THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Mary Randall 
 
 
UNIFORM WITH THIS. 
 
 WMttaker's Series of Select Books. 
 
 A'i ONE DOLLAR PER VOLUME. 
 
 CASTLE COMFORT. A Story for Children. By Mrs. 
 
 W. J. HAYS. 
 CITY COUSINS. By the same author. 
 
 COUSIN MINNIE ; or, The Feast of Life. By Mrs. F. 
 
 BURGE SMITH. 
 
 A DOMESTIC HEROINE. By Mrs. W. J. HAYS. 
 DOROTHY. A Tale. By T. M. BROWNE. 
 
 THE FLOATING LIGHT OF RINGFINNEN. By L. T. 
 MKADE. 
 
 GETTING TO BE WOMEN. By GEORC;E KLINGLE. 
 
 A LOVING SISTER. By Mrs. W. J. HAYS. 
 
 MILLY ; or, The Hidden Cross. By LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY. 
 
 MISS DEWBERRY'S SCHOLARS. By Mrs. M. E. 
 
 SANGSTER. 
 
 MISS BENT; or, At His Footstool. By Mrs. F. BURGE SMITH. 
 NOT MY WAY ; or, Good Out of Evil. By T. M. BROWNE. 
 ONLY A TRAMP ; or, Golden Links. By GRACE STEBIJING. 
 RECOMPENSE. A Story. By MARY H. SEYMOUR. 
 
 SHOSHIE, THE HINDOO ZENANA TEACHER. By 
 
 HARRIETTS G. BRITTAN. 
 SILVERDALE RECTORY; or, The Golden Links. By 
 
 GRACE STEBFUNG. 
 STORIES FOR THE HAPPY DAYS OF CHRISTMAS 
 
 TIME. By Rev. GEO. W. SHINN, D.D. 
 
 SUNNY DAYS ABROAD; or, The Old World Seen 
 
 with Young Eyes. 
 
 THE THREE CHUMS. By M. L. RIDLEY. 
 WALTER ALISON : His Friends and Foes. By M. L. 
 
 RIDLEY. 
 
OLDHAM 
 
 OR 
 
 BESIDE ALL WATERS 
 
 BY 
 
 LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY 
 
 AUTHOR OF "LOVEDAY'S HISTORY," "LADY BETTY'S GOVERNESS," 
 "IRISH AMY," ETC. 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THOMAS WHITTAKER 
 
 2 AND 3 BIBLE HOUSE 
 
COPYRIGHT. 1885, 
 BY THOMAS WHITTAKER. 
 
 GIFT 
 
 EI.ECTROTVPED AND PRINTED 
 
 BY KAND, AVERY, AND COMl'ANY, 
 
 BOSTON. 
 
955 
 
 THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 TO MY BIBLE CLASS. 
 
 M854127 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 I THINK this book tells its own story, such as it is. 
 It is simply a tale of quiet country life in a New- 
 England parish, with some of its oddities and advan- 
 tages, and a little of the tragedy which is found 
 everywhere. It is not meant specially either for 
 old or young, though I hope both classes may find 
 entertainment and profit in it. 
 
 One word as to the Bible-class service. I believe 
 such neighborhood meetings would be found of the 
 utmost advantage both in city and country parishes. 
 In the city especially may always be found a large 
 class of women who have been brought up to attend 
 church regularly, but have fallen out of the habit, 
 at first, perhaps, kept at home by the cares of young 
 children, and afterward from indifference. Such 
 persons may often be induced to attend a service 
 in a neighbor's house or some such place, of an 
 evening, when they would not go to church. My 
 idea of such services would be, to make them " Bible- 
 readings," in which all should be invited to take 
 part. I do believe that a great deal of good might 
 
 be done in this way. 
 
 LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY. 
 
 5 
 
CONTENlb. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 XMSB 
 
 THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE n 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS 25 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 KIT AT HOME -$ 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 STRANGERS 57 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE MEETING 72 
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 THE ENEMY 83 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE SPRINGING GRAIN * 103 
 
 7 
 
CONTENTS. 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Tin: SNAKES 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Two TEA-PARTIES ......... 140 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE BIRDS OF THE AIR ........ 107 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 NEW PROJECTS .......... 190 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 HARMONY AND DISCORD ........ 221; 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 KIT'S VICTORY ........ . 240 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Miss VAN ZANDT ......... 255 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 MORE CHANGES .......... 268 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 Tin: TEA-PARTY .......... jo>, 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 MRS. ORME ........... 293 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 TROUBLE AT HOME ...... . 304 
 
CONTENTS. 9 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 OLDHAM AFFAIRS 315 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 WARNINO 330 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 THE NET CLOSED 345 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 THE END . . . 357 
 
; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE. 
 
 IT was not in the least like the red schoolhouses 
 one may see every day in the city. They are great 
 piles of brick, usually all the uglier for the attempts 
 at ornament bestowed upon them. They have any 
 number of rooms for any number of grades, with A 
 classes and B classes, and all the other machinery 
 for grinding out scholars by the hundred, all done to 
 one pattern. My red schoolhouse was more like the 
 little " custom mill," built by the side of a dashing, 
 flashing mill-stream, with trees growing about it, 
 and a row of sheds where stand steady, sober old 
 horses, patiently waiting while their owners sit in- 
 side, or about the mill-door, discussing politics and 
 neighborhood news, and waiting in their turn for 
 their separate "grists" of sweet-smelling meal and 
 flour. There was just such a mill not far from the 
 red schoolhouse ; and the hum of the machinery could 
 
12 OLD HAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 be heard in the schoolroom when the boys and girls 
 were particularly quiet, as was the case on the 
 special occasion when my story begins. 
 
 There had been a talk two or three times, in 
 school-meeting, of re-furnishing the schoolhouse on 
 modern principles ; but it had never been carried out. 
 A long desk ran around two sides of the room, with 
 a bench before it, where the elder scholars sat ; in 
 front of this bench was another, mostly used for 
 recitations ; and before all, a still lower seat for the 
 little ones who were just learning their letters. The 
 rest of the furniture consisted of the teacher's desk 
 and chair, standing on a platform by themselves ; a 
 good serviceable blackboard, a little the worse for 
 wear ; and a map of the world, and another of the 
 United States, which was so many States behind 
 the times that it must needs be an old inhabitant. 
 
 There were not more than twenty scholars present 
 that June afternoon ; and those were mostly girls or 
 very little boys, for the big boys of the district were 
 busy with another branch of their education, help- 
 ing their fathers on the farm. All the children were 
 seated with their faces toward the teacher, and the 
 room was so still that the hum of the mill sounded 
 like the drone of a big bumble-bee. Miss Arm- 
 strong was standing on the platform, her hand rest- 
 ing upon a book which she had apparently just laid 
 down. She could not be called a very pretty woman, 
 and yet there was that in her face and manner 
 which made one look at her again. She had a cer- 
 tain air of peace and cheerfulness overlying steadi- 
 ness and resolution, what you would call a face to 
 
THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE. 13 
 
 be trusted. " She looks as if she had come through 
 the wars, and beat" said Patience Fletcher, who, 
 poor thing, had been beaten many times in her war- 
 fare. 
 
 " Now, let me hear you say that verse all to- 
 gether," said Miss Armstrong ; "and then we will 
 join in repeating the Lord's Prayer. I hope I shall 
 hear every voice. Stand up, if you please." 
 
 Every voice was heard as the children repeated, in 
 tones that were reverent from feeling, " Like as a 
 father pitieth his own children, so the Lord pitieth 
 them that fear him." All the children joined in the 
 repetition of the Lord's Prayer, with one exception. 
 A thin, dark little girl, with black, crispy hair, stood 
 looking down at her closely clasped hands with a 
 curious movement about her lips. You would say 
 she had much ado not to burst out crying. As the 
 school was dismissed, and this little girl made her 
 courtesy at the door (for this school was so far behind 
 the times that "manners" were still taught therein), 
 she suddenly raised her eyes, and looked her teacher 
 in the face. Those eyes of Kit's were always a kind 
 of surprise. They were dark violet-blue, with black 
 level brows, and very long black lashes, Irish blue 
 eyes, and had an extraordinary brilliancy about 
 them, like precious stones or sunlit water. They 
 now flashed upon Miss Armstrong with a look of 
 love and thankfulness which went to the teacher's 
 heart. 
 
 " She has taken in something, at any rate," thought 
 Miss Armstrong. "I must talk more with her. I 
 wonder why she did not join in the prayer." 
 
14 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Somebody else wondered also ; for, the moment 
 she was outside the door, Kit was met with the sharp 
 question, 
 
 " Kit Mallory, why didn't you say the Lord's 
 Prayer ? " 
 
 " I don't know it," replied Kit, coloring up to the 
 roots of her hair ; and then, after a moment, she 
 added, as if with an effort, "Our folks don't believe 
 in such things." 
 
 " You wicked girl ! " exclaimed the first speaker, 
 a pretty well grown girl of sixteen, very neatly 
 dressed. " You wicked child, not to believe in the 
 Lord's Prayer ! " 
 
 "I didn't say I didn't believe in it : I said I didn't 
 know it," replied Kit with some spirit. " How can 
 I believe in what I don't know any thing about ? " 
 
 "Well, you ought to know it, then," said Selina. 
 "You could have learned it if you had chosen, I 
 know." 
 
 Kit did not seem disposed to pursue the subject. 
 She walked a little way down the road, climbed the 
 bars, and was soon ascending the rocky hill-pasture. 
 
 "I declare, I don't think that girl ought to be 
 allowed to come to school," said Selina. "Phin 
 Mallory is a regular infidel, and Melissa makes all 
 kinds of fun of religion. Kit isn't Phin's niece, 
 either, though she calls him uncle. She is only a 
 little foundling taken out of the poorhouse ; Melissa 
 told me so herself." 
 
 " If she had been out of the orphan-asylum, it 
 would have been all right, I suppose," said a girl 
 who had not yet spoken. It was now Selina's turn 
 
THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE. 15 
 
 to color. Her eyes flashed, and she turned abso- 
 lutely white with anger. 
 
 "For shame, Sarah!" said Faith Fletcher. "It 
 isn't Selina's fault." 
 
 "Nor Kit's either." 
 
 "Oh, don't trouble yourself to take my part, 
 Faith," said Selina in a voice which trembled with 
 anger. " If Sarah " But here she stopped ; and, 
 tying on her bonnet, she walked rapidly away in a 
 direction opposite to that which Kit had taken. 
 
 " You are too bad, Sarah," said Faith. " Now she 
 will go home and cry half the night." 
 
 " Why am I too bad, any more than she ? " asked 
 Sarah. " What did she say about Kit ? " 
 
 "Two wrongs don't make a right," said Faith, very 
 truly. 
 
 " And as to her crying, what is there to cry about ? " 
 continued Sarah. " I think she might be thankful 
 that she has a good home. Nobody would ever think 
 of her being an adopted child if she did not put on 
 such airs. I must say I do like to take her down." 
 
 "And how do you like it when somebody takes 
 you down ? " asked Faith. 
 
 " When it happens, I will tell you," said Sarah 
 lightly. " Where is that child ? Come, Gerty. You 
 can't stay to play to-night: I promised to come home 
 early, and help mother." 
 
 " And I must go home and help sister," said Faith, 
 with a little sigh, as if the prospect were not the most 
 alluring in the world. " Come, children. Eddy, see 
 how you have mussed up your clean apron ; and Eben 
 has got his knees all green on the grass. What do 
 
1 6 OLD HAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 you think sister will say? Take hold of hands now, 
 and walk along pretty." 
 
 The prospect of what sister would say seemed to 
 have a very sobering effect on the little boy and girl, 
 twins of six years old. They at once gave up 
 their play, and marched off in the most orderly man- 
 ner. Faith followed them ; and when Miss Arm- 
 strong came out of the schoolhouse, and locked the 
 door, there was not a human being in sight. She 
 hesitated a moment, and then took the same road 
 that Kit had followed. She had gone about a quar- 
 ter of a mile, when she stopped, and looked about 
 her with a puzzled expression. As she did so, a 
 light figure sprang over the stone wall, and Kit 
 Mallory stood beside her. 
 
 " Please, Miss Armstrong, ain't you taking the 
 wrong road ? " said she as soon as she could gather 
 breath enough to speak. "Don't you want to go to 
 Mr. Weston's to-night ? " 
 
 "To be sure I do, Kitty," answered Miss Arm- 
 strong. "I was just thinking I had made a mistake. 
 Have I come very far out of my way ? " 
 
 "Well, quite a piece," answered Kit; "but, if you 
 don't mind going cross-lots, I could show you a 
 shorter way than the road. Its real pretty, too, only 
 it is kind of steep part of the way." 
 
 " I don't mind the steepness at all, and I love to 
 go cross-lots," answered Miss Armstrong. " I am 
 not sure that I can climb that wall quite as easily as 
 you did, however." 
 
 " There are bars only a little way from here," said 
 Kit: "I can take them down for you." 
 
THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE. I/ 
 
 " How did you come to my help so opportunely, 
 Kitty?" asked Miss Armstrong as they walked 
 along toward the bars. 
 
 " I saw you from the hill," answered Kit as she 
 took down the bars, and then carefully put them up 
 again. " There is a little hollow up yonder, where I 
 always stop to rest. It is real pretty when you get 
 there. Now we have to go up, you see ; but it isn't 
 so steep very far." 
 
 Miss Armstrong not only saw, but felt, the steep- 
 ness of the path, which taxed all her strength for a 
 few minutes, for she was not used to mountain-climb- 
 ing. Presently, however, they came to a kind of 
 break or niche in the steep rocky ledge which 
 crowned the hill like a rampart. The grass in this 
 hollow was short and fine, and beautifully green ; and 
 lovely tufts of lady-fern and maiden-hair grew about 
 the rocks. A low, wide-spreading oak-tree stood at 
 the entrance of the nook ; and a bright, clear spring, 
 bursting to light from under the ledge, made quite a 
 deep pool, and then prattled cheerfully away down 
 the mountain-side. The view from the spot was 
 lovely enough to have pleased a more cultivated eye 
 than Kit's. The long valley, with the river and the 
 road winding through it, was spread out like a map ; 
 and the "folded hills" rose one behind the other, 
 till the prospect was closed by the top of a great 
 blue mountain. Almost at their feet lay the school- 
 house, and Bassett's mill with its flashing mill-dam. 
 Miss Armstrong uttered an exclamation of delight. 
 
 "I'm glad you think it pretty," said Kit. "Please 
 sit down and rest." 
 
1 8 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 As she spoke she pointed out a flat rock as a 
 desirable seat; and then, disappearing fora little, she 
 presently came back with one hand full of young 
 wintergreens, and the other of the last year's stems, 
 each with its coral berry. 
 
 " I can get you a drink if you like," said she ; and, 
 searching in a hollow among the rocks, she brought 
 out a cracked teacup, which she filled at the spring- 
 head, and offered to Miss Armstrong. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear; this is very refreshing," 
 said Miss Armstrong. " You have made me a nice 
 little treat. I do not wonder you like to stop here." 
 
 "I think it is pleasant," said Kit: "you can see 
 so far, and the colors are so nice. Folks say red 
 houses are ugly and old-fashioned, but somehow the 
 red schoolhouse and mill seem just to fit in I don't 
 know how to say what I mean." 
 
 "I understand you," said Miss Armstrong. "They 
 do just exactly fit in, as you say. You have an eye 
 for color, Kitty." 
 
 "I love colors, I know that," said Kit; and then, 
 her face darkening as if with an unpleasant recol- 
 lection, "Melissa says I am a fool because I love 
 flowers, and because I am always picking up stones 
 and snail-shells. She threw away all my pretty 
 stones that I got up on the mountain, but I'll be 
 even with her some day." 
 
 "You should not speak like that," said Miss Arm- 
 strong gently. "Don't you know that it is wrong to 
 wish for revenge ? " 
 
 " Is it ? " asked Kit. 
 
 " Yes, my dear. Do you never read the Bible ? " 
 
THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE. 1Q 
 
 " I never saw only the outside of one," answered 
 Kit. " Uncle Phin won't have one in the house. 
 He says all pious people are humbugs, and that it 
 was religion that made aunt Martha crazy." 
 
 " Is your aunt crazy ? " asked Miss Armstrong. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. She isn't raving crazy all the time ; 
 but she just sits still in her chair, and takes no 
 notice of any thing. Sometimes she would not eat 
 any thing for days together if Symantha or uncle 
 Phin did not coax her. They are real good to her, 
 but Melissa hasn't a mite of patience with her." 
 
 "And would you like to read the Bible, Kitty?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, if there are nice stories in it," 
 answered Kit doubtfully. "I love stories." 
 
 "And so do I," said Miss Armstrong. "Yes, 
 there are plenty of beautiful stories in the Bible. But 
 that is not the reason we love it : it is because the 
 Bible is God's word, his letter or message to us, 
 to teach us about him. If you had a kind friend out 
 in California, and he should* write you a letter saying 
 he had a delightful home all ready for you, and tell- 
 ing you what you must do in order to come to that 
 home, you would think a great deal of that letter, 
 wouldn't you ? You would want to read it over and 
 over, and learn all it had to tell you." 
 
 " I guess I would ! " said Kit with emphasis. " I 
 would learn it off by heart, and think about it all the 
 time." 
 
 " Well, the Bible is very much such a letter to us. 
 In it our Heavenly Father tells us about Himself, 
 and all He has done for us, and especially how He 
 sent His Son to take our nature upon Him, and die 
 
20 OLD II AM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 for us on the cross, and then to rise from the dead, 
 and go into heaven to make ready a place for those 
 who love Him." 
 
 Kit looked puzzled for a moment, and then her 
 eyes lighted up. 
 
 " I believe I read about Him in the ' Pilgrim's 
 Progress,' " said she. " Isn't He the Lord that it tells 
 about ? " 
 
 "Yes." answered Miss Armstrong. "So you have 
 read the ' Pilgrim's Progress ' ? " 
 
 " Not all of it. I found an old, torn book of it up 
 in the garret when we came here ; and it was a story, 
 so I read it. Uncle Phin said it was all a heap of non- 
 sense, like 'Bluebeard' and 'Jack the Giant-Killer;' 
 but it always did seem to me more than that. So 
 there really is such a person ? " 
 
 Miss Armstrong looked at the child for a moment 
 in amazement. With all her experience, she found it 
 hard to realize that here, in the midst of a Christian 
 community, was a child of twelve who could ask such 
 a question. Kit did not understand the teacher's 
 glance, and took it for one of displeasure. 
 
 " I don't know any thing, hardly," she said hum- 
 bly, "only to read and write a little. Where we 
 lived out West, there was hardly ever any church or 
 meeting, and we only had school three or four 
 months in the year. When we came here, Miss 
 Celia Claxton called, and asked uncle Phin to let 
 me come to Sunday school ; but he wouldn't : and 
 he talked so to her she has never been near us since. 
 He says religion is all priestcraft and lies, and that 
 nobody really believes in it." 
 
THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE. 21 
 
 "That is a great mistake, and one that I fear he 
 will be very sorry for some day," said Miss Arm- 
 strong. " Kitty, my dear child, before I go, I want 
 to teach you a verse out of the Bible. Listen, and 
 say it after me." 
 
 It was with a very serious face -that Kit repeated 
 after her friend, " God so loved the world, that He 
 gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believ- 
 eth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting 
 life." One or two repetitions enabled her to say the 
 verse perfectly. Then Miss Armstrong took out of 
 her pocket a pretty little card, on which was printed 
 that time-honored and always beautiful prayer which 
 begins, 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep," 
 
 and also a verse for the morning. 
 
 " I will give you this for your own," said she. 
 " Learn these verses, and say them night and morn- 
 ing. But, Kitty, if you want your Heavenly Father 
 to give you any thing else, you can ask Him in your 
 own words. He will always hear you if you ask for 
 the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord." 
 
 " And will He always give it to me ? " asked Kit 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, if it is best for you to have it. But He 
 knows better than we do what is good for us ; and, 
 when we ask for what we ought not to have, He does 
 not give it." 
 
 " I see," said Kit thoughtfully. "Just as if a baby 
 should want a sharp knife : its mother would not let 
 it have the knife, if the baby cried ever so hard." 
 
22 OLD HAM-, OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " I see you understand me, my dear. Now we 
 must walk on, or we shall be late. 
 
 " Have you always lived with your uncle, Kitty ? " 
 asked Miss Armstrong as they walked down the hill. 
 
 " No, ma'am. Melissa says uncle took me out of 
 the poorhouse ; but I don't believe it," said Kit in 
 a confidential tone. " I remember a place that was 
 not a bit like the poorhouse." 
 
 " What was it like ? " asked Miss Armstrong. 
 
 Kit stopped for an instant, seeming to send her 
 thoughts inward. " It was a room with a bright 
 carpet on the floor," said she. " I used to sit on the 
 floor, and run my fingers over the figures. And there 
 were plants, like Miss Claxton's, and a big bird. That 
 is all I can remember when I am awake. Sometimes 
 I dream about another place where I have been, but 
 I can't tell what it is like. And it doesn't seem to 
 me as if my name was Keturah, either." 
 
 " Perhaps it was Catherine," suggested Miss Arm- 
 strong. 
 
 " I can't tell," said Kit, knitting her brows. " It 
 doesn't seem as if that was it exactly. I asked 
 Symantha one day ; but she hushed me up, and told 
 me never to talk about it, because uncle Phin would 
 be very angry if he knew. But I think about it a 
 great deal," concluded Kit with a kind of triumph 
 in her tone. "They can't keep me from think- 
 ing." 
 
 '* Here is Mr. Weston now," said Miss Armstrong 
 as they came out of the pasture into the lane which 
 led out to the road beside a great barn. 
 
 "Well, I declare! I was just going to hitch up, 
 
THE RED SCHOOLHOUSE. 2$ 
 
 and go after you," said Mr. Weston. "You staid so 
 long, I thought you must be lost." 
 
 "That is exactly what happened to me," replied 
 Miss Armstrong. " I stupidly took the wrong turn 
 coming out of the schoolhouse ; and I don't know 
 where I should have been by this -time if Kitty had 
 not come to my rescue, and brought me over the hill. 
 We should have been here long before, only that we 
 sat down for a rest and a chat." 
 
 " Did you put up the bars, Kit ? " asked Mr. 
 Weston. 
 
 "Yes, sir, I always do when I take them down ; 
 but I generally climb over," answered Kit. " I must 
 be going," she added with an effort. " Symantha 
 will want me." 
 
 "Wait a minute," said Mr. Weston. He went 
 into the barn as he spoke, and came back with a 
 basketful of June russet apples. 
 
 "There ! you don't see many such apples this time 
 of year," said he. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " said Kit gratefully. " Aunt 
 Martha will eat an apple sometimes when she won't 
 touch any thing else." 
 
 " That child has hard times, I am afraid," said Mr. 
 Weston, as Kit disappeared behind the barn. " But 
 what has become of Selina?" 
 
 " I have not seen her at all," replied Miss Arm- 
 strong. " I supposed she came directly home." 
 
 " Here she is now. Why, Selina ! how was it you 
 did not wait for Miss Armstrong ? " 
 
 " I forgot," answered Selina, coloring ; " and when 
 I went back she was gone." 
 
24 OLDI1AM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Your wits were wool-gathering, as usual, I guess," 
 said Mr. Weston. " Only for Kit Mallory, Miss Arm- 
 strong might have been halfway to Oldbury by this 
 time. However, all's well that ends well. Run into 
 the house now, and help ma. Aunt Betsy Burr and 
 Miss Claxton have just come in, and will stay to 
 tea." 
 
 "Just my luck, exactly," said Selina to herself. 
 " Somebody always gets my chance. I wanted to 
 walk home with Miss Armstrong, and have a nice 
 talk with her; and now she will think me a perfect 
 fool. It is all Sarah Leet's fault, putting every thing 
 out of my head. And now Aunt Betsy has come, and 
 no one else will have a chance to put in a word. It 
 is too bad ! " 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS. 
 
 "WELL," said Aunt Betsy as she finished butter- 
 ing her biscuit, and began stirring up her tea, "well, 
 and how do you like your school ? " 
 
 "Very well, so far," answered Miss Armstrong; 
 "but these are early times, you know." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Aunt Betsy, with a solemn 
 shake of the head. " New brooms sweep clean. 
 There was Malvina Spencer : she was going to do 
 great things, but she almost broke up the school with 
 her nonsense. And there was that Miss O'Hara. 
 But what could any one expect of her?" added Aunt 
 Betsy with scornful emphasis. "Any one might 
 have known how it would turn out." 
 
 " Yes, it was easy to see how it would turn out," 
 said Mr. Weston dryly. " So long as so many were 
 prejudiced against her beforehand, and determined 
 not to see any good in her, whatever she did, it was 
 no great wonder she failed." 
 
 " Why were they prejudiced against her?" asked 
 Miss Armstrong. " She had a pretty name in her 
 favor, and a distinguished one, if that is any thing." 
 
 "Pretty, indeed!" said Aunt Betsy with a sniff. 
 
 2 5 
 
26 OLDIJAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Why, her father was an Irishman, just a regular 
 Irishman, who came here, and hired out to old 
 Judge Davis down at the cross-roads. No, it was to 
 Abner Davis, up at the Corners, he went first, come 
 to think. When he had saved a little money, he 
 bought the Mudge place, and mended up the old 
 house so it was quite smart. But he was a regular 
 Irishman, for all that, and came from Ireland, for I 
 heard him say so ; and he said he wasn't ashamed of 
 it, that's more ! " And Aunt Betsy looked triumph- 
 antly at her host, as if to defy him to dispute her 
 position. 
 
 " He was a Protestant, and very regular at church 
 and communion ; and he was a clever man, too," 
 said Mr. Weston, using the word "clever" in its 
 New-England sense. "I remember how he used to 
 do your chores for you, Aunt Betsy, when Uncle Jona- 
 than had the fever." 
 
 Aunt Betsy became suddenly busy with her tea. 
 
 "But what had the fact of Miss O'Hara's being 
 Irish to do with her success in the school ? " asked 
 Miss Armstrong. 
 
 " Well, you see, it rather set people against her," 
 answered Miss Celia, a mild elderly lady, who had 
 not yet spoken. "We think a great deal of descent 
 in these parts, Miss Armstrong ; and though I had 
 nothing against Miss O'Hara myself, indeed, I 
 always thought her a very nice girl, yet it did not 
 seem as if she were a fit person to be set over chil- 
 dren whose ancestors are buried all over Oldfield 
 County, the daughter of a new-come-over Irish- 
 man." 
 
NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS. 2J 
 
 "According to that, our first teachers in this coun- 
 try must all have been very unsuitable persons," said 
 Mrs. Weston. "They were all new-come-over then, 
 you know." 
 
 "To be sure," said Miss Celia. "Really, cousin 
 Abby, I don't know that I ever looked upon it in 
 that light. Certainly, we were all new-come-over 
 once, at least, our ancestors were, unless they were 
 Indians like old Abner Kettle." 
 
 " Indians, indeed ! I wonder at you, Celia Clax- 
 ton," said Aunt Betsy indignantly. "You, whose 
 grandfathers and great-grandfathers are buried in 
 this very graveyard, to compare yourself to old 
 Abner Kettle, whose daughter married a Feejee 
 Islander or something like that ! But, as to the 
 school, I am glad Miss Armstrong likes it ; though 
 these are new times, as I said. There are some 
 dreadful wild girls in the district. There's" 
 
 " Excuse me, Aunt Betsy ; but suppose we leave 
 Miss Armstrong to find out for herself," interposed Mr. 
 Weston. "What is this I hear about the stone house? 
 It seems we are to have new neighbors before long." 
 
 Aunt Betsy tossed her head, but the bait was too 
 tempting not to be taken. 
 
 "Why, yes, haven't you heard? Of course you 
 know all about it, Celia. You have a right if any 
 one has ; for that place ought to belong to you and 
 Delia, if every one had their dues." 
 
 "We have never laid the least claim to it," said 
 Miss Celia calmly. " Richard Van Zandt was only 
 a very distant relation, and we had no expectations 
 whatever from him." 
 
28 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Not in that Mne, perhaps," said Aunt Betsy 
 with an ill-natured laugh. Miss Celia's fair old 
 face flushed a little, but she took no notice of the 
 remark. " Anyhow, Dick was your mother's own 
 second cousin, if you call that very distant. I 
 don't." 
 
 " It is not very near, at any rate," said Miss Celia. 
 "We were always friendly with Richard, but we 
 saw nothing of him for many years. His sister-in- 
 law, Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt, was very kind to him, 
 and he died at her house ; so it is no wonder he left 
 his property to her. Delia and myself would hardly 
 have known what to do with such a house. It would 
 have been a great trouble to us." 
 
 " You would have known what to do with the 
 money, though." 
 
 " We have enough," said Miss Celia with dignity, 
 "and that is as good as a feast." 
 
 " I don't suppose there was much money in the 
 case," observed Mr. Weston. " Dick Van Zandt was 
 never rich, and he was one who gave away with both 
 hands whatever he had. I understand from Squire 
 Davis that the place was left to Mrs. Van Zandt, who 
 is very wealthy, on condition that it should be kept 
 up, and that some member of the family should now 
 and then spend a summer there." 
 
 " Yes : the old lady and two or three of her nieces 
 or grand-nieces are coming pretty soon, so Aunt 
 Aggy told me," said Mrs. Weston. "I was up there 
 yesterday, and found her sweeping and clearing up at 
 a great rate. She took me through the house, and it 
 was quite a wonder to see the order it was in. I would 
 
NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS. 2$ 
 
 not have believed it had stood empty so long. Even 
 the carpets looked as good as new." 
 
 "The house was handsomely furnished, to begin 
 with. And was Aggy pleased with the prospect?" 
 asked Miss Celia, much interested. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! She says she and Mrs. .Van Zandt were 
 girls together." 
 
 " Mrs. Van Zandt's father was a Butler, I know ; but 
 her mother was a Bogardus, and connected with all the 
 Dutch folks over there in Rockvale," said Aunt Betsy, 
 who was very strong in the matter of genealogy. 
 
 " I have heard that Mrs. Van Zandt is a very nice 
 lady," observed Mrs. Weston. 
 
 " She is," said Miss Armstrong. " I know her well. 
 And I am glad she is coming here : she is a blessing 
 wherever she goes." 
 
 " Do tell ! " exclaimed Aunt Betsy. " Real liberal 
 with her money, I expect." 
 
 "Yes, and better than that, very kind and judi- 
 cious with it." 
 
 " She won't have very nice neighbors on one side, 
 at any rate," said Aunt Betsy. " 1 shouldn't like to 
 live next to those Mallorys." 
 
 ' I don't suppose they will trouble her very much, 
 unless the poor woman gets one of her screaming 
 fits," said Miss Celia. " Is it true that the little girl 
 Kitty, or whatever her name is comes to school, 
 Miss Armstrong?" 
 
 " Yes, she was at school to-day ; and a very bright, 
 interesting child she seems." 
 
 "Well, I don't think it ought to be allowed," said 
 Aunt Betsy : "her folks are regular infidels." 
 
30 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "So she tells me." 
 
 " She doesn't know the Lord's Prayer : she said so 
 to-day," observed Selina. " She said her folks didn't 
 believe in such things." 
 
 " Just so. Who knows what mischief the children 
 may learn of her?" 
 
 " I do not think there is much danger in that 
 direction," said Miss Armstrong. "From what little 
 talk I had with her to-day, I should say Kitty is 
 rather a heathen than an unbeliever : she is as igno- 
 rant of the Christian religion as any little South-sea 
 Islander. But she seemed much interested in what I 
 told her. It would be a great pity to deprive her of 
 any chance, when she has so few. How does it hap- 
 pen that a family like the Mallorys should be found 
 in such a place as this ? " 
 
 " Well, as to that, you know there are heathen 
 everywhere," replied Mr. Weston. " Tom Mallory, 
 the grandfather, was a great disciple and admirer 
 of Tom Paine. Phin was always a wild fellow. But 
 the women of the family were communicants of the 
 Church, and old Tom never interfered with them ; he 
 said religion was a safe plaything for women. And, to 
 do him justice, he was really kind to his daughter-in- 
 law and her boy, for Phin's father was killed before he 
 was born. Phin went away West, and nobody heard 
 any thing about him till he came back and took pos- 
 session of the place last fall, when the old man died. 
 There was another grandson, who was a favorite with 
 old Tom, and some say the farm was left to him ; but 
 he has never turned up, and Phin says he died out 
 West." 
 
NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS. 31 
 
 " Maybe Phin murdered him, to get the property," 
 said Aunt Betsy. " Who knows ? " 
 
 " Nobody knows, and therefore we won't suppose 
 so," said Mr. Weston somewhat sharply. " He and 
 Phin were always good friends. I always supposed 
 Kit was his child, but Phin says she is not related 
 to them at all. He says Symantha took a fancy to 
 her, and adopted her." 
 
 " Yes, that is very likely, that she would go adopt- 
 ing a child," said Aunt Betsy. " Depend upon it, 
 there's more than that about it." 
 
 " Melissa says they took her out of the poor- 
 house," said Selina. 
 
 " I wouldn't have much to say to Melissa if I 
 were you," observed Mrs. Weston. " Well, ladies, if 
 you have finished your tea, we will go into the other 
 /oom, where it is cooler. You may clear the table, 
 and put away the things, Selina ; and I will help you 
 with the dishes by and by." 
 
 "Yes, that is always the way," muttered Selina: 
 "always something to remind me that I am not one 
 of the family." It did not occur to Selina, that, if 
 she had been one of the family, the same work would 
 naturally have fallen to her share. She had lately 
 taken to looking out for affronts ; and affronts are like 
 the spooks of the old Dutch proverb, those who go 
 to look for them can always find them. 
 
 " You are going to have other neighbors this sum- 
 mer," remarked Miss Celia as she took out her com- 
 pany knitting, a child's fine white stocking. "The 
 Richmonds are coming back to Mrs. Gleason's." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Weston exchanged looks which were 
 
32 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 not by any means expressive of joy. " I thought 
 they said last summer they would not come again," 
 said Mrs. Weston. 
 
 " It seems they have changed their minds ; for 
 Agnes Gleason told me she had just taken from the 
 office a letter from Miss Amelia Richmond, in which 
 she announced her mother's intention of passing the 
 summer months in this neighborhood, and entering 
 into negotiations for Mrs. Gleason's rooms. I con- 
 fess I was sorry to hear it. I do not consider the 
 influence of that family a very desirable one in this 
 neighborhood." 
 
 " I quite agree with you, cousin Celia," said Mrs. 
 Weston. " I am sorry they are coming back. I do 
 not think the rush of summer boarders we have had 
 of late years has been any special advantage, as you 
 say." 
 
 "They bring a deal of money with them, if that is 
 all," said Aunt Betsy, clicking her needles in a very 
 different style from Miss Cclia's rapid, noiseless man- 
 ner of working. 
 
 "That is not quite all." 
 
 "And I don't think they have done Agnes Gleason 
 any harm," continued Aunt Betsy: "she perfectly 
 hates Milly Richmond." 
 
 " It is not very good for us to perfectly hate peo- 
 ple," said Mrs. Weston, smiling. "I hope Mrs. Van 
 Zandt's family will not be like the Richmonds." 
 
 " 'Tain't likely we shall have a chance to see what 
 they are like," said Aunt Betsy. "I hear they hold 
 their heads very high. The pride of those Dutch 
 folks in their families is perfectly ridiculous." 
 
HZ.IGHBORHOOD NEWS. 33 
 
 " For the matter of that, we think a good deal of 
 our families in these parts," said Mrs. Weston, 
 smiling. 
 "That is different," returned Aunt Betsy. 
 
 " From what I know of Mrs. Van Zandt and her 
 nieces, I venture to predict that- you will see them 
 in Sunday school the very first Sunday," said Miss 
 Armstrong. 
 
 "Then I think they might just as well wait till 
 they are asked," retorted Aunt Betsy. " We don't 
 want city folks poking in their noses, and finding 
 fault with their betters, and with folks old enough 
 to be their mothers ; " all of which Aunt Betsy de- 
 livered with a vengeful rattle of her knitting-needles, 
 and a glance at Miss Armstrong which seemed to 
 include her in the number of obnoxious "city folks." 
 
 " Mrs. Van Zandt is a Christian woman, then ? " 
 asked Miss Celia. 
 
 " That she is, and a very excellent and energetic 
 one," answered Miss Armstrong. " It is the delight 
 of her life to fit up boxes for missionaries and their 
 families. I have known her to buy four or five dozen 
 each of napkins, towels, sheets, and so forth, have 
 them all hemmed by hand by some poor old ladies 
 she knows (for she has never become reconciled to 
 machine work), and within a month send them all to 
 different missionaries' wives in the West and South, 
 or in the city. My only wonder is, that she can 
 make up her mind to remove so far from her beloved 
 shops." 
 
 "Well, I didn't suppose there were many people of 
 that kind in New York," said Aunt Betsy. " I sup- 
 
34 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 posed they were all given up to dress and fashion 
 and frivolity." 
 
 " There are as many good Christian people in 
 New York as in any place in the world," said Miss 
 Armstrong with some emphasis. " Why, Mrs. Burr, 
 who do you suppose keeps up and manages all the 
 charities, the hospitals, and missions, and schools, 
 and orphan-asylums, and nurseries, and all the rest?" 
 
 Not having any answer at hand, Aunt Betsy took 
 a pinch of snuff, a practice not desirable in itself, 
 but a convenience in such cases. 
 
 " I am glad to hear such an account of Mrs. Van 
 Zandt," said Miss Celia, busily binding off her heel. 
 " I felt disposed to like her, from what I heard of 
 her kindness to Richard Van Zandt in his last days. 
 But does not Mrs. Van Zandt work at all, herself ? " 
 
 " She hems napkins, and knits," replied Miss Arm- 
 strong. " I should say she must use up a hundred 
 weight or so of wool every year, in one way or an- 
 other." 
 
 "That is a great deal, almost two pounds a week," 
 said Miss Celia, who took every thing literally. "To 
 be sure, she may use double wool." 
 
 "Double, treble, and single, and every other kind. 
 She is sure to wish to convert you to the Welsh 
 fashion of shaping heels, Miss Celia." 
 
 "There I cannot agree with her," said Miss Celia 
 with emphasis, and yet with a little apology in her 
 tone, as if she felt it a liberty to disagree even with 
 an unknown Mrs. Van Zandt. " I do not like the 
 Welsh heel : it is much harder to run and to mend, 
 and it wears no better." 
 
NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS. 35 
 
 "I wonder what has become of Selina," said Mrs. 
 Weston, rising. She went into the wide, airy kitchen, 
 which served as a dining-room in summer, and found 
 Selina just finishing the last of the dishes. 
 
 "Why, rny dear, you need not have washed the 
 dishes," said she. " I told you to put them together 
 and leave them, and I would help you." 
 
 "Oh, I could do them well enough : it is the hired 
 girl's place, I suppose," said Selina in a voice which 
 trembled in .spite of her. 
 
 Mrs. Weston took no notice of this speech for the 
 present. When the company was gone, and family 
 prayers were over, a custom never omitted in the 
 family in the busiest season, she followed Selina to 
 her own neat, pretty room. 
 
 "Selina," said she gravely, "you have two or three 
 times lately used the expression 'hired girl.' I want 
 to know what you mean by it." 
 
 Selina was already growing ashamed of her ill 
 humor. Perhaps it would be more correct to say she 
 was growing tired of it, more especially as its exer- 
 cise had deprived her of the pleasure of hearing the 
 remainder of Aunt Betsy's news. She twisted her 
 handkerchief, and answered in a somewhat embar- 
 rassed tone, 
 
 " Oh, well, every one knows what a hired girl is." 
 
 "A hired girl, as I understand it, is a woman who 
 works for money in a place which is not her home. 
 It is a very useful calling, and, when faithfully ful- 
 filled, worthy of the highest respect," said Mrs. 
 Weston, who had been a " school-ma'am " herself, 
 and was habitually choice in her use of words. "Is 
 
36 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 that your condition ? Do you work for wages ? and 
 are you in a strange family ? " 
 
 " No, mother," answered Selina in a low tone. 
 Her better self was getting the upper hand, but she 
 was not quite ready to give way. 
 
 " Do you think you have more work put upon you 
 than usually falls to the eldest daughter ? more than 
 Agnes Gleason, for instance ? " 
 
 "I don't have so much to do as Agnes," replied 
 Selina frankly. " She never gets to school before 
 half-past nine when the Richmonds are staying 
 there." 
 
 "And do you think that the things provided for 
 you are given you as wages ? Is this room, for in- 
 stance, such as people usually give to servants ? " 
 
 "No, mother," replied Selina. She paused a mo- 
 ment, and then added frankly, " I was cross, I sup- 
 pose. Something happened at school which put me 
 out." 
 
 "And so you came home and revenged that 
 annoyance on me by saying something untrue to hurt 
 my feelings. Was that right ? " 
 
 " No, mother. But I did not think it was as bad 
 as that. I am a wicked girl, and I always shall be," 
 said Selina, bursting into tears. " I wish I had never 
 been born." 
 
 " You will not mend matters by looking at them in 
 that way," said Mrs. Weston. "A little sober, honest 
 self-examination and repentance will do you more 
 good than any amount of that sort of passion." She 
 paused a moment, and then added very seriously, 
 
 "Selina, Mr. Weston and myself have treated you 
 
NEIGHBORHOOD NEWS. 37 
 
 as a dear daughter ever since you came to us. We 
 have tried our best to make you happy and good. 
 But for the last year you have made us both very 
 uncomfortable." 
 
 14 1 don't see how," murmured Selina. 
 
 " You can see well enough if you choose," replied 
 Mrs. Weston. " Your father is very much displeased 
 with you ; and though we shall never cast you off, 
 more than if you were our own, I fear, unless you turn 
 over a new leaf, we shall have to make some different 
 arrangement. My dear girl, why won't you trust 
 your best friends, and try to be what they would have 
 you ? " 
 
 Selina sobbed that she was very sorry ; and Mrs. 
 Weston, thinking she had said enough, kissed her 
 good-night, and left her. Selina, left alone, cried for 
 some time longer, told herself how hard it was to be 
 an orphan cast on the cold charities of the world, and 
 shed a great many tears, as she imagined to the 
 memory of the mother she had never seen. Then, 
 growing tired of this mood, she said to herself that no 
 doubt Mr. and Mrs. Weston meant to be kind to her 
 in their way, and that it was her duty to be grateful. 
 She would show that she was so, by being amiable 
 and affectionate, and bearing the trials of her lot 
 patiently. If her own dear mother had lived, it would 
 have been very different ; but, as it was, she must be 
 resigned. And, feeling by this time very virtuous 
 indeed, she went to bed. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 KIT AT HOME. 
 
