " Don't b'lieve I've got time, mam- 
 my," Jack answered. "But tell you 
 what kin be done ; I kin git an emp- 
 ty box an' nail it on a piece o' slab, 
 an' I guess likely she'll rock -a- bye 
 herself in that. Won't ye, sweet- 
 heart ?" 
 
 The child opened her sleepy eyes, 
 smiled dreamily, and reached up her 
 tiny hands; but sleep conquered. 
 
 The hands dropped, the eyes closed, 
 and the smile faded into a dream. 
 
 Jack stooped and touched her fore- 
 head with his lips. 
 
 " Don't ye let nothin' happen to 
 her, Mis' Morgan. Seems if I'd never 
 want to set eyes on you agin if ye 
 didn't bring her back all right." 
 
 "Why, Jack," exclaimed the moth- 
 er, startled by his look and tone, 
 " what could happen ? Isn't it safe 
 the raft I mean ? And you have built 
 a cabin and made a place for fire; 
 why, I expect we will have a splendid 
 time." 
 
 " Course we will. I didn't mean 
 nothin'," and he laughed uneasily. 
 " I was thinkin' if she should git sick 
 in Philadelphy ;" and his lips quiver- 
 ed as he turned away. 
 
 The night was half spent before all 
 was ready for their journey ; but the 
 new day was only dawning when 
 Morris roused the household with his 
 hearty " Hurrah, everybody ! Time 
 to be up an' at it !" 
 
 Jamie and Davy tumbled out of 
 their trundle - bed, and were half 
 dressed in their new suits before the 
 kitchen fire was lighted, getting but- 
 tons and button -holes mixed, gar- 
 ments inside out and hind side before, 
 in a way impossible to any creature 
 but a hurrying boy. 
 
 "I'm jest a-gittin' gladder and glad- 
 der every minute !" Davy declared, 
 dancing around on one foot, while 
 lacing the shoe on the other. " Moth- 
 er, when a feller feels as if he could 
 fly, why can't he ?" 
 
 "Because his body isn't as light as 
 his heart, I suppose." 
 
 " Well, I'd rather sail on the river
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 ci 
 
 than fly in the air, anyway. If I was 
 a bird, I'd be a duck." 
 
 " Well, you're a goose, and that's 
 near enough. Come, hurry up, Dave ; 
 breakfast is ready come on," said his 
 brother. 
 
 Passengers and baggage were upon 
 the raft, as the first rays of sunlight 
 leaped over the hill-tops and tinged 
 the river with a ruddy glow. The 
 white cottage gleamed through its 
 mantle of green and scarlet foliage, 
 and at its back the forest waved red 
 and yellow banners amidst its ranks 
 of evergreen, while the whole earth 
 seemed dressed for a holiday. 
 
 "All aboard now! An' ef ye can't 
 git a board, git a slab !" shouted Big 
 Bill. " Man yer oars ! Now, then, 
 untie her. JarseyP* 
 
 Slowly the space of water widened 
 between them and the shore. Slow- 
 ly at first, but more rapidly as they 
 glided away, the cottage and the river- 
 bank seemed receding. Fred waved 
 bis hat; the men shouted, "Good luck 
 to ye !" And Mrs. Rodgers, with a 
 Gjay handkerchief about her head, and 
 a smile on her earnest face, looked the 
 presiding genius of the scene. 
 
 "Fred looks lonely. Poor fellow, 
 [ wish he could come too." 
 
 "Well, I think there's enough 
 come," her husband answered, gruffly. 
 " I guess somebody's got to stay to 
 see to things." 
 
 " I suppose that means me, Mister 
 Morgan," Bill said, good-humoredly; 
 " an' I'll allow there wa'n't no special 
 use of both of us a-comin', seen 's the 
 raft 's sold an' the loadin' bargained 
 fur. But, ye see, it's fashionable to 
 take a trip after yer married, an' this 
 
 is Bessie's and my weddin' - tower. 
 Ain't it, little woman?" to the rosy- 
 cheeked wife, who, with her blue hood 
 pushed back, and golden hair waving 
 about her face, was gazing at sky, 
 hill, and valley, as if a new world had 
 opened before her. 
 
 "Toots, Willy," she said, blushing 
 and dimpling with delight, "'tis a 
 better journey than the newly wed 
 can know; an' this is a fairer day 
 than the spring-time can bring. See 
 how sweet and content the valleys 
 lie 'twixt the hills." 
 
 "That's so, little wife; harvest- 
 time is better 'n plantin'. An' when 
 you an' I go up to th' house, an' see 
 th' ol' folks standin' in th' door a-wait- 
 in' for us Pennsylvania ! Lively, 
 boys !" And Morris brushed the back 
 of his hand across his eyes. 
 
 The men sprung to their oars ; lift- 
 ing the tips of the stem at arm's- 
 length, and, dipping the blade deep 
 in the water, they put their strength 
 to the oar, which bent almost to the 
 point of breaking as they went tip- 
 toeing across the raft; then, quickly 
 lowering their hands, lifting the oar- 
 blade out of the water, ran back again, 
 repeating the movement until com- 
 manded to " Holt !" 
 
 "Pretty close shave, Bill," Jack 
 Rodgers remarked, quietly cutting a 
 piece from a plug of tobacco he held 
 in his hand. 
 
 "A miss 's as good as a mile, they 
 say; but hanged if I b'lieve it." 
 
 "That depends a good deal on the 
 miss, an' suthin' on the mile. We 
 know you're kindy 'fraid o' Miss Su- 
 san ; but guess it's a good travelled 
 mile between ye, ain't it? Honest,
 
 02 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 now, it did look as if that miss was 
 goin' to be a hit. I let the raft sag- 
 over a purpose ; wanted to stir you 
 up an' git yer gait, so 's I could see 
 what sort o' han's I hed to depend 
 on." 
 
 " Well, what do you think of us ?" 
 " Oh, you'll do ; you jest fairly lift- 
 ed 'er. See ef ye'll do as well for'ard 
 at Butler's, Foul Rift, an' Wells's. 
 The las' time I come through here, 
 I'd jest as live scrape agin that rock 
 as not didn't want to stave, ye know, 
 but enjoyed comiu' purty nigh to it ; 
 but now " glancing at the cabin 
 where the women and children were 
 sitting " well, now it's different ; an' 
 I won't take no more chances this 
 trip. Davy, where's yer fish - line ? 
 Bring yer bait-box, an' I'll show you 
 how to hook a sucker. Jamie wants 
 to ketch an eel, don't ye ? or would 
 ye ruther take my oar fur a spell, 
 while I go an' lay down on the straw? 
 That las' pull kinder winded me. 
 Here, Davy, you set down here, an' 
 let your line drop 'tween th' rafts. 
 There's room to haul up a bigger fish 
 'n you'll ketch. See what a lot of 
 pin-fish ! Tie yer line to this grub, an' 
 git Bessie to give ye a piece o' bread 
 to crumb up an' drop in here. More 
 fish '11 come thar than you an' Jamie 
 can both of you count." 
 
 Leaving the boys so well employed, 
 Morris seated himself beside his wife. 
 Jack was lying on the straw with lit- 
 tle Miriam in his arms, crowing and 
 cooing at a branch of red leaves he 
 fluttered beyond her reach. Mrs. 
 Morgan glanced a little uneasily at 
 the deserted oars, as the other men 
 sauntered to the provision -box, and, 
 
 abstracting a pie, cut it into quarters, 
 and began leisurely to devour it. 
 
 "I did not suppose you could let 
 the raft go at all without guiding it," 
 she said to Jack. 
 
 " Oh, it's got the right pint, an' this 
 is still water. Bill knows this river 
 from the Forks to Trenton as well 
 as you know the path through your 
 door-yard. He can tell by lookin' at 
 the hills on either side where we be, 
 'n then he knows 'bout how fast we're 
 runnin', and could calculate to half a 
 second when there's pullin' to be done 
 if he wus blindfolded. He'll set thar 
 's unconcerned as an owl for 'bout 
 three minutes, an' then 'you'll see him 
 jump an' yell ' Jarsey.' Want to go 
 to your bye-o, sweetheart? Well, 
 yer bed's soft as straw an' blank- 
 ets ken make it ; an' here's yer own 
 little pillow. Now, then, rock-a-bye, 
 Beauty." 
 
 The water rippled and twinkled, 
 splashing musically against the raft, 
 the winds rustled the gay foliage as 
 they glided close to the shore, and 
 the white clouds and brilliant -hued 
 hills were reflected in the clear wa- 
 ters till they seemed floating in mid- 
 air, with the sky above and beneath 
 them. Even Morris seemed impress- 
 ed by the solemn grandeur of the 
 scene, and, rising quietly, said, "Come, 
 boys." Jack gave the cradle a final 
 rock ; the men brushed the crumbs 
 from their bearded lips, and each 
 sauntered to his oar. 
 
 " Jarsey!" 
 
 The water, which had been smooth 
 as a mirror, began to swell and roll ; 
 now it dashed foaming upon a rock, 
 now rushed fiercely across the raft.
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 ^he timber shook and creaked; the 
 ien pulled with might and main. 
 
 " Pcnnsylvan'a !" shouted Bill. 
 
 The men sprung to the other side 
 f their oars, and pulled hard, though 
 nth slower step. The water grew 
 lore calm, then quiet ; and a long 
 pace of glassy surface spread before 
 hem without a ripple or a wave from 
 hore to shore. 
 
 "Was that a very bad place?" 
 Irs. Morgan asked, as Jack returned 
 o Miriam's side. 
 
 "That? why, that wus nothin' but 
 
 rift. You don't call that rough, 
 o ye? Jest wait till ye git to 
 ?ochecton Falls ; in a low fresh like 
 his there'll be some roarin' an' pitch- 
 i', I tell ye ! But don't you be 
 cared ; Bill's a good steersman, an' 
 e's bound to git this raft through 
 11 right long 's his woman's aboard." 
 
 "Mother," said Davy, " w hen's din- 
 er goin' to be ready ? I am as hun- 
 ry as little fishes." 
 
 " Hae ye caught ony ?" Bessie asked. 
 
 " Yes ; caught lots of 'em stealm' 
 \e bait; they ought to have a con- 
 table after 'em, little nasty minnows ! 
 'he chubs and suckers just smelled 
 f the bait, then cocked one eye up 
 t me, and swam off. But I caught 
 Dmething, Bessie." 
 
 "What,noo?" 
 
 "A crick in my back, and a big ap- 
 etite. Get dinner right away, won't 
 ou?" 
 
 "It's reddy an' waitin'. Come awa' 
 ) the box ; it's a picnic dinner ye'll 
 et noo." 
 
 The sandwiches were distributed; 
 10 cups filled from the bottles of 
 lilk and cold tea; the pie and dough- 
 
 nuts laid upon a towel beside them; 
 while the men went by turns to their 
 own box, sliced bread and ham with 
 their pocket-knives, rinsing down huge 
 mouthfuls by draughts of river water. 
 
 Jamie sat on a pile of boards with 
 his elbow on his knee, and his head 
 i-esting on his hand, with a biscuit 
 half-way to his lips; but his thoughts 
 were engrossed in the beautiful scene 
 before him. 
 
 "Mother," he exclaimed, at length, 
 "do see that creek come tumbling 
 down the mountain ; the water turns 
 to mist before it reaches the river !" 
 
 " Your dinner will be missed if you 
 don't eat it," said Davy, snatching the 
 biscuit from his hand. 
 
 "My son, don't be so rude ! Davy 
 is almost as fond of punning as you 
 are, Morris." 
 
 "Yes; I guess it's kinder ketchin'. 
 I got it of Long John, an' Davy he's 
 ketched it from me ; 'n fact, I sorter 
 felt 's ef I 's indebted to the family, 
 ye know, an' orter train him up to 
 'muse ye, somehow. An' as I hain't 
 no drum nor whistle fur him, I set 
 him to making puns, an' now he kin 
 make 'bout 's bad a one as I kin ; can't 
 ye, Davy ?" 
 
 "Pretty near; but Fred will beat 
 all of us. Ain't it funny we're all so 
 punny?" And the boy ran away to 
 assist Jamie in launching the ship. 
 
 Like a panorama the varying scenes 
 glided by. The rugged mountains 
 disappeared, and autumn-painted hills, 
 surrounding verdant valleys, fruitful 
 orchards, or pleasant homes were seen 
 on either hand. Then the river nar- 
 rowed, and the waters grew black as 
 they reflected the hemlock -trees and
 
 G4 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 fern -crowned rocks overhanging the 
 way. Again it widened, and villages 
 with church - spires and tavern signs 
 appeared. The men hallooed to rafts- 
 men on shore; some children waved 
 their hats to Jamie and Davy. Then 
 a turn in the river hid all sight of hu- 
 man habitation. Bessie leaned upon 
 her husband's oar in earnest talk. 
 The other men, with slow steps to and 
 fro, kept the raft in the current. The 
 boys were sailing their ship upon the 
 unruffled water behind the raft, while 
 Mr. Morgan, shading his eyes with one 
 hand, was closely examining some fig- 
 ures in his account-book. Babe Mir- 
 iam slept on in the shade of the cabin. 
 For a long time Mrs. Morgan 
 mused ; then, taking paper and pencil 
 from her bag, she wrote : 
 
 Autumn, wistful-faced and dreamy-eyed, 
 Is wandering down the mountain side; 
 Throwing back the veil of mist 
 From the brow by sunbeams kissed, 
 And gathering close about her form 
 Her robe of colors rich and warm, 
 While murmuring a sweet refrain, 
 As she gathers golden grain, 
 Ripened fruit, and brilliant flowers, 
 From verdant fields and woodland bowers. 
 She saunters through the valleys fair 
 Where misty splendor fills the air ; 
 And wanders o'er the rocky height 
 Veiling the hills with purple light. 
 She pauses now : is it to hear 
 The voices of the bounteous year ? 
 The falling nuts, the rustling com, 
 The bird songs welcoming the morn, 
 The cricket's chirr-chirr, the blue-jay's call, 
 The river's murmur through it all ? 
 Ah, tear-drops gather in her eyes 
 As, with a sudden, sad surprise, 
 She sees her flowers are faded, dead ! 
 And dry leaves rustle 'neath her tread. 
 
 A breeze rustled the paper in her 
 hand, and a shadow fell upon the river. 
 
 One of the men, glancing at the 
 cabin, said, " Hope that thar shanty '11 
 shed water. Goin' to hev it over and 
 under too purty soon." 
 
 " Guess we'd better land 'fore we 
 reach Lackawac, hedn't we?" drawled 
 another, as Mr. Morgan hastily put up 
 his papers and looked at the white 
 mist drifting across the hills. 
 
 "No," he answered, shortly; " we'll 
 make this trip in four days." 
 
 The water grew darker, and the 
 trees rustled ominously, as the women 
 and children huddled together on the 
 straw of the tiny cabin, and the mist 
 hovered over them, and settled down 
 in a chilly, drizzling rain. 
 
 "Bessie, comin' to Cochecton Falls 
 now !" called Bill. 
 
 The boys and Bessie sprung to their 
 feet, and ran out to see the water dash 
 over the half-hidden rocks. 
 
 "Looks like sheep jumping over a 
 wall, don't it?" Davy's shrill treble 
 rung out, above the tumult of the wa- 
 ters and the loud voices of the men. 
 
 " Oh, mother," gasped Jamie, " do 
 look ! It's like monsters leaping up 
 and dashing the water to foam." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan stepped to the door of 
 the cabin with her babe in her arms ; 
 heard the confused roar and rush of 
 waters around them; saw the foam- 
 capped billows rise and fall; felt the 
 timbers heave and shake under her; 
 and, calling her boys to her side, sunk 
 upon her knees in prayer as the raft 
 glided safely into smooth water. 
 
 "Some purty tough pullin' there," 
 Jack said, as he sauntered to the pro- 
 vision-box for a "chunk o' cake." 
 "Neow yeou jest keep inside here till 
 we git to Lackawac. Ain't nothin'
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 G5 
 
 more worth seein' to-day, 'less it's the 
 Narrows o' Big Eddy. Guess we kin 
 ^it a purty comfortable shake -down 
 to-night, seein' there's so few rafts 
 runnin'." 
 
 Bill's yell " Jarsey !" made him drop 
 Lhe cake and run to his oar. 
 
 The raft they had hailed at Calli- 
 joon had overtaken them, and was 
 massing by. 
 
 " Goin' to stop to Big Eddy ?" their 
 steersman inquired. 
 
 "No; going to Lackawaxen," Mr. 
 yiorgan shouted, in reply. 
 
 "Wall, I wouldn't risk making 
 ;hat landin' arter dark with wirnmeu 
 iboard." 
 
 Davy crept from under the blanket, 
 ind, heedless of rain, stood by his fa- 
 ilicr. The clouds had descended be- 
 ow the tops of the hills that now 
 :rowded the river to a narrow stream. 
 
 "Oh, father!" Davy cried, "we 
 :an't go no farther, nohow. See ! the 
 nil has moved right across the river 
 ind shut us all in !" 
 
 And so it seemed. There was no 
 >pening visible on either side; but 
 ,he raft floated on, and before readi- 
 ng the mountain that barred the 
 vay the opposite hill seemed to draw 
 )ack, leaving a narrow entrance to 
 ,he Big Eddy. "With rare good luck 
 ,he raft caught a favorable current and 
 vas borne through the eddy without 
 )eing caught by the surging counter- 
 surrents of either side, which frequent- 
 y seize upon and delay for hours, some- 
 times days, every floating object that 
 >asses the Narrows. The entire vol- 
 ime of water rushing through a chan- 
 lel less than two hundred feet in width 
 nto the deep and wide eddy creates 
 5 
 
 great whirlpools which are dangerous 
 to rafts in high freshets, and tosses 
 logs and trees as a cat plays with a 
 mouse. 
 
 The current below being rapid, 
 Lackawaxen was soon reached. The 
 Lackawaxen River joins the Delaware 
 at this point, and the Delaware and 
 Lackawaxen Canal crosses it here. 
 A dam creates a pond through which 
 the water flows slowly; but the mo- 
 mentum given the raft by the rapids 
 above makes it difficult to stop at the 
 landing. Dusky shadows were fast 
 obscuring the shore ; while the sound 
 of the waters pouring over the dam 
 was to Mrs. Morgan's terrified fancy 
 like a roaring lion in the way. 
 
 "Better let Jack handle that rope, 
 Mister Morgan," said Morris. 
 
 "No, I will attend to that myself," 
 he answered, shortly. 
 
 " Well, Mister Morgan, you kin han- 
 dle that thirty-foot rope an' snub on 
 the rafts when we come to 'em, ef you 
 want to ; but you let Jack handle the 
 long rope an' snub 'er up on the snub- 
 bin' posts that are set 'long th' shore." 
 
 "Well, well; you talk as if you 
 owned this lumber, and I was one of 
 your hands." 
 
 "I calculate I'm capting of this 
 craft, Mister Morgan, an' whatever's 
 done while the raft is movin' '11 be 
 done 'cordin' to my orders; 'n ef ye 
 don't like 'em, ye kin go an' set down. 
 Wish to gracious you would ! fur a 
 greenhorn's allers in th' way when a 
 difficult landin' 's to be made ; an' this 
 ain't no fool of a job before us." 
 
 Mr. Morgan turned away in evident 
 ill-humor, while Jack carefully coiled 
 the rope, one end of which was fasten-
 
 GO 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 ed to the raft, and prepared to jump 
 on shore as soon as the raft was suffi- 
 ciently near. 
 
 "Now, Jack !" Bill shouted. 
 
 Jack leaped to the shore, rope in 
 hand, and threw it in a double coil 
 around a large post ; letting it render 
 fast enough to avoid breaking the 
 rope or its fastenings, thus gradual- 
 ly slackening the speed of the raft. 
 Post after post was reached, used, 
 and passed ; but the current still bore 
 them on rapidly. The mist aided the 
 fast -coming night in obscuring the 
 outline of the bank, and it was nec- 
 essary to keep the forward end out 
 *from shore to avoid sticking or strik- 
 ing other rafts, which might cause it 
 to swing out into the stream and go 
 sideways over the dam ; which would 
 be fatal to the raft, if not to its pas- 
 sengers. Mr. Morgan could remain 
 inactive no longer, and seizing the 
 thirty -foot rope, sprang upon a log 
 raft just reached, saying, 
 
 " I see I've got to stop this raft, 
 if it stops this side of destruction !" 
 And he tied one end of the rope 
 around a lash-pole. The raft moved 
 on ; a sound of snapping followed, 
 then a sharp crack, then whiz! a 
 groan, and a splash. 
 
 The rope had broken, and the end, 
 striking Mr. Morgan in the breast, 
 knocked him breathless backward 
 upon the logs. He regained his 
 breath and feet, as Jack brought the 
 raft to a standstill, and led the way 
 to the tavern, apparently deaf to the 
 jokes of the men. The light of a can- 
 dle beamed like a ray of hope across 
 their weary pathway as, encumbered 
 with luggage, they stumbled along, 
 
 rain above and mud beneath them. 
 The men around the fire made room 
 for the wet and cold women and chil- 
 dren; and the supper of fried ham 
 and eggs was soon served and eaten. 
 
 " Guess likely we kin give yer wim- 
 men folks a room by themselves," said 
 the landlord, " though we're purty 
 middlin' full." And a half hour 
 later, they were tucked between 
 blankets of colored wool, and sleep- 
 ing as soundly as though sheets of 
 finest quality and purest white en- 
 folded them. Not one hour by Bes- 
 sie's mental time - piece, but eight 
 hours by the clock in the hall had 
 been spent in slumber, when a loud 
 rap on the door and booted feet in 
 the next room aroused all but Mir- 
 iam from their sweet, restful forget- 
 fulness. The little girl was gently 
 wrapped in blankets, cloak, and shawl; 
 and while the men hastily swallowed 
 their allowance of pancakes and cof- 
 fee, Bessie refilled their pot with tea, 
 procured a supply of boiled eggs and 
 a bottle of milk, and, aided by the 
 boys, carried their extemporized break- 
 fast to the raft. The air was cold and 
 damp, the foliage dripping and torn. 
 The river, black as ink, flowed sul- 
 lenly along beneath a dull gray sky. 
 Jack sprung on board with his arms 
 filled with dry straw and some pine- 
 knots. 
 
 " Goin' to be a tedious day, I'm 
 'fraid ; but we'll hev it 's comfortable 
 as we kin, anyhow." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan sat upon a pile of 
 boards, with her sleeping babe in her 
 arms, as the raft left the shore ; while 
 the boys nestled in the straw at her 
 feet, watching Bessie prepare the
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 morning meal. Unconsciously they 
 were nearing the dam. 
 
 " Eh, mem !" screamed Bessie, 
 " they've sunk !" 
 
 The front part of the raft had 
 dropped down and disappeared. The 
 boy's faces were fixed for a shriek 
 of terror, but the cry had not reach- 
 ed their lips when they, too, glided 
 over the glassy slope; the hinder 
 part of the raft dropped down, and 
 all were safely over the dreaded dam. 
 
 " I had not time to get frightened," 
 Mrs. Morgan replied to Jack's inquiry. 
 "We were over before I knew we 
 were there." 
 
 " But Bessie thought Jack had gone 
 to feed fishes. How she yelled !" said 
 Morris, teasingly. 
 
 Bessie picked up the knife she had 
 dropped, and resumed her work of 
 cutting bread and beef, singing mer- 
 
 rfiy 
 
 "Although me faither was na laird 
 ('Tis daffin to be vaunty), 
 lie keepit a gude kail-yaird, 
 A ha hoose an' a pantry ; 
 A gude blue bonnet on his heid, 
 An' orlay 'bout his craigie, 
 An' aye until the day he deid 
 He rode on gude shanks naigie." 
 
 The rain now began falling heavily. 
 The fire Jack had kindled smoked 
 drearily and went out. The wind 
 penetrated every crevice of the rude 
 cabin, and the children grew restless 
 and fretful. In vain Bessie sung her 
 funniest songs, and Mrs. Morgan^told 
 her most charming stories. The boys 
 grumbled at the storm, and Miriam 
 wailed for her "bye-o" until they 
 each fell asleep. The fire, rekindled, 
 tempted the women from the dark 
 
 cabin to warm their chilled feet ; but 
 the blaze which sprung up at Jack's 
 coaxing breath proved a deceptive 
 one ; there seemed no heat in it ; and 
 the smoke turned to whichever side 
 of the fire they stood. With smart- 
 ing eyes and aching feet they return- 
 ed to the straw couch, hoping they, 
 too, might return to dream-land. The 
 long morning passed away. The rain 
 dropped slowly and unwillingly, then 
 ceased, and a ray of pale sunlight fell 
 on babe Miriam's face as she opened 
 her eyes in smiling acceptance of its 
 promise that the storm had gone. Try- 
 ing to catch the sunbeams in her dim- 
 pled hand, she awakened the boys by 
 her merry laughter. Their tiny ship 
 and tangled fish-lines were called for, 
 and their enjoyment seemed restored. 
 
 " Oh, what walls of rock ! Do come 
 out and see, mother," Jamie called. 
 "They hang way over the river. 
 Have they got a name, Bill ?" 
 
 "Yes; they call these Carr's Rock. 
 Don't look 's if they'd ever git a rail- 
 road runnin' 'long-side o' that moun- 
 tain, does it ? Yet that's right where 
 they're goin' to put the road, they 
 say. I'll bet they'll run off some 
 time. My gracious ! wouldn't it 
 make a smash -up, comin' right slam 
 down on these rocks, an' into the 
 river? You boys better stay purty 
 near your mother and Bessie now, so 
 's to take keer o' 'em, ye know, fur 
 we've got rough water ahead." 
 
 " What places are they, Bill ?" 
 
 " Well, Davy, it's purty rough most 
 the way from Pond Eddy to Port 
 Jarvis ; there's Stairway, an' Butler's, 
 an' Sawmill Rift." 
 
 " Is there any danger, Morris ?"
 
 GS 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 "No, Mis' Morgan ; not with good 
 ban's an' good light. Sometimes the 
 fog rises jest enough to coax the raft 
 out o' Pond Eddy an' then shets right 
 down on 'em so 's they can't see nei- 
 ther shore. Then's the time there's 
 trouble at Sawmill Rift." 
 
 "They are going to put a bridge 
 across the river at Sawmill Rift," said 
 Mr. Morgan. 
 
 " Well, they may as well stretch a 
 boom across an' stop every raft then, 
 an' better too; fur ef they put a pile 
 o' stun' in th' river there, it may kill 
 men 's well 's stave lumber." 
 
 With pieces of their fish -lines and 
 bits of boards the boys had been imi- 
 tating the horses on the canal, drop- 
 ping the " ropes " as they passed and 
 repassed each other on the imaginary 
 tow-path, enjoying the sport far more 
 than their mother, who started ner- 
 vously as they ventured near the edge 
 of the raft to push off their boats. 
 
 " Davy, are you not tired of being 
 a canal horse ?" she called, as the boy 
 for a second time stood in the way of 
 the steersman's oar. "Come here, 
 and I will tell you a new game I have 
 just thought of. Here are two pen- 
 nies; one for you, and one for Jamie. 
 Now, there are a great many things 
 upon them you never noticed. I can 
 see thirty -five letters, some berries 
 and leaves and stars, two borders, an 
 eye, a neck, locks, a date, an ear, and 
 several other things. Now, if you 
 will find all of these, you may have 
 the pennies; and the one who finds 
 the most shall have half a dime." 
 
 " Can't I play that too ?" 
 
 "Yes, Jack, if you will find the 
 name of a fruit, a grand church, a 
 
 scholar, the end of a river, and an ani- 
 mal." 
 
 " Well, I do say ! Do you mean to 
 tell me all them things is on a pen- 
 ny?" 
 
 "No; not the things, but the 
 names. You see these figures, 1839; 
 well, that's a date, and a date is a 
 fruit." 
 
 "Oh, ho! I see now. But an ani- 
 mal, an' a scholar, an' a I swan, the 
 mouth' 1 s the end o' th' river, ain't it ? 
 I'll bet I'll hev 'em all in a jiffy ;" and 
 Jack returned to his oar with a cent 
 in his hand. 
 
 " I've found the animal," he said, as 
 after a pull to Jersey he sauntered 
 back again. "It don't grow round 
 here, though, an' 's a sort o' rabbit, 
 ain't it? Now, s'posiu' I sh'ti'd find 
 more things 'an you boys an' yer 
 mother all on ye c'u'd, then I win all 
 yer pennies, wouldn't I, Davy ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; but I bet a dollar you 
 can't do it," the boy replied. 
 
 " Mother" Jamie lowered his voice 
 to a whisper " wouldn't that be gam- 
 bling?" 
 
 "Davy," she said, "what is gam- 
 bling?" 
 
 " Why, taking what you hain't 
 given anything for." 
 
 "Precisely. Now, Jack, I have 
 found the top of the hill, a cover, and 
 a fastening to a door." 
 
 " Wall, now, I never see the beat ! 
 She's bound I sh'll earn all I git out 
 o' this speculation, ain't she, Davy? 
 But I say now, Davy, what's bettin' 
 hey? Tain't airnin' nor givin', is it? 
 S'posin' I took ye up an' won yer dol- 
 lar?" 
 
 " Yes, boys, that's a question to be
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 CO 
 
 thought of. And, Jack, what is spec- 
 ulating ?" 
 
 " Wall, I guess I got 'nough thinkin' 
 before me to las' to tide-water." 
 
 And he walked back to his oar ; but 
 Davy had pocketed his penny and 
 Jamie his half-dime, and neither the 
 temple, brow, pupil, nor locks had 
 been discovered. 
 
 " Good gracious !" she heard him 
 exclaim, in reply to something Morris 
 was saying, " he don't mean to take 
 her to ol' man Post's, does he ?" 
 
 " I don't know 's any worse fur his 
 wife 'n mine," growled Bill. 
 
 " I wa'n't thinkin' o' nobody's wife" 
 Jack answered, in a lower tone. 
 
 " But blamed cf I kin see why we 
 can't run on t' th' nex' landin'." 
 
 "Jes'his cussed contrariness, that's 
 all." 
 
 Mr. Morgan stepped briskly for- 
 ward, saying, 
 
 " We'll tie up at Mulliner's." 
 
 When the raft was landed, Jack 
 stepped to Mrs. Morgan's side : 
 
 " We're goin' to the dirtiest place 
 'long this river," he said, "an' you 
 better wrap the baby in a big shawl 
 an' hoi' on to 'er till mornin'. I've 
 hear'n o' men bein' snaked out o' bed 
 an' clear 'cross the road by But 
 then, I won't lie; the place is bad 
 enough an' tell the truth."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "All things journey: sun and moon, 
 Morning, noon and afternoon, 
 Night and all her stars." 
 
 THE SPANISH GTPST. 
 
 THE mist was rising like wreaths of 
 smoke from the river, and settled in a 
 bank of white fog over the weath- 
 er-beaten building where they were 
 to find sapper and lodgings. The 
 screams of crying children, and the 
 scolding tones of a woman's voice 
 were heard before they reached the 
 door. Mr. Morgan rapped, and the 
 noises suddenly ceased; the door 
 opened, and Mrs. Morgan saw a tall, 
 gaunt female with a young babe in 
 her arms, and two dirty children hold- 
 ing fast to her skirts, while others 
 peeped shyly at the strangers from 
 the dark background of the room. 
 
 "We can't keep ye, nohow," she 
 said, her hand on the latch. "We 
 hed a lot o' raftsmen here las' night, 
 and they nigh upon tore the house 
 down, and eat us clean out. Ain't 
 got no accommodations for raftsmen, 
 an' don't want none." 
 
 "But we've got some women and 
 children here, and it's too late to go 
 farther. You won't have any trouble 
 with my men ; they are all quiet fel- 
 lows ; and if you can't give us supper, 
 we'll furnish our own and pay you 
 too." 
 
 She hesitated a moment, and then, 
 stepping back, told them to come in 
 and not leave the door open no longer; 
 despatched two of the tow -headed 
 boys for wood ; told the unwelcome 
 guests to " take cheers an' make them- 
 selves to hum;" put the baby in the 
 largest girl's arms; sat the two little 
 ones on a bench with a force that 
 made them wink, and began to put the 
 room in order with such a clatter and 
 despatch that Mrs. Morgan sighed for 
 the quiet of the cold cabin they had 
 left. 
 
 "Hello, Bill! Hello, Jack!" the 
 woman responded to their "How de 
 do, Mis' Post ?" as they brought the 
 provision-boxes and blankets into the 
 room. 
 
 "Heerd ye ben gittin' ye a woman, 
 Bill," she said, standing the splint 
 broom in the corner, and placing her 
 hands on her hips, as she stared at 
 Mrs. Morgan and Bessie, whose face 
 flushed scarlet with indignation. "Be 
 either o' these women yourn ?" 
 
 He laughed as he answered, 
 
 " Pshaw ! who's been talking such 
 stuff 'bout me? That lady with the 
 blue hood on is Mis' Morris, goin' to
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 71 
 
 her ol' home in Jarsey ; an' the other 
 with the baby is Mis' Morgan: her 
 husband owns the best lot o' land an' 
 timber of anybody in our country; 
 an' ef you use us purty well to-night, 
 you'll git a good many shilliu's out o' 
 us fellows." 
 
 " Yes, a pinched lot o' shillin's, an' 
 git my blankets tore up, my pillars 
 bust open, an' some o' my best crock- 
 ery broke to smash ! I tol' Abe las' 
 night that the fut of a raftsman 
 shouldn't never step over that thar 
 door-sill, an' here's my house all clat- 
 tered full o' ye agin." 
 
 " Land's sake, Mis' Post, ye don't 
 call this house full now, do ye ? Why, 
 I've seen more 'n fifty men layin' 
 spread out on this floor to onct." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan glanced around in as- 
 tonishment. The fireplace and a door 
 each side of it filled one end of the 
 room ; a curtained recess, with a pan- 
 try on one side, and a cupboard on 
 the other, filled the side and described 
 the size of the room, while two small 
 uncurtained windows gave sufficient 
 light to show the bare, mud-tracked 
 floor, pine table, two long benches, 
 and a few wooden -bottomed chairs 
 ranged against the wall. Some 
 bright tins hung over the cupboard 
 reflecting the fire-light's glow, and 
 strings of dried apples and pumpkin 
 festooned the ceiling. 
 
 ""Wall, las' fresh we had a hundred 
 an' four to supper. Some on 'em 
 slept in the barn, an' some on 'em 
 stayed here in the house. I wun't 
 say they slept, fur they didn't, nor no- 
 body in their hearin'. Sech goin's on 
 nobody never seed 'fore nor sence. I 
 bet they hed some licker 'long with 
 
 'em. I don't believe fellers could a' 
 carried on as they did 'thout the 
 devil helped 'em. Jake, you go down 
 cullar and git a panful o' taters; an' 
 don't be gone all night, nuther. Sail, 
 gim. me that young un, an' you go 
 'long an' hoi' th' candle, an' git a 
 chunk o' pork." 
 
 "Where's Abe?" Morris asked, af- 
 ter the fried pork and boiled potatoes 
 were placed upon the table. 
 
 " I dunno ; heerd a raft had stuck 
 at Fiddler's Elbow this forenoon, an' 
 guess likely he went up to git a job ; 
 he hain't got nothin' to dew to hum," 
 and she laughed sarcastically as she 
 poured the tea in the cracked and 
 grimy cups, and placed one at each 
 plate, before the benches were drawn 
 up to the table. 
 
 The outside wrappings of the wom- 
 en and children had been removed, 
 and rolled up in a blanket by the 
 thoughtful Jack, who also warmed a 
 cup of milk for Miriam, using the 
 contents of the provision-box instead 
 of the table. Miriam laughed glee- 
 fully to see her own china mug and 
 spoon, and while she ate, Jack was 
 again busy at the fire. A plate of 
 hot buttered toast and eggs roasted 
 in the shell were placed on a chair 
 by Mrs. Morgan, who excused herself 
 from the table to feed babj 1 -, and with 
 a tin cup of tea she made a comfort- 
 able meal. Her husband looked an- 
 noyed, and their hostess muttered 
 something about her "vittles not be- 
 in' good 'nough for quality folks ;" 
 but the meal was soon ended, and 
 preparations for bed - making began. 
 The benches and tables were placed 
 against the wall, ticks stuffed with
 
 72 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 straw were brought from the cham- 
 ber above, as the roof leaked too bad- 
 ly to make sleeping there agreeable, 
 and spread upon the floor, with heavy 
 blankets for covering. 
 
 Morris and Jack held a brief consul- 
 tation, and as Mrs. Post disappeared 
 in the stairway, they seized the clean- 
 est-looking tick and ran out-of-doors, 
 returning before she appeared with 
 the bed newly filled with fragrant 
 hay. They swept a place clean for it, 
 and, stretching a blanket from one 
 chair -back to another, made a low 
 partition between this bed and the 
 others, leaving it open next the fire. 
 
 "Now, Bessie," said Morris, "you 
 an' Mis' Morgan can have a middlin' 
 decent bed ; an' ef you'll use your 
 shawls for blankets, you'll have a tol- 
 erable comfortable night. Jack, you 
 an' me kin bunk on this side th' fire- 
 place. Jamie, you an' Davy roll your- 
 selves up in this big cloak an' lay 
 'long-side o' me. Now, then, the rest 
 o' ye kin go whar yer a mind to." 
 
 "Was there a bit of malice in the 
 plan that placed Mr. Morgan against 
 the wall ? 
 
 The trundle - bed was pulled out, 
 and the little Posts were tucked 
 away ; the talking ceased ; the fire 
 burned low. From the men's beds 
 came prolonged snores ending in a 
 gurgling sound, strangely like sup- 
 pressed laughter, as Mr. Morgan toss- 
 ed restlessly, throwing the blankets 
 from him ; then, after a vigorous 
 shake, spreading them over him again. 
 The boys cried out now and then, 
 but never wakened; and inside the 
 curtained bed slumber reigned un- 
 disturbed. Before the gray dawn 
 
 streamed into the room Mr. Morgan's 
 voice aroused them. 
 
 " Come, come, boys !" he said, care- 
 fully brushing his clothes, " let's pull 
 out from here; we'll run to Shoemak- 
 er's to breakfast." 
 
 " I don't know 'bout that, Mister 
 Morgan. 'Tain't likely we could land 
 there now, an' we'd be losin' time too. 
 As we hed such a good sleep, I guess 
 we'd better ask Mis' Post to give us 
 something to eat. Les' have some 
 eggs boiled in the shell an' some fried 
 ham."" I don't want any pancakes ; do 
 you, boys? We'll save Mis' Post the 
 bother o' bakin' them, an' take bread 
 out o' the dinner -box. She'll hev 
 suthin' cooked while we're gettin' 
 these things down to the raft, and 
 some dry straw into the cabin. Guess 
 't won't rain no more. Mis' Morris, 
 you might make some tea in that big 
 pot o' yourn to take out t' th' raft." 
 
 The beds were thrown in a heap in 
 a corner; the table drawn out; the 
 breakfast swallowed ; and they were 
 off again. The stars glimmered faint- 
 ly through the clouds that, radiant 
 with welcome, were hurrying to meet 
 the god of day. The moon had paled, 
 and was fading away; the sky glow- 
 ed, the river sparkled, the foliage glit- 
 tered above and around them. 
 
 " Oh, mother !" exclaimed Jamie, his 
 face reflecting the rapt look of her 
 own, " this is a new day !" 
 
 "Yes, my son, fresh from God's 
 hand." 
 
 The loud voices of the men jarred 
 the sweet stillness of the morn ; and 
 the baby's eyes opened wide with 
 wonder on the unfamiliar scene. 
 
 "'A sea of glass mingled with
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 fire;' 'A pure river of water clear 
 as crystal,' " murmured Mrs. Morgan. 
 ; ' What a glorious, beautiful world it 
 is ! and, oh, what disgusting creatures 
 in it !" 
 
 " Toots, mem ! I'm thinkin' we es- 
 caped weel. Deed noo, ef we were 
 born an' bred in a' that filth an' deesti- 
 tution, wad we be like her, think ye ?" 
 with a backward gesture toward the 
 douse still visible. 
 
 "Born in and of it why, I sup- 
 pose we would, Bessie and yet I don't 
 snow. It seems as if I would grow 
 Dut of it, and above it. I do not think 
 :he real me would settle down in 
 such squalor, into whatever body or 
 circumstances I was placed ; could 
 you ?" 
 
 "I dinna ken, mem ; but I hae mair 
 ;o be thankfu' for than I e'er kent 
 ifore." And, wrapping Miriam in a 
 shawl, she walked up and down the 
 aft, studying a new problem. The 
 lay, so fresh and fair at its beginning, 
 ];rew wearisome, and the boys beg- 
 ged to be set ashore, confident they 
 iould outrun the raft gliding so mo- 
 lotonously along. Their ship was a 
 svrcck, their fish-lines broken, the sun- 
 shine hot, the wind chilling, the glare 
 Dn the water distressing, and the cab- 
 in too damp to sit in Avith comfort. 
 Hie hills and trees, the villages and 
 farms, had lost their charms to the 
 boys, accustomed to so large a play- 
 ground and an endless variety of 
 amusements. But babe Miriam was 
 perfectly content in her rustic cradle, 
 a, handful of straw and a piece of rav- 
 elled rope for playthings. Bessie sat 
 on a pile of lumber, knitting, and fan- 
 cying the blissful meeting with the 
 
 loved ones at home. And Mrs. Mor- 
 gan, with a bit of paper resting on 
 her Bible, pencilled thoughts which 
 had long waited this leisure for ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " Coming to th' Gap purty soon ; it's 
 jest below this rift," Jack announced, 
 and the boys looked eagerly ahead to 
 see the mountains yawn at their ap- 
 proach, while Mrs. Morgan and Bessie, 
 anticipating a rapid current rushing 
 through a narrow gorge, were glad to 
 pass* before the sunlight was gone. 
 The mountains were flooded with glo- 
 ry, the river reflecting every curve, 
 rock, tree, and every tint of foliage, 
 as in a mirror. 
 
 " There's the Gap !" 
 
 No yawning chasm, no boiling cal- 
 dron, was there ; only a perpendicular 
 wall of rock on either side reaching 
 up into the cloudless sky, and the 
 river winding gently between, clear 
 and calm as a lake. Every eye was 
 lifted in silent wonder at the power 
 which had cleft this mighty mountain 
 in twain. 
 
 "Nothin' but ice could have tore 
 things up so," Morris announced. An' 
 then that stun-heap on the Pennsyl- 
 van'a shore acres and acres o' round 
 stun, all rounded and pounded up 
 'twas ice done that. Them stun got 
 froze in a-comin' along down some 
 started from Beaverkill, an' some far- 
 ther up an' they wus turned over 
 an' over, an' rounded off, an' gi-ound 
 down, an' got smooth as pebbles ; an' 
 they piled up an' piled up agin this 
 yer mountain, an' the water biled an' 
 surged till suthin' giv' way, an' then 
 through they come ! an' the water 
 swashed 'em up on that thai* shore,
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 an' thar they be yit. Golly ! I'd like 
 to been where I could a' seen it done. 
 Now, ain't that a purty picter, after 
 all them mountains an' rocks ?" 
 
 Like the lifting of a curtain, the 
 scene had changed. A wide valley 
 stretched out on either side ; with 
 orchards and fields, farm - houses and 
 barns, as far as the eye could reach. 
 
 " Mother " Jamie's hand nestled in 
 her own " mother, it looks like an- 
 other world ! just as if we had left 
 the rough workday world behind us, 
 and that" pointing to the sunlit 
 valley before them "that was Sun- 
 day." 
 