 KIT MALLORY went swiftly over the high pasture 
 till she reached the little spring ; and then, taking an 
 oblique direction, she descended till she came to an old 
 wooden house standing on the lowest ridge or terrace 
 of the hill. It had once been a roomy, comfortable 
 farmhouse, with a well-house, sheds, and barns; but 
 the buildings were out of repair, and the whole place 
 looked as if it had suffered from a long course of 
 neglect. Nevertheless, the stones at the back-door 
 were white and clean, and the windows bright ; and a 
 row of milk-pans turned up on a shelf showed that 
 some one in the house was neat and pains-taking. 
 The back-door stood open ; and, as Kit approached, a 
 middle-aged woman appeared in it, making a sign for 
 silence. She was tall and dark, and would have been 
 handsome but for the look of hopeless weariness and 
 despondency which had settled on her face. 
 
 " Is aunt Martha bad again ? " asked Kit in a 
 whisper. 
 
 "Yes, I have had a terrible time with her all the 
 afternoon. She has just dropped asleep, and I hope 
 
KIT AT HOME. 39 
 
 she will not wake for a good long while. What kept 
 you so late ? " 
 
 Kit gave a short account of herself. 
 
 " That was all right," said Symantha. " Is Miss 
 Armstrong a nice lady?" 
 
 " She is just lovely ! " answered Kit with enthusiasm. 
 
 " I hope she will be a good friend to you. You must 
 try to learn all you can, and make the most of your 
 time while we are here." 
 
 "Ain't we going to stay here, then ? " asked Kit in 
 a tone of anxiety and disappointment. " I thought 
 uncle Phin owned this place." 
 
 "So he does at least yes, I suppose he does," 
 answered Symantha with a curious tone of hesitation, 
 which made Kit look at her in surprise. " But I have 
 moved so many times, and about every time for the 
 worse, that I don't believe I shall ever feel settled 
 any where. What nice apples ! " she added, as if 
 hastening to change the conversation. " Where did 
 you get them?" 
 
 " Mr. Weston gave them to me, and I brought them 
 home for aunt Martha. Where are all the folks ?" 
 
 " Pa 'has gone over to Oldbury after a load of 
 lumber. And Melissa is down at the Corners, I 
 suppose : I haven't seen her since morning. She 
 always goes away if she can, you know, when ma gets 
 one of her bad times ; and perhaps it is just as well." 
 
 " How tired you look!" said Kit. She hesitated 
 a moment ; and then, postponing a plan she had 
 meant to put in execution as soon as she reached 
 home, she added, "You lie down and rest, and let 
 me get the supper. I can do it as well as not." 
 
40 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "Well, you may if you like," replied Symantha. 
 "You are a good little thing, Kit. I don't know 
 what I should do without you sometimes." As she 
 spoke her face softened ; and she bent down and 
 kissed Kit, who returned the embrace with interest. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know what I should do without 
 you," said she. "If it wasn't for you, I'd run away 
 and seek my fortune." 
 
 "Hush," said Symantha sharply. "Don't ever let 
 father hear you say such a thing as that : I don't 
 know what he would do to you. Yes, you may get 
 the supper ready, and I will rest till milking-time." 
 
 Left to herself, Kit went about her work, doing 
 every thing with marvellous quickness and quiet- 
 ness. Just as she had finished her preparations, she 
 heard the sound of wheels and horses' feet ; and pres- 
 ently a man entered the back kitchen. Kit made a 
 sign for silence. 
 
 "Where's Symantha?" was the first question. 
 
 " She's lying down. Please don't make such a 
 noise, uncle Phin : aunt Martha has just gone to 
 sleep." 
 
 " Has she had a bad time ? " 
 
 Kit nodded. 
 
 "Where's Melissa?" 
 
 "I don't know; I haven't seen her. Symantha 
 says she has gone to the Corners." 
 
 " I'll teach her to run off and leave all the work 
 for her sister," muttered Phin Mallory to himself; 
 and then aloud, "Here, child, here's a reader and 
 spelling-book for you. Halloo, what's that ? " 
 
 "A picture-paper, I guess," said Kit; "and a 
 
KIT AT HOME. 41 
 
 little book," she added, taking out of the parcel an 
 illustrated Sunday-school paper, and a copy of that 
 time-honored tract, "The Shepherd of Salisbury 
 Plain," with a pretty woodcut on the cover. Mr. 
 Sandford at Oldbury was fond of this method of 
 sowing seed, and seldom sold a book or parcel of 
 books without putting in some similar document to 
 that which Kit held in her hand. 
 
 "What stuff is that ?" said Phin. "I'll teach old 
 Sandford to be sending his rubbish into my house." 
 He made a step toward the stove as he spoke, as if 
 to throw the papers into the fire. 
 
 " Oh, please don't burn them up," entreated Kit, 
 holding his hand. " I don't hardly ever see a pic- 
 ture, and these are so pretty. Please let me have 
 them." 
 
 Phin still held the papers over the fire ; but some- 
 thing in the pleading, upturned face seemed to move 
 him, for he put them into her hand. 
 
 " Here, child, take them, then. You don't see 
 many pretty things, that's a fact. There, put the 
 supper on the table ; I'll be back in a minute." 
 
 Kit carried her prizes off in triumph to her own 
 little room up stairs, and hid them away till she 
 should have leisure to examine them. Then she 
 hastened to finish her supper preparations, and had 
 a comfortable meal ready on the table when Phin 
 returned. He was a lithe, alert little man, looking 
 as if he had seen some hard times and some dissipa- 
 tion ; and there was a watchful, furtive expression in 
 his face, not pleasant to see. 
 
 "So you got beat out," said he to Symantha, as 
 
42 OLD HAM; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 she appeared and took her seat at the table. "It 
 was too bad in Melissa to run off and leave you with 
 all the work. I'll tell her what I think about it 
 when she comes home." 
 
 " She is just as well out of the way when ma has 
 one of her bad times," replied Symantha. " But I 
 don't see how any one can like to go visiting so, for- 
 ever. I like to let other folks alone, and have them 
 let me alone." 
 
 " Yes, you and pa would like to shut me up from 
 one year's end to another," said Melissa, speaking for 
 herself, as she came into the room with her hat on. 
 "It has always been just so. But I'm not going to 
 stand it. I like company, and I'm going to have it, 
 so there! Kit, take my things up stairs, and get 
 me a chair." 
 
 "Sit still, Kit," said her father. "You just wait 
 on yourself, my girl. Kit has been at work while 
 you have been at play." 
 
 Melissa muttered something, but it seemed as if 
 she did not care to provoke a dispute. She threw 
 her hat and shawl into a corner, and took a seat at 
 the table. 
 
 "We're going to have new neighbors at the stone 
 house," said she after a little silence, " some people 
 from New York, Van Zandt, or some such name." 
 
 " It was a Van Zandt that owned it before," re- 
 marked Symantha. 
 
 " Yes ; he has left it to some old lady in New 
 York, and she is going to have it all fixed up for a 
 summer house. She has got no end of money, and 
 is going to bring her horses and servants and car- 
 
KIT AT HOME. 43 
 
 riages, and some young ladies, from New York ; so 
 we shall have quite a gay time." 
 
 " I don't see how we shall have much to do with 
 it," said Symantha. "I don't suppose you mean to 
 go and call on them, do you ? " 
 
 "Why not?" asked Melissa. "I should just like 
 to know." 
 
 "Because I say you sha'n't, and that's enough!" 
 exclaimed her father, striking the table with his hand 
 so as to make all the dishes rattle. " I won't have 
 you go near them, do you hear ? not one of them. 
 You mind me, too, Kit : don't you go near the 
 house." 
 
 " Don't, pa ; you will wake mother," said Syman- 
 tha. 
 
 " Dear me, what a fuss about nothing ! " said Me- 
 lissa. " One would think pa thought these people 
 had the small-pox, or that he was afraid they would 
 find out something." 
 
 Phin gave his daughter such a menacing glance 
 that she evidently thought it better to say no more, 
 and the meal was finished in silence. Kit washed 
 the dishes, brought in wood, and arranged matters 
 for the next morning. By that time it was dark, and 
 she was weary enough to go to bed. Tired as she 
 was, she did not forget to take out the card Miss 
 Armstrong had given her, and read over the little 
 prayer. She stood for a moment after she had fin- 
 ished, as if thinking, and then said, half aloud, 
 
 " Please, our Father in heaven, I should like to 
 have a Bible." Then she crept into bed, and was 
 asleep in a minute. 
 
44 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 The next morning Kit was up early, so early that 
 the sun was only just gilding the very top of Blue 
 Mountain. Nobody else was stirring in the house. 
 It was a good time to put her plan into execution. 
 
 There was a large, high garret to the old house, in 
 which was stored the accumulated rubbish of a hun- 
 dred years. Here was a tall eight-day clock, the case 
 of which would have thrown a collector into ecsta- 
 sies, side by side with a broken and disused loom ; 
 there, a shelf full of bottles and more or less disabled 
 crockery. A little room was roughly partitioned off 
 at one end, and made a famous playing-place on a 
 rainy day. It was in this garret that Kit had found 
 her precious fragment of the "Pilgrim's Progress" 
 lying on the top of a box full of old books and 
 papers. It had occurred to her that in this same box 
 she might possibly find a Bible. 
 
 She took oat the volumes one by one, and looked 
 at the titles. They were mostly old books of theol- 
 ogy and collections of sermons ; but there were two 
 or three volumes of travels and memoirs, which 
 looked, Kit thought, as though they might be inter- 
 esting, and she laid them aside for future considera- 
 tion. At last, near the bottom of the box, she found 
 a small volume handsomely bound and closely printed. 
 She looked at the titlepage. 
 
 "The New Testament of our Lord and Saviour 
 Jesus Christ." Was that the same as the Bible? 
 Kit thought so, but she was not sure. 
 
 " I'll take it to school, and show it to Miss Arm- 
 strong. Anyhow, it tells about Him. What is this, 
 I wonder? Never mind, I can't look at it now." 
 
KIT A T HOME. 45 
 
 Kit brushed the dust from her dress, washed her 
 face and hands, and sat down to examine her ne\v 
 treasure. The first chapter seemed to be all hard 
 names, so she opened about the middle of the book, 
 and read about the shepherds who were watching 
 their flocks by night, and were sent by the angels to 
 find the babe lying in the manger, who was Christ 
 the Lord. She read slowly, and had to spell some 
 words ; but the story lost nothing of its force by 
 that. 
 
 "The very one Miss Armstrong was talking about," 
 said Kit. "How strange! If he was a little baby 
 once, and grew up into a man afterward, there must 
 have been a time when he was just as old as I am 
 now." 
 
 Kit had no time to follow out her meditations. A 
 call from below summoned her. 
 
 " You can't go to school to-day," was the saluta- 
 tion which met her as she entered the kitchen. 
 " Symantha's sick, or thinks she is, and I want you 
 to help me." 
 
 "Oh, dear! and I did want to go so much ! " said 
 Kit. "Can't you do without me, Melissa? I hate to 
 be so irregular." 
 
 " Let her go, Melissa," said Symantha's voice from 
 the little bedroom. " I sha'n't want any thing. I 
 dare say I shall be able to get up presently ; it is 
 only one of my dizzy headaches." 
 
 "Yes, that is very likely, that she is going to 
 school, leaving me with you and ma to wait on, and 
 all the work to do. I don't believe pa will let her go, 
 anyway, when he finds out about Miss Armstrong. 
 
46 OLDHAM; OR, BESTDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 They say she is a regular Methodist, has prayers in 
 school, and teaches the children out of the Bible. 
 I mean to tell pa about it; and then he won't let you 
 go at all, Miss Kit, and serve you right too." 
 
 Kit was used to Melissa's tongue, and generally 
 gave her back her sharp words with interest ; but 
 the prospect of losing her precious schooling and the 
 society of her new friend was too dreadful, and she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Hush, Kit ; don't cry," said Symantha, raising 
 her head, but obliged to drop it again. " Pa won't 
 take you out of school. Oh, my head ! " 
 
 " Is it so very bad ? " asked Kit, forgetting her 
 own trouble for the moment. " Can't I do any thing 
 for you ? " 
 
 " You may look in the front-room cupboard, and 
 see if you can find the alcohol bottle," said Syman- 
 tha, pressing her hand over her eyes. " I had it up 
 there, I know." 
 
 Kit sped up stairs, and found the bottle. As she 
 passed the door of her own little room, she remem- 
 bered her prayer of last night, and also that she had 
 forgotten her promise to say one in the morning. 
 
 " What a shame ! " she said to herself. " And 
 when He was so good, and gave me the Testament." 
 She went into her room, shut the door, and reverently 
 repeated her little verse, 
 
 " Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, 
 Look upon a little child; 
 Pity my simplicity ; 
 Suffer me to come to Thee." 
 
KIT AT HOME. 47 
 
 "Jesus! That is the very one I was reading 
 about, that very one that was a little baby. I 
 wonder if He ever had to do things he didn't like. 
 Perhaps He had to stay at home sometimes to help 
 His mother, but I don't believe she was one bit like 
 Melissa. But they were poor, I guess, and He must 
 have had a great deal of trouble in His life ; so He 
 knows all about it. Perhaps He would like it if I 
 was good-natured, and staid at home." Kit had not 
 been gone ten minutes when she came back with the 
 bottle, and set herself to bathe Symantha's head and 
 brush her hair ; but in that ten minutes a great 
 change had come over her. She had entered into a 
 new life. The little untaught, ignorant heathen had 
 found her Saviour, had entered into conscious rela- 
 tions with Him, and made a sacrifice for Him. The 
 little seed dropped by a skilful sower into her heart 
 had taken root and sprung up. The plant was young 
 and tender as yet, one would say, easily crushed by a 
 careless foot, or nibbled off by some passing animal ; 
 but ONE was watching over it who is greater than all 
 the changes and chances of this mortal life, and who 
 makes them all work together for good to them that 
 love Him. 
 
 Kit said no more about going to school. She went 
 into her aunt's room, washed her face and hands, 
 and coaxed her to drink a cup of coffee and eat a bit 
 of toast. Mrs. Mallory must once have been a beau- 
 tiful woman, judging by her regular features and still 
 fair complexion ; but her hair was streaked with 
 gray, her large dark-blue eyes, very much like Kit's 
 in shape and color, were wild and wandering, and 
 
48 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 she had a despairing, anxious expression, pitiful to 
 see. 
 
 " There, that is real good," said Kit, speaking as 
 one would to a sick and wayward child. " Now you 
 shall have a nice apple." 
 
 She produced one of the apples she had brought 
 from Mr. Weston's, and the poor woman took it 
 with some show of pleasure. Something about Kit 
 seemed to arrest her attention, for she held the 
 child's hand, and looked earnestly into her face. 
 
 " Who are you, little girl ? Haven't I seen you 
 somewhere ? " 
 
 "Why, yes, aunt Martha. I am Kit. You re- 
 member Kit, don't you ? " 
 
 Mrs. Mallory gazed at her a moment with a gleam 
 of intelligence, and then, dropping her hand, sank 
 back on her pillow. 
 
 " I don't know," said she. " It all goes away from 
 me. Every thing went when they took Him away." 
 
 "Well, never mind," said Kit soothingly. "Eat 
 the nice apple, and by and by you shall have an- 
 other." 
 
 Seeing her aunt's attention diverted for the mo- 
 ment, Kit slipped from the room. Melissa was by 
 this time in a better humor. Her moods were very 
 much the result of her bodily feelings ; and she felt 
 better, now that she had made her coffee as strong 
 as she liked it, and eaten her breakfast. Kit waited 
 on Symantha, and brushed her hair softly till she fell 
 asleep ; got her aunt up and dressed her, and brought 
 her some flowers from the neglected garden. The 
 last Mrs. Mallory had been fond of flowers, and a 
 
A'/T AT HOME. 49 
 
 few of the hardy perennials she had planted still 
 struggled for existence ; while in one corner the dear 
 old-fashioned rose of May, neglected and forgotten 
 now, opened its pretty pointed buds. Mrs. Mallory 
 loved flowers, and a nosegay would keep her quiet 
 and amused longer than any thing else. Certainly 
 Kit did her full share of the work, and more ; for 
 Melissa was an accomplished shirk, and, if she did 
 not work herself, she was the cause of work in 
 others. Symantha's nap carried off her headache, 
 and she was able to get up to dinner. 
 
 " Halloo, what are you doing here ? " asked Phin 
 as he came in and found Kit dishing up the dinner. 
 " I thought you took your dinner to school." 
 
 " I didn't go to school," answered Kit, busily stir- 
 ring her gravy. " I staid at home to help Melissa." 
 
 " Then don't do it again, do you hear ? " said her 
 uncle angrily. " I am not going to have you staying 
 out of school for every little thing." 
 
 " I didn't want to stay, I'm sure," returned Kit ; 
 and then, as some thought crossed her mind, she 
 added in a gentler tone, " Symantha couldn't sit up, 
 and Melissa wanted me to help her, so I did." 
 
 " It wasn't her fault," added Symantha : " Melissa 
 kept her. Kit was very good-natured about it, I 
 must say." 
 
 " Good-natured or not, it isn't to happen again. 
 Do you hear, Melissa?" 
 
 " Hear what ? " asked Melissa from the next room. 
 "I don't know what you are talking about." 
 
 "Then I'll make you know," said her father. "I 
 say you are not to keep the child at home from school 
 
50 OLD HAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 for any thing and every thing. I want her to go 
 every day this summer. I've taught school myself, 
 and I know what a nuisance it is to a teacher to have 
 scholars so irregular. Mind, I won't have it happen 
 again." 
 
 "Oh, of course you won't," replied Melissa sulkily: 
 "you care for every one more than you do for me. 
 Never mind, I am not going to be made a slave of 
 forever. I shall look out for myself some day." 
 
 " You do that now pretty well," said Symantha. 
 
 No answer was returned, and the family sat down 
 to dinner. 
 
 " Did you really keep school once, uncle Phin ? " 
 asked Kit. 
 
 "Yes," replied her uncle, "when I was a young 
 man I taught one winter in that very red school- 
 house. I was a good scholar once, thanks to my 
 mother." 
 
 " Was your mother a nice woman ? " asked Kit, 
 who was always hungry for any thing like a story. 
 
 "That she was, as good a woman as ever 
 breathed," replied Phin, his hard face softening a 
 little. " She had a great many notions that I don't 
 believe in, but she was just as good as they make." 
 
 " What a pity her grand-daughters are not like 
 her!" said Melissa sarcastically. 
 
 " It is a pity," replied her father dryly. 
 
 " Perhaps Kit may take after her if she keeps on 
 going to school," continued Melissa. "Miss Arm- 
 strong is very pious, teaches the children verses out 
 of the Bible, and talks to them like a Methodist class- 
 leader." 
 
KIT AT HOME. 51 
 
 "Maybe she will have to stop that some day," 
 said her father. " But, anyhow, the red schoolhouse 
 is the only one near here, and Kit shall go to school 
 if the teacher talks all through the Old Testament, 
 and the New Testament too." 
 
 " Am I to go to school this afternoon ? " asked 
 Kit as Phin rose from the table. 
 
 " It is hardly worth while, I guess : you won't 
 more than get there before school is out. However, 
 you can do as you like," said Phin. 
 
 Kit knew she should be in time for at least a part 
 of the afternoon session ; so she made herself tidy, 
 and skipped a\tay rejoicing, her precious little Testa- 
 ment safe in her pocket. She entered school some- 
 what out of breath, and slipped into her seat as 
 quietly as possible. 
 
 "You are late, Kitty, and you were away this 
 morning," said Miss Armstrong. " How does that 
 happen ? " 
 
 " Melissa kept me at home to help do the work," 
 answered Kit. " Symantha had one of her sick 
 headaches, and couldn't sit up a minute. But uncle 
 Phin says I mustn't do it again. He says it is bad 
 for me and bad for the teacher." 
 
 " How impudent she is, to answer Miss Armstrong 
 so ! " thought Selina. An undefined feeling of anger 
 at Kit had been lurking in her mind ever since the 
 day before, and she was glad to find something to 
 justify it. Miss Armstrong, however, did not seem 
 the least disturbed. 
 
 "Your uncle is right," said she: "irregular and 
 tardy scholars hurt both themselves and the school. 
 
$2 OLD If AM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Now you may take your book, and study your spell- 
 ing and reading lessons." 
 
 It was with a feeling of satisfaction that Kit pro- 
 duced her nice new reader and spelling-book. The 
 Red Hill district stuck to Webster's spelling-book, 
 which was, perhaps, one reason why most of the 
 children really learned to spell. The day before, Kit 
 had been obliged to borrow her neighbor's books, 
 which did not please her at all, for she had an inde- 
 pendent spirit. She was tempted to look at all the 
 pictures, and read all the stories ; but she reflected 
 that she could do that as well after school, and ap- 
 plied herself to her lesson with such* zeal that she 
 went up several places in the spelling-class. At 
 recess she brought her books to Miss Armstrong. 
 
 " Please, Miss Armstrong, will you write my name 
 in my new books ? " 
 
 "Certainly, my dear. What shall I write?" 
 
 Kit's face darkened a little. "That's just the 
 trouble," said she. " I hate ' Keturah,' and I don't 
 believe it is my name either." 
 
 " Suppose we write it ' Kitty,' " said Miss Arm- 
 strong : " that is short for Catherine, but it will do quite 
 as well for Keturah. But you should not hate the name 
 of Keturah, my dear. She was a great lady, I suppose ; 
 at least, she was the wife of a very great man." 
 
 " Was she ? " asked Kit, much interested. 
 
 " Yes : she was the second wife of Abraham, one 
 of the most distinguished men that ever lived. Abra- 
 ham was called the friend of God, and talked with 
 Him face to face. So you see Keturah is not a bad 
 name, after all." 
 
KIT AT HOME. 53 
 
 " I shall like it better, now I know about it ; but I 
 don't believe it is my right name, for all that," said 
 Kit. " But please, Miss Armstrong, may I ask you 
 about something else ? " 
 
 "After school," said Miss Armstrong, smiling. "I 
 suppose, Kit, it never occurs to you children to 
 think that a teacher likes her recess, as well as her 
 scholars." 
 
 " I am real sorry I bothered you," said Kit peni- 
 tently. " I won't say another word." And, putting 
 her books away, she went out to the playground, 
 where a lively game was in progress. 
 
 "Here is Kit; she'll be //, I know!" exclaimed 
 Sarah Leet. " You will, won't you, Kit ? " 
 
 " Of course, when I know what you are playing," 
 answered Kit. "What do you want me to do?" 
 
 " Oh, to be king. We are playing king's land ; 
 and it is Selina's turn, but she won't." 
 
 " I will, and I'll catch you too," said Kit, darting 
 after Sarah, and catching her on the verge of her 
 own territory. "There, I'll let you off, because it 
 was not quite fair to catch you before you had time 
 to get off. Now, girls, look out for yourselves." 
 
 "What a nice, good-natured little thing she is, 
 after all ! " said Faith Fletcher as Kit darted hither 
 and thither, always on the watch, and turning up 
 where she was least expected. 
 
 " Oh, yes, very nice indeed !" said Selina, to whom 
 the remark was addressed. " I wonder how long it 
 will last." 
 
 " Well, I don't see how you can wish to spite the 
 poor little thing so," said Sarah. "I should think 
 
54 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 you would have some feeling for her, trying so hard 
 to make something of herself." 
 
 " I don't spite her, and you have no business to 
 say so," said Selina angrily. 
 
 "Well, that's the way it looks to me. When a 
 person never can say a good word for another, and 
 never likes to hear any one else do it, it looks a good 
 deal like spite. However, it is no business of mine. 
 I'm on the king's land ; the king Ah, you little 
 spirit ! I might have known you would catch me. 
 There is the bell, so I don't care." 
 
 The verse Miss Armstrong gave the children that 
 evening was rather a long one, " God so loved the 
 world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that who- 
 soever believeth in Him should not perish, but have 
 everlasting life" (St. John iii. 16). She asked a few 
 questions, which were answered intelligently, even by 
 the little children, though the Fletcher twins could 
 not tell where Christ was born. 
 
 " Sister is so busy, she has hardly any time to 
 teach them," said Faith apologetically, after school ; 
 "but I thought they knew that." 
 
 " Cannot you teach them, Faith ? Have you no 
 time to tell these little ones about the Saviour who 
 died for them ? " 
 
 "They go to Sunday school always," said Faith, 
 "every Sunday unless it is bad weather." 
 
 "Sunday schools are very good things, but they 
 can never take the place of home teaching. Don't 
 you help them learn their lessons?" 
 
 "There is always so much to do Sundays and 
 Saturdays," answered Faith. And then she added 
 
KIT AT HOME. 55 
 
 frankly, "I guess the truth is, I never thought of it; 
 but I'll try to get time before next Sunday." 
 
 "Do," said Miss Armstrong; "and, Faith, when 
 you go to bed, read the parable of the sower, and 
 remember that the cares of this world choke the 
 Word, and make it unfruitful, quite as often and quite 
 as surely as the deceitfulness of riches. Good-night, 
 my child. Now, Kitty, what can I do for you ? " 
 
 " Please, Miss Armstrong, is the New Testament 
 part of the Bible ? " asked Kit. 
 
 "Certainly, my dear, and a very important part. 
 It contains the history of our Lord Jesus Christ. 
 Why ? " 
 
 " I was looking for a Bible up in the garret, and I 
 found this," answered Kit, producing her treasure. 
 " I read some in it this morning about Mary and 
 Joseph, and the baby that was Christ the Lord. Was 
 He really ? " 
 
 "Really and truly, Kitty, as really and truly as 
 that He now sits at the right hand of God the Father, 
 ready to hear and help us in all our troubles." 
 
 "That is very strange," said Kit. "But I think 
 it is lovely, too," she added, her eyes lighting up with 
 their peculiar sapphire-like brilliancy. "Isn't it won- 
 derful to think that He knows all about us ? " 
 
 "The more you know of the matter, the more 
 strange and lovely it will appear to you, my dear. 
 Now, let me advise you to begin here at this second 
 chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, and read this book 
 through, and at the same time ask God to teach you 
 to understand it." 
 
 "And will He?" 
 
56 OLD If AM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Yes : He has promised He will, and He always 
 keeps His word." 
 
 " I'm sure I'm glad of it," said Kit in her matter- 
 of-fact way ; " because I don't have any help only 
 what you give me. I can't go to church and Sunday 
 school, like the others." 
 
 " If you could, my dear, if you had all the human 
 helps in the world, you would need God's help just 
 as much. The most learned man in the world needs 
 it just as much as you do. Now, see here ; I have 
 something else for you. Here is a card with the 
 Lord's Prayer printed on it in nice plain letters ; I 
 want you to take it and learn it, so you can say it 
 with the others. It is in your Testament too." 
 
 " Is it called the Lord's Prayer because He made 
 it ? " asked Kit. 
 
 "Yes, for that very reason." 
 
 " Here is something else printed on the card, 
 ' The Apostles' Creed/ " said Kit, spelling out the 
 word with some trouble. "What is that ? " 
 
 "That is what all Christians believe, a kind of 
 summing-up of all the truths of the Bible," answered 
 Miss Armstrong. " Learn that too. Suppose you 
 read it over to me." 
 
 " I have heard that somewhere, I know," said Kit 
 when she had finished reading the Creed. " Seems to 
 me it was in a church out West, but I can't tell exactly. 
 I guess it was in the Indian church. But, Miss Ann- 
 strong, I shall have to learn these in school, I guess." 
 
 " Very well ; we will make time for them. Now 
 I must not keep poor Selina waiting any longer. 
 Good-night, my dear, and God bless you ! " 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 STRANGERS. 
 
 " ARE you tired of waiting, Selina ? " asked Miss 
 Armstrong as she locked the schoolhouse door, and 
 put the key into her basket. " You need not have 
 staid. I don't believe I should be so stupid as to 
 lose my way twice." 
 
 "I liked to," said Selina with a great effort: "it 
 is pleasanter than walking home alone. But I think 
 it is too bad to keep you after school so." 
 
 "Oh, I am used to that," answered Miss Arm- 
 strong, smiling. " I usually get ' kept after school ' 
 oftener than my scholars do. I am pleased when 
 the girls come to me with questions. I am very 
 much interested in poor Kitty ; I hope to be able 
 to do something for her." 
 
 "They must be an ignorant, low set," said Selina. 
 " Fancy any one not knowing that the New Testa- 
 ment is a part of the Bible ! " 
 
 " A good deal more than half the people in the 
 world are in the same condition, including various 
 kings, nobles, and others of unquestionable gentil- 
 ity," said Miss Armstrong. "I have met with many 
 
 57 
 
58 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 such cases in the city ; but I was surprised, I con- 
 fess, to find one here." 
 
 " Oh, well ! Phin Mallory has not always lived 
 here. He has lived out West, and in all sorts of 
 wild places," replied Selina, jealous for the reputation 
 of the neighborhood. " If he had grown up in Old- 
 ham, I dare say he would have been different." 
 
 " I think it altogether probable that one might find 
 people who have grown up in Oldham whose cases are 
 still more remarkable," said Miss Armstrong, "though 
 such cases are so common that their peculiarity does 
 not strike you unless you consider the matter." 
 
 11 1 don't know what you mean," said Selina. 
 
 " I am thinking of people who have been brought 
 up to know a great deal about both the Old and 
 New Testaments, who are carefully instructed in the 
 Bible, and profess to believe it, and who yet behave 
 as if there were no such thing." 
 
 Selina blushed. She knew very well that this 
 was very much her own case. " Do you think that 
 is so much more strange ? " said she. 
 
 "Which would be the more remarkable, that a 
 man should walk off a precipice in the dark, or that 
 he should do so in the daytime with his eyes open ? " 
 asked Miss Armstrong. 
 
 " That he should do it in the daytime, of course," 
 replied Selina ; " but that is different." 
 
 " It is a fair illustration, I think," said Miss Arm- 
 strong. "A man professes to believe that there is 
 no salvation for any one who does not accept the 
 Lord Jesus for his Saviour, and give himself up to 
 Him ; and yet he does neither." 
 
STRAA'GERS. 59 
 
 " I don't understand what people mean by that," 
 said Selina, "I mean, by what they call a saving 
 faith." 
 
 " A saving faith, as distinguished from a merely 
 historic faith, is a faith that leads to action. To give 
 you a homely illustration : Mr. Bassett, here in the 
 mill, believes that school will open at nine o'clock 
 to-morrow ; that is, if he thinks of it at all. But 
 it makes no practical difference to him : he will 
 not rise an hour earlier, or make any change in his 
 arrangements, on that account. But to me it is, so 
 to speak, the central fact of my day ; and all my 
 plans are made in reference to it. - So a man has a 
 kind of belief in the Saviour ; that is, he believes 
 that there was such a person, and that He did the 
 works ascribed to Him : but he does not make any 
 alteration in his life on that account. But let that 
 man be once waked up to the truth that he is a lost 
 sinner, with no hope of deliverance except in this 
 same Saviour, and he will not rest till he has made 
 that Saviour his own." 
 
 " Then all people want is, to be waked up," said 
 Selina. " If that is the case, I wonder true Chris- 
 tians don't talk to people about such things more 
 than they do." 
 
 " It is, no doubt, a duty grievously neglected," said 
 Miss Armstrong ; " but it is not all, by any means. 
 People go on in sin, not because they don't know 
 any better, but because they love sin. They know, 
 that, if they become really Christians, they must do 
 many things which they don't like to do, and give 
 up many things they don't like to give up ; and they 
 
60 - OLDffAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 cannot make up their minds to such a course. The 
 cross looks very hard and heavy, and they don't like 
 to meddle with it." 
 
 " Some people say there is nothing but joy in ths 
 life of a true Christian," observed Selina. 
 
 " The life of a true Christian must be very imlik 
 that of his Master, then," replied Miss Armstrong 
 "The very sight and thought of so many going ti e 
 broad way to destruction must hinder any true Chris 
 tian from being perfectly happy at all times. ' The 
 disciple is not above his Master, nor the. servant 
 above his Lord.' But, Selina, how is it with you 
 You ought not to need any arousing on this sub 
 ject." 
 
 " One may sometimes have too much of a good 
 thing," said Selina lightly ; and then, willing to dis- 
 miss the subject, she exclaimed, " I wonder whose 
 carriage this is coming up the hill ! I am sure it 
 does not belong about here." 
 
 " It is Mrs. Van Zandt's," said Miss Armstrong 
 with an expression of pleasure. " She wrote me 
 that she meant to drive over from Oldbury." As she 
 spoke, the carriage came up to them and stopped ; 
 and the coachman, touching his hat, asked Selina 
 if they were in the right road to the Van Zandt 
 mansion. 
 
 " You are right so far, but you must turn to the 
 left by that red house," said Selina. She looked 
 round for Miss Armstrong, and saw that she was 
 already at the carnage window, exchanging greeting 
 with the persons within. One was an old lady with 
 beautiful white hair put up in puffs under a shady 
 
STRANGERS. 6 1 
 
 bonnet. The others seemed to be young, but Selina 
 could not see them distinctly. She felt a sense of 
 being forlorn and neglected, as if Miss Armstrong 
 had somehow done her an injury by being acquainted 
 with these strangers, while she was not. It was not 
 very reasonable, but it' is a feeling which almost 
 every one has experienced at some time. Miss Arm- 
 strong hastened to catch up with her. 
 
 " What made you run away ? " said she. " I wanted 
 Mrs. Van Zandt to see you." 
 
 " She is a handsome old lady, isn't she ? " said 
 Selina, not answering the question, which, indeed, 
 she would not have found easy. *' How prettily she 
 was dressed ! I do love to see an old lady dressed 
 like an old lady." 
 
 " And so do I," answered Miss Armstrong. 
 " There is no more pitiable spectacle, to my mind, 
 than that of an old woman trying to look young." 
 
 " Some old people feel young," observed Selina. 
 "There is Miss Delia Claxton standing at her gate 
 now. She says she does not feel any older than she did 
 when she was twenty, but she does not dress young." 
 
 " I dare say not. People who feel young seldom 
 do. How very pretty she is ! " 
 
 Miss Delia did indeed look wonderfully pretty as 
 she stood under the great tree at her own gate, with 
 the flickering lights and shadows glancing over her 
 delicate calico dress, and the white Shetland shawl 
 she had thrown over her head. She was an alert 
 little body, with a clear, dark complexion, plenty of 
 color, and bright hazel eyes, made still brighter by 
 the whiteness of her abundant wavy hair. 
 
62 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "Good evening, Miss Armstrong," she said in a 
 cheery voice as soon as that lady came within hail- 
 ing distance. " I am out staring after our new 
 neighbors, you see. That isn't very dignified, is it ? 
 but, dear me, one sees so little here, that a travelling- 
 carriage is quite a sight. Celia says you know these 
 ladies, Miss Armstrong, and that they are very nice 
 people." 
 
 "That they certainly are," said Miss Armstrong, 
 smiling. "I think you will like them very much." 
 
 " Well, I am glad to hear that," said Miss Delia 
 emphatically; "because, you see, being connections 
 in a kind of way, we must call upon them. Dick 
 Van Zandt's mother was first cousin to our mother. 
 She was a Butler, you see, and her mother was a Ring 
 belonging to the Rings, of Rollock, the same family 
 that our maternal grandmother came from ; so, of 
 course, we must call. You will smile at that, though," 
 added Miss Delia, breaking in on herself with a good- 
 natured laugh: "strangers don't understand how 
 much we think of relationship and descent in these 
 parts." 
 
 "I am Scotch, and an Armstrong," replied Miss 
 Armstrong, smiling in her turn ; "and you know the 
 Scotch count kindred to the tenth degree, at least. 
 But I assure you, Miss Delia, you will like Mrs. 
 Van Zandt very much. She is odd, at least, most 
 people consider her so, but she is very lovely." 
 
 " I am considered odd myself, so I can't quarrel with 
 that," replied Miss Delia. "You see, we don't often 
 call on the summer boarders," she added : "one does 
 not know much about their antecedents, as a rule, and 
 
STRANGERS. 6^ 
 
 some of them are not very nice. I hear that the 
 Richmonds are coming back, Selina." 
 
 " They are, I believe," answered Selina rather 
 shortly, as though the subject were not very agree- 
 able. 
 
 " Well, if they do, I hope you won't go making an 
 intimate of that Amelia," said Miss Delia: "she is 
 not a nice friend for you. Well, there, child, don't 
 color so : I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Miss 
 Armstrong, won't you and Selina come in and stay 
 to tea ? I am sure Celia would be delighted to have 
 you. You will excuse my not having called. The 
 fact is, I had been coloring carpet-rags,, and I never 
 can do that without coloring my hands at the same 
 time ; so I told Celia she must do duty for both. But 
 I should so like to have you. stay to tea!" 
 
 " Not to-night," replied Miss Armstrong, seizing 
 the chance when Miss Delia stopped for lack of 
 breath. " Some other night I shall be very happy." 
 
 " Any time ; stop in on your way home from school. 
 Here, wait a minute." She went into the house 
 as she spoke, and returned with a plate of cakes. 
 
 " Hre, Selina, take these to your mother," said 
 she; then to Miss Armstrong, in explanation, "They 
 are old-fashioned ginger-nuts made with honey. It 
 is a family recipe, and they do say nobody but a 
 Claxton can make them properly ; but I will give you 
 the rule if you like." 
 
 " And I will give you the recipe for short -bread, 
 which they say none but a Scotchwoman can make 
 properly ; and we will both try to disprove the rule,*' 
 answered Miss Armstrong. "Come, Selina; we 
 
64 OLD PI AM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 ought to be at home. Your mother will think I am 
 lost again. Good-night, Miss Delia. What a bright 
 little lady she is ! " added Miss Armstrong as they 
 walked away. " She seems quite different from her 
 sister." 
 
 "Most people like Miss Celia best," remarked 
 Selina : " Miss Delia is so sharp, and she makes such 
 queer remarks. One day Mrs. Blandy she lives in 
 that big house on the corner next the church she 
 said one day at the society that she didn't believe in 
 foreign missions. 'Well,' said Miss Delia, 'if every 
 one had been of your mind, Mrs. Blandy, you would 
 be going about dressed in a neat-fitting suit of blue 
 paint instead of that handsome black silk, and hiding 
 away that fat little boy of yours to keep him from 
 being burned alive as a sacrifice to Bel.' 'What 
 do you mean, Miss Delia?' asked Mrs. Blandy. 
 ' Nothing, only that was what your ancestors were 
 doing in the time when the Church at Jerusalem sent 
 out so many foreign missionaries,' answered Miss 
 Delia; 'and, if the apostles had been of your way 
 of thinking, you would probably be doing the same 
 now." 1 
 
 " I don't see any thing odd in that," remarked Miss 
 Armstrong : " it .was only a simple statement of facts. 
 And what then ? " 
 
 " And then Mrs. Blandy said it was a very different 
 thing, sending missionaries to England, from what it 
 was sending them clear off to India ; and Miss Delia 
 said, 'Yes, very different: a much harder and more 
 perilous journey, and much more trouble and danger 
 when they got there.' You see, Miss Delia is a 
 
STXANGERS. 65 
 
 great reader, and she never forgets any thing : so, 
 when people talk against missions or any such thing, 
 she always gets the last word." 
 
 " I should say she deserved it if she always argued 
 as well as in this case," said Miss Armstrong, much 
 amused. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; but you see people don't like to be 
 put down, and shown to be in the wrong. I'm sure 
 I don't." 
 
 "What ! not when you are in the wrong?" 
 
 " I think that is the time when one likes it least 
 of all," replied Selina frankly. 
 
 " But how are you ever to be set right, in that 
 case ? " 
 
 " I don't think Mrs. Blandy cared about being set 
 right, very much," replied Selina. "She said again 
 that charity began at home. And then Miss Delia 
 began to talk about the orphan-asylum at Oldbury, 
 and poor Mrs. Graves who has a sick husband and 
 four little children. And she asked Mrs. Blandy if 
 she had not a frock to make over for the little girls, 
 so they could be decent to come to Sunday school ; 
 but Mrs. Blandy said she was calculating to make a 
 rag carpet pretty soon, and she had to save all her old 
 clothes for that, because she meant to take the prize 
 for it at the State fair." 
 
 Miss Armstrong smiled and sighed. She had met 
 a great many Mrs. Blandys in her lifetime. 
 
 " I think I should like to be a foreign missionary," 
 said Selina, after they had walked a little way in 
 silence. 
 
 " Why ? " asked Miss Armstrong. 
 
66 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Oh, because there would be some adventure and 
 romance about it. It would not be all prose, like 
 one's life here." 
 
 " My dear, if you allow your life to be all prose 
 here, it would be prosy anywhere. And the prose 
 of a mission-life among heathen is much more dis- 
 agreeable than that of a daughter's life at home in 
 New England. I know, because I have tried it. 
 What would you think, for instance, of combing and 
 washing a dozen children who never were combed or 
 washed before in their lives ?" 
 
 " I did not suppose missionary ladies did such 
 things as that," said Selina. 
 
 " They do a great many such things as that, and 
 worse, such as I don't care to tell you about just 
 before supper," replied .Miss Armstrong. "I have 
 often wished that our missionaries would give us 
 more of just such details, that people could see what 
 the life really is." 
 
 "Why don't they?" asked Selina. 
 
 " Well, for various reasons. They are afraid, for one 
 thing, of disgusting and discouraging people ; making 
 them think there is no use in doing any thing." 
 
 " I should think, the worse the people were, the 
 more need there was for teaching them better," ob- 
 served Selina. 
 
 ''That is a very just remark, but a great many 
 people do not see it in that light. Then these mat- 
 ters of personal experience become every-day occur- 
 rences, and they do not think of them as being any 
 more novel or interesting to others than to them-, 
 selves." 
 
STRANGERS. 67 
 
 " I think they arc interesting, though," said Selina. 
 "Little things like that are just what make a story 
 seem real." 
 
 "Very true, again. But, Selina, you would never 
 make a missionary if that is to be your only motive. 
 The romance and adventure soon wear off, and the 
 hard and prosaic duties remain. You need a much 
 stronger and purer motive than that, even the love 
 of God in your heart, the same that sent the early 
 Christians everywhere preaching the Word, and that 
 now sends hundreds of men and women every year 
 to preach the glad tidings to those who sit in dark- 
 ness and the shadow of death. Have you that love 
 in your heart ? " 
 
 " I am afraid not," answered Selina. " But, sup- 
 pose I had, do you think I should make a good mis- 
 sionary ? " 
 
 "I could hardly say that on so short an acquaint- 
 ance," replied Miss Armstrong. "Consider, my 
 dear, that I have not known you quite a week. I 
 do not see, however, any reason why you should not 
 make as good a missionary as another. But, Selina, 
 let me say one word more : unless you Jiave that love 
 in your heart, you are no more fit for a life here at 
 home than you would be for a life in India. You 
 want Him just as much in one place as another, and 
 you can no more be happy without Him. Won't 
 you think about that, my child ? " 
 
 "Yes, Miss Armstrong, I will," answered Selina; 
 and at the time she fully meant what she said. She 
 was much more pleasant all the rest of the week, 
 and her mother rejoiced over the change. "Girls 
 
68 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 are full of moods and fancies," she said to her hus- 
 band. "We must have patience, father." 
 
 " I never knew you to have any thing else, 
 mother," was the reply. Mr. Weston had full confi- 
 dence in his wife's judgment, and he was very fond 
 of his adopted daughter. 
 
 It had long been the custom to hold a service in 
 the red schoolhouse on Friday evenings. This ser- 
 vice was usually called the Bible class, because a 
 portion of Scripture, usually the Epistle or Gospel 
 for the next Sunday, was given out beforehand to be 
 talked over. The minister, if he was present, read 
 a short service ; and a hymn was sung to a familiar 
 tune. Then the discussion was opened by the pas- 
 tor, or whoever supplied his place; and every one 
 spoke who had any thing to say. Even the little 
 children were encouraged to repeat texts, and verses 
 of hymns. This service had been started by old Dr. 
 Munson, who had preached, and also practised, in 
 Oldham for forty years. He had been dead for a 
 quarter of a century, but the Bible class he had 
 begun lived after him. 
 
 The meetings of the class were usually tolerably 
 well attended in winter ; but the numbers fell off in 
 warm weather, when, truth to tell, the red school- 
 house was apt to be warm and close. Those who 
 came on this particular evening, however, were des- 
 tined to find it much more comfortable than usual. 
 
 "Now, who will stay and help me put the school- 
 room in order?" asked Miss Armstrong, as the after- 
 noon session drew to a close. 
 
 The girls looked at each other in surprise. 
 
STR ANGERS. 69 
 
 "The Bible class meets here this evening, Miss 
 Armstrong," said Ruth Jewsbury. 
 
 "I know it, my dear. That is just the reason we 
 want to put the room in nice order." 
 
 " I don't see it," answered Ruth bluntly. 
 
 " Don't see what ? " 
 
 " I don't see the use of sweeping, when the people 
 will put all out of order again." 
 
 "Suppose some distinguished person Mr. Long- 
 fellow, say, or the Bishop were going to be here." 
 
 "Oh, well ! then, of course, we should want things 
 to look neat. But there will be nobody like that 
 coming to-night." 
 
 " Are you sure ? " asked Miss Armstrong. " Who 
 is it that says, ' Where two or three are gathered in 
 my name, there am I in the midst of them ' ? " 
 
 " I never thought of that," said Sarah Leet. " But, 
 Miss Armstrong, why don't they keep the church 
 cleaner, then ? " 
 
 "You must put that question to somebody besides 
 me," answered Miss Armstrong. "Now, who will 
 help me?" 
 
 Half a dozen volunteered at once, of whom Kit 
 Mallory was one. There was a large old-fashioned 
 fireplace in the room, which had been closed with a 
 fireboard when the increasing scarcity of wood had 
 made a stove necessary. Miss Armstrong had per- 
 suaded Mr. Weston to remove this board, and leave 
 open the great chimney, which thus made an excel- 
 lent ventilating-shaft. She had found a tall pickle- 
 jar among Mrs. Weston's stores, which she placed 
 on the hearth, and filled, with the children's assist- 
 
70 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 ance, with sweet-fern, cedar-boughs, and brakes. 
 The windows were opened at top and bottom, the 
 room carefully swept and dusted, and a glass of 
 fresh, sweet flowers placed on the table. 
 
 "How nice it looks, and how fresh and sweet it 
 smells ! " said Kit, who had been one of Miss Arm- 
 strong's most efficient helpers. " Isn't it too bad, 
 Miss Armstrong, that I can't come to the meet- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Can't come to the meeting ? why not ? " asked 
 the voice of Mr. Bassett, the miller, from the open 
 door. "Why can't yon come, child?" 
 
 " Uncle Phin won't let me," answered Kit. She 
 did not care to be further catechised about her uncle 
 and his ways, and slipped away without even bidding 
 Miss Armstrong good-night, an omission which 
 Selina did not fail to notice, and register in her pri- 
 vate account of Kit's misdeeds. 
 
 " Poor little young one ! " said the kindly miller. 
 "What a shame that she can't come, when she wants 
 to so much ! I feel for that child. I wish one could 
 do something for her." 
 
 "I hope something may be done ; but it seems one 
 of the cases where one must proceed with caution, 
 for fear of doing more harm than good." 
 
 "I guess you are about right there. We must 
 keep her in mind, and perhaps a way will be opened. 
 Well, Miss Armstrong, I came over to fix things for 
 the Bible class, but I don't see that you have left me 
 any thing to do. That is a first-rate idea, getting 
 that chimney open. I don't blame people for getting 
 sleepy when the room is hot as an oven, and so close 
 
STRANGERS. 7 1 
 
 you couldn't slip in a flax-seed sharp end first. I feel 
 as if we were going to have a real good time." 
 
 "What about lights?" asked Miss Armstrong. 
 
 " I always calculate to provide them. We don't 
 have many in summer. I hope you will all come, 
 girls, and all have a verse at least. Will your sister 
 be out, Faith ? " 
 
 " I don't believe she will," answered Faith: "she 
 has so much to do." 
 
 " She would do it a deal easier, and better too, if 
 she would take some rest now and again, that's 
 my opinion," said the miller. " Between the mill 
 and the farm and the blacksmith-shop, I have plenty 
 of irons in the fire, and I don't let them get cold, 
 either; but I couldn't afford not to take time for the 
 Bible class. You tell her what I say. And you 
 come along with me : I've got some nice early pease 
 to send her. The folks laughed at me for buying 
 them, they're some I sent for to Flower City, 
 and said the old-fashioned ones were good enough. 
 ' You have the laugh,' says I, ' I'll have the pease.' 
 Now I've got the laugh, and the pease too. Come 
 along, little ones, and see if Ma Bassett hasn't got 
 some gingerbread. You leave the key, Miss Arm- 
 strong, and I'll see to the rest. I feel as if we were 
 going to have a real good time." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MEETING. 
 
 IT appeared that Mr. Bassett's prophecy was going 
 to be fulfilled ; so far, at least, as numbers were con- 
 cerned. The children carried home the news that 
 Miss Armstrong had the schoolhouse all swept out, 
 instead of leaving it to be done at noon on Saturday ; 
 that she had helped to dust the desks and seats with 
 her own hands, and had put flowers on the desk and 
 in the fireplace, because she said the room ought to 
 be made neat and pleasant for the service of God. 
 Truth to tell, this idea, which would not be consid- 
 ered very original in many places, was one which 
 had not found entrance to the minds of people in 
 Oldham. 
 
 " She had better go and talk to Mr. Archimball, 
 the sexton at the Corners," said Mrs. Gleason, when 
 Agnes told her what Miss Armstrong had said. " I 
 do hate to wear my black silk to church Sundays, 
 because I get it just covered with dust. I believe 
 I will go to Bible class this evening!" 
 
 " Do," said Agnes. " I'll take care of the milk 
 if you will." 
 72 
 
THE MEETING. 73 
 
 " Oh, we can both go. It is only to have supper 
 a little earlier. Set the table, and I'll have it ready 
 directly." 
 
 " Won't you go to the class to-night, sister ? " asked 
 Faith Fletcher when she had put away the children's 
 books, and put on their home aprons. 
 
 " How can I go ? " asked Patience. " There is the 
 milk to take care of, and the dishes to wash, and 
 Eddy's new frock to finish so she can wear it on 
 Sunday. It is easy to talk about going to class." 
 
 " Well, I can wash the dishes and take care of the 
 milk as well as you, if you would only think so ; and 
 there will be time enough to finish Eddy's frock 
 to-morrow. Besides, if she don't have it, she can 
 wear her old one : it looks as well as it did last 
 Sunday. Come, sister, do go for once. Mr. Bassett 
 says he knows it will do you good." 
 
 "Yes, much he knows about my work." 
 
 "Well, there is one thing /would like to know," 
 said Faith, who was not easily put down when she 
 once took a fit of "arguing," as her sister called it : 
 " I should like to know where is the use of being a 
 Christian when one does not get any comfort or help 
 out of it. Seems to me, if I was a church-member, 
 and professed to love the Lord better than any one 
 else, I'd go where I was sure to meet Him, even if I 
 had to put my dishes in cold water to soak, and 
 didn't wash them till next morning." 
 
 " What a girl you are to talk ! " said Patience, half 
 vexed, half laughing. " It is a pity you were not a 
 boy, so you could be a preacher. I suppose I ought 
 to go sometimes, that's a fact." 
 
74 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "Mr. Bassett says it would do you good," persisted 
 Faith. "He says, with all he has to do, he finds it 
 a rest to go to the class. Come, sister, do try it for 
 once. I'll put the children to bed, and do all the 
 work, if you will." 
 
 " Don't you want to go yourself ? " 
 
 " Yes, I should like it well enough ; but I don't 
 suppose we could both be spared. Pa couldn't put 
 the twins to bed." 
 
 " What is that pa can't do ? " asked Mr. Fletcher 
 from the door. He was a tall, spare, elderly man, 
 with a somewhat careworn, considerate face, grave 
 but not unkindly, and with a sparkle of humor in it. 
 " What is that you think pa can't do ? Put the chil- 
 dren to bed ? He can do it as well as you or any 
 old woman in Oldham ; and, if he should happen to 
 stick the pins in with the heads west instead of east, 
 sissy can alter 'em when she comes home. They 
 won't disturb the balance of the solar system much 
 for that time. Just run down and let in the cows, 
 Faithy : they are mooing at the bars ; and look on 
 my work-bench, and see if I left my other glasses. 
 The fact is, sister, Faith is more than half right," he 
 added more seriously. " I don't like to say any thing 
 that sounds like blaming you, considering all you do; 
 but just look at it. You say you wish Faith cared 
 more about religion ; but how can you wonder that 
 she thinks it a matter of no great consequence, after 
 all, when she sees us let every thing come before 
 it, when she sees us, who, as she says, profess to 
 love God, so wrapped up in the little things of this 
 world that we haven't any time for His service ? I 
 
THE MEETING. 75 
 
 must say, when I heard the child talking just now, 
 I felt reproved." 
 
 " Oh, well, I'll go," said Patience in a somewhat 
 aggrieved tone ; " but I think it is rather hard on 
 me, when I make a slave of myself for you and the 
 children, to be called worldly and all that, as if I 
 spent my whole time dressing and visiting, like Mary 
 Blandy." 
 
 " In the first place, I didn't call you so, not as I 
 remember," replied her father. " I said we were too 
 much taken up with the things of the world ; which 
 I take to be all things that perish in the using, 
 whether they be dresses, or rolls of butter, or bean- 
 threshers. In the next place, daughter, we should 
 none of us be slaves, but the Lord's free men and 
 free women." 
 
 "Why don't you go yourself, then, pa, if we are 
 going to do so much good by it ? " asked Patience, 
 already ashamed of her little burst of temper, which, 
 in truth, was more nervous, fatigue than any thing 
 else. 
 
 " Because I think you need rest and refreshment 
 rather more than I do, my daughter. A man's work 
 is less tiring than a woman's, seeing he is out in 
 the fresh air most of the time ; at least, that is my 
 opinion." 
 
 " Everybody isn't like you, pa," said poor Patience, 
 who felt the moisture uncomfortably near her eyes. 
 " Ezra makes more steps in a day when he is at 
 home than you do in a week, though he is always 
 saying, ' Oh, don't trouble yourself! ' ' 
 
 " Ezra is only a boy ; but he is a pretty good boy, 
 
76 OLDHAM; OR, 11ESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 after all, and we are both prouder of him than a hen 
 with one chicken," returned her father. " Come, 
 sister, go to the class, and take Faith ; and let me 
 put the little ones to bed. Maybe the child might 
 get just the word she needs." 
 
 "Well, I don't care if I do," said Patience; and 
 she went. 
 
 The room at the red schoolhouse was really full, 
 an uncommon sight at any time, and especially in 
 summer. All the Westons and Bassetts were there, 
 of course, as well as Miss Celia and Miss Delia: these 
 were the standbys always on hand. What a bless- 
 ing it is that there are always a few such standbys 
 belonging to every parish ! Patience Fletcher came 
 in with Faith, and sat down by the window. Then 
 there were the Jewsbury girls, who did not often go 
 to church, even on Sunday ; and old Miss Wright, 
 who eked out a scanty living by bleaching and trim- 
 ming bonnets, and who had never been to church at 
 Oldham since the last rector's sister bought her 
 bonnet ready trimmed at Oldbury ; and almost all 
 the children of the school who were big enough to 
 sit up till eight o'clock. Just as it was time for the 
 service to begin, there was a little movement at the 
 door ; and Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt came in, followed 
 by her two young nieces, Miss Bogardus and Ida 
 Van Zandt. Mrs. Van Zandt wore a large, soft 
 white wrap, and had put a light, fleecy summer hood 
 over the widow's cap she always wore. She was a 
 very handsome old lady, with those bright-gray eyes 
 which have a way of looking black from the dilation 
 of the pupils, and which -no age or sickness ever 
 
THE MEETING. 77 
 
 quenches. She was one of those people of whom 
 one naturally says, on seeing them, " Who is that ? " 
 She accepted the chair set for her, with a kindly 
 smile, and bent her head for a few moments in 
 prayer. Ida and Amity slipped into seats beside 
 Patience and Faith Fletcher. 
 
 "What a plain little body!" thought Patience. 
 "Nobody would take her for a great heiress. But 
 she looks good, as if one could depend on her." 
 
 "What a fine face, if it were not so tired and 
 worn ! " thought Amity. " She must be carrying a 
 great weight, somehow. I wish one could do some- 
 thing to help her." And Amity did something for 
 Patience then and there, though Patience never knew 
 it. 
 
 The meeting was opened in the usual way. There 
 was no rector in Oldham at present, so Mr. Weston 
 read a part of the evening service, and gave out the 
 hymn, "Jesus, lover of my soul." There was a 
 little delay : the young man who usually started the 
 hymn was not present. But in a moment a new voice 
 began the beautiful Spanish Hymn, such a voice, 
 for power and cultivation, as had never been heard 
 in the red schoolhouse before. People almost held 
 their breath to listen, and it seemed at first as if Ida 
 would have all the singing to herself ; but presently 
 one and another joined in, till every one in the room 
 was singing, children and all. 
 
 " Wasn't that lovely ! " whispered Faith, getting 
 hold of her sister's hand, and squeezing it. Patience 
 smiled, and returned the pressure ; but she did not 
 speak. 
 
78 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 When the hymn was done, Mr. Weston read a 
 part of the tenth chapter of St. John, and called 
 upon Mr. Bassett to begin the lesson. Mr. Bassett 
 had what he would have called a good common- 
 school education. He knew Brown's Grammar from 
 beginning to end, and could have parsed any sen- 
 tence you liked to give him : but, like other people, 
 when he was in earnest, he went back to his native 
 idioms ; and he was much in earnest to-night. He 
 spoke of the Shepherd's love, not only for His obedi- 
 ent sheep, but for the others who were not of His 
 fold, for those who, ignorant and misled, had gone 
 astray, and were lost on the dark mountains. He 
 spoke of the duty of true disciples toward such lost 
 lambs ; and of how much might be done by kindness, 
 and watchfulness of opportunities, to lead them back 
 to the Shepherd's arms. There was just such a lost 
 lamb nay, the very one the good man had in his 
 mind listening under the window at that moment. 
 Mr. Bassett did not know that, but the Shepherd did. 
 
 The children repeated their verses more or less 
 correctly ; and two or three, who had not learned any, 
 determined to do so next time. Miss Armstrong re- 
 peated two verses of the old Scotch version of the 
 twenty-third Psalm, " The Lord's my Shepherd ; I'll 
 not want." Miss Celia Claxton said a few words on 
 her verse, "I will guide thee with mine eye" (Ps. 
 xxxii. 8). She spoke of the service of God setting 
 free from the corroding cares of this world, and how 
 those who kept close enough to the Shepherd to see 
 His face were spared many distressing doubts and 
 perplexities, because His loving and warning glance 
 
THE MEETING. 79 
 
 made all things plain. Patience Fletcher repeated a 
 verse from the one hundred and nineteenth Psalm, 
 " My soul cleaveth unto the dust : quicken Thou 
 me according to Thy word." 
 
 There was a little pause, and then Mrs. Van 
 Zandt's voice was heard, a little tremulous with 
 age, 
 
 " Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy 
 laden, and I will give you rest." Mrs. Van Zandt 
 said a few words on the need and sweetness of rest, 
 and the impossibility of finding it anywhere but in 
 Christ, and then only by making a full surrender and 
 consecration of the heart and all the powers to Him, 
 by ceasing from our own works, and doing all to 
 Him. It was very simple and obvious, but it went 
 home to more than one heart. There were two more 
 short addresses, and another hymn was sung, 
 
 " Sun of my soul, thou Saviour dear." 
 
 Ida was a little shy of beginning this time, till Mr. 
 Weston said, " Perhaps the young lady will start the 
 tune again," when she raised her glorious voice once 
 more ; and every one joined with a hearty good-will 
 refreshing to hear. There was a collect, and then 
 the class was dismissed. People lingered for the 
 usual neighborly greeting ; and before the first one 
 issued from the door, a little dark figure, which had 
 been crouched under the window, rose, and sped 
 away over the hill. 
 
 Miss Celia and Miss Delia had already called upon 
 the new-comers. " They are really our cousins, you 
 know, by way of the Rings and Butlers," they had 
 
80 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 saidj in a kind of half apology, when questioned on 
 the subject. The two sisters now shook hands with 
 Mrs. Van Zandt and the young ladies, and Miss 
 Delia remarked that she was glad to see them out. 
 
 " I never willingly miss such a service," said Mrs. 
 Van Zandt. " I always feel, apart from the enjoy- 
 ment, that one owes a duty to such an effort made 
 in one's own neighborhood." 
 
 " I wish every one felt so," said Mr. Bassett. " I 
 want to thank this young lady for helping us out in 
 the singing." 
 
 " I am sure you are very welcome," replied Ida 
 simply. " I am choir leader in our little mission 
 chapel at the Works, so it comes quite natural to 
 me. I really did it upon impulse the first time ; but, 
 when I came to think, it seemed like ' taking on,' as 
 the children say, for a stranger." 
 
 " I don't think one ever ought to feel like a stran- 
 ger in the house of God," remarked Miss Celia. 
 " We are all of one family there, you know, my dear." 
 
 " That is very true," said Ida. 
 
 " Well, Miss Armstrong, I told you we were going 
 to have a good time," said the miller, as he locked 
 the door, and gave Miss Armstrong the key ; then, 
 as he walked homeward between his wife and Aunt 
 Betsy, he added, " I feel to be thankful that our new 
 neighbors turn out to be such good Christian folks, 
 ready to take their share in our meeting." 
 
 "Well, I must say I think they took their full 
 share to-night, and a little more," said Aunt Betsy, 
 who had regarded the new-comers with suspicion 
 and disfavor. "I don't think I care about having 
 
THE MEETING. 8 1 
 
 strangers from the city coming here and setting up 
 to teach us, folks whose fathers and grandfathers 
 sat under old Dr. Munson. To see that old lady 
 coming to meeting with that thing on her head like 
 a heap of beaten-up white of egg ! I'll be bound she 
 would never think of wearing such a thing on Broad- 
 way. And that girl with her singing : of course it 
 was very fine, but it was far too operatic and theat- 
 rical for my taste." 
 
 " How many operas and theatrical performances 
 did you ever see, Aunt Betsy ? " asked Mrs. Bassett, 
 who had a tongue of her own, and did not stand as 
 much in awe of the old lady as most of her neigh- 
 bors. 
 
 "Come, come!" said Mr. Bassett. "Seems to 
 me some of them fowls of the air that picked up the 
 good seed in the parable have lit down among us. 
 This isn't the spirit we should be in after such favor 
 as has been shown us to-night. I was so glad to see 
 Patience Fletcher out. Poor thing ! she looks very 
 tired." 
 
 " Well, she makes a great deal harder work of life 
 than she needs to," said Mrs. Bassett. "She just 
 makes herself a slave to the house and the children ; 
 and, after all, she doesn't do any more for them than 
 I do for mine." 
 
 " Not as much," said her husband. 
 
 "Well, I don't think she makes things as pleasant, 
 if I say it that shouldn't. I had the twins down to 
 spend the afternoon not long ago ; and the poor 
 things were afraid to make a natural motion, for fear 
 of spoiling their clothes, till Myra dressed them up 
 
82 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 in some old things of Ben's and Sally's. For my 
 part, I like to take the comfort of my children, and 
 have them take comfort as we go along, instead of 
 toiling and slaving to do .some grand thing for them 
 by and by, when maybe they won't want it. I guess 
 I'll send up for them again to-morrow : it will take 
 them off Faith's hands, and give her time to learn 
 her Sunday-school lesson in peace." 
 
 " And how about yours ? " asked Aunt Betsy. " I 
 should think you had enough on your hands now, 
 with all them great tearing boys of yours." 
 
 " Oh, two or three children more or less don't mat- 
 ter at our house," answered Mrs. Bassett. "And, 
 as to the Sunday-school lessons, Myra and I learn 
 ours, and teach the children theirs, on Sunday after- 
 noon ; then we go over them again Saturday even- 
 ing after tea, and so they are all ready for Sunday. 
 Good-night, Aunt Betsy. Come down to-morrow, and 
 I'll give you a green-currant pie." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ENEMY. 
 
 KIT hoped she might reach home and go to bed 
 without being missed. She had often played out on 
 the hillside till after dark, and no questions had been 
 asked as to where she had been. But fate was 
 against her or rather the Devil, acting by one of 
 his most harmful agents, a malicious woman, deter- 
 mined neither to be good herself, nor let any one else 
 be so if she could help it. Melissa Mallory was not in- 
 different to religion, by any means : on the contrary, 
 she hated the very name of it. She had not succeeded 
 in making herself an absolute unbeliever, though she 
 had tried very hard. There always would stay by 
 her, hid in some inner recess of her soul, a terrible 
 lurking dread, the conviction, that, after all, there 
 was a superior power, a great Being who knew of all 
 her sins, and would some day exact a full account of 
 them ; and she felt toward this power as the Eastern 
 king in the story might be supposed to feel toward 
 the lion which he knew was shut up somewhere in 
 his palace, and which might break out any day and 
 devour him. There were people all about, wherever 
 
 83 
 
84 OLD HAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 she went, who professed to be friends with this great 
 enemy of hers, to hold intercourse with and receive 
 benefits from Him ; and all such persons she held as 
 her own foes. Melissa had never loved Kit ; she con- 
 sidered her an interloper, taking a share of the com- 
 mon funds which she might have enjoyed if Kit had 
 not come into the family. Moreover, she was jealous 
 of Kit's undeniable beauty and wit ; and, strange to 
 say, of the child's growing influence over poor Mrs. 
 Mallory. Melissa had never loved her step-mother, 
 and she was habitually unkind to her, professing to 
 believe that half her insanity was affectation, and 
 declaring that it might be driven out of her if Sy- 
 mantha did not indulge and coddle her so. Mrs. 
 Mallory was afraid of Melissa, and always worse 
 when left to her care ; but she liked Kit though she 
 did not always know her, and, unless when at the 
 worst, was usually docile, or at least passive, in her 
 hands. Melissa felt this to be a new injury. She 
 liked, as Symantha said, to get a handle against the 
 child ; and now she flattered herself that she had 
 found one. She had suspected Kit's purpose, had 
 watched her go, and seen her return, and was all 
 ready to catch her when she came in. 
 
 "Well, Kit, did you have a good meeting?" 
 Phin Mallory had been to Oldbury, and had come 
 home in a very bad humor, a circumstance on 
 which Melissa had fully calculated. He was reading 
 his newspaper by the light of a very dismal kerosene 
 lamp, which burned viciously sideways when he 
 turned it up, and smoked sulkily when he turned it 
 down, a circumstance which did not improve his 
 temper in the least. 
 
THE ENEMY. 85 
 
 " Meeting ! " said Phin, dropping bis paper. " What 
 do you mean ? " 
 
 " I haven't been to meeting," said Kit. 
 
 " You didn't go into the house, but you stood and 
 listened under the window," said Melissa. " You 
 needn't deny it, for I saw you with my own eyes." 
 
 " Well, suppose I did : where was the harm ? " said 
 Kit boldly, though she trembled as she saw her uncle's 
 eyes fixed on her. " I like to hear the singing. 
 There was one of the young ladies at the stone house, 
 and she sang beautifully." 
 
 "Come here," said Phin sternly. Kit dared not 
 disobey. Her uncle took her by the shoulder, and 
 shook her till she was giddy, ending with a sharp box 
 on the ear. 
 
 " Take that for a sample of what you will get if 
 you ever go to that place again," said he, pushing 
 her away. " I won't have you go near these people. 
 Do you hear ? " 
 
 Kit looked at him with a white face and blazing 
 eyes, but did not answer. 
 
 "Just look in her pocket, and see what you will 
 find there, pa," said Melissa with a sneering laugh. 
 " You didn't know what a saint you had in the family. 
 See here!" 
 
 She caught hold of Kit's dress as she spoke, and, 
 despite her struggles, pulled out her precious Testa- 
 ment, which she handed to her father. Phin took it, 
 and threw it into the fire. With a cry of anguish Kit 
 sprang to rescue her treasure, but only succeeded in 
 setting fire to the sleeve of her dress, and burning her 
 own hand severely. 
 
86 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Serves you right," said Phin. "You let me see 
 you have such a book again, and I'll put you where 
 you won't see book or school either. I've had enough 
 of pious folks, without your taking up the dodge, a 
 set of hypocrites who set themselves up above every- 
 body else, and look down on their betters. I won't 
 have it. Do you hear ? Stop that noise, and answer 
 me." 
 
 Quite beside herself with pain and anger, Kit 
 turned on her uncle, and would have returned his blow 
 if Symantha had not caught her hand. At that 
 moment there came a cry from the inner room, a 
 wail of such despairing anguish as might have come 
 from a lost spirit, "They have taken away my Lord. 
 They have taken Him away, and I know not where 
 they have laid Him." 
 
 " There, now you have done it," said Symantha 
 angrily. " Now we shall have no rest all night, and 
 perhaps have the neighbors coming in to see what is 
 the matter. Don't cry, Kit. Come here, and let me 
 do up your hand. Just see there, father ! " she added 
 indignantly, holding up Kit's arm for his inspection. 
 The hand and wrist were fearfully scorched, and 
 already covered with blisters. 
 
 " Why didn't she mind, then ? " said Phin sullenly. 
 'I'm sure I didn't mean to burn her." To do him 
 justice, he was already ashamed of his outburst. He 
 was not usually so ill-natured, but he had had a hard 
 time in Oldbury that day. He had, so to say, fought 
 for his soul, and lost. 
 
 " There, don't cry any more," said Symantha after 
 she had covered the burnt arm thickly with flour, and 
 
THE ENEMY. 87 
 
 done it up in cotton. " I'll help you to bed. And 
 maybe you will get another Testament some time : 
 who knows ? Don't cry if you can help it, that's a 
 good girl : you will make ma worse, and then I shall 
 not know what to do." 
 
 " I'll do any thing for you, because you are so 
 good, and I love you," said Kit, trying hard to 
 restrain her sobs ; " but I hate Melissa, and I hate 
 uncle Phin. So ! " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! There, try to go to sleep. Pa will 
 be sorry tomorrow. He was dreadfully put out 
 when he came home. I'm afraid " 
 
 "Afraid of what?" asked Kit, as Symantha 
 checked herself. 
 
 " I'm afraid ma is going to have a dreadful night," 
 answered Symantha hastily. " There, don't cry any 
 more, but try and lie still, and lay your hand on this 
 pillow ; and I hope you will go to sleep. Poor child ! 
 it was a bad day for you when you came to us." 
 
 Kit's hand was badly burned, and smarted terribly ; 
 but her tears, which had full way when Symantha 
 left her, were caused more by anguish of heart than 
 by bodily pain. She was furious against her uncle 
 and Melissa, especially the latter, whom she justly 
 considered the cause of all the trouble ; and Kit was 
 one of those natures to whom rage was grief. But 
 that was not the worst. The little wild girl who had 
 so lately set out in the Christian pilgrimage had 
 already met with Apollyon in his worst form. 
 
 "And I was trying so hard to be good!" she 
 sobbed, talking to herself as lonely, neglected chil- 
 dren so often do. " I was trying so hard to do what 
 
88 OLD HA AT; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 I thought He would like ! and Miss Armstrong said 
 He would help me, and that old lady said the same 
 in the meeting; and He didn't help me, oh, He 
 didn't help me a bit. He let Melissa tell of me, and 
 uncle Phin shake me, and burn my Testament. Oh, 
 dear, oh, dear ! what if uncle Phin should be right, 
 and there shouldn't be any such person, after all ? " 
 
 Kit sobbed anew, and even cried aloud, in the 
 anguish of this doubt. The story which had brought 
 such light and comfort, such wonderful and glorious 
 possibilities, into her dark and sordid life, which had 
 added such new beauties to what she loved best, 
 if that story were not true, after all ! 
 
 "Oh, I don't want to live, I don't want to live," 
 cried Kit aloud. " If there isn't any Lord Jesus, I 
 don't want to live at all." r 
 
 " Stop that noise, Kit, or I'll whip you," said 
 Melissa, opening the door. " You little fool, to make 
 such a fuss about an old book full of silly stories ! " 
 
 Somehow this appearance and assault of her enemy 
 seemed to give Kit a little comfort. Satan is always 
 easier to fight when he comes in a bodily shape. 
 
 " It isn't a book full of stories : it is the truth, 
 and you know it, Melissa Mallory. You know it is 
 true. There is a God, and He is my Father ; and, if 
 you abuse me, He will punish you. He can see all 
 you do. Don't you dare to touch me ! " 
 
 And she did not. That something she had never 
 
 dared to search out, and had never been able to 
 
 silence, stirred in her heart. What if it should be 
 
 true, as Kit said ? She contented herself with a 
 
 1 A fact. 
 
THE ENEMY. 89 
 
 threatening gesture, and withdrew, shutting the door. 
 Kit's sturdy profession of faith had at least com- 
 forted herself. Yes, she would believe in Him. If 
 He was good, as Miss Armstrong said, perhaps He 
 would make some good come out of this trouble, after 
 all. Then Kit remembered that she had not said 
 her prayers. She rose softly from her bed ; and, 
 kneeling down in the bright moonlight, she said her 
 little hymn, and as much of the Lord's Prayer as 
 she remembered, for she had not yet learned it quite 
 perfectly. There was something in it, she knew, 
 about forgiving trespasses. "That means sins, Miss 
 Armstrong said ; if we don't forgive people, He 
 won't forgive us. But, oh, dear! how can I forgive 
 uncle Phin for burning my book? And Melissa it 
 was all her fault." Kit thought a little, and then 
 knelt down again. Her prayer was very simple : " I 
 can't forgive them myself ; but if it is true, what 
 teacher says, you can make me. Please do, and help 
 me ; for I haven't got any friends only Miss Arm- 
 strong." Kit's faith was but weak and faltering, 
 like that of the poor father, " If thou canst do any 
 thing, have compassion on us, and help us ;" but the 
 same compassionate ear is ready to hear, and the 
 same hand to save, now as then. 
 
 Kit lay awake a long time ; but at last the pain in 
 her hand grew less, and she fell asleep. She slept 
 longer than usual, and when she waked the sun was 
 shining into her room. 
 
 "It must be ever so late," thought Kit. She 
 started up, and her first move reminded her of all 
 that had happened the night before. 
 
90 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " How shall I ever get dressed ? " she thought. 
 She made out to put her clothes on ; but to fasten 
 them was beyond her power, so she went down to 
 find Symantha. 
 
 Symantha was moving softly about the kitchen, 
 busy in setting things to rights. She held up her 
 finger as Kit opened the door. 
 
 "Is aunt asleep?" asked Kit in a whisper. "Did 
 she have a bad night ? I thought I heard her." 
 
 " Yes, she did not go to sleep till sunrise. Pa has 
 gone out to the barn to get a nap on the hay, arid 
 Melissa is not up yet." 
 
 " Oh, yes, they can all sleep but you ; that is 
 always the way," said Kit indignantly. 
 
 " I'm used to it," answered Symantha, smiling 
 rather grimly. " Here's your coffee hot on the stove, 
 and I'll fry you an egg. How does your hand feel ? " 
 
 " It doesn't smart so much, but it is awful sore," 
 said Kit, wincing as she tried to move it. " I can't 
 bear to put it down, it hurts so." 
 
 Symantha found a large handkerchief, with which 
 she made a sling for the wounded arm, which she did 
 up again in fresh, clean cotton-wool, the very best 
 dressing for a burn. 
 
 "That is more comfortable," said she. "You 
 must be careful not to hurt it or get cold in it, or 
 you will have a bad hand." 
 
 " Can't I go to school ? " asked Kit in dismay. 
 
 " Oh, yes, if you will be careful, and not hurt your- 
 self playing. You will be as well off there as here. 
 Eat your breakfast or dinner, whichever it is, and 
 you will be in good time for afternoon." 
 
THE ENEMY. 9 1 
 
 " Is it as late as that ? " asked Kit. Symantha 
 pointed to the clock, which stood at half-past eleven. 
 
 " I never thought it was so late," said Kit. "Why 
 didn't you call me ? " 
 
 "Because you needed the sleep, child. There, eat 
 your breakfast while it is hot." 
 
 Symantha took her sewing, and sat down by Kit 
 in the window. 
 
 " How good you are to me ! " said Kit gratefully. 
 " You do love me, don't you, Symantha ? " 
 
 " Yes, child, I do," answered Symantha with sud- 
 den earnestness. " You are about the only comfort 
 I have ; but I love you so much that I should like 
 to send you a thousand miles away, where I should 
 never see you again, if I could only get you a good 
 home by it." 
 
 " But I don't want to go a thousand miles away," 
 said Kit. " I want to stay with you, and help you, 
 for I love you." 
 
 "Then, Kit, if you love me, promise me one thing," 
 said Symantha. "Promise me that you won't let any 
 one pa, or Melissa, or anybody drive you, or coax 
 or bribe you, to do any thing wrong. If you have 
 any doubt about the matter, come and ask me." 
 
 "I won't," answered Kit earnestly. "There isn't 
 much danger with Melissa, because I don't like her 
 a bit ; but uncle Phin is real good to me sometimes. 
 I don't see what ailed him last night." 
 
 " He was put out about something when he came 
 home, and he was vexed about your going to meeting. 
 And, Kit, that is a thing you must not do again ; at 
 least, not now. Nothing makes father so angry." 
 
Q2 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "I won't, then," said Kit; "but I should like to." 
 She was silent a while, and then asked, in a half 
 whisper, "Symantha, was it religion that made aunt 
 Martha crazy ? " 
 
 Symantha nodded. 
 
 " I thought it might be, because she always says 
 that" said Kit. " How was it ? " 
 
 " She was brought up to be very religious, and to 
 go to church, and all that," replied Symantha in the 
 same low tone. " She was a regular church-member 
 when she married pa, and, oh, such a pretty, bright 
 creature ! Kit, whatever happens, you must always 
 be good to ma. There is more reason for it than 
 you know." 
 
 "I will," said Kit. "I think she likes me too. But, 
 if aunt Martha was such a religious woman, how 
 came she to marry uncle Phin ? Wasn't he the same 
 that he is now ? " 
 
 " Yes, very much the same, so far as that goes ; 
 only he was not so rough in his ways. He was very 
 handsome in those days, and could make himself 
 very agreeable ; and ma thought she was going to 
 influence and convert him, but it worked the other 
 way." 
 
 " Seems to me I should rather convert a man first, 
 and marry him afterward," said Kit. "And what 
 then?" 
 
 " Well, there isn't much to tell. She used to try 
 to argue with pa, but she was no match for him that 
 way. She used to get vexed, and then he would laugh 
 at her. By and by she got to not going to church ; 
 and then pa coaxed her to go out riding with him 
 
THE ENEMY. 93 
 
 Sundays, and do other things that she thought were 
 wrong. After a while she began to be melancholy 
 and queer, and at last one day she tried to kill her- 
 self. Ever since then she has been as she is now." 
 
 "Seems to me it wasn't her religion that made her 
 crazy, so much as losing it," said Kit shrewdly. 
 
 " Sometimes I have thought that, myself. It was 
 a bad day for her when she got acquainted with our 
 family." 
 
 "What was aunt Martha's name before she was 
 married ? " asked Kit. 
 
 " I don't remember," answered Symantha, getting 
 up and going into the pantry. "-Don't you want to 
 run out and see if you can find some fresh eggs ? 
 If you can, I'll make ma a custard." 
 
 " Why, my dear child, what is the matter ? " said 
 Miss Armstrong as Kit made her appearance at 
 school with her arm in a sling. " What has hap- 
 pened to your hand ? " 
 
 "I burnt it," answered Kit, coloring painfully; for 
 she saw the girls looking at her, and felt, as one is 
 apt to do at such times, as if they must know all 
 about it. 
 
 "You look hardly fit to come to school," remarked 
 Miss Armstrong kindly. She did not ask how the 
 accident happened ; guessing, with the happy instinct 
 that belongs to some people, that there was some 
 unpleasant story connected with it. "Do you feel 
 able to learn your lesson ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, I would rather study than not," 
 answered Kit. " My arm does not hurt me so very 
 much now when I keep it still." 
 
94 OLD II AM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Kit was quite sincere in what she said. She felt, 
 rather than thought, that the labor of fixing the 
 column of words beginning with "Abase, Abate," 
 would be a relief from the tormenting thoughts 
 which had driven her almost wild. She set herself 
 to work in good earnest to master her lesson. But 
 her mind would wander, in spite of herself; and, when 
 she came to .recite, she missed two or three times, 
 and went down to the very bottom of the class. Kit 
 was tired and nervous for want of sleep, and very 
 unhappy besides ; the consequence of which was, 
 that, as Faith Fletcher went above her, she lost her 
 temper, gave Faith a push, and called her by a very 
 naughty name. The children looked at each other 
 in horror. Miss Armstrong only said, 
 
 " Kitty may go and sit down. I 'will talk to her 
 by and by. The children may have a recess." 
 
 " Well," said Selina as soon as they were out of 
 doors, " I hope Miss Armstrong has got enough of 
 her favorite. It is lucky for Kit she had not Miss 
 Martin to deal with. Wouldn't she have caught it ! " 
 
 " Maybe she will catch it as it is," remarked Agnes 
 Gleason. 
 
 " I don't believe Miss Armstrong will do any more 
 than talk to her. I am sure I hope not," said gentle 
 Faith. " Poor Kit is half sick : any one can see that 
 by looking at her. And it isn't as if one of us had 
 said it. I don't believe she has ever been taught any 
 better." 
 
 " Well, for my part, I hope Miss Armstrong will 
 send her home," said Selina: "she has no business 
 here, using such language, and teaching the children 
 
THE ENEMY. 95 
 
 it. But, girls, didn't we Rave a good meeting last 
 night ? I think that old Mrs. Van Zandt is just love- 
 ly. Miss Armstrong says she is a great missionary 
 woman ; perhaps she will start a society here." 
 
 " Then she will do what nobody else has done," 
 remarked Agnes Gleason. " I remember how hard 
 Miss Martin tried. But what does this Mrs. Van 
 Zandt do, Selina ? Did Miss Armstrong tell you ? " 
 
 " Oh, she is always sending boxes to poor mission- 
 aries in the West ; and she keeps two ladies in India, 
 and pays all their expenses, Bible-women, Miss 
 Armstrong called them. I wish she would send me. 
 I should love to go, dearly." 
 
 " Yes, you would be a fine hand ! " said Sarah 
 Leet. "I suppose, the first time a little Chinese or 
 African child said a bad word, you would send it 
 home, and not let it come to school any more." 
 
 " That would be very different," said Selina, color- 
 ing, as the girls laughed. 
 
 "Yes, very different ; having a whole village full 
 of children who never learned even the commonest 
 decency, and having one poor little thing who is try- 
 ing her best to be good," returned Sarah. "Suppose 
 she did forget herself for once : we all do it some- 
 times ; if not in one way, then in another. Don't 
 you ever forget yourself, and say things you ought 
 not to ? " 
 
 " Yes you did you know you did! " 
 chimed in from the ring of little ones, who were 
 "counting out " for a game of tag. All the girls 
 laughed, the words came so pat. 
 
 " Yes, we did, we know we did," repeated Agnes. 
 
96 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " But, Sarah, you need not be so hard on Selina, 
 either," she added, as Selina walked away. " You 
 think she ought to have patience and charity with 
 Kit. Why can't you have a little for her, instead of 
 always poking her up ? " 
 
 " Well, she puts on such airs. I like to make her 
 show her true colors." 
 
 " You don't always make people show their true 
 colors in that way," remarked Agnes. " Suppose I 
 should slap your face, and make your eye all black 
 and blue : would those be your true colors ? " 
 
 "Well, no, perhaps not," returned Sarah, whose 
 frankness was her most promising trait ; " but then, 
 you know, I don't pretend to equal St. Agnes." 
 Sarah had read somewhere of a St. Agnes, and liked 
 to tease Agnes with the name. 
 
 " I am not a saint. I wish I were," replied Agnes, 
 coloring. " But I will tell you one thing, Sarah and 
 Faith," she added, with an evident effort : " if by a 
 saint you mean a true Christian, I am going to try 
 and be one. I have been thinking about it a good 
 while, and I made up my mind last night." 
 