 A tall, well-dressed man stood upon 
 the shore, and as the raft grated upon 
 the pebbly beach he sprung on board 
 and clasped Mrs. Morgan in his arms. 
 
 " Oh, David ! Oh, my brother !" 
 And the glad tears sprung to her 
 eyes. "Ho \vdid you get here? How 
 did you know I was coming ?" 
 
 " I have expected you at every rise 
 of the river since you went into exile, 
 little sister. Glad to see you, John. 
 This is Mistress Morris, I am sure," 
 shaking hands with each. " Well, 
 boys, have you forgotten Uncle Dave ? 
 I've grown gray since you saw me, 
 haven't I?" taking them in his arms 
 " and you have grown heavy. Back- 
 woods life agrees with you, evidently. 
 And here's my only niece; bless her 
 little heart ! not a bit afraid of her 
 uncle. Why, Mary, she's a perfect 
 beauty! How did I get here? I came 
 up on a Durham boat. I was tired of 
 the city, and the supercargo of this 
 boat being sick, I concluded to take a 
 trading voyage, meet you, maybe, and 
 have a good time. I've been here be- 
 
 fore, hunting and fishing; grand coun- 
 try, isn't it ? but very rough." 
 
 " Rough ? Oh, David, come up to 
 our place ! What would he call that, 
 John ?" 
 
 "A better country for hunting and 
 fishing than this. But come ; let's 
 get ashore. We've stopped here for a 
 load of slate, and will stay till morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Ah, I'm glad of that, for so do I ; 
 and, Mary, I want you to change con- 
 veyances and finish the journey on a 
 Durham boat. I saw you before you 
 reached the foot of the rift, and was 
 about to board your craft and capture 
 you, when I saw your raft preparing 
 to land. There is a comfortable inn 
 here," he said, as they ascended the 
 hill, "and there are several places 
 worth seeing. Is your home near 
 here, Mistress Morris ?" 
 
 "Ah, sir, I wad it were ! I'm weel 
 wearied o' the raft; but my hame is 
 anither day's journey ayon." 
 
 "If Mr. Morgan is willing I should 
 go on the boat with my brother; you 
 will go too, won't you, Bessie ?" 
 
 "Ah, mem, I'm unco sweir to leave 
 Willy an' gang to the auld hoose 
 alane." 
 
 The rest of the day was spent in 
 examining the Cold Air Cave and the 
 Echo ; enjoying the magnificent scen- 
 ery from Mount Minsi ; watching the 
 men load the raft with slate from the 
 quarries, and inspecting the Durham 
 boat, which was taking in a cargo of 
 butter, cheese, honey, grain, and vege- 
 tables for the Philadelphia market. It 
 was a queer-looking craft, some sixty 
 feet long, with oars at least a third 
 that length, a plank walk for the row-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 ers on deck, and a rude cabin below. 
 A ballast of slate, and barrels of cider 
 and flour, were already in the hold ; 
 and upon the deck were heaps of 
 pumpkins and cabbages, with a con- 
 fused mass of Yankee notions and 
 dry-goods for which a group of farm- 
 ers were bargaining. The dread of 
 going through tide-water on a raft, 
 and the pleasure of having her broth- 
 er's company, decided Mrs. Morgan 
 to take the boat for the rest of the 
 journey, and Mr. "Walton accompanied 
 Morris to the raft to consult her hus- 
 band. 
 
 " They're loadin' them rafts too fur 
 for'ard," Bill said, as they walked 
 down the stony road. He found Mr. 
 Morgan directing the men to put a 
 tier of slate still nearer the ends of 
 the raft. " Mister Morgan," he called, 
 " you're a-loadin' them rafts too heavy 
 arid too fur for'ard !" 
 
 "I've contracted to take that pile 
 of slate, and it's got to go on these 
 rafts. The middle is under water 
 now, and the rest of the slate must go 
 on the ends." 
 
 "I suppose you know the river is 
 fallin', an' Foul Rift and Wells's is 
 ahead." 
 
 " Well, well, if you're afraid to steer 
 them when loaded, I can find a man 
 who is not ; and I shall use my own 
 judgment about the loading. These 
 rafts are not moving now, Bill." 
 
 "All right, sir; you hev more at 
 stake than I hev. I guess I'll git off 
 at Upper Black's. Bessie wants me 
 to go home with her; so 'f you kin 
 find a steersman to suit ye, you'd bet- 
 ter git one." 
 
 In the early morning the rafts pull- 
 
 ed out. The Durham boat started 
 an hour later, but, aided by pushing 
 poles, it overtook and passed them at 
 the head of Foul Rift. The " good- 
 byes" were waved and shouted to 
 the mother and her three children as 
 they ran quickly by the raft ; but the 
 roaring water just ahead attracted 
 all eyes to the coming danger. The 
 oarsmen each took an immense bite 
 from the plug of tobacco they shared 
 between them, grasped their poles 
 tightly, braced their feet firmly, and 
 were ready. 
 
 "Those rocks are called Harrow- 
 teeth, and that reef of rock 'The 
 Wing,' Mr. Walton shouted ; " many 
 rafts dive as they go over that ; and 
 the other is 'The Foamer.'" The 
 water boiled over it in a roaring 
 wave, and went seething and foaming 
 below. "Those black rocks on the 
 left cause many a wreck." 
 
 " Oh, the raft !" screamed the boys; 
 " they'll go all to pieces !" and Jamie 
 hid his face in his hands. 
 
 " Oh, don't be frightened, they will 
 get through all right; two steersmen 
 and a captain aboard," Mr. Walton 
 laughed, assuringly ; but his eyes were 
 also fixed on the raft, which came 
 rushing through the water at race- 
 horse speed, dashing the spray over 
 the slate on which Morris and his 
 wife were standing. He had resign- 
 ed his oar to the new steersman, yet 
 would have sprung to his assistance 
 but for Bessie's frightened face and 
 pleading eyes. The raft ran a few 
 inches to the right, and the forward 
 end grazed a rock, throwing the other 
 end dangerously near the rocks on 
 the Pennsylvania shore.
 
 76 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 " Jersey !" screamed the steersman ; 
 and the men, with the strength excite- 
 ment alone can give, pulled the raft 
 away from the threatened danger. 
 
 " Holt ! holt !" cried the steersman, 
 " t'other way ! Pennsylvan'a !" 
 
 Too late. The raft went over the 
 reef with "a pint to Jersey," dove, 
 one end struck the bottom, and the 
 two rafts parted company with a 
 crash, a shower of broken slate, and a 
 babel of yells. 
 
 Morris and Bessie, the steersman, 
 and one man were left on the raft 
 that kept the channel, and reached the 
 smooth waters below. But Mr. Mor- 
 gan, Jack, and the other men were 
 left in a dangerous situation ; their 
 stoven raft darted toward the Black 
 Rocks that looked like huge teeth in 
 the frothing mouth of a devouring 
 monster. 
 
 " Les' swing 'er !" yelled Jack. 
 "Cross pull! 'Hind han's, Jarsey ! 
 Pennsylvan'a, Tom !" 
 
 The raft swung around. Before it 
 readied the rock, Jack unshipped and 
 drew in his oar in time to save it, and 
 ran back to the middle of the raft as 
 it mounted high upon the rocks, then 
 swung off with a large loss of slate 
 and considerable lumber. With hard 
 pulling they succeeded in getting 
 their shattered raft through to the 
 smooth waters below the rift, where 
 Morris had already tied the other. 
 
 " Oh, please do stop and take Bes- 
 sie on !" said Mrs. Morgan. " I know 
 ehe is nearly wild with fright." 
 
 " What say you, Jones ? Do you 
 tli ink we can take two more passen- 
 gers for a day?" Mr. Walton inquired. 
 
 "I reckon so," said the pilot. 
 
 "They've got to raft over now. I 
 tol' Jake he'd never get that double 
 raft over the Wing, with such a load, 
 'thout divin'. Big Bill might a' done 
 it, for he'd got the hang o' the raft, 
 an' knows his men. A pull too much 
 is as bad as no pull, in that crooked 
 channel. Hold her stiddy, boys, till 
 we find out what Bill's going to do. 
 No use landing fur nothing." 
 
 But Bessie had decided to remain 
 at a farm-house near, while Morris as- 
 sisted in picking up the lumber, which 
 would take the remainder of the day. 
 He conveyed this decision to them by 
 his gestures and stentorian voice ; and 
 the Durham again started down the 
 stream. 
 
 "Who is that manly -looking boy 
 who saved the raft ?" inquired Mr. 
 Walton, as he walked up and down 
 the deck with Miriam in his arms. 
 
 "That is Jack," the boys answered. 
 "He's just the best fellow ever lived, 
 'cept Bill." 
 
 "Your up-river men are not a bad 
 kind, if these are specimens; but 
 raftsmen in the city are as rough and 
 wild as untamed bears, and more 
 noisy." 
 
 "I cannot imagine Morris or Jack 
 acting like rowdies," Mrs. Morgan an- 
 swered. " Jack only needs education 
 to make a noble, useful man. He is 
 devoted to the children, which perhaps 
 makes me partial to him. Where's 
 Jack, Mira ?" 
 
 The little girl turned and looked 
 on every side. " Wha' Zack ?" she 
 said. It was her first intelligible ut- 
 terance, and was received with delight 
 by her mother, and shouts of applause 
 from the boys. Pleased with her sue-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 cess, the child tried to imitate other 
 words ; and before her eyes closed for 
 the noonday nap, she called her broth- 
 ers by name, and made several amus- 
 ing attempts to say, "Unty Dave." 
 
 The long - separated brother and 
 sister found much to talk about in 
 the long, fair day, while the children 
 amused themselves about the boat. 
 No common rift attracted their atten- 
 tion after Foul Rift. The City of 
 Easton the new steamboat brought 
 them from their cabin as it went puff- 
 ing by. Queer Water, with its whirl- 
 ing, boiling waves, and Haycocks, 
 where the water leaps over huge 
 bowlders, were scarcely noticed. Dur- 
 ham, where the boat was built, re- 
 ceived but a sleepy glance; and after 
 a promise that they should be called 
 in time to see the boat go through 
 Wells's, they crept into the narrow 
 berths, where their sister was already 
 Bleeping. 
 
 Skilfully guided through the rap- 
 ids, and urged through the slack wa- 
 ters, the boat glided smoothly and 
 swiftly by the low, level shores, 
 where twinkling lights revealed the 
 unseen dwellings. The bark of a dog 
 borne across the waters, and the faint, 
 sweet sound of a violin ebbing and 
 flowing on the breeze, seemed floating 
 to their ears from a far-distant world. 
 Above them came the stars one by 
 one, only paler and colder than the 
 earth -stars that flickered and glim- 
 mered from the homes on either side. 
 
 "Are they not both promises of rest 
 and peace?" thought Mary Morgan; 
 "only the lower lights will go out 
 by-and-by, while the lights above will 
 last forever ! This seems so like a 
 
 dream, brother," she said, " as though 
 we had left the shore of Time, and 
 were floating away into Eternity. All 
 the past seems as near as yesterday." 
 
 He drew her to him with caressing 
 arm ; but no words were spoken until 
 through the white mist, like a sudden 
 glory, shone the radiant moon. Each 
 tiny ripple in the water caught its 
 gleam ; dim outlines of hills were re- 
 vealed, and quaint shadows of mast 
 and fluttering sail lay on the deck. 
 The distant roar of water, and sharp, 
 emphatic orders of the pilot aroused 
 Mrs. Morgan from a dreamy reverie, 
 and brought the boys from their 
 berths below to her side. 
 
 "Is that Wells's?" 
 
 "Yes," said the pilot, "and you 
 boys must keep out of the way. I 
 reckon there'll be trouble with that 
 raft ahead, Mr. Walton. They're at 
 least twenty foot too far Jersey, and 
 there ain't a inch to go on with that 
 sized raft. Some fool of an up-river 
 steersman trying to run through 
 Wells's by moonlight, and with a fleet 
 full sixty foot wide !" 
 
 "I thought they always hired reg- 
 ular Wells's steersmen to take them 
 over the falls." 
 
 "They used to; but lately some of 
 'em have steered light rafts through. 
 And I s'pose this steersman thinks he 
 can see as well to-night as in the day- 
 time; but moonlight is deceiving. 
 Ah ! he sees his mistake, and is trying 
 to pull over; don't believe he can 
 pass the entering rock, though. There 
 she goes! just as I expected! Now 
 she's swinging right across the chan- 
 nel ! Blame the up-river fool ! Boys, 
 we've got to squeeze through Jarsey
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 of the entering rock. Keep your ears 
 open an' yer eyes peeled. Jarsey ! 
 holt! Jim, look out for those loose 
 logs they'll punch a hole in us if 
 they strike ! Mr. Walton, take that 
 pole, will you, and help me, so I can 
 send another man for'ard? Be ready 
 at the word to lift 'er round. Jarsey 
 stiddy holt, for'ard ! This way, 
 Bill ! quick straighten 'er up ! Holt ! 
 There, now we're all right; but 'twixt 
 logs and rocks it looked squally for a 
 minute." 
 
 " Well, I thought we's a goner !" 
 said Davy. "We did go against a 
 rock, Uncle Dave, didn't we ?" 
 
 " No ; but a big rock ran right up 
 the river and gave our boat a punch 
 in the side : I saw it. Now the show 
 is over, we had better turn in. The 
 fog is rising, and we may have to an- 
 chor till daylight. So good-night." 
 
 The morning mist was rising, and 
 the spires of New Jersey's capital 
 were seen by the boys' eager eyes, as 
 they tumbled up the steep stairway 
 to the deck. 
 
 " Oh, mother !" Jamie called, as she 
 too followed Mr. Walton and Miriam 
 from the cabin into the fresh air of 
 the cool gray morning, " you said you 
 would show us where Washington 
 crossed the Delaware." 
 
 " What do you know about Wash- 
 ington ?" his uncle asked, laughingly. 
 " Did you vote for him, last election, 
 out your way ?" 
 
 "No, sir-ee, we didn't !" exclaimed 
 Davy, " 'cause he's dead : and we 
 know lots about him. Once his pa 
 gave him a hatchet, an' he went to 
 cuttin' down trees; and his pa got 
 mad about it, an' said he'd just like 
 
 to catch the boy what done it ; an' 
 'cause George couldn't tell a lie, he 
 had to own up. Now, what's the rea- 
 son he couldn't tell a lie if he wanted 
 to, Uncle Dave ? An' what did his pa 
 give him a hatchet for, if he didn't 
 want him to cut down trees? That's 
 jest what I'd like to know !" 
 
 "I give it up;" and Mr. Walton 
 threw up his hands and rolled his 
 eyes iu mock despair. " You mustn't 
 ask me any such conundrums, boy; 
 they're too much for me. I don't 
 know Avhy that first apple-tree ever 
 grew that has caused us all so much 
 toil and trouble. But I rather think 
 the reason why George Washington 
 couldn't tell a lie was because it 
 seemed like a mean thing to do, and 
 he'd rather take a thrashing than be 
 a liar. Hadn't you ?" 
 
 "Course; if my pa'd say jus' as his 
 did, * Come to my arms, my son !' an' 
 hug an' kiss him, an' maybe let him 
 ride his horse to water; but " 
 
 "David," called Mrs. Morgan, who 
 was on the opposite side of the boat 
 with Jamie, pointing out objects of 
 interest they were passing, "what 
 was Philadelphia called by the 
 Dutch?" 
 
 " Coalquanock ; it was only a ham- 
 let then. Now, don't ask me what it 
 means, for I don't know ; but I learn- 
 ed a funny thing the other day about 
 the place where my wife is stopping 
 Penn Yan. It is one of the plcasant- 
 est little villages I ever saw, nestled 
 in a valley and near a lake. Well, it 
 got its name from being settled by 
 two families, one from our own State, 
 and one from New England. They 
 took the first syllables from their
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 old locations and joined them. Now 
 where were they from, Jamie ? There's 
 a puzzle for you." 
 
 "But, David, isn't your wife at 
 homo ?" 
 
 "No, she is not, Mary, and has 
 not been since June. She has a lot 
 of fashionable folks around her who 
 make our house a place to dance and 
 feast in all winter; and then whisk 
 its mistress away in the early summer 
 to recuperate by dancing and feasting 
 in some other place. She spent sev- 
 eral weeks at Cape May; then went 
 to Niagara, and is now at Penn Yan. 
 However, I have a good house-keeper, 
 and a carriage with as pretty and 
 gentle a span of ponies as can be 
 
 found this side of Kentucky ; and we 
 are going to have a thoroughly good 
 time together. Besides the State- 
 house, where the Declaration of In- 
 dependence was signed; the Mint, 
 where our money is made; the mar- 
 ket, where the catfish and cauliflower 
 I promised you are exhibited, and 
 the Arcade, or Peale's Museum, there 
 is a very fine panorama on exhibition. 
 Boys, don't you want to go to Jeru- 
 salem? Very well, I will take you 
 where the whole city is spread out 
 before you, as though you stood on a 
 hill and looked down at the people in 
 the streets. Caught the ebb-tide all 
 right, haven't we, Jones ? Now we 
 will soon reach the city."
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "And she would talk so weirdly wild, 
 And grow upon your wonderings 
 As though her stature rose on wings, 
 And you forgot she was a child." 
 
 GERALD MASSE Y. 
 
 THREE years glided by, and again 
 autumn had come. Few changes had 
 been made in the settlement on the 
 river-bank; but near the mill Morris 
 had built a home for his wife and 
 baby boy, and a mile away a school- 
 house was nearly completed. 
 
 Little Miriam a healthy, happy 
 child, the idol of her mother, the play- 
 mate of her brothers, and the pet of 
 the whole neighborhood sat upon 
 the cottage steps one balmy morning, 
 singing. Her bright flossy curls were 
 floating in the wind, and her faithful 
 guardian, Bruce, a large gray mastiff, 
 stood by her side. Jamie had been 
 sent by his father to collect a store 
 debt from a farmer ten miles away, 
 and Davy was assisting Fred in the 
 store ; for this was Saturday, and the 
 folks from all the country around had 
 come to trade the produce of dairy 
 and farm for groceries and clothes. 
 Within the cottage the sound of beat- 
 ing eggs and the odor of pumpkin-pies 
 proved that the mother's hands and 
 thoughts were fully employed. Maid 
 Miriam grew restless. 
 
 "Ets do some'rs an' do somefin !" 
 
 Bruce wagged his tail approving- 
 ly. She glanced at the mill, but that 
 was forbidden ground; at the house 
 above it, but Robin always slept at 
 this hour, and Bessie would not let 
 him be wakened. Then she looked 
 toward the woods the very thing 
 " Ets have a pitnit ! I det some eats ;" 
 and the merry little girl ran into the 
 house, seized a basket which Bruce 
 had been taught to carry, put a hand- 
 ful of cookies and her tin cup in it. 
 " Dess doiu' itta ways," she informed 
 her mother, and was gone like a flash. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan hastened to skim the 
 pan of milk she was holding, and then 
 went to the 'kitchen door. ^Neither 
 child nor dog was in sight. 
 
 "She is gone to see Davy, dear lit- 
 tle trudge," she said. 
 
 The bread was ready for baking, 
 the cream waited to be churned, the 
 kitchen floor must be scrubbed, and 
 dinner prepared; one duty following 
 another, until noon came, bringing the 
 men from their work, and Davy from 
 the store. 
 
 "Where's your sister ?" Mrs. Mor- 
 gan inquired.
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 81 
 
 U I don't know ; haven't seen her 
 since breakfast: probably she's at 
 Morris's. She never goes far, and 
 Bruce is with her; so she's safe 
 enough from snakes and cattle. I'll 
 look her up after dinner." 
 
 A load of impatient customers call- 
 ed Davy from the table before his 
 dinner was eaten, and kept him busy 
 for an hour. Supposing he had found 
 and left the child with Bessie, Mrs. 
 Morgan finished her Saturday's work ; 
 then, putting on her bonnet, she cross- 
 ed the brook and tapped at Mrs. Mor- 
 ris's open door. To her surprise, little 
 Miriam had not been there that day; 
 neither was she at the mill, riding on 
 the " carriage " that carried the log to 
 and from the flashing saw ; nor at the 
 store cnrled up under the counter, 
 looking at the blue and yellow cover- 
 ed primers. She must have gone in 
 the woods; and the mother, anxious 
 but not frightened, hurried up the 
 mountain side. 
 
 Meantime, the tiny maiden was 
 trudging over the stony road, her 
 white sun-bonnet shading her laugh- 
 ing eyes, one dimpled hand holding 
 the flowers she had gathered, and the 
 other grasping Bruce's shaggy mane. 
 
 " We's havin' fun, we is," she re- 
 marked, confidentially, to the dog. 
 " Nuffin' hurts ws, tause we's dood. 
 See ! da's a pitty snake," and she let 
 go of the dog to pick it up. 
 
 Bruce dropped the basket, gave a 
 sudden spring, caught the snake, and 
 with a dexterous jerk threw it out- 
 side the pathway. The child laughed 
 merrily, pronounced the motionless 
 reptile "Fas' asleep;" and as Bruce 
 picked up the basket, the two walked 
 6 
 
 on one conscious of duty performed, 
 and elate with victory; the other as 
 unconscious of innocence as of guilt ; 
 feeling only the joy of vitality within 
 and around her. 
 
 The light of every sunrise and ev- 
 ery sunset was condensed in the foli- 
 age of the forest. Here and there a 
 lusty hemlock stood as though ex- 
 claiming, " No time - server I. "We 
 evergreens absorb and transmute the 
 sunlight of every season into unfad- 
 ing verdure." 
 
 Little Miriam stood breathless on 
 the hillside, and looked around her. 
 At her right, a little brook leaped 
 from the summit of a pile of mossy 
 rocks, and bubbled and foamed over 
 the rocks below. At her left, emerald 
 ferns and golden-rod mingled; while 
 from trees above, the gold and crim- 
 son of a summer's radiance fluttered 
 to her feet. Birds warbled as in 
 spring-time; insects danced merrily 
 in the sunlit air ; squirrels frisked and 
 chattered over the nut-strewn ground. 
 
 " Oh ! oh !" the child exclaimed, in 
 rapture. " B'uce, see ! Oh, pitty ! 
 pitty !" 
 
 But Bruce had no eyes nor ears for 
 the beauty which thrilled the child's 
 soul with ecstasy. A rabbit flashed 
 across the road ; the basket was drop- 
 ped, and the dog gone, crushing the 
 ferns and daisies, trampling the brill- 
 iant leaves, pulling down the velvet 
 moss which grew on the wayside 
 rocks. 
 
 " B'uce, B'uce, turn bat he'e," called 
 his mistress, " turn wight he'e !" 
 
 " Here I am," said a voice behind 
 her. " By Jove, you're a little beau- 
 ty ! isn't she, major?"
 
 82 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 "I should say so! What's your 
 name, little one?" 
 
 The child stepped back and viewed 
 the strangers curiously, but made no 
 reply. 
 
 " Where did you come from ?" 
 
 "I turn Tom my home," she said, 
 with dignity. 
 
 The men -laughed. 
 
 "And who do you belong to?" 
 
 " I b'yong to mysef." 
 
 " Indeed ; whose land is this ?" 
 
 "Mine," she said. "B'uce, you 
 turn he'e !" 
 
 The dog sprung from the rocks 
 above to the road, and, with a threat- 
 ening growl at the strangers, stood 
 beside the child. 
 
 "So this is the Bruce you called," 
 said the boy who had first spoken. 
 "Bruce is my name. Won't you tell 
 me yours?" 
 
 The little girl looked at him with 
 the grave, critical air children some- 
 times assume; then, her expression 
 changing into mirthful mischief, she 
 said, 
 
 " I is Bairdy Fissledown." 
 . "Birdy Thistledown! Well, upon 
 my word you are well named. Are 
 you a fairy ?" 
 
 'Es,sa." 
 
 "I thought so; and Bruce is a 
 human you have bewitched into a 
 dog?" 
 
 "'Es,sa." 
 
 Her eyes were sparkling* with de- 
 light, her whole form quivering with 
 excitement. 
 
 "Say^ major, let's sit down and rest 
 a while. Perhaps this birdy will give 
 us some music of fairy-land." 
 
 "Take care she don't bewitch 
 
 Bruce number two. If she were a 
 few years older, I wouldn't risk it. 
 The settlement cannot be more than 
 a mile away, and I'm going on." 
 
 "All right. I'll be at the store in 
 half an hour," the boy answered. 
 
 " Come, Birdy Thistledown, let me 
 lift you on this rock; and I'll lie 
 down here in the moss and look at 
 you. Now, will you sing ?" 
 
 "I dess I 'peak a piece, faist," she 
 said ; and standing upon the rock, her 
 bonnet pushed back, the blushes glow- 
 ing and fading in her dimpled cheeks, 
 the hands demurely clasped, she be- 
 gan, 
 
 " Ma'e ad a ittle yam ; 
 
 Its f'eece wad w'ite ns slmow, 
 An' eva'wha' 'at Ma'e went 
 
 De yam was su'e to do. 
 It fahaid ha' to 'cool one day '' 
 
 very slowly the words were pro- 
 nounced, as though stepping carefully 
 over uneven ground, then safely past, 
 her speech flew over the remaining 
 lines 
 
 " Wich wad adainst de yule, 
 
 It made de chillin yaff an' p'ay 
 To see a yam at cool ;" 
 
 and the little elocutionist sat down. 
 Her audience clapped his hands and 
 shouted with laughter. 
 
 " 'Top !" she exclaimed, authorita- 
 tively. " You stare 'e bairds." 
 
 " Oh, pardon me ! I forgot I was 
 applauding a bird. So that is the 
 language of fairy- land. It reminds 
 me of the verses, 'Mary had a little 
 lamb,' that I've heard little mortals 
 say ; only it was sweeter and shorter." 
 
 "I've dot a yam," the child said, 
 looking dreamily at the opposite hill- 
 side; "an' it talts."
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 S3 
 
 " Oh, yes, of course ; you have be- 
 AV itched it." 
 
 " Es ; it tan sing." 
 
 " Certainly. Where do you keep 
 it?" 
 
 Her eyes wandered from the hill to 
 the brook, then up to the misty sky. 
 
 " In 'e c'ouds." 
 
 " Oh, my stars !" exclaimed the boy ; 
 " what a witch you are !" 
 
 "Ain't a wits! I'se Mir'on; an' 
 I wants my dinna. B'uce, det dat 
 bastet." The dog obeyed. 
 
 "Ah, that reminds me, I have a 
 lunch to get rid of. I suppose yours 
 is fairy food. Now, if I should eat it, 
 would I be a fairy like you ?" 
 
 The little girl surveyed his long 
 length of limb stretched out upon 
 the mossy bank below, then said, de- 
 cidedly, 
 
 "No,sa." 
 
 " Oh, I wouldn't ? Well, I'm sorry. 
 But perhaps this dog will turn mortal 
 if he eats this beastly ham. Here, 
 Bruce," and he tossed the stale sand- 
 wich to 1 him, but the dog, taught to 
 refuse food from strangers, turned 
 away and mounted the rock by the 
 little girl. " Most remarkable pair ! 
 Nectar and ambrosia for both of 
 them." 
 
 Very quietly they sat; the dog tak- 
 ing the tiny morsels of cake from the 
 child's hands. 
 
 "Now I want a d'ink," she said, 
 taking the tin cup from the emptied 
 basket, and springing lightly from the 
 rock. 
 
 " Fairy Thistledown, let me get the 
 water." 
 
 But he was too late. Knowing he 
 sprung to catch her, that he was close 
 
 behind her, she leaped from the shore 
 to a loose stone, stumbled, and was on 
 the brink of the fall, when his hand 
 caught her. 
 
 "Oh, Birdy! Birdy!" he cried, 
 "you might have been dashed to 
 pieces !" 
 
 She threw her arms around his 
 neck, trembling from head to foot. 
 Bruce barked a fierce disapproval of 
 the entire scene ; and as the young 
 stranger was carrying the little girl 
 back to the wayside rock Mrs. Mor- 
 gan came rapidly up the road, and 
 stood before him. 
 
 " What does this mean ? My child ! 
 my darling ! are you hurt ?" she ex- 
 claimed, taking the child from his 
 arms. 
 
 "I'se bad aden," she sobbed. "I 
 wun an' I fa' down. He dood boy ; 
 he tetch Bairdy." 
 
 A few words explained all. 
 
 "She is the most fascinating little 
 creature I ever saw," the young man 
 said. " Such a vivid fancy. She told 
 me she had a lamb that could talk 
 and sing." 
 
 Already little Miriam, with a child's 
 happy faculty of forgetting danger or 
 pain, was gathering Michaelmas dai- 
 sies and golden -rod for a fresh bou- 
 quet ; and the mother's eyes followed 
 her anxiously. 
 
 "Her imagination is too vivid. I 
 try to repress it and teach her to say 
 ' I pretend,' when she begins her long 
 stones. She really seems unable to 
 distinguish between the real and im- 
 aginary. In her plays she carries on 
 conversations and enacts scenes which 
 seem actual facts to her, referring to 
 them afterward as something truly
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 occurring. And yet she is very truth- 
 ful : a deception, however slight, gives 
 her keenest pain, and she is often ab- 
 surdly exact in her statements." 
 
 " Well, she is a genius ; no mistake 
 about that. Pardon me ; but was she 
 born among these hills ?" 
 
 " Yes ; her name is Miriam Morgan. 
 You are going to our settlement, you 
 said?" 
 
 " Yes, madam. I am on Major Mor- 
 rill's engineer corps; we were recom- 
 mended to apply to Mr. Morgan for 
 a comfortable boarding - place while 
 at work on this division of the rail- 
 road." 
 
 "Ah, then you are one of the gen- 
 tlemen we are expecting; and you 
 can go home with me now. Come, 
 Miriam." 
 
 " Tarry me, mover !" 
 
 "Please let me carry her. I have a 
 baby sister at home, and " 
 
 "'Es, 'ou tan tarry me;" and the 
 tiny despot raised her hands as he 
 knelt to take her in his arms. 
 
 Going down the steep, narrow road, 
 Mrs. Morgan scanned him closely. 
 Tall for his years, which might be 
 eighteen (she afterward learned they 
 were two less) ; plainly but neatly 
 dressed; close -cut curly hair, almost 
 golden in hue; bright blue eyes in 
 which a smile seemed ever lurking, 
 and cheeks flushed by exposure till 
 the forehead seemed ivory white in 
 contrast; a quiet dignity and refine- 
 ment of manner, ready speech, and 
 brisk walk all these impressed Mrs. 
 Morgan favorably as the best compan- 
 ion possible for her boys; for the 
 railroad was coming nearer, and every 
 town and settlement, tavern and farm- 
 
 house, was. besieged by workmen and 
 their officers seeking board. 
 
 " We can accommodate two," Mr. 
 Morgan said, the week before; and 
 now they had come. 
 
 "You have a sister; have you 
 brothers?" 
 
 "No, ma'am. There are only my 
 mother, little Dora, and myself. Fa- 
 ther died before she was born. We 
 live with my mother's brother in Vir- 
 ginia. He has educated me for a civ- 
 il engineer ; this is my beginning." 
 
 "A life of adventure and exposure ; 
 full of hardships and temptations to 
 be conquered," Mrs. Morgan said, mus- 
 ingly, as though she saw this youth's 
 future mapped out before her. 
 
 "And who is your companion ?" 
 
 " Major Morrill. I never saw him 
 until my uncle introduced us a fort- 
 night ago. They were college chums ; 
 he is a kind-hearted, jovial fellow, not 
 strictly temperate, but very gentle- 
 manly. I hope you will like the 
 major," watching the pale face and 
 drooping eyelids. "We will make 
 as little trouble as possible." 
 
 She raised her eyes to his. 
 
 "There is only one way you can 
 make me trouble, for work is not 
 trouble. My boys are obedient, re- 
 spectful, honorable. Help me to keep 
 them so. Will you ?" 
 
 They were standing on the brow of 
 the hill overlooking the little hamlet. 
 Very pretty and peaceful it looked, 
 hedged in by the variegated hills, the 
 sunlit brook gliding through the em- 
 erald meadows, and the calm blue riv- 
 er reflecting the cloudless sky. 
 
 " I see Damie !" cried Miriam, catch- 
 in^ si Hit of her elder brother riding
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 85 
 
 up to the store door. , "An* da's 
 Davy too ! 'Et me wun !" And the 
 little maiden sprung from the boy's 
 arms, and skipped down the path. 
 
 He turned to Mrs. Morgan with out- 
 stretched hands. 
 
 " I don't know what I can do or say, 
 ma'am, to keep your boys from evil, 
 but they shall never be hurt by any 
 word or act of mine ; and if I can 
 help them, I will." 
 
 " Thank you," the mother said, tak- 
 ing both his hands in hers : for a mo- 
 ment they looked in each other's eyes. 
 "Now let us go home. Do you see 
 that little, low house all overrun with 
 vines?" 
 
 " Yes, 'm : I was sure that was 
 yours. It looks like a pleasant place 
 to rest in, and a happy home to re- 
 member." 
 
 "God grant it may be to us all! 
 How shall I introduce you?" she 
 asked, as they entered the gate. 
 
 "I have almost as many names as 
 n, prince royal ; but you may call me 
 Theodore Montgomery." 
 
 Happy days followed at the wood- 
 bine cottage ; for though the young 
 engineer faithfully carried chain and 
 added columns of figures for his chief, 
 he yet found leisure hours for romp- 
 ing with little Miriam, and idle days 
 for hunting and fishing or gathering 
 nuts, with Jamie and Davy, and 
 sometimes Fred or Jack, for company. 
 From these excursions the little girl 
 was excluded after she carried the 
 basket of trout to the water, " DCS to 
 div' 'em a d'ink," and let them one by 
 one slip from her dimpled hands and 
 swim down the brook. And so loud 
 were her lamentations over a brace of 
 
 rabbits brought home by an elated 
 marksman that all game was kept 
 from her sight until prepared for the 
 table, where it was only meat to 
 her anxious inquiries and eager ap- 
 petite. 
 
 Her intense love of the beautiful, 
 and equally intense abhorrence of ev- 
 erything uncouth or unclean, had a 
 silent influence over the workmen, to 
 whom she ran with delight, or shrunk 
 from with disgust, as their manner or 
 dress pleased or offended her fastidi- 
 ous taste. Quick to learn, and of re- 
 tentive memory, the child learned po- 
 ems and songs, verses of Scripture, 
 and Mother Goose's Melodies with 
 equal delight. 
 
 Morris, being an enthusiastic Whig, 
 taught her the songs of his party; 
 while Major Morrill, being a violent 
 Democrat, taught her a Locofoco song. 
 With a voice clear as a bell and 
 sweeter than a violin, she sung or re- 
 cited equally well, the indistinctness 
 of her baby utterance giving an ad- 
 ditional piquancy to the language. 
 The perversity of her sex was often 
 shown in her selections, regardless of 
 requests or coaxing; and the major 
 was often provoked, and the rest 
 amused, when he asked for " Henry 
 Clay is getting Gray," to hear the 
 merry voice sing out, 
 
 "'Ha! ha! ha! such a nominee 
 As Dames Tay Toll of Tennessee.'" 
 
 And Mrs. Morgan was once mortified 
 at hearing her, instead of the verses 
 "Poor and needy though I be" re- 
 quested by a dignified colporter with 
 a most roguish look and absurd gest- 
 ure, recite,
 
 so 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 " 'Da' was a man turn to ou' town, 
 
 He was so wond'ous wise, 
 He dumped into a raspberry bus' 
 An' scratched out bof his eyes ! 
 An' wen he saw his eyes were out, 
 
 He wun wiv might an' main, 
 An' dumped into a Gooseberry bus' 
 
 An' sc'watched 'em in aden !' " 
 Her imitative powers were wouder- 
 ful, and many a comedy and tragedy 
 was enacted by herself and her dolls. 
 But a loud laugh or loud applause of- 
 fended her. 
 
 "Mover, Feo' waffs!" she would 
 sometimes cry, with tears of real dis- 
 tress brimming her eyes, when the 
 poor boy was nearly bursting his sides 
 in efforts to restrain the shouts that 
 her quaint or comical expression had 
 caused. 
 
 . "She would make her fortune on 
 the stage," he said one evening, when 
 she had been entertaining them for 
 hours. 
 
 " I hope the future has a better fort- 
 une for her than that," her mother an- 
 swered, quickly. 
 
 "Do you think actors bad? I 
 thought you had no prejudices: you 
 seem so wise, so generous." 
 
 There was a bitterness and sadness 
 in his tone that puzzled Mrs. Morgan, 
 and caused Major Merrill to look at 
 him with a half-smile. 
 
 "I fear I have prejudices, Theodore, 
 like other folks, which were educated 
 in and have never been reasoned out. 
 I am not acquainted with any actors 
 or actresses, and never was inside a 
 theatre, and personally know nothing 
 against them ; and yet it would be a 
 great grief to have any one I loved or 
 respected adopt acting as a life-work." 
 The youth's face flushed slightly; 
 
 but a question of Fred's about coon- 
 hunting in Virginia turned the con- 
 versation. 
 
 "Are you as decided in your views 
 of amusements and temperance as 
 your husband, Mrs. Morgan ?" Major 
 Mori-ill inquired, as the boys began 
 eagerly talking at the opposite side 
 of the room. 
 
 "I don't know that we ever com- 
 pared opinions, but no doubt they are 
 similar." 
 
 "Pardon me for asking a question 
 which I see you think a rude one ; but 
 Mr. Morgan is so exceedingly strict ! 
 told me he would not allow his boys 
 to play checkers ! never tasted a drop 
 of liquor in his life ! Now, pardon me 
 I don't wish you to think me rude 
 but really I never heard anything 
 like it ; and was curious to know if 
 you thought as he did. You see, I 
 was raised differently, and " 
 
 "All games of chance seem to me 
 foolish, if not sinful. There are, of 
 course, games of skill and tests of 
 memory which are amusing, and may 
 be beneficial if not so absorbing as to 
 cease to amuse. But on temperance 
 I can imagine but one opinion among 
 sensible people. A human being un- 
 able to control appetite is lower than 
 a beast ! But I do not believe there 
 is such a being. "When the appetite 
 and passions are strong, the will is 
 correspoudently strong, and can con- 
 trol if the person desires it." 
 
 " Why, madam, do you mean to say 
 you believe a man who was raised 
 on liquor, ate the sugar out of the 
 punch-bowl, and tasted liquor at the 
 still when a mere baby, could toss off 
 a glass of brandy without winking be-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 87 
 
 fore he could say the multiplication- 
 table do you suppose a man raised 
 like that could help being a drunk- 
 ard ?" 
 
 "I do. I heard a man say it was 
 as easy to quit drinking as to open 
 his hand. Suppose the liquor was 
 even that near his lips he opened 
 his hand, and glass and liquor were 
 on the ground. But, seriously, it 
 would be a hard struggle, and a long 
 one, to conquer a habit that had grown 
 with his years ; and a man might need 
 a mild stimulant, like coffee, and his 
 nerves might be very irritable. But 
 then the exultation of victory, the 
 knowledge that he is lord of himself, 
 the calm of the conqueror ! For he 
 that ruleth his own spirit is mightier 
 than he that taketh a city." 
 
 The major started to his feet, and 
 walked up and down the room ; then 
 paused before her. 
 
 "Had I met you before, madam 
 had anybody said that to me twenty 
 years ago But I'm afraid it's too 
 late now ! Your boys will be trained 
 right, and Theo shall never be what I 
 am. Good-night, ma'am, good-night !" 
 And he went out into the darkness. 
 
 Jamie had lighted the dry pine 
 twigs in the fireplace, less for warmth 
 
 than illumination; and as the flames 
 leaped up, the shadows were driven 
 into corners and behind the furniture, 
 and the room glistened and glowed 
 like an enchanted palace. 
 
 "Mother, let us sing our evening 
 hymn before we say good -night. 
 Come, boys. You start it, mother." 
 
 And the voices, timid and faltering 
 at first, but clear and fervent at the 
 third line, joined in a familiar tune : 
 
 " For friends and for friendship, for health and 
 
 for home, 
 We thank thee Our Father, wherever we 
 
 roam. 
 We thank thee for hunger, which gives food a 
 
 zest; 
 We thank thee for labor and bless thee for 
 
 rest. 
 
 "The lakes and the rivers have blessings in 
 
 store, 
 The field and the forest will each day yield 
 
 more. 
 Give strength, we beseech thee, give wisdom 
 
 and power, 
 To aid in each duty and gladden each hour. 
 
 " We thank thee for pleasures, for freedom from 
 
 sin, 
 For love that makes us with the whole world 
 
 akin; 
 
 We bless thee for guiding us safely this day ; 
 We trust thee to-night, and we trust thee al- 
 wav."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 "And broad-winged Commerce, swift to carry o'er 
 Earth's countless blessings to her farthest shore, 
 Stops not, though forests marshal all their force, 
 And mountains rise to stay her onward course." 
 
 J. G. SAXE. 
 
 THE New York and Erie Railroad 
 was nearing its completion. The ties 
 were piled by the road-bed ; the rails 
 were brought on wagons from towns 
 twenty and forty miles away; and in 
 a few weeks the scream of the iron 
 horse would resound among these hills, 
 In every town and hamlet, in every 
 tavern and cabin, the railroad was the 
 constant theme of conversation. 
 
 Many and varied were the opinions 
 expressed : the game would be driven 
 from the forests ; the cattle frightened 
 from the fields ; the children run over 
 by the cars. The impossibility of the 
 trains rounding the abrupt curves; 
 the certainty of the engines running 
 straight forward into the river ; the in- 
 evitable collisions between trains go- 
 ing both east and west on the single 
 track; the absurdity, if not wickedness, 
 of attempting to travel twenty miles 
 in an hour, as the civil engineers bold- 
 ly prophesied their doing these sub- 
 jects were gravely discussed with se- 
 rious apprehensions. 
 
 " It's jest a - flyin' into the face o' 
 Providence," Mrs. Rogers declared. 
 
 " How under the sun an' airth them 
 railroaders dare to cut right thro' 
 that thare ol' buryin'-ground is what 
 beats me ! Why, I should think 
 they'd be afeard to go out nights lest 
 spooks sh'u'd chase 'em." 
 
 "Wall, I hain't 'feared o' Uncle 
 Jake nor Betsy Jones's baby; wa'n't 
 nothin' but a han'ful o' dust in neither 
 coffin ; an' Mister Morgan made 'em 
 take' em up an' bury 'em decent," Sam 
 Jenkins said, thoughtfully. "But how 
 this 'ere body o' mine kin all go to 
 nothin', and then how it kin all come 
 together agin an' be raised up, that's 
 what I can't understand nohow ! An* 
 some o' them thare bones '11 have a 
 time gittin' sorted, I'll bet. They 
 throwed the whole on 'em into a dry- 
 goods box fust, till Mister Morgan 
 had Bill Morris make some little 
 coffins to hold 'era. But I'll bet they 
 chucked a lot on 'em into the river, 
 an' ploughed 'em under the road-bed 
 when nobody was a-watchin' 'em." 
 
 "Wall, you don't never ketch me 
 a-ridin' on that railroad ! Makes me 
 kindy quivery to think o' kears goin'
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 SO 
 
 right over them poor dead bodies. 
 Oh-dear-me-suz /" 
 
 "Good gracious, Mis' Rogers, le's 
 talk o' suthin' else ! I've got to walk 
 home on that thare railroad track to- 
 night. What riles me most o' any- 
 thing is them hootin', puffin', snortin' 
 ol' ingines scarin' the deer forty mile 
 off; an' they're gittin' skurse now." 
 
 "An' the sooner they're all gone, 
 an' you hunters spend your time in 
 clearin' up land, the better," Long 
 John answered, testily. "S'pose the 
 railroad '11 profit them 'at built it, an' 
 'twill be handier gittin' back from 
 down the river; but we hain't no fur- 
 ther use for't, fur as I see ; an' likely 
 'twill bring a lot o' city chaps up 
 here to show our boys how to fool 
 away their time 'ith new deviltry." 
 
 Major Morrill and Theodore return- 
 ed to woodbine cottage for a parting 
 call. Mr. Morgan, Morris, Major Mor- 
 rill, and the boys sat about the fire, 
 eagerly talking; but Theo left the 
 group and drew a chair to the table 
 where Mrs. Morgan was seated. In 
 low, earnest tones, he told her of his 
 plans and hopes ; while she, with 
 words of loving counsel, deepened the 
 good resolves made at the hour of 
 meeting. 
 
 "I tell you, major, the railroad com- 
 pany will have the best of the bar- 
 gain yet," Mr. Morgan was saying. 
 " It is, as you say, a regular gouge 
 game on the part of the common- 
 wealth to extort ten thousand dollars 
 a year for the privilege of running 
 across two corners of the State ; but 
 mark my words, sir, in less than twen- 
 ty years that will be the company's 
 gain and Pennsylvania's loss !" 
 
 " I don't see that, sir." 
 
 " Nor I," added Morris. 
 
 "Well, you see this exonerates 
 them from all State and local taxa- 
 tion; school -tax, road -tax, poor -tax, 
 and so on. Now they will be shrewd 
 enough to put their machine - shops 
 on this land, which will save them a 
 large and constantly increasing sum 
 of money." 
 
 "That might do if there was a valley 
 big enough to hold shops, side-tracks, 
 and turn-tables ; but there isn't." 
 
 " Well, sir, if the company cannot 
 find a place, they'll make one ! And 
 forcing them to put the road farther 
 back on the mountain to prevent the 
 rocks falling in the river " 
 
 "Yes, and altered the grade of over 
 fifty miles !" growled the major. 
 
 "Even that is their gain. I have 
 been on the Delaware long enough to 
 see the ice pile up and the water over- 
 flow their first survey." 
 
 "Perhaps you think it will be for 
 their advantage .that the canal com- 
 pany forced us to come this way in- 
 stead of going up the Lackawaxen, as 
 first intended." 
 
 " I do. The Honesdale folks think 
 their ditch is a wonderful thing now ; 
 but they will be begging for a branch 
 road soon. This way is not much 
 steeper grade, you say ; and if you 
 had gone up the Lackawack, we would 
 never have had the pleasure of know- 
 ing you." 
 
 " That is true ; and the comfort I 
 have enjoyed in your house, the pleas- 
 ure of knowing your family, ought to 
 reconcile me to the company's loss, 
 being my gain. But it's time we 
 were off. Come, Theo."
 
 90 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 They were urged to remain over- 
 night, but insisted a sleigh-ride of a 
 dozen miles behind a fast horse on a 
 moonlight night was too great a pleas- 
 ure to miss. "Particularly when we 
 anticipate being south of the snow- 
 line soon." 
 
 "I suppose Mira is asleep?" Theo 
 said, as he folded his neck-shawl. 
 
 " She is easily awakened," her moth- 
 er said, " and will be disappointed if 
 she does not see you. Coine in this 
 room." 
 
 Major Morrill laughed. " That boy 
 is perfectly bewitched about your 
 baby; shouldn't wonder if he came 
 after her some day. Here, Davy, just 
 button my overshoes for me. You 
 may live to be fat and fifty yourself, 
 and hate to stoop as badly as I do." 
 
 Jamie was warming his overcoat, 
 and Mr. Morgan and Morris talking 
 of the morrow's work, as Theodore 
 knelt by Miriam's trundle-bed. 
 " Mira, little darling," he whispered, 
 putting his hand 'under her head and 
 turning her face toward him, " Theo is 
 going away ; won't you wake up and 
 speak to him ?" The dark eyes open- 
 ed sleepily. 
 
 "Don't do 'way!" she murmured, 
 laying one dimpled hand on his cheek 
 and nestling the other in his own. 
 
 " I must, Mira. "Will you kiss me 
 good-bye?" 
 
 She clasped her arms around his 
 neck and pressed her rosy lips to his. 
 " Turn back aden, teo," she whisper- 
 ed ; then turned her head away and 
 was asleep. 
 
 He arose, and the mother took his 
 hand. "My dear boy," she said, "it 
 seems as though a son were leaving 
 
 me. Keep yourself pure, Theodore, 
 and come back again." She kissed 
 him twice. 
 
 "God helping me, I will! The 
 book you gave me is carried here " 
 he put his hand to his breast " and 
 will be often read. "Will you accept 
 this from me ?" He put a small leath- 
 ern case in her hand. 
 
 " Is it your miniature ? Thank you, 
 my boy. Now good-bye, and God 
 keep you." 
 
 In a moment the partings were 
 over. Months passed, and the " Lit- 
 tle Orange" went puffing and shriek- 
 ing by, to the wonder and delight 
 of the people gathered on the river- 
 bank. But their astonishment in- 
 creased when the "Monster" paused 
 opposite the saw- mill, and a man, 
 swinging himself off the locomotive, 
 hallooed to them to bring over some 
 slabs. 
 
 " She's out o' kindlin', I gue-ess," 
 Mose remarked. "Here, Jack, you 
 might take over some o' them thare 
 pine-knots I got to go a eelin' wi-uth. 
 Jest split up a few sla-ubs an' put in 
 my canoe, an' I'll pole over." 
 
 But a half-dozen men had attacked 
 the slab pile beside the mill, and a 
 float was half-way across the river be- 
 fore the canoe was untied. Axes 
 soon cut the slabs to proper length, 
 and the empty tender was supplied 
 with fuel. 
 
 " Now, boys," said the engineer, 
 "one good turn deserves another, 
 they say. Just form a line to the 
 river an' fill 'or up with water." 
 
 "Yer horse wants a drink, eh?" 
 said Jack, taking a bucket. 
 
 " Yes, won't move 'thout 'er reg'lar
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 91 
 
 dram, an' there ain't a tank on this di- 
 vision yet. Pass 'em up lively, boys." 
 
 Soon the puffing and wheezing be- 
 gan again ; clouds of steam hovered 
 around and above the crowd of cu- 
 rious countrymen who pressed nearer 
 and nearer to the "snortin' critter," 
 until with a shriek that sent them 
 backward with sudden fright the en- 
 gine moved away. 
 
 Soon the railroad was opened to 
 Binghamton, and two trains bearing 
 the officers of the road, members of 
 the press, and leading citizens passed 
 by ; but a blinding snow-storm ob- 
 scured the sight and obstructed the 
 trains, while the intense cold and fierce 
 winds prevented the people witness- 
 ing the novel sight. 
 
 A grand inauguration of the com- 
 pletion of the road to Lake Erie was 
 anticipated. Rumors of the President 
 of the United States and his Cabinet, 
 Daniel Webster, and other men who 
 stood almost as high' in the nation's 
 esteem, taking part in the celebration, 
 created great enthusiasm, and a de- 
 termination in each town to outdo all 
 others of its size in display. Mr. 
 Morgan became as zealous as any, 
 and determined that his industries 
 should be represented. A platform 
 was erected beside the railroad track. 
 Piles of lumber and bark were put 
 upon it, and between them were 
 spaces for groups of hunters with 
 game, and tanners scraping hides and 
 dressing leather. Silk for a banner was 
 procured, and Mrs. Morgan and Bes- 
 sie spent many hours in embroidering 
 a wreath of ferns and flowers on one 
 side of it, and on the other the name, 
 in glittering tinsel, JOHN MORGAN. 
 
 At last the day came. From ev- 
 ery house and hut for miles around 
 men, women, and children gathered. 
 Long before the hour appointed for 
 the triumphal car, the track was lined 
 and the platform crowded by the ex- 
 pectant people. With much difficulty 
 and some angry words, a place was 
 found for the tableaux : a prostrate 
 buck with spreading antlers, a hunter 
 with raccoon cap and leathern mocca- 
 sons beside it; another hunter dress- 
 ed in homespun, with a brace of rab- 
 bits at his back, and rifle poised at 
 unseen game. On the other side of 
 the pile of bark the tanners were at 
 work. Walking rapidly to and fro, 
 Mr. Morgan kept the boys from climb- 
 ing the lumber piles, or standing be- 
 tween his exhibit and the track. 
 How long the minutes seemed ! 
 
 At last a puff of smoke over the 
 hill a shrill whistle a low rumble, 
 and the train was near. Again Mr. 
 Morgan assured himself that all was 
 ready: Jack held the banner a few 
 inches higher. 
 
 Now ! One deafening yell arose. 
 Rifles and hides were dropped; the 
 banner was thrown down, and the 
 crowd rushed forward to clasp the 
 President's hand. Davy sprung upon 
 the car, grasped every hand within 
 reach, jumped off as the train moved 
 on, and joined in the parting Hur- 
 ra-a-ah ! 
 
 Their inauguration was over. A 
 perfect Babel of chatter from every 
 excited man, woman, and child about 
 what they did and whom they saw 
 covered Mr. Morgan's confusion and 
 anger as he turned away and walked 
 homeward, leaving Morris and Jack
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 to remove the exhibit prepared with 
 so much trouble and expense, only to 
 be a failure, and the subject of rude 
 jokes for years to come. 
 
 "A set of uncontrollable barbari- 
 ans !" he muttered. " I've a mind to 
 sell out, and go where there is some 
 civilization." 
 
 Then, as he paused at the river-side 
 and looked tip the valley, he added, 
 "But it is a fine estate and a mag- 
 nificent heritage for my children." 
 
 A new outlet for lumber, leather, 
 and farm produce was now open, and 
 wealth in abundance, power unbound- 
 ed, lay within reach. Thoughts of the 
 responsibilities, the dangers involved 
 in such possessions, struggled feebly 
 and were put aside. The contented 
 farmer, the enthusiastic disciple, were 
 fused into the eager money -getter. 
 Strange that while the "shalt not" 
 of Divine authority is feared, the 
 " cannot " of human nature is uncom- 
 prehended, and few understand the 
 impossibility of serving both God and 
 Mammon. 
 
 Before many months had passed, 
 trains were running with some regu- 
 larity; but an accident to one, how- 
 ever slight, detained them all, each 
 having the right of way only when 
 arriving at the stations when due, 
 the right being transferred to another 
 as soon as a detention occurred. No 
 telegraph line being erected, a flag- 
 man would frequently run before the 
 train to warn the engineer of danger, 
 or drive the cattle from the track, 
 the same curiosity that infected their 
 owners seeming to draw them before 
 an approaching engine. A ride on 
 the cars was the ambition of every 
 
 individual ; the passenger - coaches 
 with upholstered seats, gilded mould- 
 ings, and shuttered windows were the 
 wonder of them all, and a journey 
 from one station to another a treat 
 only the enterprising young men 
 could afford to offer, and only the 
 most venturesome girls dare accept. 
 Jamie and Davy had made frequent 
 excursions on the flat cars drawn by 
 horses before the first locomotive ar- 
 rived, and since then had rung the bell 
 and pulled the whistle of the "Little 
 Orange." But a ride in a passenger- 
 car, with a conductor to take one's 
 money for a ride that was a novelty 
 yet to experience. A daily mail from 
 the East and the West, besides the 
 usual semi -weekly mail from across 
 the country, kept the assistant post- 
 master busy for several hours each 
 day ; and he took the mail-bag Davy 
 brought from the station with a weary 
 look. 
 
 "A letter from Uncle Dave to moth- 
 er, and a note to ma Listen, Davy : 
 ' James Morgan, yourself and brother 
 are urgently invited to attend an oys- 
 ter supper at our house to - morrow 
 evening.'' Signed, Robert and Maria 
 Hotchkiss." 
 
 " Good ! James Morgan, Esquire, 
 2iresents the grateful thanks of himself 
 and brother, et cnetera, and so forth. 
 But the ladies, Jamie, where are they ? 
 We might take Jane Rodgcrs and 
 Lucy Jones ; but Jane is so awkward, 
 and. Lucy would try not to appear 
 verdant and so be ridiculously prim; 
 and neither one could be induced to 
 swallow an oyster. But they are the 
 best of the lot." 
 
 " Suppose we take mother and Miri-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 am? Nothing would suit me so well, 
 and Mrs. Hotchkiss and Miss Jean- 
 nette would be delighted. Besides, 
 Sam Jenkins wants Lucy to go with 
 him for a ride in the cars. He has 
 been trying to get a chance to ask 
 her, but she dodges him : you see, she 
 does not want to refuse, nor dare to 
 
 go." 
 
 " There are enough girls who would 
 be glad of a chance." 
 
 " Yes ; but the chase has its charms; 
 and Sam knows nothing worth hav- 
 ing comes without seeking. You take 
 the invitation to the house, Davy, and 
 see what mother says about it." 
 
 But Miriam, who was seated on the 
 door-step, sewing bits of calico togeth- 
 er to form blocks for a quilt, answered 
 his query by saying, 
 
 " Mother's gone to see Bessie, an' 
 I'm going to s'prise her by doing this 
 piece-work all my lone self." 
 
 Davy walked to Morris's door. 
 
 Robin had been a bad boy that 
 morning, and Mrs. Morgan found Bes- 
 sie preparing a switch for a severe 
 castigation. 
 
 " I told the bairn ne'er to clirnb oot 
 th' winda'," she said, in reply to Mrs. 
 Mbrgan's inquiries, "an* the laddie 
 hae dune the vera thing he waur for- 
 bid an' pit his fut thro' th' glass o' th' 
 hot-bed an' broke a' th' wee plants 
 doon ; an' he s'all smart weel for 't," 
 giving the birch rod a vigorous twirl, 
 while Robin, a sturdy urchin of seven 
 summers, began to sob piteously. 
 
 " For what will you punish him, 
 Bessie the disobedience or the acci- 
 dent ?" 
 
 "Eh, mem ? I dinna unnerstan'." 
 
 "Are you going to whip him be- 
 
 cause he did not mind you, or because 
 he broke the hot-bed ?" 
 
 " Baith, mem ; he knew I bade him 
 not do 't, an' he lat himsel' doon on 
 the glass as though 'twere solid 
 earth!" 
 
 "And if his feet had come down on 
 solid earth, would you whip him just 
 the same ?" 
 
 " Why, 'twad dune na hairm !" 
 
 "But he would have disobeyed 
 you." 
 
 "Weel, mem, ye're right; maybe 
 'tis for the accident I was maist an- 
 gered. But what wad ye hae me do?" 
 
 "I would teach him he must obey 
 because my commands were right." 
 
 "An' if he winna?" 
 
 "I would show him disobedience 
 brought punishment. If he was not 
 sorry enough at grieving me, and the 
 mischief done, I would punish him in 
 some other way. But when Robin 
 looks at the glass that cost his father 
 a whole day's- work, and the tomato- 
 plants that will never lift their heads 
 again ; never bear any pretty lady- 
 apples for his mamma " The melan- 
 choly tone and reproachful face were 
 too much for Robin's endurance, and, 
 with a loud wail of anguish, he ran to 
 Bessie and threw himself at her feet. 
 
 " I'll ne'er do 't agen, mammy ! I'll 
 mind ivery word ye tell me, 'deed I 
 will ! Ye may whip me an ye're a 
 mind to, mammy ; I'm sae awfu' bad 
 boy." And the tears poured over the 
 sunburnt face. 
 
 " Na, na, I'll not whip thee, laddie," 
 the mother said, taking the child in 
 her arms ; " but ye must ken some- 
 thing bad wull happen to ye when- 
 e'er ye winna mind yer mither, for
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 God sees ye, if I dinna, an' he'll punis' 
 ye." 
 
 The boy looked out with scared 
 eyes at the far - away clouds that 
 might conceal the All-seeing. 
 
 " But, Robin, our Father in Heaven 
 keeps watch of us to keep harm away. 
 He only puts a hurt into bad things 
 so we will not choose them, just as 
 your mamma puts lumps of salt in 
 the sugar-bowl to keep her boy from 
 eating too much sweet. See that but- 
 terfly, Robin. God made that, and all 
 the birds and flowers. Isn't he good?" 
 
 The boy saw his father approaching, 
 and ran to meet him, apparently heed- 
 less of the theological lesson he had 
 received. But as Morris turned to 
 the mill, which was forbidden ground 
 to children, he paused and picked a 
 daisy, looking from, it to the sky. 
 
 " Robin is a good boy, Bessie. You 
 need have no trouble with him." 
 
 Mrs. Morgan drew her work from 
 her pocket, and leaned back comforta- 
 bly in the cushioned chair. 
 
 "Eh, mem, 'tis a sair task for me! 
 He's sac wi'f u' an' res'less, an' speers at 
 me wi' questions till I'm near daft wi' 
 him ! An' gin he gangs wrang at th' 
 lang-last, I'll hae to beir nabody kens 
 hoo muckle o' th' wyte o' 't." And 
 the young mother sighed. " I canna 
 unnerstan' why the worl' 's sae fu' o' 
 things 'at canna be touched. It's a' 
 Thou shalt not on ither side. What 
 fur s'uld there be ony temptations at 
 a', mem ? Why needs there be ony 
 but gude things?" 
 
 Mrs. Morgan looked with surprise 
 at the flushed, perplexed face. 
 
 "I never knew you puzzled your 
 mind with such questions, Bessie. 
 
 But I suppose God wants us to be 
 something better than machines that 
 must go one way, and cannot go any 
 other. Suppose you had been so 
 afraid Robin would get hurt by creep- 
 ing that you kept him constantly in 
 your arms : he would never have 
 learned to walk ; or if you kept him 
 shut away from all danger, he would 
 grow up an idiot. We must learn to 
 obey first ; then, as we grow wiser, to 
 choose. Do you understand ?" 
 
 " Oh, ay ; I ken a' that. But th' re- 
 sponsibility o' a boy is just awfu' !" 
 
 "I do not feel it so. They aro 
 God's children more than mine. We 
 are the parents of their bodies. lie is 
 Creator of their spirits. I do not 
 know what he means them to be or 
 to do; but I know he wants pure, 
 self-controlled minds in strong, active 
 bodies; and I Here comes Davy; I 
 am wanted at home." And^he folded 
 her work and put on her bonnet. 
 
 As they walked homeward, Davy 
 put the invitation -in her hand, and 
 told his and Jamie's wish. 
 
 "Thank you both for the compli- 
 ment, my boys," she said, with a face 
 radiant with love and pride. "I am 
 a happy mother to be the one lady in 
 my sons' thoughts; but I must de- 
 cline for myself as well as Miriam. I 
 am too old and she too young, for 
 such pleasures, now. Precious little 
 wonder-woman! Ah, my children, 
 how I do long for cultured minds 
 and refined associates for you ! But 
 the Father knows best, and we have 
 each other. Don't keep Jamie wait- 
 ing, dear. And, Davy, if you give 
 pleasure, it shall be given to you : re- 
 member, that."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " She is not sad, yet in her gaze appears 
 Something that makes the gazer think of tears." 
 
 MRS. EMBURY. 
 
 " OH, mother, if I only could go to 
 school!" 
 
 " Yes, daughter, yes." 
 
 The first voice was full of the quick 
 impatience of youth hope struggling 
 with circumstance; and the other 
 toned by experience and the hope 
 deferred that maketh the heart sick. 
 They were sitting together on the 
 porch of the same vine-wreathed cot- 
 tage Mrs. Morgan and Miriam a 
 "basket of unshelled pease between 
 them, and brightly scoured tins in 
 their laps, into which the emerald 
 balls were dropping rapidly from 
 their supple fingers. The fragrance 
 of roses mingled with the odor of 
 new -mown hay floated about them 
 unheeded; the robin's warble and 
 bobolink's trill brought no delight. 
 Silent and thoughtful they sat, the 
 mother and daughter, with the glad 
 sunshine flooding the earth, and dark- 
 ness in their hearts. 
 
 "Do you suppose he would sell any 
 hay?" 
 
 The young girl's eyes wandered up 
 the valley, across the acres of pota- 
 toes and corn, to the fields where men 
 were raking, tossing, and forming into 
 
 oval heaps the dried grass cut the day 
 before. 
 
 " No, child ; there won't be any to 
 spare. We had to begin to feed it 
 out in October last year, and the cat- 
 tle have no good pasture till June. 
 If they could have got that bark off 
 last freshet, then " 
 
 " Yes, then he would have bought 
 that team of Jackson; I heard him 
 say so. That's all he cares for; more 
 teams, more lumber, more saw -mills, 
 more tanneries, and everlasting law- 
 suits." 
 
 " Miriam !" 
 
 " Well, mother, isn't it so? Aren't 
 \vejust slaving our lives away to get 
 more lands and more money and 
 what good will it do us? Here's 
 Jamie, just longing to study medi- 
 cine ; and Davy, wanting to be a ma- 
 chinist; and you losing your health 
 and prettiness for you are pretty, you 
 dear, blessed little mother ! and I, 
 growing up a great, big, ignorant 
 girl, with oh, such a craving for books 
 and society !" A big sob and a burst 
 of tears choked her, and, jumping up 
 quickly, she ran into the kitchen with 
 her pan of pease, creating a great
 
 90 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 clatter with the kettles and stove; 
 but when she returned to the vine- 
 covered porch her face was tear- 
 stained, but smiling ; and she said, 
 merrily, " Now, little mother, you're 
 day-dreaming! I've caught you at 
 it ! And the pease are not all shelled, 
 and the table's not set, and the let- 
 tuce's not picked, and pretty soon the 
 tannery bell will ring, and all those 
 hungry haymakers will be here to 
 dinner. You needn't * go to the ant,' 
 though; you just keep near me. 
 There's the milk to skim, cream to 
 churn, butter to work over, cookies to 
 make, currants to pick, and shirts to 
 iron this very afternoon; and then 
 by-and-by in the twilight, when sup- 
 per is over, we'll sit out here on the 
 porch, and I will tell you a story 
 about an unsatisfied but not ungrate- 
 ful girl, and what she intends to do 
 with herself." 
 
 The mother's face brightened ; the 
 pease rattled in the pan, keeping up 
 a merry accompaniment to the girl's 
 eager talk of the work, Bessie's baby, 
 Jane Rodgers's marriage, and Fred's 
 anticipated visit with his bride after 
 an absence of eight years. 
 
 " lie will find us in the same little 
 cottage under the hill. We were go- 
 ing to have a new house the next 
 year after he left, and it has been the 
 next year ever since. Oh, well, he 
 will enjoy it more than a new, strange 
 one. Even Bruce, dear old fellow ! 
 is here to welcome him. But he 
 isn't the frisky puppy he was when 
 Fred taught him to carry bundles 
 from the store, bring in w T ood, and 
 shut the door. See him, down there 
 in the grass, raise his head and look 
 
 at me. I believe he always knows 
 when any one is talking of him. Yes- 
 terday he was lying by the stove 
 door, and Davy said, 'Bruce is a 
 homely dog,' and the old fellow drop- 
 ped his ears, and looked at him so 
 reproachfully from under his shaggy 
 brows ! Then Davy, without altering 
 his tone one bit, said, ' But he's a good 
 dog,' and Bruce wagged his tail, got 
 up, and licked Davy's hand. I'm sure 
 he used to understand every word I 
 said to him, long years ago, when we 
 wandered in the woods and I told 
 him fairy stories. I am so sorry to 
 see him grow old. If he could only 
 go to heaven !" 
 
 " Oh, daughter !" 
 
 " Well, now, mother, Bruce has al- 
 ways been just as good as he could be. 
 He never has neglected a duty " 
 
 " Except when he left the basket of 
 eggs in the road." 
 
 "And that was to drive a strange 
 dog out of the yard. It was a ques- 
 tion between two duties, and I know 
 that he was sorry he did not choose 
 right. He is strictly honest ; he nev- 
 er took a. thing that was not given 
 him or he did not earn." 
 
 " Except dry sticks from Bessie's 
 wood-shed." 
 
 "Oh, now, mother, that was real 
 cunning, when our wood was all green 
 and wet ! He is a great deal better 
 than some humans I know, and I'd a 
 deal rather see him in " 
 
 "There, child; you had better go 
 get the pie and put it on the table, 
 and sweep up the pods." 
 
 The fire was replenished and the 
 table spread fou- dinner. Then the 
 mother passed into the bedroom,
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 97 
 
 closed the door, and, kneeling before 
 a low chair, buried her face in her 
 hands. Every day she entered into 
 her closet, and as often received pa- 
 tience, strength, and peace. The old 
 chair had become an altar and a 
 shrine. Sacrifices had there been of- 
 fered, burdens there laid down : while 
 holy memories of a mother's counsel, 
 a father's good-night kiss, and a broth- 
 er's caresses centred about this rock- 
 ing-chair. Rising from her knees, she 
 sat upon its faded cushions, and, rest- 
 ing her elbows on its arms, bowed 
 her head upon her hands. Thoughts 
 flitted back to her girlhood days; 
 those ardent hopes, eager, ambitious, 
 vague longings ; then the early mar- 
 riage, the disappointments, the priva- 
 tions, the repressions. 
 
 " My daughter's life shall be differ- 
 ent," she said. 
 
 A quick step on the porch, an im- 
 patient voice at the kitchen door, 
 aroused her. 
 
 " Come, come, come ! Here's all the 
 men waiting for their dinner, and not 
 a soul to get it. Miryum !" 
 
 " Yes, sir," she answered, coming up 
 the steps with a pan of freshly wash- 
 ed lettuce in her hand. 
 
 " Come now, I ain't agoing to have 
 any such work as this ! I told you 
 to have dinner at twelve o'clock, and 
 here it is a quarter after, and it ain't 
 half ready." 
 
 "The tannery bell hasn't rung." 
 
 "You haven't anything to do with 
 the tannery bell ; you might as well 
 make your calculations by the cows 
 coming home ! But I want my dinner 
 at twelve o'clock, and I ain't agoing 
 to have a dozen men kept waiting." 
 
 " There, that's enough." Mrs. Mor- 
 gan took the dish from Miriam's trem- 
 bling fingers, and whispered, " Go to 
 the store and call Jamie to dinner." 
 
 "Miriam is working beyond her 
 strength every day, John," she said, 
 as the girl went out again into the 
 dazzling sunlight. 
 
 "Yes; very hard she works. She 
 don't earn the salt in her porridge !" 
 and the father went out on the back 
 porch, where the men were splashing 
 the water from the tin wash-basins 
 on the long bench, and rubbing their 
 hands and faces on the coarse towels 
 hung above it. 
 
 "Guess 'twill rain 'fore mornin', 
 Mister Morgan," said Sam Jenkins, 
 arranging his bushy locks before the 
 little mirror. 
 
 " Well, I want that hay all in be- 
 fore sundown, whether it rains or 
 not," looking off to the west, where a 
 pale mist hovered over the hills. 
 
 "Did Long John's cattle hurt your 
 corn much ?" asked a thin, wiry man, 
 after a moment's silence. 
 
 " Done over forty dollars' worth of 
 damage, and he shall pay me the full 
 amount or I'll prosecute him. The 
 fault was not in my fences, but in his 
 breach y cow." 
 
 " I heard he wanted to settle it." 
 
 " Yes, on his own terms. I guess 
 he'll find the law will settle it. But 
 come ; dinner is ready." 
 
 A formal and lengthy grace was 
 said, but no further words except 
 those necessary in passing the food, 
 until one by one, their appetites being 
 satisfied, the men rose from the table 
 and left the house. Jamie lingered 
 after the rest had gone. The five
 
 OS 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 years had made the shy, sensitive boy 
 a thoughtful, earnest, generous man. 
 The same straight black hair, clear- 
 cut features, dark -gray eyes, and 
 curved lips unshaded by beard ; the 
 same gentle movements and sympa- 
 thetic tones, which were the magic that 
 unlocked all hearts, and a quiet, self- 
 assured manner that the responsibili- 
 ties of business had given. For Jamie 
 was cashier and book-keeper in the 
 firm of Morgan & Sons, keeping the 
 accounts of the men employed in the 
 three saw -mills and tannery, with a 
 score of wood -choppers and bark- 
 peelers, the teamsters and farm-hands, 
 regulating their pass-books, and set- 
 tling their disputes. Every spring and 
 fall several weeks were spent in New 
 York purchasing goods for the store. 
 With all these labors, Jamie still found 
 time to establish a circulating libra- 
 ry and reading-room in the tannery 
 boarding-house, and a debating socie- 
 ty and temperance union, which held 
 their meetings on alternate Wednes- 
 day evenings. If the duties of chair- 
 man, secretary, reporter, critic, libra- 
 rian, and treasurer were ever oner- 
 ous or annoying, added to his other 
 labors, no one ever heard a complaint, 
 and there was always leisure to at- 
 tend to any family want, give coun- 
 sel on any subject, or visit any sick 
 person when called on, night or day. 
 He used the forceps or lancet with a 
 dentist's and surgeon's skill, and set- 
 tled many a knotty point of law for 
 country squires and attorneys. 
 
 Davy reckless, fun-loving Davy 
 had become restless under the many 
 cares, unwillingly assumed and care- 
 lessly executed. "These hills shall 
 
 never hedge in my life," he had said, 
 when as a school -boy he longed for 
 a wider outlook and more congenial 
 work. But daily duties and love for 
 his mother kept him still hedged in 
 and bound down to labor he detested. 
 "Up in the morning at six o'clock, 
 getting yesterday's dirt out of sight, 
 ready to smile on the first customer, 
 inquire about the lame horse or sick 
 baby, weighing out groceries, meas- 
 uring dress goods, cutting off samples, 
 dealing out hardware, tasting butter, 
 wrapping up patent medicines, rec- 
 ommending pills, counting eggs, copy- 
 ing accounts in greasy pass-books, ex- 
 plaining charges, giving prices, hear- 
 ing complaints, contradicting state- 
 ments all these employments have 
 filled up this day, which is but a sam- 
 ple of every day" Davy wrote to 
 his uncle David. But the labors were 
 shared by Jack, often performed by 
 him alone, while Davy, careless of his 
 father's reproof, spent days in saunter- 
 ing through the forest, with rifle or 
 'fishing-rod in his idle hands. There 
 were also debts to be collected ; and 
 in this part of their business Davy's 
 easy, assured manner, mirthful jokes, 
 and frequent laugh succeeded best of 
 all. Days and sometimes weeks w r ere 
 spent in long tours on horseback or in 
 a wagon, travelling among their cus- 
 tomers, and returning with money, 
 judgment notes, mortgages, or prod- 
 uce to settle their accounts. Often 
 the machinery of the mills or tannery 
 would need repairing, and then Davy 
 had employment that pleased him. 
 Self-taught, and with tools of his own 
 making, not a wheelwright in the 
 county could do a better job. His
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 09 
 
 father often pointed out his work with 
 pride and words of commendation, 
 which he was careful his boys should 
 not hear, believing praise was injuri- 
 ous to immature minds. When urged 
 to give his children a more thorough 
 education, and wider opportunities for 
 culture, he declared they knew quite 
 enough to transact the business as- 
 signed them; and when the varied 
 talents of each were alluded to, he 
 insisted they found ample time and 
 space for their development. 
 
 "I came into this wilderness to 
 make an opening for my family. Here 
 is work enough for all the talents 
 they may have," he would say. 
 " Restless ? Boys are always rest- 
 less, and girls are always discontent- 
 ed ! But they'll outgrow it. I in- 
 tend they shall live here, and after I 
 am gone my fortune shall be theirs." 
 
 Jamie pushed his chair from the 
 table, saying, ' Mother, I've sent for a 
 hired girl to help you through hay- 
 ing ; and if you like her, she will stay 
 all summer." 
 
 " Does your father know it ?" 
 
 " I will tell him. It is my own af- 
 fair, and I will see to her wages. She 
 will be here to-morrow. And, moth- 
 er, Davy is going on one of his long 
 collecting tours with the little wagon. 
 What do you say to letting Mira go 
 with him? She needs a change, and 
 they could go gypsying through the 
 country, stopping at farm-houses at 
 night. They will be within a day's 
 ride of home when farthest away ; 
 but he may not be able to see all our 
 debtors within a week.- It is not the 
 change she ought to have, but it is 
 better than none." 
 
 " If she wants to go, she can ; but I 
 have another plan, Jamie, that I want 
 your opinion of." 
 
 "James" the voice of his father 
 never seemed more harsh and exas- 
 perating " what do you mean by 
 keeping those men waiting while you 
 idle away your time in the house? 
 Here's Jones and Wainright with the 
 cash in their hands, and their accounts 
 not made out." 
 
 " Their accounts are ready for them, 
 sir; and Jones wants three months' 
 time." 
 
 " Well, he won't get it. I've wait- 
 ed on him over a year, and " 
 
 "He has had bad luck lately," 
 Jamie went on, calmly unmindful of 
 the interruption. "Stove his scant- 
 ling, and the fire got into his bark. 
 I told him we would wait until he 
 run his logs. We will finish our talk 
 after supper, mother ;" and the young 
 man followed his father to the store. 
 
 Davy soon entered with Miriam. 
 Both faces were eager and smiling. 
 
 " Oh, little mother, do say I may go 
 with Davy ! We'll have the nicest 
 time do say I can !" And the girl 
 caught her mother in her arms, gave 
 her a hug and a whirl, and seated her 
 at the table. 
 
 " What a crazy creature she is !" ex- 
 claimed Daw. " Suppose she should 
 get such a fit on when we were ten 
 miles from anywhere ! Don't think 
 I'd better risk it, mother ; say no, for 
 mercy's sake !" 
 
 "And leave me alone with her?" 
 Mrs. Morgan said, wiping the tears of 
 laughter from her eyes. " I think I 
 will say yes, and see if you can tame 
 her."
 
 100 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 "And you know all about it Jamie 
 has told you? Isn't it splendid? 
 Davy says my new calico dress is 
 plenty good enough, and I better take 
 another, for fear it might rain but it 
 won't, I know and I must make some 
 biscuit and some ginger-snaps. But 
 say, mother " she lowered her voice, 
 and a look of scorn curved her red 
 lips " Davy says I better walk over 
 to Auntie Rodgers and wait for him 
 there ; because father will make such 
 a time, if he knows I want to go, 
 and " A crimson flush swept from 
 chin to brow. 
 
 Davy's voice broke in impatiently. 
 "Mother, if we can have a little pleas- 
 ure, do let us have it in peace. You 
 know just what a row there would be 
 about expense, and trouble, and my 
 fooling away my time and not attend- 
 ing to business ; and if I failed to col- 
 lect a bad debt, it would be because 
 I took Miriam. Now, it is easier to 
 prevent evil than to cure it, you often 
 say. Probably she won't be missed, for 
 he is going to court, Thursday ; and 
 if she is, you can say she went over to 
 Auntie Rodgers; but it isn't likely a 
 question will be asked. Now mind, 
 Miriam, if there is any trouble about 
 it, you can't go ;" and he hurried back 
 to the store, where customers were 
 waiting, for few would trade with Mr. 
 Morgan while Davy was about. His 
 jovial manner and hearty good-will 
 attracted customers from far and near. 
 His plan was carried out. The fol- 
 lowing morning Mr. Morgan mounted 
 his horse and rode away, saying he 
 would be home Saturday. For the 
 remainder of the week Jamie and 
 Jack were left alone in the store, and 
 
 worked until late at night posting 
 books and copying accounts. Satur- 
 day evening Davy drove up to the 
 store door, and unloaded the merchan- 
 dise he had collected a bale of hides, 
 two tubs of butter, a roll of home- 
 made flannel, a pail of honey, a cheese, 
 and a quantity of eggs besides the 
 notes and cash his pocket-book con- 
 tained. A few minutes later Miriam 
 entered the door, an anxious look dim- 
 ming the brightness of her smile. 
 
 "Has father got back? Oh, we've 
 had the splendidest time !" she said, 
 between kisses, " and the hired girl 
 came, and you got along just as well 
 without me ? That was all the worry 
 I had ; that and " lowering her voice 
 "the fear that father might get 
 back first; but Davy was sure he 
 wouldn't. I never had such fun. We 
 made believe we were gypsies and 
 Irish emigrants, and Davy would say 
 the drollest things; and I stayed all 
 one day at Point Pleasant with a real 
 nice lady, and she taught me a new 
 kind of knitting with one needle with 
 a hook on 'the end of it. She asked 
 me if I wouldn't come there to school 
 next winter, and board with her. Do 
 you s'pose I can, mother ?" 
 
 "Why, what a chatterbox my little 
 girl is, and how sunburnt ! I intend 
 you shall spend this winter in school, 
 my dear, but not so near home as 
 that." 
 
 "Do you? Can I? Oh, I am so 
 glad ! Has father said I could ?" 
 
 "I can't answer your questions 
 now, my daughter. You will go to 
 the best school we can find, but how 
 or where I cannot tell. "VVe must 
 work and wait.
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 101 
 
 Before dark Mr. Morgan came, and 
 was immediately shown the results of 
 Davy's tour. He had gained a long- 
 contested lawsuit, and this, with the 
 collected debts, put him in good -hu- 
 mor with himself and the world. He 
 retired early. Miriam went over to 
 Bessie Morris's home to tell of her 
 journey, and Mrs. Morgan sat upon 
 the porch with her sons. Long and 
 earnestly they talked of hopes, trials, 
 desires, plans, and of Miriam. 
 
 "You are right, mother. Davy 
 ought to go to school, but Mira must ; 
 and I see no other way than the one 
 you propose of appealing to Uncle 
 David. Your letter will awaken his 
 interest in her, and I will write to- 
 morrow, making myself personally re- 
 sponsible for the amount of tuition." 
 
 "But her clothes there isn't a 
 thing in the store fit for a nice dress, 
 is there, Davy ?" 
 
 "No; and no chance to get any- 
 thing until I get the fall goods. She 
 ought to be ready to go to Philadel- 
 phia with you, if she goes to school 
 there. You don't think Aunt Clarissa 
 would board her, do you ?" 
 
 " * Friend, first thee tells a lie and 
 then thee asks a question,' as the 
 Quaker said. Why not, Davy ?" 
 
 "Because a peevish, nervous invalid 
 wouldn't have a wide-awake girl like 
 Mira around. And her headaches and 
 hysterics would kill a healthy per- 
 son to hear of; though Aunt Clarissa 
 thrives on them." 
 
 " Why> Davy, my visits there are 
 always pleasant." 
 
 " They never lessen your hotel-bills, 
 I notice; and if you don't want an ex- 
 plosion in the family, don't put a red- 
 
 hot coal into a gas-bag ! Now, there 
 is a seminary .within a day's jour- 
 ney cf Philadelphia," Davy continued, 
 " where Uncle Dave wanted me to 
 go two years ago. He is acquainted 
 with the preceptress, and said she was 
 the loveliest and most accomplished 
 lady and most earnest Christian he 
 ever knew ; he could not say enough 
 in her praise. If he had a dozen chil- 
 dren, he said he would send them all 
 to Miss Caldwell to be educated." 
 
 " Is it an expensive school ?" asked 
 Mrs. Morgan. 
 
 " No ; that was its chief recom- 
 mendation, as far as I was concerned ; 
 for Uncle Dave did not know much 
 about the school, except in Miss 
 CaldwelFs department. But he was 
 dead sure everything was right where 
 she ruled." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be right to 
 speak of that school to him. A girl 
 of Miriam's age needs some one to 
 attend to her health, her dress, and 
 associates, as much as to teach her 
 book-knowledge." 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Dave will recommend 
 his favorite, you'll see. But how 
 about her clothes ?" 
 
 "There is that wool delaine of 
 mine it's not at all soiled I think 
 that will make over nicely for a best 
 dress ; and with two good ginghams 
 for every day, she will get along very 
 well." 
 
 "A made-over dress for best !" ex- 
 claimed Davy, contemptuously, as Ja- 
 mie said, 
 
 " But that's your best, mother." 
 
 " Yes, my son ; but I can wear my 
 old pongee a little longer." 
 
 Davy threw hiiv,s?lf at her feet, and
 
 102 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 laid his head in her lap. " You shall 
 'walk in silk attire' one of these days, 
 you dear, generous little mother ! 
 And there is a remnant of blue in the 
 store that will trim your fawn-colored 
 delaine just gay. Oh, I guess we can 
 iix Mira up in style, after all ! She's 
 the kind of a girl that looks pretty 
 in everything. There she comes with 
 Jack now." 
 
 "Don't say anything about it to 
 her until we are sure she can go," 
 said Jamie. And the conference 
 ceased. 
 
 The semi-weekly mail carried the 
 two letters to Mr. Walton's office, and 
 as soon as possible the answers were 
 returned. The school of which Davy 
 had spoken was warmly recommend- 
 ed, and arrangements were immediate- 
 ly made for Miriam's entrance at the 
 Ellensport Seminary in the fall. The 
 preparations were kept secret from 
 Mr. Morgan, in order to postpone and 
 abbreviate the storm sure to come 
 when their intentions for Miriam 
 were revealed. She was to accom- 
 pany Jamie to Philadelphia, where 
 her uncle would take charge of and 
 transfer her to the care of his friend, 
 Miss Caldwell, to whom a letter had 
 already been addressed by Mrs. Mor- 
 gan, describing Miriam's disposition 
 and desires. In return, came a long 
 pleasant reply. "The Seminary," 
 Miss Caldwell wrote, " was beautiful- 
 ly situated in sight and sound of the 
 sea, with a grove of pines at its back. 
 Although established a comparative- 
 ly brief period, and having many dif- 
 ficulties to overcome on account of 
 the prejudice existing against board- 
 ing-schools for the education of op- 
 
 posite sexes, yet so watchful was their 
 government, so unceasing their care, 
 and so perfect all the arrangements 
 for instructing the youth of the land, 
 that already three hundred young la- 
 dies and gentlemen were under their 
 charge even a larger number expect- 
 ed the coming year." 
 
 A month later brought the hour 
 of parting. Miriam ran from house 
 to house, laughing and crying, kiss- 
 ing and being kissed, the excitement 
 subduing her grief, until the wagon 
 which was to carry herself and Jamie 
 to the station stood before the door. 
 Jack was standing in the kitchen, 
 and the affectionate girl threw her- 
 self into his arms. 
 
 " Oh, Jack, my dear, good Jack !" 
 she sobbed, "how I shall miss you! 
 You'll write me, won't you? And 
 don't let mother work too hard you 
 can help her in so many ways;" and 
 she darted off to find her mother, 
 who was seeking the strength she 
 needed beside the old,arm-chair. She 
 opened the door at Miriam's hasty 
 tap, and clasped her daughter to her 
 heart. Her peaceful face calmed the 
 girl, who listened quietly to her part- 
 ing counsel, and replied, 
 
 "I mean to be very good, mother; 
 and I shall tell you all I do, think, or 
 feel. Father was very angry when 
 he went away ; but I mean to improve 
 so much that he can't help seeing 
 you did right in sending me away." 
 And she threw her arms once more 
 around her mother's neck, and sobs 
 choked the good-bye. 
 
 " Come, Mira, the wagon is wait- 
 ing." (Davy quelled the tears with 
 a forced laugh.) " Stop crying, for
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 103 
 
 Bruce is looking dangerous ; he thinks 
 somebody has hurt you." 
 
 The dog was growling viciously, 
 as he stood by his mistress's side. 
 "The dear old darling !" she said, giv- 
 ing his shaggy head a hug. "Don't 
 you die while I'm gone, nor let bad 
 dogs catch my rabbits. Now, let's go." 
 