 " Well, I only hope you will stick to it, that's all," 
 said Sarah, while Faith got hold of Agnes's hand and 
 squeezed it. " The trouble of these sudden conver- 
 sions is, that people don't hold out." 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; St. Paul held out pretty 
 well, and so did St. John." 
 
 " Oh, well, they were saints." 
 
 " What is a saint, anyhow ? " asked Faith. x " I 
 have heard the word all my life, and don't know, 
 really, what it means." 
 
THE ENEMY. 97 
 
 " I thought a saint was a person who never did 
 any thing wrong," said Sarah. 
 
 " Then I am sure none of the apostles were saints, 
 for they all did wrong. Let us ask Miss Armstrong 
 after reading-class. It will come in easily enough, 
 for the lesson is about Polycarp, and he was called a 
 saint, I know. Come, there is the bell." 
 
 Kit's ill temper, if it deserved so harsh a name, 
 found vent in a flood of tears as soon as she reached 
 her desk. She expected and half hoped that Miss 
 Armstrong would scold her, and perhaps punish her ; 
 for bad language was justly looked upon as a griev- 
 ous offence. But Miss Armstrong did nothing of the 
 kind. She waited till the first violence of the storm 
 hc'i spent itself, and then said in that firm, kindly 
 to . 3 of hers, which somehow carried obedience with 
 it, 
 
 " There, Kitty, don't cry any more : you will only 
 make yourself worse. Wash your face and hands, 
 and then I should like to have you run down to the 
 mill, and ask Mr. Bassett to send me some chalk ; 
 we are quite out. As to this trouble of yours, we 
 will talk about it after school. You need not hurry ; 
 I will excuse you if you are a little late." 
 
 " How good she is ! " thought Kit, with a feeling 
 of absolute wonder, as she bathed her red eyes and 
 aching head at the spring which boiled up in a cor- 
 ner of the yard. " Oh, if I could only be good, like 
 that ! " 
 
 As she was going out of the yard she met Faith, 
 who spoke to her pleasantly. 
 
 " Where now, Kitty ? Going home ? " 
 
98 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "No; Miss Armstrong sent me of an errand." 
 She was passing on when it occurred to her that 
 here, at least, was something she might do. She 
 called "Faith ! " and as Faith turned back she said, 
 with a quiver in her voice, " I am sorry I called you 
 that name. It was real mean, for it was not your 
 fault that I missed." 
 
 " Never mind, said Faith, kissing her. " I'm sure 
 I don't bear malice. But, Kitty dear, I wouldn't say 
 such words if I were you." 
 
 "I won't not if I can help it; but you don't 
 know how hard it is to be good." 
 
 " Don't I ! " said Faith. " It is as hard for me as 
 any one, I guess. But there, don't cry," for Kit's 
 tears were running over once more : " I'm sure you 
 won't do it again." 
 
 Kit went on her way with her heart greatly light- 
 ened. She found Mr. Bassett busy, as usual, but 
 not too busy to lend an ear to her request. 
 
 " Chalk, eh ? oh, yes ; I've got plenty, if I can only 
 find it. Let me see. Here's an apple for you, any- 
 how. If we don't find one thing, we find another, 
 you see. Don't you want this little box to put your 
 pencils and things in ? Well, here's the chalk, finally, 
 and plenty of it ; and here is a little paper for you. 
 Let me see ; I didn't see any of your folks at the 
 schoolhouse last night." 
 
 " No, sir ; I wanted to go, but I knew they wouldn't 
 let me. I did listen under the window, and uncle 
 Phin did not like it a bit." 
 
 "Poor child!" said the miller kindly. "Well, 
 well, you must take your troubles to the right place, 
 
THE ENEMY 99 
 
 and you will find help somehow. You know that, 
 don't you ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir: I heard Miss Armstrong say so. But 
 I must hurry back now, because she will want the 
 chalk." 
 
 " Poor little young one ! " repeated Mr. Bassett to 
 himself. " I must talk over her case with ma, and 
 see what can be done for her." 
 
 " Just in time, Kitty," said Miss Armstrong pleas- 
 antly, as Kit entered, somewhat out of breath. 
 " Now, as you cannot very well do sums with your 
 left hand, you may take this book, and learn the 
 hymn I have marked ; and we will hear you repeat it 
 in the reading-class." 
 
 Kit took the book with pleasure, for she loved 
 learning verses. The hymn was the time-honored 
 one beginning, 
 
 "Jesus Christ, my Lord and Saviour, 
 Once became a child like me." 
 
 "I suppose that is so," thought Kit as she laid 
 down the book to repeat the first verse to herself. 
 " He was just as old as I am, once ; but He never 
 would say such words. 
 
 'All my nature is unholy; 
 
 Pride and passion dwell within.' 
 
 " I'm sure that is true enough. But I don't see 
 how I am to help it : the more I try, the worse I 
 am. I never knew I was half so bad till I began to 
 read in the Testament. 
 
 " * Lord, assist a feeble creature.* 
 
100 OLDHAAf; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "That means me, I am sure. There isn't any one 
 more feeble than I am. ' Assist ' means ' help/ I 
 know. Oh, dear! I do wish He would help me." 
 And Kit put her head down on the desk, and cried 
 a little. But the tears did not scorch her eyes, like 
 the others : they were cool, and seemed to take some 
 of the weight off her heart which had lain there 
 ever since the night before. 
 
 " Now we will have Kitty's hymn," said Miss 
 Armstrong as the reading-lesson was finished; "and 
 then, if there are any questions to be asked, I shall 
 like to hear them." 
 
 All the girls looked at Kit, some of them expect- 
 ing that she would refuse to obey. They were mis- 
 taken. Kit repeated her hymn with a somewhat 
 unsteady voice, it is true, but without hesitation and 
 without a single blunder. Then, with a visible effort, 
 she said, 
 
 " Please, Miss Armstrong, I am sorry I was so 
 naughty in the spelling-class. I won't do so again." 
 
 "That is right, Kitty," said Miss Armstrong, much 
 gratified. "But there is one thing more for you 
 to do." 
 
 " Please, Miss Armstrong, she did tell me she was 
 sorry," said Faith eagerly. " She said so in recess." 
 
 "So much the better. And you do forgive her, 
 Faith, I am sure." 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" answered Faith heartily. "I 
 didn't mind much about it, anyway. I don't believe 
 she would have done it if she hadn't felt sick." 
 
 "That wasn't any excuse," said Kit, " I was just 
 as cross as I could be." 
 
THE ENEMY. IOI 
 
 "We will let the matter drop now," said Miss 
 Armstrong. "I should like to talk with Kitty a few 
 minutes after school. Now, are there any questions 
 to be answered ? " 
 
 "Please, Miss Armstrong, what is a saint ?" asked 
 Agnes. 
 
 " Can any one answer that question ? " asked Miss 
 Armstrong. " What is a saint ? " 
 
 " A very good person ; one that never does any 
 thing wrong," said one of the girls rather doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " That is what I said ; but Faith thought it was not 
 right, because the apostles all did wrong things." 
 
 " A saint is somebody who pretends to be better 
 than other folks," said Lucinda Kurd, who always 
 resented any praise bestowed on another person as 
 so much taken from herself. 
 
 "I think not," said Miss Armstrong, "or St. Paul 
 would hardly have told the Corinthians that they 
 were called to be saints. He would not have told 
 them that they were called upon to pretend to be 
 better than their neighbors." 
 
 "Of course not," said Selina ; "but I always 
 thought a saint was somebody like the people we 
 read about who went and lived in caves and hermit- 
 ages, and never married, or had any families, or ate 
 any meat." 
 
 "That will not answer the conditions, either," re- 
 marked Miss Armstrong, " because the Corinthian 
 Christians were not called on to do any such thing 
 as that." 
 
 " I can't remember that any one in the Bible was 
 
IO2 OLDHAM '; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 called on to do that," remarked Faith. " But, Miss 
 Armstrong, won't you tell us what a saint is?" 
 
 "I will tell you what I think," said Miss Arm- 
 strong. "A saint is a person whose life is conse- 
 crated to God ; that is, given to Him to be His 
 entirely. Or, to put it in other words, a saint is one 
 who has made up his mind to serve God with all his 
 powers of body and mind. Such a person may be 
 faulty and imperfect, often stumbling and even fall- 
 ing ; but he keeps his purpose always in view. When 
 he falls, he confesses his sin, and asks forgiveness, and 
 begins again, humbled but not discouraged. When 
 he sees a duty, he strives to do it at whatever incon- 
 venience or sacrifice to himself. He tries always 
 to keep alive in his heart a sense of the presence of 
 God and his Saviour, and to see every thing as they 
 would see it. That is my idea of a saint." 
 
 " But could any one be like that ? " asked Faith 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " I can do all things through Christ which strength- 
 eneth me" (Phil. iv. 13), quoted Miss Armstrong. 
 "There is the secret, depend upon it. Now we must 
 not talk any longer. Take this matter home, and 
 think about it." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE SPRINGING GRAIN. 
 
 " Now, Kitty, let us get at the bottom of all this 
 trouble of ours," said Miss Armstrong. " Agnes, 
 do you wish to see me ? " 
 
 " Yes, please, Miss Armstrong. But I will wait : I 
 haven't so far to go as Kit has. Or I don't know 
 why I should mind speaking before her," said Agnes, 
 coloring. " It isn't any thing I need be ashamed of. 
 I have made up my mind to try to be a real Chris- 
 tian, Miss Armstrong. I don't know whether I shall 
 have strength to persevere, but I am going to begin." 
 
 " You will surely have strength to persevere if you 
 only look in the right place for it, my dear child," 
 said Miss Armstrong, kissing her. " You don't know 
 how glad I am to hear you say this, Agnes. Tell 
 me, when did you make up your mind ? " 
 
 " Last night, after I went home. I have been 
 thinking a great deal about the matter lately, and 
 somehow what that old lady said seemed to bring me 
 right to the point. I seemed to realize that the Lord 
 died for me, just as much as if there had been no one 
 else to die for ; and I couldn't hold out after that." 
 
 103 
 
104 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " You were led to see the truth, and the truth has 
 made you free," said Miss Armstrong. " He did die 
 for you, and for me, and for little Kitty here, just as 
 much as if there had been no one else to die for ; and 
 He loves us as much as if He had no one else to love. 
 Have you told your mother, Agnes ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am ; I am going to tell her to-night. Ma 
 isn't a church-member herself, but I think she will 
 be glad. She always wants me to go to church and 
 Sunday school, and she never would let me go walk- 
 ing on Sundays with Milly Richmond. Oh, dear ! I 
 wish the Richmonds were not coming." 
 
 "Don't borrow trouble, dear child. Trust your 
 best Friend to do what is best for you, and make all 
 things work together for your good. I will talk with 
 you again as soon as I can. Good-night." 
 
 " Who do you mean by Agnes's best friend ? " 
 asked Kit, as Agnes left the room. 
 
 " Her Father in heaven, and her Saviour," an- 
 swered Miss Armstrong; "you know I told you that 
 before, Kitty." 
 
 " Well," said Kit with a deep sigh, " I wish He 
 was my friend, that's all ; but I don't think He is." 
 
 " Why not, my poor child ? " 
 
 " If He had been, He wouldn't have let Melissa 
 put uncle Phin up to shake me, and burn my book, 
 all because I" The recital of her wrongs was 
 too much for poor Kit, and she burst into a fresh 
 agony of crying. Miss Armstrong took her on her 
 lap, pressed the hot head against her bosom, and by 
 and by began gently to soothe and check the out- 
 burst. 
 
THE SPRINGING GRAIN. 105 
 
 "Tell me all about it," said she when Kit was quiet 
 enough to speak. Kit sobbed out the story of her 
 wrongs. 
 
 "And you think He does not love you, because He 
 lets you have trouble ? My dear, that is a great mis- 
 take. He has never promised us freedom from trouble 
 in this world : on the contrary, He has expressly said, 
 ' In the world ye shall have tribulation.' But He 
 adds in the same breath, ' Be of good cheer ; I have 
 overcome the world.' He says in another place that 
 He sends us trouble, or lets trouble come, to make 
 us more fit for heaven, just as the kindest parents 
 sometimes punish their children." 
 
 "Then I don't see how Christians are any better 
 off than other folks, after all," said Kit, "if they 
 have troubles just the same." 
 
 " They don't have them just the same, Kitty. It 
 is not just the same whether a child is a slave, and 
 beaten by a cruel master, or whether it is punished 
 to cure it of its faults by a kind and loving father." 
 
 "That is so," answered Kit. 
 
 "And there is another thing about it," continued 
 Miss Armstrong. " Suppose I should say to you, 
 ' Kitty, if you will bear all your troubles patiently, 
 and do your work as well as you can for one week, 
 then I will take you home to live with me, and be 
 happy all the rest of your life,' would the time seem 
 long or hard to you then ? " 
 
 " No, indeed !" said Kit, with kindling eyes. "I 
 would work my fingers to the bone, and never say a 
 word, whatever happened." 
 
 " Well, that is the way our Father treats his chil- 
 
106 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 dren. He lets them have plenty of trouble and sor- 
 row here, sometimes it seems as if the best people 
 had the most of it, but He promises them a home 
 with Him in heaven, where they shall never know 
 any pain and grief, but be happy and holy for ever 
 and ever. Just think ! when we look back on our 
 present life, after we have been in that blessed place 
 a million years, it will not look very long or very 
 hard to us." 
 
 "No, indeed!" said Kit, drawing a long breath. 
 "A million years without any trouble ; happy all 
 the time ! It just takes my breath away." 
 
 " And then to be no nearer the end than before," 
 said Miss Armstrong. " I used to hear an old hymn 
 sung, of which this was the last verse, 
 
 "'When I've been there ten thousand days, 
 
 Bright shining as the sun,' 
 I've just as long to sing God's praise 
 As though I'd just begun.'" 
 
 "Yes, it is nice for you, and L am glad you are 
 going there," said Kit, her face darkening again ; 
 "but it won't do me any good. / shall never get 
 there, I know." 
 
 "And why not, my little girl ? " 
 
 " I shall never be good enough," answered Kit. 
 " I have tried and tried to be good. Every morning 
 since I came to school I have said to myself, ' Now, 
 I won't do one wrong thing to-day;' and I do all 
 the time. And, if I don't act wrong things, I think 
 them. I never can be like what it says in the Tes- 
 tament, like what He was." 
 
THE SPRINGING GRAIN. IO/ 
 
 " Poor Kitty ! I don't wonder you are discouraged. 
 Why, my child, if people were to be saved by their 
 own goodness, there would not be one in paradise at 
 this minute. It is because Christ died for us, that 
 we are saved ; because He bore our sins for us 
 when He was nailed to the cross ; because He died 
 for us, and rose from the dead for us, and pleads for 
 us at the right hand of God. We are not to be 
 saved because we are good, but we are to be good 
 because we are saved." 
 
 Kit's face brightened a little. " I don't quite un- 
 derstand," said she. 
 
 " It is just this, Kitty : you have not to earn eter- 
 nal happiness. You never could do that, and you 
 have no need to try. The Lord Jesus has done 
 that for you. He bore the punishment of all our 
 sins when He was here on earth ; and what we have 
 to do is, to believe that He has done so, to put our 
 trust in Him, and give ourselves to Him to be His. 
 See what the Bible says about it : ' God so loved 
 the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that 
 whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but 
 have everlasting life' (St. John iii. 16) ; 'God com- 
 mendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were 
 yet sinners, Christ died for us' (Rom. v. 8); 'He 
 that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life' 
 (St. John iii. 36)." 
 
 " Then all the goodness is in believing," said Kit. 
 
 " Not at all, my dear. There is no more goodness 
 in believing than in any thing else ; but we shall not 
 ask Him to save us unless we believe He can do it. 
 Just so, you might be drowning, and some one might 
 
108 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 throw you a rope : unless you believed that the 
 rope would save you, you would not take hold of it ; 
 and yet there would be no goodness in taking Laid 
 of it." 
 
 " I see now ! " exclaimed Kit : "just as there might 
 be a doctor in Oldbury who could cure aunt Martha ; 
 but unless uncle Phin believed it, and went after him, 
 he would be of no use to her. But, Miss Armstrong, 
 will God save me like that ? " asked Kit with a tone 
 of deep reverence, and a far-off look in her great 
 blue eyes. "Will He do all that just because I ask 
 Him, a poor little naughty, ignorant girl, like me, 
 .tat don't know any thing about Him hardly? It 
 seems too good to be true." 
 
 " It is not one bit too good to be true. You have 
 only to ask Him, and the work is done, now and 
 forever." 
 
 " And won't I ever do any thing wrong again ? " 
 
 " I cannot say that, Kitty. As long as we are in 
 the world, we have to fight with temptations from 
 without, and with the sinful nature that is born in 
 *s. But, if we are faithful in asking, He will give 
 us strength to conquer ; and, if we do fall into sin, 
 He will help us out. l If we confess our sins, He is 
 faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse 
 us from all unrighteousness' (i John i. 9). He not 
 only forgives us our sins, but He washes them away, 
 and makes them as if they had never been. Only 
 God can do that." 
 
 " I can see that," said Kit. " Men can't make the 
 least thing to be as if it had never been, if they are 
 ever so sorry about it." She sat still a moment, and 
 
THE SPRINGING GRAIN. 1 09 
 
 then turned to her friend with a great light shining 
 in her sweet face. 
 
 "Well, then, Miss Armstrong, I don't see but I 
 am saved, after all ; because I do want Him to save 
 me, and I do believe He can." 
 
 "Then you certainly are, my precious child," said 
 Miss Armstrong, her own eyes overflowing. " Let 
 us thank Him, Kitty, for all His goodness." 
 
 About an hour after this conversation, two young 
 ladies, walking over the hill, came to Kit's favorite 
 haunt, and stood still in admiration at the picture 
 presented to them. Kit was lying on the ground, 
 her head pillowed on the mossy flat stone which was 
 her favorite seat, fast asleep. Her hat lay on the 
 grass beside her, her long dark lashes rested on her 
 cheeks, and the soft summer wind was gently play- 
 ing with her black curls, as if it feared to wake her. 
 It almost seemed from her attitude that she had 
 been kneeling by the stone, and had sunk down over- 
 powered with sleep. 
 
 "What an exquisite picture!" whispered Amity. 
 " What a pity Percy is not here with her sketch- 
 book." 
 
 "It is lovely," answered Ida in the same tone. 
 " But she ought not to lie there : she will take cold. 
 Her hand is hurt too. Poor little dear, I wonder 
 who she is. I am sure I don't know her, and yet it 
 seems as if I had seen her before." 
 
 " I was just thinking the same. But we must not 
 leave her here. She might sleep till dark, and awake 
 frightened out of her senses, and with rheumatic 
 fever into the bargain." 
 
1 10 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 As Amity spoke, she bent down and kissed the 
 little sleeper. Kit awoke, and started to her feet 
 with a little cry of pain, as the sudden movement 
 shook her burned hand. 
 
 " My poor child, did you hurt yourself ? " said 
 Amity kindly. " I am sorry I gave you such a start. 
 I only meant to wake you, and keep you from get- 
 ting cold. What ails your arm ? " 
 
 " I burned it ; but it is not very bad now, only I 
 twisted it a little, getting up," answered Kit. " I 
 can't think how I came to go to sleep, only I was so 
 tired. Ain't you the lady that sung at the meeting 
 last night ? " she ventured to ask shyly. 
 
 " Yes, my dear. Were you there ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am ; but I stood under the window and 
 listened. Uncle won't let me go to meeting. He 
 don't believe in God or any such thing." 
 
 "And don't you believe in Him ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, I do," answered Kit, with a quiet 
 decision which made Ida and Amity exchange 
 glances. "I feel as though I bad just got to believe 
 in Him ; for He's all the friend I've got, only Miss 
 Armstrong and Symantha." 
 
 " He is the best you could have. What is your 
 name ? " m 
 
 " Kit Mallory, ma'am ; at least, that is what every 
 one calls me, only Miss Armstrong calls me Kitty." 
 
 " Well, Kitty, can you direct us a short way to 
 Mrs. Van Zandt's house ? We have walked farther 
 than we meant, and are both tired." 
 
 "You are near by now," said Kit; "you can see 
 the house when you are past this ledge, and I'll 
 
THE SPRINGING GRAIN. Ill 
 
 show you a cow-path that goes close by the barn. 
 Wouldn't you like a drink?" she added; "this is 
 real nice water, and I've got a cup I keep here." 
 
 "Thank you, that will be very refreshing," said 
 Amity. Kit produced her cup, washed it in the 
 stream, and filled it at the spring-head. Both the 
 girls drank, and praised the cool, sweet draught. 
 
 "What a lovely spring!" said Amity, bending 
 down to look into its depths. 
 
 " It has great bubbles in it," said Kit. " If you 
 watch, you will see one presently. There ! isn't that 
 pretty ? " 
 
 "It is, indeed," said Amity. "Look, Ida." 
 
 " I see," replied Ida, bending down in her turn. 
 " I see, too, that the sun is getting low, and aunt 
 Barbara will be uneasy about us. So this is the 
 way, is it ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. Keep in the path, and you won't 
 get into any of the soft places." 
 
 "Thank you, my dear. Good-night." 
 
 As Kit bent over the spring to dip a cup of water 
 for herself, she saw something red and golden lying 
 under the great tuft of lady-fern which partly over- 
 hung the water. She picked it up. It was a beauti- 
 fully bound little book, bearing marks of a great deal 
 of careful wear; and, on opening it, Kit saw that it 
 was a New Testament. 
 
 Her heart gave a great bound at the sight. She 
 had been asking for a Testament before she went to 
 sleep, and here it was. Then came another thought. 
 One of the young ladies must have dropped it. Kit 
 could read writing. She turned to the fly-leaf, and 
 
112 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 read, written in a clear though somewhat tremulous 
 hand, 
 
 " Amity, with mother's love, on her tenth birth- 
 day." 
 
 Underneath was written, in another hand, "The 
 very day my dear mother died." 
 
 "It is that plain young lady's, the one they say 
 is so rich," thought Kit. "Well, she can buy plenty 
 more, and I haven't any. But then she must think 
 every thing of it, because her mother gave it to her. 
 Oh, dear ! I wish I knew what to do. It does seem 
 as though I ought to have it." 
 
 Just then something seemed to whisper in Kit's 
 ear a verse she had read in her own Testament only 
 the day before, " Whatsoever ye would that men 
 should do to you, do ye even so to them." 
 
 " He said that," said Kit, speaking aloud. "Sup- 
 pose / had a Testament that mother gave me, and I 
 should lose it, and some one should find it." . 
 
 Kit did not hesitate another moment. She ran 
 down the hill as fast as she could, and overtook the 
 young ladies just at their own gate. 
 
 " Why, here is our little friend again," said Amity. 
 "My clear child, how you have put yourself out of 
 breath ! " 
 
 " Isn't this yours ? " asked Kit, producing the book. 
 "I found it down by the spring." 
 
 " It is, indeed ! " replied Amity. " My dear child, 
 how can I thank you enough ? I would rather have 
 lost almost any thing else that I possess." 
 
 " I thought you would be sorry to lose it, because 
 it had your mother's writing in it," said Kit, feeling 
 
SPRINGING GRAIN. 113 
 
 very happy as Amity kissed her. " I know, if I had 
 a Testament that my mother gave me, how much I 
 would think of it. But I must hurry home." 
 
 " Wait a minute," said Amity. " Kitty, I want to 
 give you something, not as a reward, but as a keep- 
 sake. What shall it be ? " 
 
 Kit's carnation cheeks grew more beautiful than 
 ever, between eagerness and bashfulness. 
 
 "If it wouldn't be impudent to ask, if you had a 
 little old Testament you could give me," she said. 
 
 " Would you rather have a little one than a large 
 one ? " asked Amity. 
 
 " Yes, because I could hide it easier." 
 
 "Wait just a moment," said Amity. "So she has 
 to hide her Testament," she remarked to Ida as they 
 went into the house. 
 
 " They are a dreadfully hard family, from all I 
 hear," answered Ida. " One of aunt Barbara's soft- 
 covered Testaments will be just the thing for her." 
 
 Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt was sitting by the parlor 
 window, hemming a napkin with an exquisite over- 
 hand hem. She was almost always hemming nap- 
 kins when she was not buying them or packing them 
 in neat parcels to send away, and she had brought 
 abundance of her favorite fancy-work with her to the 
 country. 
 
 " You are late," said she as the girls entered. " I 
 began to think you were lost." 
 
 "So we were," said Ida; "and I don't know 
 where we should have landed, only for a little girl 
 such an odd, lovely child! whom we found asleep 
 on the hill-top." 
 
114 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " And, aunt Barbara, will you give me one of your 
 nice Testaments for her ? " added Amity. " She 
 says she would rather have a little Testament than 
 any thing ; but it must be a small one, because she 
 has to hide it." 
 
 Aunt Barbara rose with alacrity. " Poor child, how 
 sad ! Yes, I have just the thing for her. In that 
 cupboard by the fireplace, Amity. No, not that ; the 
 one with soft covers. Where is the child ? " 
 
 "Out by the door," answered Amity. " She says 
 she dare not come in. Do come and look at her, 
 aunt Barbara, and tell us who she is like." 
 
 " So you are the little girl who would rather have 
 a Testament than any thing," said Mrs. Van Zandt 
 in those peculiar deep, soft tones of hers. "Well, 
 here is a nice one for you. Look up, my dear." 
 
 "Who is she like, aunt?" asked Ida. "I can't 
 think, and I am sure I have seen that face before." 
 
 " Do you remember the picture which hangs in 
 my sewing-room at home? "asked Mrs. Van Zandt. 
 " She is the living image of my poor lost Kathleen 
 Joyce." 
 
 " Please, ma'am, would you say that name again ? " 
 asked Kit, trembling with eagerness. 
 
 " Kathleen Joyce," repeated Mrs. Van Zandt. 
 " Did you ever hear the name before ? " 
 
 " That was my name ! That was it ! " exclaimed 
 Kit exultingly. "Kathleen, that is it ! I knew it 
 was not Keturah, I knew it wasn't." 
 
 " Kathleen ? Kathleen what ? " asked Mrs. Van 
 Zandt as eagerly as herself. 
 
 " I don't know. I mustn't stay another minute," 
 
THE SPRINGING GRAIN. 115 
 
 said Kit in a tone of alarm as the clock struck. " I 
 forgot uncle Phin told me never to come here." 
 
 "Don't keep her, Mrs. Van Zandt," said Aggy, an 
 elderly colored woman who had taken care of the 
 house for years, speaking in an undertone. " He is 
 an awful man, and there is no telling what he might 
 do." 
 
 " Well, good-night, dear child. Perhaps we shall 
 meet again. I must see her somehow," added Mrs. 
 Van Zandt, looking after Kit as she hurried away. 
 " If she is not Kathleen Joyce's child, there is noth- 
 ing in resemblances. 
 
 " And she said her name was Kathleen/ 4 observed 
 Ida. "How strange!" 
 
 " I wonder if this man is really her uncle," said 
 Amity. 
 
 " Melissa Mallory says not," replied Aggy. " She 
 says her father took Kit from the poorhouse, but 
 there is no telling any thing by that. Miss Ida, do 
 come in out of the dew, and let your aunt get her tea. 
 She'll be having one of her headaches again, and 
 your hand will be paining you all night." 
 
 "Kathleen^ Kathleen," repeated Mrs. Van Zandt 
 as she sat down to the table. " 1 must contrive to 
 see that child again." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE SNAKES. 
 
 " WHERE is Miss Armstrong ? " asked Mrs. Weston, 
 as Selina came home alone. 
 
 " I suppose she will be here presently," answered 
 Selina. " Kit Mallory was naughty, and she kept her 
 after school. I would never do that : I would whip 
 them, and let them go. I wouldn't punish myself 
 too." 
 
 ''That would be very well if one thought only of 
 one's own convenience," remarked Mrs. Weston, 
 "but I imagine that is not Miss Armstrong's way. 
 What did Kit do ? " , 
 
 " She called Faith Fletcher bad names because 
 Faith went above her in spelling. I hope Miss Arm- 
 strong will have enough of her, that's all." 
 
 Mrs. Weston gave Selina a look which checked 
 her, before she said, " Poor Kit needs to have allow- 
 ance made for her. She has had very few advantages. 
 But you may set the table, Selina ; I dare say Miss 
 Armstrong will not be long." 
 
 Selina had not really meant to tell an untruth, 
 that is to say, she had not deliberately said to 
 
 116 
 
THE SNAKES. 1 1/ 
 
 herself that she would tell a lie : that is something 
 which people seldom do, nor had she told a lie in 
 direct words. It was in consequence of her naughti- 
 ness that Kit had staid after school. But Selina was 
 under the dominion of what might be called her ruling 
 passion, a passion which makes people do as mean 
 things as any which belongs to humanity : she was 
 jealous. She had taken a great liking to Miss Arm- 
 strong when that lady first came, and had said to 
 herself, that, as Miss Armstrong boarded at her 
 father's house, she (Selina) would see more of her 
 than any one else, and would therefore be the teach- 
 er's particular friend. Now, there was no harm in 
 Selina's wishing the teacher to like her; the trouble 
 was, that she did not want Miss Armstrong to like 
 any one else. This passion of jealousy had been the 
 bane of Selina's life. Mr. and Mrs. Weston had 
 another adopted daughter, who had married and gone 
 to live in Oldbury about a year before our story 
 begins. Elizabeth had never been any thing but kind 
 to Selina from the first day of her coming into the 
 house, a rather forlorn little girl of ten years old. 
 It had not given her a single pang when she was 
 told of Mr. and Mrs. Weston's determination to adopt 
 another child : on the contrary, she was glad that 
 some one else should have the same happy home as 
 herself. And when Selina was brought from the 
 Oldbury orphan-asylum, the only home she could 
 remember, Elizabeth, then a womanly girl of sixteen, 
 had done her best to make her feel contented. But 
 no kindness can make a jealous person happy. In 
 the asylum Selina had always watched the other chil- 
 
Il8 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 dren's meals, to see whether some one had not a 
 larger bit of butter, a fatter doughnut, a redder apple, 
 than herself; and she brought the same spirit into her 
 new home. She soon became quite sure that mother 
 loved Lizzy the best, all because Lizzy had curly 
 hair and red cheeks. Lizzy had a new summer frock, 
 while hers was mother's last summer's dress made 
 over; Lizzy had mother's beautiful gray merino made 
 over for winter, while she had a woollen plaid out of 
 the store at the Corners : and ; one was just as much 
 a grievance as the other. She was glad when Lizzy 
 married and went away ; but now Lizzy had a boy 
 baby which was named after Mr. Weston, and Selina 
 was quite sure that father and mother would never 
 care for her again. Miss Armstrong had been very 
 kind to her, that she must needs allow; but then, she 
 had been just as kind to all the others, and Selina 
 was*quite sure that she liked Agnes Gleason's reading 
 the best. That was always the way, she said to her- 
 self with a sigh. It was her fate, and she must bear 
 it. Some time, perhaps, she would find some one 
 who would love her best of all. 
 
 " So you had a case of discipline," remarked Mrs. 
 Weston as the family sat down to the tea-table. 
 
 " I thought you'd find it wasn't all such plain 
 sailing," said Aunt Betsy Burr, who had happened in 
 to borrow a cup of maple molasses. Aunt Betsy's 
 errands generally did bring her to her neighbors 
 about meal-times. "There's some dreadful bad chil- 
 dren about here. Those Bassett boys yelled right 
 in front of my door last night when they were com- 
 ing home from hoeing potatoes up to the hill farm." 
 
THE SNAKES. 1 19 
 
 " It was not a case of discipline, though it might 
 have been if the culprit had not put discipline out 
 of the question by her own act," replied Miss Arm- 
 strong. "The poor child did forget herself; but she 
 acknowledged her fault, and asked pardon before the 
 whole school, and that of her own motion. There 
 was no room for discipline after that. I did keep 
 her, but it was to comfort and help her a little. She 
 has burned her hand badly, and was feeling very 
 unhappy over the loss of an old Testament she had 
 found somewhere." 
 
 Mrs. Weston looked at Selina, who looked at her 
 plate. 
 
 "I am sorry for that child. I think she has hard 
 times," said Mr. Weston. "I met Phin Mallory at 
 Oldbury yesterday, and he told me he was going to 
 make a fuss at the next school-meeting about having 
 the Bible read in school." 
 
 "And what did you say ? " asked his wife. 
 
 "Well, I tried to reason with him at first; but I 
 found there was no use in that, so I told him to make 
 all the fuss he wanted to." 
 
 "I don't know, though," said Aunt Betsy. "I 
 ain't sure it is lawful to take up the time of the 
 scholars with Bible lessons." 
 
 Miss Armstrong only smiled. 
 
 "And so poor Kit has lost her Testament," re- 
 marked Mr. Weston. " Well, we must try to let her 
 have another. Does she think so much of it as all 
 that?" 
 
 "She does, indeed," answered Miss Armstrong. 
 " I have never met any one who seemed to have a 
 
120 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 greater craving for the truth. I believe that child 
 is going to grow up a true Christian in spite of her 
 adverse circumstances." 
 
 " I should think she took a queer way to show it, 
 calling the other girls names," said Aunt Betsy. 
 "For my part, I don't believe she will ever be any 
 thing but a regular little reprobate." 
 
 " Who is calling names now, Aunt Betsy ? " asked 
 Mr. Weston, smiling. 
 
 Aunt Betsy maintained a dignified silence, and 
 betook herself to the consumption of canned cher- 
 ries as if that were the only object in life worthy 
 her notice. 
 
 "The truth often finds readier entrance into such 
 a heart as Kit's than into one which had heard the 
 gospel preached, and remained closed against it," 
 remarked Miss Armstrong ; " at least, that has been 
 the result of my observation both with the heathen 
 and among the mission children in the city." 
 
 " You are right," said Mr. Weston. " The hard- 
 est sinners to melt are gospel-hardened sinners. I 
 thought a good many people seemed touched last 
 night. The Jewsbury girls were very attentive, I 
 observed, and so was Agnes Gleason. That is 
 another child I feel great interest in." 
 
 " I must not violate confidence, but I may just say 
 I have reason to hope we may hear good news of 
 Agnes," said Miss Armstrong, smiling. " I had a 
 nice little talk with her, which was another thing 
 that kept me." 
 
 " Well, I hope her mother won't put no stum- 
 bling-blocks in her way if she really is trying to 
 
THE SNAKES. 121 
 
 be a Christian, that's all," remarked Aunt Betsy. 
 "Almira is a dreadful worldly woman, and always 
 was. The way she nips into church on Sunday with 
 that black silk dress of hers, and brushes off the 
 seat before she sits down ! You needn't laugh, 
 Abby. I've seen her do it with my own eyes, so 
 there ! " 
 
 " I don't so much blame her for that," said Mrs. 
 Weston. " I never go into the building, that I don't 
 want to go to house-cleaning." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be fun to make a bee, and clean the 
 church before the new minister comes?" said Selina. 
 "We might do it next week." 
 
 " I declare, daughter, that is an excellent idea," 
 said Mrs. Weston. " It wouldn't be such a very 
 great piece of work if we all took hold of it. What 
 do you say, father ? " 
 
 " I agree with all my heart," answered Mr. Wes- 
 ton. " I don't believe the place has had a thorough 
 cleaning in twelve years, and it is longer than that 
 since the old house was painted. How long is it, 
 Aunt Betsy ? " 
 
 "Twenty-five years this cqming July," answered 
 Aunt Betsy. " Don't you remember, it was the year 
 old Dr. Munson died. He was a man ! It will be 
 a long time before we have any one to fill his pulpit. 
 This Mr. Brace isn't going to do it. Why, Dr. Mun- 
 son's folks were among the first settlers of Oldfield 
 County." 
 
 "Well, if you come to that, Mr. Brace's great- 
 grandfather was one of the first settlers of River- 
 mouth County," said Mr. Weston. " You may find his 
 
122 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 name in Barber's ' Historical Collections.' Though, 
 as he is to preach, and not his great-grandfather, I 
 don't see what difference it makes." 
 
 " Well, anyhow, he ain't going to fill Dr. Mtmson's 
 pulpit," persisted Aunt Betsy. " Just hear him read 
 the lessons ! And he sings himself, for I saw him." 
 
 "And I heard him, and thought he had a very fine 
 voice. Why shouldn't he sing, as well as any one 
 else ? " 
 
 " Dr. Munson never did. I remember him as if I 
 had seen him yesterday." 
 
 "Dr. Munson was a fine man, no doubt; but he 
 has been dead and buried this many a year, and I 
 only wish his ghost did not walk," said Mrs. Weston. 
 " Every time we have a new minister, somebody com- 
 pares him with old Dr. Munson, and says he never 
 will fill Dr. Munson's pulpit." 
 
 " If Dr. Munson wanted to keep the pulpit himself, 
 he should have taken it away with him," said Selina 
 rather pertly. 
 
 "I don't believe he did," said her father. "He 
 was by far too good and too humble-minded to wish 
 to remain a standard for the measurement of all who 
 should come after him. But, as to this plan of the 
 child's, mother, you talk it up with the women, and 
 I'll do the same with the men ; and we'll see what 
 can be done." 
 
 Selina went to her room in a comfortable frame of 
 mind. She had escaped the blame which she had 
 expected, and she had been commended for her idea 
 of cleaning the church, and might expect still more 
 praise, for her mother would be sure to say it was 
 
THE SNAKES. 123 
 
 Selina's notion in the first place. Her self-compla- 
 cency began to sink a little as she heard her mother 
 coming up stairs, and remembered how she had mis- 
 represented the matter of Kit's staying after school. 
 
 " Now mother Weston will be coming to talk to 
 me," she said to herself. She had a great dread of 
 these talks, which always left her feeling very small 
 in her own eyes. But mother Weston had no such 
 intention this night. She began to think there was 
 no use in talking to Selina : so, like Christian in the 
 dark valley, she betook herself to another weapon, 
 called All-prayer, which was very familiar to her hand, 
 as it is, thank God ! to the hands 6f most Christian 
 mothers. Selina was destined to hear of her fault 
 from another quarter. 
 
 " Selina, how did Mrs. Burr know about Kitty's 
 fault yesterday?" asked Miss Armstrong as they 
 met on the way to school next morning. Selina had 
 not been without her fears on this point, and she 
 had set out before Miss Armstrong by a different 
 route expressly to escape this interview ; but, as so 
 often happens when we try to avoid a person, she 
 came plump upon her about a quarter of a mile from 
 the schoolhouse. 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Betsy every one calls her Aunt 
 Betsy about here she hears every thing!" an- 
 swered Selina with assumed carelessness. " And 
 she thinks all young people are dreadful. You heard 
 what she said about the Bassett boys, and they are 
 forever doing things for her." 
 
 " Yes, I heard ; but that is not the point," said 
 Miss Armstrong, seeing Selina's object, but not to 
 
124 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 be diverted from her purpose. " Your mother, too, 
 spoke of a case of discipline. What did you say 
 about it ? " 
 
 " I am sure I don't remember," answered Selina. 
 " Mother asked me where you were, and I said you 
 had staid after school with Kit Mallory. Then she 
 asked what Kit had done, and I told her. I did not 
 see that Aunt Betsy was there, or I should not have 
 said it. Why, Miss Armstrong, don't you want me to 
 tell mother what happens in school?" asked Selina, 
 thinking she saw a way of "getting out of it," as 
 she said. " I always do tell mother every thing." 
 
 " And you are careful to tell her every thing just 
 exactly as it happens, of course," said Miss Arm- 
 strong, with a look which made Selina feel that she 
 was seen through. " For instance, you told her last 
 night that Kit had of her own accord confessed her 
 fault, and made all the amends possible, before I said 
 a word to her on the subject." 
 
 " I didn't say any thing but what was true," said 
 Selina somewhat sullenly. 
 
 " Yes, but did you tell all the truth ? It is possible 
 to deceive even by silence ; and it is the deception 
 that makes the lie, you know, my dear." 
 
 " I will thank you not to call me a liar, Miss Arm- 
 strong," said Selina, feeling that she was in a tight 
 place, and trying to get out of it by means of a fit 
 of virtuous indignation. "That is what nobody ever 
 did ; and I am not going to stand it, even from you." 
 
 " I have not called you a liar, Selina, as you know 
 very well. What your own conscience tells you, is 
 another matter. Only remember this, that, while I 
 
THE SNAKES. 125 
 
 make no objection to your telling your mother every 
 thing that concerns yourself, I shall be very much 
 displeased if I hear of any gossip outside about 
 matters that go on in school." 
 
 With these words Miss Armstrong went into the 
 schoolhouse, leaving Selina very angry with the 
 teacher, herself, and all the world. There is nothing 
 so exasperating as an accusing conscience when one 
 is determined not to listen to it. Selina had no 
 mind either to join Miss Armstrong in the school- 
 house, or to be left to the company of her own 
 thoughts ; and, seeing the Fletcher children coming 
 down the road in company with Myra Bassett, she 
 went to meet them. 
 
 "Why, Myra, are you coming to school?" she 
 asked in surprise, for Myra was a grown-up girl, and 
 had been to boarding-school in Oldbury. 
 
 " Well, no ; at least, I am not going to begin Sat- 
 urday morning, though I am not sure I should not 
 do it if ma could spare me," answered Myra, smiling. 
 "I have taken a great liking to your Miss Armstrong. 
 I think you are greatly favored in having her for a 
 teacher." 
 
 " I guess we all think so, don't we, Selina?" said 
 Faith. 
 
 11 Of course, though I don't see any thing so very 
 wonderful about her," answered Selina. "But all 
 new brooms sweep clean, with some people." 
 
 "Why, what is the matter now?" asked Sarah 
 Leet. " I am sure you began with thinking her a 
 regular tarragon, as poor James Davis says. What 
 has she done to you ? " 
 
126 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " I did not say she had done any thing to me," 
 answered Selina somewhat angrily. " I can have 
 my own opinion, I suppose. I haven't any fault to 
 find with Miss Armstrong, only I do think she makes 
 a ridiculous fuss over that little Kit Mallory." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Sarah in a tone which implied, " Now 
 I understand." 
 
 " I don't see that she makes any great fuss over 
 her," said literal Faith. "Of course we all feel 
 interested in Kit. I don't know how any one could 
 help it, seeing how hard she tries to be good. Wasn't 
 it sweet to hear her ask pardon in the class, as she 
 did yesterday ? " 
 
 " Oh, very sweet," answered Selina with what she 
 meant to be a tone of sarcasm, but which was, in 
 fact, an ill-natured sneer. " She thought she was 
 going to get a whipping, and took that way to get 
 out of it, and get round Miss Armstrong." 
 