 Davy sprang to the driver's seat, 
 Jamie seated himself beside his sister, 
 and they were gone. Two weeks later 
 the mail-carrier brought this letter: 
 
 " MY OWN PRECIOUS MOTHER, I 
 think I am going to like it very much. 
 I got here yesterday. Uncle Dave 
 introduced me to the preceptress. 
 She is lovely ; she looks so sweet and 
 gentle! The girls all like her. I 
 know five of the girls, and there are 
 one hundred and sixty. There are 
 great long halls without any carpets, 
 and we have to wear slippers. Uncle 
 got me some. The rooms are on each 
 side. They all have numbers on the 
 doors. Mine is 87. The girl I room 
 with is my chum; she is little, and 
 real nice, and very polite, but I don't 
 think she likes me. Uncle David got 
 me a new dress it is blue and black 
 velvet ribbon to trim it. Miss Cald- 
 well is going to have it made. Give 
 my love to the boys and to Bruce. 
 Kiss Robin and Bessie for me. Give 
 my love to Morris too. Please tell 
 father I mean to learn enough to 
 teach school and pay him back every 
 cent. I do hope I will get a letter 
 from you to-day. My chum is study- 
 ing. She does sums with letters and 
 figures mixed up. The recitation- 
 
 rooms are very large. One has black- 
 boards all around ; another has maps. 
 In one room there are pictures of the 
 human body: one is a man with his 
 skin off, and another of just the bones. 
 I don't think that a bit nice. Chum 
 says we have got to learn the names 
 of all the veins, and muscles, and 
 bones. Uncle is going to take me 
 out riding, and Miss Caldwell too. 
 Chum has such beautiful clothes. But 
 my dress is real nice too. You were so 
 good to give it me. No more at pres- 
 ent from your very loving daughter, 
 " MIRIAM MORGAN. 
 
 "P.S. There are five professors, 
 and four lady teachers. This is the 
 first letter I ever wrote. 
 
 "P.S. My chum's name is Dora 
 Montgomery. 
 
 "P.S. I have been 'way up in the 
 belfry and seen the ocean. It look- 
 ed just like the sky, but through the 
 telescope I could see ships. Uncle is 
 going to take me there to-morrow. 
 I am so glad." 
 
 But the next day brought a cold 
 east w r iud and rain. Monday morn- 
 ing summoned Mr. Walton away, and 
 the June roses were fading before 
 Miriam's eyes were more than tan- 
 talized by sight of the ocean, whose 
 deep, incessant roar suggested its 
 fathomless depths and boundless ex- 
 tent to the earnest, restless heart of 
 the girl, creating an intense longing 
 for a nearer view of its foam-capped 
 waves, and to hear more distinctly 
 the solemn tones which seemed to 
 syllable the yearning of the world.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 "Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list 
 Of those with whom I lived supremely blest ; 
 Oft have we drained the fount of earthly love, 
 Though drinking deeply, thirsting still for more : 
 And when confinement's lingering hour was done 
 Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one." 
 
 MONTHS passed, and Miriam's fre- 
 quent letters grew longer and less 
 laconic. The seminary, a six-storied, 
 hastily constructed brick building, 
 erected between and joining a stone 
 church and a wooden academy, was 
 graphically described, and the pecu- 
 liarities of each teacher portrayed 
 pen-and-ink portraits aiding the 
 words ; while the best qualities and 
 weak points were depicted with a 
 subtle insight of character unusual in 
 one so inexperienced. 
 
 "I feel as though I were on another 
 planet, mother dear ; life is so differ- 
 ent here. Instead of being awaken- 
 ed by the birds singing in the apple- 
 trees or the men whistling on their 
 way to the barn, I am roused by the 
 ding-a-ling-clang of a big bell, passing 
 my door as it goes up one side of the 
 hall and down the other. I often lie 
 still with my eyes shut, and imagine 
 how that bell must look swinging 
 itself along with such a deafening 
 clangor, and if it weren't so ddrk and 
 cold I would get up some time and 
 take a peep at it ; but when I spoke 
 
 BYEON. 
 
 of it, Chum said I was a goose that 
 it was only the watchman ringing the 
 rising bell ! Now, Chum is always 
 up and dressed when the horrible 
 thing goes by; so she must know. 
 In fact, I'm not sure she sleeps at all ; 
 for she is at her desk writing when 
 I close my eyes, and poring over a 
 book when I open them. After the 
 horrible noise has ceased outside, I 
 hear her voice saying, * You will be 
 too late for prayers !' That made me 
 jump at first; it sounded awful as 
 though the end of the world h-ad 
 come ! and I had a terrible dream 
 about the rocks falling, and people 
 rushing, when ding-dong! went the 
 big chapel bell, and the doors were 
 slamming, and the girls running down- 
 stairs, and I icas too late to get in the 
 chapel that time ; for the door is lock- 
 ed when the bell stops ringing. Af- 
 ter prayers we have half an hour to 
 put our rooms in order. Dora is so 
 neat and orderly that she dreaded 
 having a chum; but we agree in all 
 our habits so far, and take turns in 
 keeping our room in order, which is
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 105 
 
 no easy matter, with all the litter of 
 our sleeping, dressing, studying, and 
 writing. Yesterday morning when I 
 was getting my history lesson (it was 
 about the Indian wars in 1684, when 
 De Barre, the Governor of Canada, 
 thought he could scare the chiefs into 
 submission to the French), I could not 
 make myself remember it ; so I put 
 some books in the middle of the floor 
 for a camp-fire, and stood chairs 
 around for the Indians, and a pillow 
 for the Frenchman, and then making 
 believe I was Garrongula, the chief 
 of the Onondaga tribe, I ' walked five 
 or six times around the circle,' just as 
 he did, and then began his 'bold sar- 
 castic speech.' I had got as far as 
 'Hear, Yonnondio ! What I say is 
 the voice of the Five Nations,' when, 
 rat -tap -tap! came a knock at my 
 door. I tried to pick up the books 
 and the pillow and put back the chairs 
 all at once, when the door opened, 
 and there stood the preceptress and 
 a lady and gentleman visitor. Miss 
 Caldwell frowned, and the visitors 
 stared. I could not say a word, but 
 the preceptress said, 'I shall mark 
 you for disorder, Miss Morgan,' and 
 shut the door. I was afraid Chum 
 would be awfully put out, but she 
 only laughed, and said the teachers 
 often showed her room because it 
 looked the nicest ; and she hoped this 
 would put a stop to it. 
 
 " We have half an hour for break- 
 fast, but generally get through in fif- 
 teen minutes. Then some of the 
 girls take a walk ; but it is awfully 
 poky going down a back street with 
 one teacher ahead and one behind us ; 
 so Chum and I run up to our room 
 
 and go to studying. At eight o'clock 
 the chapel bell rings ; there are nine 
 classes to recite then. In forty min- 
 utes it rings again, and there is a 
 crowd going up and down stairs and 
 in and out of recitation-rooms every 
 forty minutes all day, or until five 
 o'clock, when we all go to chapel 
 for evening prayers. The roll is 
 called ; then one professor reads a 
 chapter from the Bible; then we all 
 stand up while another professor 
 prays; then another reads a hymn, 
 and one of the music-teachers plays 
 it on the melodeon while we all sing. 
 There is a chapel choir, and I am in 
 it, and sit on the front seat with some 
 gentlemen. There are a good many 
 more gentlemen than ladies here, and 
 some of them are real nice. All the 
 faculties (oughtn't it to be written 
 plural when there are nine of them? 
 ' No,' Chum says) well, all the facul- 
 ty want every student to enter the 
 course ; that means, take up ever so 
 many studies that I don't see a bit of 
 sense in and haven't any use for; 
 study all night and recite all day (as 
 Chum does), and have headaches, and 
 weak eyes, and no leisure to write 
 letters, or take walks, or have a bit 
 of fun ; and in two or three years 
 stand up on the stage in the chapel, 
 with a face as white as one's dress, to 
 receive a diploma. The graduating 
 class for this year are horrid-looking 
 frights; and Chum she is in next 
 year's class looks almost as bad. 
 She has thirteen studies : geology and 
 geometry, and analogy and anatomy, 
 and French and German and Latin : I 
 can't begin to tell you all. She con- 
 fesses ' she don't understand half she
 
 106 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 learns, and don't half learn what she 
 recites.' I just say over the words 
 to think what they all mean would 
 make me crazy ! she said just now, 
 when I asked her to explain this 
 sentence which she had written : ' If 
 the major premises be negative, and 
 we draw a universal conclusion, the 
 minor term which was undistributed 
 in ' the minor premises (being the 
 predicate of an affirmative proposi- 
 tion) will be distributed in the con- 
 clusion (being the subject of a uni- 
 versal) ; we would therefore have an 
 illicit process of the minor term.' 
 Now, what good will learning that 
 do anybody ? I would like to learn 
 about flowers and plants; but it 
 seems wicked to pull the lovely lit- 
 tle things to pieces. I went into 
 the botany class yesterday, and they 
 had some prince's - pine and arbutus 
 on the table. The sight and the 
 smell made me think of home, and of 
 Bruce and I hunting for blossoms be- 
 fore the snow was all off the ground, 
 and how the sweet, precious, cunning 
 little things peeped out at me from 
 under their broad, rough leaves, and 
 how I went down on my knees and 
 put my hands under them to lift them 
 out of their mossy bed, and could 
 have cried for gladness at finding 
 them. They seemed so cosy and com- 
 fortable, I could not bear to cut them 
 off the vine; so I brought them home 
 to 3'ou, bed and all. Do you remem- 
 ber? 
 
 "Probably I lost the first of the les- 
 son thinking of that, and Avishing I 
 could have one little tiny flower to 
 look in my face, and tell me about the 
 woods, when the teacher called 'Miss 
 
 Montgomery,' and handed her just 
 the loveliest pink arbutus, asking her 
 to give its analysis; and Chum just 
 picked the dear little flower all to 
 pieces, and said it was, 'JZpigcea : Suf- 
 fruticose ; corolla, hypocrateriform ; 
 anthers dehiscent.' And then a gen- 
 tleman took the trailing moss you put 
 around the looking-glass, and said it 
 was, 'ChimapkHa umbelleta: Leaves 
 cunate-lanceolate, serrate ; flowers cor- 
 ymbose.' And a stem of winter-green, 
 with only two little leaves and one 
 berry, was ' Gaultheria : Procumbose ; 
 pedicels bibracteolate, denticulate ; 
 leaves obovate mucronate, denticu- 
 late,' and ever so much more of it. I 
 know you told me which is the cup 
 and the crown, and the petals and 
 stamens, and the names of almost ev- 
 ery plant about home, and what they 
 are good for; and I want to know 
 about all flowers; but learning pages 
 of names will not teach me. Chum's 
 brother (who is 'way down in Texas) 
 sent her some flowers in a paper, ask- 
 ing their names and medicinal quali- 
 ties. She counted their leaves, and 
 described their shape with a lot of 
 long words, yet could not tell him 
 anything he wanted to know. Now, 
 I should think a description of a plant 
 ought to make a name, and the name 
 ought to tell one how it looks, or what 
 it is for, as plain as red raspberry, or 
 catnip, or morning-glory; and why 
 couldn't it ? Dora says if I will learn 
 Latin I can understand it better; but 
 how absurd to go to a dead language 
 to learn about living things! I am 
 very anxious to learn about the earth 
 how different kinds of rocks were 
 made, and all that; but there are long
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 107 
 
 lists of words again that mean noth- 
 ing, and what is given as a fact in one 
 geology is contradicted in another. 
 What are the Exact Sciences, moth- 
 er ? Nothing seems exact but the mul- 
 tiplication-table. All there is to be 
 gained by studying these books is 
 learning what other people have 
 thought, and then thinking it out for 
 one's self. 
 
 "Dora and I have been talking while 
 I have written, and she says our minds 
 are supposed to be like the Indian's 
 stomach her brother writes about. 
 They starve for weeks, and then stun 
 and stuff to last for weeks to come. 
 So she hopes all she is cramming into 
 her mind will digest by-and-by, and 
 make her brain stronger and wiser. 
 Chum is very wise now; she knows 
 about everything I ask her. She will 
 be rich and famous some day, she 
 says; and she writes stories and 
 verses for the papers now, and gets 
 money for them sometimes. Then 
 she writes the best essays of anybody, 
 and reads them on the stage before all 
 the students, and a lot of down-town 
 people. 
 
 "And now, O mother dear ! I must 
 tell you something that troubles me 
 very much. I wrote about my having 
 to write compositions. Well, I did 
 not mind tha*t; but I could not stand 
 up before the preceptress and all my 
 class and read them. If it had been 
 anybody else's thoughts, I wouldn't 
 mind it a bit. So I asked Jennie 
 Purcell to exchange compositions with 
 me, and she did. The next time she 
 asked me if I wanted to trade again, 
 and as I could not read hers easily, 
 I copied it before I went into class. 
 
 After reading, we laid them on Miss 
 Caldwell's desk to be corrected. When 
 she gathered them up, she said, ' Here 
 is one without a signature ; is it yours, 
 Miss Morgan ?' Yes,' I said, for it 
 was the one I had just read. I wanted 
 to explain, but couldn't before all the 
 girls, and, too, I was afraid she would 
 make me read my own next time. 
 Well, in a few days Jennie was pro- 
 moted to the public class, and so she 
 came to me to write her essay. I did 
 not feel right about it, but she said 
 she had exchanged just to accommo- 
 date me, and my style was so different 
 from hers that the preceptress would 
 notice it immediately, and then she 
 would be disgraced. I told her I 
 would go to Miss Caldwell and ex- 
 plain, but she declared that would 
 make it worst of all ; for she would be 
 put back in the composition class, and 
 all the students would know about it; 
 and then she cried, and said she never 
 would try to do a kind thing again to 
 please anyone ; for folks that asked fa- 
 vors, and got other folks into disgrace, 
 were just the ones that wouldn't turn 
 their hand over to help them out. Of 
 course I wrote her essay, and last Fri- 
 day night she stood up in a pink lawn 
 dress, and read it before an audience 
 of over six hundred. It sounded very 
 well, and they cheered her and threw 
 bouquets. And now I know she will 
 come to me for her next essay, and I 
 will have to write it ; but I shall nev- 
 er read another composition of hers as 
 my own. Well, I must stop writing 
 now, for the bell has rung for lights 
 out. Chum always puts the extin- 
 guisher on her little fluid lamp the 
 minute the bell rings ; then she drops
 
 108 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 the curtain and lights it again. Lots 
 of girls do that; they have to, if their 
 lessons are perfect. And Chum takes 
 some kind of medicine to make her 
 sleep nights, and a few drops of the 
 same stuff to keep her awake in the 
 daytime. She says she is going to 
 stop it as soon as she has caught up 
 with her class ; for though she is 
 ahead of them all in belles-lettres, and 
 has read 'most everything, she is away 
 behind them in mathematics ; for she 
 is putting the three years' course into 
 two years. 
 
 "Tuesday Morning. I have just got 
 the nicest letter from Uncle Dave 
 it came in one to Miss Caldwell and 
 says I may begin music-lessons right 
 away. Oh, I am so glad ! I wanted 
 to ever so much, but it costs twelve 
 dollars, so I didn't say anything 
 about it. And our professor of vocal 
 music says he will give me private 
 lessons if I will assist him in teach- 
 ing a primary class. Isn't everything 
 just splendid ! This letter is very 
 long ; I have been two weeks writing 
 it ; but, before closing, I must tell you 
 about our darning society. You know 
 we do our own mending every Satur- 
 day, and so I proposed our meeting in 
 each other's rooms with our work, 
 and having some fun over it. We 
 organized last Saturday with three 
 officers president, monitor, and critic. 
 Every member is to give us a story, a 
 song, or an original conundrum or rid- 
 dle ; failing once, she is suspended ; 
 failing on the next attendance, expel- 
 led. They elected me president, 
 though I voted for Dora ; she was 
 made critic, and Virginia Parry moni- 
 tor. Virgie is a very dignified, lady- 
 
 like girl, and she insists we shall sit 
 straight while sewing, and not raise 
 the roof when we laugh. Well, we 
 had the jolliest fun. Chum told a 
 story about * her darter, Sally Jones's, 
 settin' eout.' I shall coax her to tell 
 it to you and the boys if she comes 
 home with me next vacation ; and I 
 do hope she will, for she has never 
 lived in the real, sure enough country, 
 and it would do her good. "Well, we 
 just screamed with laughter, and our 
 monitor rapped on the table, and call- 
 ed 'Miss President! Miss President!' 
 and I tried to say, ' Order, ladies !' 
 when Dora would make iip the fun- 
 niest face, and say something comical 
 about the 'six cracked plates that were 
 jest as good as new,' and we would 
 all shout out again. In the midst of 
 the fun Miss Caldwell rapped I knew 
 she would but no one else heard her, 
 and I opened the door quietly, and she 
 stepped in. All sat on the floor in a 
 circle around Chum, with their eyes on 
 her ; and if they savy the preceptress, 
 they pretended not to, and Chum 
 went right on with her story and 
 she is the greatest mimic I ever saw ; 
 she beats Davy all to pieces and in 
 a minute Miss Caldwell was holding 
 on to her sides, and tears of laughter 
 were running down her face, when 
 Dora suddenly sprang to her feet, say- 
 ing, * Young ladies, I am surprised at 
 such levity in the preceptress's pres- 
 ence !' She couldn't scold, of course, 
 but wiped her eyes and said she hoped 
 we wouldn't be rude, and suggested 
 an unfurnished room in the attic as a 
 place of future meeting. That was a 
 good idea ; so we have swept it, and 
 brushed down the cobwebs, and are
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 109 
 
 going up there next Saturday. Well, 
 we had two or three more stories, and 
 I sang a Scotch song I learned from 
 Bessie, and we had some riddles to 
 guess. All the stockings were mend- 
 ed after a fashion. When the first 
 bell for supper rang, I had just got 
 iu a frolicking humor, but Dora was 
 doleful as a gravestone. That is the 
 only thing I don't like about Chum ; 
 sometimes she is gay and very happy, 
 and sometimes silent and sad for days 
 together. When she wants to talk, I 
 let my tongue loose ; and when she 
 don't, and I can't keep still, I run 
 away. I am in Miss Caldwell's par- 
 lor real often. She is just as sweet 
 and good as anybody can be, though 
 lots of the girls say she is cross, and 
 too strict, because they are too lazy 
 or ugly to do right. Now, mother 
 dear, I shall have to put two stamps 
 on this letter, and please don't let the 
 boys open it in the store, but just 
 read parts of it to them. Give my 
 love to them all, and to Bruce too. 
 From your daughter MIRIAM." 
 
 The next week brought a letter 
 from Ellensport, addressed by a 
 strange hand. It read : 
 
 "Mr DEAR MRS. MORGAN, Please 
 do not be alarmed at what I am about 
 to tell you. Your daughter has met 
 with an accident, but the doctor says 
 it is not serious. If she had not been 
 so brave, so heroic, so unselfish, it 
 would never have happened. She 
 might have remained uninjured and 
 unscarred, though probably our semi- 
 nary building and all its contents 
 would now be a smouldering ruin; 
 
 and Heaven alone knows how many 
 lives might have been devoured by 
 the fiery element. But I will hasten 
 to give particulars. Yesterday morn- 
 ing we arose as usual at 5 A.M. A lady 
 student rooming next to Mira and me 
 rapped on the wall to ask if we had 
 any fluid ; her lamp was empty, and 
 they had no light. The morning was 
 rainy, and their room is always rather 
 dark. Mira took her lamp to them, 
 and had just returned to finish dress- 
 ing, when we heard a scream. Mira 
 rushed into the room, which seemed 
 all ablaze, and with her bare hands 
 tore off the table-cover, which was on 
 fire, and stamped out the flames in the 
 carpet; and when the students, teach- 
 ers, and watchman came running at 
 the cry of 'Fire !' there was not even 
 a spark to be seen. They scolded the 
 girls for screaming, and praised Miss 
 Purcell for putting out the fire ; and 
 then we all went down to breakfast. 
 I thought Mira had gone too, and, as 
 we do not sit at the same table, did 
 not miss her. When I returned to 
 my room, there stood my dear chum 
 at the open window, her arms out- 
 stretched in the rain and wind, and 
 sobbing so pitifully ! Going to her, 
 I saw her poor arms were burned and 
 blistered to her elbows, and her hands 
 in even a worse state. The matron 
 soon came and dressed them in In- 
 dian-meal and molasses. This in- 
 creased her suffering ; but now she 
 has oil and flour on them, which .has 
 eased the pain. She is very patient, 
 though she can neither feed nor dress 
 herself. She does not know I am 
 writing this ; but I thought you ought 
 to know all about it, and what a
 
 110 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 brave, sensible daughter you have. 
 Mira now sits in my little rocker with 
 her arms on a pillow in her lap. I 
 got excused from one recitation on 
 plea of a headache, to sit by her and 
 write this letter. She is a dear girl ! 
 I love her more than anybody living, 
 unless it is my mamma and brother 
 Bruce. She shall not lack for any- 
 thing I can do, though I lose my 
 standing in class. With respectful 
 regards to my dear Mira's mother, 
 I am yours truly, 
 
 "DOEA MONTGOMEEY." 
 
 A few days later a note from Miss 
 Caldwell enclosed a line from Mir- 
 iam's own hand, assuring her mother 
 that already she was able to study, 
 and the pain of the burn decreasing. 
 
 " The confusion was so great at the 
 time of the accident" the precep- 
 tress wrote " that I understood Miss 
 Morgan to be the cause of the confla- 
 gration, and that Miss Purcell extin- 
 guished it. It was so reported in the 
 chapel, and the president censured 
 Miss Morgan severely. Later, how- 
 ever, all was explained by Miss Mont- 
 gomery, who is very enthusiastic in 
 praise of her room-mate. The acci- 
 dent was caused by Miss Purcell's 
 attempting to pour the burning-fluid 
 from your daughter's lamp into her 
 own while one was lighted; a thing 
 not likely to again occur in the lives 
 of any students here, nor in the his- 
 tory of this school." 
 
 Week followed week, and one by 
 one the school duties were resumed ; 
 but the bandaged fingers could nei- 
 ther use slate and pencil nor practise 
 the music-lessons just begun. 
 
 "Miss Caldwell told me to ask you 
 to come to her parlor, Mira," her 
 room-mate said one evening. 
 
 The girl raised herself from the 
 bed wearily; "Anything gone wrong, 
 Dora?" 
 
 " No, I think not ; she looked per- 
 fectly radiant." 
 
 Miriam walked slowly down the 
 hall, and tapped at the preceptress's 
 door, then entered, saying, "Dora 
 said" gave a quick scream of de- 
 light, and was clasped, sobbing, in her 
 uncle's arms. 
 
 "My precious little girl," he said, 
 kissing her again and again, "I did 
 not know you were so badly burned, 
 or I would have come before. But 
 don't cry now, when you are almost 
 well ; for I have a nice plan to pro- 
 pose to Miss Caldwell for your ben- 
 efit. And to-morrow, if we can ar- 
 range it, we will take the long-defer- 
 red trip to the sea-shore." 
 
 It was soon arranged. Mr. Walton 
 was to call with a carriage at eight 
 o'clock the next morning for Miss 
 Caldwell, Dora, and Miriam. 
 
 "I'm just as happy as I can be! 
 But oh, if mother were only here!" 
 she exclaimed. 
 
 Her uncle laughed. "Consistent 
 mortal ! perfectly happy, but Your 
 mother and I have had many a frolic 
 on the sea-shore, Birdie," he said, put- 
 ting his arms around her; "and if you 
 write her of to-morrow's jaunt, it will 
 undoubtedly recall a happy day she 
 once spent with me at Cape May." 
 
 These poems were the outgrowth 
 of the day's impressions : 
 
 The scent of roses fills the nir, 
 
 And morning clouds a rose tint wear!
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 ill 
 
 The breath of this year's rose I feel ; 
 While last year's rose the clouds reveal. 
 The body clasped within my hand, 
 The spirit floats in bright cloud-land. 
 O earth so fair ! O life so sweet ! 
 O sunlit Ocean ! thee we greet, 
 And claim a kinship now with thee, 
 In one glad song of ecstasy ! 
 
 Lightly the bright waves kiss the shore, 
 Rippling with laughter evermore : 
 Tossing its gifts with proud disdain 
 Yet 'neath its. mirth, list its refrain ! 
 Deep and sad is the Ocean's moan, 
 A lonely yearning, a solemn tone ! 
 Bubbles reflect the sunbeam's ray 
 Wrought by the storm of yesterday : 
 While waves that shine upon the sands 
 Were floating ice in snow-bound lands. 
 
 My mirth thus on the surface lies, 
 Reflects the light of happy eyes, 
 Thoughts glide from cold to torrid zone, 
 And make their chill or warmth its own. 
 While 'neath my joy is hidden pain ; 
 My gnyest song a sad refrain. 
 
 The Ocean was out for a holiday, 
 
 And so were we. 
 We love to leap, and dance, and play, 
 
 And so does he. 
 
 We saw him beckoning foam-wreathed hands, 
 Then met him on the shining sands. 
 And, oh, a jolly time had we 
 Frolicking with the grand old sea! 
 
 A blue wave trimmed with silvery lace, 
 
 Came up to me. 
 "Come, child," it said : I gave it chase 
 
 In thoughtless glee. 
 
 It turned and quickly splashed my feet, 
 Gave me no time to make retreat, 
 Then rippled o'er with jollity : 
 This merriest, maddest, foam-capped sea. 
 
 "Take that," I said, throwing a rubber ball. 
 
 It disappeared ; 
 Xo mermaid brought it at my call ; 
 
 But, as I feared 
 
 My ball had found a watery grave, 
 Henceforth a toy in Nereid's cave, 
 It tossed and rolled it back to me : 
 The playful, tricksy, mirthful sea ! 
 
 But hark ye ! What means that deep, sullen 
 roar? 
 
 It comes more near ! 
 And the waves look dark, and fierce, and cold, 
 
 And the sky grows drear. 
 Oh, deep are the waters, and dark, and wide : 
 Strong and far-reaching its ceaseless tide ! 
 Weak atoms beside it, frail mites are we : 
 I'm frightened at thoughts of the boundless 
 
 One soon appeared in the poet's cor- 
 ner of a county newspaper " Writ- 
 ten expressly for I\\Q Luminary" and 
 the other was tucked away in a wood- 
 en box beneath all the clothing in 
 Miriam's trunk. 
 
 " What do you keep in that box, 
 Mira?" Dora inquired one day, when, 
 suddenly entering the room, she found 
 her arranging some faded flowers and 
 scraps of paper. 
 
 " Bottled sunshine, Chum, for cloudy 
 days," she said, closing the lid quick- 
 ly, and putting the box away.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 'Knowest thou Yesterday, its aims and reasons? 
 
 Workest thou well To-day for worthy things ? 
 Then calmly wait To-morrow's hidden season, 
 
 And fear not thou what fate so'er it brings." 
 
 CARLTLE. 
 
 " NINE days, eleven hours, and thir- 
 ty-five minutes to vacation ! I'm the 
 gladdest girl you ever did see, mother 
 dear; for, after hesitating so long,Dora 
 has consented to come home with me, 
 and I'm just bubbling over with hap- 
 piness. She is so intensely honora- 
 ble that she insists I should know all 
 about her past life before she would 
 go to my home. Now, I do hate to 
 know people's secrets ! I feel as if 
 carrying a key to their trunk; and 
 if anything were lost, I might be 
 thought the thief. Besides, I have 
 thoughts I cannot tell, and I am per- 
 fectly willing she should. But when 
 I saw she was unhappy about it, and 
 said she never would enter our home 
 until you knew all about her, I con- 
 sented to listen ; so here is my dear 
 friend's sad history. 
 
 "Her father was an actor, and her 
 mother ran away from home to marry 
 him. She was disowned by all her 
 friends ; and when her father died, his 
 property went to her brother, Dora's 
 uncle. There were two children my 
 chum (Medora Melinda Montgomery), 
 and a boy thirteen years older (Bruce 
 
 Hamlet Henry Theodore Montgomery). 
 All the children between them died 
 when they w r ere babies. Dora cannot 
 remember her father, but she has his 
 picture painted on ivory, and he looks 
 very handsome, though his face does 
 not seem strong and good. But Dora 
 says he was too good to live, and so 
 God took him. I think they were 
 very poor while he lived, and Dora's 
 mother was sick all the time. She 
 says the first thing .she remembers is 
 the greenroom of a theatre, and her 
 delight at the gay dresses of the ac- 
 tresses. She says their family would 
 all have died had it not been for the 
 kindness of the company her father 
 belonged to. And after he died they 
 supported them for a long time, her 
 brother doing what he could at the 
 theatre ; and Dora, little thing as she 
 was, they carried on the stage, in chil- 
 dren's parts, several times. After a 
 while, Mrs. Montgomery's brother, 
 who was a widower and had no chil- 
 dren, sent for her to come and live 
 with him. He has educated Bruce 
 for a civil engineer; and he is now 
 surveying lands in Texas. Dora, he
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 113 
 
 expects, will be a teacher, but she 
 means to make money by writing 
 books, and be independent of her un- 
 cle very soon. She is determined to 
 graduate with honor, as a diploma 
 does any one credit ; and to write 
 well one needs to know something 
 about everything. There! now you 
 know the whole of it ; and I know it 
 won't make one bit of difference with 
 your love for her : you will pet her 
 the more; for I don't think she ever 
 had much petting. Uncle is coming 
 for us, and we are going to stay a 
 day or two in Philadelphia, and then 
 ' Home, home! sweet, sweet home !' 
 
 "P.S. Where is father? Is he 
 willing I should have company? I 
 do hope he will like Dora." 
 
 The day or two in Philadelphia 
 lengthened into a week. Dora, accus- 
 tomed from infancy to the whims of a 
 querulous invalid, adapted herself to 
 Mrs. Walton's fancy, coaxing her to 
 join in their pleasures, or remaining 
 at home to amuse her, leaving Mr. 
 Walton free to accompany Miriam to 
 evening entertainments. 
 
 "I have lived in the city all my 
 life," she said, resisting Miriam's ur- 
 gent invitations ; " have seen both 
 sides of stage life, and really prefer 
 staying with Mrs. Walton." 
 
 "No one guessed the earnest but 
 futile attempts at serious conversa- 
 tion, or with what repugnance she 
 resumed the reading of the French 
 novel handed her ; the sneering infidel- 
 ity of this ailing woman being hard- 
 er to endure than the morbid melan- 
 choly of her mother. But at last the 
 visit was ended ; and Miriam, with 
 
 many new scenes and sensations to 
 describe to the loved ones at home, 
 resumed her journejr, her uncle and 
 Dora accompanying her. The Erie 
 was still a single-track railroad, and 
 accidents and detentions frequent. 
 The setting sun gilded the river, and 
 lingered on the vine -covered porch, 
 where Mrs. Morgan stood waiting. 
 
 "Is the train so late to-night, Ja- 
 mie, or am I very impatient ?" she 
 said, looking eagerly down the depot 
 road. 
 
 " Both, mother. Davy went half an 
 hour sooner than he need to. If the 
 travellers are as hungry as I, I trust 
 there's a bountiful supper." 
 
 " Oh, we have enough : fricasseed 
 chicken, muffins, maple syrup, straw- 
 berries and cream, cottage - cheese 
 I haven't forgotten Miriam's favorites, 
 nor brother David's either." 
 
 "Whew! I'm still more hungry! 
 What sort of a girl do you think this 
 friend of Miriam's is ? She is too en- 
 thusiastic over her to suit me ; I don't 
 think I shall fancy her." 
 
 "Jamie, do you remember the 
 young man who boarded here for a 
 while when they were building the 
 railroad ? Theodore we called him." 
 
 "Yes; why?" 
 
 "I half believe, recalling several 
 things he said, that he is Ob, there 
 they come ! My precious daughter !" 
 
 Happy days followed. Mrs. Mor- 
 gan often joined her brother in long 
 drives about the country ; and once 
 the big hay-wagon carried the whole 
 family, including Jack, to a lake four 
 miles away, and the day was spent in 
 fishing, picking berries, lounging in 
 the shade, and cooking the perch and
 
 114 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 pickerel, gypsy fashion, for their pic- 
 nic dinner. 
 
 "I feel twenty years younger for 
 this visit," Mr. Walton said, on the 
 evening of his departure. 
 
 "And I oh, uncle, I feel older, 
 wiser, better, for every hour I have 
 spent with you ! How lonely we will 
 be without you!" And Miriam slip- 
 ped her hand in his, as she joined in 
 his walk up and down the room. 
 
 "Mira almost idolizes her uncle," 
 Dora said, with a half- sigh. " Had 
 my papa lived, I fancy he would have 
 been like Mr. Walton. There is noth- 
 ing can atone to a girl for a father's 
 loss. She needs his loving counsel 
 and protection more and more as she 
 grows older." 
 
 "Cannot a mother's love make up 
 the loss?" 
 
 " No, ma'am, I think not. It seems 
 to me that boys need a mother's gen- 
 tle restraint and caressing tenderness 
 more than her daughters do. But 
 every day I want my father ! A 
 woman sees life differently from a 
 man. She must look at it through 
 his eyes also, if she sees it rightly. 
 I want my father's criticism in my 
 writing; I want his advice in my 
 plans; I need his influence with edi- 
 tors and publishers. But he is gone !" 
 
 "My dear child, did you never 
 think how much this ideal father has 
 helped you ? I once had a sister sev- 
 eral years older than myself: she died 
 when I was a little girl, but I often 
 heard of her goodness and beauty 
 how unselfish she was, and how pa- 
 tient during a long illness. And 
 though I have always longed for her, 
 I believe that sister has been a great- 
 
 er blessing to me than if she had 
 lived." 
 
 " I do not understand that." 
 "Why, the sister I love and have 
 always tried to imitate is something 
 more than human : she is perfect. 
 Had I known a fault in her character, 
 she would have had less influence." 
 
 A long silence, in which the crick- 
 et's chirr and the far-away whippoor- 
 will's song blended, but did not break. 
 Dora drew her chair closer to Mrs. 
 Morgan, and mui-mured, "Will we 
 know our friends in heaven, do you 
 think?" 
 
 "My child," she answered, " death 
 has always been a very real thing to 
 me. Nature often gives me warnings 
 that her hold can be quickly broken ; 
 and I have often fancied what the 
 spirit would feel when released from 
 the body. Now we are bound by the 
 laws of matter. We see a place 
 where we wish to be : step by step, 
 inch by inch, we go on until it is 
 reached. But, freed from the body, 
 the desire would take us there with 
 one bound ! So I think the freed 
 spirit hovers an instant till a desire 
 stronger than all others propels it to 
 that object." 
 
 " I should fly to my father's arms !" 
 "Those who have friends in the 
 spirit-land love them for some special 
 quality. The mother loves her babe 
 because it depends on her, and she 
 has suffered for it. The child loves 
 the mother because it trusts and needs 
 her. We love our friends for their 
 charity or sympathy. Now, all these 
 qualities are the God in us going out 
 to the God in them; and all these 
 qualities diluted and perverted in us
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 115 
 
 are perfect in Christ. If, then, our 
 eyes have been opened, if we are jus- 
 tified by his love, our strongest de- 
 sire is to him, always to him. And 
 when we put off this body, oh, what 
 bliss to see him as he is !" The thin 
 hands clasped, the dark eyes closed, 
 and the lips parted with a smile. A 
 moonbeam struggling through vine- 
 leaves rested on her face. 
 
 Mr. Walton and Miriam paused in 
 their walk. " Mary," he said, softly. 
 
 Miriam sprang forward. 
 
 " Mother, mother ! oh, forgive me !" 
 as Mrs. Morgan started up. " I thought 
 I was afraid Why, you looked like 
 an angel! And you, Dora, do come 
 out of that corner. I declare you 
 look like a ghost in that white dress ! 
 Let's go to the store, and see what 
 the boys are doing ; and let Uncle Da- 
 vid and mother have an old - fashion 
 visit. Jack went to the depot this 
 evening with a lumber-Avagon ; maybe 
 the new goods have come. Oh, don't 
 it seem, good to be free to run out 
 at night? I felt as though I should 
 break every one of those exasperating 
 rules that were tacked on every door 
 thirty-nine separate temptations to 
 rebellion. I have wondered if Eve 
 would ever have looked at that ap- 
 ple-tree, if there had been no ' Thou 
 shalt not' pointing her to it. Oh, 
 Dora, what do you say to going to 
 the big picnic at Chehocton ?" 
 
 "She -hawk -ton! What a funny 
 name !" 
 
 "Yes, the Indians called it Shau- 
 wauetung the two rivers made one. 
 There is an Indian burying -ground 
 there. But shall we go to the pic- 
 nic?" 
 
 " Oh, Mira ! don't let's go anywhere, 
 or do anything, but read, and rest, and 
 talk with your mother. And I would 
 be so glad to learn cooking and bak- 
 ing. I never had any chance to learn 
 before." 
 
 " That will suit me, for I have lots 
 of sewing to do. Uncle says I can go 
 back to school with you, and I'm so 
 glad. What are those boys about ?" 
 
 They paused before the open door 
 of the store. Jamie and Jack were on 
 their knees beside a box on the floor, 
 and Davy held a lamp above them. 
 
 "What are they doing?" whispered 
 Miriam. 
 
 "Hush! it can't be a secret with 
 the door wide open. Let's keep quiet 
 and watch them." 
 
 The boys slowly raised a dark shin- 
 ing box from the large wooden one on 
 the floor. 
 
 "Oh, Dora! it looks like a little 
 coffin." 
 
 "Hush! hush! I know what it is: 
 it's a present for you. Now, don't 
 let's spoil their fun, but run to Mr. 
 Morris's for a little while." And, 
 putting her arm around her, she drew 
 her down the road. 
 
 " A present ? How do you know ? 
 What is it?" 
 
 " Don't be so inquisitive ; it's some- 
 thing real nice ; and I'll give you les- 
 sons, and we'll practise duets and sing. 
 There ! what a ridiculous blunderer I 
 am ! But don't have hysterics over 
 it ; I declare if she isn't laughing and 
 crying all together ! Lunar rainbows 
 trickling down her cheeks." 
 
 " Oh, Dora, is it a melodeon, do you 
 think ? I'm afraid you are mistaken." 
 
 "I know I am not; but you wait
 
 116 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 and see. Don't spoil the giver's 
 pleasure by showing you know all 
 about it." 
 
 " It must be from uncle, and he has 
 given me so much already. How can 
 I ever repay him ?" 
 
 "By just growing up the true, 
 brave, energetic, thorough-bred lady 
 he expects you to be. Did he ever 
 tell you he knew my mamma when 
 she was a young lady ?" 
 
 "Why, no!" 
 
 "It was yesterday when we were 
 out rowing, he and Davy and I, while 
 you were getting supper. Some non- 
 sense I said to Davy made him look 
 at me curiously, and I feared he 
 thought me rude; but he asked sud- 
 denly, ' What was your mother's maid- 
 en name ?' ' Clara Lemar,' I answer- 
 ed. l TIien that's it,' he said. 'Again 
 and again it has seemed to me that I 
 had known you before we met at El- 
 lensport, and now it is explained. 
 Child, I danced with your mother at 
 the governor's ball in Richmond ; 
 called upon her, sent her bouquets, fol- 
 lowed her to her father's plantation, 
 and might have thrown hand, heart, 
 and fortune at her feet, had not such 
 a crowd of admirers surrounded her 
 continually that I knew she would 
 never condescend to accept the best I 
 could offer. She was the handsomest, 
 most fascinating woman I ever met. 
 And a Mr. Montgomery won the 
 prize ! Was he a resident of Rich- 
 mond ?' Just fancy, Mira, how hard 
 it was for me to hear and answer that! 
 I only told him that my father was 
 from Xew Orleans, and took mamma 
 there ; that her health failed, and she 
 had been an invalid ever since I could 
 
 remember. Then came another queer 
 turn to the talk. Davy asked me if 
 my brother Bruce (how absurd to 
 hear you call that homely, cross dog, 
 -Z?rwce/),ifhehad " 
 
 "Homely? Cross? Why, Dora 
 Montgomery ! he has the handsomest 
 eyes, and he's just the best " 
 
 " Well, there ; I apologize ! I re- 
 spect his age if I cannot admire his 
 beauty. But to proceed with my 
 story let's sit down on this log 
 Davy asked if my brother was not 
 a civil engineer on this railroad. He 
 said there was a young man named 
 Theodore Montgomery boarded at 
 your house for three or four months 
 while they were building the road. 
 I could not tell him, but I'm going to 
 write Bruce about it. Wouldn't it 
 be funny? But you're not half lis- 
 tening. Come, we'll walk home now." 
 
 As they reached the cottage, the 
 sweet harmony of melodeon and vio- 
 lin wavered in the air. 
 
 "Oh, it is! it is I" And with a 
 bound Miriam left her companion, 
 hurried through the gate, rushed up 
 the walk, and entered the room. The 
 music ended with a crash of chords 
 and loud laughter as she threw her 
 arms around the musician's neck, cry- 
 ing, " Oh, you dear, blessed uncle ! I 
 wanted it more than anything else in 
 the world. Oh, I'm glad as glad can 
 be!" 
 
 "Well, well, child! I'm glad too; 
 but you are choking and thanking the 
 wrong man. This is the boys' gift." 
 
 " Oh, Jamie ! Davy ! I'm so grate- 
 ful! and Jack" with a timid, ex- 
 pectant tone " was it Jack, too ?" 
 
 "Yes, 'twas Jack's suggestion,*'
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 117 
 
 Davy replied : " thoroughly selfish on 
 his part, for he wanted an accompa- 
 niment to his violin. But you inter- 
 rupted that schottische just as Jamie 
 and I were going to take a turn. 
 Now I'll resign him to you. Miss 
 Dora, will you honor me for the next 
 dance ? Now go ahead, fiddler!" 
 
 Up and down, round and round 
 whirled the two couples faster and 
 faster flew the violin-bow laughing, 
 panting, till snap ! went a violin-string; 
 and Jack stooped over Mr. Walton's 
 shoulder, and whispered three words. 
 "Better pass it off as your gift and 
 save a storm," he added. 
 
 Mr. Walton looked perplexed, trou- 
 bled, as he gazed searchingly into 
 Jack's face. " Is it so bad as that ?" 
 he said. 
 
 Jack glanced out of the window, 
 where a horseman was dismounting. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" the dancers 
 inquired. " Is your violin broken ?" 
 
 "I don't believe I can play any 
 more to-night," putting the violin into 
 its case; "we'll finish that dance some 
 other time. Isn't that somebody 
 coming here ?" 
 
 Miriam glanced through the win- 
 dow. " It is father !" she said, her 
 face turning pale, as she went to her 
 mother and put her hand in hers. 
 
 Davy caught up the violin and car- 
 ried it up -stairs, whispering a sen- 
 tence in his uncle's ear as he passed 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Walton sprang up as Mr. Mor- 
 gan entered. "Ah, how do you do, 
 John? Come near missing me alto- 
 gether, as I leave to-morrow. I 
 brought your little girl back safe and 
 well; wiser, and prettier too," as Mir- 
 
 iam came shyly forward with out- 
 stretched hand, and raised her face to 
 be kissed. 
 
 The father took the caress kindly, 
 saying, " I see she is taller, and I guess 
 she looks as well as most girls." 
 
 "And this," continued Mr. Walton, 
 "is another one of my girls that I'll 
 lend you until school begins Miss 
 Dora Montgomery, Miriam's room- 
 mate." 
 
 He shook hands with her. "Your 
 cheeks are too thin and pale for a 
 country girl. We'll try and fat you 
 up-if you stay here all summer. Wife, 
 I haven't had any dinner or supper 
 to-day. The jury was a set of fools ; 
 decided right contrary to evidence af- 
 ter being out three hours. Had no 
 time to get anything to eat and get 
 home to-night." 
 
 " Then you lost the suit ?" 
 
 "Yes, it went against me this time ; 
 but I shall carry it up. What have 
 you got there ?" pointing to the melo- 
 deon. 
 
 " Why, the girls have taken music- 
 lessons while at school, and I don't 
 want them to forget what they know ; 
 so they have an instrument to prac- 
 tise on." 
 
 "Well, if it's yours, it can stay 
 here ; but I'm not going to have mon- 
 ey wasted on such fol-de-rols ! And I 
 don't want you to put any nonsense 
 into Miryum's head. She's got to set- 
 tle down into a plain, practical house- 
 keeper, like her mother, some day." 
 
 "But if she has talents for some- 
 thing higher, you have no objections 
 to their development?" 
 
 "Something higher! There isn't 
 anything higher than doing the duties
 
 118 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 of your position the position one is 
 born to fill. My children have their 
 work planned before them every day ; 
 their business is to do it well. AH 
 this talk about talents and spheres is 
 disgusting. Miryum, tell your moth- 
 er to make some good, strong tea ; my 
 head aches. Davy, have you collect- 
 ed that note of Saul Perkins ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "Did I ever tell you that story 
 about Squire Noyes preaching here, 
 Walton?" settling himself in an easy- 
 chair. "No? "Well, it's a pretty 
 good one. You see, when we first 
 came here my wife was very anxious 
 to have religious services every Sun- 
 day ; and she fitted up one wing of 
 the store for a school, and got me to 
 read a sermon to the natives one Sun- 
 day morning. Then she tried an old 
 Baptist elder from the cook-house; 
 and finally Squire Noyes came to the 
 rescue. My wife was hardly satisfied, 
 but he was so zealous over the matter 
 that he took it right out of her hands, 
 and announced far and near that he 
 would preach in her school-room the 
 next Sunday. He was a regular horse- 
 jockey, a pettifogger of a lawyer, a 
 farmer, lumberman, speculator, justice 
 of the peace, and a local preacher in 
 the Methodist Church. He was on a 
 sheep -buying tour all the week, and 
 managed to advertise the meeting so 
 thoroughly that the room was crowd- 
 ed, and the log fences and lumber 
 piles were filled with his congrega- 
 tion, while over twenty babies were 
 left here as their mothers went to 
 meeting. Mary and the boys did 
 most of the singing; he called upon 
 me for the opening prayer; then got 
 
 up and announced his text : ' Saul, 
 Saul, why persecutest thou me?' He 
 looked steadily at his congregation 
 a minute, then read it again. ' Saul, 
 Saul, why persecutest thou mef Up 
 jumped Saul Perkins, and yelled out, 
 'It's a blamed lie, Squire Xoyes, an' 
 you know it ! I never prosecuted you 
 nor any other man; an* if you say it 
 agin, Pll thrash ye /' " 
 
 In the midst of the laughter which 
 followed, Mrs. Morgan called her hus- 
 band to supper. 
 
 "Your father will not fancy our 
 music, Mira dear, so we will try and 
 time our practice when he is too far 
 away to be annoyed by it; and when 
 we learn some of the songs I have in 
 my trunk, he will enjoy it as much as 
 anybody, you'll see," Dora said, ca- 
 ressingly. " Mr. Walton, do you think 
 I can learn to cook and make pics, 
 cake, and bread as nicely as Mira 
 does?" 
 
 "No doubt of it. Do you intend 
 trying ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir. At uncle's there are 
 twelve servants and a house-keeper. 
 I always had a maid to do what I 
 ought to have done for myself. I 
 laugh whenever I think of my first 
 attempts at sweeping my room at 
 the Seminary. My ideal woman, Mr. 
 Walton, is one who considers nothing 
 useful beneath or beyond her ability." 
 
 " Good ! Then you believe in wom- 
 an's rights ?" 
 
 "Certainly; whatever she has 
 strength of body and mind to accom- 
 plish thoroughly is right for her to 
 do." 
 
 " Good ! and no woman is fit to 
 preside over a house until she under-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 119 
 
 stands every branch of house-keeping. 
 Now let us sing that grand old hymn, 
 
 " ' Jesus, lover of my soul ! 
 Let me to thy bosom fly.' 
 
 Jack, will you take the tenor? Dora, 
 you sing alto; Jamie and Davy, bass; 
 and Mira and I will carry the air." 
 
 A gentle prelude from the melodeon, 
 then the voices blended in the suppli- 
 cation. Mrs. Morgan sat silent, with 
 closed eyes, joining each petition with 
 a fervor the younger people could not 
 know. A few pages from Dora's let- 
 ter to her brother tells the history of 
 the following weeks : 
 
 " In this hollow 'mid the hills live 
 the most charming people ! My chum 
 I have described to you ; but she 
 grows prettier every day the purest 
 complexion, flushing and paling into 
 loveliest tints ; long thick braids of 
 nut-brown hair ; perfect teeth ; scar- 
 let lips, just pouting for kisses; and 
 eyes oh, Bruce ! I wish you could 
 look into her eyes. Their color, like 
 her complexion, varies with every 
 change of thought; but they look so 
 true and earnest and brave. But 
 there ! you will call this a lover's 
 rhapsody, as you did before. I just 
 wish you could see her ! Her brother 
 Jamie is a fine -looking man, rather 
 quiet, and very good. Davy is more 
 my style ; no one can be sad or gloomy 
 where he is. He is not as handsome 
 as his brother; but his face is so sun- 
 ny, and his eyes sparkle with fun; 
 while Jamie's have a steady, intense 
 light in them that is beyond my com- 
 prehension. They all have a timid or 
 defiant manner toward their father. 
 
 I have seen nothing so terrible in 
 him; but he is a loud-spoken, positive 
 kind of a man, who never acknowl- 
 edges a fault in himself and sees no 
 end of them in other people. I like 
 to hear him tell stories, and it pleases 
 Mira; so I often go to him when he 
 sits smoking on the porch, and ask 
 questions about the country and the 
 people who were here when they 
 came. He told me about a man I 
 saw in the store to-day, a funny old 
 chap, who talked rapidly and inces- 
 santly. Years ago he was on a raft 
 going down the river, and saw a loco- 
 motive for the first time. As it puffed 
 out great clouds of smoke and fire, 
 he shouted, 'What's that?' 'The 
 devil, Dick; he's after you,' said the 
 men. Just then the whistle sounded, 
 and Dick gave a yell and jumped into 
 the river. The raft passed over him, 
 and while the men were trying to 
 save him, it struck a rock and stove 
 all in pieces ; but after the train pass- 
 ed, he swam ashore. The cars are 
 still a great curiosity to the natives. 
 Another funny story is of a man call- 
 ed K'neal. He has an enormous nasal 
 appendage, out of all proportion to his 
 face. He says the only objection he 
 has to it is when he stoops to drink 
 out of a spring his nose riles the wa- 
 ter! and these mountain springs are 
 not shallow. 
 
 "I have quite a number of queer 
 folks and strange incidents to weave 
 into my stories. I like the place and 
 people immensely. But Mira, though 
 born and brought up here, has an in- 
 tense dislike to the uncouth manners 
 of the people. "We were invited to 
 Auntie Rodgers's, as they call Jack's
 
 120 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 mother, to spend the afternoon. We 
 took our work and went over there 
 about two o'clock. It was the richest 
 kind of fun for me to get the old lady 
 talking about old times. -Her expres- 
 sions are so quaint and original, and 
 her piety so fervent and emphatic. 
 But Mira was annoyed at something, 
 and provoked at me for drawing the 
 old lady out ; for she knew I was just 
 getting an odd character to imitate ; 
 so she found one of Jack's books, and 
 sat under a tree near the house till 
 Jack came. 
 
 " The old lady had reached the cli- 
 max of her story when they entered, 
 so she bustled about to get supper. 
 And such a supper! There were ' meat 
 victuals for the men folks,' eggs, bread, 
 and biscuits and butter, honey and 
 custard, raspberries, and two kinds of 
 pie and three kinds of cake I real- 
 ly don't know what else. The men 
 stooped and gulped their food, and put 
 their knives 'way into their mouths ; 
 and when one man picked his teeth 
 with his fork, I saw Mira shudder; 
 and after another had reached across 
 her plate and with his own knife cut 
 off a bit of butter, spread it on a 
 slice of bread, took a huge bite, then, 
 stretching out his coatless arm, sliced 
 another bit, Mira leaned back in her 
 chair with such a look of suffering on 
 her face I felt sorry for her. Fortu- 
 nately, the men folks were soon gorged 
 that really seems a most appropri- 
 ate word pushed back their chairs, 
 and went away. Then Auntie Rodg- 
 ers and I finished our tea at leisure, 
 while Mira and Jack talked and sang 
 together. His mother says * Jack lots 
 a powerful sight on Miryum ;' that he 
 
 'sort o' took to her when she waVt 
 knee-high to a grasshopper, and he 
 don't seem to git over it a mite;' add- 
 ing, ' Wall, my Jack's a powerful good 
 boy, ef I dew say it !' I agree with 
 her ; he seems good, and is handsome : 
 dark -blue eyes and jet-black hair, 
 heavy side-whiskers, firm well-curved 
 lips, and the whitest of white teeth. 
 He is taller than Jamie or Davy, and, 
 at first thought, finer-looking. He is 
 treated like one of the family, and 
 seems to take the same interest in the 
 business. If Mira was not so fastidi- 
 ous, I might be a little anxious ; but 
 there is no man good enough for my 
 Mira. I told Mrs. Morgan about her 
 annoyance at Auntie Rodgers's table. 
 'Poor child!' she said, 'she cannot 
 help it ! These strong prejudices are 
 inherited. She tries to overcome 
 them, but she never will.' 
 
 "I have said nothing about Mira's 
 mother, because I have no words to 
 express my admiration or my love. 
 Cultured, refined, with little adaptive- 
 ness, this life in the woods has been 
 a daily martyrdom to her. She has 
 told me of her efforts to make the cot- 
 tage (which is the same cabin they 
 first moved into, built over, and added 
 to) the home she desired her children 
 reared in. It would be comical, if not 
 so pathetic, to hear of her labors. 
 They painted the wood -work of the 
 rooms with a mixture of blue clay 
 and milk before they could get 
 white-lead renewing when soiled or 
 worn. She covered the ceiling over- 
 head with white muslin, and made 
 oil-cloth by painting canvas in a pat- 
 tern of her own invention. Vines and 
 shrubs surround the house, brought
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 121 
 
 from the woods by her own hands. 
 Two huge pine - trees clasp arms 
 over the gate ; a hemlock hedge sur- 
 rounds the flower-garden; a rustic 
 arbor, all overgrown with wild grape- 
 vine, is in the centre of one grass-plot, 
 and a mound of flowers on the other 
 side of the stone walk that leads to 
 the door; a veranda runs across tbe 
 front under the eaves, and an entry 
 opens into two large square rooms. 
 The one next the river has a striped 
 carpet, a table, and some hanging 
 shelves filled with books, a lounge, 
 and chairs cushioned with crimson 
 cloth. White-muslin curtains at the 
 windows, and vines and pressed ferns 
 are on the mantle and around the 
 mirror, while little shelves holding 
 vases of flowers are in the corners. 
 The other room (whichever apartment 
 we speak of, the other is distinguish- 
 ed as the other room) is carpeted with 
 white sand ; each alternate board has 
 a wavy figure down its whole length 
 made by Mrs. Morgan's broom. This 
 carpet is taken up every morning; 
 and as there is a wholesale store of it 
 on the river beach, a new one every 
 day is not considered extravagant. 
 
 "Mira teaches me to mix bread, 
 work over butter, and make cake and 
 pie; for I am resolved to learn every 
 useful thing I can. Mrs. Morgan su- 
 perintends our labors. There are also 
 closets, a pantry, and a milk - room 
 where the water runs around the pans 
 of cream and jars of butter. A sum- 
 mer-kitchen has been added to the 
 west end of the house, where all cook- 
 ing and baking are done. A spring 
 from the mountain brings water to 
 
 the back door; and there it pours a 
 steady stream from a wooden spout 
 so cool and refreshing. Since writing 
 this, some remark of Mira's reminded 
 me of a query of Davy's. He said 
 there was once a young man here, 
 whose name was Theodore Montgom- 
 ery, and inquired if it was my brother. 
 "Evening. Oh, my dear brother, 
 how strange ! Indeed truth is stran- 
 ger than fiction ! I have just return- 
 ed from Mrs. Morgan's room, where I 
 had been assisting with the week's 
 mending. She told me of the Theo- 
 dore she liked so much, and then put 
 a book and a faded daguerrotype in 
 my hand. I opened the red morocco 
 case ; and there was the same dear 
 good-natured face mamma has in her 
 locket and cries over so often. I 
 could hardly believe my eyes ! I open- 
 ed the book there was your name 
 plain enough ' To my Kind Counsel- 
 lor and Valued Friend, Mrs. J. Mor- 
 gan, from B. H. H. T. Montgomery.' 
 There could be no mistake ! She put 
 her arms around me and kissed me so 
 lovingly, saying, 'The dear boy is in 
 Texas, you said. How far away that 
 seems ! But I am very glad to knoAV 
 he lives, and is doing well.' Then she 
 told me how much you helped her by 
 your example in training her boys. 
 You were ' always so neat and polite, 
 so attentive to her wants, so graceful 
 and well-bred.' Hasn't your right 
 ear burned all this afternoon, I won- 
 der? They are calling me to go boat- 
 riding. Hoping to receive a letter 
 from you before I leave here, I re- 
 main, your affectionate sister, 
 
 "DOHA."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "Is it true, O God in heaven, that the strongest suffer most? 
 That the noblest wander farthest, and most hopelessly are lost? 
 That the highest type of nature is capacity for gain? 
 That the sadness of the singer makes the sweetness of the strain ?" 
 
 'Author Unknown. 
 
 THE Christmas vacation was over ; 
 and from North and South, East and 
 West, came the students of Ellens- 
 port Seminary. 
 
 " I'm heartily glad to begin study 
 again, aren't you, Mira?" Dora said, 
 as she was hanging her new dresses 
 in the wardrobe. 
 
 " Yes ; but I had a real good time 
 at Virgie's home. It is a perfect cu- 
 riosity shop from the parlors to the 
 attic. The whole family are 'travel- 
 lers and sojourners,' and several are 
 sailors : their corals and shells and 
 fossils are just wonderful ! And they 
 have cases of stuffed birds and ani- 
 mals, and specimens of fancy-work of 
 Indians and Africans. Then every- 
 thing has its story, from the anaconda 
 coiled over Major Terry's desk to the 
 pearl brooch at madam's throat. And 
 there is a conservatory full of flow- 
 ers, and a library full of books, and 
 a bowling-alley, and ponies to ride. 
 Virgie has her own carriage and po- 
 nies, and a footman in livery to ride 
 behind on a gray pony. Oh, it was 
 lovely ! And they all invited me to 
 come again, as if they really wanted 
 
 me to. Did you enjoy the vacation ? 
 You look thinner and paler than when 
 school closed. Now, Chum, you must 
 not study so late at night: it is just 
 killing you." 
 
 "Mira, this is my last year at 
 school. I stand first in my class, and 
 I wouldn't miss taking the honors for 
 anything" 
 
 " Not even for health ?" 
 
 " Oh, I'll get over this nervousness 
 as soon as I have won the prize. The 
 president says ours is the best class 
 he has ever graduated." 
 
 "Yes; he made that same remark 
 to last year's graduates, I remember. 
 Probably they grow better and better 
 till they die of it!" 
 
 " Miriam, you are very provoking." 
 
 "Forgive me, Dora. You know I 
 wouldn't oifend you for anything in 
 the world ; but to see you so sad and 
 pale, in almost constant pain, and yet 
 forcing yourself to work for Avhat 
 really doesn't seem to me worth win- 
 ning my dear chum, I get pro- 
 voked too." 
 
 A laugh followed, that rippled over 
 tears. " Kiss me, Mira, Now, let's
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 123 
 
 each 'gang our am gait,' as Bessie 
 would say, and quietly submit to 
 what we can't enjoy." 
 
 "Will you go on with French?" 
 " Yes ; I intend to read ' Corinne,' 
 though I'm sure our Yankee teachers' 
 pronunciation would never be under- 
 stood by a Parisian. I find I can 
 read in the library from eight to ten, 
 and then practise one hour and study 
 until dinner. After dinner come reci- 
 tations until prayers; then I put in 
 another hour's practice. In the even- 
 ing I mean to read poetry, saving the 
 coarsest print for lamplight. Chem- 
 istry and German recite at the same 
 bell this term. I'm sorry, for I want- 
 ed to begin German. Professor Clark 
 advised me to give a half bell to each ; 
 but I don't enjoy half doing things, 
 so I shall study chemistry. Are there 
 many new students?" 
 
 " Several gentlemen one real hand- 
 some one at my table ; he looks like 
 Jack. You needn't try to get him 
 down to your section, though, as you 
 did those interesting Burnhams." 
 
 " Now, Dora, you know I got Mr. 
 Smith to ask them to come, because 
 you made fun of them." 
 
 " Mira Morgan, we did not." 
 " Well, you got them to talking 
 about crops, and the best way to fat 
 beef, and then, foppish Paul Percy 
 would sneer. I saw one of your gen- 
 tlemen hold his hand over Tom Burn- 
 ham's head, as if to warm his fingers, 
 and then frown as though he burned 
 them. Tom can't help his hair being 
 as red as a live coal, and he's a real 
 good student; while that Paul Per- 
 cy, with his superior smile and gold 
 fob -chain, never recites well. Who 
 
 will room with Jennie Purcell this 
 term ?" 
 
 " A new student an awkward, 
 sullen -faced country girl. She was 
 dressed in homespun, or something 
 equally ridiculous, and her face was 
 red, and eyes swollen from crying." 
 
 "Poor thing! she is homesick. I 
 know just how to sympathize with 
 her." 
 
 " Yes, you can sympathize with ev- 
 ery one. Jen' prefers an unsophisti- 
 cated creature that will stare with ad- 
 miration at her cheap jewellery and 
 her great bundles of love-letters. By- 
 the-way, that Jim M'Gowan was re- 
 quested not to return to Ellensport 
 Seminary, so that flirtation is ended. 
 How such a sentimental piece as Jen- 
 nie Purcell can write such spicy com- 
 positions is a mystery to me." 
 
 Miriam's face flashed crimson. 
 
 " You'll be in the public class this 
 term. Your modesty and Miss Cald- 
 well's clemency will avail no longer. 
 But why do you look so conscience- 
 smitten ?" 
 
 " Because I am, Dora ; I have writ- 
 ten all Jennie Purcell's essays." 
 
 " Miriam Morgan ! don't you know 
 that is considered a very disgraceful 
 thing to do ?" 
 
 "Wait until you have heard the 
 whole story." 
 
 " Now, I do not wish to be too se- 
 vere a judge of Jennie," she said, 
 when all was told. "She has not 
 a fine sense of honor, and she is nat- 
 urally very lazy. I see now I was 
 foolish and did wrong; while she, in 
 obliging me " 
 
 " Mira, you are a goose !" 
 
 "Yes, Chum."
 
 124 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 "The double-distilled quintessence 
 of imbecility permeates the perspica- 
 ciousness by which your mentality is 
 illuminated. I shall go to Miss Cald- 
 well " 
 
 " Oh, Chum, please don't !" 
 
 "And tell my suspicions. She will 
 request Miss Purcell to write her next 
 essay in her presence. Oh, Miss Cald- 
 well has managed more difficult cases 
 than this without any noise. You 
 may as well begin to collect your 
 thoughts for your essay. What will 
 be the subject ?" 
 
 "An address to this Old Friend," 
 holding up a well-worn shoe. "It is 
 an earth- worn traveller. Its sole has 
 been bound to mine while climbing 
 the rough steeps of life and passing 
 through deep waters. Oft has it 
 shielded me from unseen dangers. It 
 knows the ways of the world; it has 
 experienced the ups and downs of 
 life. But the voice that once sound- 
 ed through these classic halls is forev- 
 er hushed ! The tongue is silent ; the 
 last tie severed ! Though mourning 
 over its premature departure, I had 
 no power to heel !" 
 
 "What pathos! Put that into 
 rhyme, Mira; it will be capital." 
 
 The books were on the study ta- 
 ble ; the wax-candles, which Mr. Wal- 
 ton had substituted for the dangerous 
 burning- fluid, were lighted, and Mira 
 revelled in the fortunes of " The Fae- 
 ry Queen," while Dora puzzled over a 
 problem in conic sections. 
 
 "Oh, Dora, just listen to one sen- 
 tence ! It is splendid ! When Sir 
 Arthur is " 
 
 "Please don't bother me! 'There 
 is a property of the above polynomial 
 
 quotient which belongs exclusively to 
 equations, containing only imaginary 
 roots.' Oh, dear ! I cannot get this 
 lesson ; and I wouldn't fail in a recita- 
 tion now for the world ! Oh, what 
 shall I do !" And, rising, she went to 
 the wardrobe and took a small bottle 
 from the shelf. 
 
 " Chum, don't you think those drops 
 do you more harm than good?" 
 
 " I suppose they would in time ; 
 but I shall stop using them as soon as 
 my studies are finished." 
 
 " But you take them so much often- 
 er than you did last year." 
 
 " I don't take the bitter stuff any 
 oftener than I have to. Virgie Torry 
 takes more opium in one day than I 
 do in three." 
 
 "Poor Virgie! She told me she 
 began it when she was suffering heart- 
 sorrow, and could not sleep without 
 an opiate. I think her parents sent 
 her here to get her away from a lover. 
 She corresponds with him, though." 
 
 "And it will end. in an elopement 
 probably: these quiet, dignified girls 
 are so deep ! Well, I wish I had no 
 more pain in my head than I have in 
 my heart. Yesterday the neuralgia 
 came on earlier. I had been to the 
 principal's room to see if the review of 
 trigonometry was added to this term, 
 and just as I came out I thought some- 
 thing struck me on this side of my 
 head ; I know I screamed or groaned. 
 My head was numb for a second, and 
 then, if it had been shattered into a 
 million fragments I could not have 
 been in more agony. How I got to 
 my room I don't know ; and if I had 
 not had these drops, I should have 
 died with the pain."
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 125 
 
 " But if you should take too much ?" 
 
 " Oh, I shall not ; I always drop it 
 carefully in the spoon," and, picking 
 up her book and slate, she again forced 
 herself to study. But the pain in her 
 left eye grew intolerable. She sprang 
 suddenly from her chair, seized the 
 bottle, and with shaking hand tried to 
 pour out the desired quantity. 
 
 " Let me do it, Chum." 
 
 She raised the spoonful to her lips, 
 shuddered, then swallowed it quickly, 
 and staggered to the bed. "Don't 
 bother me," she muttered ; " let me 
 sleep if I can." 
 
 The first dose had just taken effect, 
 and in a moment she seemed sleep- 
 ing, though her forehead was contract- 
 ed with pain, and her face and eyes 
 twitched constantly. 
 
 A half-hour passed. Miriam had re- 
 moved the sleeper's shoes, unfastened 
 her dress, bathed her face gently; but 
 her breathing grew heavier the eye- 
 balls seemed dilated, and the eyelids 
 were half open. The lips, dry and 
 white, were parted in a'ghastly smile ; 
 and her dark curling hair, moist with 
 perspiration, clung to the livid face. 
 
 Miriam tried once more to rouse 
 her, then ran quickly from the room. 
 "Virgie may know what to do," she 
 thought ; " and the faculty will make 
 a time if it is reported." 
 
 One glance at Dora's face, and Vir- 
 gie said, "Open the windows, and 
 raise her head. Now, keep quiet un- 
 til I come back." 
 
 The minutes seemed hours until she 
 returned. " Came within one of get- 
 ting caught by the matron ! But 
 one of the dining-room girls has often 
 given me cold coffee to drink at 
 
 night, and I helped myself to salt and 
 mustard. Now, raise her up. She's 
 got to swallow this emetic, and when 
 the opium is off her stomach we will 
 make her drink the coffee." 
 
 An hour later, Dora sat in a rocker 
 before the open window, the wintry 
 air blowing full on her pallid face. 
 
 " She will be all right to-morrow, 
 I think, though I cannot tell how 
 much opium may be in her system. 
 She may sink back in that stupor 
 again. Dora," she cried, shaking the 
 helpless body, " do wake up !" 
 
 " Oh, let me rest," she murmured, 
 " do let me rest /" 
 
 " Had I not better call the precep- 
 tress?" Miriam asked, as they tried 
 for the second time to make Dora 
 walk across the room, and then bore 
 her fainting to the bed, where her 
 heavy breathing warned them she 
 must be instantly roused. 
 
 " No, no ! If we get tired out, I'll 
 call Kate Hadley. In two hours more 
 the danger will be over. If the story 
 gets into the papers, as it will, if any 
 but ourselves know it, the school's 
 reputation would be injured, and then 
 the faculty and board of managers 
 would make an example of Dora." 
 
 Another hour of unceasing effort 
 passed, and Virgie sank, half fainting, 
 in a chair. " You may call Kate," she 
 gasped. 
 
 Miriam's slippered feet ran noise- 
 lessly down the hall, up the stairway, 
 and entered Miss Hadley's door. In 
 five minutes she was back again. 
 I could not waken her," she said, 
 " though I sprinkled water in her 
 face, and shook her again and again. 
 Oh, dear, she is dosed too ! Well,
 
 126 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 Dora must be made to waken her- 
 self. Here, Yirgie, take this candle 
 and wave it back and forth before her 
 face; close! no matter if it burns her 
 nose." Then, making a trumpet of 
 her hands, Miriam put them to Dora's 
 ear, and screamed, "Fire ! Fire ! ! 
 Fire!!!" 
 
 "Oh, oh!" cried Dora, "help- 
 quick ! The seminary's burning ! 
 Help ! Fire /" She sprang up and 
 leaned out of the window. "Are 
 they all out? Where is Miss Cald- 
 well?" 
 
 " She is safe, Dora, and so are you, 
 now. Mira, dear child, don't cry ! the 
 danger is over. I don't believe you 
 ever told a deliberate lie before, but 
 you never did a better act. Dora, for 
 seven hours you have been in the 
 jaws of death ! a disgusting, dis- 
 graceful death ! Now rouse yourself 
 and think of it. 
 
 "Mira, close the window and try 
 to sleep until the prayer -bell rings. 
 Dora will not need watching now ; 
 and I'll send the hall - maid to put 
 your room, in order." 
 
 Late that afternoon Virginia Torry 
 sat by Dora's bedside. The two were 
 earnestly talking. 
 
 "No one suspects what ailed you. 
 Madam Ferris presumed you had 
 brought a box of goodies from home. 
 'If the students would only confine 
 themselves to the healthful diet of 
 the institution !' " she said. 
 
 " Healthful food !" exclaimed Dora, 
 indignantly. "The bread is made of 
 musty flour that is one of the ma- 
 tron's economies. The beef is tough, 
 the potatoes watery, the butter strong; 
 and that is all the variety we have. 
 
 I hate to grumble at the board when 
 we pay so little ; but I'm sure it 
 would cost no more to give us milk, 
 rice, fish, and eggs, than the indigesti- 
 ble food we have now. Then, with 
 fewer studies and more exercise, and 
 more sleep, we might do ourselves 
 justice, and the school credit. If we 
 were not living such an unnatural 
 life, we would not have these horrible 
 cravings." 
 
 "Well, we cannot reform the sys- 
 tem ; but we can leave the school or 
 conquer the habit here." 
 
 " Oh, I cannot leave without a di- 
 ploma." 
 
 "You came very near leaving last 
 night, Dora, in a most disgraceful 
 manner. Fancy the newspaper par- 
 agraphs : the surmisings as to wheth- 
 er it was accidental, or deliberate sui- 
 cide ; the prying into your family af- 
 fairs ; suggestions of a fickle lover, a 
 stern guardian, or " 
 
 " Oh, stop, Virgie ! Stop !" 
 
 " Dora, if Mira had not called me as 
 soon as she did ; if I had not known 
 exactly what to do ; if strength had 
 not been given us to prevent your go- 
 ing into that stupor again, until you 
 were roused by Mira's voice Dora, 
 scores of editors and reporters would 
 now be sharpening their pencils to 
 dishonor your name and vilify your 
 friends." 
 
 " Oh, Virgie !" Tears trickled down 
 the crimsoned cheeks. 
 
 "Darling, you think I am very 
 cruel ; but it is all true. Many times 
 I have thought, 
 
 " ' It were better not to be, 
 Life is so full of misery.' 
 
 But the horror and grief, perhaps dis-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 127 
 
 grace and reproach, brought upon 
 those I love that deterred me. It 
 is cowardly to escape from pain in 
 that way." 
 
 " Virgie, do you think " 
 
 "You intended suicide ? No, Dora ; 
 but if you were found dead in your 
 bed, many would believe it. Rea- 
 sons enough for self-murder would be 
 invented before your body was laid 
 in its coffin." 
 
 " Oh, Virgie ! oh, do stop !" 
 
 "Dora, these torturing words are 
 like dagger -thrusts to me! But I 
 solemnly make this vow, by all the 
 strength of my nature, never, never, to 
 touch or taste opium again not in 
 any form not if I was told it would 
 save my life ! Dora, will you register 
 your vow with mine ?" . 
 
 "I do mean to give up using it; I 
 wouldn't be a slave to it as mamma is 
 for anything ! But, Virgie, I couldn't 
 graduate if I stopped now." 
 
 An impatient movement made Dora 
 look in her friend's face. 
 
 "You think I could?" 
 
 " No ; but I think you are like a fly 
 in a spider's web ; the sooner you 
 break loose the better ! But I won't 
 talk to you any more. Mira is com- 
 ing ; let her bathe your head, and you 
 try to go to sleep." 
 
 A week later the school duties were 
 resumed, reviews of the lessons lost 
 during sickness being added to Dora's 
 duties. The weather was intensely 
 cold, and the furnaces put in the 
 building during vacation sent more 
 gas than heat to the students' rooms. 
 Headaches, nausea, and rheumatic 
 pains were constant complaints. But 
 the energetic toiled on, and the in- 
 
 dolont evaded duties and discipline, 
 studied equivocation and sophistry, 
 attended recitations only to exchange 
 glances or billets cFamour with gentle- 
 men of the same amount of intellect 
 and ambition. 
 
 "Here's a letter for you, Mira," 
 Dora said one evening, as she came 
 wearily into the room with a pile of 
 books on her arm. "If it is from 
 Davy, do read it aloud, for I never 
 needed a .little nonsense more." 
 
 " It is Davy's writing : 
 
 " 'New York City, January 18th. 
 "'My OWN DEAR SISTER, Do not 
 be surprised at hearing (or reading) 
 of my departure from the banks of 
 the Delaware to seek banks of gold 
 in parts unknown. You know I have 
 always intended to seek my fortune 
 somewhere out in the big world ; and 
 the time to cut loose has finally come. 
 I never can amount to anything while 
 I stay at home ; would only be a ma- 
 chine to carry out father's plans, with 
 just sense enough to obey orders; and 
 I hate making money for money's 
 sake ! so I've made up my mnid to 
 pull ou.t. Do you remember those 
 words of Goethe's that Jack put to 
 music? They are singing themselves 
 in my ears all the time : 
 
 ' "Keep not standing fixed and rooted, 
 
 Briskly venture, briskly roam ; 
 Head and hand, where'er thou foot it, 
 
 And stout heart are still at home. 
 In each land the sun does visit 
 
 We are gny, whate'er betide : 
 To give space for wandering is it 
 
 That the world is made so wide." ' 
 
 " ' So I've decided to make a venture, 
 and start on a roam that may carry
 
 128 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 me around the globe. Just think of 
 the countries I shall see, and the ad- 
 ventures I shall have, and the stories 
 I can tell you when I get back again ! 
 Won't it be jolly? I would like to 
 be home when you and Miss D. come ; 
 for, of course, she will spend her va- 
 cation with you. I saw the happiest 
 days of my life last summer ; but they 
 were too good to last, and I have 
 wished a hundred times that I had 
 gone away before ; but that is folly. 
 "What can't be cured must be en- 
 dured." Jamie is the best fellow liv- 
 ing, and nothing is too good for him. 
 I don't intend to come back until I 
 can see him married without feeling 
 like a villain or a fool. I am writing 
 in a great hurry, as one of the men of 
 our expedition is waiting for me. 
 
 " ' We leave New York in a few 
 hours. I have written to mother and 
 to Jamie, giving him all right, title, 
 and interest in my share of the prop- 
 erty. I've stood it just as long as I 
 can; so don't feel badly about it, nor 
 blame your affectionate brother, 
 
 "'DAVY.'" 
 
 "What can he mean? Has he 
 really gone ?" 
 
 The girls' faces were white with 
 horror and surprise, as they stared 
 at each other. Miriam glanced the 
 pages over again to see if no word or 
 line proclaimed it one of Davy's fre- 
 quent jokes, then dropped the letter 
 on the floor, and threw herself upon 
 the bed. Not a tear came to her 
 eyes; but sobs, deep and irrepressi- 
 ble, shook her form as she thought of 
 the happy hours forever gone ! of homo 
 without Davy's mirth and mischief; 
 
 his frequent discontent, the inward re- 
 belling at his father's arrogant voice 
 and dictatorial manner; the evening 
 talks with his mother, the wild fan- 
 cies crushed, the desires repressed for 
 mother's sake. What new experience, 
 what added provocation, had made 
 home unendurable? Little by little, 
 words, acts, glances, like fragments of 
 a melody, came to mind. " Dora has 
 done it," she thought, and a feeling 
 of resentment embittered the sorrow 
 of her heart. " She likes Jamie best. 
 Oh, my poor Davy !" And she buried 
 her face in the pillows again. 
 
 Dora had picked up the letter Mir- 
 iam threw down, and, with tear-filled 
 eyes, read every word carefully. 
 "And he thinks oh, Davy ! Davy! 
 how qpuld you? Jamie don't care 
 for me, not that way ; and he has 
 gone, and I can never tell him ! Oh, 
 Davy ! Davy !" 
 
 For a moment she rested her head 
 on the table, and tears fell fast 
 on the letter clasped in her hands. 
 Then, rising, she went to the bed and 
 knelt by Miriam's side: "Oh, Mira, 
 darling! I did not know he never 
 said. Mira, I cannot be blamed !" 
 
 The tear - wet face was clasped to 
 Miriam's; and with one long, fervent 
 kiss, the girls' hearts were scaled in a 
 new bond of sisterhood. 
 
 "Our impulsive, ambitious Davy 
 needs the discipline he will get in 
 wandering. Dora, my dear, sweet 
 sister, God will keep him safely, and 
 bring him back by -and -by." Then 
 thoughts of the lonely home, of 
 mother's sorrow, brought a rush of 
 tears. 
 
 "Ob, how could he go without a
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 129 
 
 good-bye ? or telling us where lie was 
 going ? Oh, my darling Davy ! where 
 are you now ?" And again she trem- 
 bled with gasping sobs. 
 
 The prayer -bell rang, but they 
 could not endure the curious eyes of 
 students nor Miss CaldwelPs kind in- 
 quiries. Soon the supper gong sound- 
 ed through the halls. Miriam still 
 lay, with closed eyes, upon the bed, 
 and Dora sat by the window, gazing 
 at the wintry sky, and wondering 
 where, under its arching blue, Davy 
 could be. An hour passed. The 
 study bell resounded from the chapel 
 tower, and she rose and lighted the 
 candles. Mechanically the books for 
 the evening study were arranged. 
 
 "Chum," she said, softly, "it is 
 study hours now." 
 
 Miriam raised herself slowly. 
 " Dora, I am going home !" 
 
 "Oh, Mira!" 
 
 " Yes, dear ; mother needs me." 
 
 " But what will I do ?" 
 
 " You may go with me." 
 
 "No, no I cannot do that: I must 
 finish the course, and get my diploma. 
 But oh, dear ! how can I learn these 
 lessons, now ?" 
 
 " Maybe you are learning other les- 
 sons, Dora. Maybe the Master sees 
 we need to learn patience and faith." 
 
 Her friend again bowed her head 
 upon the table, and Miriam went qui- 
 etly to Miss Caldwell's room. 
 
 " I was sorry to mark both you and 
 Miss Montgomery for absence from 
 chapel and dining-room to-day," the 
 preceptress said. "But what is the 
 matter ? You have been crying ?" 
 
 " I have sad news from home : my 
 
 younger brother has never been satis- 
 fied to live among the mountains, and 
 he has gone away to seek his fortune. 
 Mother is very lonely, and I must go 
 home." 
 
 " I am very sorry, Miriam." 
 
 "Yes 'm," choking back a sob; 
 " but I must go !" 
 
 " You will return soon ?" 
 
 " No, ma'am : my school - days are 
 ended." 
 
 "Your uncle will not consent to 
 that." 
 
 " I shall study all I can. My moth- 
 er is not strong now : she needs me." 
 
 ""Well, my dear child, you know 
 best. Wherever you are, you will do 
 your duty bravely and thoroughly; 
 and whenever I can help you, let me 
 know." 
 
 That night, Dora, under the influ- 
 ence of her usual opiate, slept sound- 
 ly; but Miriam lay with open eyes, 
 staring at the darkness and wishing 
 for dawn. " Where is Davy now just 
 now?" was her only thought. Slow- 
 ly the interior of her brain seemed 
 expanding ; slowly a pure white light 
 illuminated the arched space as though 
 her vision were in the centre, and, 
 gazing into a limitless expanse, she 
 saw vague outlines hovering; slow- 
 ly they took shape. 'Twas a schoon- 
 er with every sail reefed. Boats were 
 floating beside it; a man swung him- 
 self from the schooner's side, dropped 
 into the row-boat, and took the helm. 
 He pushed his hat from his brow. It 
 was Davy! 
 
 Miriam sprang up. "What have I 
 seen ?" she gasped. " Oh, is it a dream, 
 or is it true ?"
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ' We live in deeds, not words ; in thoughts, not breaths ; 
 In actions, not in figures on a dial. 
 We should count time by heart-throbs. 
 He lives most who feels most, acts the noblest, lives the best." 
 
 OWEN MEREDITH. 
 
 " Richmond, Va., April 27th. 
 
 "Mr DEAR MIKA, It was no use. 
 I tried to live without you; tried to 
 continue ray studies with aching head 
 and lonely heart, but I could not ! I 
 lost my standing in the class, and con- 
 sequently the honors. I was forced 
 to drop some studies ; and so my di- 
 ploma was gone. I might still have 
 graduated scientifically, but finally 
 concluded to bring what remains of 
 health and sight I still possessed back 
 to my uncle's house and my mamma's 
 home. Of course she cried over me, 
 and uncle grumbled at my failure, 
 though he declared it was what he 
 expected all the time. How I have 
 suffered in conquering the craving for 
 opium no words can give you an idea ; 
 and now I am forced to keep it in 
 sight, or the mania is intolerable. 
 
 "Maura Anna is the only one who 
 seems really to sympathize with my 
 disappointment in failing to graduate, 
 or to be anxious about my health. 
 She has nursed and doctored me, as 
 she did all through my weakly child- 
 hood ; and I am already stronger than 
 when I came home. She has had bit- 
 
 ter sorrow of late. Her Liza, who 
 was my maid for years, has been sold 
 South. Uncle said there was no use 
 of so many servants about the house ; 
 so he traded her for a span of black 
 ponies. I had taught her to read and 
 write; so I console her mother with 
 the thought of receiving a letter from 
 her, and promising to buy her back, 
 and give her free papers some day. 
 My faithful, kind-hearted Liza! to 
 think of her being abused makes my 
 blood tingle with pain. Poor Maum 
 Anna grieves sadly; Liza was all she 
 had left. Since my health has im- 
 proved, I have tried to get scholars to 
 teach; but uncle was very indignant. 
 None of his blood should descend to 
 Yankee occupations, he said. I do 
 not know what to do. If mamma 
 needed me, of course it would be my 
 duty and pleasure to stay with her. 
 I was not a welcome child when first 
 placed in her arms; and all my life 
 have I heard regrets for my lack of 
 beauty, reproofs for my irrepressible 
 mimicry, and prophecies that fate was 
 against me. Perhaps from sheer ob- 
 stinacy I have lived on, determined to
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 131 
 
 make my face grow beautiful from, 
 within, and conquer adverse fate wher- 
 ever encountered ! Failing to receive 
 a diploma after toiling so long and 
 hard is discouraging, certainly; and 
 I returned completely disheartened. 
 But uncle's ' I told you so,' and mam- 
 ma's tearful allusion to fate, brought 
 me to my feet again, and, aided by 
 Maum Anna's tonics, I stand ready 
 for battle once more. 
 
 " Now, my dear chum, my adopted 
 sister, will you write to Mr. Walton, 
 inquiring if there is any position in 
 Philadelphia that I can fill; that is, 
 any he can obtain for me without 
 trouble. Perhaps you know of a 
 country school I could get near you. 
 I am willing to undertake anything 
 that will pay for board and clothing, 
 until I have experience enough in 
 teaching to command a larger salary. 
 I am writing a long story, for which 
 I expect to be well paid. Give my 
 best love to your good mother, and 
 remember me to Jamie and Jack. Of 
 course you will let me know as soon 
 as you hear from Davy. Write im- 
 mediately to your true friend, 
 
 "DORA MONTGOMERY." 
 
 Miriam read the letter aloud to her 
 mother and Jamie. "There's no use 
 in bothering uncle ; he was talking 
 to Miss Caldwell about her going to 
 Philadelphia I think he tried to get 
 a position there for her and I heard 
 him say there were ten teachers to 
 every situation. But you are a school 
 director, Jamie; don't you know of 
 an opening ?" 
 
 "Yes; I have no teacher engaged for 
 this district; but is Dora competent?" 
 
 "Competent? James Morgan, what 
 a question !" 
 
 "Oh, I don't doubt she has enough 
 book - larnin', as Bill would say, but 
 that is only a part of the requirements 
 for a public-school teacher. She must 
 have firmness, tact, knowledge of 
 child - nature, and a vast amount of 
 self-control. You know I have quite 
 set my heart on making this a model 
 school. I have the house built to suit 
 me without taxing the people; and 
 now I propose to have a teacher who 
 will carry out my methods." 
 
 " You dear old fellow ! if that isn't 
 just like you ! You will reform the 
 world, give you time enough." 
 
 "My will is a sufficient lever; but, 
 like Archimedes, I have no fulcrum, 
 sister;" and his face saddened. "Yet 
 I will do all I can. That reminds me, 
 Mira, will you take charge of the li- 
 brary Saturday night? The folks 
 come from five miles around to get 
 books, and I cannot leave the store, 
 there are so many accounts to settle 
 that evening." 
 
 " Of course I will, or anything else 
 I can do to assist you. How does 
 the temperance society flourish ?" 
 
 " Good ; nearly every man, woman, 
 and child around here are members ; 
 but that reminds me, I must write to 
 a lecturer to come next week Friday. 
 It is our anniversary, and we propose 
 to have a cold-water convention, or 
 oblation. It is Jane Rodgers's sug- 
 gestion, or Mistress Kent's, I should 
 say, and I promised to see it 
 through." 
 
 " Which means you will do two- 
 thirds of the work, brother." 
 
 "No; Jane always does her share,
 
 132 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 and Jack will assist. I have some 
 letters to write yet, so good-night." 
 
 " But, Jamie" 
 
 " Oh yes ; you wish to know what 
 to write your friend. What do you 
 think, mother?" 
 