 "Well, I don't believe that," said Agnes Gleason, 
 who had joined the group in time to hear the remark. 
 " In the first place, Kit gets too many whippings to 
 care very much about them ; and, in the second place, 
 she couldn't possibly know that she would get out of 
 it in that way. I believe she really was sorry, and 
 said so." 
 
 " I think so too," returned Faith. 
 
 " And so do I," said Sarah. " But, Agnes, I didn't 
 expect to see you so early, or looking so happy." 
 
 " Why not ? Oh, I know : because the Richmonds 
 have come. Well, mother says I shall not be hin- 
 dered as I was last summer. She told Mrs. Rich- 
 mond last night that she and Milly must get up to 
 
THE SNAKES. I2/ 
 
 breakfast with us at half-past seven, as she could 
 not keep me at home to cook a second breakfast. 
 Wasn't I glad ! " 
 
 " And what did Mrs. Richmond say ? " 
 
 "Oh, she didn't like it at first, and talked about 
 finding another boarding-place ; and mother told her 
 she could do as she pleased about that. I don't 
 think she would be very sorry if they did go, only 
 we all like poor Cordelia." 
 
 " And is poor Cordelia to get up at half-past seven 
 too?" asked Selina. "That is rather hard, I think, 
 considering what bad nights she has." 
 
 "Of course not," replied Agnes* with some indig- 
 nation in her tone. " Cordelia always has her break- 
 fast in bed, and never takes any thing anyway but 
 a cup of tea and a bit of bread or toast. That is a 
 very different thing from getting a second hot break- 
 fast, an hour after we have finished our own, for two 
 healthy women." 
 
 " Very different," said Sarah ; " but I thought 
 Milly alone would be enough to bring a cloud to 
 your placid brow, as the magazine-writers say." 
 
 " Oh, well, perhaps I have been hard upon Amelia," 
 replied Agnes. " She does come across me in so 
 many ways, she makes me feel like a cat stroked 
 the wrong way. But I don't mean to quarrel with 
 her if I can help it. There comes Kit. How pale 
 she looks ! I wonder if her arm is so bad." 
 
 At this moment the conversation was disagreeably 
 interrupted. It is a fact that Oldfield County, and 
 especially the town of Oldham, has always enjoyed, 
 and, what is worse, has deserved, a very bad reputa- 
 
128 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 tion in the matter of snakes. It is a snaky town at 
 all times ; and there are certain years, when, for 
 some reason unknown, snakes do much more abound 
 than at other times. This was a "snake summer." 
 The men wore their thickest and highest boots when 
 they went into the mowing-lots and the low mead- 
 ows, and the children were cautioned to keep a bright 
 lookout in their expeditions after wintergreens and 
 wild flowers. Mr. Bassett had killed a big rattle- 
 snake in his own pasture ; there were stories of cop- 
 perheads ; and old Miss Jewsbury declared that she 
 had seen a serpent as thick as a clothes-post and as 
 long as a well-sweep, crossing the swamp at the foot 
 of her garden. But Miss Jewsbury was given to see- 
 ing wonderful sights under the inspiration of a cer- 
 tain black vial in the corner of her cupboard, and 
 nobody believed very deeply in the accuracy of her 
 snake story. 
 
 The Fletcher twins, Eddy and Eben, had run on 
 before to meet Kit, who was a famous playmate, and 
 very fond of the younger children. Just as they 
 came near her, Ednah stood still literally, and, fortu- 
 nately for herself, too much scared to move ; while 
 Eben screamed, 
 
 " A snake, a snake ! O Faithie, come ! " 
 
 Faith stopped, frozen with horror, and pointed to 
 the child. A brown snake had actually wound itself 
 round her ankle. Before any one could move, Kit 
 turned, saw the situation, and was mistress of it. 
 
 " Don't move, Eddy ; stand still ! " said she in a 
 crisp, clear tone of command. Then, reaching the 
 spot with one of her agile, panther-like springs, she 
 
THE SNAKES. 1 29 
 
 bent down, caught the snake with her thumb and 
 forefinger just behind the head, and, throwing it on 
 the ground, set the heel of her thick boot on its 
 head. 1 
 
 " Quick, girls ! " she cried. " Kill it before it gets 
 away." 
 
 Agnes and Sarah sprang to the spot, and the 
 snake was soon despatched. Faith snatched up 
 Eclnah, and began stripping down her stocking. 
 
 "Oh, it didn't bite her: it didn't have a chance," 
 said Kit, with a laugh that sounded slightly hysteri- 
 cal. " But it was a close shave, wasn't it, Eddy ? " 
 
 " I should think it was, you dear, blessed child ! " 
 exclaimed Sarah, sitting down on a stone, and taking 
 Kit on her lap. "There, sit still a minute. How 
 you tremble ! and no wonder. Agnes, get her some 
 water." 
 
 " I don't think there is any thing to be so scared 
 at," said Selina. " It was only a garter snake." 
 
 " Garter snake ! So are you a garter snake ! " said 
 Sarah contemptuously. " Did you ever see a garter 
 snake that color? Mr. Bassett ! " she added, calling 
 to the miller, who was just passing, "please come 
 and tell us what kind of snake this is." 
 
 " It's a real copperhead, and no mistake," pro- 
 nounced Mr. Bassett. " It is rather a young one, 
 but there is no mistaking the nature of the animal. 
 See its poison teeth. Take care ! don't touch 'em : 
 the least scratch might do for you. Who killed 
 it?" 
 
 Agnes told the story, while Miss Armstrong 
 
 1 This is no fiction, but an actual incident. 
 
130 OLD II A Af; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 fanned Kit, who was leaning, very white, against 
 Sarah's shoulder. 
 
 " Well, you are a brave child," said Mr. Bassett. 
 " How came you to think of acting so ? " 
 
 "I didn't think: it just came to me," said Kit, 
 sitting up. "I can't think what makes me feel so 
 queer, only I didn't sleep much, my hand hurt me 
 so." 
 
 " There isn't one man in a hundred would have 
 had the presence of mind, even if he had the cour- 
 age," said Mr. Bassett. " Myra, hadn't we better take 
 her over to our house, and let her lie down a while ? 
 I'll carry her." 
 
 "Perhaps that will be the best way," said Miss 
 Armstrong. "Wouldn't you like to go with Mr. 
 Bassett, and rest a little ? " 
 
 "And have a nice cup of coffee?" added Myra. 
 
 Kit shook her head. " I should like it," said she, 
 with a loving and grateful look at Myra and her 
 father, "but uncle Phin wouldn't. He has told me 
 never to go into the neighbors' houses for any thing, 
 and I think I ought to mind him." 
 
 " Of course you ought," replied Mr. Bassett, ex- 
 changing glances with Miss Armstrong. 
 
 " I'll run home and get the coffee, anyway," said 
 Myra, whose kindness, like her mother's, was apt to 
 take a substantial form. " I am sure she needs 
 something." 
 
 "And do you sit quietly here in the shade, and 
 rest," said Miss Armstrong. " Sarah shall sit with 
 you, lest you should be faint again." 
 
 " What do you think about Kit now ? " asked 
 
THE SNAA'ES. 131 
 
 Agnes of Selina, in a low tone, as they were hanging 
 up their hats. 
 
 " I think a great fuss is being made about noth- 
 ing," said Selina. " I or anybody could have done 
 as much." 
 
 " Why didn't you, then ? " asked one of the little 
 girls, who was near. "You were as close to Eddy as 
 Kit was; and you just stood still and screamed, for 
 I saw you." 
 
 Selina found it convenient not to hear this remark. 
 She was listening to the hissing of a snake in her 
 own heart, worse than any copperhead that ever 
 crawled in Oldham, the serpent of envy and jeal- 
 ousy. The copperhead could, at worst, only have 
 killed the child's body ; but her bosom companion 
 was poisoning her very soul. 
 
 " Don't I tire you ? " said Kit as Sarah settled her 
 into an easier position. 
 
 " Not you, you little shrimp ; I could hold a dozen 
 of you. Sit still if you like it." 
 
 " I do," said Kit. " It seems so good to be babied 
 a little," she added with a little tremor in her voice. 
 
 Sarah drew Kit's head closer to her, and kissed 
 the brown cheek ; but she did not speak, and Kit 
 lay in a kind of dreamy content. 
 
 "Sarah," said she at last, rousing herself just as 
 she seemed to be falling asleep. 
 
 " Well, dear." 
 
 " Do you think it was the Lord put it into my 
 head, how to catch the snake, I mean ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," answered Sarah, who was a girl 
 who thought about things. "Every thing good is 
 
132 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 from Him. I don't see where else it could have 
 come from." 
 
 " I am so glad I could do it," said Kit. " How 
 dreadful it would have been if the snake had bitten 
 Eddy ! She might have been dead by this time." 
 
 " And suppose it had bitten you ? " 
 
 "Well, that wouldn't have mattered so much, for 
 I am not anybody's girl as Eddy is. I suppose 
 Symantha would have been sorry, though, because 
 she loves me. She said she did, yesterday." 
 
 "She must be a queer woman if she didn't," said 
 Sarah. " See, here is Myra with some nice coffee for 
 you." 
 
 " Did you think I was ever so long ? " said Myra, 
 setting down her basket, and taking the cover off a 
 little tin pail which gave out a delicious odor. "Ma 
 made fresh coffee, and cut some cold chicken, be- 
 cause she says you ought to try and eat a little. 
 There, drink, little one. What are you looking at?" 
 For Kit was regarding the mug Myra handed her, 
 with a dazed expression, knitting her brows as if 
 trying to recall something 
 
 "At the mug," said Kit. "Somehow it makes 
 me remember something, and I can't tell what it is. 
 It is just as if I had seen it before. I remember 
 those little blue folks on the bridge, and somebody 
 telling me a story about them." 
 
 " I dare say you may have seen something like it," 
 said Myra " It is very old china. Ma's grandfather 
 used to be a sailor, and he brought a great many 
 curious things from China and India. There, do 
 drink your coffee : it will be cold." 
 
THE SNAKES. 133 
 
 " How good it is, and how good you all are to me ! " 
 said Kit. " I am so glad uncle Phin came here to 
 live ! I hope we shall never move away. Symantha 
 says so too. She says she has been about the world 
 all she ever wants to." 
 
 "Then you have moved a good many times?" said 
 Sarah, who shared in the general curiosity about 
 Phin Mallory, a curiosity not at all unnatural in 
 a place where everybody knew everybody, and every- 
 body's grandfathers, to the third and fourth genera- 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! We have lived in five different places 
 since I can remember. St. Louis was the first I 
 know. Then we went farther west to a new town in 
 Kansas, and then into the Indian country. I liked 
 it there." 
 
 " Were you not afraid of the Indians ? " asked 
 Myra, whose notions of that people were derived 
 from legends of the French and Indian war, still 
 current in Oldfield County. " I should be." 
 
 "Oh, no, you wouldn't, not of those Indians. They 
 were real nice folks, and so kind to us, especially 
 when aunt Martha was sick. They were good Chris- 
 tians too. Uncle Phin was away a good deal ; and 
 sometimes, when he staid over Sunday, I used to go 
 to their church. I was very little then ; but I re- 
 member the beautiful singing, and the prayers they 
 used, little bits of them. 'We have strayed like 
 lost sheep,' that was one ; I knew it the minute Mr. 
 Weston read it last night. And the people used to 
 say, 'Good Lord, deliver us,' when the minister 
 prayed. But we didn't stay there long. Uncle Phin 
 
134 OLDIIAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 says the Indians are treacherous dogs, no better than 
 wolves ; but I like them." 
 
 "Have some more coffee," said Myra. "Well, 
 where did you go then ? " 
 
 "We didn't stay long anywhere ; we just travelled 
 about. Finally we came here, and I do hope we 
 shall stay ! " 
 
 " So do I," said Myra. " You must learn all you 
 can, in case you have to go away again. Do you 
 feel better ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I am quite well now. I guess I will go 
 into school. Thank you for the coffee and for being 
 so good to me." 
 
 " Please ask Miss Armstrong to step to the door," 
 said Myra, gathering up her basket and other matters. 
 "Mother sent me on an errand to her, and I nearly 
 forgot it." Myra's errand was, to ask Miss Arm- 
 strong to come to her mother's house to tea that 
 afternoon. 
 
 " Mrs. Weston is coming, and so are Miss Celia and 
 Miss Delia : that's all, only I suppose Aunt Betsy will 
 turn up, as usual ; oh, yes ! and Patience Fletcher, 
 if she can get away. Do come, Miss Armstrong : 
 ma wants to see you so much, and I want you to 
 see grandma. She is such a dear old lady ! " 
 
 Miss Armstrong smiled, and promised to come. 
 She would have preferred to spend her half-holiday 
 quietly ; but she knew this party was made for her, 
 and she had been used, all her life, to putting herself 
 out of the question. 
 
 Of course all the children went home with their 
 heads and mouths full of the snake story, which lost 
 
777^ SNAKES. 135 
 
 nothing in the telling. Kit was the only one who 
 did not mention it. Agnes Gleason told of it at the 
 table. She had gone to her mother's room the even- 
 ing before, and opened her heart to her with some 
 misgivings, for Mrs. Gleason was not a woman who 
 made any profession of religion. She was agreeably 
 surprised at the way in which her communication 
 was received. 
 
 " I am just as glad as if you had given me a for- 
 tune, and more," said Mrs. Gleason. "I always have 
 hoped you would be a Christian." 
 
 " You never said any thing about it to me, ma," 
 said Agnes. " I've wondered sometimes why you 
 didn't." 
 
 " Well, I thought it wouldn't sound very well com- 
 ing from one who made no profession of religion 
 herself ; but you know, Agnes, I always have kept 
 you at Sunday school, and I have taken pains to have 
 you learn your catechism." 
 
 " Yes, I know. Mrs. Martin used to say she 
 wished all mothers would do as much. I'm so glad 
 you are pleased, ma. It makes me happier than I 
 was before," said Agnes, her eyes overflowing with 
 joyful tears. 
 
 " Well, I am pleased," said Mrs. Gleason with em- 
 phasis. " But I want to tell you one thing, daughter : 
 I want you to join the church the very first time 
 there is a confirmation ; that is, if you are sure you 
 know your own mind, and I guess you do. You are 
 pretty apt to, I will say that for you." 
 
 "I think so," said Agnes. "I should like to be 
 confirmed. It seems as if that and the communion, 
 
136 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 and all, would be such a help and safeguard. I 
 thought perhaps you would think I was too young to 
 come forward." 
 
 "I don't," replied her mother. " Your grandfather 
 Gleason was a minister of great experience, and I 
 have heard him say that the proportion of backslid- 
 ers among young church-members is much less than 
 among those who wait till middle life. And it stands 
 to reason, too, because they are not so fixed in bad 
 habits." 
 
 " How did it happen, ma, that you never were con- 
 firmed yourself ? " asked Agnes. 
 
 " Well, it was just that way. We had a large class 
 confirmed when I was about your age. I was very 
 serious at that time, and I wanted very much to come 
 forward. Dr. Munson was in favor of it ; and prob- 
 ably, if my parents had been alive, I should have 
 done so. But I was living with Aunt Betsy then, and 
 she was against it. She said I was too young to 
 understand what I was about, and not serious-minded 
 enough, and so on ; and she wouldn't give her con- 
 sent. Then I went away to Elrnsbury, and there I 
 fell in with a good deal of gay society ; and 
 Well, I don't know how it was, but I lost my hope, 
 and never found it again ; and sometimes I think I 
 never shall," added Mrs. Gleason sadly. "Aunt 
 Betsy always says it shows she was right about me." 
 
 "I think it shows she was wrong," said Agnes. 
 
 " And so do I. I have got to answer for myself, 
 of course, but I can't help blaming her for part of it ; 
 and I made up my mind that I should take a very 
 different course with you." 
 
THE SNAA'ES. 137 
 
 " I am so glad ! " said Agnes. " But, ma," she 
 added timidly, " why don't you come forward now ? 
 It would be so sweet for us to go together. We 
 always have been together in every thing, you know, 
 ever since I was a little girl." 
 
 "Yes, I always have made a companion of you. 
 Sometimes I'm afraid I put too much on you." 
 
 " No, you don't either," said Agnes, with some in- 
 dignation. " There isn't a girl in Oldham has better 
 times than I do, only for" 
 
 " Only for the summer boarders," said Mrs. Glea- 
 son as Agnes paused. " Well, I hope we shall not 
 have to take them again. I have calculated that this 
 season will pay off the mortgage, and after that we 
 shall be easy enough." 
 
 " But won't you think about it, ma ? " 
 
 " Child, I have thought enough, if that would do 
 any good. But, I don't know how it is, my heart 
 seems as hard as the nether millstone, or like the 
 Bald Rock on Indian Hill, where neither sun nor 
 rain will make any thing grow." 
 
 " But we can do right, whether we feel right or 
 not," said Agnes. 
 
 " There is something in that," replied her mother. 
 " But we must not talk any more to-night. Go to 
 bed, dear, and I will come as soon as I have set the 
 bread. Bless the child ! I only wish her dear father 
 knew it," added Mrs. Gleason to herself as she went 
 about her bread. " I wish that Milly Richmond 
 wasn't here : she is one of those birds of the air 
 we read of in the parable. But I don't think my girl 
 is a wayside hearer." 
 
138 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " I shall not dare to step out of doors all the time 
 I am here," was Milly Richmond's comment on the 
 snake story. 
 
 "You will get rather tired of that," said Mrs. 
 Gleason. "I have known several 'snake summers' 
 since I have been here, but I have seldom known of 
 any one's being hurt. It was a narrow escape for 
 little Eddy, however, and for Kit herself. I can't 
 think how the child should know just what to do." 
 
 " She asked Sarah if she didn't think it was the 
 Lord who showed her," said Agnes, " and Sarah said 
 she didn't doubt it." 
 
 " Oh, I didn't know Sarah had taken up the pious 
 dodge," remarked Milly, with a sneer. " Does the 
 new teacher go in for that kind of thing ? " 
 
 "What kind of thing? "asked Agnes. Then, as 
 Milly only laughed, she added, " Miss Armstrong is 
 a Christian woman, if that is what you mean ; and 
 we like her the better for it." 
 
 " Of course she is. Don't you know, Milly, we 
 heard all about her from Miss Brown ? She is a great 
 friend of old Mrs. Van Zandt and that set," said Mrs. 
 Richmond, who would have given one of her fingers 
 for a call from aunt Barbara at her fine new house. 
 " I wonder what brought her up here." 
 
 " Perhaps she came on a mission to convert the 
 natives," said Milly, who never lost an opportunity 
 of showing that she looked down on the people where 
 she spent her summers. " Maybe she will convert 
 you, Agnes." 
 
 ".Maybe she has," said Agnes. "So much the 
 better for me." 
 
THE SNAKES. 139 
 
 " Grandfather Gleason used to say that conversion 
 is not the work of man, though man may be the 
 honored instrument," said Mrs. Gleason. " Agnes 
 has got a great deal of good from Miss Armstrong 
 already, and I hope she may get more. It is a pity 
 you would not try going to school to her yourself, 
 Milly. Perhaps she might do something, even for 
 you." 
 
 Milly curled her lip and tossed her head ; but she 
 had come off second best in more than one encounter 
 with her hostess, and she did not care to try another. 
 She made up her mind, however, that, if Agnes had 
 taken up any such notions, she would soon laugh 
 her out of them. Mrs. Gleason had rightly called her 
 one of the birds of the air. But such birds have no 
 power over the seed sown in good ground ; it is only 
 that which falls on the hard-trodden wayside which 
 becomes their prey. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 TWO TEA-PARTIES. 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Weston and Miss Armstrong entered 
 Mrs. Bassett's front parlor, they found the rest of the 
 company assembled, and were welcomed by their 
 hostess with " Why, how late you are ! I was most 
 thinking you were not coming. I'm afraid you're 
 growing fashionable, Abby." 
 
 " Not a bit," answered Mrs. Weston. " It was not 
 fashion that kept me, but flour. Mr. Bassett was so 
 late with the grist, that he made me late with my 
 Saturday's baking ; and I didn't like to leave it all to 
 Selina." 
 
 " Do tell ! " said Mrs. Bassett. " Pa has been very 
 much driven with work, and Mr. Cook being sick 
 puts him about. But where is Selina? I thought 
 she would come too." 
 
 " I left her to keep house. She has to be elder 
 daughter, now Lizzy is gone." 
 
 " Well, she must come another time. Do take off 
 
 your things, Miss Armstrong. I'm so glad to see 
 
 you ! I believe you know everybody here only 
 
 Patience. Where is she ? Oh, here she comes. 
 
 140 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 141 
 
 Patience, let me make you acquainted with Miss 
 Armstrong." 
 
 " I feel as if I knew Miss Fletcher already through 
 the children," said Miss Armstrong, cordially shak- 
 ing hands with Patience. " I hope Ednah is none 
 the worse for her adventure this morning. Poor 
 child, she had a terrible fright." 
 
 "Ohf yes, with the snake," said Mrs. Bassett. 
 " The scare was enough to kill her." 
 
 "I don't think she was as much frightened as 
 Faithie was," answered Patience. " She says her- 
 self she didn't have time. But it is dreadful to 
 think what would have happened -only for Kit," she 
 added, shuddering. "I little thought, when I was 
 fretting about that child's, coming to school with our 
 young ones, what she was to do for them." 
 
 " Which shows what I am always telling you, 
 Patience, that there is no use in fretting and bor- 
 rowing trouble," remarked Mrs. Bassett. 
 
 " Kit seems a well-disposed child in every way, 
 I think," said Miss Celia, whose knitting-needles 
 were pursuing their rapid, even rounds in the corner. 
 " She brought home my tortoise-shell kitten when it 
 strayed away. I can hardly think she belongs to 
 these people." 
 
 "She don't," returned Aunt Betsy, who had ful- 
 filled Myra's prediction by 'dropping in' a little 
 before tea-time. " If she was a Mallory, we should 
 know something about her, at any rate. They took 
 her out of the poorhouse. I don't suppose anybody 
 even knows whether she had a grandfather." 
 
 "It seems probable that she had one of some 
 
142 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 sort," said Mrs. Bassett. " Folks don't often come 
 into the world like mushrooms, without any ances- 
 tors at all." 
 
 " She must have come of a good family somehow," 
 said Miss Celia with mild persistence. 
 
 " I do not think that so certain," remarked Miss 
 Armstrong. " I have had a good deal of experience 
 with children in all positions, from what might be 
 called the top of the social ladder to the bottom ; and 
 I have found all sorts of dispositions in all sorts of 
 places. I have seen most beautiful growths of good- 
 ness and self-sacrifice in the midst of vice and igno- 
 rance such as you can have no idea of unless you 
 have seen it, and I have seen very extraordinary 
 tendencies to wickedness among children who had 
 been most carefully brought up." 
 
 " Well, you won't persuade me that it don't make 
 any difference whether folks are respectable, decent 
 folks, or loafers," said Aunt Betsy. " Nobody will 
 ever make me think that." 
 
 "Anybody would be very foolish to try," said 
 Mrs. Weston. "All Miss Armstrong says is, that 
 good and bad dispositions do not depend entirely 
 upon family, or even upon training." 
 
 "Exactly so," assented Miss Armstrong. "Other 
 things being equal, well-trained and well-nurtured 
 children are likely to be better than those who are 
 neither ; but there are exceptions in all cases." 
 
 " To read some books, one would think that all 
 people need is, to be shown the right way, and they 
 jump into it at once," said Miss Delia. "I was 
 reading one the other day, in which a young girl went 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 143 
 
 to stay at a country village for the summer, and con- 
 verted everybody in it. Just as if all one had to do 
 was to catch folks, and do good to them ! " 
 
 " I know the class of books you mean, and I have 
 a special objection to them," said Miss Armstrong. 
 "Old-fashioned people complain of novels because 
 they give false views of life, and I find fault with 
 these books for the same reason. Enthusiastic 
 young people reading them are apt, as you say, to 
 think that all one has to do to reform people is to set 
 the good before them, and they take to it at once ; 
 whereas the fact is, that sinners in general are not 
 wicked because they know no better, but because 
 they like wickedness the best." 
 
 "Just so," assented Mrs. Weston. "Look at the 
 case of Harry Burchard, for instance," alluding to a 
 somewhat famous burglar. " That fellow had a good 
 bringing-up, and learned a good trade ; and the same 
 enterprise and ingenuity which made him such a 
 successful burglar would have made him an equally 
 successful business-man." 
 
 " And it was no want of grandfathers in his case," 
 observed Miss Delia. " He is a great-grandson of 
 old Mr. Wheeler, who used to preach in Oldbury in 
 Revolutionary times. I've noticed in these same 
 books, that, in all the church work, the pastor is of 
 no account whatever : it is the young folks that do 
 every thing." 
 
 "Talking of pastors, is it true that Mr. Brace is 
 coming in two weeks ? " 
 
 " Quite true, I am glad to say," answered Mrs. 
 Weston. " And that reminds me of something I want 
 
144 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 to talk about." And Mrs. Weston forthwith plunged 
 into the subject of the church-cleaning. All present 
 took up the matter with enthusiasm ^except Aunt 
 Betsy, who was constitutionally opposed to every 
 thing, and Patience Fletcher. Aunt Betsy thought 
 it would never do to make such a fuss about clean- 
 ing up the church : it would be as much as saying 
 right out that it was dirty ; that would hurt Mr. 
 Archimball's feelings, which would be a shame after 
 all the years he had taken care of the church. 
 
 "All the years he hasn't taken care of it, you 
 mean," said Mrs. Bassett. "If Archimball had 
 done his duty, things wouldn't be in the state they 
 are. I don't think we are bound to sit in the dirt 
 all our lives, to spare his feelings. Well, Patience, 
 what do you think ? " 
 
 " I think it is an excellent plan," answered Patience, 
 "and I only wish I could promise to help about it; 
 but I don't see how I can, I've got so much laid 
 out to do next week." 
 
 "Poor thing!" said Mrs. Bassett, laughing. "It 
 is a pity, Patience, that you hadn't a baker's dozen 
 of children, so you could get a little leisure. What 
 is it that presses so dreadfully ? Maybe I can help 
 you a little." 
 
 "Well, I calculated to clean the spare bedroom, 
 for one thing; and there are the curtains to wash 
 and do up, and the children's clothes to see to. Eben 
 and Eddy do make so much washing ! " 
 
 " Sakes alive ! what would you do if you had my 
 two big boys, besides Mr. Bassett and the little ones ? 
 Come, Patience, let the spare room rest a week. I 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 145 
 
 tell you it isn't good for any one to work all the time 
 in a half-bushel. That's one reason why I am in 
 favor of missionary work : it gives one an outlook, 
 makes a window into the world, as it were. Don't 
 you think so, Miss Armstrong? " 
 
 " I certainly do ; but perhaps I am an interested 
 party," answered Miss Armstrong, smiling. " I have 
 been busy with missionary work of some sort ever 
 since I was eighteen, and even before, for my father 
 and mother were missionaries before me. But I 
 think with you, Mrs. Bassett, that we all need out- 
 side windows in our lives. I believe many an over- 
 worked housekeeper would find -her life lightened if 
 she would interest herself in something outside her 
 own household." 
 
 " Yes, it is easy to say that," said Patience a little 
 peevishly. "But there is only just so much time, 
 anyhow ; and, if it is full, it is full." 
 
 " Very true," replied Miss Armstrong. " In that 
 case we must consider whether there is not some- 
 thing that can be turned out." 
 
 "A man is to provide first for his own household," 
 said Patience. 
 
 "Very true again ; but to provide what? that is 
 the real question, you see. Is a man bound to spend 
 so much time heaping dollar upon dollar for his sons, 
 that he has no time to know what sort of compan- 
 ions they have, or where they pass their evenings ? 
 Or is a mother obliged to spend so much time and 
 labor providing Sunday finery for her little daughter, 
 that she has no time to teach the child her catechism, 
 or see that she understands her Bible lesson ? " 
 
146 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "That is an extreme case," said Patience. 
 
 " It is a very common case, I am sorry to say," 
 answered Miss Armstrong. " I know more than one 
 mother of moderate means who thinks she has no 
 time to attend to her daughter's lessons, because she 
 must dress the child as finely as somebody else who 
 has five times her income." 
 
 " I don't think I put much finery on our children," 
 said Patience ; " but I do like to have them look 
 nicely, as their mother would like to have them 
 look if she could see them." 
 
 " I think you do keep them very nicely," said Miss 
 Armstrong. " It is easy to see that Eddy and Eben 
 are not neglected for the sake of any thing. I never 
 saw two better-trained or pleasanter children." 
 
 Patience's pale cheek flushed with pleasure. These 
 two babies, left her by her fair young stepmother, 
 herself a dear friend and playmate, were as the 
 apple of her eye. 
 
 " Pa and Faithie deserve most of the credit of 
 that," said she frankly. "Perhaps I do think too 
 much about my housekeeping a,nd all that. You see, 
 I was left in charge when I was very. young, and I 
 felt such a responsibility. Even when mother Hes- 
 ter came, she was such a delicate little thing I felt I 
 ought to spare her all I could ; and she staid with us 
 such a little time. only a year and a half" 
 
 " It was a dreadful foolish thing of your father, 
 marrying that child, and when every one knew her 
 family was consumptive," said Aunt Betsy. 
 
 "I don't think so," returned Patience. "It was 
 one of the best things that ever happened in our 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 147 
 
 house. Hester was like a sunbeam, or like an angel 
 that came to make a visit, and then went back to 
 heaven again. Eddy is just like her." 
 
 "Yes, I expect she'll inherit the disease," rejoined 
 Job's comforter. " She has just Hester's clear blue 
 eyes and red cheeks." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Mrs. Bassett. " Eddy is as 
 tough as a little knot. That is another notion that 
 does no end of harm, I mean, thinking a girl must 
 needs have the consumption because her mother had 
 it. My grandfather was bitten in two by a sperm 
 whale, but I don't expect that is going to happen 
 to me." 
 
 " Whales don't run in families," said Aunt Betsy 
 with dignity, while ail the rest laughed: "consump- 
 tion does." 
 
 " Whales have run in my family for a good many 
 generations, ever since Nantucket folks took to 
 catching them," said Mrs. Bassett. " But, as to 
 Ednah, I do hope nobody will put such an idea in 
 the child's head. I do believe prophecies of that 
 kind sometimes bring their own fulfilment." 
 
 " I think you are right, Mrs. Bassett," said Miss 
 Armstrong. " I have known of at least one case in 
 which melancholy insanity was brought on, appar- 
 ently from no other cause than the one you men- 
 tion." 
 
 "Talking of insanity brings us round to Kit 
 again," said Mrs. Weston. " I do wish something 
 could be done for that child. I spoke to Symantha 
 about her coming to Sunday school ; and she said she 
 should have no objection herself, but there was no 
 
148 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 use in talking to her father : he would never allow 
 it, and would only be angry. I think she feared, 
 though she did not say so, that he would visit his 
 anger on the child." 
 
 "Yes, I know," added Mrs. Bassett. "He told pa 
 he hated the very name of God. 'That's queer,' 
 says pa, 'to hate somebody you don't believe in. I'd 
 never trouble myself to hate a man if I believed 
 there was no such person,' says pa. And Phin never 
 said another word. Well-, we must just bear poor 
 Kit on our minds, and maybe some way will be 
 opened. She seems to have a sense of religion, too, 
 from all I hear. Myra says she asked Sarah Leet 
 if she didn't think the Lord told her how to catch 
 the snake." 
 
 "No doubt He did," said Miss Delia; "but it isn't 
 every one that would have minded as quick as she 
 did. Some folks would have said, ' Oh, dear ! Lord, 
 I can't: I'm afraid.'" 
 
 "Good-afternoon, ladies. Settling all the affairs 
 of the parish, I expect," said Mr. Bassett, appearing 
 at the parlor door in his dusty miller's coat, his hair 
 and face white with flour. Mrs. Bassett looked 
 scandalized. 
 
 " Now, pa, what do you mean coming in like that ? 
 Do go and dress yourself. There's your clean things 
 all laid out for you, and you come in all over flour. 
 I do declare, I never saw such a man ! Go and get 
 dressed, there's a dear, for I expect Myra has got 
 tea all ready." 
 
 Mr. Bassett indulged in a jolly laugh as he with- 
 drew, which was echoed from the great kitchen where 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 149 
 
 Myra and her little sisters were getting tea. Such 
 laughs were common in the Bassett family. The 
 household was one of those through which a fresh, 
 warm gale seems always blowing, making a good 
 deal of noise and stir, hut keeping every thing bright 
 and sweet. 
 
 " Did you ever see such a man ?" said Ma Bassett, 
 appealing to the company in general, with wifely and 
 motherly pride shining all over her comely face. 
 " And he makes the children as bad as he is. Such 
 hands to laugh I never saw." 
 
 " The crackling of thorns under a pot, that's what 
 Scripture calls it," said Aunt Betsy, who always re- 
 sented a laugh as though it must needs be directed 
 at herself. 
 
 "That is the laughter of fools," returned Miss 
 Delia, bristling a little in defence of her host. " And 
 I, for my part, would rather hear thorns crackling 
 under a pot than the east wind screeching through 
 a keyhole." 
 
 Aunt Betsy betook herself to her snuff-box, her 
 usual refuge when worsted. 
 
 " Never mind, Delia ; we all know Aunt Betsy's 
 bark is worse than her bite," said Ma Bassett. 
 " Ladies, will you walk out to supper ? " 
 
 At the tea-table the subject of the church-clean- 
 ing was renewed. Mr. Bassett approved heartily. 
 
 " Such a piece of work ought to be easy here," re- 
 marked Miss Armstrong : "you all seem so united." 
 
 " Yes, we are very fortunate in that," answered 
 Mr. Bassett. "There has never been any church 
 here but ours. There is a small Methodist society 
 
150 OLDffAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 over at the cross-roads ; very nice folks they are 
 too, I must say." 
 
 "I don't see how you can say that," interrupted 
 Aunt Betsy. "Joe Hilton belonged to them, and he 
 got drunk at the county fair, and gambled away his 
 cow." 
 
 "There are black sheep in every flock," said Miss 
 Delia." 
 
 "And they took him back again, and he belongs 
 there now," continued Aunt Betsy triumphantly, as 
 though she considered the niceness of the Methodist 
 folks forever disproved. 
 
 " Yes, they restored him in the spirit of meekness," 
 said Mr. Bassett. " Poor Joe was a very hard case 
 for many years before he joined the Methodists ; and 
 it was no wonder, perhaps, that the old temptation 
 overcame him. He has worked forme all the spring, 
 and I don't want a better man." 
 
 "Mr. Martin said the Methodist society was the 
 natural refuge of the lower classes," observed Myra. 
 
 " Yes, I know he did ; and that foolish remark re- 
 peated did more harm than he would ever do good. 
 What business had he talking about upper and lower 
 classes? His father was a foundryman, and his 
 mother kept a little candy-shop to help them along." 
 
 "That was no disgrace to them," observed Miss 
 Delia. 
 
 " Not a bit. It was an item to their credit, and 
 ought to have kept him from talking such nonsense." 
 
 " What kind of a man was he ? " asked Miss Arm- 
 strong. 
 
 " Well, he was a man of a good deal of talent and 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 151 
 
 reading ; but he did not get on, somehow," replied 
 Mr. Bassett. " I don't know as I could tell what the 
 matter was " 
 
 "The matter was, that he was always feeling 
 abused, and complaining, because, as he said, he had 
 no congenial spirits to associate with," struck in 
 Miss Delia. " He had a great notion of himself and 
 his own consequence, and thought himself buried in 
 a country parish ; and you see no church likes to be 
 looked upon in the light of a tomb," added the little 
 lady, laughing. " I hope Mr. Brace is not like that." 
 
 " He is not," said Miss Armstrong. " He is not a 
 man to think himself buried anywhere, so long as he 
 has work to do for his Master." 
 
 " Then you know him ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know him," answered Miss Arm- 
 strong: "we used to work together in New York 
 years ago. I think you will all like him very much. 
 He is very strong upon the proprieties of public 
 worship," she added. " I could not help thinking 
 of him last Sunday when I happened to notice that 
 great cobweb in the corner over the organ." 
 
 " And that brings us to the church-cleaning again," 
 said Ma Bassett, whose womanly eye saw that Miss 
 Armstrong was a little bit agitated. The subject 
 was discussed in all its length and breadth ; and, be- 
 fore the party broke up, it was quite settled that the 
 two church-wardens should take the first step toward 
 calling a parish meeting. 
 
 When the friends separated, Mrs. Weston and 
 Miss Delia were deep in some occult mystery con- 
 cerning the coloring of carpet-rags, an art for which 
 
152 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS, 
 
 the little lady was renowned ; and Miss Armstrong 
 and Patience Fletcher walked on together. 
 
 " How easy Mrs. Bassett does take every thing ! " 
 said Patience. "I wish I was like her." 
 
 "Is she always so?" asked Miss Armstrong. 
 
 "Just the same, whatever happens. Even when 
 her children were little, and they were not as well 
 off as they are now, she never fretted. She always 
 would take time to rest and read. I staid there once 
 for three weeks when father had small-pox. Every 
 day after dinner, when she had washed up the dishes 
 and got the baby to sleep, she used to take her Bible 
 or some other book, and lie down for half or three- 
 quarters of an hour. Sometimes she would read, 
 and sometimes she would take a little nap ; but she 
 always got up as fresh as a daisy/' 
 
 " I suspect that is one secret of her cheerfulness," 
 said Miss Armstrong. " She takes time to rest, and 
 to feed her spirit." 
 
 "Well, I wonder if that is what ails me," said 
 Patience. 
 
 "Does any thing ail you?" asked Miss Arm- 
 strong. "I thought you were a happy woman." 
 
 "Well, I am not," answered Patience. "I don't 
 know what the matter is, either. It is all right 
 enough outside, if I did not have quite so much to 
 do ; but, I don't know how it is, I don't have any 
 peace or joy in religion. I pray, of course, and go 
 to communion ; but I don't have any comfort in it. 
 My prayers never seem to get outside of the room." 
 
 "Since the Hearer of prayer is undoubtedly in 
 the room, there is, perhaps, no need of their getting 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES, 153 
 
 out," said Miss Armstrong. " I understand the feel- 
 ing, however, and it is a very sad one. But, Miss 
 Fletcher " 
 
 "Call me*Patience, please. Everybody does." 
 
 " So I will, for it is a favorite name of mine. Are 
 you sure, Patience, dear, that you are not starving 
 your soul all this time ? It must have nourishment, 
 you know, as well as the body. Excuse the freedom 
 of the question, but do you take time enough for 
 your devotions ? " 
 
 " I don't suppose I do," answered Patience. " I 
 am so hurried in the morning, and at night I am so 
 tired." 
 
 " But during the day, while the children are at 
 school " 
 
 "Yes, I know; but there always seems some sew- 
 ing or cleaning to do, that takes up the time." 
 
 "Are you sure that all that sewing and cleaning 
 are necessary ? Or, if it is, why not leave some of 
 it for Faith when she comes home ? She ought to 
 help you a good deal." 
 
 " Well, she does ; and she would like to help me a 
 great deal more. She isn't a bit of a shirk, Faith 
 isn't. But Well, the fact is, Miss Armstrong, I 
 have my own ways and plans ; and, if things are not 
 done just exactly so, it puts me out, and makes me 
 uncomfortable." 
 
 " Isn't it possible that you are making idols of 
 your own ways and plans ? " asked Miss Armstrong 
 gently. 
 
 " Idols ? " repeated Patience, as if a little offended. 
 " I don't know what you mean." 
 
154 OLDHAMj OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "An idol is any thing which comes between us 
 and God," said Miss Armstrong; "whatever we set 
 up in His place is an idol. Your ways and plans 
 may be ever so good ; but, if you allow them to take 
 all your time and thoughts " Miss Armstrong 
 paused, and added, "The cares of this world, you 
 know, can choke the Word as well as the deceitful- 
 ness of riches." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said Patience ; " but if He sends 
 the cares ? " 
 
 " The cares He sends don't often have that effect. 
 It comes from the cares we make for ourselves. Let 
 me tell you a little story to illustrate my meaning. 
 I once attended a missionary meeting in a certain 
 city, and staid with a very kind lady with whom I 
 was slightly acquainted. The first meeting was in 
 
 the afternoon, and I asked Mrs. M if she did not 
 
 mean to go. She said it was impossible : she had 
 been busy all the morning, and expected to be busy 
 all the afternoon. I brought back with me another 
 lady, who had been assigned to the same quarters. 
 When we sat down to tea, we had four kinds of cake 
 and two kinds of biscuit, besides a strawberry short- 
 cake and some hot dish or other. We could not 
 have eaten the four kinds of cake and the strawberry 
 short-cake without risk to our lives ; yet she must 
 make them, though she lost the whole day's meeting. 
 Now, were that lady's cares of the Lord's sending ? " 
 
 " I suppose not," said Patience, laughing, as it 
 seemed in spite of herself. " I don't think I am so 
 bad as that, and yet I don't know. Perhaps I am. 
 But, Miss Armstrong, I talked to Mr. Martin when 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 155 
 
 he was here, and told him how I felt, and how little 
 interest I had in religion ; and he said it was the state 
 of my health, that people always felt so when they 
 were not well, and that he was the same way him- 
 self." 
 
 " I think that excuse is used far too often," replied 
 Miss Armstrong. " It seems your health does not 
 hinder your taking such an interest in your house- 
 hold matters that you can allow no one to help 
 you ; and, if so, why should it prevent you from being 
 interested in your devotion ? " 
 
 "There is something in that," observed Patience. 
 " Mr. Martin himself was in a terrrble taking because 
 my Leghorn chickens were heavier than his. Be- 
 sides that, it seems as if our religion can't be worth 
 much if it is going to fail us when we want it the very 
 most. Well, Miss Armstrong, I should not wonder if 
 you were right. Anyhow, I will think it over." 
 
 " And pray over it," said Miss Armstrong. "And, 
 dear Patience, remember that He who said, 'Seek first 
 the kingdom of God and His righteousness/ was one 
 who knew every one of our burdens and hinderances 
 as well as ourselves, or better." 
 
 " If one could always remember that," said Pa- 
 tience rather sadly. " Well, good-night, Miss Arm- 
 strong. I am ever so much obliged to you." And 
 Patience went home so full of thought that she 
 actually failed to remark that Faith had hung up 
 the dish-towels endways instead of lengthways, and 
 had set up the teacups in twos instead of threes. 
 