 " I think Miriam better ask her to 
 come and make us a visit, with an 
 idea of taking the school if you find 
 her fitted for it." 
 
 " "Well, perhaps that is best ; though 
 it might be rather awkward to decline 
 her services." 
 
 "And you ought to let her know 
 the teachers board around." 
 
 "Oh, mother!" 
 
 " I would be glad to have her with 
 us, daughter; but the salary is so 
 small she cannot afford to pay for her 
 board, and your father would not con- 
 sent to her staying for less than two 
 dollars a week." 
 
 A look of contempt and disappoint- 
 ment swept across Miriam's flushed 
 face. 
 
 Jamie looked annoyed : " I will see 
 that her salary is sufficient to pay for 
 her board ; and if you think she can 
 adapt herself t'o the position, she shall 
 have the school." 
 
 Miriam's arms were clasped around 
 his neck. 
 
 " Thank you, dear," he said, giving 
 kiss for kiss. "It seems like home 
 to have you with us once more. Oh, 
 tell Miss Dora I shall be in New York 
 week after next, buying goods ; if she 
 will come to the Merchant's Hotel, I 
 will be her escort to our home." 
 
 "That will be just splendid! I'll 
 write to-morrow." 
 
 "Now, good-night, my sister; good- 
 night, mother." 
 
 Tears filled the eyes of each as they 
 parted. All thought of Davy, but 
 none had courage to speak his name. 
 
 "Where is he? Why do we not 
 hear?" was the burden of every heart. 
 
 The next day was cold and windy. 
 A storm of mingled rain and sleet 
 dashed against the windows, and the 
 pine-trees waved their long arms in 
 reckless defiance of the tempest. Ja- 
 mie came from his room in the store 
 to the early breakfast, looking sad and 
 tired. 
 
 " You did not sleep well, my son ?" 
 his mother said, resting her hand ten- 
 derly on his forehead. 
 
 " No ; and I have a long ride before 
 me." 
 
 "Not to-day?" 
 
 "Yes, mother. Matthew Bryon is 
 sick, and has sent for me." 
 
 "But you are half sick yourself!" 
 
 " No ; only one - third," looking up 
 with a smile that irradiated his face. 
 " Don't worry about me, mother ; I 
 am only a little under the tceather, 
 and shall put on my oil -cloth suit 
 before I ride out into it. Besides 
 doctoring old Matt, I have collections 
 to make before going to buy goods. 
 Father will be away attending a law- 
 suit while I am in New York. I do 
 wish he would stop litigation and at- 
 tend to business !" 
 
 " Can Jack attend to the store ?" 
 
 " Yes, he understands my system of 
 book-keeping, and can keep the men's 
 time ; but he will need help to wait 
 upon customers. Can you spare Mir- 
 iam when trade is brisk ?" 
 
 " Yes. Is this property nearly paid 
 for, Jamie?" 
 
 "Hardly five hundred dollars back
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 133 
 
 now, mother. I can make half that in 
 the store, and father ought to make 
 the rest with his lumber, besides 
 paying his lawyer's fees and costs of 
 suits. You will be glad when it is 
 paid, mother ?" 
 
 " Yes, my son, for the place does not 
 seem our own until there is no debt 
 resting upon it." 
 
 " It is a grand estate ! Look which- 
 ever way you will, the land is all ours ; 
 ride for miles up the creek, or down 
 the river, it is all ours! But you do 
 not look at all elated, mother?" 
 
 "My son, I remember l The earth is 
 the Lord's, and the fulness thereof? 
 We are only his stewards, put here to 
 dress and keep it. I never felt like 
 saying one acre of land, one tree, one 
 grass-blade, was mine !" 
 
 "Well, mother, when a man has 
 worked with hand and brain for years 
 to earn a thing ; when he has put his 
 strength and will into it, and the law 
 at last proclaims it his, he is ready to 
 believe he owns it. It is not land 
 only that I glory in : we have the 
 finest tannery within fifty miles ; three 
 saw -mills cutting lumber night and 
 day; a store doing a flourishing trade; 
 and a more intelligent, virtuous lot of 
 workmen were never got together. I 
 tell you, mother, it is something to be 
 proud of!" And Jamie rose from the 
 table with flushed face and eyes spar- 
 kling. 
 
 " '0 my inheritance, how wide, how fair! 
 Time is my wide seed-field : 
 Of time I'm heir!'" 
 
 exclaimed Miriam, who had entered 
 in time to hear Jamie's last words. 
 " Are we rich, Jamie ?" 
 
 " We will be, if I live ten years 
 
 longer. But I must be off now ! It 
 will probably clear up by noon. I'll 
 be home to supper." 
 
 "Jamie never cared for Dora, did 
 he, mother?" Miriam stood by the 
 window, watching her brother ride 
 away into the pitiless storm. 
 
 " Care for her f He always seemed 
 to enjoy her company." 
 
 " Yes ; but he never thought of her 
 as a wife ?" 
 
 " No. Does she care for him in that 
 way ?" 
 
 "No, mother, I'm sure she never 
 did ; but Davy Davy imagined they 
 would be married ! Let me show 
 you his letter, mother. Dora always 
 read Davy's letters, and she read this. 
 Oh, how she cried ! She loved him 
 so ; and he never told her how he 
 felt !" 
 
 Tears were raining down the faces 
 of the mother and sister, as they read 
 the mistaken, misguided boy's last 
 message. 
 
 " But he will come home, mother; he 
 is out on the ocean now ; but he will 
 come back again !" Miriam's face 
 was lighted with a glad smile, that 
 shone strangely through her tears. 
 
 " Yes, my daughter ; Davy is pure, 
 brave, unselfish. God will lead and 
 guide him, and I trust my family will 
 all be united again. But your moth- 
 er, Miriam, your mother is growing 
 old." 
 
 A quick gasp, and Miriam gazed 
 searchingly into her mother's eyes, 
 while a look of horror and defiance 
 crept over her face. 
 
 "Daughter, I am very weary of 
 this earth-life. If it were not for my 
 children, I should have asked my
 
 134 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 Saviour to take me long ago. Duty 
 and love have kept me so long ; but 
 a few short years will finish my work, 
 and I can go home." 
 
 "And leave me ? Oh, mother !" 
 " The Saviour who has kept me will 
 keep you, my daughter. He has a 
 work for you to do. While I can 
 help you, I shall stay. But you must 
 learn to go to him for strength, com- 
 fort, and counsel, my child. Your 
 mother cannot lead you much far- 
 ther ; I do not even know your way, 
 or your work, my darling. I have 
 taught you to be faithful in that 
 which is least, and I know you will 
 be faithful to God's great trusts." 
 
 Miriam's head drooped lower and 
 lower, until, slipping from the stool to 
 the floor, she buried her face in her 
 mother's lap. The thin, toil-hardened 
 hands rested upon the glossy braids 
 of hair. " My daughter, I have long 
 desired an uninterrupted talk with 
 you, and this stormy day has brought 
 it. Do not think because I speak so 
 seriously that death seems very near ; 
 it does not. I feel quite as well to- 
 day as I have for months ; and I may 
 live on for years. But, daughter, you 
 are a woman now, and must face life 
 bravely without faltering, knowing 
 your own powers, and realizing your 
 responsibilities. I have always felt 
 you had a mission in life different 
 from most women. God has given 
 you beauty and genius, Miriam, as he 
 has given you feet and hands, that 
 you might do the work that is before 
 you. Bestowing his best gifts, he re- 
 quires best work. Fit yourself for it, 
 daughter ; read the best words of the 
 best authors; think often of Jesus 
 
 Christ,' the best man; study to make 
 each act and desire what he will call 
 best. Oh, daughter, when I look at 
 you and think of life its miseries, its 
 disappointments, its regrets, its bur- 
 dens and labors I have felt as though 
 I must take you in my arms and 
 shield you, or carry you away from 
 earth with me ! But my Saviour has 
 given me more trust in him. I see 
 how every burden develops strength ; 
 the disappointments leave us wiser; 
 the trials bring endurance and cour- 
 age with them; and the spirit in us 
 is purified, invigorated, glorified ! It 
 grows into a higher life even here, 
 and made fit for heaven and God. 
 Now, my daughter, go to your room 
 and bathe your swollen eyes. We are 
 alone for dinner; so the morning is 
 yours for study, and practising music." 
 
 Miriam arose slowly, pressed one 
 long, earnest kiss on her mother's lips, 
 and went up-stairs. 
 
 By one of those climatic changes so 
 common in the Northern States, the 
 summer sun shone hot upon the earth 
 before the winter's snows had gone. 
 The mountain streams, released from 
 icy fetters, came rushing down the 
 hillsides, overflowing the mill-ponds, 
 and endangering the dams. The riv- 
 er rose above its banks, and, surround- 
 ing the piles of lumber and bark, 
 threatened to sweep all away. 
 
 Mr. Morgan was still from home. 
 Jamie mounted the swiftest horse, 
 and rode to the upper mill to remove 
 the sluice -boards from the dams. 
 Morris, with the tannery men, was re- 
 moving leather from the drying-house 
 to higher ground, when Jack ran from 
 the store, shouting,
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 135 
 
 "Bill, send a man to row a boat. 
 If those lumber -piles are not tied, 
 they'll go off!" 
 
 "Can't help it; leather's worth 
 more 'n lumber!" the answer came 
 back on the south wind ; and that in- 
 stant a low seething roar was heard, 
 and the brook grew smooth with its 
 added power. 
 
 "The water's raising again. I'm 
 afraid a dam's bursted ! Do send me 
 some help!" 
 
 " Can't spare a man ; wish I had 
 fifty more. Something's got to go !" 
 
 Jack caught up the coil of rafting 
 rope, and ran to a boat tied below the 
 mill, now some rods from the shore. 
 Miriam, watching from her window, 
 flew down the stairs, and never paused 
 until, springing upon a slab, with a 
 board for a paddle, she had pushed 
 her craft beside his. 
 
 " Now, Jack, I'll row. You 'tend to 
 the lumber. Can you tie that pile to 
 this beech-tree? All right, that '11 
 hold ! Now, Jack, the other !" 
 
 Soon the sawed lumber was se- 
 cured ; but huge logs came leaping 
 over the dam, and floated by them 
 down the river. 
 
 "If we could make a boom and 
 save them. It's a blamed shame to 
 lose them big rafting logs !" Jack ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Well, let's make one ! There are 
 bows and plugs in the shed; and I 
 can row /" 
 
 Jack leaped to shore; was back 
 again with pike -pole, auger, axe, 
 plugs, and bows. 
 
 " Don't know as we can git it done 
 quick enough to do any good ; but ef 
 the middle dam has broke, the logs 
 
 will come down till morning. An 1 ' 
 has ! That's Long John's mark. He 
 brands hisn" (letting the logs float by). 
 "An* here's a Morgan" (catching the 
 smooth pine stick) ; " I'll hitch this to 
 the bank: it's a good one to begin on." 
 
 They worked until the sun sank be- 
 hind the hill and the cold mist began 
 to rise from the river. "Just a few 
 more logs and we are done. We've 
 saved a good many thousand feet of 
 lumber, Miriam, but I'm afraid you'll 
 be sick. Bill might 'a spared a man ; 
 but he's so mad about your father's 
 going off, he'd let the lumber go to 
 Guinea. A man couldn't done no bet- 
 ter 'n you have, though, Miriam, brave 
 girl! I " He stopped suddenly. 
 " Hand me the axe and a plug ! Now 
 here comes a sixteen-foot stick : row 
 east a little steady so. Here she 
 comes !" And the sharp pike descend- 
 ed in its side ; and Miriam rowed back 
 to the long line of logs that stretched 
 across the mouth of the creek. 
 
 The last stick was fastened, and 
 Jack, taking the rower's seat, pulled 
 the boat to shore. 
 
 " The water's falling," Miriam said ; 
 "unless there is a dam undermined, 
 there is not much damage done." 
 
 " Not more than a hundred dollars' 
 worth of our lumber gone; but, unless 
 the sawyer got off the slush-boards be- 
 fore Jamie got there, it will cost con- 
 siderable to get that mill in order." 
 
 Miriam entered the house with wet 
 feet and muddy skirts; but her face 
 was flushed with triumph : "Did you 
 see us, mother ?" 
 
 " Yes, daughter ; you did well. But 
 bareheaded, and no shawl ?" 
 
 "I could not row with a shawl,
 
 136 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 mother, and I had not time to get my 
 hat. I just flew /" 
 
 " I heard you. Here comes Jamie, 
 wet, cold, and tired. Poor boy ! he is 
 doing the work of three men." 
 
 The mill was much injured, the 
 dam gone, and several days were 
 spent in obtaining a millwright, re- 
 moving flood-trash, restoring order as 
 fast as possible, and getting business 
 to run smoothly before leaving to pur- 
 chase the spring goods for the store. 
 With pulse at fever-heat, a heavy pain I 
 in his head, and every bone and mus- 
 cle filled with a burning ache, Jamie 
 left home for a week's exhausting la- 
 bor in the city. 
 
 "The smartest business man of his 
 age I ever knew," an old merchant 
 said as Jamie left his office. 
 , " Not a more shrewd buyer in the 
 market," another remarked, as he re- 
 ceipted the long bills of Morgan & 
 Sons. "Nor a more honest man," he 
 added, remembering how Jamie cor- 
 rected an error which was in his own 
 favor. 
 
 Night after night he dragged him- 
 self to his room, threw himself ex- 
 hausted upon the bed, and, too tired 
 to sleep, went over and over the 
 transactions of the day ; the business 
 at the store, the tannery, the several 
 mills ; each creditor's account, circum- 
 stances, and intentions ; the books 
 needed in the library; the drugs used 
 in his practice; the goods yet unpur- 
 chased; and, like a minor chord vi- 
 brating through every strain, thoughts 
 of Davy, " dear brother Davy." 
 
 "A lady to see you, sir," the clerk 
 said, as the fifth day ended, and he 
 wearily entered the office. 
 
 " There's some mistake, I think. I 
 know no ladies here." 
 
 "She has just arrived, and asks for 
 you ; better go up to the parlor and 
 see her." 
 
 " There's some mistake," he mutter- 
 ed, following the clerk to the parlor 
 door. 
 
 " Jamie !" The glad voice recalled 
 his consciousness. 
 
 "Dora!" The outstretched hands 
 were clasped in his own. 
 
 The clerk smilingly withdrew. 
 " Guess she is a relation or a sweet- 
 heart ! "Well, it's time somebody came 
 to look after him ; he's one of those 
 fellows who put a week's work into a 
 day, and die young. Hope the lady 
 '11 take him home, or he'll be sick on 
 our hands." 
 
 In a moment the parlor bell rang. 
 The smiling clerk answered the sum- 
 mons. 
 
 "Is there an express train leaving 
 on the New York and Erie Road to- 
 night?" 
 
 " Yes 'm ; one leaves in two hours." 
 
 "Very well. Is there a friend of 
 Mr. Morgan's, or a physician, who can 
 persuade him to go home with me on 
 that train ? He is ill, and should 
 leave the city before he gets worse." 
 
 " Yes 'm ; you are right. I will see 
 that he has good advice immediately. 
 And with your permission, miss, I will 
 pack up his clothes." 
 
 " Thank you ; and bring me his 
 bill, and mine too, please; and have 
 a carriage here in time. Jamie," she 
 said, returning to the sofa where he 
 sat, " let's go home to-night. I am in 
 such a hurry to see your mother and 
 Mira."
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 137 
 
 "No; I'm not through buying 
 goods yet ; you must wait until I fin- 
 ish that bill of crockery, and buy some 
 hardware. I have a list here," and he 
 raised his hand to his pocket. It 
 dropped languidly on his knee, and 
 his head fell back. " Dora, go and 
 call Davy. Tell him I wish to talk 
 business. Tell him I need him, Dora." 
 
 With aching heart and tear -filled 
 eyes, Dora turned to leave the room, 
 as a tall, portly, gray-haired gentleman 
 entered, bowed courteously, and then 
 crossed the parlor to Jamie's side. 
 
 "Ah, Morgan, I'm sorry to see you 
 ill," he said. "You are overworked. 
 Better get home right away." 
 
 " I'm rather tired, doctor, that's all ; 
 haven't slept well in a long time. 
 Give me something that will bring 
 sleep, and I'll finish buying goods to- 
 morrow, and then take a rest." 
 
 " Oh, let the goods go ! Your 
 brother will come down and finish." 
 
 " Davy is gone, doctor." 
 
 "Gone? Where?" 
 
 " I don't know ; no one knows. He 
 came to New York for father; put 
 everything straight in the business, 
 and then left for parts unknown." 
 
 "How? What! not run away?" 
 
 "He wrote me he did not like life 
 on the Delaware ; he never did ; and 
 he did not want to hear objections to 
 his going, nor be coaxed out of it, as 
 he had been before. So he went 
 without our knowledge." 
 
 " Have you made inquiries ?" 
 
 " I came immediately to New York, 
 but could get no trace of him." 
 
 " Strange ! Strange ! He was a 
 venturesome, impulsive young fellow. 
 Perhaps but it's hardly possible! 
 
 Morgan, give me your address ; I 
 may want to write you." 
 
 Jamie took a card from his pocket. 
 
 "And now, Morgan, I want to see 
 you on the night express for home. 
 You will get there early in the morn- 
 ing, I suppose. The lady whom I 
 met came for you, did she not ?" 
 
 " Came for me ? I don't know. 
 Was it mother ? Oh, pardon me, it 
 was Dora. She is coming now. Miss 
 Montgomery, my friend, Dr. Sey- 
 mour !" 
 
 "You know Morgan's family, Miss 
 Montgomery ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, sir ; I am on my way to 
 his home now." 
 
 "Then, as his physician, I advise 
 you to take him home to-night." 
 
 "If he will go?" 
 
 " He must go !" 
 
 . " Will you not accompany us ? 
 There are no skilful physicians there 
 in the woods." 
 
 "Unfortunately I cannot; my pa- 
 tients here would make an ado. But 
 I will prepare a sedative, which you 
 may give when the train starts. He 
 will probably sleep until you get 
 home. Telegraph for the best medi- 
 cal attendant to meet you ; for I fear 
 he will have a severe attack of brain- 
 fever. You are all ready ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; and the carriage is at 
 the door." 
 
 " Come, Morgan !" 
 
 Jamie rose wearily, accepted the 
 proffered arm, and, with a dazed look 
 and faltering step, walked down the 
 stairs and into the carriage. Dr. Sey- 
 mour seated himself by his side. The 
 clerk placed a pillow in the carriage, 
 and a small flask in Dora's hand.
 
 138 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 " You will need these to-night," he 
 said, " and I have put a light lunch in 
 Morgan's bag. "VVe shall be anxious 
 to hear how you get home. Will you 
 kindly drop a line to me or the propri- 
 etor ?" slipping a card into her hand. 
 
 " I will, thank you. Good-bye." 
 
 He grasped Jamie's hand ; but no 
 notice was taken of the warm clasp 
 or friendly farewell. They stopped 
 for a moment at a drug -store, and 
 then drove on. Rousing Jamie with 
 difficulty, they assisted him into the 
 ferry-boat, and with even greater dif- 
 ficulty into the car. Seats were turn- 
 ed and cushions arranged, that he 
 might lie down. 
 
 " I will put a counter-irritant at the 
 base of the brain, and give a stimu- 
 lant. Nothing more can be done, un- 
 til he is at home and in bed. Here 
 are some written directions for you : 
 follow them until you procure a phy- 
 sician." 
 
 A long, long, weary night followed, 
 with restless tossing, feeble mutter- 
 ings, and frequent calls for Davy. 
 Little semblance of Jamie in the 
 flushed face, blood-shot eyes, and un- 
 combed hair falling over the forehead, 
 as in the gray morning Mrs. Morgan 
 and Jack entered the car. A hurried, 
 grateful kiss on Dora's lips, and the 
 mother clasped her first - born, best- 
 loved child in her arms. He stared 
 at her vacantly, then said, "There 
 was an unsettled account that ought 
 to be attended to immediately." 
 
 " Jamie." said Jack, " you are home 
 now. Come, we must get off the 
 cars." He closed his eyes, saying 
 "he hoped Davy would come soon, 
 for he must tell him something." 
 
 The conductor came. "Morgan, 
 here's your station ; can you walk ?" 
 
 Jamie rose quietly. "Certainly; 
 though I feel rather weak. Jack, 
 how are you? Where are you go- 
 ing ? And mother, too ?" 
 
 "Yes, my son, we came to meet 
 you and Dora." 
 
 " Dora ? Why, when did she come ? 
 Glad to see you, Dora. Are all well 
 at home ?" 
 
 Stepping unaided into the carriage, 
 he sank back helplessly. When they 
 reached the house, he could not be 
 roused. He was carried to the bed 
 Miriam had prepared in the parlor; 
 and for forty -eight hours muttered 
 and moaned, but never rested, never 
 recognized a face or voice of those 
 who watched over him day and 
 night. His father came. Three phy- 
 sicians exercised all their wisdom and 
 skill, but Jamie was DO better. It 
 was Sabbath morning : his mother sat 
 beside him, his father stood near, and 
 Miriam knelt upon the floor. He open- 
 ed his eyes those deep -azure eyes 
 and looked long and tenderly into 
 his mother's face. " I'm going away, 
 mother," he muttered, feebly. " Go- 
 ing out of this life into the other life. 
 Don't be sorry : it is better so. Mira, 
 all of my work that is worth doing I 
 leave to you. My property I give 
 to father, do you hear ? I give my 
 share to Miriam: let her carry out 
 my plans. Davy will cpme by - and- 
 by." 
 
 A long silence. Then, while the 
 repressed sobs tore every heart with 
 agony, he murmured again, " Tell all 
 the folks good-bye. I love them all. 
 Father, be patient, be gentle. Com-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 139 
 
 fort each other: you will be lonely 
 now. Mother, mother, we will meet 
 soon !" 
 
 One quick, fluttering breath, and 
 Jamie was gone ! 
 
 Why attempt to describe the scene 
 that followed the bitter anguish, the 
 unavailing regret ? The father walk- 
 ed the floor, crying, " Oh, I put too 
 much upon my boy ! I ought to have 
 done more myself. Oh, Jamie, my 
 son, come back ! come back!" While 
 the mother, as pale as the dead in the 
 next room, lay stunned and silent be- 
 neath the blow. Miriam moaned like 
 one in physical pain: "Both gone! 
 both my precious brothers gone ! Oh, 
 it cannot be true !" 
 
 Again and again she went into the 
 parlor, raised the curtains, so that the 
 sunlight might fall on the white face, 
 folded back the sheet, and gazed long 
 upon the clay that was no longer Ja- 
 mie. Acquaintances, neighbors, utter- 
 ed their well-meant words of consola- 
 tion, but they fell on deafened ears. 
 What mockery ! how meaningless 
 they seemed ! The day for burying 
 their dead came at last. Dressed 
 in garments of mourning, they sat 
 around the coffin. About them were 
 Jamie's business associates from the 
 city, neighbors who had known him 
 from boyhood, workmen whom he 
 had helped to live honest and pure, 
 acquaintances from near and far 
 friends all of them, honoring, admir- 
 ing, loving the intelligent, upright, 
 enterprising man so unexpectedly tak- 
 en away. 
 
 The burial - service was read ; a 
 hymn falteringly sung ; then they 
 carried him out into the spring sun- 
 
 shine, and one by one walked around 
 his narrow bed to take a last look at 
 the pale, peaceful face. A sleep most 
 placid and profound had sealed those 
 earnest eyes, closed the loving lips, 
 stilled forever those active hands. It 
 was not Jamie lying there ! A long 
 procession followed the body to its 
 burial upon the hillside, beneath wide- 
 arching trees. Apple -blossoms and 
 fragrant ferns were showered upon 
 the coffin as they lowered it into 
 the grave ; then the mourners turned 
 away. Oh, the desolate house ! the 
 empty rooms ! Oh, the anguish of 
 folding away garments to be used no 
 more ! the weariness of every-day du- 
 ties that will not be dismissed ! 
 
 "Mister Morgan is completely 
 broke down," the neighbors said, 
 noticing his stooped form and whi- 
 tening hair. But there was no re- 
 laxing of the stern face ; no soften- 
 ing in the arrogant voice. Serving 
 customers, inspecting leather, measur- 
 ing lumber and in making bargains, 
 there were the same keen glance and 
 imperative tone. With his family he 
 sat silent, unapproachable. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan arose from a sick-bed 
 with a face so radiant with perfect 
 peace, and eyes so expectant of bliss, 
 that all seeing souls were gladdened. 
 " Our Saviour has shown me how 
 right it is, how best for all that Ja- 
 mie should go," she said one day. 
 " And I ? I am only waiting." 
 
 One by one the duties of life were 
 laid down ; day by day she grew 
 weaker. 
 
 "I do not mean to be an invalid, 
 daughter. I had rather be found 
 working when the Master calls me;
 
 140 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 but as I have no strength for plan- 
 ning, nor earnest effort, let me keep my 
 hands busy and be some help to you." 
 
 " Oh, the blessing of work !" Mir- 
 iam exclaimed as she toiled in the 
 kitchen from morning until night. 
 "If the imperative needs of our bodies 
 did not press us so closely, our hearts 
 would break and pur minds go wild. 
 
 "Dora," she said one day to the 
 friend who did a sister's duties and 
 received a sister's love "Dora, I 
 want to tell you all Jamie's plans for 
 a school ; and then, if you like, you 
 can begin teaching in the new house. 
 I know you have been anxious to talk 
 about it, but I couldn't introduce the 
 matter before." 
 
 The next Monday morning, the chil- 
 dren were called together, and with 
 earnest, tearful words the young teach- 
 er began her labors. That evening, 
 at Mrs. Morgan's request, the melo- 
 deon was opened, and Jack joined 
 them in an evening hymn. Then Mir- 
 iam arose and accompanied her moth- 
 er from the room. 
 
 Jack looked after them earnestly. 
 '"Twon't never be the same here 
 again," he said, "nor anywhere about 
 this place. The business suffers ; but 
 that ain't the worst of it. The library 
 'sociation met t'other night, and the 
 secretary tried to read some resolu- 
 tions, but broke down ; then, with sob- 
 bing you could hear all round the 
 room, they voted on 'em, and went 
 home. I locked the door, and that is 
 ended! The temperance union was 
 goin' to have a celebration, but of 
 course they've giv' that up. There's 
 four or five ol' soakers Jamie just 
 hung on to an' kept up; they'll go 
 doicn now! There'll be liquor sold 
 here in less 'n a year, you'll see !" 
 
 "But can no one keep up these so- 
 cieties ?" 
 
 " Mister Morgan can't ; he don't see 
 the necessity. I can't ; it ain't in me. 
 I can run the store, or a mill, or a raft ; 
 but I can't run a society ! Missis 
 Morgan sees the why of this afflic- 
 tion ; but, to me, se6rns 's if the Lord 
 had made a mistake."
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 'Sudden rest may fall on weaned sinews; 
 Workers drop and die the work continues. 
 God names differently what we name failing ; 
 In a glory mist His purpose veiling." 
 
 IN the quiet of a summer's evening 
 Miriam wandered up the mountain 
 path where she ran so gayly when a 
 child, with Bruce, her faithful dog, by 
 her side. "They are all gone now," 
 she murmured, sadly. " My old play- 
 mate is dead long ago ; Jamie safe in 
 that far-off heaven ! and Davy, oh, 
 where is he ?" She sank on the moss- 
 covered ground, and buried her face 
 in her hands. An approaching step 
 startled her. 
 
 " Forgive me, Miriam, for following 
 you," Jack said, "but here's a letter 
 I want to show you, 'thout anybody's 
 knowing it. One come a spell ago 
 from the same person. 'T\vas wrote 
 to Jamie, but I opened an' answered 
 it. Yesterday I got this. Maybe 
 there hain't nothing in it maybe 
 there is ! Thought you ought to 
 know 'bout it anyhow." 
 
 The letter was from Dr. Seymour. 
 After brief regrets at the sudden 
 death of so useful and noble a man 
 as his valued friend, he added, " The 
 fact of David Morgan's departure 
 about the time of the expedition's 
 leaving New York (which I mention- 
 
 Miss MOLOCK. 
 
 ed in my letter to his brother,' and to 
 which you replied), led me to think 
 so adventurous and inexperienced a 
 youth might have become inveigled 
 into the secret and dangerous enter- 
 prise. In fact, from information I was 
 already possessed of, I was aware that 
 a young man answering his descrip- 
 tion had been induced to make one of 
 the required number; though I was 
 ignorant, and am still, of the youth's 
 name or residence. The object of the 
 expedition was to recover a large 
 amount of gold buried in an island 
 lying south of Cuba. Its amount 
 and exact location are secrets in the 
 possession of the leaders of the party, 
 and no others. The money was re- 
 covered from a Spanish vessel wreck- 
 ed on the coast years ago. That the 
 effort to capture the treasure was dis- 
 covered by the Cubans, and the Amer- 
 icans driven off or captured, I inform- 
 ed you in a previous letter. I have 
 since learned that those in command 
 of the schooner escaped, and proba- 
 bly sailed for South America or Mex- 
 ico. If David Morgan was in this 
 expedition, and escaped, you will un-r
 
 142 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 doubtcdly hear from him in the course 
 of a few months." 
 
 The vision of that winter's night 
 came to Miriam's mind. "I do not 
 know what to think, Jack. I feel as 
 though it was true." 
 
 " So do I !" he exclaimed ; " and yet 
 it sounds like a made-up story : going 
 off to look for buried gold." 
 
 "'A bank of gx>ld!' Why, those 
 were his very words ! He was leav- 
 ing the banks of the Delaware to seek 
 a bank of gold. And he was one of 
 those going to shore ! Oh, if he was 
 captured !" 
 
 "He wa'n't! I'm just dead -sure, 
 Miriam, that he got away, an' is gone 
 to some fureign country. All we've 
 got to do is jist keep up our spirits 
 an' wait patient till he gets home 
 again. I'll bet he'll think there 
 hain't no better place 'n this, after 
 all." 
 
 The next mail brought a letter 
 from Dora's brother, forwarded from 
 Philadelphia: "That you should be 
 forced to relinquish the coveted di- 
 ploma is unfortunate, no doubt ; but 
 not half so bad, in my opinion, as the 
 loss of your health. Go to the home 
 in the Delaware hills immediately. 
 In Mrs. Morgan's kindly care I shall 
 feel safe about you; for her counsel, 
 her presence even, will restore every 
 good thing hope, health, happiness. 
 She was the ideal woman of my ear- 
 ly manhood ; and knowing one such 
 woman lives in God's world has 
 made much good seem possible to 
 me, when I saw and heard nothing 
 but evil. There is not a day of my 
 eventful life even though I had no 
 conscious thought of Mrs. Morgan 
 
 that has not been influenced by her 
 counsel, blessed by her prayers. Her 
 daughter may be beautiful, intelli- 
 gent, all your partial affection de- 
 scribes her ; but if she possesses one 
 tithe the goodness of her mother, she 
 is a girl worth a man's travelling 
 three thousand miles to see, even if 
 he had not the best sister in the 
 world to attract him in the same di- 
 rection. Briefly, if my next sale of 
 stock equals my last $6480, cash 
 I shall leave my ranch in the care 
 of my partner and Antonio, to come 
 North. A schooner is anchored across 
 the bay, and I am going out with 
 a boat-load of fresh vegetables and 
 fruits to trade with her crew; possi- 
 bly it may be an opportunity of send- 
 ing this letter to you." 
 
 The schooner was not anchored, 
 but aground on the treacherous, shift- 
 ing sands of the bar ; and the captain 
 hailed Montgomery, as his boat ap- 
 peared, for means of transportation to 
 shore. 
 
 "Don't want none o' your garden- 
 sass," he yelled, in unmistakable Yan- 
 kee accent. " Jest yeou pitch eout 
 them thare greens, an' come 'ith yer 
 boat to take us ashore !" 
 
 "Ay, ay!" Montgomery answered, 
 and, unloading his cargo on the wharf 
 by his boat-house, was soon beside 
 the schooner. 
 
 " Where are your own boats ?" he 
 asked, as he caught the line thrown 
 him. 
 
 "Los' 'em all but one; and that 
 leaks. How much of a place you 
 got 'ere ?" 
 
 " Place ? Why, there seems no end 
 to it. Think of locating ?"
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 143 
 
 "Wall, we ain't certing; we're 
 looking 'round. Any Greasers here ?" 
 
 "A few; we haven't been troubled 
 with them, nor with Indians either." 
 
 " How long ye been 'ere ?" 
 
 " Long enough to get five thousand 
 head of cattle, and seven hundred 
 sheep, a well-watered ranch, and com- 
 fortable cabin." 
 
 "How many is thare of ye?" 
 
 "Enough to protect our stock from 
 thieving Mexicans or Comanches." 
 
 " Wall, we've got aground here, an' 
 the tide won't lift us till arter mid- 
 night. Kin ye take us hum 'ith ye 
 for supper; or ain't yer wife ready 
 for comp'ny ?" And the big, burly 
 men about him laughed at their cap- 
 tain's joke. 
 
 One man stood alone his broad- 
 brimmed hat pulled low over his 
 forehead, and his eyes fixed earnestly 
 on the shore. 
 
 Giving a few orders to the crew, 
 the captain swung himself into the 
 boat. " Come, Delaware !" the 
 young man looked up "a sniff of 
 land breeze '11 hearten ye up; come 
 ashore !" 
 
 Four other men sprang into the 
 boat; and Montgomery rowed to 
 land, and led the way to a log-cabin 
 surrounded by a stockade fence. Two 
 fierce-looking dogs sprang up; then, 
 seeing their master, stopped at the 
 gate-way, growling threateningly. 
 
 "Be quiet, Danger! Lie down, 
 Ctesar! Enter, gentlemen, and wel- 
 come to Rancho Delaware ! Antonio, 
 what have we for supper ?" A sallow- 
 faced boy, with long black hair hang- 
 ing to his shoulders, and deep -set, 
 heavy-browed eyes, looked at the six 
 
 strangers entering. "The schooner 
 was aground ; these men are come to 
 eat with us. What have you ?" 
 
 " Guajolote, tortillas, pulque." 
 
 "Good. Stir up a hoe-cake, and 
 make some coffee ! If you wish to 
 take a look at the country, gentlemen, 
 come up to my observatory." 
 
 He led the way up a ladder to the 
 roof of the house. The outside logs 
 had been carried up about three feet 
 on each side above the nearly flat 
 roof, forming an excellent breastwork, 
 in case of an enemy's attack, and a 
 convenient outlook for the fortifica- 
 tion. "This was built when Texas 
 was a republic, and every man had to 
 defend his own castle. I have no idea 
 we shall ever be attacked, but there 
 is no harm in keeping ready for bat- 
 tle. With this glass," pulling a tele- 
 scope from under a piece of awning, 
 " I can recognize the face of a friend 
 half a mile away, count my cattle 
 scattered on the prairie, sight a sail 
 five miles off, or gaze on the stars that 
 shine on my old home. Sitting in this 
 arm-chair of my own manufacture, or 
 swinging in this hammock, I see vi- 
 sions, and dream dreams, as all lonely 
 men do." 
 
 Wall, Mister " 
 
 " Montgomery." 
 
 "An' my name's Jones. Wall, Mis- 
 ter Montgomery, you've got the pret- 
 test-layin' farm I ever see anywhere. 
 Them spots o' timber ain't wuth no 
 great amount for lumber; but they 
 set off the country mighty nice." 
 
 " Yes : those mots, as we call them, 
 are more valuable than you think. 
 Water and shade are found there, 
 shelter from the summer sun and win-
 
 144 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 ter winds. But come, supper must be 
 waiting us." 
 
 They seated themselves on the 
 wooden benches around the bare ta- 
 ble. "Roast turkey is not much of 
 a treat to us, as game is very abun- 
 dant," Montgomery said, pushing the 
 platter toward the captain ; " and tor- 
 teelyas are rather too hot, with red 
 pepper, for any but a Mexican's stom- 
 ach. But this poolkii is a drink even 
 a Yankee may delight in cooling, 
 exhilarating, and not intoxicating to 
 any but the weakest heads. But here 
 is coffee, if you prefer it. We have 
 sugar, but no milk." 
 
 "An' thousands o' cows? How's 
 that?" 
 
 " This is not a dairy - farm, you 
 know. Sometimes the boys lasso a 
 cow, tie, and milk her; but she doesn't 
 give enough to pay for the trouble. 
 One cannot have everything, and I 
 am content to sacrifice milk and but- 
 ter for fruits and game. The garding 
 sass you despise, is my chief living. 
 These cresses you never saw their 
 equal in size and crispness. Antonio, 
 bring a basket of grapes. Sorry I 
 have no cigars to offer; but I never 
 smoke, and my partner, who uses to- 
 bacco enough for two, is out branding 
 stock." 
 
 " Wall, you're the first man I ever 
 met 'thout a woman 'at didn't smoke. 
 There's a woman in it somehow, I'll 
 bet !" 
 
 Montgomery looked annoyed. The 
 youngest man of the party, who had 
 spoken but seldom, was looking stead- 
 ily into his face. 
 
 " Yes, I don't mind confessing that. 
 When I was a few years younger than 
 
 you, sir," returning the earnest look, 
 "I was fortunate enough to meet one 
 of those motherly women who are a 
 blessing to the world. What I might 
 have been but for her advice, I do not 
 know. But her words ring in my 
 ears whenever tempted to do a foolish 
 thing, and they have kept me out of 
 many a sin. Were any of you ever 
 on the Delaware ?" 
 
 A significant glance was exchanged. 
 
 " We're from all over, Mister Mont- 
 gomery. I come from little Rhody; 
 Jim Mill's from England he has 
 traded with South Sea Islanders, and 
 harpooned whales." 
 
 " I only asked because I lived there 
 some months. I helped to build the 
 New York and Erie Railroad. But 
 come, let's go and look about the 
 place. If any of you would like a 
 ride, I can give you as good a mount 
 as you'll find in the States." 
 
 The captain declined, saying they 
 must get aboard soon; and, pocketing 
 the money his host had declined tak- 
 ing, he warmly thanked Montgomery 
 for his hospitality. 
 
 "I'm thinkin' of settling down 
 som'ers for a spell. Settin' up a trad- 
 in'-post 'ith the Greasers an' you'uns; 
 just enough to keep my schooner go- 
 in', an' maybe lay up a leetle. But I 
 guess we'd do better to pint toward 
 Mexico." 
 
 " Quite probably," Montgomery 
 said; for he had no desire to see 
 them settle nearer. ("That schooner 
 is too slow a craft for a pirate, and 
 too small for a slaver; but the crew 
 might be anything," he thought, " ex- 
 cept that boy, and he how he got 
 with such a low-down set is a mys-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 145 
 
 tery!") He watched them walking 
 down the beach, the young man and 
 the captain talking earnestly. Mont- 
 gomery untied his boat and waited 
 for them. While the rest were still 
 talking, the young man walked hasti- 
 ly forward : 
 
 "Mr. Montgomery, if not asking too 
 much, would you take me on board 
 later in the evening? I have the 
 captain's permission to stay on shore 
 an hour or two, and accept your invi- 
 tation for a canter over the prairies." 
 
 Montgomery looked keenly into the 
 half -averted face. "If they meant 
 rascality, they would have trusted it 
 to a cooler head," he thought. "I 
 shall be glad to have your company, 
 young man," he answered, pleasantly. 
 "And as for the row, that will be no 
 task at all." 
 
 The lighting-up of the youth's face, 
 the joyous sparkle in his eye, gave 
 assurance to Montgomery that no ill 
 was intended, and that the pleasure 
 given was tenfold greater than any 
 inconvenience caused him. The cap- 
 tain uttered a few words in too low a 
 voice for any but the ears intended. 
 The young man's face paled, and a 
 look of scorn and sorrow curved the 
 lips just shaded by a brown mustache. 
 
 " He wants to get away from those 
 villains, and, Heaven helping me, he 
 shall !" Montgomery muttered, as, 
 springing into the boat, he seized the 
 oars, and calling them to "jump in," 
 they were soon at the schooner's side. 
 
 " Bring that thare boy o' mine back 
 'fore the tide turns, mister. I was a 
 tarnel fool for lettin' him stay; but 
 he's be'n sick the hull v'yage, an' 
 thinks a ride on a hoss '11 kincly put 
 10 
 
 some heart in 'im. Bring 'im " 
 But Montgomery's rapid strokes had 
 carried him beyond speaking distance. 
 
 The sunset had scarcely paled when 
 silvery moonlight flooded the earth. 
 The horses were eager for a gallop. 
 The prairies stretched before them, 
 smooth as a well-kept lawn. " Keep 
 a stiff" rein, and look out for rabbit 
 burrows," Montgomery said, and away 
 they flew. 
 
 Only once, a horse broke through 
 the sod to his knees, and touched his 
 nose to the ground. The rider threw 
 himself back the horse sprang was 
 up and away in an instant. 
 
 " Many a man gets pitched over his 
 horse's head by those hidden rabbit- 
 holes," Montgomery said, as they 
 paused to breathe their horses on a 
 rise of ground. " Was there ever a 
 lovelier scene ! That grimy old craft 
 of yours is beautified by this light ; 
 and the Gulf seems a sparkling, quiv- 
 ering mass of silver. How fragrant 
 the air is ! Accustomed to flowers of 
 every color and shade, I never had no- 
 ticed what a variety could be found 
 in a small space, until, trying to de- 
 scribe them to my sister, I concluded 
 to send her specimens. It hardly 
 seemed possible to her ; but in a space 
 not more than five feet square I found 
 twenty-two varieties." 
 
 "Your sister is East." 
 
 "Yes: she has been at school for 
 some years ; but her home is in Vir- 
 ginia. I would be a happy man if I 
 could have her with me; but this 
 rude life, with only cow-boys for com- 
 pany, will never do for a lady. I 
 hope to go home and see her soon. 
 Why, what ails you, boy ?"
 
 146 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 His head had dropped forward, and 
 his face was covered by his hands. 
 Deep sobs seemed to shake his inmost 
 soul. By a terrible effort he choked 
 them down, brushed the tears from 
 his face, and said, huskily, "Theo! 
 don't you know me ? I am Davy 
 Morgan." 
 
 After the surprise, the joyful greet- 
 ing, came a long earnest talk. 
 
 "I will never go on board that 
 schooner again if I die for it ! I can- 
 not go back home to hear taunts and 
 sneers, and be linger orders all my 
 days. And I would be watched by 
 members of this gang, and the detec- 
 tives too, whenever I went to the city. 
 Until I have done something to be 
 proud of at least, until this affair has 
 blown over, and I can go home unsus- 
 pected and independent I shall not 
 go at all. Just as much obliged for 
 your offer, Theo, but I can't do it ! 
 You write to your sister, of course ? 
 And she is to be with Miriam this 
 summer is probably there now;" he 
 swallowed hard, and pressed his hand 
 to his brow. "Do not mention my 
 name to her; do not let her know you 
 have seen me." 
 
 "Is that treating your mother 
 right ? Think how she must be 
 grieving " 
 
 "Stop! haven't I thought of it 
 when tossed up and down by that in- 
 fernal old craft out there ? Thought 
 of it until it seemed my heart would 
 burst ! But what good would it do 
 her to know I was a vagabond? 
 What comfort to be told I was dodg- 
 ing the police, and a marked man 
 among a gang of cut-throat robbers. 
 When I am fairly out of this scrape, 
 
 when I get into some honorable em- 
 ployment then I will write to moth- 
 er. But I had rather she would think 
 me dead than know the truth !" 
 