 Another tea-party had been held that afternoon, 
 quite as pleasant, though smaller and more informal. 
 
156 OLD PI AM-, OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS 
 
 "Kit," said Symantha after dinner, "don't you 
 want to go up and play on the mountain this after- 
 noon ? I'm going to clean up the kitchen, and I 
 want it all to myself." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I should like it ! " answered Kit ; 
 "but I thought perhaps you would want me to sit 
 with aunt Martha." 
 
 " No ; she had a bad time this morning, and she 
 will be sure to sleep all the afternoon. I'll give you 
 some gingerbread and a bottle of milk, so you can 
 have a picnic and a nice time reading. Wait a 
 minute : I've got something else for you." She left 
 the room, and presently returned with a book bound 
 in colored calf, old but still in good preservation. 
 "That was my grandmother's book," said she as she 
 put it into Kit's hands. " I found it this morning 
 on the top shelf of a cupboard in the back room. 
 Take good care of it." 
 
 Kit opened the volume, which proved to be a copy 
 of the "Pilgrim's Progress" and "The Holy War" 
 bound together. 
 
 "Oh, how glad I am!" she exclaimed. "Now I 
 can read it all. Thank you, Symantha." 
 
 " I was looking for a Bible for you ; and perhaps 
 I shall find one yet, somewhere," said Symantha. 
 " There ought to be one about the house, I should 
 think." 
 
 " I have got a Testament," said Kit timidly. 
 
 " Have you ? Where did you get it ? " 
 
 Kit told the story. Symantha listened with her 
 face turned away. 
 
 "Don't let pa or Melissa see it or know any thing 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 157 
 
 about it," was her comment. " Keep it hid away. 
 After all, I don't see why he should care," she added, 
 speaking more to herself than to Kit " If it is all a 
 dream, at least it is one that gives people comfort ; 
 and there is not too much of that in the world." 
 
 "But it isn't all a dream, I am sure it isn't," said 
 Kit with tearful earnestness. " I don't know as I 
 could tell you why, I am only a little girl, but I 
 am just as sure it is true as that I am alive." 
 
 " Well, child, think so if it does you any good. I 
 wish I did, though I am badly off if it is," Symantha 
 added with a bitter smile. " But there, run along, 
 and have a nice time. Pa and Melissa have gone to 
 Oldbury, and won't be at home till night; so you can 
 stay as long as you like." 
 
 Kit kissed Symantha, and betook herself to her 
 favorite place on the hill. As she came round the 
 end of the ledge, she saw two figures ascending from 
 the other side, carrying a basket between them ; and 
 her heart beat with pleasure as she recognized the 
 two young ladies from the stone house. 
 
 "Oh, I do hope .they are coming here!" she said 
 to herself. She was not mistaken. 
 
 "Here is our little hostess," said Ida. "I hoped 
 we should find her. Kitty, my dear, will you lend 
 us the use of your summer parlor this afternoon, and 
 join us in a picnic ? You see we have brought our 
 basket." 
 
 Kit never- knew exactly how she answered; but 
 certain it is, neither of her guests found any fault 
 with their welcome. 
 
 " Now, where shall we put our provisions, to keep 
 
158 OLD HAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 them fresh and cool till we want them ? " asked 
 Amity. For answer Kit moved away a thin slab of 
 stone, and showed a deep, shady cavity, which seemed 
 to be of some size. 
 
 " I call that my spring-house," said she. "There 
 really is a spring in there. If you listen you will 
 hear it." 
 
 Both the girls bent down, and distinctly heard the 
 silvery plash of water-drops in the little cave. 
 
 " How very pretty ! " said Amity. " If we lighted 
 a match we might see the whole of it." 
 
 " I don't know as I want to," replied Kit a little 
 shyly. " I like to think it is a great, deep cave with 
 jewels and all kinds of beautiful things, and a lovely 
 lady like the one in my old fairy -book." 
 
 " Exactly," said Ida. " I understand. You and I 
 like to imagine, while Amity wants to go to the 
 bottom of every thing with a match and a candle. 
 However, we won't disturb your romance, Kitty. And 
 now what shall we do to amuse ourselves ? What 
 book have you there ? " 
 
 Kit displayed her treasure. 
 
 " What a nice old copy ! " said Amity. " See, Ida, 
 what a beautiful titlepage, with the warriors of ' The 
 Holy War' winding down one side, and Christian 
 and Hopeful toiling up the other. Suppose we take 
 turns in reading aloud, Ida : I dare say Kitty will 
 like to hear some of her book. And then you shall 
 give us some music. You will like that, won't you, 
 Kitty ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am !" answered Kit with sparkling 
 eyes ; " but perhaps you and Miss Van Zandt would 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 159 
 
 rather read your own books," she added with instinc- 
 tive politeness, glancing at the volumes the girls had 
 taken from their basket. 
 
 "No, indeed!" answered Ida. "The 'Pilgrim's 
 Progress ' is just the book for such a place and such 
 an afternoon." 
 
 " Well, don't let us waste all our timd getting 
 ready," said practical Amity, producing her knitting, 
 which her friends were wont to consider as much a 
 part of herself as her fingers. " Begin at the begin- 
 ning, Ida." 
 
 " ' As I walked through the wilderness of this world, 
 I. lighted on a certain place where was a den ; and I 
 laid me down in that place to sleep.' " 
 
 How many children during the last two hundred 
 years have had their attention arrested, and their 
 imaginations charmed, by these words ! I know of no 
 book which gains more by being well read aloud than 
 the "Pilgrim's Progress;" and Ida read aloud uncom- 
 monly well, having been thoroughly trained in that 
 most desirable accomplishment by her mother and 
 aunt Barbara. I do not mean to imply that she was 
 that fearsome creature, an elocutionist. On the con- 
 trary, she read like a lady, in a clear, soft voice, with 
 due emphasis, and attention to stops. Kit sat with 
 folded hands, and listened as in a happy dream. The 
 weather was perfect, sunny but not too bright, with 
 fleecy clouds passing over the blue sky, 
 
 " Shepherded by the soft, unwilling wind," 
 
 which did not reach the sheltered hillside. She felt 
 a pleasure in the pretty calico dresses and well-suited 
 
160 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 colors, the glossy hair and becoming hats, of the young 
 ladies, in their well-trained voices and manners, and 
 above all in the wonderful story. She did not, of 
 course, understand it fully, it is a book wherein the 
 most experienced Christian may find much to ponder, 
 but she had a general idea of the meaning; while 
 to her Christian and his wife, Obstinate and Pliable, 
 Mr. Worldly Wiseman and the keeper of the wicket 
 gate, were as real as uncle Phin and Mr. Bassett and all 
 the other people she saw every day. Kit often looked 
 back on that day as one of the happiest of her life. 
 
 " Now we will have some music," said Amity after 
 they had got Christian safely to the House Beautiful. 
 "What will you sing, Ida?" 
 
 " What would Kitty like to hear ? " asked Ida. 
 
 "Please, would you sing the hymn they sang in 
 the schoolhouse the other night ? " asked Kit with 
 bashful eagerness. "The first one, I mean." 
 
 Ida complied, and sang that most beautiful of hymns 
 all through ; Kit listening meanwhile as if her life 
 depended on not losing a note. 
 
 " That is lovely ! " she said, more to herself than 
 to Ida, when the hymn was finished. " I think I 
 could sing it now if I knew the words." 
 
 " Can you sing ? " asked Amity. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, I could always sing every thing I 
 heard ; but I never had a chance to learn many 
 hymns. I can sing ' Swing low, sweet chariot/ 
 through." 
 
 " Sing it," said Amity ; and Kit complied. Her 
 voice, of course, was quite uncultivated. 
 
 " You ought to take singing-lessons," remarked 
 Ida. " I suppose you never had any." 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. l6l 
 
 " No, ma'am. I never had lessons in any thing till 
 I came here, only Symantha taught me to read and 
 write, and to sew ; and sometimes I would go to 
 school a few weeks at a time, but not very often." 
 
 "You don't remember any thing about your 
 mother?" 
 
 " No, ma'am, not really. Sometimes when aunt 
 Martha is pretty quiet, and especially when I look 
 at her asleep, she makes me think about my mother; 
 but I can't tell why. Melissa says my mother died 
 in the poorhouse ; but she is such a liar I never be- 
 lieve any thing she says," concluded Kit in a matter- 
 of-fact tone which scandalized Amity. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " said she. " Little girls should not 
 call people liars." 
 
 "Not when they tell lies?" asked Kit. "Melissa 
 does ; you cant believe a word she says about any 
 thing." 
 
 Ida bent down to hide a smile, and Amity found it 
 convenient to change the subject. 
 
 " Does not Symantha tell you any thing about 
 your mother ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am. I asked her once or twice, but she 
 did not answer ; and I saw she did not like it, so I 
 didn't say any more. Symantha has so much trouble, 
 and she is so good to me, I don't like to do any thing 
 to bother her." 
 
 " Quite right," said Amity. " But you say you 
 do not think you lived in the poorhouse. Why? " 
 
 Kit knitted her brows, and her eyes assumed the 
 far-off look they always took when she tried to recall 
 her faint recollections of her former home. 
 
1 62 OLD II AM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Because of things I can recollect," said she. " I 
 remember sitting on the floor, and tracing out the 
 pattern of the carpet with my finger. When I saw 
 Mrs. Blandy's carpet hung out, I thought of it. And 
 I remember a gray bird in a round cage, and I 
 know that can't be true though it seems just as 
 if it could talk." 
 
 "I dare say it did," said Ida. "Probably the bird 
 was a gray parrot. But don't you recollect any lady 
 that took care of you, and that you called mamma 
 or mother?" 
 
 " No, not really," said Kit. " Whenever I try, 
 it seems for a minute as if I did ; and then she gets 
 all mixed up with aunt Martha. Only there is one 
 thing I have thought of since you said that name 
 Kathleen," added Kit eagerly. " I know that is my 
 name ; and somebody, I don't know who, used to sing 
 a song about Kathleen, ' Kathleen My ' some- 
 thing. I think I should know the tune if I heard it : 
 I always do remember tunes." 
 
 "Was this it?" asked Ida, and she sang a verse 
 of the beautiful Irish song, 
 
 " Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking." 
 
 She had not finished the verse when Kit broke in, 
 her eyes and cheeks blazing with excitement, 
 
 " That is it, that is it ! I have dreamed it some- 
 times, but I never could remember it when I was 
 awake. Oh, I know it was my mother that sang 
 that ! " and she burst into such a passionate fit of cry- 
 ing and sobbing, that the girls were alarmed. 
 
 " Hush, my dear. Don't cry so ; you will be sick," 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 163 
 
 said Amity, putting her arm round the child. "There, 
 try to quiet yourself." 
 
 Kit made a violent effort, and succeeded in regain- 
 ing some degree of composure. " I can't think what 
 makes me cry so easy," she said as she wiped her eyes. 
 " I cried about the snake this morning. I think it 
 must be because my hand keeps me awake nights." 
 
 " Perhaps so. Is your hand so bad ? " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am ; it is very sore." 
 
 " What was it about the snake ? " asked Ida, look- 
 ing nervously about her. She was dreadfully afraid 
 of snakes, and was always suspecting them in every 
 possible locality. 
 
 " Oh, there are none here," said Kit, seeing Ida's 
 movement. " I never saw a snake on this hill. It 
 was down at the schoolhouse. I think it did scare 
 me, for I have felt shaky ever since." 
 
 " But what was it ? " persisted Ida. Kit told the 
 story in as few words as possible. 
 
 " You dear, brave little thing ! " exclaimed Ida. 
 " How could you do it ? It makes me shudder to 
 think of it." 
 
 " Well, it wasn't nice" said Kit emphatically : 
 " it felt so cold and horrid ! I felt as if I wanted to 
 wash my hands a dozen times over." 
 
 " I don't wonder. But don't let us talk about it 
 any more now," said Amity. " I think we had better 
 have our tea. I don't know how you two feel, but I 
 am hungry." 
 
 V I have got some gingerbread and milk, if you 
 like it," said Kit modestly. " Symantha makes real 
 nice gingerbread." 
 
164 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " That will be a fine addition to our feast. Come, 
 Ida, let us set the table ; and Kit shall be the com- 
 pany, and look on." 
 
 Never was any thing so pretty, Kit thought, as the 
 little china plates and cups produced from the basket ; 
 never any thing so wonderful as the spirit-lamp over 
 which Amity heated up the tea, or so nice as the 
 sandwiches and sponge-cake. When all was ready, 
 Ida made a sign to Amity, who bent her head and 
 said a simple grace. Kit looked on with awe. It 
 was the first time she had ever seen or heard of such 
 a thing. The girls ate their supper with abundance 
 of jokes and laughter. Kit had not much appetite, 
 but she enjoyed the delicate sandwich, and the fra- 
 grant cup of tea which helped the headache she had 
 carried all day. 
 
 " Well, we have had a very nice time," said Amity 
 after she had repacked the basket. " Now, Kitty, 
 what can we do for you ? " 
 
 " You have done too much for me now," replied 
 Kit. " I never had such a nice time in my life. 
 Only " 
 
 " Only what ? " asked Ida. 
 
 " I wish I had the words of that hymn," said Kit, 
 blushing. "I think I could sing it sometimes if I 
 knew the words. And that about the shadow of the 
 wing is so nice : it makes me think of the little 
 chickens running under the old hen when it rains, or 
 they are scared." 
 
 " That is what it means," said Ida. " Let me tell 
 you a verse in the Bible about that : ' He shall cover 
 thee with his' feathers, and under his wings shalt 
 
TWO TEA-PARTIES. 1 65 
 
 thou trust ' (Ps. xci. 4). You shall have the hymn, 
 Kathleen. I will send you a little book which has it 
 and a good many more. I will give it to Miss Arm- 
 strong to-morrow. Good-night, my dear. I hope we 
 shall have another nice picnic some time." 
 
 When Amity and Ida reached home, they told 
 Mrs. Van Zandt what Kit had said, and how she re- 
 membered the song. 
 
 " I do believe she is Kathleen Joyce's child," said 
 aunt Barbara. " But how should she come into these 
 people's hands, and why should they wish to keep 
 her away from every one ? " 
 
 " I was struck with one thing she said," remarked 
 Ida, " that, when she thought of her mother, she 
 always got her mixed up with aunt Martha. Do you 
 suppose it possible that she can be Mrs. Mallory's 
 child ? " 
 
 " It does not seem likely," said Mrs. Van Zandt. 
 " Why should they wish to conceal it ? " 
 
 " There might be some money in the case," said 
 Ida. 
 
 " It is possible. I heard that Kathleen's husband 
 became quite wealthy at one time, from some fortu- 
 nate speculation." 
 
 " Did she never write to you after her marriage ? " 
 asked Amity. 
 
 " Never," answered Mrs. Van Zandt sadly. 
 
 " Perhaps her husband would not allow it." 
 
 " I think that very likely ; he never forgave my 
 opposition to the match. And some notion of loyalty 
 to his memory might have kept her from writing 
 afterward." 
 
1 66 OLD I) 'AM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " It seems loyalty to his memory did not prevent 
 her marrying again," said Amity. 
 
 " That is different, as the children say," replied 
 Mrs. Van Zandt ; " and, besides, we do not know that 
 it is the same person." 
 
 " Some people would consider poor Kathleen's 
 conduct as an argument against the adoption of chil- 
 dren," said Amity. 
 
 Mrs. Van Zandt smiled rather sadly. 
 
 " I have heard of other than adopted daughters 
 making runaway matches," said she. " Moreover, 
 on looking back, I can see where I was myself to 
 blame in Kathleen's case. I indulged and petted her 
 beyond all reason. I allowed her to please herself 
 in all things, and never taught her to exercise self- 
 denial or self-control. Spoiled children are not often 
 grateful to their spoilers ; and, indeed, I do not know 
 why they should be. Well, my dears, we must keep 
 our eyes on this poor little girl, and try to befriend 
 her. Whoever she may be, she is one of the Lord's 
 little ones. Perhaps the truth may come out some 
 time. I am glad that you have given her at least 
 one pleasant afternoon." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 
 
 KIT had hardly reached home when she saw her 
 uncle drive into the yard, and presently he entered 
 the kitchen with Melissa. Phin's brow was dark, 
 and he had an uneasy expression, as though (so 
 Kit said to herself) he had been doing something 
 he was ashamed of. Melissa, on the contrary, was 
 in excellent spirits, and wore a decided expression 
 of triumph. There was something in the way she 
 looked at Kit which made the child feel uncomfort- 
 able, she did not know why. Phin hardly spoke, 
 except to inquire for his wife, till after supper. Then 
 he turned to Kit, and asked, not unkindly, 
 
 " Well, Kit, how is your hand ? " 
 
 " It is very sore," said Kit : " I can't use it a bit, 
 and it ached all night almost." 
 
 " What is it about the snake ? " asked Melissa. " We 
 stopped at the tavern, and some one told pa a great 
 story about your saving Fletcher's girl from a snake." 
 
 " It wasn't any great story," answered Kit com- 
 posedly. " A copperhead snake twisted round Eddy's 
 leg, and I pulled it off and killed it." 
 
 167 
 
1 68 OLDHAM; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Yes, that's a likely yarn," said Melissa contempt- 
 uously. " How did you pull it off, I should like 
 to know ? and how did you know it was a copper- 
 head ? " 
 
 " I took it with my thumb and finger right behind 
 its head, and then stamped on it," answered Kit. 
 " And Mr. Bassett said it was a copperhead ; but I 
 knew it just as soon as I saw it." 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it," said Melissa. 
 
 "And I don't care whether you believe it or not," 
 retorted Kit. Somehow Melissa always aroused all 
 that was unamiable in the child's disposition. Melissa 
 delighted in teasing her, and found great amusement 
 in the fits of passion she sometimes provoked. 
 
 " Well, well, you were a brave child ; but you had 
 no business to run such a risk," was Phin's com- 
 ment. " Suppose the snake had bitten you ? " 
 
 "Then I should have died, I suppose," replied Kit 
 simply. 
 
 "We don't want you to die just yet," said Phin 
 with some show of feeling. " You must hurry and 
 get your hand well." 
 
 " Why ? " asked Kit, struck with something un- 
 usual in the tone. 
 
 " Oh, because. Maybe I shall want you to do 
 something for me," answered Phin with assumed 
 carelessness. 
 
 " What is the use of mincing matters, pa ? " asked 
 Melissa. " The long and the short of it is, that we 
 have got a place in Oldbury for Kit ; and she is go- 
 ing to it as soon as her hand gets well, so there ! " 
 and Melissa threw herself back in her chair with a 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 169 
 
 glance which spoke of satisfied and malicious tri- 
 umph. 
 
 " There will be two words to that," said Symantha 
 dryly. " What sor of a place ? " 
 
 "A place to wash dishes and wait on table at 
 Stillwell's confectionery and dining hall," answered 
 Melissa. " They will give her a dollar and a half a 
 week, and perhaps more if she earns it." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Symantha in the same dry tone. 
 " And what are they going to give me ? " 
 
 " You ? " said her father. " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Kit, run out and let in the cows," said Syman- 
 tha. " I mean what I say, father," she continued 
 firmly as Kit left the room. "That child is not 
 going to any such place as Stillwell's, or to any place 
 at present ; or, if she does, I go with her." 
 
 " You do ? And who is to take care of Martha 
 and the work ?." 
 
 " I'm sure I won't," said Melissa. 
 
 " That is your affair," answered Symantha. " All 
 I know is, that, if Kit goes to work in Oldbury, I go 
 too." 
 
 "What nonsense!" said Phin peevishly. "What 
 is the child to you ? Besides, Melissa is going to 
 work in the same place ; and she can see to the child 
 if she needs any seeing to." 
 
 " Melissa will have enough to look after herself 
 if she goes to that rum-hole," returned Symantha. 
 "I should think, if she wants a place, she might at 
 least take a decent one." 
 
 " I am not going into any one's kitchen when I 
 can get four dollars a week and lots of presents by 
 
I/O OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 standing behind a counter," said Melissa. " How- 
 ever, you can settle it between you," she added, ris- 
 ing from the table. " I am going over to Mariette 
 Jewsbury's. I have been doing some shopping for 
 her." 
 
 " I think you might stay and help do up the 
 work," said her father. But Melissa only laughed 
 as she slammed the door behind her. 
 
 " See here, father," said Symantha gravely. " I 
 want to talk about this matter sensibly. You prom- 
 ised me, when I gave up every thing as you know 
 I did to stay with you, and take charge of ma, 
 that I should always have my own way about Kit. 
 Haven't I kept my part of the bargain ? " 
 
 " I don't deny that you have," answered Phin, 
 "but a man can't always keep his promises." 
 
 "You must keep yours in this case, or I shall not 
 keep mine," said Symantha. "Just as surely as Kit 
 goes to Oldbury, I shall go too. You know best 
 how you would get on without me." 
 
 "You are a fool," said her father roughly, but 
 evidently moved. " I tell you we ought to get her 
 away from here. She grows more like her mother 
 every day. This old lady, Mrs. Van Zandt, is sure 
 to see her ; and then there will be an inquiry, and 
 all will come out, about the property and all." 
 
 "Well, let it come. It was foolish to make a 
 secret of it in the first place. You are not account- 
 able for the property." 
 
 "That is all you know about it. I tell you the 
 child must go." 
 
 "Then I must go, too, that's all," was the calm 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 171 
 
 rejoinder. "And there is another thing: I can't 
 spare Kit. She can manage ma better than any- 
 body, and sometimes when I can't do any thing with 
 her; and it is every thing to keep her quiet." 
 
 " That is true ; and, if Melissa goes away, you will 
 need her help about the work," said Phin, evidently 
 wavering in his purpose more and more as he saw 
 the steadfastness of his daughter. " Perhaps you 
 had better keep her out of school." 
 
 " I don't want to do that. She is getting on 
 nicely, and making good friends." 
 
 " Yes, that is one trouble. She makes too many 
 friends." 
 
 " It won't be a trouble if you don't make a fuss 
 about it. Please listen to me, father. I have been a 
 dutiful daughter to you, haven't I ? I don't set up for 
 goodness, but you know whether I have been that." 
 
 "Yes, my girl, you have," said her father with 
 feeling. " I don't deny it. You have stuck to me 
 through thick and thin, as very few girls would have 
 done." 
 
 " Then, if I have, give me my way in this," pleaded 
 Symantha. " Let me keep Kit. If I can find the 
 right kind of place for her, I will let her go by and 
 by ; but let me keep her now. Don't send her 
 straight to ruin. Melissa is a woman, and must go 
 her own way ; but don't send the innocent child into 
 such a place as Stilhvell's." And, to her father's 
 amazement and alarm, Symantha burst into tears. 
 He had never seen her cry before, since she was a 
 child. 
 
 " There, there, my girl, have your own way, and 
 
OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 don't cry," said he. " I didn't think you cared so 
 much about it. Her arm is too sore to do any thing 
 now, and I can make that an excuse to Stillwell. 
 There, do stop crying. I won't say any thing more 
 about it just now, at any rate." 
 
 "Thank you, father," said Symantha, trying to 
 check her sobs. 
 
 Phin's lip twitched. "It is little you have to thank 
 me for," he said in a husky voice. " I've thrown 
 away your life as well as my own." 
 
 " You needn't throw it away, any more of it, I 
 mean," said Symantha. " Now we have got this 
 place, why can't you settle down and be steady ? 
 The farm isn't a bad one for dairy-work, and the 
 cows are good and growing better. I'll do my share 
 if I work my fingers off." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say you would ; but Well, there 
 is no use talking," said Phin gloomily. "There is no 
 such thing as a man's breaking away from his past 
 life. It will come after him. But never mind that. 
 You shall have your way about Kit. Poor girl, you 
 don't have much comfort of your life, anyhow." 
 
 A few minutes afterward, Phin had occasion to go 
 to the barn-loft. There was a small, roughly finished 
 room in one end, which was a favorite playing-place 
 of Kit's in bad weather. Phin thought he heard a 
 voice, and peeped through a knot-hole. What did he 
 see and hear ? He saw a young child on her knees, 
 almost on her face, in an agony of prayer, and heard 
 over and over again, 
 
 "Oh, don't, don't let me go to that dreadful place, 
 away from Symantha and Miss Armstrong and all ! 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 173 
 
 Please do make uncle Phin let me stay here, and do 
 make him be a good man and believe in the Bible ; 
 and please forgive him for burning me, for I don't 
 think he meant to do it." 
 
 When Phin reached the lower floor, he stamped 
 his foot, and muttered as if in anger ; but his anger 
 was not directed against Kit. When Melissa, in the 
 course of the evening, said something about the 
 place at Stillwell's, she was promptly silenced. 
 
 " Kit can't go now : her arm is too bad. And I 
 don't know that I shall let her go .at all. We can't 
 spare the only saint in the family ; eh, Kit ? Come 
 here." 
 
 Kit came trembling, for she never knew what to 
 expect. 
 
 " So you don't want to go and earn wages, and 
 have all the candy you can eat ? You would rather 
 stay with Symantha?" 
 
 " Yes, I would," replied Kit, taking courage. " I 
 don't care about candy, and I don't want to go away. 
 Please, uncle Phin, don't send me." 
 
 "Well, I won't, then; not just now, at any rate. 
 I thought perhaps you would like a change. Is your 
 arm so sore ? " he asked, as Kit winced on his touch- 
 ing it. " Let me see." 
 
 He undid the arm tenderly enough. It was red 
 and angry, and had the peculiar odor of a bad burn. 
 Phin looked grave over it. 
 
 " If this is not better by Monday, we must take 
 you to the doctor," said he, carefully replacing the 
 bandage. " You don't think I did it on purpose, do 
 you, if I did burn the book ? " 
 
174 OLD HAM; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " No," answered Kit. " Anyhow, I cared more 
 about the book than I did about my arm." 
 
 " I'll get you a prettier book than that some day. 
 There, give me a kiss, and go to bed." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Melissa in an affected tone 
 of carelessness, which nevertheless trembled with 
 anger. " I'm sure I don't care. If pa thinks he can 
 afford to quarrel with Stillwell, it is nothing to me." 
 
 Phin made no reply, and the matter was dropped. 
 
 Sunday morning rose warm and beautiful, with 
 that indescribable atmosphere of tranquil repose 
 which belongs to Sunday in the country, and espe- 
 cially in New England. By ten o'clock, however, 
 the roads were alive with teams of all sorts, from 
 Mrs. Van Zandt's phaeton and Mr. Weston's roomy 
 family carnage, to old Miss Jewsbury's venerable 
 "one-horse shay," and Mr. Bassett's long wagon, 
 with its straight-backed, splint-bottomed wagon 
 chairs, with its crickets and cushions put in here 
 and there for the accommodation of the smaller fry, 
 for Mrs. Bassett always took her children to church 
 by the time they were three years old. Manifold 
 were the greetings and hand-shakings as groups of 
 friends and relations alighted at the horse-block by 
 the door of the old church on the green ; and many 
 and kind the inquiries for this or that one detained 
 at home by illness in their families. 
 
 " No, Celia isn't out this morning," said Miss 
 Delia. " She had one of her bad headaches last 
 night, and they always leave her kind of prostrated 
 for two or three days. Who is going to preach ?" 
 
 " I am not sure we shall have any one," answered 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 1/5 
 
 Mr. Weston, to whom the question was addressed. 
 " Mr. Martin sent word the last minute that he could 
 not come " 
 
 "Just like him," interposed Miss Delia. 
 
 " Oh, come, you mustn't be hard on him. Perhaps 
 he couldn't help it," said Mr. Weston. "Dr. Chase 
 drove over to Oldbury last night to see if he could 
 find any one, but whether he succeeded or not I 
 don't know ; however, we shall soon find out." 
 
 "Well, I shall be glad when we have a settled 
 minister again. How is your mother, Agnes? I 
 see she isn't out." 
 
 " No : Mrs. Richmond and Milly wanted to come, 
 so ma staid at home with Cordelia. I am going 
 home after Sunday school, so she can come this after- 
 noon." 
 
 " How do you do, Mrs. Richmond ? " said Miss 
 Delia as that lady sailed up the steps attired in a 
 silk which had once been rich and handsome, but 
 was now decidedly the worse for wear. Mrs. Rich- 
 mond had a way of wearing out her old finery in the 
 country. She seldom went to church in Oldham, 
 or, indeed, anywhere else ; but she had a desire to 
 get, as she said, a good look at Mrs. Van Zandt. She 
 acknowledged Miss Delia's greeting with great con- 
 descension ; while her daughter did not notice it at 
 all, but hastened on to speak to Selina Weston. 
 
 "Well, Selina, how have you been? I've been 
 looking out for you all the way. I have wanted to 
 see you so ! You don't know how often I have 
 thought of you." 
 
 " Yes, you must have thought of me very often," 
 
1 76 OLD HAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 answered Selina coolly, "you wrote to me so many 
 times." 
 
 "Oh, my dear, you don't think how many engage- 
 ments I have in town. And besides, I don't know 
 how it is, I haven't any taste for writing letters : 
 I can't express what I feel, and writing seems so 
 cold and heartless. But I have thought of you, 
 whether you believe it or not. I should have come 
 over to your house yesterday, only we were so busy 
 getting settled, and poor Cordelia was so tired with 
 the journey." 
 
 Amelia Richmond was one of those people whose 
 very voices are suggestive of flattery ; a palaverer, 
 Miss Delia called her, but Miss Delia was a little 
 apt to be severe. 
 
 " Do you sing in the choir now ? " asked Amelia. 
 Then, as Selina nodded, "I mean to sit up there this 
 morning, and then we can get together in sermon 
 time. Oh, you needn't look so shocked. I don't 
 mean to talk, of course, but just for the pleasure of 
 sitting by you." 
 
 "Come, then," said Selina; "it is time we were in 
 our places." 
 
 "Wait just a minute. I want to see the Van 
 Zandts come in. Well, they don't mean to hurt them- 
 selves dressing ; but I suppose any thing is good 
 enough for the country, as ma says. Anyhow, if I 
 was heiress to half a million, like Miss Bogardus, 
 I would wear something better than satteen." 
 
 " Her dress is elegantly made, though," said 
 Selina, feeling all the time that she ought not to be 
 discussing such matters in church. " See that other 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 177 
 
 young lady. Doesn't she look like a cloud in all 
 that soft cream-color ? " 
 
 " You goose ! it is only nun's veiling, and did not 
 cost a cent over fifty cents a yard," said Amelia, 
 who estimated every thing by the price. "Well, 
 they are no great sight, after all. Here comes the 
 preacher, I suppose. Who is he ? Some stupid old 
 country parson, I dare say.'* 
 
 " Do be quiet," whispered Selina : " everybody 
 will hear you. Come, we must go up stairs." 
 
 i " On second thoughts, I believe I will sit with 
 ma," said Milly. " I want to get a nearer look at 
 Miss Van Zandt's dress." 
 
 Selina was not sorry. She had been brought up 
 to behave properly in church ; and, greatly under 
 Milly's influence as she was, she could not bring 
 herself to believe that whispering and laughing in 
 the sanctuary of God were any marks of high breed- 
 ing. Selina had come to church more than usually 
 disposed to serious thought. She could not, per- 
 haps, have given any reason for her state of mind 
 that day ; but she felt almost ready to say, once for 
 all, that she would take a decided stand, and enlist 
 openly under the banner of her rightful King. She 
 took her seat quietly, arranged her books, and then 
 opened her Bible to look over her lesson. 
 
 Oldham church was a simple, pretty building, quite 
 plain, but comfortable, and perfectly adapted to the 
 purpose for which it was used, if it had been kept 
 in order. But the green blinds were faded, and rusty 
 with the dust of many summers. The high white- 
 glass windows cast a light which, though dim, was 
 
OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 by no means " religious," as the poet has it ; being 
 darkened, not from being " richly dight," but by suc- 
 cessive deposits of dirt and cobwebs. Dust and flue 
 lay in corners, yes, even of the chancel itself. The 
 chimneys of the kerosene lamps were dark with 
 smoke and fly-specks, and the lamps themselves 
 looked as if the wicks had not been changed since 
 kerosene was invented. Of all the notable house- 
 wives who came thither to worship Sunday after 
 Sunday, not one, probably, would have allowed such 
 a state of things, even in her garret ; yet they saw 
 it in the house of God without even a thought of 
 incongruity. Now and then somebody would make 
 a remark about the dust or the smoke, but that was 
 all. It was Mr. Archimball's business. He was a 
 most respectable man and a church-member, and 
 nobody liked to hurt his feelings by suggesting to 
 him that his business was not attended to. 
 
 But somehow that clean-swept, well-aired school- 
 house had waked people up wonderfully. Mr. Bas- 
 sett sniffed the air as he entered, and said to himself 
 that it was " stuffy ; " and his wife saw the dust in 
 the corner by the stove as she had never seen it 
 before. Patience Fletcher looked at the windows, 
 and thought she should really enjoy washing them ; 
 and Mrs. Weston had to make an effort to withdraw 
 her mind from a calculation relative to the number 
 of yards of new carpet which would be required for 
 the chancel arjd aisles. It is to be feared that more 
 than one feminine mind was a little distraught dur- 
 ing the service. 
 
 But dust and cobwebs and carpet were all forgot- 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE A IK. 179 
 
 ten when the preacher began his sermon. He was 
 an old gentleman, very plain and quiet in appearance; 
 and his voice, as he gave out the text, was somewhat 
 low and tremulous : " Come up hither, and I will 
 show thee things which must be hereafter" (Rev. 
 iv. i). He had not spoken five minutes when the 
 attention of the whole congregation was fixed as one 
 man. It was not the brilliancy of his style, which 
 was simple with the simplicity of much reading and 
 study : it was his intense earnestness, and his evi- 
 dent deep conviction of the awful truths which he 
 set forth. The discourse was upon the " last things,'' 
 death and judgment, hell and heaven. Even poor, 
 frivolous Mrs. Blandy forgot to study the dress of 
 the strangers in church, and almost resolved that she 
 would think more of these matters. To many of the 
 congregation, the words were as the bread of life. 
 To say truth, Oldham had not of late been greatly 
 favored in the matter of preaching. Mr. Martin, the 
 late rector, had prided himself on being liberal and 
 broad in his views. A clergyman, he thought, should 
 keep up with the interest of the day ; so he talked 
 much of science and criticism, and gave his hearers 
 hashes of certain monthly magazines, slightly warmed 
 and mildly seasoned with Scripture quotations, or 
 preached mild little moral essays, adapted, as he was 
 wont to say, to that class of minds which make up 
 most country congregations. In truth, Mr. Martin 
 felt himself thrown away in Oldham ; and he did not 
 make things any more pleasant for himself by saying 
 so, and by his continual complaints of the hardships 
 of his position. He had at last given up that posi- 
 
180 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 tion for the place of assistant in a large city church ; 
 but the large city church had not found Mr. Martin 
 any more congenial than he had found the people of 
 Oldham, and he was at present living at home with 
 his mother. 
 
 But this present preacher spoke of things which 
 every one wished to hear. Agnes Gleason drank in 
 every word, only wishing that her mother was there. 
 Selina listened intently, forgetting for the time to 
 wonder whether some one did not think Myra Bas- 
 sett's voice better than hers. She had naturally a 
 fine taste, and she had read good books. She ap- 
 preciated the finished elegance of the discourse, 
 but that was not all. As the preacher, with the 
 solemnity of deep conviction, set forth "the things 
 that must be hereafter," Selina felt that these were 
 indeed the real things which make life worth living ; 
 which give to worldly things all the significance 
 which they possess; which must have a being after 
 all the triumphs and treasures, the battles and vic- 
 tories, of this world, are but forgotten dreams. She 
 made up her mind that she would no longer live as 
 she had done ; she would strive to live as a Chris- 
 tian should, to fulfil the vows of her baptism : and 
 then here the little mean bosom snake of envy 
 reared its head then father and mother would think 
 as much of her as they did of Lizzy. Selina was not 
 to blame for the voice of the tempter any further 
 than that she had given him encouragement before. 
 She might have silenced him by refusing to listen 
 to him, but she did not. She began thinking how 
 much more devoted she would be than Lizzy had 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. i8l 
 
 ever been, how she would teach others, how she 
 would ' influence Milly Richmond, and make her a 
 Christian, and, perhaps, go on a mission, as Miss 
 Armstrong had done. 
 
 " But I won't come home the first minute I get 
 sick. No, indeed ! I will die on the field of battle," 
 she said to herself. And then she recollected her- 
 self with a blush, and found she had lost the thread 
 of the discourse. 
 
 " I won't be so silly again," she said to herself. 
 " I believe I am always thinking about myself, as 
 father says." She managed to elude Milly when she 
 came down, and went straight into Sunday school. 
 
 " Wasn't that a noble sermon ? " whispered Faith 
 as Agnes and Selina came into the class. " Don't 
 you wish we could have him all the time ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed. Who is he ? " 
 
 " Dr. Somebody from New York, I did not 
 catch the name. See, Mrs. Van Zandt is speaking 
 to him." 
 
 " I wonder what we shall do for a teacher," said 
 Agnes. " I am so sorry Miss Celia isn't here. I 
 wanted to see her particularly." 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Armstrong will teach us," observed 
 Faith. 
 
 " No, she won't. The doctor has forbidden her 
 teaching in Sunday school this summer," replied 
 Selina. " See there, girls ; father is speaking to Mrs. 
 Van Zandt. I wonder if he is asking her to hear 
 us. I wish she would. She is so sweet-looking." 
 
 "You will have your desire, then," said Agnes, 
 " for here she comes." 
 
1 82 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " O mother, how I wish you had been in church*! " 
 said Agnes after Sunday school, coming into the 
 room where Mrs. Gleason was pouring out an after- 
 dinner cup of tea for her boarders. "We did have 
 such a noble sermon ! " 
 
 " Is that so ? " asked Mrs. Gleason. " Mrs. Rich- 
 mond did not like it." 
 
 " You see, it is not the kind of preaching I am 
 used to," said Mrs. Richmond in a tone which al- 
 ways seemed to say, "See how superior I am." "In 
 the city one hears such a different style. You 
 should hear Dr. Madison, that is an intellectual 
 feast, though I admit that he is rather old-fashioned. 
 And such a congregation as he has ! You can't hire 
 any kind of a pew for less than five hundred dollars." 
 
 " It was Dr. Madison who preached this morning," 
 said Agnes quietly, but with a gleam of mischief in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Milly. " A likely story, indeed, 
 that Dr. Madison would be preaching in a place like 
 this ! " 
 
 " It could not be our Dr. Madison," added Mrs. 
 Richmond. " Very likely that might be his name, 
 however : it is not an uncommon one." 
 
 "All I know is," said Agnes, "that Mrs. Van 
 Zandt taught our class. Dr. Madison came into 
 Sunday school, and Mrs. Van Zandt introduced him 
 to us. He said a few words on the lesson. After- 
 ward I asked Mrs. Van Zandt where he preached, 
 and she said in St. Timothy's Church in New York. 
 She goes there, so she ought to know." 
 
 "Dear me!" said Mrs. Richmond, "I am so very 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 183 
 
 short-sighted, and I am sure the dear doctor did not 
 do himself justice this morning. But he is growing 
 old, poor dear man." 
 
 44 Well, I never wish to hear a better sermon than 
 he gave us this morning," said Agnes. 
 
 44 You are a judge, no doubt," sneered Milly ; 
 44 you have had so many opportunities of forming a 
 taste." 
 
 44 It is not a matter of taste exactly," said Agnes, 
 getting hold of her temper, which was in some dan- 
 ger of escaping from her control. 44 Dr. Madison's 
 sermon was just what I wanted to hear. It went 
 straight to the right spot, as poor Aunt Betsy says 
 about her coffee. And what he said in Sunday 
 school was so nice. He did not talk baby-talk, as 
 some do, or tell funny stories, but spoke as if the 
 children were rational beings. You must go this 
 afternoon, mother. Do get ready. I will do up the 
 work." 
 
 " I believe I will go too," said Milly. " I want to 
 see whether it was really Dr. Madison." 
 
 " I thought you would stay with Cordelia," re- 
 marked Mrs. Richmond. " I want to lie down a while. 
 My head aches very badly." 
 
 "Oh, she won't want any thing," replied Milly 
 carelessly. " You can just as well lie down in her 
 room." And, without saying more, she went away 
 to get ready for church. Her mother looked after 
 her with a sigh. She often had occasion to deplore 
 Milly's selfishness, but it never occurred to her to 
 think that it was the direct result of her own training. 
 
 " I will stay with Cordelia, Mrs. Richmond," said 
 
1 84 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Agnes. " I will put the dishes to soak, and wash 
 them after supper ; and you can lie down in my room, 
 and have a good sleep. I am sure you need it." 
 
 This was something of a sacrifice for Agnes. She 
 had been looking forward to a quiet afternoon with 
 her Bible. She was fond of Cordelia, and sorry for 
 her ; but the poor, feeble child was often fretful and 
 hard to please, and Agnes sometimes thought she 
 invented wants to keep her attendants from sitting- 
 still. But Agnes had a new principle of action with- 
 in, which made her apply to herself the Golden Text 
 she had recited that very morning, " For even 
 Christ pleased not Himself." 
 
 "Thank you, my dear ; you are really very kind," 
 said Mrs. Richmond. Hard, worldly woman as she 
 was, nothing touched her so quickly as kindness 
 shown to her sick child. "But I don't like to de- 
 prive you of the pleasure of hearing your favorite 
 preacher." 
 
 " Oh, I shall hear him again some time," answered 
 Agnes : "he is going to stay at Oldfield all summer. 
 And, besides, I did not mean to go to church this 
 afternoon, at any rate. My room is shady and cool, 
 and I hope you will have a nice nap. Don't you 
 think I might draw Cordelia out on the veranda? 
 It is sheltered on that side of the house, and the air 
 is lovely." 
 
 " I should be very glad if you can persuade her to 
 go out," said Mrs. Richmond. " The doctor says she 
 must have as much fresh air as possible, but it is 
 hard to get her to move." 
 
 " You will have your hands full," said Mrs. Glea- 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 185 
 
 son as Agnes helped her to put on her shawl. "The 
 poor child is worse than I ever saw her." 
 
 " Cross ? " asked Agnes. 
 
 "No, not exactly, but nervous and full of fancies. 
 It seems she did not want to come away from home. 
 She says she knows she shall never be well, and it is 
 just tormenting her for nothing." 
 
 "I believe she is right there," said Agnes. "She 
 has failed a great deal this winter. I wonder her 
 mother doesn't see it." 
 
 " Folks can't see what they won't see," was Mrs. 
 Gleason's remark. "Perhaps Cordelia may go to 
 sleep, and then you can have a nice 'time reading." 
 
 But Cordelia had no mind to go to sleep. She 
 had always been a delicate child, and was now fading 
 away in one of those mysterious " declines " for 
 which no reason can be given ; suffering much at 
 times from neuralgia, and always from that nervous 
 weakness which is still harder to bear. 
 
 " Where is mother ? " was her first question. 
 
 " She has a bad headache, and has gone to lie 
 down. You ca'n stand it with me a little while, can't 
 you ? " asked Agnes cheerfully. 
 
 "Why don't you go to church?" was the next 
 sharp inquiry. 
 
 " Because I staid at home to let mother go, and to 
 take care of you." 
 
 " I am sure that was very good of you," was the 
 somewhat unexpected answer. " I don't think I am 
 very entertaining company." 
 
 " We don't expect sick people to be entertaining," 
 said Agnes. " But, Cordelia, I wish you would let 
 
1 86 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 me put you in your chair, and take you out of doors. 
 You don't know how lovely it is." 
 
 Cordelia objected at first, but suffered herself to 
 be persuaded. Agnes wrapped her up carefully, and, 
 putting her into her wheeled chair, drew her out 
 upon the broad old-fashioned " stoop " before the 
 front-door, which commanded a lovely view of field 
 and mountain. 
 
 " Isn't this nice ? " said she as she settled her 
 charge in the pleasantest, shadiest corner, and ar- 
 ranged her wraps, for Agnes was a born nurse. 
 " Look, you can see the people going into church." 
 
 " I wish I could go," said Cordelia with a deep 
 sigh. " But I shall never go anywhere again : I know 
 that very well, for all they say about my getting bet- 
 ter." Agnes did not answer, except by a kiss upon 
 the pale forehead. She knew how to be silent when 
 there was nothing to say. She brought her Bible, 
 and sat down on the step by Cordelia ; and the two 
 were quiet for some time. 
 
 " Who is that very dark, very old-looking man 
 walking up the street ? " asked Cordelia at last. 
 "There, he is just going up the church steps." 
 
 " That is old Abner Kettle," answered Agnes. 
 " He is the last full-blooded Indian left anywhere 
 about here. He is a hundred at the very least. We 
 know that, because he remembets the Revolution 
 quite well. He has a very nice little place of his 
 own over on Indian Hill, and works in his garden as 
 well as any one, besides walking to church every 
 Sunday. We must ask him up here some day. You 
 would like to hear him talk." 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 187 
 
 " And I am only fifteen, fifteen my next birthday, 
 and I shall never walk again anywhere," said Cor- 
 delia in a tone of deep sadness. " But there, I won't 
 bother you. Read your book in peace. What is it?" 
 
 " The Bible," answered Agnes. " I was going to 
 look over my Sunday-school lesson, but I can do it 
 another time if you would rather talk." 
 
 " I don't mind," said Cordelia. She was silent 
 a while, and then spoke again, 
 
 "Agnes, isn't there a chapter in the New Testa- 
 ment somewhere about 'many mansions,' or some 
 such thing as that ? " * 
 
 " Yes : in the fourteenth chapter of St. John's 
 Gospel. Shall I read it to you ? " 
 
 "Yes, please." 
 
 Agnes read the chapter. She had a pleasant voice, 
 and read well and reverently. It seemed to her as 
 if the wonderful words had never seemed half so 
 wonderful before. 
 
 "Thank you," said Cordelia when she had fin- 
 ished. She was silent a little, and then said, with 
 a kind of abruptness, 
 
 "Agnes, how should you feel if you knew you 
 were dying, as I am ? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Agnes. " I never was 
 dangerously ill a day in my life. But what makes 
 you think you are dying, Cordelia ? The doctors do 
 not say so, and your mother thinks you are better." 
 
 "What do you think?" asked Cordelia with a kind 
 
 1 This may seem improbable, but I have met with worse cases. An elderly 
 lady asked me if " Do as you would be done by," or something like it, was not 
 in the Bible. This same lady, by the way, could talk quite glibly about " the 
 latest results of German criticism." 
 
1 88 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 of fierceness. Then, as Agnes did not reply, she said 
 more gently, 
 
 " Do tell me just what you think. I can't say a 
 word to mother, because she cries so ; and Milly only 
 laughs, and says, 'Oh, you are notional.' Do tell 
 me." 
 
 "I think you are not as well as you were last 
 summer," answered Agnes. 
 
 " But now, suppose I were your sister," persisted 
 Cordelia, " would you have any hopes of me ? " 
 
 "No," answered Agnes, "I don't think I should." 
 
 " Thank you," said Cordelia. She was silent a 
 little, and then asked, 
 
 " Agnes, would you be afraid to die ? " 
 
 " I don't know," answered Agnes. " People are 
 not always afraid. There was Jenny Bassett, Myra's 
 cousin, who died last summer of consumption : she 
 had no more fear than you have of coming out here. 
 And it was the same with young Mrs. Fletcher." 
 
 "But it is so dreadful," said the poor girl, shudder- 
 ing, " to go away from every one you have ever 
 known, out into another world, one doesn't know 
 where ; and that fearful judgment !" 
 
 " I will tell you what I think, Cordelia, if you will 
 try to be quiet, and not agitate yourself," said Agnes. 
 " I am only a girl like yourself, you know." 
 
 " Never mind. Tell me what you think." 
 
 "It is just like this," said Agnes : "if we are chil- 
 dren of God, we don't go out into a strange world 
 among strangers. We go home to our Father's 
 house, as the chapter says, where He is, and where 
 our Saviour has gone to prepare a place for us. We 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 189 
 
 don't know very much about it, to be sure ; some- 
 times I wish He had told us more. But we know 
 that there will be no more pain, or sorrow, or death ; 
 that our Lord will be there, and He will wipe away 
 all tears from our eyes. So we shall not go among 
 strangers. And, as to the judgment, I don't think 
 we need fear that, because He says See here." 
 Agnes turned to the first chapter of the First Epistle 
 of John, and read, 
 
 "'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to 
 forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all un- 
 righteousness.' 
 
 "And there are other places where it tells of our 
 sins being blotted out, and remembered no more. I 
 don't think we need fear the judgment, after that." 
 
 "But that is for Christians, and I am not a Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 " But you may be, Cordelia." 
 
 "I don't know how." 
 
 " The Bible tells us. We have only to believe on 
 the Lord Jesus Christ, and we shall be saved." 
 
 "That seems very simple and easy," said Cordelia 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " That is what St. Paul said to the jailer when he 
 asked what he should do to be saved, believe on 
 Him, and take Him for your Saviour ; that is all. 
 Oh, do try ! You don't know what a difference it 
 will make. I am not fit to teach you, I have only 
 just begun myself," said Agnes, blushing. " But I 
 know how different every thing looks to me from 
 what it did a week ago to-day. But, Cordelia, doesn't 
 your minister ever come to see you ? " 
 
190 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATEKS. 
 
 " We haven't any, not really," answered Cordelia. 
 " Mother and Milly don't belong to any church, and 
 they don't go anywhere regularly. They just run 
 about from one church to another to hear any famous 
 preacher, or for the sake of the music. A lady we 
 know Miss Little did use to talk to me some- 
 times when I was first sick, and she used to read 
 good books to me ; but mother did not like it. Last 
 winter I wanted to see a minister, but she said he 
 would only put gloomy thoughts in my head. 1 As 
 if the gloomy thoughts did not come of themselves ! " 
 
 " I hope I have not hurt you," said Agnes. 
 
 " No, indeed. You have done me good," said 
 Cordelia. " You don't know what a comfort it is to 
 open my mind to some one. But, Agnes, are you 
 sure that is all, just believing?" 
 
 " I am as sure as that I sit here." 
 
 " But why doesn't every one do it, then ? " 
 
 "Well, you see, it involves a good many things. 
 People have pet sins that they don't like to give up." 
 
 "That would be just my trouble," said Cordelia 
 thoughtfully. " I know I am horridly cross and self- 
 ish a great many times ; and I try not to be, but I 
 always get beaten sooner or later." 
 
 "There is just where the help comes in," said 
 Agnes eagerly. " If you ask Him, He will give you 
 help to conquer those very things. Of course, we 
 can't do it alone ; but St. Paul says, ' I can do all 
 things through Christ who strengthened me.'" 
 
 " How much you know about the Bible ! " 
 
 " I ought to ; I have had pains enough taken to 
 
 1 A literal fact. 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 191 
 
 teach me. But, Cordelia, I dare say Dr. Madison 
 will come to see you if you ask him. He is going 
 to stay in Oldfield all summer." 
 
 " I will speak to mother about it. Agnes, you 
 don't know how much good you have done me." 
 She coughed as she spoke, and Agnes's quick eye 
 saw that she was tired. 
 
 " Don't talk any more now," said she. " Let me 
 turn your chair back, so that you can rest ; and then 
 I will read to you, and perhaps you will go to sleep. 
 What would you like to hear ? " 
 
 " I would rather hear the Bible than any thing," 
 replied Cordelia, " I know so little about it. Begin 
 the Gospel of St. John." 
 
 Agnes turned the reclining-chair into a comfort- 
 able couch, added another shawl to Cordelia's cover- 
 ings, and sat down to read. Cordelia listened at 
 first with earnest attention ; but by degrees her eye- 
 lids drooped, and presently her soft, regular breathing 
 showed that she was asleep. 
 
 " How like death she looks ! " thought Agnes, as 
 she gazed at the white cheek and almost transparent 
 eyelids. " How can they think she is better ? Well, 
 at any rate, she has freed her mind, poor child. I 
 am so glad I staid with her ! " 
 
 Meantime Amelia Richmond had been engaged in 
 a very different fashion. 
 
 " Why, Milly, I didn't expect to see you to-day," 
 said Selina as they met at the church door. " How 
 quickly you slipped away! I meant to ask you to 
 come into Sunday school." 
 
 "Thank you," said Milly. " I don't go to Sunday 
 
I Q2 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 school, and I don't imagine I should gain very much 
 from your dear cousin Celia's instructions." 
 
 "You might," returned Selina. "Father says 
 cousin Celia is one of the best Bible scholars he 
 ever knew. But we had Mrs. Van Zandt this morn- 
 ing. Cousin Celia is not well." 
 
 " What, the old lady ? I would have staid if I had 
 known that," said Milly. "What was she like? " 
 
 " I thought she was lovely," answered Selina. 
 " She introduced our class to Dr. Madison, and he 
 spoke to us so nicely. Didn't you like him this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " Not so very much," answered Milly. " I thought 
 it was a canting, gloomy kind of sermon. I like in- 
 tellectual preaching, about science and art, and so 
 on." 
 
 " We don't go to church to hear about science and 
 art, but to hear the gospel," said Selina. 
 
 " Oh, come, now, don't you begin," said Milly. 
 " Has Miss Armstrong got you under her thumb 
 already ? She might well say she was coming on a 
 mission to the heathen." 
 
 " I don't believe she said any such thing," re- 
 turned Selina, coloring. 
 
 " I happen to know that she did. However, it 
 does not matter. I ought not to have repeated it, I 
 suppose, only I don't like to see people imposed upon. 
 Miss Van Zandt's dress is not nun's veiling, Selina," 
 added Milly, with a sudden change of subject, as 
 Mrs. Van Zandt's carriage came in sight. " It is 
 real China crape. I should not think she would wear 
 such an expensive dress to church in the country, 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 193 
 
 especially as they are not rich ; but I dare say her 
 aunt gave it to her." 
 
 " I must go to my seat," said Selina, feeling, for 
 once, a desire to get rid of her companion. 
 
 " I will go with you," said Milly. " I like to sit 
 up stairs : one can see every one so nicely." 
 
 Selina was not pleased ; but she had so often asked 
 Milly to sit with her, that she did not know how to 
 decline her company. Milly made herself very much 
 at home, rather to the annoyance of Myra Bassett, 
 with whom she was no favorite ; and she indulged 
 herself very freely in making remarks upon the con- 
 gregation. 
 
 " Do look at that woman in the blue bonnet with 
 green and red flowers. I wonder where her milli- 
 ner lives. I should like to employ her. Who is 
 she?" 
 
 " Mrs. Bettys. Do be quiet, Milly." 
 
 Milly was silent for a moment, and then began 
 again. 
 
 " Do look at Mrs. Chase. What a figure she does 
 make of herself ! With all her husband's practice, 
 she might dress decently, one would think. Who are 
 those girls in white, Selina ? I never noticed them 
 before." 
 
 "The Jewsburys. They live in our district, but 
 they hardly ever come to church. They were at the 
 Bible class Thursday night, I remember." 
 
 " Oh, they are some of Miss Armstrong's heathen 
 converts, I suppose. She means to get you all under 
 her thumb." 
 
 This was a little too much for Myra's patience. 
 
IQ4 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 She leaned forward, and said in an energetic whis- 
 per, - 
 
 " Miss Richmond, will you please be quiet ? We are 
 not used to hearing such talk in the house of God." 
 
 Milly tossed her head ; but she saw the eyes of 
 some of the elders fixed upon her, and she did not 
 venture to say any more. All through the sermon, 
 which was a continuation of the one in the morning, 
 she did her best to distract Selina's attention by 
 writing notes and passing candy. Myra Bassett was 
 furious. With all her good qualities, she had not her 
 tongue under the most perfect government in the 
 world ; and, the moment service was over, she turned 
 upon Selina. 
 
 " The next time you bring a stranger into the choir, 
 Selina, I hope it will be some one who knows how 
 to behave at least like a lady. I never was more 
 ashamed in my life. I wonder what ycur father 
 will say. It was a regular disgrace." 
 
 " Don't distress yourself, Miss Bassett," said Milly, 
 taking the words out of Selina's mouth, as she was 
 about to answer. " You are not responsible for my 
 conduct. I hope every one could see that I do not 
 belong here." 
 
 " I hope so too," returned Myra. " I should be 
 sorry if they could not." 
 
 "Do be quiet, Myra," said Selina "What a fuss 
 you do make about nothing ! I should think scold- 
 ing and quarrelling in church was as bad as any thing 
 Milly or I did. If you had been attending to the 
 sermon, you would not have known any thing about 
 
THE BIRDS OF THE AIR. 195 
 
 Myra blushed. She felt, that, though her cause 
 was just, she had put herself in the wrong by her 
 hasty speech. She began to say something more, 
 but Milly interrupted her. 
 
 " Oh, you need not apologize : I shall not bear 
 malice," said she with a lofty tone of condescen- 
 sion. " We all know you are a well-meaning 
 young woman, but you should think before you speak. 
 When you have had more opportunities, you will 
 know better. Come, Selina ; " and she drew Selina 
 away, leaving Myra wondering how she had been put 
 down, and why she should be so angry at being called 
 a young woman. She did not corisider that the sim- 
 plest epithet may be made abusive by the way it is 
 applied. 
 
 " Didn't I shut her mouth nicely ? " said Amelia, 
 laughing, when they reached the stairs. " She won't 
 begin on me again in a hurry." 
 
 " Well, she was right," said Selina with some 
 spirit ; " I was ashamed, myself. What did make you 
 act so, Milly ? " 
 
 " What did I do ? " asked Milly. " Are you going 
 to set up too ? But I see how it is/' she added. 
 " They have fairly conquered you, and broken your 
 spirit among them, so that you don't care for me 
 any more. The next thing, mother Weston will say, 
 * Selina, you must not go with Milly any more ; ' 
 and then farewell to our friendship. You will never 
 speak to me again." 
 
 Selina did not quite know what to say to this. She 
 knew in truth that mother Weston did not approve 
 of the intimacy. 
 
196 OLD HAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "You will be setting up to be very pious next," 
 continued Milly, as Selina did not reply. " We shall 
 hear of you speaking in meeting ; perhaps prepar- 
 ing to go on a mission, like dear Miss Armstrong." 
 
 Selina blushed, and Milly saw that her random shot 
 had hit the mark. This conversation had taken 
 place in a little recess under the gallery stairs, where 
 the girls were out of sight. At that moment Selina 
 heard her father's voice calling her, and went for- 
 ward ; Milly remaining where she was. 
 
 " Are you too tired to walk home, Selina ? " 
 
 "No, father : I should like it." 
 
 "Then I shall take Mrs. West. Don't hurry, there 
 is plenty of time. Go round by the brook, and you 
 will have it shady all the way." 
 
 "Are you going to walk? Good! I will go with 
 you," said Milly, joining Selina on the green before 
 the church. 
 
 " I am going round by the brook," remarked Selina. 
 " It will be longer for you." 
 
 "I don't care for that, unless you want to get rid 
 of me. If you do, say so," returned Milly. Selina 
 would have liked to say s.o, but she had not the 
 courage ; and the two walked on in silence for a few 
 minutes. Then Milly began again : 
 
 " So you really mean to give me up, Selina? " 
 
 " I have never said so," replied Selina. 
 
 "Actions speak louder than words," said Milly 
 with a sigh. "Well, I suppose it is all right. You 
 are dependent on Mr. and Mrs. Weston, and of 
 course you ought to please them. Oh, yes, it is all 
 right ; but I am sorry. I thought we were going to 
 
THE B7KDS OF THE A IK. 197 
 
 have such a nice time this summer; but, if you are 
 going to set up for a saint However, you ought 
 to please Mr. and Mrs. Weston, of course." 
 
 " I have never said either that I was going to give 
 you up, or to set up for a saint," said Selina some- 
 what angrily. " I don't know what you want me to 
 do, Amelia." 
 
 " I want you to be your own independent self, and 
 not take all your opinions your likes and dislikes, 
 'and all the rest from some one else ; no, not even 
 from Mrs. Weston or dear Miss Armstrong," replied 
 Milly. " If Mrs. Weston were your own mother, it 
 would be different, though even then I think you 
 would have a right to a mind of your own. But come ; 
 as you say, we won't quarrel. I do hope you won't give 
 me up, Selina. You are the only friend I have. I 
 never can get on with Agnes Gleason ; and Cordelia 
 is worse than nobody, poor thing. I wanted mother 
 to leave her at the Sanitarium with a nurse, and 
 take me to Newport or Saratoga, where I could have 
 some advantages of society ; but every thing is Cor- 
 delia with her. She would put me in the stove and 
 burn me up to warm Cordelia's feet. But you won't 
 give me up, will you, Selina ? I will promise not to 
 say a word against religion. I am sure your mother 
 would do me a great deal of good if she would only 
 be kind to me. Come, now, say you will be friends." 
 
 What could Selina do but say she would always 
 be friends with Milly ? The two girls sealed their 
 league on the spot with a sentimental embrace ; 
 and Milly began at once to exert her powers of con- 
 versation, which were not small, for the benefit of 
 
198 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 her companion. She began with a description of a 
 grand ceremony she had attended at the Roman- 
 Catholic cathedral. From that, the divergence was 
 easy to the park, and from thence to various gayeties, 
 ending with a masked ball in which Milly had sus- 
 tained a prominent character, had danced a minuet, 
 and, according to her own account, had been the ob- 
 served of all observers. When Selina reached home, 
 all serious thoughts were completely dissipated. Her 
 head was full of visions of that gay world in which 
 Milly moved, and her heart of murmurs that she 
 should be so wholly shut out of it. When she re- 
 tired to her room after tea, it was not, as usual, to 
 study her lesson for the next Sunday. The Bible 
 lay untouched ; while she indulged in dreams in 
 which her own mother figured in the character of a 
 lady of wealth and fashion, whom circumstances had 
 compelled to abandon her child for a time, but who 
 now turned up to claim her, and re-instate her in the 
 splendor to which she was born. The birds of the air 
 had picked up the seed pretty' thoroughly. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 NEW PROJECTS. 
 
 KIT'S arm was better on Monday, but nothing 
 more was said about her going to Oldbury. Syman- 
 tha had an argument with Melissa-on the subject of 
 the place at Stillwell's, but Melissa was not to be 
 moved. She knew her own mind, she said, and she 
 could take care of herself. Symantha need not be 
 troubled about her. She gathered her possessions 
 together on Monday morning, and departed. The 
 two sisters had never got on well together, and Me- 
 lissa did not express any regret at parting. She did 
 not speak to Kit ; and Kit, on her part, made no se- 
 cret of her pleasure on the occasion. Melissa had 
 been her tyrant and torment ever since she could 
 remember. It was she who had destroyed her cher- 
 ished fragment of the " Pilgrim's Progress," and had 
 instigated Phin to the burning of her beloved Testa- 
 ment. She felt sure that the proposition to send 
 her to Stillwell's had come from Melissa in the first 
 place. She did not feel safe till the wagon contain- 
 ing Melissa and her uncle was finally out of sight, 
 and then it was with a rejoicing heart that she began 
 
 to get ready for school. 
 
 199 
 
2OO OLD HAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Well, Kit, I suppose you are perfectly happy to 
 think that you are going to school this morning, 
 instead of in the wagon going to Oldbury," said 
 Symantha. 
 
 " Ain't you glad too?" asked Kit. 
 
 "Yes, I am. I don't want you to go to any place 
 just now ; certainly not there, to sell whiskey and 
 beer." 
 
 "I never would do it," said Kit firmly. "They 
 should cut me to pieces first. I hate the very name 
 of drink. I don't believe uncle Phin would ever be 
 ugly to me if he let the beer alone." 
 
 " I believe you are right," said Symantha, sighing. 
 " I wish all the beer in the world were poured into 
 the sea." 
 
 "Then the fishes would all get drunk," replied 
 Kit, laughing. Then, with a sudden change of tone, 
 as she glanced at Symantha's face, " Don't you want 
 me to stay at home this morning ? You will be 
 alone all day." 
 
 " I thought you liked to go to school better than 
 any thing," observed Symantha. 
 
 " Well, I do ; but I would stay at home to help 
 you." 
 
 " I know you would, but I would rather you went 
 to school. I want you to learn all you can, now you 
 have such a good chance." 
 
 " I wish uncle Phin would let me go to Sunday 
 school, as the other girls do," said Kit. "There is 
 not a girl in our school but me who docs not go to 
 Sunday school, and they get such nice books. I 
 don't see what harm it would do." 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 2OI 
 
 " Nor I," answered Symantha. "You should go, 
 Kit, if it depended upon me ; but I don't think you 
 had better say any thing about it at present. I am 
 sure pa would not let you go, and it would only make 
 a fuss. Make the best of your day-school, and learn 
 all you can. There, good-by." 
 
 * Symantha kissed Kit, an unusual demonstration 
 of affection, and the child went on her way with 
 a light heart. She was happier than she had ever 
 been before in her short life. She was used to the 
 shadows of her home, to her aunt's wretched state 
 of health, and -her uncle's varying humors, and 
 Symantha's occasional impatience, and did not 
 mind these things as another child would have done. 
 She loved with a kind of passion the beautiful things 
 about her; all the more, that the last two years of 
 her life had been spent in a wretched street of a 
 wretched Western town, which had been left behind 
 by an exhausted mine and an abortive railroad. She 
 loved her school and her teacher, and found keen 
 pleasure in the acquisition of knowledge for its own 
 sake. And, above and beyond all, she rejoiced in her 
 new-found inheritance in the kingdom of heaven. 
 She had received it, indeed, as a little child, without 
 a doubt or question. She could never be quite for- 
 lorn or alone again : for, let what would happen, she 
 had a Father and a Saviour in heaven, who would 
 never leave nor forsake her ; and a home, sure to be 
 hers some time, where she should never be unhappy, 
 and never do wrong again. For there were times 
 when the sense of sin pressed heavily upon her. 
 She had never known that many things were wrong 
 
2O2 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 which now appeared very dreadful to her. Like 
 older people, she found herself hindered by "the 
 bands of those sins which, by her frailty, she had 
 committed," and from which she longed to be re- 
 leased. The temper would rise at any obstacle or 
 annoyance ; and the hard names and wicked words 
 came to her mind, and fell from her lips, almost una- 
 wares. Now she felt these thing to be sins, and 
 grieved over them ; but there was comfort even 
 there. That same Father in heaven, whose name 
 and nature had been so lately made known to her, 
 hated sin ; but then, He loved her, and therefore, 
 Kit reasoned, He would help her to get rid of what 
 He hated. It was a very happy little girl who 
 went singing over the hill-pasture that morning. 
 
 Three or four weeks went on very quietly in Old- 
 ham, and especially in the red-schoolhouse district. 
 In the village, indeed, there was a little stir, occa- 
 sioned by the startling proposition brought forward 
 by the church-wardens, in a parish-meeting called for 
 the purpose in the parlor of the hotel ; namely, that 
 the church should be cleaned and painted before the 
 arrival of the new minister. If it had been proposed 
 to blow up the church with dynamite, some people 
 could not have been more astonished ; and the most 
 astonished of all was Mr. Archimball, the shoe- 
 maker, who had been sexton for years. He had, for 
 the most part, confined his duties to ringing the bell, 
 making fires in winter, and dusting the great Bible 
 and other books, and sometimes the pulpit-cushions, 
 on a Sunday, and filling and trimming the lamps when 
 they absolutely refused to burn any more without. 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 203 
 
 " Such a lot of new-fangled notions ! " said he 
 sulkily. "Always the way when women-folks take 
 hold of things. What's the matter, anyhow ? " 
 
 "The matter is, that the church is dirty, and needs 
 cleaning," said Mr. Weston. 
 
 " Where's the dirt ? " snarled the sexton. For 
 answer Mr. Weston pointed to the windows. 
 
 " They are kind of cloudy, that's a fact," said Mr. 
 Andrews, the storekeeper. 
 
 "Kind of cloudy! I should think so," said his 
 wife. " I wonder what you would say, Mr. Andrews, 
 to see such windows in your own house." 
 
 "Well, you know, Harriet Anne, you never 
 thought of the windows yourself till last Sunday," 
 said Mr. Andrews mildly. 
 
 " That's true, and more shame for me. Anyhow, 
 I'm ready to do my share of the work." 
 
 " And so am I," " And I," added several voices ; and 
 more than one notable lady felt a thrill of joy at the 
 thought of a house-cleaning upon so large a scale. 
 
 " The sisters seem to be all sound upon the clean- 
 ing question," said Mr. Weston, smiling. 
 
 "The women-folks are for any thing that will 
 make a fuss, and give 'em a chance to gossip," mut- 
 tered the sexton. 
 
 " Now about the painting," continued Mr. Weston, 
 without noticing the interruption. 
 
 "That's another thing," said Mr. Blandy. "That 
 will cost money." 
 
 " Most things do," said Dr. Chase. 
 
 "And how are you going to raise it? that's the 
 question," continued Mr. Blandy. 
 
2O4 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "Yes, that's the p'int," said Aunt Betsy. "How 
 are you going to raise it ? " 
 
 " By subscription among ourselves," answered Mr. 
 Weston. " I have made a calculation that two hun- 
 dred dollars will cover the whole expense." 
 
 " Two hundred dollars is a good deal of money," 
 said Mr. Andrews. " Still, if every one will do 
 his share Would that cover the blinds, think, 
 squire ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so. As you say, if every one will 
 do their share, the thing can be accomplished ; not 
 otherwise." 
 
 " Yes, but you'll see they won't," said the sexton. 
 "It's one thing to stir up a lot of women, and 
 another to get the men started." 
 
 " We have made a good beginning already, I am 
 happy to say," remarked Mr. Weston, taking up a 
 paper which lay before him on the table. " Dr. 
 Chase has headed the list with twenty-five dollars ; 
 another person has put down the same ; and the 
 ladies at the stone house will give us twenty, and 
 more if it is needed." 
 
 " Seventy dollars ; that is a good beginning," said 
 Mr. Bassett. " Put me down ten anyhow, Squire 
 Weston. I will do more if I can, but that freshet 
 which knocked down my dam has made it a kind of 
 an expensive year for me." 
 
 " Put me down five," said Mr. Fletcher. 
 
 " Eighty-five dollars. Who next ? " 
 
 " My sister and myself will give five dollars be- 
 tween us," said Miss Celia. 
 
 " Seems to me that's a good deal for you," said 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 2O5 
 
 Mrs. Burr ; but Miss Celia did not answer. It was 
 a good deal ; but the two old ladies had consulted 
 together, and had agreed to give up their annual 
 summer visit to Elmfield if needful. 
 
 " I don't believe in this subscription business any- 
 how," said Mr. Blandy. "We might get up a fair, 
 or dinner, or something, and raise the money that 
 way, or at least a part of it ; and the rest might wait 
 till it came handy to pay.'* 
 
 " And so saddle ourselves with a debt," said Dr. 
 Chase. " No, thank you ; I have seen enough of 
 that." 
 
 " Every'one does it," persisted Mr. Blandy. " That 
 fine new church in Oldbury has a twenty-thousand- 
 dollar mortgage on it this minute." 
 
 " Yes, and what is the consequence ? Every time 
 they try to raise money for some church or benevo- 
 lent object, there comes up the debt. There is so 
 much interest to be met, that great debt to be pro- 
 vided for, they can't even raise funds for a new Sun- 
 day-school library. No, no ! Bad as the church 
 looks, I would rather it should stay so than that we 
 should run in debt." 
 
 "That fifty dollars we raised for missions would 
 come handy just now," said Mr. Blandy with a sneer. 
 " I always thought charity began at home." 
 
 " It is to be hoped the charity of this church is 
 not to begin, after an existence of nearly a hundred 
 years," said Mr. Weston. " For my own part, I do 
 nor regard the money given to support my own 
 church as given in charity, any more than that I use 
 to pay my bills at Mr. Andrews's store. I get it all 
 
2O6 OLDHAM ' ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 back, and a great deal more. Which of us would be 
 willing to do without the help we get here, even if it 
 cost twice as much to keep the church going ? " 
 
 " Nobody, I guess," answered Mr. Andrews. " I 
 don't know but you are right, squire, though I must 
 say I never looked at it in that way before. Well, 
 you may put me down for twenty dollars, to begin 
 with." 
 
 A few more subscriptions were given in, and a 
 committee appointed to canvass the town. The 
 ladies decided upon a day to begin operations, as a 
 good deal of cleaning was absolutely needful before 
 the painting could be commenced ; and the meeting 
 was about to be adjourned when Mr. Archimball 
 rose up to fire his great gun, which he had kept till 
 the last moment. He had much to say about his 
 long and faithful services, extending over a period of 
 twenty-five years. Twenty-five years he had rung 
 that bell for service, and tolled it for funerals ; yes, 
 for the grandfathers and grandmothers of some of 
 the folks present. But it appeared that folks were 
 not satisfied. Very well. If he, Joseph Archim- 
 ball, did not suit them, let them get somebody that 
 did. He washed his hands of the whole business. 
 He resigned his place as sexton. There were the 
 keys of the church. He shook off the dust from his 
 feet. 
 
 So saying, he threw down the keys on the table, 
 and departed, rather wondering that no one tried to 
 detain him. ' 
 
 " But they will be after me," he said to himself. 
 "They won't find it so easy to do without me. 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 2O/ 
 
 They will come asking me to take the keys again. . 
 But I won't not unless they offer me at least ten 
 dollars a year more than I have had before." 
 
 As the time went on, however, and nobody came 
 after him, Mr. Archimball began to wish he had not 
 been so hasty. As it drew toward the end of the 
 week, he decided that he would not say any thing 
 about that -increase of salary; and on Saturday morn- 
 ing he made up his mind that he would go down 
 and get the keys, open the windows, and even air 
 out the cellar. The women-folks must be out of 
 the way by that time. Lo and behold ! when he 
 reached the church, the windows were already open, 
 and a young person of the colored persuasion was 
 going about with a duster, actually with a duster, 
 and a feather duster at that, daintily passing this 
 unheard-of instrument over the backs of the old 
 pews. 
 
 " Halloo ! " said Mr. Archimball. " Who are you ? 
 and what are you doing here ?" 
 
 " I am Edward Kettle, at your service," returned 
 the stranger, with his best bow, which was, indeed, a 
 very fine one. " As to what I am doing, I am put- 
 ting the church in order for Sunday, seeing that the 
 gentlemen has made me sexton." 
 
 Mr. Archimball felt that his great gun had 
 "kicked," as sportsmen say. He could hardly be- 
 lieve his own senses. 
 
 " You /" he gasped, like the caterpillar in " Little 
 Alice. " " Who are you ? " 
 
 " I've told you my name already. As to my fam- 
 ily, I am old Abner Kettle's grandson ; and me and 
 
208 OLD HAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 my wife has come to live near the old gentleman. 
 As I said before, the church has given me the ap- 
 pointment to take charge of this building, which the 
 ladies has just cleaned up in the most elegant man- 
 ner; and I calculate to do it." 
 
 So saying, Mr. Kettle hung up his duster, and, 
 producing a sickle from his basket of tools, began a 
 vigorous attack upon a colony of burdocks and this- 
 tles which had flourished at the side of the church 
 steps from time immemorial. 
 
 To say that Mr. Archimball was disgusted, is to 
 give a faint idea of his sensations. He was stunned. 
 To think that he, he whose grandfather and great- 
 grandfather were buried in that very burying-ground, 
 should be turned out, supplanted by a colored man, 
 and one who was half Indian at that ! And for what ? 
 Just because people had taken some new notions 
 into their heads about dust and air, and so on. It 
 was too bad ! He went home almost resolved never 
 to enter the church doors again. 
 
 The subscription went on prosperously ; and by 
 Sunday Mr. Weston was able to announce that the 
 money was raised, and every thing ready to begin 
 the work. It was with no little satisfaction that the 
 ladies who had been engaged in the cleaning looked 
 at the clear glass, and noticed the difference in the 
 air. 
 
 " Isn't it delightful to have the church so clean ! 
 and won't it be fine when it is all painted ! " said 
 Faith Fletcher to the other girls as they stood at 
 the door for a moment before Sunday school. " And, 
 oh, isn't it nice to have Dr. Madison again ! " 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 2OQ 
 
 "I wish we could have him all the time," said 
 Agnes. " Don't you, Selina ?" 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. I think I shall like Mr. 
 Brace quite as well," answered Selina indifferently. 
 " I don't see any thing so very remarkable about Dr. 
 Madison's preaching. He just says the same things 
 that one has always heard." 
 
 " He tells ' the old, old story,' " remarked Faith. 
 "What do you think, Agnes ? " 
 
 "I think the old story is better than any new 
 one," replied Agnes. " What else could he tell us 
 about ? I thought you liked him ever so much last 
 Sunday, Selina." 
 
 "I haven't said I didn't like him," said Selina 
 rather shortly. "All I say is, that he isn't any 
 thing so very wonderful. Why didn't Milly come 
 this morning, Agnes ? " 
 
 " I don't know that she had any reason, only that 
 she did not care about it. She got a parcel of new 
 books last night, and I fancy she preferred to lie 
 abed and read. Mrs. Richmond staid with Cordelia." 
 
 " How is Cordelia ? " asked Faith. 
 
 " Her mother will have it that she is better, but 
 we think she fails all the time," answered Agnes. 
 " Cordelia has given up all hope of ever getting 
 well, herself. She wants to see a minister, and I 
 asked Mrs. Richmond if I should not ask Dr. Madi- 
 son to come over, as he is staying at Mrs. Van 
 Zandt's ; but she won't hear of it." 
 
 " How cruel ! " said Faith. 
 
 " Well, no, she does not mean it for cruelty. 
 She says she can't have Cordelia's mind rilled with 
 
210 OLD I! AM-, OA\ BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 gloomy ideas. She must be kept cheerful. She 
 didn't like it a bit because I read the Bible to her 
 last Sunday, and she hasn't let me be alone with 
 her since." 
 
 " She is as bad as Phin Mallory with Kit," said 
 Faith. "That poor child would give her eyes, al- 
 most, to come to Sunday school ; and he won't let 
 her. I do wish we could do something for her. 
 She looked so sad when we were fixing the school- 
 house for meeting last Friday. You can't scold her 
 now for not knowing the Lord's Prayer, Selina : she 
 reads her Testament every chance she finds." 
 
 " I suppose she does not have many books of any 
 sort," remarked Faith. " But I do believe Kit is a 
 real Christian. I never saw any child try harder to 
 be good." 
 
 " She knows how to flatter Miss Armstrong, and 
 get on the blind side of her," said Selina. " You 
 needn't look so shocked. I do think so. Miss Arm- 
 strong thinks any one is perfection who can talk 
 about religion. Amelia says she is just so in the 
 city, and that it is the same with all the city mis- 
 sionaries. That is the way all sorts of humbugs 
 impose upon them." 
 
 " Amelia knows all about city missions, no doubt," 
 said Agnes. " How many mission Sunday schools 
 do you suppose she ever saw ? I don't believe Miss 
 Armstrong has any blind side, to begin with ; and 
 I don't believe poor Kit ever thought of looking for 
 it. She is a good, honest little thing, worth a hun- 
 dred of Milly Richmond, and not so very much more 
 ignorant, either. Just think! Milly did not know 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 211 
 
 that our Lord and the apostles were Jews, and she 
 thought the ancient Romans worshipped the Virgin 
 Mary." 
 
 11 Agnes!" 
 
 " She did, really." 
 
 "And you told of it," said Selina. "I don't think 
 that is very nice, to go telling of things that were 
 said in your own mother's house, just to get people 
 laughed at. I wonder what your dear Miss Arm- 
 strong would say to that ? " 
 
 Agnes colored, and her eyes flashed. She did not 
 speak for a moment, and in that moment she had 
 gained a victory. 
 
 " She would say I was wrong, and so I was," said 
 she quite gently. "You are right, Selina: it is 
 not fair to tell tales. Come, we ought to be in our 
 places." 
 
 The painting began next day, and, of course, took 
 longer than any one expected. It was discovered 
 that some other very essential repairs were needed. 
 Indeed, when the committee appointed for the pur- 
 pose came to examine the tower, they found it in a 
 really dangerous condition. 
 
 " So you are going to repair the tower, too," said 
 Aunt Betsy. "That will cost more money. It is 
 always the way ; when folks begin to tinker, there is 
 no end to it. When the tower is done, you will find 
 something else to do." 
 
 " There would be an end to somebody if we didn't 
 begin to tinker," replied Mr. Weston, " and that 
 pretty soon. A very little would have brought the 
 bell crashing down into the porch. Suppose such a 
 
212 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 thing had happened when the tower-room was full 
 of the little children ?" 
 
 " It makes me shudder," said Mrs. Weston. "Who 
 noticed it first ? " 
 
 " Edward told me, the very first time he rang the 
 bell, that he thought there was something wrong ; 
 but I had no idea things were so bad till I came to 
 look into them." 
 
 " Archimball never said any thing about it, did 
 he?" 
 
 " Not he. I don't suppose he has been into the 
 belfry for years. The fact is, we have all neglected 
 our duty. Selina did not think what a very large 
 kettle of fish she was going to stir up, when she 
 made that proposition about cleaning the church." 
 
 " Yes, that is always the way when folks go to 
 stirring up things." said Aunt Betsy. " Let well 
 alone, I say." 
 
 "A great bell hung on a rotten beam over people's 
 heads can hardly be called well," said Mr. Weston. 
 "We may be thankful it was looked to in time," 
 
 " And what are we going to do for a church while 
 all this fuss is going on ? " asked Aunt Betsy. 
 
 "We shall meet in the large room at the academy." 
 
 "Well, nobody need think /am going there, to sit 
 on those hard benches," said Aunt Betsy. " I shall 
 just stay at home till things get in decent order 
 again. Abby, I should like to know what price you 
 gave for this tea," she added, lifting to her nose the 
 cup of black tea Mrs. Weston had just filled. 
 "Seems to me you must have got cheated." 
 
 " It is the same tea we have been drinking all 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 21$ 
 
 winter, Aunt Betsy. I am sorry it does not suit 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, I can drink it, I suppose," said Aunt Betsy 
 with an injured air. "I calculate to get some my- 
 self as soon as I can go over to Oldfield. Mr. An- 
 drews hasn't any that's fit to drink. He gave me a 
 quarter of a pound, and I was glad when it was 
 gone." 
 
 "That old lady isn't burdened with gratitude, is 
 she ? " said Miss Armstrong when Aunt Betsy had 
 finally taken her tea and departed. 
 
 " I doubt whether the idea* of gratitude has ever 
 .occurred to her mind," replied Mrs. Weston. " She 
 thinks she has a right to all she gets, and a great 
 deal more." 
 
 " Mrs. Richmond says she wonders the church 
 don't put her into the widows' asylum at Oldbury," 
 remarked Selina. " She was talking to Mrs. Blancly 
 about it yesterday, and they both agreed it would be 
 cheaper. Her place would sell for enough to pay 
 her entrance fee and more." 
 
 "There would be several objections to that," re- 
 plied Mr. Weston.* "In the first place, she would 
 never consent to go." 
 
 " She would have to go, I suppose, if people left 
 off helping her." 
 
 " I doubt it ; and, in the second place, there is no 
 reason why she should go. Her land brings her in 
 something, and the neighbors must do the rest. 
 Why should we turn one of our old church-members 
 over to the Oldbury folks to take care of, when we 
 are able to do for her ourselves ? There are a great 
 
214 OLDITAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 many more poor people in Oldbury than there are 
 here." 
 
 "But she is so cross and disagreeable." 
 
 " Well, she may as well be cross and disagreeable 
 here as in Oldbury," said Mrs. Weston. "If she is 
 so trying when she only comes in now and then, 
 what would she be to those who lived with her all 
 the time ? The poor old soul is as much attached to 
 her home and her church as if she were the pleas- 
 antest person in the world, and it would be cruel to 
 send her to finish her days among strangers." 
 
 "According to that, there need be no asylums of 
 any sort, if people only took care of their own neigh- 
 bors," said Selina. 
 
 " Perhaps we could not go so far as that, but cer- 
 tainly much fewer would be needed. You are quite 
 right there," said Miss Armstrong. "As to poor Mrs. 
 Burr, I can assure you, my dear, she is a very mild 
 specimen of her class compared to some that I know. 
 There is a woman in an aged-women's home that I 
 know of, who regularly tells every one who comes to 
 the house, never to get into that place if they can go 
 anywhere else. I have known her, when the matron 
 was conducting visitors through the house, to come 
 out into the hall, and ask in the humblest tone if 
 she might not have just a crust of bread, she was so 
 faint and hungry, or if she might not have an old 
 carpet or something to put on her bed, she was so 
 cold at night. And yet she is really better off than 
 ever she was before in her life." 
 