 "Are not your fears exaggerating 
 the real crime and danger? The hid- 
 den treasure is no doubt regarded as 
 lawful spoil by the men ; and though 
 some of them are now captives in 
 Cuba, I do not imagine the Spaniards 
 will search for those who escaped : 
 nor does it seem likely that our Gov- 
 ernment .will trouble itself about the 
 matter at all. The best thing for you 
 to do is to go to Austin and get in 
 some business. There are many 
 things a strong fellow, educated as 
 you have been, can turn his hand to. 
 The horse you ride can carry you 
 there in two days. You shall have a 
 hundred dollars to start with. No, not 
 a word ! You shall not leave without 
 it, and you can return it in your own 
 time. Now we will ride back to my 
 cabin and prepare for your journey." 
 
 " But the schooner" 
 
 " Has floated off long ago. But did 
 the captain tell the truth about the 
 boats?" 
 
 "Yes, two were captured; the oth- 
 er got a hole knocked in her stern." 
 
 "Too leaky to trust on a smooth 
 sea?" 
 
 "Yes; we had no way of getting to 
 shore until you came and took us off." 
 
 "Then you are safe from them for 
 the present: and as they intend to 
 keep by the seaboard, you have only 
 to stay inland. I have no idea they 
 will trouble you. You do not know 
 the exact location of the gold, and 
 you have no information to give that 
 docs not implicate yourself as much
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 14' 
 
 as them; so why should they pursue 
 you?" 
 
 Davy made no answer. They had 
 reached the mound where they paused 
 before. The Gulf of Mexico lay 
 stretched out before them, with not a 
 sail, not a boat in sight. The schoon- 
 er had gone. 
 
 "They must have hoisted all sail, 
 and swung off at the turn of the tide. 
 Thank God, she's gone ! and I pray 
 I may never see the craft or crew 
 again." 
 
 Without rousing his partner or An- 
 tonio, both being soundly asleep in 
 their bunks, Montgomery fed the 
 horse, packed the saddle-bags, folded 
 and strapped two heavy blankets, put 
 six Spanish doubloons and some sil- 
 ver coin in a leathern belt, which he 
 forced Davy to wear underneath his 
 garments. 
 
 "I had better give you a bill of sale 
 for the horse, as he is well known in 
 these parts; and I should hate to 
 have you arrested for stealing him. 
 You would be better off in the old 
 schooner. These Texans are a rough 
 lot; but just let them know a man 
 means to deal fair, and live honest, 
 and there's no kinder, nobler, more 
 generous people on earth. Now, 
 good-bye, Davy. Write to me when- 
 ever you get .a chance to send a letter 
 this way. I may get half of them, 
 and that's a comfort. Oh, by-the- 
 way, I was writing Dora when I dis- 
 covered your sail ; I thought it might 
 be an opportunity of sending the let- 
 ter to New Orleans. Now, will you 
 mail it for me at Austin? I wish you 
 would let me add a postscript, saying 
 you are here. I really feel as though 
 
 they ought to know, Davy. Well, 
 well, we won't argue the matter; 
 only, if you think better of it, you 
 may slip in a line, or, better still, send 
 a letter to your mother. Now, here is 
 a chart of your way. The stars will 
 guide you to-night, and to-morrow 
 morning you will see the Colorado on 
 your left from there a plain trace 
 will guide you to Austin. Put a line 
 in the post-office announcing your ar- 
 rival, and it will reach me after a 
 while. Here are letters of introduc- 
 tion that will help you to work of 
 some kind ; you will not be particular. 
 Now take care of yourself. Good- 
 bye !" 
 
 The long, long journey was ended ; 
 and Davy rode up the wide sandy 
 streets of Austin in the blaze of a 
 mid-day sun, the reflected light from 
 the white-rock buildings sending flash- 
 es of pain through his eyes. Dis- 
 mounting at the post-office, he took 
 the letter to Dora from his pocket. 
 How he longed to write one word ! 
 Oh, to think of this paper being clasp- 
 ed in her hands, pressed to her lips ! 
 This little fragile thing if it could 
 speak, if it could tell them whose 
 heart had kept it warm for more than 
 forty hours of hard riding, and brief 
 resting, across the wild, lonely coun- 
 try. For the terror of being pursued, 
 the anxiety to find work and repay 
 the debt to his friend, and be in a 
 position to write to the loved ones 
 at home all this had spurred him 
 on ; and as he stood at the post-of- 
 fice door, with bridle-rein over his 
 arm, the horse drooped his head wea- 
 rily. Two men eyed him closely. 
 
 "That's so; that's ol' Blucher,
 
 148 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 sure's a gun ! An' he's be'n put 
 through faster 'n an honest man 
 ought to ride. Stranger," he said, 
 coming up to Davy, who still stood 
 gazing at the letter in his hand, 
 " what '11 you take for that cow- 
 pony ?" 
 
 Davy stared. " The horse ? I don't 
 care to sell him, thank you ; at least, 
 not until I'm sure I have no use for 
 him. Can you tell me where I can 
 find a gentleman named Lemar ?" 
 
 " That's my name, stranger Louis 
 Lemar ? Jess so ; reckon I'm the man 
 you're inquiring for." 
 
 "Are you a friend of Theodore 
 Montgomery ?" 
 
 "Wall, I'm all that, an' a little 
 more. We're sort o' related. Did 
 he send you to me ?" 
 
 "Here's a letter he gave me for 
 you;" and as Davy put it in his hand, 
 he told a negro boy to hold his horse, 
 and entered the post-office. A brief 
 note to Montgomery was written, and, 
 with Dora's letter, given to the clerk. 
 
 "So you are one of the family 
 Bruce has told me about ? And 
 you've come to Texas to seek your 
 fortune ! I'm glad to know you, sir, 
 glad to know you ! This is Major 
 Lally, Mister Morgan. An old soldier 
 of '42. An' he-he-he! ha-ha-ha! 
 why, he an' I took you for a horse- 
 thieffact, sir ! he-he !" 
 
 The jolly red face of Colonel Le- 
 mar grew crimson as he laughed. 
 "Now, you are coming right home 
 with me, and make one of our family 
 till you look about you. Here, you " 
 to the negro "take that horse to 
 my stables, and tell Tom I sent him. 
 Major, come along, come along !" 
 
 But that gentleman excused him- 
 self, and Davy and his new friend 
 walked up the street toward the 
 Capitol. The stage dashed by them 
 and stopped at the post-office. The 
 mail-bags were thrown out, some pas- 
 sengers alighted. A thick letter ad- 
 dressed to Bruce T. Montgomery was 
 added to the pile of papers and Davy's 
 note. Ten days later it was opened 
 at the Rancho Delaware. It was 
 written by Dora in the first hours of 
 their bereavement : 
 
 " Can ypu imagine how desolate 
 the place seems with Davy gone and 
 Jamie dead ? If it were not for my 
 school, and unceasing efforts to assist 
 Mira, I could not stay here ! Poor 
 Mrs. Morgan sits by the window look- 
 ing toward the store all day long. 
 She sometimes walks to the gate and 
 leans upon it, as though waiting for 
 some one to come. Her hair has be- 
 come perfectly white a soft silvery 
 white and her eyes have such an 
 expectant, trustful radiance in them, 
 that her whole face seems beautified. 
 Mr. Morgan is quite the same, only 
 more silent and sad. Poor man, I do 
 pity him ! Dear Miriam bears all so 
 bravely. She does nearly all the 
 work of the house, has rearranged 
 Jamie's library association, and hopes 
 to again establish a temperance un- 
 ion ; but several members have broken 
 their pledge, and the others seem dis- 
 couraged. Jack aids her all he can, 
 but it is unpleasant to have their 
 names continually associated. If 
 Davy were only here ! The business 
 needs his attention, and the family 
 need his company and care. Not one 
 word have they heard from him, nor
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 149 
 
 a trace of his whereabouts been 
 found." 
 
 The next morning Montgomery 
 started for Austin ; but Davy had 
 gone. 
 
 "He got restless," Colonel Lemar 
 explained, " an' thought he might find 
 what he wanted farther west. Platte 
 was going to San Antone had a lot 
 o' freight to take over. Morgan took 
 a deck-passage on the driver's seat. 
 He ! he ! he ! Reckon he'll see Tex- 
 as ! ha ! ha ! ha ! Gone as a freight- 
 er ! What ! bad news for him ? Sor- 
 ry, sorry ! Nice fellow. Can't do 
 anything for him till Platte comes 
 back. Reckon Morgan will come 
 back with him. Can't tell, though. 
 Can't tell. May go on to Goliad." 
 
 Montgomery awaited Platte's re- 
 turn, but Davy was not with him. 
 He had joined a party of Americans 
 and Mexicans going to inspect some 
 silver mines. 
 
 Three months passed. 
 
 Montgomery, with eye to his tele- 
 scope, was standing upon the roof 
 of his cabin, looking across the prai- 
 rie. 
 
 The steady " lope " of an approach- 
 ing horse brought news, or a friend. 
 Either would be most welcome, for 
 the steel - blue haze on the horizon's 
 edge foretold a w r et norther; and a 
 three days' storm without occupation 
 or company was a dreary prospect. 
 " It is old Blucher !" and, hoping to 
 meet Davy at the gate - way, he ran 
 down-stairs. 
 
 A stranger swung himself off the 
 horse. " How-de, capt'n? how-de? 
 Brought some letters and documents 
 to ye. Some's from Colonel Lemar, 
 
 an' some's from a young fellow in San 
 Antone de Bexar." 
 
 "David Morgan?" 
 
 " I reckon so. I was comin' to the 
 capital, an' promised him I would 
 drop down on ye, ef I could, an' tell 
 you ' how-de ' for him. He sent mon- 
 ey to pay for yer horse ; but the col- 
 onel said he had no use for the animile, 
 an' Morgan hadn't had no good of 
 him, so he reckoned I better carry him 
 down yer, an' you could keep the mon- 
 ey or the horse, or both, ef ye liked." 
 
 Davy's letter assured Montgomery 
 of his health and increasing prosperi- 
 ty: "I have a small store keep an 
 assortment that suits senoritas, min- 
 ers, cow-boys, and planters. Have, as 
 I promised you, written mother, and 
 hope their anxieties on my account 
 are long since relieved. But I have 
 received no reply from any member 
 of the family, though I have since 
 written to Jamie and Miriam." 
 
 A letter was written that evening 
 while his guest was dozing by the 
 fire, to be enclosed with the latest 
 messages from Dora, urging Davy to 
 go with him to the States. For 
 Montgomery's preparations were all 
 made, and he only waited his part- 
 ner's return with a supply of provis- 
 ions before starting on the journey. 
 The rain poured in sheets, the wind 
 and waves roared when morning 
 came, and the traveller was storm- 
 stayed for another day. 
 
 "I must get out o' this before sun 
 up to-morrow," he said, after he and 
 Montgomery had finished their stories 
 of the war with Mexico and quarrels 
 with the Greasers. " Let's have a 
 game of seven-up."
 
 150 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 "Very well; I've no objections to 
 cards, but I never gamble." 
 
 "Do you mean you'll play 'thout a 
 stake?" 
 
 "If you like." 
 
 " Why, I wouldn't play 'thout bet- 
 ting something on it, if no more 'n a 
 glass of aguardiente" 
 
 " But I never bet, my friend ; so I 
 fear a game would be poor amuse- 
 ment. My library is limited, but here 
 is a book that was given me by Mor- 
 gan's mother years ago. Let me read 
 a little from it : 
 
 " ' come, let us sing unto the Lord : let us 
 make a joyful noise to the Rock of our salva- 
 tion. 
 
 "'Let us como before his presence with 
 thanksgiving, and make a joyful noise unto him 
 with psalms. 
 
 " 'For the Lord is a great God, and a great 
 King above all gods. 
 
 " ' In his hand are the deep places of the 
 earth : the strength of the hills is his also. 
 
 "'The sea is his, and he made it: and his 
 hands formed the dry land. 
 
 "'O come, let us worship and Bow down: 
 let us kneel before the Lord our maker. 
 
 " Tor he is our God ; and we are the people 
 of his pasture, and the sheep of his hand. 
 
 " 'To-day, if ye will hear his voice, harden 
 not your heart.' 
 
 "Living alone as I do, with my 
 sheep and cattle around me, I take 
 great delight in reading of the old 
 patriarchs and their pastoral lives. I 
 fancy this country must be similar to 
 Judea. Knowing that the strength 
 and beauty of the earth is a part of 
 the Life Eternal that made and keeps 
 us, gives an added glory to the flow- 
 er, and more grandeur to the ocean. 
 "When going among my flocks, driv- 
 ing them to green pastures and still 
 
 waters, I am glad to know the Lord 
 is my shepherd." 
 
 " Well, Montgomery, I haven't heard 
 a man talk religion outside the pulpit 
 since I left the States." 
 
 "Maybe so, stranger; I don't often 
 talk of God; but somehow the deep 
 voice of the waves makes me feel like 
 it to-night. I have horses out there 
 on the prairie who will not acknowl- 
 edge me as their master, though they 
 know I can bring them on their knees 
 by a lasso whenever I choose. And 
 they know too, or ought to know, 
 that I do them good, and not harm, 
 whenever I ride among them. Now, 
 there's old Blucher ; he was a wild 
 horse on the prairie three years ago. 
 Sired by one of those Kentucky bloods, 
 brought to Texas by the Rangers 
 (probably left riderless on some bat- 
 tle-field), Blncher was as much supe- 
 rior to the Indian ponies as you and 
 I are to the Greasers. Well, how or 
 when he strayed among my herds, I 
 don't know; but he was soon leader, 
 though he had to fight hard for it. 
 But that horse kept unbranded for 
 four years; he would dodge the lasso 
 every time. Tom vowed he'd ride 
 him down ; and nearly knocked up 
 the best cow -pony we had. But 
 one day Blucher got trapped. Can- 
 tering along with his head up, and 
 mane and tail flying, down he went 
 in a ditch of black clay. I saw him 
 with my telescope from the roof. I. 
 was on a pony, and after him in a 
 flash. He jumped, and plunged, and 
 struggled, but my lasso just settled 
 down over his head, and I had him 1 
 He nearly choked to death before he 
 would give up ; and after ho was tied
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 151 
 
 and blindfolded, I found his shoulder 
 was sprained. I corralled him put 
 a stockade around him, in fact, before 
 I got through with ray experiment 
 kept him. blindfolded the first time I 
 batbed him, and then rubbed and pet- 
 ted him fed him sugar and bread, 
 when, he would take them from my 
 hand finally saddled and mounted 
 him, and rode triumphantly to the 
 cabin door. I never had a nobler 
 beast under me, nor one who took 
 more pride in his paces ; and he is 
 handsomer, more intelligent, and a 
 happier horse than if he had never 
 surrendered to a higher power." 
 
 "An' you think a man is just as 
 much improved by owning God as 
 his master ?" 
 
 "More! Just as much more as he 
 is greater than a brute, and the God 
 who made him is higher, holier than 
 we are." 
 
 They sat silent for a long time, 
 facing the fire of muskeet roots and 
 branches, which glowed beneath its 
 many-hued flames, while the wind 
 and rain whistled and beat against 
 the log-cabin; and the waves moan- 
 ed drearily on the shore. But their 
 eyes and ears were closed to the sights 
 around them. Their thoughts were 
 of the past. 
 
 "Montgomery," the stranger said, 
 suddenly, "I don't mind telling you 
 there was a time when I felt as you 
 do. But life's been rough on me. 
 I'd got to thinking religion's all stuff 
 an' blarney ! I know better. I know 
 you've spoke the truth; an', God 
 helping me," he added, rising up, "I'll 
 be a better man. Give us your hand, 
 Montgomery! Now, good-night, The 
 
 storm is dying out, an' I must be off 
 by sun up." 
 
 Montgomery decided to wait until 
 Davy could join him. In a few weeks 
 the answer came. He was shocked, 
 grieved beyond all power of expres- 
 sion at his brother's death, and longed 
 to be at home to give what little com- 
 fort he could to his mother and sister : 
 "But I could not fill Jamie's place. I 
 should only be like a hired hand to 
 my father, as I always was. To be 
 tied down there seems just as irksome 
 to me as ever. I should only go home 
 to leave again ; and if I lose the chance 
 I have now of accumulating a fortune, 
 I may never find as good a one. In 
 a year I hope to go home with mon- 
 ey enough to begin business in some 
 Eastern city. Give them love oh, 
 how commonplace that sounds! I 
 cannot put in words the longing I feel 
 toward my mother and sister. To 
 think of them in the lonely home 
 brings unmanly tears to my eyes. 
 Only a year, or perhaps eighteen 
 months, I can be with them again !" 
 
 How unknown is the future! The 
 messenger who brought the letter to 
 Montgomery carried back another 
 from Miriam. It was dated : 
 
 " Home, October 20th. 
 " Mr DEAK AND OJfLY BROTHER " 
 
 (she wrote), " Could you have seen 
 the joy that one little sheet of paper 
 gave, you could understand something 
 of the agony of suspense we have en- 
 dured. Thank God the message was 
 delayed no longer ! It was morning 
 when it came ; father was in Philadel- 
 phia ; Dora had gone to her school ; 
 mother was sitting in her usual place
 
 152 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 by the window in the easy-chair Jamie 
 bought for her a year ago; and which 
 you remember she laughingly told 
 you she would use when she was old. 
 Poor mother ; it was not time, but 
 trouble, that brought old age ! Jack 
 brought the letter to me tremblingly. 
 I put it in her hands. Such a light 
 came into her face ! 
 
 " ' It's from Davy ! my precious 
 boy ! O God, I thank thee !' She 
 held it clasped in her hands, and tears 
 fell from her closed eyes. Then she 
 handed it to me : * Read it, Miriam. 
 Stay, Jack' for he was quietly leav- 
 ing the room and I read your mes- 
 sage. 'It was not all we would be 
 glad to know,' she said, 'but so much 
 is a great blessing.' Again she closed 
 her eyes, and we knew that she was 
 praying for you, with the letter fold- 
 ed in her hands. Jack has had letters 
 from a friend of our dear Jamie, tell- 
 ing about a secret expedition that 
 left New York the same time you did, 
 and we have felt for several reasons 
 that you were in it. Your half-reveal- 
 ed wanderings confirm it. So, in the 
 evening after Dora had again read 
 your letter to mother, I brought Dr. 
 Seymour's letters and read and ex- 
 plained them. 
 
 "Dora was much affected; but dear 
 mother was perfectly calm. She al- 
 
 ways had a subtle insight into her 
 children's hearts that no experience 
 of theirs seemed to astonish or over- 
 whelm. Dora laid her head on the 
 arm of the big chair, and mother's 
 hand rested on her curls. 'It is all 
 right, dear,' she said ; ' trust our Sav- 
 iourit is all right. Davy will come 
 back again with all his best qualities 
 improved. He needed the discipline. 
 Oh, my boy, my boy !' she moaned, 
 ' you will never see mother again !' 
 "That night she rested quietly, 
 though I do not think she slept. She 
 rose as usual in the morning, and 
 walked to her chair. All day her 
 eyes seemed following me, instead of 
 gazing out of the window, as was her 
 habit. Often I stooped to kiss the 
 face so like an angel's, and yet so like 
 our mother's face. She always gave 
 me some sweet word for each caress 
 'Faithful daughter,' 'Precious child.' 
 After a little I saw her eyes were 
 closed, and I thought her sleeping. 
 Dora came from school, and I mo- 
 tioned her to be quiet. The setting 
 sun sent a ray of light to linger on 
 her lovely face. I leaned over her to 
 touch my lips to her snowy hair. Oh, 
 Davy ! my darling brother ! how can 
 I tell you? There was nothing left 
 us but the cold form ! Mother had 
 gone home to God."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ' But love is never lost, though hearts run waste : 
 "Tis sorrow makes the chastened heart a seer. 
 The deepest dark reveals the starriest hope, 
 And faith can trust her heaven behind the veil. 
 
 GERALD MASSEY. 
 
 "Ir really seems, Mira, as if the 
 summer, with Theo's visit, were a 
 dream, and only this snow -shrouded 
 earth and cold fierce winds were the 
 reality." 
 
 The girls were decorating the little 
 school-house for a Christmas festival. 
 
 " There were some days of last sum- 
 mer so full of heart - pain and loneli- 
 ness that it is very real to me, Dora." 
 
 "Ah yes, I know. But even yet it 
 seems, when I walk home from school, 
 as though I should see your mother's 
 face at the window. Reason with 
 myself, chide myself as I may, I still 
 feel disappointed when I come up the 
 path and her calm, sweet smile does 
 not greet me." 
 
 Tears fell on the ferns Miriam was 
 grouping. "Only one thing recon- 
 ciles me, Dora : she was tired of earth 
 and wanted to go." 
 
 There was a long pause, broken only 
 by the crackling of the fire and the 
 moaning of the wind. 
 
 "You have substantial proof that 
 your brother's coming was no dream, 
 Dora." 
 
 "Yes; a bank-book and my dear 
 
 good Liza. Wasn't it the luckiest 
 thing that he stopped at St. Louis and 
 attended that slave-auction? And it 
 was strange she had persisted in 
 retaining her old name when she 
 changed masters. It was the name 
 Liza Lemar attracted Theo's atten- 
 tion ; but she recognized him instant- 
 ly. Theo said he would have parted 
 with watch and coat rather than re- 
 fuse to buy her and her babies when 
 she pleaded so pitifully. But say, 
 Mira, honestly now, does she work 
 enough to pay for keeping herself 
 and her two pickaninnies ? She nev- 
 er did anything but wait on table 
 and dress me at uncle's, and she has 
 been a field-hand ever since ; and that 
 Jerry is a precocious little imp. It 
 was a perfect imposition in Theo bring- 
 ing them here." 
 
 "I do not complain. Liza is for- 
 getful, but grateful ; more respectful 
 than a white servant, and quite as in- 
 telligent. I do not expect to get all 
 the cardinal virtues to live with me 
 for their board and clothes. Jerry is 
 more amusing than a menagerie of 
 monkeys and kittens combined, and
 
 154 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 Elsa is as pretty as a doll. I am sat- 
 isfied with my bargain, and so is fa- 
 ther since Liza has taught Jerry to 
 bring him his pipe and slippers when- 
 ever he sits down in his easy-chair. 
 Last night, while you were at Bes- 
 sie's, he taught Jerry to sing * Yankee 
 Doodle,' and actually took little Elsa 
 on his knee." 
 
 " I am delighted if your father finds 
 amusement in Liza's encumbrances. 
 Do you know, Mira, I feel very sorry 
 for your father? Jack says there are 
 notes for over four thousand dollars 
 falling due next month ; and he 
 doesn't know where a dollar of it is 
 coming from." 
 
 " Dora, I have heard that story ever 
 since I was born ! The boys never 
 proposed any pleasure involving a 
 dollar's expenditure, but the debts 
 of thousands were opposed. Moth- 
 er never suggested an improvement 
 which would save her strength or 
 add to her comfort, but the protested 
 notes or threatened mortgages loom- 
 ed in view." 
 
 "But the notes Jack mentioned 
 were chiefly endorsements, where Mr. 
 Morgan, with the kindliest motives, 
 had gone security for his friends." 
 
 " When a man endorses a note, he 
 knows what it means. If his friend 
 is so hard pressed that he must bor- 
 row, and his credit requires bracing 
 by another's credit, what reason has 
 the man for thinking his friend will 
 be able to pay the note when due? 
 He seldom asks ; he only hopes. Yet 
 when forced to meet it, he grumbles 
 and growls as if, by his signature, he 
 had not agreed to do this very thing. 
 I tell you, Dora, this credit system of 
 
 doing business is disgusting and dan- 
 gerous a series of frauds which often 
 deceive the deceivers." 
 
 " But how can it be avoided ?" 
 
 " By four letters : C, A, S, H." 
 
 " But if you could not get cash ?" 
 
 " Then I would take its equivalent. 
 For instance, when I took lumber or 
 leather to market, I would return 
 with goods for the store, hides for 
 the tannery, or comforts for home, in 
 their place." 
 
 "And if a friend asked you to en- 
 dorse a note for him ?" 
 
 "I would answer, 'My friend, by 
 putting my name here I promise to 
 pay for you so much money. You 
 do not ask it as a gift, so what will 
 you give me as a full equivalent?'" 
 
 "An equivalent? that mean's a 
 mortgage or something, I suppose." 
 
 "No: real estate might depreciate, 
 so that I would lose my money ; then 
 I could not pay my obligations, and 
 other people would suffer; or perhaps 
 I could not sell the property at all. 
 He must give me a cash equivalent 
 for the note." 
 
 "And if he said, ' What you require 
 would give to me now the needed 
 amount?'" 
 
 " I would answer, ' Friend, that is 
 also my opinion !' " 
 
 Both girls laughed as they tacked 
 the wreaths of colored mosses and pa- 
 per vases of pressed ferns upon the 
 white walls. 
 
 "Maybe you would not find it so 
 easy to transact business in that way 
 as you fancy, Mira." 
 
 "Perhaps not; I would like to try 
 it. But this I do know, Dora : if a 
 Avoman took such risks in her house-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 155 
 
 hold duties, the cloth for every gar- 
 ment would fall short in the cutting, 
 and not a meal would be ready in 
 time." 
 
 "That may be all true. I never 
 gave it a thought before, innocently 
 supposing men knew how to manage 
 their affairs in a sensible way. But, 
 unreasonable as it may be, Mira, I am 
 sorry for your father; he looks so 
 care-worn, and seems so lonely." 
 
 "Dora, my dear sister, please do 
 not misunderstand me: I pity my fa- 
 ther from my inmost heart pity him 
 for giving pecuniary credit to stran- 
 gers, and denying affection's credit to 
 his family ; pity him most of all be- 
 cause he would indignantly spurn the 
 sympathy his soul craves ! My fa- 
 ther has a strong, self-reliant nature, 
 and lias battled with adverse circum- 
 stances all his life. Not one desire, 
 not one ambition, has been satisfied ; 
 and now, when age and sorrow are 
 weakening his body, his spirit faces 
 and fights the obstacles just as defi- 
 antly as ever." 
 
 " You mean as bravely as ever." 
 
 " Yes, it is brave ; though I cannot 
 help seeing how easily many obstacles 
 might have been removed ; how diffi- 
 culties were at first only trifles ; how 
 a kindly word might have transform- 
 ed a malicious enemy into a valuable 
 friend ; in short, how much strength 
 and skill have been wasted, how 
 much energy and intellect misdirect- 
 ed : and where arrogance failed, gen- 
 tleness might have won. His un- 
 yielding spirit must need this disci- 
 pline. I do not think the Master has 
 allowed him, or us through him, to 
 suffer too much. And yet, Dora, the 
 
 object of my father's coming into this 
 wilderness, away from all culture and 
 comradeship the object for which he 
 has worked and worried a score of 
 years is slipping from his grasp, and 
 may never be attained." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " This property, which was almost 
 free from debt when Jamie left us, is 
 now badly involved ; to what extent 
 I do not know, nor whether father has 
 any plans for releasing it." 
 
 " My poor Mira ! I did not know 
 the trouble was so serious." 
 
 "It is not the loss of the property 
 I mind, so much as the suspense and 
 the forced inaction. If father would 
 give me a share of the labors and re- 
 sponsibilities of the business, I know 
 I could save him some care and many 
 dollars. But to be forced to idly 
 wait and wonder and dread this is 
 misery !" 
 
 The last festoon of evergreen was 
 arranged, and the girls stepped to the 
 entrance to view the effect. 
 
 "Now fancy the gift -tree in the 
 centre of the platform, with the little 
 candles Bessie's making, all ablaze, 
 and the little lace bags full of candy, 
 and apples and strings of pop -corn 
 loading the branches. What a jolly 
 time those urchins of mine will have !" 
 
 "What is your programme for 
 Christmas-eve ?" 
 
 " Oh, we are to have a chorus from 
 the school, and a speech from Squire 
 Noyes don't raise your eyebrows 
 so of course we must have a speech; 
 the American mind ever demands a 
 speech, and who so able to gratify 
 both juvenile and masculine tastes as 
 the I -flatter- myself squire? Then
 
 156 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 Jack has promised a song, after which 
 a few remarks from Miss Morgan will 
 be in order. No ? Well, then, little 
 Sammy Jenkins will recite ' 'Tvvas the 
 night before Christmas.' That is too 
 funny for anything ! He jumbles and 
 stumbles over the lines at racing 
 speed, never stopping to pick up the 
 dropped words or catch his breath, 
 making the most absurd gestures and 
 funniest grimaces." 
 
 "But why haven't you taught him 
 to say it properly ?" 
 
 " Oh, he learned it at home, and I 
 dare not interfere with Polly's teach- 
 ing. Sam taught the gesticulations, 
 I think. The boy is a perfect per- 
 sonification of Puck. After that per- 
 formance, the goodies will be distribu- 
 ted to all, and my special gifts to the 
 scholars ; then another chorus and dis- 
 missal. Mira, I do believe it is rain- 
 ing' again." 
 
 "I hope not. It's an old saying 
 that if the river shuts up before Christ- 
 mas 'twill break up before New-year's ; 
 but the weather has been so intensely 
 cold, the ice must be very thick, and 
 the river is very low." 
 
 "Jack says a rise in the branches 
 would cause a break-up here without 
 much rain. Just look what a quanti- 
 ty of logs are on the bank, and the 
 board-yard is almost full. What im- 
 mense loads of lumber those teams 
 are drawing !" 
 
 They stood by the window, looking 
 at the dull gray sky, black mountains, 
 and white valley, with snow -roofed 
 buildings and snow - walled paths. 
 Some men unloading sleighs of scant- 
 ling, and adding it to the piles on 
 the river -bank, the blanketed teams 
 
 stamping restlessly in the snow 
 these were the only signs of life. The 
 south wind blew in fitful puffs as the 
 girls walked homeward, and the gray 
 light of evening settled down in the 
 little valley. A crimson radiance 
 swept across the road from the door- 
 way of the blacksmith-shop ; and Jack 
 w r as lighting the lamps in the store as 
 they passed by. 
 
 "Let's go in for a moment," said 
 Dora. 
 
 " You may ; and get the mail if we 
 have any. I must hurry home and 
 get supper." 
 
 A half -hour later Dora and Jack 
 entered. "No more customers to- 
 night," he said, shaking the rain-drops 
 from his coat. "'Twill take the ice 
 out if it rains a day or two longer. I 
 doubled the ropes on them maple 
 rafts this afternoon, though your fa- 
 ther thought it was nonsense. He 
 don't think the ice will go out ; but 
 Long John does, and he's the surest 
 weather prophet I know of. Supper ? 
 Yes, your father heard the bell, but he 
 is posting books. Let's go and try 
 that new music till he comes." 
 
 The songs were sung, the supper 
 eaten and cleared away ; but Jack lin- 
 gered by the fireside, now and then 
 throwing a stick on the blazing em- 
 bers and watching the sparks fly up 
 the wide chimney. Dora had excused 
 herself and gone to, her room. Mr. 
 Morgan wound up the clock, set back 
 the chairs, and entered his bedroom, 
 closing the door emphatically. Yet 
 Jack did not go. Miriam's needle 
 flew in and out of the canvas she 
 was embroidering. The rain dashed 
 against the windows, the wind whis-
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 15; 
 
 tied and moaned at the doors. Jack 
 leaned back in his chair and looked 
 long and tenderly at the fair, earnest 
 face before him. 
 
 "Miriam" the dark eyes looked 
 inquiringly into his " Miriam, it 
 was just twenty -two years ago to- 
 day that your mother put you in my 
 arms. I was a shy, awkward boy, an' 
 you was the prettiest baby ever was ! 
 You looked up in my face an' laugh- 
 ed jest the sweetest little gurgle of a 
 laugh, an' I could 'ave gone down on 
 my knees an' worshipped ye then ; 
 you seemed so sort o' holy! "Well, 
 Miriam, you know how it's been ever 
 sence. Wen you got big enough to 
 go to school, I drawed ye on my 
 hand-sled. I learned ye to skate, an' 
 ride horseback, an' drive ; I whittled 
 out playthings an' tended your flow- 
 ers; I done everything I could to 
 make you happy. No, don't interrupt 
 me, please, Miriam! Don't think 
 I'm mentioning this 'cause I feel 's if 
 you owed me anything ! Heaven 
 knows I've been paid a hundred-fold 
 by seeing one glad smile in your eyes ; 
 an' when you used to come an' nestle 
 your little hand in mine, an' raise 
 them moist rosy lips for a kiss why, 
 Miriam, I'd resk my life my soul 
 for your sake. Oh, don't go 'way ! 
 Miriam, for once, only this once, listen 
 to me ! An' then I'll go 'way, where 
 you'll never see nor hear from me 
 again; or I'll stay an' work on an' 
 keep silent, jest as you say. Miriam, 
 'tain't much I ask." 
 
 She stood before him, flushed, tear- 
 ful, half yielding, half turned away. 
 " Oh, Jack ! oh, my dear, good friend ! 
 I know what you would tell me ; but 
 
 can't you see, don't you feel, what I 
 must answer?" And her hands cov- 
 ered the crimson face as she sank on 
 the stool at his feet. 
 
 " No, Miriam ; you don't know all I 
 have to tell you. 'Taiu't only to say 
 I love you ! Every act, an' word, an' 
 look, has told ye that sence you can 
 remember, an' yet' ye can't know 
 what it means ! Nobody does, 'nless 
 they've seen the sunshine glorified, 
 an' the hull earth look radiant when 
 a woman smiled, an' the earth an' the 
 air seem to lose their brightness when 
 she went away. Oh, Miriam, you 
 don't know nothin' 'bout a man's love ! 
 No other woman has ever attracted 
 me for a moment. You have stood in 
 the place of God to me; my judge, 
 my lawgiver! Anything that could 
 debase me in your sight, I have turn- 
 ed from with loathing ; anything that 
 would make you think well of me, I 
 have tried with all my might to be 
 and do. An' what for, Miriam? I 
 knew you only thought of me as a 
 friend a sort of adopted brother ; I 
 knew you was my superior in every 
 way, an' wa'n't in no way adapted to 
 me nor my life. Yet, Miriam, jest so 
 long as you loved nobody any better; 
 so long as you come to me for help or 
 for counsel now an' then so long as 
 you needed me, Miriam why, I was 
 willing to stay and work on right 
 here." 
 
 "Then why have you spoken now? 
 Oh, Jack! understanding it all so 
 well, why give us both this suffer- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Because I had to: your father 
 told me to speak ! His business is in 
 a bad condition. He needs a junior
 
 158 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 partner to manage the mills. He told 
 me to marry bis daughter an' take a 
 third interest in the business. 
 
 " Don't move away from me, Miri- 
 am ! I told him we did not care for 
 each other in that way. He said he 
 knew I had no bad habits, was indus- 
 trious, honest, and so on, an' that you 
 liked nobody any better. You was 
 a good housekeeper, and I liked you 
 better 'n anybody else. Said he felt 
 anxious to have you settled. He 
 would build a house for you and 
 furnish it. The partnership would 
 begin in January ; our marriage be 
 in the spring." 
 
 Miriam rose and walked to the fire- 
 place, resting her head against the 
 mantel. Jack stood with fingers 
 tightly clasped, and his pale face 
 twitching with suppressed pain. 
 
 "I see what you hate to say, Mir- 
 iam. It hurts you to think of me as 
 your husband ! Be as kind as I could, 
 as wise as I could, 'twouldn't satisfy 
 you, an' thinkin' you ough' to love me 
 more 'n you could would make you un- 
 happy, maybe, an' both of us misera- 
 ble. 
 
 " Well, I won't say no more, never! 
 We'll let things be as they have been. 
 I will do my best in the store, an' help 
 your father all I can. Good -night, 
 Miriam. Don't let this trouble you; 
 you are just the same to me you've 
 always been." 
 
 He opened the door. A gust of 
 rain and wind swept in. 
 
 "Hark! What's that? Not the 
 ice ? It is ! The ice is going out /" 
 
 He rushed out into the darkness 
 ran up the road across the bridge 
 and was rapping at Bill Morris's 
 
 door as Miriam awakened her fa- 
 ther. 
 
 " It can't be the ice !" Mr. Morgan 
 exclaimed. " It is the wind you 
 hear." 
 
 But a louder roar and a crash like 
 a falling forest answered him. 
 
 "It is going ! and twenty thousand 
 feet of lumber will go with it. Good 
 heavens ! haven't I anybody to help 
 me?" 
 
 He rushed from the house, without 
 hat or coat, wildly shouting, " Bill ! 
 Jack! Help here!" 
 
 The wind tossed his appeal to the 
 clouds. The roar from the maddened 
 river grew louder. 
 
 Crash ! crash ! came the ice against 
 the shore ; the trees shivered and fell ; 
 the piles of lumber heaved slowly up- 
 ward, slid downward, and were borne 
 away. Huge logs reared themselves 
 like trees, leaned shoreward implor- 
 ingly, then plunged desperately be- 
 neath the crowding cakes of ice, and 
 were carried on. 
 
 "Bill! Jack!" the frenzied man 
 ran on " the ice is going out ! All 
 hands help!" 
 
 "Yes, sir; we're coming!" two 
 voices answered, as Bill crossed the 
 bridge already upheaved by the 
 flood with a boat-hook in one hand 
 and a lantern in the other; and Jack 
 ran from the store with a coil of rope 
 on either arm. The rain had ceased, 
 and the clouds were rolling and 
 tossing as the moonlight struggled 
 through. 
 
 " Father, father !" it was Miriam's 
 voice " here's your coat and hat ; let 
 me help you." 
 
 She put the unresisting arm in the
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 159 
 
 sleeve. " Now the other, so ; and 
 here's the lantern, father." 
 
 He took it mechanically from her 
 hand, gazing steadily out on the mass 
 of rolling ice as it ground the timber 
 to atoms and shook the ground be- 
 neath his feet. The men were run- 
 ning from one point to another, yell- 
 ing directions which no one heeded, 
 striving to rescue some lumber from 
 the general ruin. In vain ! The ca- 
 bles snapped like cords. The rafts 
 floated away on the swelling waters, 
 and the ice-blocks leaped upon them, 
 tore them stick from stick, whirled 
 and tossed them, and bore them away. 
 The frantic bellowing of a calf, the 
 cackle of hens, and a black mass float- 
 ing by, told them Long John had lost 
 his barn. Now a haystack, now a 
 raft, now a boat went by. The ice 
 reared itself block on block, the blue 
 edges glistening in the moonlight, till 
 they overtopped the highest bank; 
 then fell with a deafening crash and 
 a roar that seemed to shake the sky. 
 Then came a pause and a swift surge 
 backward of the angry waters. 
 
 "Til's damming up!" Big Bill yell- 
 ed. " Now we'll get drownded clean 
 out." 
 
 The men left the lumber and ran to 
 the tannery and mill. 
 
 " It's no use," muttered Mr. Mor- 
 gan, as he tried to follow them. " It 
 will all go ! Wife, sons, all are gone ! 
 Everything's gone." 
 
 " I'm here, father ; you have me." 
 Miriam's arm was around him, Miri- 
 am's face close to his. He did not 
 hear her ; he did not think of her. 
 
 " Please come to the house, father ! 
 There are enough men here now. 
 
 You are all wet and shivering with 
 cold." 
 
 He pushed her aside impatiently. 
 " Go 'way, go 'way ! This is no place 
 for a girl. Go pack up your clothes : 
 the house may go before morning." 
 
 He walked toward the mill, but the 
 bridge had gone. The water already 
 surrounded the tannery, and logs and 
 ice were floating up the valley, borne 
 upon the resistless current of backwa- 
 ter. Then came a low rumbling and 
 a crash, as though the foundations of 
 the earth were rent asunder; one surg- 
 ing, seething moan, and the black 
 waters sucked in every floating thing 
 and rushed away into the mighty 
 river. Every man stared breathless- 
 ly at the two buildings : were they 
 undermined ? and would they fall ? 
 Old Mose's voice shouted a reply, 
 half drowned by the roar of waters : 
 
 "That tha-ur mill won't go. Got a 
 good foundation ; laid it myself. An' 
 the tannery won't go nuther: there 
 hain't no current agin it neow." 
 
 " I apprehend little further danger," 
 Squire Noyes said to Miriam and 
 Dora, as with hands clasped they 
 stared in agony at the destruction 
 around them. 
 
 " Oh, if the mill and tannery are 
 not ruined, we may make up the loss ; 
 but see those scantling rafts, Dora ! 
 all broken into kindling-wood. The 
 labor of months past, the hope for 
 years to come, all destroyed in an 
 hour ! Oh, it is terrible !" 
 
 The overstrained nerves began to 
 yield. Miriam trembled like a tree 
 shaken by the wind. Dora's tears, 
 repressed for a moment by the ago- 
 ny of increased terror, began to flow
 
 160 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 again. " Oh me ! oh me !" she sobbed. 
 " It is too awful ! Everything will 
 have to be sold there's no lumber to 
 pay the debts oh, what shall we 
 do?" 
 
 "Dora" it was Jack's voice, and 
 Jack's face white and aged since she 
 saw it by the evening fire-light look- 
 ed sternly into hers "you'd better 
 go to the house an' have Liza build 
 a fire and get dry clothes ready for 
 Miriam. She'll come when she sees 
 the buildings are safe." He took the 
 unresisting hand in his, and Miriam 
 followed him up the road, while Dora 
 hurried to the house, crying as she 
 ran. 
 
 "The store ain't touched by th' 
 water, Miriam, nor the house nuther; 
 the vats is overflowed to th' tan'ry, 
 and maybe some leather spoilt in th' 
 dryin'-house; but the buildings is all 
 right. Bill and Sam got over the 
 bridge jest as it went off. Lucky 
 they did, for they can get the flood- 
 trash out th' mill : no knowing when 
 they'd a' got over now, fur every 
 stick o' th' bridge went, an' th' boats 
 are all gone. Guess I can make a 
 float an' pole up to the bark -sheds, 
 an' see how much damage is done 
 around there: the flat is washed out 
 some, I s'pose. Them two maple rafts 
 that I put niore ropes on didn't go ; 
 they was shoved up on the eddy lot, 
 an' are all covered up by cakes of 
 ice. Guess when the water's gone 
 down we can pick up a lot o' lumber 
 worth rafting over. Things ain't half 
 so bad as they might be." 
 
 A grateful glance was reward 
 enough for his attempt at consola- 
 tion. 
 
 " I will have breakfast ready soon," 
 Miriam said, as Jack left her at the 
 gate. "Have the men who worked 
 all night come in." 
 
 The crimson light of sunrise tinged 
 the sky and rested on the eastern 
 hills ; the snow-capped rocks glittered 
 like masses of gold. Brighter, fairer 
 grew the morning, while a mist cov- 
 ered the narrowing river, concealing 
 the ruin night and rain had wrought. 
 
 Slowly the white vapor rose, the 
 gilded hills, the radiant sky vanished ; 
 only the faint outlines of home were 
 visible beneath a dull gray sky. 
 
 " How like my life !" Miriam sigh- 
 ed, wearily, as she turned away and 
 entered the house. 
 
 The Christmas holidays were over. 
 The mill had been repaired, and work- 
 men were busy restoring bridges, tan- 
 nery vats, mill-dams, and shops. The 
 monotonous, never -completed labors 
 of house and store went on as usual ; 
 and the school resumed its daily ses- 
 sions. 
 
 One sunlit evening, Dora, walking 
 homeward, stopped at the post-office 
 for the mail. Several papers for her- 
 self and a letter for Mira were given 
 her. 
 
 " It is from Miss Caldwell," she said 
 to Jack. "I'm so glad she has writ- 
 ten at last! We have not heard a 
 word from her since she left the old 
 Sem and went to Philadelphia." 
 
 Miriam read its contents with sur- 
 prise. " Dora, she is going West as 
 a missionary to the Indians ! Did 
 you ever hear anything so strange? 
 With her culture and refinement, her 
 horror of anything rude or vulgar,
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 1G1 
 
 and her utter ignorance of uncivilized 
 customs; why, one -half her salary 
 would support a more efficient mis- 
 sionary than she will make, and " 
 
 " Oh, read the letter to me, and 
 moralize afterward." 
 
 "'MY DEAK MIRIAM, Circumstan- 
 ces which I may never be able to 
 explain, make it necessary for me to 
 leave my pleasant school and all the 
 associations which have made this the 
 happiest year of my life. I would be 
 glad to leave my dearly loved pupils 
 in charge of some one I know and can 
 trust. I have thought of Dora Mont- 
 gomery. If she is with you and is 
 willing to take my position, ask her 
 to come on at once, that I may give 
 her some aid in adopting my meth- 
 ods, which are very successful and 
 highly commended. It will be a con- 
 solation to me, in my exile, to know 
 that one of my most esteemed young 
 ladies of the past, which contrasted 
 with ' 
 
 (" Something has been erased. How 
 different this letter appears from her 
 usual elegant chirography ! I cannot 
 understand it." 
 
 " "Well, read on ; maybe I can.") 
 
 "'You will pardon my evident 
 haste when I tell you I am preparing 
 to go to the Western wilds as a mis- 
 sionary to the Sioux Indians. My in- 
 tentions are as yet kept a secret from 
 my friends and pupils. "When a sub- 
 stitute is found for my school and 
 my preparations are completed, then 
 I will declare my purpose. Let me 
 hear from you by return mail. I 
 trust Dora will accept the situation ; 
 she cannot obtain one more lucrative 
 11 
 
 or pleasant. "With love to you, my 
 dear Miriam, I must close. We may 
 never meet again in this life, but I 
 pray we may see each other in that 
 far-off heaven where the wicked cease 
 from troubling and the weary are at 
 rest. Your attached friend, 
 
 "'ANNA CALDWELL.'" 
 
 " She does not say one word about 
 terms or the number of her pupils," 
 said Dora. "Our methodical precep- 
 tress is excessively flustrated about 
 something. What's that about the 
 wicked ceasing? Somebody's troub- 
 ling the dear little soul. Oh, say, 
 Mira, didn't our uncle Walton get 
 that school for her ?" 
 
 " Yes ; that is, he engaged and fur- 
 nished her school-room, and by his in- 
 fluence obtained the larger portion of 
 the scholars : you know he thinks she 
 has no equal as a teacher. But what 
 do you say to her proposal ?" 
 
 "What shall I say, Mira?" 
 
 "I do not want to prevent your 
 getting a larger salary, or having 
 more congenial society than these 
 woods can furnish, but oh, my sister, 
 it will be very hard to let you go !" 
 
 Dora threw her arms around Mira's 
 neck and kissed her lips. 
 
 " That settles it, you blessed old dar- 
 ling ! I was awfully afraid you want- 
 ed to get rid of me. No, indeed ! Miss 
 Caldwell will have to hunt another sub- 
 stitute. But what in the world makes 
 her leave so desirable a situation, do 
 you suppose ? Is Mrs. Walton " 
 
 "What, Dora?" 
 
 "No matter; it is none of my busi- 
 ness, anyway. But I don't believe it 
 is love for Poor Lo takes her into the
 
 162 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 wilderness. I will write to her this 
 evening." 
 
 "Dora, you know our brothers say 
 they are coming home soon ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "How the pleasure of their coming 
 would be spoiled if you were not 
 here !" 
 
 " Mira, my sister, I don't want to 
 go. I would rather teach these ea- 
 ger-faced, wide-awake urchins than 
 the most refined and fashionable chil- 
 dren in the land. I would not ex- 
 
 change my home here among the hills 
 for any city boarding - house ; and, 
 ma chtre belle sceur, you know there is 
 no society in the world so delightful 
 to me as your own. So let's write 
 our regrets to Miss Caldwell, wishing 
 her all the success possible in her now 
 sphere, and then don't let's say an- 
 other word about it." 
 
 The lamps were lighted, the curtains 
 drawn, and again the little household 
 settled down to the routine of fireside 
 pleasures and daily duties.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 "So long! I announce a life that shall be 
 
 Copious, vehement, spiritual, bold. 
 And I announce an old age that shall 
 Lightly and joyfully meet its translation." 
 
 WALT WHITMAN. 
 
 "THREE years and a half since 
 Theo was here, is it not ? a brief, sad 
 visit ! And now we are going to have 
 both our brothers near us for good 
 and all ! It really seems too good to 
 be true, doesn't it, Dora ? I expect 
 Davy will be changed considerably 
 by four years on the frontier." 
 
 "Yes; 'bearded like a pard,' no 
 doubt." 
 
 "And sunbrowned. But his eyes 
 they will be unaltered such laughing, 
 sparkling eyes Davy has ! But I sus- 
 pect he will find us changed, too. And 
 poor father ! always so strong and ac- 
 tive, to see him sit thei-e helplessly wait- 
 ing for some one's hands and feet to 
 serve him ! Don't you think, Dora, 
 that he can speak more distinctly than 
 when he was first paralyzed ?" 
 
 "I do not know. This morning he 
 told Jack to have the deed of the 
 Wharton place recorded immediately. 
 Jack said, 'Yes, sir,' as he always 
 does ; but I felt sure he did not know 
 one word your father said ; so I fol- 
 lowed him out and explained. It 
 happened to be something of impor- 
 
 tance, and your father seemed so 
 pleased at being understood." 
 
 "Then, really, I suppose he is no 
 better. What a mercy he can speak 
 at all ! If he had been picked up 
 dead when he fell in the store, our 
 whole pi'operty might have been 
 wasted in settling false claims and 
 debts long since paid. I have com- 
 pelled men to give me receipts for 
 money paid years ago, and collected 
 debts Jack said were outlawed. How 
 provoked Davy would be to look over 
 Jack's ledger! There are accounts 
 running into hundreds of dollars 
 against men who own nothing not 
 even the clothes they wear men who 
 are never honest till they must be, 
 and whom Davy never trusted to a 
 dime's worth of anything. But fa- 
 ther, for all he seemed so stern, could 
 never refuse a skilful pleader. He 
 often reminded me of the unjust 
 judge: 'Because this woman troub- 
 leth me,' the request was granted. 
 Yesterday Jack received a new set of 
 books, and a list of names not to be 
 recorded."
 
 164 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 " But what will these people do ?" 
 
 " Learn to be honest, I hope. Do 
 Avith less, and earn enough to pay for 
 it. It is a sin to reduce laborers to 
 paupers. In this lumbering country, 
 where labor is fluctuating, there is a 
 constant tendency to overwork and 
 idleness. Between the rafting seasons 
 there are lands to clear, and fields and 
 gardens to till. Both stock and dairy 
 farms are needed here, and employ- 
 ment and wages are abundant to 
 those who desire them. But this 
 credit system, once introduced, has 
 spread like a weed, destroying the in- 
 dustry and independence of a natural- 
 ly honest people." 
 
 "What did Jack mean by saying 
 you could soon own all the land 
 around you?" 
 
 " That we might sell goods to these 
 men until every acre they now own 
 was covered with debt, and sheriff 
 sales had reduced them to beggary. 
 But by insisting upon monthly settle- 
 ments, the honest will be made frugal, 
 and the dishonest restrained." 
 
 " Maybe they will take their cus- 
 tom elsewhere, my far-seeing, self-sac- 
 rificing merchant !" 
 
 "Perhaps so; but I hope to show 
 them the mutual benefit of indepen- 
 dence. How it degrades these free- 
 hearted, free - spoken lumbermen to 
 fawn around a rich man begging his 
 favor ! They should be as self-reliant 
 as these hills as unflinching in their 
 integrity as these rocks !" 
 
 " You wax eloquent, ma belle. How 
 your eyes shine, O champion of lib- 
 erty ! I could fancy you leading an 
 armed host on to victory." 
 
 " I can only fancy myself stimulat- 
 
 ing the self-respect and encouraging 
 the ambition of a few laborers ; but 
 in these stalwart, loud-voiced men 
 and women, I see courage, energy, in- 
 telligence, which, developed, will be a 
 power in the land for good ; if re- 
 pressed, will be idleness, despondency, 
 and poverty : if misdirected, will grow 
 into recklessness, craftiness, and mis- 
 ery." 
 
 "And that is why you will not sell 
 your inheritance, and go where you 
 would find more congenial associ- 
 ates ?" 
 
 " Yes. You remember Jamie's last 
 words; his work and his lands seem 
 an equal heritage to me." 
 
 A sudden silence fell between them, 
 and the southern breeze filled the 
 room with the fragrance of spring 
 flowers. 
 
 " Dora, what day do you think our 
 boys will come ? Did the postscript, 
 which slipped away so mysteriously, 
 say nothing more definite? Ah, if 
 Davy could see that blush !" 
 
 " What a tease you can be, Mira ! 
 I believe all the stories Davy writes 
 of your mischief when a child. No ; 
 you are as well informed of their plans 
 as I. They are coming from Galves- 
 ton to New York by steamer." 
 
 "They may telegraph their arrival." 
 
 " No ; they will just walk in some 
 evening when my flowers are all 
 faded, the larder empty, and our work 
 scattered about." 
 
 " There is only one way to prevent, 
 Dora. I will keep the larder supplied; 
 you replenish the vases every day; and 
 we will keep our rooms in order." 
 
 " 'A second Solomon ! O wiso 
 young judge, how I do honor thee I'"
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 165 
 
 " I have made the proposal to Bes- 
 sie's cousin. She comes Monday." 
 
 "I am glad of that. You have 
 been kitchen-maid long enough, con- 
 sidering you are an heiress. Morris 
 says you are worth four hundred thou- 
 sand dollars." 
 
 " Me? If I am not worth more 
 than units and ciphers can express, 
 I am poor indeed ! But money is 
 power, and I am glad to possess it. 
 I see so much good to be accomplish- 
 ed by it." 
 
 "A new house built, for instance." 
 
 " Yes, if it can be done without de- 
 stroying this room. These walls 
 this furniture are more sacred to me 
 than church or cathedral. Jack has a 
 plan to submit to our boys when they 
 come. I would not like large rooms. 
 I should be lonely in them when Davy 
 takes you away, as I presume he will. 
 And yet I want a large space that 
 can be brilliantly lighted and warmed 
 witli open fires, to entertain large com- 
 panies the workmen and their fam- 
 ilies occasionally, and other parties 
 when I choose. Then, when Davy 
 and his w r ife, and Theodore and his 
 wife come to see me, I want nice, well- 
 furnished rooms for them." 
 
 "Theo'swife,Mira?" 
 
 "And so I shall need a spacious 
 mansion," Miriam continued, with 
 heightened color, " and several rooms 
 with movable partitions, sliding doors, 
 Japanese screens, or something of that 
 kind. Davy may have some new 
 ideas." 
 
 " What has become of the merchant 
 with a Hebrew countenance who was 
 to come here this spring ? I hear 
 nothing more about him." 
 
 "He was shown the plans for our 
 new store, informed that the timber 
 was at the mill, and the carpenters 
 coming next week." 
 
 "And did that scare him off?" 
 
 " That, and the announcement that 
 the stock would be double the present 
 amount, and the store would be open- 
 ed with a new name." 
 
 " What Miriam Morgan ?" 
 
 "No: Rodgers & Morgan." 
 
 "Jack?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 "Well, indeed!" 
 
 " It is time his services were appre- 
 ciated. He could have received dou- 
 ble the salary father has given him 
 by going to the city; but he stayed 
 here because we needed him. Here- 
 after it shall be for his interest to 
 stay." 
 
 " That will make his mother happy. 
 But if he asks to be partner in a 
 wider sense a nearer connection ?" 
 
 "Dora, Jack and I understand each 
 other. We settled that long ago. 
 We tried to be as brother and sister ; 
 but the feeling lacked something and 
 possessed something not belonging to 
 that relation. Now we are friends in 
 the truest sense of that word." 
 
 "An unsatisfactory relation." 
 
 "To some people, in most circum- 
 stances, but the best possible to us. 
 Think, Dora ; I could not marry Jack. 
 Good as we know he is, his very good- 
 ness would weary me, it is so common- 
 place. His inelegance, which I do not 
 mind' in Jack, would annoy and dis- 
 gust me in a husband. The rare, 
 gentle caresses he gives me are very 
 sweet. If more frequent, or more fer- 
 vent, they would fill me with loath-
 
 166 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 illy mated to my flights of fancy, my 
 luxurious tastes, my earnest beliefs." 
 
 "But if you meet some one just 
 adapted to your views of life one 
 who could sympathize with your po- 
 etic fancies?" 
 
 "I never have. I do not think I 
 ever will You are thinking of your 
 brother, Dora. Oh, you thought your- 
 self very sly ! Now, sister dear, I 
 admire Theo very much ; I enjoy his 
 society ; we have many ideas and as- 
 pirations in common ; but if he should 
 ask me to be his wife, I would wish 
 we had never met ! Dora, I have my 
 own life to live, unfettered by any 
 promise that could bind my future. I 
 have my own duties to perform, un- 
 hindered by any human. A man who 
 would enter my life to obey my will 
 and carry out my plans, I would not 
 marry ; and one who has his own 
 ideas and purposes to develop, I could 
 not marry. So you see, dear, I am to 
 round and perfect my life into a sym- 
 metrical whole: while you, poor de- 
 luded creature, are satisfied to become 
 the better half of a real human man. 
 Now I must go and decoct some dain- 
 ties for the larder, and leave you to 
 decorate the rooms." 
 
 The next day brought the travel- 
 lers. The welcome the girls gave was 
 intended to recompense them for long- 
 missed caresses, and atone for the 
 mother's kisses they would never 
 again know. Mr. Morgan's feeble in- 
 tellect recognized them both, and he 
 tried to utter some word of welcome, 
 but his palsied tongue gave only a 
 low, inarticulate sound, and his hand 
 could not return their greeting. 
 
 "How long has father been in this 
 deplorable condition?" Davy inquired. 
 
 "Almost two years. I wrote to 
 you of it." 
 
 "The letter was never received. 
 Both your letters and Dora's have 
 spoken of him as an invalid, but I 
 had no idea he could be so helpless. 
 What caused it ?" 
 
 " He had worked and worried more 
 than usual ; many debts pressed him 
 heavily, and collections were hard to 
 make. He was settling a long-stand- 
 ing account with some men in the 
 store ; some entries were disputed, and 
 he became very much excited ; began 
 to stammer and falter in his speech, 
 then dropped helplessly to the floor. 
 We thought he was dead when they 
 brought him in ; but day by day he 
 has improved, until he is what you 
 now see him a restless soul, with a 
 feeble mind in a helpless body." 
 
 " Will he never get well ?" 
 
 "No; the physicians say he will 
 never get better. They think he had 
 a slight attack some time ago. Now* 
 he is only waiting the third and last, 
 which is to set him free." 
 
 "And you, dear sister, have all this 
 to bear !" 
 
 She looked up with a calm smile on 
 her fair face. "It is a part of my 
 heritage, Davy." 
 
 "And is he patient?" 
 
 " Usually ; with that repressed, re- 
 gretful look on his face that makes 
 me long to tell him the past is all 
 forgiven; that his liabilities are dis- 
 charged, his credit redeemed, and his 
 chief ambition gratified. Oh, how I 
 wish he could feel the love and sym- 
 pathy I have longed all my life to
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 167 
 
 give him ! But if our affection is de- 
 sired or reciprocated, we can never 
 know it now." 
 
 "Did not the loss of Jamie and 
 mother soften him ?" 
 
 "Not outwardly. The tears, which 
 should have fallen, seemed to congeal 
 in his heart. Suffering irritated him ; 
 when thwarted, he grew defiant. His 
 thoughts, ambitions, affections, seemed 
 all absorbed in the one desire to get 
 property." 
 
 "Yes, and his daily demand was 
 always my will be done. Yet he used 
 to talk of slaving himself to death 
 for his family, when an hour's par- 
 ticipation in our sports, any appre- 
 ciation of our desires and pleasures, 
 would have been worth more to us 
 than all the forests and farms in the 
 county. I suppose he excused him- 
 self to his reason and conscience by 
 thinking of the good the money 
 would do us in our old age. He was 
 putting us through purgatory that 
 we might enjoy heaven ; which sounds 
 orthodox." 
 
 They talked of the condition of the 
 property, of which Davy steadily re- 
 fused a share. Of the needed improve- 
 ments in mills and on farms. 
 
 "I am running the tannery on half- 
 time now," Miriam said, " as leather is 
 falling. But all of the best hands are 
 kept; having comfortable houses and 
 large gardens rent free, with oppor- 
 tunities of doing odd jobs about the 
 home farm. Have you noticed the 
 new street ?" 
 
 " Yes ; how the place has improved ! 
 Do you rent those Gothic cottages ?" 
 
 "They belong to the tannery. I 
 noticed some of the little houses in 
 
 the Row were neatly kept, with an 
 attempt at flower -culture before the 
 door. So I had a new street laid out 
 farther up the hill, and the first cot- 
 tage was built at a venture. Rob- 
 erts was directed to move in; and 
 while the place was neatly kept, and 
 his work satisfactory, the house and 
 lot were free of rent. Then another, 
 as pretty and convenient, but slighly 
 different in appearance, was built, and 
 Henderson moved in. The men un- 
 dei*stood it was a reward of merit, 
 and the Row began to impi-ove in ap- 
 pearance ; rubbish disappeared, and 
 by the time my six cottages were oc- 
 cupied the twenty little houses in the 
 Row were vastly improved. Then I 
 began to help them, and the women 
 and children were delighted. For a 
 month the bell for quitting work rang 
 at five instead of six o'clock, and, 
 through the long summer evenings, 
 hammers and saws, whitewash and 
 paint-brushes, were kept busy. .Ev- 
 ery house has now a summer kitchen 
 and wood -house; nearly all have a 
 porch and blinds ; and each one has a 
 white fence enclosing a garden, two 
 shade -trees, and some flowers. Mor- 
 ris declares the men finished off more 
 first-class leather that month than 
 ever before ; though he grumbled con- 
 siderably over that lost hour when I 
 gave the order." 
 
 "Does the reading-room still ex- 
 ist?" 
 
 "There are two. One has daily 
 and local papers, with agricultural 
 journals and popular magazines : this 
 is self-supporting. The other has re- 
 ligious and scientific journals, maps, 
 charts, and desks for writing. Our
 
 168 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 old picnic -ground has been cleared, 
 and named Our Park. There the 
 women bring their children and work ; 
 the boys and girls play, and their 
 mothers gossip over their sewing." 
 
 "A real Arcadia, Miriam." 
 
 "Not at all. These people have 
 little resemblance to the half- clad 
 shepherds playing on their lutes. Do 
 not think they have become angelic. 
 They have their quarrels and preju- 
 dices. Jack's patience is often ex- 
 hausted by their unreasonable de- 
 mands; and the children vex Dora's 
 righteous soul from day to day." 
 
 "Morris has charge of the tan- 
 nery?" 
 
 "Yes; and Sam Jenkins of the 
 mill. They each own their houses 
 and four acres of land around them. 
 Jane Rodgers's husband is team-boss, 
 and her mother lives with them. But 
 I see father is getting tired, and Jack 
 has come to put him to bed." 
 
 The paralytic's chair was wheeled 
 from the room, and the brothers and 
 sisters gathered around the melodcon. 
 Jack soon joined them, and his violin 
 gave a pi-elude to each verse of Mir- 
 iam's song. 
 
 " Home once more ! 
 
 Welcome back to tree-crowned mountains, 
 Welcome to their pure sweet fountains, 
 
 Home once more. 
 Welcome to the fragrant \vild\vood 
 Where we wandered in our childhood 
 
 As of yore. Home once more. 
 
 "Just the same 
 
 Rolls the deep, transparent river : 
 On its waves the moonbeams quiver 
 
 Just the same. 
 
 Crickets chirr, and \\hippoorwill, 
 Calling from the distant hill, 
 
 Are in name just the same. 
 
 " Yet, how changed ! 
 In the old familiar places 
 We see not the loving faces. 
 
 We are changed : 
 And with sad and weary yearning, 
 Life's hard lessons we are learning 
 
 Oh how strange seems the change ! 
 
 "Where are they 
 
 Who once shared in all our gladness ? 
 Counselled us in all our sadness ? 
 
 Where are they ? 
 
 While each heart in praise rejoices, 
 We are listening for their voices. 
 
 Tell me, pray where are they ? 
 
 "All are here. 
 Not in shadows of the room, 
 Not in chilling midnight gloom, 
 
 Are they here ; 
 
 But in words our hearts still cherish, 
 Deeds which nevermore shall perish, 
 
 They are here, ever near." 
 
 The sweet thrilling voice ceased 
 suddenly. Then the fingers glided 
 over the keys, and the violin caught 
 up the strain, 
 
 "Home, sweet home." 
 
 Other old favorites followed, until the 
 clock on the mantel told them it was 
 time for retiring. 
 
 " Can I have my old quarters in the 
 store ?" Davy asked. 
 
 "Yes: Dora and I have prepared 
 it for both you and Theo, if you pre- 
 fer it." 
 
 " You knew I would : I haven't 
 slept in the house since I outgrew my 
 trundle-bed." 
 
 "It will seem much more like old 
 times to me also," said Theodore. 
 
 Good-night kisses were exchanged, 
 and the three young men left the 
 house, Montgomery accompanying 
 Davy to the room he and Jamie had
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 169 
 
 occupied since boyhood. None of 
 their old treasures had been removed. 
 "Ah, here is my old rifle, and there 
 is my Minerva," pointing to an owl 
 perched above the mirror. "I took 
 that bird from its nest and tamed it, 
 so 'twould come to me when I called 
 its name. How mother has laughed 
 when seeing me stand on the gate- 
 post, with a string of fish in my hand, 
 yelling ' Minerva ! Minerva !' She 
 told me whenever I worked as hard, 
 and called as earnestly for wisdom, 
 I would become an astonishingly 
 learned man. My owl died at last : 
 so I tried taxidermy on her, and put 
 her over the looking-glass. And here 
 are Jamie's books. How near he 
 seems! as if he might enter the 
 room this moment, with the old greet- 
 ing and cheering smile. With fa- 
 ther's quick temper born in both, we 
 never quarrelled but once. Then we 
 each wanted the same thing, and from 
 words came to blows. I had just 
 raised my fist to strike back, when 
 some one caught my hand. It was 
 mother. Oh my, how she looked ! 
 Pale, stern, with such a grieved ex- 
 pression in her eyes, she led us to her 
 room, and, kneeling down with Jamie 
 on one side and I on the other, she 
 prayed. I shall remember that prayer 
 if I forget my name ! We were both 
 crying when she rose. Then she 
 made us shake hands with each other, 
 and ask forgiveness. That was pret- 
 ty severe. I remember Jamie hung 
 back a little, but finally he got it out : 
 'I'm sorry, Dave; pi-please for-gim- 
 me.' Of course I could say it after 
 him ; and then we had to kiss each 
 other. That was a hard one for me. 
 
 I thought kissing rather unmanly at 
 any time; but to be forced to kiss 
 my brother when I was mad at him 
 for neither of us was quite conquer- 
 ed that was rough. But we had to 
 do it ; and the instant our lips touch- 
 ed, why, I loved Jamie as I never had 
 before ! He should have my top and 
 marbles, and everything he wanted ; 
 and we ran off together the two hap- 
 piest boys in the country. We had 
 many a disagreement after that, as 
 boys will; but never again did he 
 give me an unkind word. Oh, Jamie ! 
 oh, mother !" 
 
 Davy threw himself on the bed, and 
 turned his face to the wall. A long 
 silence, in which each thought the 
 other sleeping, was broken by a mut- 
 tered exclamation from Montgomery : 
 
 " If I only could ; but it's no use !" 
 
 " Could what, Theo ?" 
 
 " Oh, you are awake, Davy ? I was 
 thinking of your sister. If I could 
 only win her, life would be worth 
 living; but there's no use trying !" 
 
 "She likes you, Theo." 
 
 " Yes ; I presume she likes a dozen 
 just as well ! She seems to have no 
 thought of marriage." 
 
 " The fact is, Theo, she is too busy 
 to think of lovers ; and she never felt 
 a lack of love." 
 
 "Dora told me she had received 
 many offers of marriage, but declined 
 them all. She said men were contin- 
 ually mistaking her courteous, confi- 
 dential manner for love, and her ear- 
 nest sympathy for a special prefer- 
 ence; not seeing her in general society 
 enough to know it was Miriam's way. 
 The homage of many is worth more 
 to her than the devotion of one."
 
 170 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 "Don't get bitter, Theo. You 
 know nothing would suit me better 
 than to see Miriam your wife ; but " 
 
 " I understand ; you do not give 
 me much hope. Well, I shall not 
 make a fool of myself by whining. 
 We will be the best of friends always. 
 I will win and hold the first place in 
 her esteem ; and if she ever marries, I 
 am confident the happy man will be 
 Theodore Montgomery." 
 
 " Good. Hurrah for you ! Now 
 let's sleep on that resolution." 
 
 The following days were spent in- 
 specting the tannery and mills, sanc- 
 tioning Miriam's improvements, and 
 suggesting further alterations, wan- 
 dering through the woods and up the 
 brook, hunting, fishing, picnicing day 
 after day. 
 
 "Davy," said Miriam, one evening, 
 after Jack's designs for the new house 
 had been discussed and approved, "I 
 want you and Dora married here. 
 This is the bride's home. Her mam- 
 ma is too much of an invalid to care 
 for the ceremony, and her Uncle Le- 
 mar can come here if he will. Now 
 wait until you are established in busi- 
 ness with Uncle Dave, and my man- 
 sion is ready for guests, and we will 
 have a grand wedding." 
 
 He looked at Dora. 
 
 "I think that a good plan, Davy." 
 
 "But it will be a year maybe 
 two !" 
 
 " And am I not worth working and 
 waiting for so long?" 
 
 "That settles it, I suppose, and 
 dooms Uncle Dave and I to months 
 of loneliness. When did Aunt Cla- 
 rissa die ?" 
 
 "She has been dead to all society 
 
 for years. No one but her nurse and 
 physician were allowed to approach 
 her .for months. About five months 
 ago she breathed her last." 
 
 " Where is Miss Caldwell ?" 
 
 "She went West two years ago as 
 a missionary to the Indians; and we 
 have not heard a word from her since. 
 I fear the rough life has proved too 
 much for her delicate form." 
 
 "There you are mistaken. Fron- 
 tier life develops and hardens delicate 
 people, if there is any vim and grit in 
 them; and Miss Caldwell has both, 
 with a keen insight into human nat- 
 ure, and some faculty of adapting her- 
 self to circumstances. She never had 
 half a chance to develop her good 
 qualities among a set of school-girls." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure we exercised her 
 tact and patience to the utmost," said 
 Dora ; " but you speak as though you 
 knew her." 
 
 " I do, by good report. About ten 
 leagues from San Antone is a tempo- 
 rary mission for a tribe of Comanches. 
 A lady has charge, and I am certain 
 it is our Miss Caldwell. I will ask 
 Uncle Dave." 
 
 "He does not know, Davy. He 
 wrote to Miriam asking her address." 
 
 "Then she determined to bury 
 herself, did she ? I fancy I can see 
 through that. Poor Uncle Dave ! 
 poor, conscientious little teacher ! 
 But that will come out right, I'm sure 
 it will. I'm provoked at myself for 
 never riding over to the Mission. 
 Captain Hyde did frequently, and 
 was always talking of Miss Caldwell. 
 Though I recognized the name, and 
 the captain's description reminded me 
 of her, yet I did not suppose it could
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 171 
 
 be your preceptress. Now, however, 
 I ain sure it is. Here's a romance 
 for your next novel, Dora. Sequel : 
 uncle leaves me in charge of busi- 
 ness, and goes to the South-west for 
 his health. He is captured by the 
 Indians ; they tear off his garments, 
 discover a gold trinket suspended from 
 his neck ; they break it open, and are 
 appalled by the face of their teacher 
 their angel looking reproachfully 
 into their eyes; they prostrate them- 
 selves before their captive; they re- 
 robe him ; they convey him to the 
 Mission and present him as a free-will 
 offering to their adored missionary. 
 That is so like the Indians of a ro- 
 mance !" 
 
 " The plot does very well so far ; 
 but I see no need of introducing the 
 hero's business partner into the ro- 
 mance," said Dora, laughingly. 
 
 " No, Davy," added Miriam, " you 
 should be satisfied to live in Dora's 
 history. How perfectly delightful it 
 will be if our hopes are realized you 
 and uncle settled in Philadelphia, and 
 Fred and Theo in New York ! I can 
 spend a part of each winter with you, 
 and you will all come here for the 
 summer. You can treat me to opera, 
 concert, lecture, and drama, and I will 
 supply you with butter, berries, and 
 game. Jack, show Theo your designs 
 for the church. You know the site, 
 Theo ?" 
 
 " Yes ; it was to that point I carried 
 Birdie Thistledown once upon a time. 
 Just there she sprang from my arms 
 and flew away. This front is grand, 
 Jack. I did not suspect you of being 
 an architect." 
 
 "Oh, I'm a jack-of-all-trades and 
 
 master o' none. Mis' Morgan used 
 to be always talking 'bout having a 
 church here, an' I began to sketch 
 plans for her. Every time I went 
 down the river I'd go and see some 
 cathedral or big building, an' study 
 up their 'coustics an' arkytexyer. 
 Las' spring Fred an' me went up the 
 North River a ways, an' see a church 
 they're puttin' up, to cost more 'n 
 a hundred thousand dollars. An' 
 'twon't be so pretty as ours, after 
 all. Mister Morgan is agoin' to fur- 
 nish a memorial window, an' Fred 
 says he'll send us the pulpit an' altar. 
 Now, you'd better give us the carpet 
 and cushions." 
 
 "Jack," Miriam said, quickly, com- 
 ing to the table, " will you see Sam 
 Jenkins about those shade -trees? I 
 want them set out this fall maples 
 from Morris's house to the end of the 
 Row, and pines the entire length of 
 Cottage Avenue. Can you think how 
 pretty our village will be, Theo, with 
 the vivid coloring of the maples on 
 the lower road overlapping the ever- 
 greens higher up the hill, and the 
 houses through the trees ?" 
 
 "Yes, Miriam, it is a beautiful place ; 
 but, with all your improvements, it 
 cannot be more charming than when 
 I first saw it." 
 
 "No, I do not expect that. No 
 landscape could be lovelier than the 
 view from that hillside. I remember 
 standing there, with Bruce by my 
 side, long years ago, and thinking 
 what a delight that scene must give 
 its Creator." 
 
 They walked to the window facing 
 the moonlit valley. "I cannot make 
 the scene more beautiful than when
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 you first saw it. To make beauty 
 keep pace with utility is a constant 
 study. How strange seems the law 
 which destroys the lower to build the 
 higher ! To create, we must destroy. 
 Our stone-quarry has ruined that love- 
 ly cascade ; our lumber trade is ruin- 
 ing our forests. Art and science are 
 built on the ruins of nature, and yet 
 they perpetuate nature in more effec- 
 tive forms." 
 
 "How? here, I mean how does 
 your mill and tannery, destroying so 
 much loveliness, serve to perpetuate 
 or elevate nature ?" 
 
 " This little valley is a small bit of 
 God's manufactory, Theodore ; and 
 these men and their labor resemble 
 artists and art as the iron ore re- 
 sembles the engine. Yet because we 
 are, they are." 
 
 " We ! How you identify yourself 
 with your surroundings ! I never 
 thought so imaginative a child could 
 become so practical a woman." 
 
 " Nor I, Theo ; but in accepting the 
 inevitable, I strive constantly to make 
 the best of it, which means much to 
 me, infusing the ideal into the real. 
 So, while these people are practical 
 plodders, they may become earnest 
 thinkers. Each human is a trinity, 
 Theodore. We have the physical, in- 
 tellectual, and spiritual natures com- 
 bined. Each of us is stronger in one 
 than the others. As some seeds de- 
 velop roots before expanding into 
 leaves or blossoms, so most people 
 expand their consciousness from the 
 lower nature into the higher. Bes- 
 sie's little Mary is a child whose spir- 
 itual nature seems out of all propor- 
 tion to her physical and mental. She 
 
 cannot reason; she only feels. Al- 
 ready she sees visions and dreams 
 dreams. She must take deeper root, 
 or earth cannot hold her long." 
 
 " Do you regard such a being as the 
 highest order of creation ?" 
 
 "The highest is the most useful. 
 The being best fitted to its sphere, 
 most in harmony with its surround- 
 ings, must be the highest, I think. In 
 that sense little Mary is certainly not 
 the best type of our species. Yet 
 she is necessary to counterbalance the 
 physical in her parents. Have you 
 seen Big Bill walk about the place 
 with that child in his arms ?" 
 
 "Several times. "What a contrast 
 she is to the big, burly fellow. He is 
 very tender of her." 
 
 "She teaches him many things. 
 The shrewd, sagacious fellow never 
 noticed the difference between the 
 rustle of the oak and the whisper of 
 the hemlock, never saw the mimic for- 
 ests among mosses, or the down on 
 a butterfly, till she discovered them. 
 The Lord's earth is lovelier since this 
 gentle interpreter came to their home." 
 
 " "What do you think of the evolu- 
 tion theory, Mira ?" 
 
 " I see how things are evolved the 
 higher from the lower ; and I see how 
 things are involved the higher into 
 the lower. Science goes up step by 
 step, tracing the development of nat- 
 ure to its source. Revelation shows 
 the spirit infused downward, step by 
 step, into the lowest forms of exist- 
 ence: the development of the min- 
 eral into the vegetable kingdom, the 
 growth of the vegetable into the animal 
 kingdom. This is no myth to me ; for 
 as I take the tiniest grass -blade or
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 173 
 
 frailest insect iii my hand, I see vitali- 
 ty, and trace it back to God. Begin 
 with this triune being, man," she con- 
 tinued, smiling up in his face, " in whom 
 the Creator breathed eternal life, and 
 trace the flow of the infinite downward ; 
 or begin with the zoophyte, and trace 
 the development upward, what differ- 
 ence in the conclusions ? We only 
 trace two sides of an oblong circle." 
 
 "Then our failing to comprehend 
 the subject is caused by believing too 
 little, not too much." 
 
 "I think so. Many things ceased 
 to be mysteries to me when I dropped 
 the leading-strings of prejudice, and 
 walked on untrammelled. My reason 
 rules my intellectual nature, but my 
 spiritual is guided by faith ; so I be- 
 lieve what I cannot understand." 
 
 "You always used to demand the 
 what and why of everything," said 
 Theodore. 
 
 " Yes ; and was a great annoyance 
 to every teacher but my mother, who 
 always encouraged my inquiries. She 
 taught me how the sensations which 
 enter the five gates leading to the 
 mind are transformed into thoughts ; 
 and I have since learned how they 
 travel through the avenues of the 
 mind out into the highways of one's 
 spiritual nature, on, on beyond our 
 power of speech. Then, when fretted 
 by the limits of expression, I console 
 myself with the surety of stepping out 
 of the physical into the celestial body 
 by-and-by." 
 
 " Do you ever wish to die, Mira ?" 
 
 " No ; I love this life. It is grand, 
 glorious !" 
 
 " Do you remember those inspiring 
 words of Mary Hewitt's: 
 
 " ' Oh, how I long to die ! 
 
 To be among the stars, the glorious stars ! 
 
 To have no bounds to knowledge ; 
 
 To drink deep of crystal fountains ; 
 
 To be among the good, the wise, the glorified.' 
 
 How often I have repeated those 
 lines when lying upon my hammock 
 facing a Southern sky !" 
 
 "They are beautiful; but I would 
 alter the first line : 
 
 " ' Oh how I long to live and grow among the 
 stars!' 
 
 Death, decay, are repugnant to me. I 
 am only reconciled to their necessity 
 by seeing how quickly the vitality of 
 the living transforms the dead atoms 
 into new forms. But see ! Jack has 
 fallen asleep on the lounge, and Dora 
 and Davy have left us. Metaphysics 
 are uninteresting to them." 
 
 She drew back the muslin curtains, 
 and the moonlight and vine shadows 
 played upon the floor. 
 
 "See, Theo, how lovingly the light 
 rests upon that hillside and glistens 
 on that marble column ! All around 
 are the dark, still woods; but that 
 little spot is not gloomy. Ah ! what 
 a transition that monument records ! 
 Death -is swallowed up in victory." 
 
 "Are you reconciled to everything, 
 Mira?" 
 
 "I can trust where I cannot com- 
 prehend, Theo ! But my life seems 
 natural, harmonious. Their work is 
 now mine 5 and each day brings 
 strength, zeal, courage, content. I 
 am fitted to my work, and my work 
 fits itself to me. Jack !" she cross- 
 ed the room and laid her hand on his 
 shoulder " Jack, you know you have 
 to start on a collecting tour early to-
 
 174 
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 morrow morning. Did Mose bring 
 any plugs and bows to-day ?" 
 
 "Yes," Jack answered, rubbing his 
 eyes and yawning. "He brought 
 about a hunderd, and got a sack of 
 flour and a chunk of pork. Said ef 
 I'd let him have a pair o' boots he'd 
 pay for 'em in honey: he'd lined a 
 bee-tree lately. I told him he prom- 
 ised to pay for the hat he had on with 
 eels, but he went an' sold all his fish 
 to the depot ! An' he was goin' to 
 give us maple-sugar for his coat, but 
 he never has. He is the laziest coon 
 ever was. Do you remember him, 
 Montgomery ?" 
 
 " Perfectly. Davy and I stopped 
 him once in the road with a bundle of 
 grubs on his shoulder, and got him to 
 talking of his last bear-hunt ; and he 
 actually stood there thirty- five min- 
 utes talking, with that load on his 
 back: forgot all about it. After he 
 brought them to the store, we put the 
 bundle on the scales, and it weigh- 
 ed two hundred and fifteen pounds. 
 Say, Davy, do you remember that ?" 
 
 "Of course I do," Davy answered, 
 from the veranda, leaning in the low 
 window. "Mose is one of the strong- 
 est men along the river; he can fol- 
 low a deer for a week, carrying his 
 gun and a pack of provisions through 
 laurel - thickets and underbrush ; but 
 to think of hoeing potatoes or piling 
 lumber tires him. Dora has four of 
 his children in her school, and she 
 says they are right smart children. I 
 reckon the new stock is improved." 
 
 Jack gathered up his books and 
 plans, and bade them good - night. 
 Davy and Theodore followed, and the 
 white mists of night rose from the 
 
 placid river and enfolded Woodbine 
 Cottage. 
 
 Another week brought the day of 
 parting. The brothers were to enter 
 new scenes of business and the sis- 
 ters continue the routine of their va- 
 ried duties. 
 
 " Only one more meal together be- 
 fore Thanksgiving-day," Miriam said, 
 as, after breakfast, they gathered on 
 the veranda. "Liza, wheel father's 
 chair to the sunny side of the house, 
 and take care of him until we come 
 home. Now, Davy, let us go up to 
 the cemetery." 
 
 They walked arm-in-arm up the hill- 
 side, Dora and her brother following, 
 until they paused beside the flower- 
 clad graves. Across the valley, on 
 the opposite hillside, were the two 
 lines of cottages. The Gothic fronts 
 of the upper tier harmonized with the 
 rocky mountain at their rear, and the 
 white-and-green prettiness of the low- 
 er row blended with the colors of 
 field and brook. 
 
 Beside the mill were piles of lum- 
 ber; the pond was filled with logs; 
 and the low buzz of the saw, and 
 briskly stepping men, showed business 
 was progressing there. Teams draw- 
 ing heavy loads of bark were entering 
 the tannery -yard; a cloud of smoko 
 from the tall chimney soared away 
 into the blue sky ; through the open 
 door of the store Jack's assistant 
 could be seen displaying gay prints 
 to some girlish customers ; down the 
 winding road and across the brook 
 came Mrs. Rodgcrs, the only un- 
 changed figure in the scene. 
 
 "She is going to sit with father," 
 said Miriam. " Though she cannot
 
 MIRIAM'S HERITAGE. 
 
 175 
 
 understand what he tries to tell her, 
 he seems to enjoy her presence. Poor 
 father r 
 
 For a long time they sat silent be- 
 side the low mounds which covered 
 their dead, looking at the vine- wreath- 
 ed cottage below them, and thinking 
 of their past. 
 
 "Mira," said Davy at last, drawing 
 a blank-book from his pocket, " may I 
 read these verses which you sent me 
 after Jamie died ? Theo would like 
 to hear them, and they seem very ap- 
 propriate to this place and time." 
 
 "You may; but first let me tell 
 you how they were written, and why 
 I have never been sure whether the 
 lines are original or remembered. I 
 am not an habitual somnambulist; 
 but Dora could tell you of my solving 
 a mathematical problem once in my 
 sleep that our entire class failed on 
 the day before. Another time I fin- 
 ished an essay with a verse I was in- 
 capable of composing when awake. 
 I only mention these incidents as 
 facts. Some day I shall know the 
 subtle influences which caused them. 
 After Jamie had gone, my mind was 
 restless and excited ; I slept little, and 
 then heavily. One morning this poem 
 lay upon my table. Dora said I arose 
 and, without lighting the lamp, sat for 
 a long time, with my portfolio in my 
 lap and my head resting on one hand, 
 apparently writing." 
 
 "Have you offered them for publi- 
 cation?" 
 
 "No, Davy; such thoughts seem 
 sacred to myself and my best friends. 
 You may read them to us, if you will." 
 
 And while the sounds of industry 
 in the valley below mingled with the 
 
 whisper of the pine-trees around them, 
 and the blue waters of the Delaware 
 flowed calmly and swiftly by, Davy 
 read these lines : 
 
 "PASSING AWAY. 
 " O River of Time, how ceaselessly 
 Thou flowest on to the boundless sea ! 
 Whether upon thy glittering tide 
 The sweet spring blossoms drop and glide, 
 Or whether the fierce winds lash thy waves, 
 And dead leaves foil to their watery graves ; 
 Whether we wake, or whether we sleep, 
 Thou hasteth on to Eternity's deep. 
 
 "With sunshine and shadow life's sweet May, 
 My childhood, silently floated away. 
 The summer rose is in its prime, 
 And youth floats by on the stream of time. 
 The hours, whether sunny or overcast, 
 Are flitting away to the changeless past ; 
 But I mark their flight by a smile of cheer, 
 And not by a sigh or a falling tear. 
 
 " So often, so sadly, we hear men say 
 ' Passing away ! still passing away ! ' 
 That the words have gathered a pensive tone 
 With a shade of sadness not their own. 
 And I long to recall these words again 
 From their minor key on the lips of men ; 
 And make the refrain of my gladdest lay 
 Passing away! ever passing away ! 
 
 " For what is transient and what will last? 
 What maketh its grave in the growing past ? 
 And what lives on in the deathless spheres 
 Where naught corrupts by the rust of years ? 
 Doth Time, who gathers our fairest flowers, 
 Uproot no weeds in this world of ours ? 
 What rises victorious o'er dull decay ? 
 And what is that which is passing away ? 
 
 " The year is flying. The hours flit by 
 Like morning clouds in a breezy sky. 
 But Time is a drop in the boundless sea 
 Of an infinite Eternity ! 
 As our seas are spanned by the arching skies, 
 'Neath the presence of God that ocean lies ; 
 And though tides may fall in life's shallow bay, 
 Eternity never can ebb away." 
 
 THE END.
 
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