 "I dare say." 
 
 "Oh, well, we must not be too hard on Aunt 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 21$ 
 
 Betsy," said Mrs. Weston. "She is old and lonely, 
 and we can very well bear with her humors. We are 
 none of us any too grateful for what we receive." 
 
 Selina chose to take this remark to herself, though 
 nothing was farther from Mrs. Weston's thoughts 
 than such an application. 
 
 " If you think I am so ungrateful and unthankful, 
 mother, I think I had better go and live somewhere 
 else," said she, rising from the table, and bursting 
 into tears. "I suppose I could earn my living ; and, 
 at any rate, I should not " The rest was lost in 
 sobs. 
 
 "What is the matter now ?" said Mr. Weston in 
 surprise. 
 
 " If you want to find fault with me, you might 
 speak out, and not keep talking at me," sobbed 
 Selina. "I wish you had never taken me from the 
 asylum." 
 
 " Take care you do not make other people wish 
 so," said Mr. Weston. " Now stop that noise at 
 once. Go and wash your face, and then come and 
 sit down to the table, and finish your supper Do 
 you hear me ? and do you mean to mind me ? " he 
 added more sternly than before. " Come, we have 
 had enough of this. If you will behave like a spoiled 
 child, you must be treated like one. Do as I tell 
 you." 
 
 Selina was frightened. Never had Mr. Weston 
 spoken to her in such a tone before. He was one 
 of the most even-tempered men in the world, and 
 generally left the whole interior government of the 
 family in his wife's hands. He had always been very 
 
2t6 OLD HAM; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 indulgent to Selina, and, on that very account, his 
 severity was more effective now. As he kept his 
 eye fixed on her, she felt that there was nothing for 
 it but to obey. Not another word was addressed to 
 her till supper was over, and Miss Armstrong had 
 left the room. Then Mr. Weston turned to her. 
 
 " You will help your mother do up the work, and 
 then you will stay at home," said he. "Don't let 
 me see you running away up to Mrs. Gleason's, as 
 you have done every evening this week. You must 
 turn over a new leaf, Selina, or I shall have to do it 
 for you. I will not have your mother and the whole 
 family made uncomfortable by you. Now, remem- 
 ber." 
 
 Never in all the seven years she had lived at the 
 farm had Selina met with such a reproof. She felt 
 small enough as she went about clearing the table, 
 and worst of all was the growing feeling that she 
 had made herself ridiculous. She did up the work 
 sulkily; and then, retiring to her own room, she threw 
 herself on the bed without a word of prayer, and 
 cried herself to sleep. 
 
 " I don't see what has come over Selina," remarked 
 Mrs. Weston as she took her knitting and sat down 
 with Miss Armstrong in the wide hall, which was 
 much used as a summer sitting-room. " She is cer- 
 tainly in a bad state of mind. I don't think Milly 
 Richmond does her any good." 
 
 " From the little I have seen, I should not think 
 Miss Richmond's society was calculated to be useful 
 to any one," said Miss Armstrong. " She did me 
 the favor to come to school as a visitor one afternoon 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 21? 
 
 last week, and certainly I never wish to have her 
 visit repeated. It seems to me that poor Selina's 
 great stumbling-block is her disposition to jealousy." 
 
 " Yes, that is the great trouble, and always has 
 been," replied Mrs. Weston, sighing. 
 
 " It is a hard fault to deal with, because the person 
 possessing it is so apt to take it for a virtue, or at 
 least a mark of superiority," said Miss Armstrong. 
 " However, it is a comfort that grace can conquer 
 that as well as every other infirmity." 
 
 " I hoped that Selina was coming under the power 
 of religion," said Mrs. Weston. 
 
 " And so did I. The first week or two after I 
 came, she seemed much interested in the Bible les- 
 sons, and talked quite freely on the subject ; but 
 latterly I cannot get her to speak a word, and hardly 
 to answer a question." 
 
 "Sometimes I think she is resisting conviction, 
 and that makes her more irritable than she would 
 be," remarked Mrs. Weston. " How does she be- 
 have in school in other ways ? " 
 
 " I see an unfavorable change there, too," answered 
 Miss Armstrong. " The first week she was a great 
 help to me. I cannot say as much now." 
 
 " She is at a trying age," said Mrs. Weston, using 
 the universal mother's excuse, which suits all ages 
 from one to twenty-one. " Sometimes I think the 
 fault must be in my management, and yet I don't 
 know. I have never made any difference between 
 her and Lizzy, and Lizzy never gave me an hour's 
 anxiety in her life except from illness. I hear that 
 Agnes Gleason means to be confirmed." 
 
2l8 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "Yes, she has quite decided to take the first oppor- 
 tunity. Her mother seems very much pleased." 
 
 "I was a little surprised when she said as much to 
 me on Sunday," said Mrs. Weston. " Mrs. Gleason 
 has never made any profession of religion. We 
 thought she would do so when my sister and myself 
 united with the church, and I dare say she would if 
 her own mother had been alive. But she was board- 
 ing with Aunt Betsy at that time, and she held the 
 child back. I think it was a great mistake." 
 
 " I believe it is a mistake in ninety-nine cases out 
 of a hundred." 
 
 "I quite agree with you. Who is this coming in ?" 
 
 " It is Ida Van Zandt and her cousin," said Miss 
 Armstrong, rising. " You will like these girls, Mrs. 
 Weston. They are as thoroughly genuine as any I 
 ever knew." 
 
 Mrs. Weston was quite prepared to like her young 
 neighbors. She went to call Selina ; but Selina had 
 gone to bed, and pretended to be asleep. The girls 
 had two errands besides their desire to see Miss 
 Armstrong. One was, to procure some guinea-hens' 
 eggs. Amity had heard that Mrs. Weston had a 
 very superior breed of guinea-hens, and she wanted 
 to send some home to her grandfather, who was a 
 great fowl-fancier. 
 
 " You had better let me give you a pair of the 
 fowls when you go home. That will be the best 
 way," said Mrs. Weston. " Eggs are rather uncer- 
 tain, but I can let you have some to eat if you think 
 your aunt would fancy them. They are very deli- 
 cate." 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 2 19 
 
 "Thank you very much," said Amity. "I shall 
 be glad of any thing to tempt aunt Barbara's appe- 
 tite, for she is not very well just now. But, Mrs. 
 Weston, I did not mean to beg your beautiful fowls." 
 
 " Oh, you are quite welcome. We should not keep 
 them, and I am just so silly I would rather give the 
 poor things away than have them killed, I have made 
 such pets of them." 
 
 " I don't think it silly at all. I have just the same 
 feeling," said Amity. " But if you please, Mrs. 
 Weston, we will make it an exchange ; I see you keep 
 ducks, and I will have O'Connor send you a pair of 
 our new Pekin ducks. They are the present rage in 
 our parts. And now for your errand, Ida," said 
 Amity when these matters had been satisfactorily 
 settled. 
 
 " Oh," said Ida, blushing. " Perhaps I ought to 
 begin with an apology for 'assumacy,' as old Alice 
 calls it. It has occurred to me, Miss Armstrong, 
 that, as almost all the children seem to come to the 
 Friday-evening service, it would be rather a nice 
 thing to meet them some time during the week and 
 practise upon the hymns. What do you think ? " 
 
 "I think it an excellent plan," answered Miss 
 Armstrong. " I have been regretting, ever since I 
 came here, that I cannot sing. I suppose you mean 
 to teach the class yourself, Ida ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes : I am to be professor." 
 
 " I proposed something of the sort to Selina," said 
 Miss Armstrong, turning to Mrs. Weston ; "but she 
 seemed to think it would not do." 
 
 " I don't see any objection to it," said Mrs. West- 
 
22O OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 on ; " that is, supposing Miss Van Zandt is willing 
 to take the trouble." 
 
 " Oh, I shall like it," answered Ida. " I do think 
 I have some gift that way, too, though I say it that 
 shouldn't. I have taught singing in our mission 
 school for two winters ; and really they do very well, 
 don't they, Amity? " 
 
 " Indeed they do ; but I fancy you will find it 
 rather different teaching Miss Armstrong's children." 
 
 "I should imagine so," said Ida, laughing. "I 
 heard a lady on Sunday talking about those little 
 Irish children in the infant-class, and saying they 
 ought not to be allowed to come in such a state. 
 I wondered what she would say to your infants, 
 Amity." 
 
 " Oh, my infants are not so bad. Even the Flynns 
 come with clean faces now and then. Norah had a 
 patch on her dress the last Sunday, and actually 
 a clean apron." 
 
 "Mrs. Weston opens her eyes," said Ida. 
 
 " Oh, I have seen mission schools, though I never 
 taught in one," said Mrs. Weston, smiling. " I should 
 think it might be trying work sometimes." 
 
 " Well, it is ; and yet it has its rewards too." 
 
 " Where is Mr. Weston ? " asked Miss Armstrong. 
 " We must have his sanction before we do any thing." 
 
 " What a lovely woman ! " said Ida as Mrs. Weston 
 went out to call her husband. " Is she as sweet as 
 she looks ? " 
 
 " Sweeter, if any thing." 
 
 " Her daughter does not look at all like her," said 
 Amity. " She is a handsome girl, too ; but she has a 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 221 
 
 discontented, almost envious expression. She has a 
 fine voice : I noticed it on S"nday." 
 
 " Yes, I think she would sing uncommonly well if 
 she would take more pains. Mr. Weston is as good 
 as his wife. I never met two more excellent people." 
 
 "Is Selina the only child?" 
 
 " No, they have a married daughter in Oldbury, 
 a very lovely woman in all respects. Both she and 
 Selina are adopted children ; and they had another, a 
 very fine young man, who died a year or two since. 
 They have had several children of their own, who all 
 died in infancy. Here comes Mr. Weston. You 
 must sing for him, Ida: he loves music, and under- 
 stands it too." 
 
 Mr. Weston listened attentively while Ida unfolded 
 her plan, which was to meet the school-children twice 
 a week, and sing with them the hymns and tunes 
 used in Sunday school and at the Bible class, and 
 any other music which might be deemed desirable. 
 
 " It seems a very nice plan," said Mr. Weston, 
 " but it is a good deal for you to do." 
 
 " I shall enjoy it," said Ida. I love children, and 
 the practice will keep my hand in. Of course I shall 
 not give them much instruction in the theory of 
 music, but perhaps they may learn to read notes. I 
 think children pick that up pretty easily." 
 
 "Well, Miss Van Zandt, I will talk it over with 
 the other trustees," said Mr. Weston. "I can't think 
 any one will object, but there is no telling. I expect 
 we are going to have a fight over the Bible-reading 
 at the next school-meeting. Phin Mallory says he 
 means to put a stop to it ; and like as not Tom Jews- 
 
222 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 bury will support him, just to show off what he calls 
 his liberal ideas." 
 
 " If they turn the Bible out, they will turn me 
 out," said Miss Armstrong. " I will never teach in 
 any school where the Bible is shut out." 
 
 " Oh, they won't succeed, we have not many of 
 that sort, but they will make a fuss." 
 
 " Perhaps it will be better not to have any con- 
 nection between the singing-school and the day- 
 school," remarked Amity. " Ida might just ask 
 for the loan of the schoolhouse for her class to 
 meet in." 
 
 " And I will have it directly after school, because 
 then the children are together, and it is the most 
 convenient hour for me," said Ida. "Yes, that will 
 be best." 
 
 44 People will be asking what your terms are," said 
 Mr. Weston, smiling. 
 
 " But I haven't any terms," said Ida. " I don't 
 propose to ask any thing, Mr. Weston. It is just be- 
 cause I like children, and because it is so nice for 
 them to know how to sing." 
 
 "Well, I will let you know in a day or two. Mean- 
 while, perhaps you will sing something for me." Ida 
 complied at once, and sang song after song, grave and 
 gay. She had a noble voice which had received every 
 advantage of cultivation, and had not been spoiled 
 thereby. 
 
 " That is grand ! " said Mr. Weston. " I'll tell you 
 what, mother, if any one makes an objection, we'll 
 just ask Miss Van Zandt to come in and sing for 
 them." 
 
NEW PROJECTS. 22$ 
 
 "One thing more," said Miss Armstrong; "that 
 is, if you are not tired, Ida." 
 
 "Not at all. I am never tired of singing." 
 
 "Then sing ' I know that my Redeemer liveth.' ' 
 
 "I am not sure that I can do it justice," said Ida: 
 "I have not tried it in some time. But I will do 
 my best." 
 
 There was a moment's silence after that most 
 beautiful of all sacred songs was concluded, and then 
 Mr. Weston and his wife both drew a long breath. 
 
 " That is wonderful ! " said Mrs. Weston. " How 
 I wish Selina could sing that ! " 
 
 " I dare say she could learn," replied Ida. " She 
 has a fine voice. I noticed it in church. It is a pity 
 it should not be cultivated." 
 
 " I have always meant Selina should have some 
 good singing-lessons," said Mr. Weston. " I have 
 thought of sending her to her sister's in Oldbury. 
 They have an excellent professor in the school there, 
 or so I have been told." 
 
 " Really, Ida, we must go," said Amity : ." it is 
 growing dark. Aunt Barbara will think we are lost." 
 
 " I will walk with you, if you will allow me," said 
 Mr. Weston. " I was going over to the Corners, at 
 any rate, and your house is but a few steps out of 
 my way." 
 
 " What charming girls ! " said Mrs. Weston. " Miss 
 Bogardus's money does not seem to have spoiled her." 
 
 " Not a bit. She is one of the hardest-working, 
 most self-denying girls I ever knew. Ida is a good 
 child too." 
 
 " It shows that wealth and beauty do not of them- 
 
224 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 selves hurt people. I hope this singing-school may 
 be a success, for Selina's sake," said Mrs. Weston. 
 
 But Selina had already made up her mind on that 
 point. She had been waked by the singing, and had 
 been listening with all her ears. Envy and jealousy 
 are reptiles that can find food anywhere, even in 
 heaven, if they could get there. 
 
 " Her voice isn't one bit better than mine," Selina 
 said to herself : " it is only that she has had such 
 good lessons. I don't think she sings so much bet- 
 ter, either. I don't see what call she has to be 
 setting up a singing-school here. We don't want any 
 of her patronage." And Selina resolved, that, if she 
 could help it, the singing-school should not be a 
 success. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HARMONY AND DISCORD. 
 
 THE trustees made no objection to the singing- 
 school ; and in two or three days Miss Armstrong 
 announced that Miss Van Zandt would meet after 
 school such of the children as would like to learn to 
 sing. 
 
 " Any of us ? little ones and all ? " asked Ednah 
 Fletcher. 
 
 " Little ones and all ; every one who would like 
 to learn to sing nicely in church and Sunday school. 
 Miss Van Zandt is very kind to give up so much time 
 to you, and I hope you will reward her by being very 
 good and attentive." 
 
 " I am sure I will," said Kit. " I think she is 
 awful good." 
 
 "Yes, very kind indeed," said Selina when school 
 was dismissed. " For my part, I am not so fond of 
 being patronized by city people." 
 
 " If city people want to do me a kindness, I am 
 willing they should," said Faith. 
 
 "Well, I don't know," answered Selina. "I don't 
 
 think we were quite ignorant heathen before Miss 
 
 225 
 
226 OLDHAM ' ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Armstrong and Miss Van Zandt came here, though 
 one would think so to hear them talk." 
 
 " Why, what do they say ? " asked Lucinda Hurd. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Van Zandt says she is used to teaching 
 in mission schools, and wants to keep her hand in ; 
 and Miss Armstrong says she would not teach here 
 at all if it were not for teaching the Bible." 
 
 Faith and Agnes exchanged a glance which an- 
 noyed Selina. It seemed as if they were laughing 
 at her. 
 
 "Where did you hear all this?" asked Sarah. 
 Selina thought there was some incredulity in the 
 tone, and she answered positively, 
 
 "I heard her in our house, the very night Miss 
 Van Zandt came there to talk about this singing- 
 school concern." 
 
 " Oh," said Sarah demurely. " I thought I heard 
 somebody delivering a lecture to Agnes on Sunday 
 about repeating what was said in her mother's house, 
 that was all." 
 
 Selina colored scarlet, and wished she had held 
 her tongue. 
 
 "If you have such a dislike to being patronized 
 by city people, I wonder you should care to go so 
 much with Milly Richmond," continued Sarah. " She 
 is patronizing. I could hardly help laughing at the 
 tone in which she talked to Miss Armstrong about 
 her little country seminary and her 'little rustics.' ' 
 
 " What is ' patronizing ' ?" asked Kit, who had been 
 listening to the conversation with wide-open eyes. 
 
 " ' Patronizing/ little one ? Why, I hardly know 
 how to define it," said Sarah. " It really means, to 
 
HARMONY AND DISCORD. 22/ 
 
 defend or support ; but I suppose, as Selina uses 
 it, it means to do good to any one in a condescend- 
 ing way, as if you were a great deal better than 
 they." 
 
 "Then I am sure Miss Van Zandt is not a bit 
 patronizing," said Kit eagerly. "She doesn't put 
 on one bit of airs." 
 
 " Pray, what do you know about it ? " asked Selina. 
 " Where have you seen Miss Van Zandt, I should 
 like to know ?" 
 
 The tone was rude enough to bring the color to 
 Kit's face ; but she answered quietly, 
 
 " I have seen her two or three times. She and 
 Miss Bogardus have been very kind to me. They 
 gave me my Testament and my hymn-book." 
 
 " Well, I must say I agree with Selina," said 
 Lucinda Hurd. " I don't want any stuck-up city- 
 folks coming and doing good to me." 
 
 " I don't believe you are in any danger of being 
 done good to," said Sarah. " For my part, I mean 
 to learn all I can. Miss Van Zandt does sing splen- 
 didly." 
 
 " Ezra says he never heard such a voice in his 
 life," said Faith Fletcher. Now, Ezra Fletcher was 
 a college senior, and a great personage in the red- 
 schoolhouse district. 
 
 " Oh, very well ; go and be patronized if you 
 like," said Selina. " I shall not, that's all." 
 
 " Selina, are you ever coming home ? " asked Milly 
 Richmond, appearing round the turn of the road just 
 by the schoolhouse. " I have been waiting for you 
 half an hour at least," she added, putting her arm 
 
228 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 through Selina's, with a condescending nod to the 
 rest of the girls as she walked away. 
 
 " There's distinguished city breeding for you," said 
 Sarah. 
 
 " What is the use of calling it city breeding ? " 
 asked Agnes : " it is no more city than country. 
 One sees underbred people everywhere." 
 
 " City-folks always are stuck up, anyway," said 
 Lucinda. " They always look down on country-folks." 
 
 " I don't think so. Dr. Madison did not talk to us 
 in Sunday school as though he looked down on us." 
 
 " Not half as much as Mr. Martin used to," ob- 
 served one of the girls. " It used to make me sick 
 to hear him begin, 'Now, my dear children,' and 
 then go on to talk baby-talk for half an hour. I just 
 hated to go. Dr. Madison talks sense, and so did 
 Mr. Brace when he was here. And Mr. Martin was 
 no such great man : his father used to keep a little 
 candy-shop over in Oldfield when my mother went 
 to school there." 
 
 " It is nothing against Mr. Martin if he did," said 
 Sarah. "Keeping a candy-shop is an honest trade." 
 
 " It is a sweet trade anyhow," said Faith. " I 
 should like to keep a candy-shop myself, and then I 
 could have all the candy I wanted." 
 
 " But, suppose it wasn't an honest trade, would 
 that be any thing against Mr. Martin ? " asked Kit. 
 " He wouldn't be to blame for what his father did, 
 would he ? " 
 
 " Well, no, I suppose not," answered Faith rather 
 doubtfully ; " but people think a great deal of family 
 about here." 
 
HARMONY AND DISCORD. 22Q 
 
 " Of course he would not," said Sarah decidedly. 
 " If a man is good, he is good, and if he is bad, he 
 is bad, whatever his father was. Mr. Martin was a 
 good man, but he was no hand to manage a Sunday 
 school." 
 
 " If I could go to Sunday school, I don't think I 
 should care very much who managed it," said Kit 
 sadly. 
 
 " Can't you ? " asked Eddy. 
 
 " No : uncle Phin won't let me. I couldn't help 
 crying last Sunday when I sat up on the hill, and 
 watched the children coming out with their books." 
 
 "Think of that, Eddy," said Faith. "Somebody I 
 know cried last Sunday for a very different reason 
 from that." 
 
 Eddy blushed at the recollection, and made up her 
 mind that she would never quarrel with her Sunday- 
 school lesson again. 
 
 " You will come to the singing-school, won't you, 
 Kit ? " said Sarah. 
 
 " Yes, if they will let me. I think it is lovely in 
 Miss Van Zandt to teach us, don't you ? " 
 
 " I think it is very nice of her. Good-night, little 
 one." As she kissed Kit she added, " Don't be 
 down-hearted, Kit ; I hope better times will come for 
 you by and by." 
 
 " Won't you please ask God to let me go, Sarah ? " 
 whispered Kit as she returned Sarah's kiss. 
 
 "You love Him, don't you?" said Sarah. 
 
 "Yes; and I love you too," answered Kit, "you 
 are so kind to me." 
 
 " It would be a hard-hearted creature that could be 
 
23O OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 any thing but kind to such a kitten as you. Come 
 home with me, and I "will give you some flowers." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " answered Kit gratefully. "Aunt 
 Martha loves flowers better than any thing." 
 
 " What were you all talking about?" asked Milly 
 of Selina as they walked down the road together. 
 " You seemed wonderfully interested." 
 
 "About Miss Van Zandt's singing-school. She is 
 going to set up a singing-school for the enlighten- 
 ment of us ignorant savages here in the country." 
 
 " A singing-school ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 Selina told the story, adding, " But I am not go- 
 ing, I can tell her. I don't want any of her patron- 
 age." 
 
 "I think you will be very silly if you don't," was 
 Milly's unexpected rejoinder. 
 
 "I don't know why I should take lessons of her," 
 said Selina. " I don't know why I can't sing as well 
 as Miss Van Zandt." 
 
 " Because you have not her voice nor her training," 
 returned Milly. " Why, Selina, the idea of comparing 
 your singing with Ida Van Zandt's ! She is Signer 
 A.'s crack pupil ; and I know Professor G., who trains 
 the Handel Chorus Society, considers hers the best 
 female voice he has. Not but you do sing very well, 
 considering ; but the idea of comparing yourself to 
 Ida Van Zandt!" 
 
 Selina had often admired and defended Milly's 
 bluntness, which she called frankness and sincerity ; 
 but she did not find this same frankness so pleasant 
 when it was applied to herself. She had a great 
 opinion of her own powers ; and to have that opinion 
 
HARMONY AND DISCORD. 2$l 
 
 so coolly set aside was almost more than she could 
 bear, even from Milly. 
 
 "You were talking the other day of your voice 
 making you independent," continued Milly. " If I 
 thought of any such thing as that, I wou-ld not 
 lose such a chance as this of singing with Miss 
 Van Zandt. I have no more voice than a crow, 
 and no talent for music anyway ; but if I had, I 
 would go down on my knees to her to let me 
 come." 
 
 " I am not in the habit of going down on my knees 
 to people," said Selina loftily ; " I am not so fond of 
 being patronized." 
 
 " I call that nonsense," replied Milly, who pos- 
 sessed a certain common-sense which might have 
 made her a valuable woman under good training. 
 " In the first place, nobody wants you to go down on 
 your knees, or to be patronized either. I dare say 
 Miss Van Zandt never thought of such a thing. All 
 Mrs. Van Zandt's set are engaged in missions or 
 some such work. Ida teaches in the St. Timothy's 
 School, I know, when she is in town, and in another 
 in the country ; and so does Miss Bogardus." 
 
 "That is just what I say," persisted Selina. "I 
 don't want to be made a mission of." 
 
 "Anybody might make a mission of me who 
 would teach me to sing like that," said Milly. "And, 
 as to patronage, you ought to see how ladies in so- 
 ciety will contrive and plan and scheme to get invi- 
 tations from those who are a little more fashionable 
 than themselves. I believe ma would not only go 
 on her knees, but walk on them across Fifth Avenue, 
 
232 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 to get a card for Mrs. Anderson's Fridays or one 
 of Mrs. Van Zandt's quiet lunch-parties." 
 
 " I call that downright mean," said Selina. 
 
 " Oh, well, every one does it. I wouldn't go as far 
 as some do, myself; but I would like to know the 
 Van Zandts." 
 
 " How is Cordelia to-day ? " asked Selina, willing 
 to turn the conversation. 
 
 "She is about the same; I don't think she is 
 quite as well. Mother left her with Agnes on Sun- 
 day, and Agnes must go to reading the Bible and 
 talking pious to her ; and ever since, she thinks she 
 is going to die, and is always wanting to have Dr. 
 Madison come to see her. Mother won't hear of it, 
 though ; and she was angry enough, with Agnes for 
 putting it into her head." 
 
 " But if she should die, Milly, your mother would 
 be sorry she did not let her have her own way." 
 
 " She isn't going to die," said Milly angrily. " I 
 believe she would be a great deal better if she would 
 exert herself a little. Not but what I would let her 
 have her own way in this, and so I told ma," she 
 added in a gentler tone. " Dr. Madison is a nice old 
 gentleman, and I don't believe he would hurt her. 
 But, as to this singing-school business, Selina, you 
 will be very foolish if you don't go." 
 
 "I can judge for myself, I suppose," said Selina. 
 
 "All right; judge for yourself all you like. It is 
 the last time I shall ever offer you any advice, you 
 may be sure of that," returned Milly. "I had no 
 idea you were such a grand personage, or I would 
 not have ventured on such a liberty. Good-after- 
 
HARMONY AND DISCORD. 233 
 
 noon, Miss Weston, or whatever your name is. I 
 won't trouble you any further." And Milly turned 
 and walked away. 
 
 Selina was confounded for the moment. Like 
 other passionate people, she was always surprised 
 and aggrieved when any one else showed any temper. 
 To do Milly justice, such outbreaks were rare with 
 her. She had not reached home before she told her- 
 self that she had been silly to mind Selina's tantrums, 
 and resolved that she would make up on the first 
 opportunity. She forgot that she had dealt Selina 
 a cruel and cowardly blow in the allusion to her 
 name, knowing, as she did, how sensitive Selina was 
 on that point. Selina stood still a moment, and then, 
 turning round, walked rapidly toward home. 
 
 "I will never speak to her again, never," she said 
 to herself. "And I will not go to the singing-school 
 either, if I can help it. I suppose, though, I shall 
 have to, or make a fuss at home. They are all be- 
 witched with this Ida Van Zandt, and Milly is as bad 
 as the rest. I wish she had never come here." 
 
 The singing-school began prosperously with a full 
 attendance. All the children came ; and a good 
 many grown people would have liked to do so, but 
 Ida good-naturedly but firmly declined having any 
 pupils outsida of the school. 
 
 " It is only for the little ones," she explained. 
 "And I find they do their best when I have them by 
 themselves. Besides, I am not setting up for a 
 teacher : I am only practising a little with the chil- 
 dren." 
 
 Selina made up her mind to attend the class, partly 
 
234 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 because she could not contrive any valid excuse for 
 not doing so, and partlybecause on consideration she 
 was obliged, however unwillingly, to own that Milly's 
 advice was good. It would be foolish to throw away 
 such a chance for improvement ; and moreover, if she 
 did, Mr. Weston might make it a reason for refusing 
 to let her have singing-lessons in Oldbury. As may 
 be guessed, she was not in a very good frame of mind 
 for profiting by the lessons, since her chief end and 
 aim was, to show that she could sing as well as her 
 teacher. 
 
 To Kit the singing-lessons were a source of un- 
 mixed joy. She had a real genius for music, and a 
 wonderfully quick ear, which caught in a moment all 
 the beauties of Ida's style, and reproduced them in a 
 manner quite marvellous to the other girls. 
 
 " Kit will beat us all," cried Faith in honest admi- 
 ration. " What a beautiful voice she has ! " 
 
 " Yes, she is going to make a fine singer," said 
 Ida. "But we must not let her practise too much 
 for a year or two, or she will hurt her voice. She 
 sings with a great deal of expression. Now, you 
 must all be very attentive, because I am going to 
 give you a lesson on reading the notes." 
 
 Symantha made no objection to Kit's singing-les- 
 sons, and nothing had been said to Phin about them. 
 He was- away in Oldbury a good deal of the time, 
 and often came home in a very bad humor. Kit 
 kept out of his way at these times as much as pos- 
 sible. She noticed that Symantha's face began to 
 assume the old anxious expression, which it had 
 almost laid aside for a few months past ; and she 
 
HARMONY AND DISCORD. 235 
 
 shrewdly guessed, that, as she said, " uncle Phin was 
 going wrong again." One clay she came home with 
 a very grave, not to say scared, expression, and fol- 
 lowed Symantha into the pantry. 
 
 " Symantha, do you remember that man who used 
 to keep the saloon in our street in Goldsburg, the 
 one they said shot the peddler ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Symantha, startled. " What of 
 him ? " 
 
 " I saw him this afternoon," said Kit. 
 
 " Impossible, child ! He is in State-prison, and 
 long may he stay there !" 
 
 " He is not in State-prison now," persisted Kit. 
 "I tell you I saw him this afternoon. I met him 
 down by the bars, and he walked part of the way 
 home with me. I was scared, I can tell you." 
 
 " What did he say to you ? " 
 
 " He asked the nearest way to Oldfield, and I told 
 him : and then he asked who lived in Mr. Weston's 
 house, and in Mrs. Van Zandt's ; and I told him. 
 Then he said he supposed Mrs. Van Zandt was very 
 rich, and I said I didn't know any thing about it. 
 He asked if I had ever been in the house, and I said, 
 1 No.' Then he offered me a quarter, and I told him 
 I didn't take money from strangers." 
 
 "Quite right," said Symantha. "But, Kit, I think 
 you must be mistaken. Are you sure?" 
 
 "Quite sure, and I will tell you how. He has 
 bleached his hair, and got white whiskers ; but don't 
 you remember one of his eyes was of two colors ? 
 He could not change that, and I knew him by it 
 directly." 
 
236 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Symantha's face grew dark. " I thought he was 
 out of the way, at least," said she. " I wonder what 
 brings him here." 
 
 " He said he was going to Oldfield, and wanted to 
 know the shortest road. I was glad when he walked 
 on, for I am always afraid of him." 
 
 " He is a wicked wretch," said Symantha. " I 
 have heard that he was born somewhere about here. 
 Well, don't say a word, Kit. You were quite right 
 not to answer his questions." 
 
 ''I hope he won't get hold of uncle Phin," said 
 Kit. " I thought he would get out of his old ways 
 when he came to this nice place, and had the farm 
 and all." 
 
 " And so did I ; but, when people are bound to go 
 to destruction, they will go," said Symantha, with a 
 sigh which was almost a groan. 
 
 " It is too bad of uncle Phin, because he is so nice 
 when he is good," said Kit. She paused, and then 
 added timidly, " Symantha, why don't you ask our 
 Father in heaven to make uncle Phin good ? Don't 
 you believe He could ? " 
 
 " I don't know, child ; I suppose so. Do you be- 
 lieve it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do. There was the thief on the cross : I 
 read about him this morning. And I know other 
 wicked people have been made good." 
 
 " Well, child, pray for him, then, and for me too, 
 if you like. I am sure I am glad if you take comfort 
 in that or any thing else. How do you get on with 
 your singiag-school ? " 
 
 " Oh, nicely ! " replied Kit with animation. " We 
 
HARMONY AND DISCORD. 237 
 
 have learned * Jesus, lover of my soul,' and 'There 
 is a green hill far away,' and 'Onward, Christian 
 soldiers.' That is splendid. They are going to sing 
 it in meeting to-morrow night," said Kit with a sud- 
 den change of tone. " Don't I wish I could go ! " 
 
 " Don't you wish you could go where ? " asked 
 Phin. He had left his boots at the door, and come 
 quietly in in his stocking-feet, so that no one had 
 heard him. 
 
 "To meeting," said Kit, rather alarmed, but stand- 
 ing her ground, and half hoping her uncle might 
 relent. 
 
 " Well, you won't do any such thing." 
 
 " I don't see what harm it would do," said Kit. 
 " If it is all nonsense, as you say, it would do no 
 more hurt than going to the circus or the theatre ; 
 and you used to let me go there. And if it is true" 
 
 " Hush, Kit," said Symantha. 
 
 " True or false, you won't go. And you are not 
 going near that schoolhouse for any thing again. 
 Do you hear ? " 
 
 " Not to school ? " faltered Kit. 
 
 " No ! " thundered Phin. " Not to school nor for 
 any thing else. If you say another word I will take 
 you over to Oldbury, and set you to drawing beer at 
 Stillwell's. I was a fool not to do it before." 
 
 Kit's own temper flamed up. " I'll never draw 
 beer at Stillwell's nor anywhere else," said she. "I 
 hate the beer, it is that makes you so ugly, uncle 
 Phin, and I'll never touch it." 
 
 " You won't, eh ? You will go down cellar and 
 get me a glass this minute." 
 
238 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "I won't." 
 
 " Father ! " said Symantha warningly, but Phin was 
 not to be controlled. He had come home from Old- 
 bury vexed at losing money in gambling, irritated as 
 a weak man always is at the slavery to which he was 
 reduced by his own weakness, and ready to visit that 
 irritation on the first helpless object that came in his 
 way. He took Kit in his arms despite her struggles ; 
 and, carrying her down stairs, he set her down, and 
 ordered her to draw the beer. But Kit was by this 
 time quite beside herself with rage ; and the old habit 
 asserted itself, as old habits will with the best of us 
 at times. 
 
 The beer-keg stood on a table at quite a height 
 from the floor. With a volley of hard words, Kit 
 seized it, and, by a sudden exertion of strength, flung 
 it violently to the ground. The head, coming in 
 contact with a large stone, was smashed in, and the 
 beer poured out on the cellar-"bottom. 
 
 " There's your beer drawn for you," said she. 
 "Now drink it." 
 
 Phin's rage was something fearful. He whipped 
 Kit till her screams alarmed him. "There, now go 
 to bed ; and don't let me see you again to-night," 
 said he, releasing her at last. " Come, we'll know 
 who is to be master." 
 
 Kit crept away to bed, trembling so she could 
 hardly stand. Sorely beaten as she was, the pain 
 was the least of her troubles. That which she had 
 most feared had fallen upon her. To stay away 
 from school, that was the worst. To have no Miss 
 Armstrong to go to in her troubles ; to have no one 
 
HARMONY AND DISCORD. 239 
 
 to answer her questions, and explain to her what she 
 did not understand, oh, it was too dreadful to think 
 of ! Symantha watched her chance, and brought the 
 child some supper ; but she could not eat. Even her 
 prayers seemed to bring her no comfort. She had 
 been so wicked ! She had been so angry, and used 
 such bad words ! What if she should never be for- 
 given ? She slept only in snatches till the cocks 
 -began to crow, and the light to shine into her un- 
 curtained windows. Then she rose, and sought her 
 Testament in the place where she kept it hidden. 
 As she read, her face became calmer, and she ceased 
 her sobs. Yes, she had been very naughty ; but He 
 would forgive her as He had forgiven Peter, who 
 cursed and swore. Hope was not all gone, as she 
 had thought the night before. Her Guardian was still 
 in heaven. He saw and knew it all. He would for- 
 give her, and take her part. Kit kneeled and poured 
 out her heart in prayer ; and then, lying down, she 
 fell at last into a deep, quiet slumber. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 KIT'S VICTORY. 
 
 WHEN Kit came down stairs, she found breakfast 
 ready, and her uncle just come in. 
 
 " Halloo ! here's the saint," said he roughly. 
 " Come, let us hear some more of those pretty words 
 you said last night, those nice lessons Miss Arm- 
 strong teaches you down there." 
 
 " Uncle Phin," said Kit, growing pale, but speak- 
 ing firmly, " I never learned those words from Miss 
 Armstrong, and you know it. I am sorry I said them : 
 it was very wicked. And I am sorry I struck you." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Phin, considerably taken aback. 
 "And what about the beer ? Are you sorry for that 
 too ? " 
 
 "No," answered Kit. "I should like to do as 
 much for all the beer-kegs in the world. You are 
 never ugly to me only when you have been drinking 
 beer." 
 
 " Humph ! " said Phin. "There, hold your tongue, 
 and eat your breakfast ; but mind, you are not gping 
 to school." 
 
 Kit dared not say any more. Phin did not go to 
 240 
 
KIT'S VICTORY. 241 
 
 Oldbury, but staid about the house doing odd jobs 
 of repairing, and waiting upon his wife, who had 
 been very unwell for several weeks. His fondness 
 and tenderness for her was one of his best traits. He 
 never spoke harshly to her in his worst moments, 
 and would take any amount of pains to give her a 
 little comfort. Symantha brought out her basket of 
 mending, and asked Kit co help her with the stock- 
 ings ; saying, with a meaning look, 
 
 " You can take your work up in your own room, if 
 you like. I am going to clean the floor." 
 
 Kit understood, as well as if thq words had been 
 spoken, that Symantha meant to give her a chance to 
 read. She fastened her door, and, having despatched 
 her task of mending neatly and quickly (for, thanks 
 to Symantha's training, she was an expert needle- 
 woman), she drew her precious "Pflgrim's Progress" 
 from its hiding-place, and read for a long time. 
 Then she got out her Testament, and read the two 
 last chapters of St. Luke's Gospel. She was going 
 through the book in course, wondering and delighted 
 more and more at all she found there. Her lively 
 imagination and quick sense of the beautiful gave 
 reality to all the stories ; and she pondered over them 
 as she walked to and from school, or drove up the 
 cows from their pasture, or helped Symantha with 
 the sewing. This morning she was deeply impressed 
 with the story of the Resurrection. She seemed to 
 see it all, the women coming to the sepulchre 
 (something like the burial-vaults she had seen in the 
 cemetery at St. Louis, she thought) in the early morn- 
 ing, while it was yet dark ; the visit of the apostles ; 
 
242 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Mary mourning by herself, not recognizing her risen 
 Lord in the perplexing dusk of the early twilight, 
 till he called her by name. 
 
 Her meditations were interrupted by a call to 
 dinner. 
 
 " Where is uncle Phin ? " she asked. 
 
 " He is sitting with ma. She is very bad to-day." 
 
 " I have not heard her." 
 
 " No, she has not spoken at all ; and I cannot per- 
 suade her to eat a mouthful. Come, father; come 
 to dinner." 
 
 The meal passed almost in silence. 
 
 "Let me wash up the dishes," said Kit after it 
 was finished. " You look so tired ! " 
 
 "I did not suppose such a fine lady as you "are 
 could wash dishes," said Phin. "I dare say Miss 
 Armstrong never washed a dish in her life." 
 
 Kit made no answer. She was determined not to 
 be provoked again if she could help it. She did up 
 the work neatly ; and then, taking her hat and her 
 book, she went up to her old resting-place on the hill, 
 from whence she could see the schoolhouse. It 
 would be something even to look at the roof which 
 held Miss Armstrong, and where had been passed 
 the happiest hours of her life. She knew just what 
 was going on, and could almost see the larger girls 
 engaged in preparing their grammar lesson, and the 
 little ones taking it in turn to read their small tasks 
 by Miss Armstrong's side. It would be about Jenny 
 Hurd's turn now, she thought. She would lean 
 against Miss Armstrong. Perhaps Miss Armstrong's 
 arm would be around her. What would she not give 
 
KIT'S VICTORY. 243 
 
 to be in her place ! Jenny did not like to come to 
 school, and would rather play all day ; and yet Jenny 
 could have the privilege from which she was shut 
 out. It was very strange, Kit thought. 
 
 "Anyhow, uncle Phin can't ever take away from 
 me what I have learned. He never can make things 
 as they were before I knew Miss Armstrong ; noth- 
 ing in the world can do that. And they are things 
 which will last for ever and ever," said Kit, half 
 aloud, realizing in her sorrow the truth which has 
 come to so many other people in times of change 
 and bereavement, that the things which are seen 
 are temporal ; while it is only the things which are 
 not to be seen by mortal eyes, or handled by mor- 
 tal hands, that are real and eternal. Then another 
 thought occurred to Kit, which made her take out 
 her little Testament, already showing signs of the 
 wear it suffered by being carried in her pocket. She 
 turned to the second chapter of St. Matthew's Gos- 
 pel, and was soon so deeply engaged in study that 
 she started as if she had been shot when Ida spoke 
 to her. 
 
 " Why, Kitty ! how does it happen that you are not 
 in school ? " 
 
 " Uncle Phin won't let me go," answered Kit, with 
 a quivering lip. " He says I shall not go any more." 
 
 " But that is a great pity, when you were getting 
 on so nicely," said Amity. " Why did he say that ? " 
 
 " He got angry at me," said Kit. " I was naughty, 
 I know ; but I don't think that was the reason. It 
 was just because he was put out about something 
 else. I was in hopes he had forgotten all about it 
 
244 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 this morning, he does that way very often, but 
 he says I shall never go there again." 
 
 " We will hope that he will change his mind, as 
 you say he has done so before. What are you doing 
 now ? " 
 
 " Learning verses out of the Testament," answered 
 Kit. " I was thinking that uncle Phin nor any one 
 else could take away the things I had learned. And 
 then I thought, ' What if I should lose my Testament 
 again, or go where I couldn't have any teaching ? ' 
 So I made up my mind to learn as many verses as I 
 could ; because, don't you see, nobody can take away 
 the things I have in my mind." 
 
 Ida and Amity exchanged glances. 
 
 " Other people besides you have done that, little 
 Kitty," said Amity. " Last summer I went to visit a 
 mountainous country in Europe, where live a brave 
 and good people who for many hundred years were 
 dreadfully persecuted on account of their religion. 
 The popes, and the governors of that country, were 
 determined to make these people give up reading the 
 Bible, and worshipping God as they thought right. 
 They wanted them to become Roman Catholics ; 
 so they made war on them, and burnt their houses, 
 and shut many of them up in prisons and convents, 
 and put others to cruel deaths." 
 
 " That was a queer way to make them like the 
 Roman-Catholic religion," said Kit. 
 
 " It was a way which did not succeed very well," 
 said Amity. "The more these people were perse- 
 cuted, the more closely they clung to their own 
 religion, and the more they loved the Bible. But, 
 
KIT'S VICTORY. 245 
 
 because they were liable at any time to lose their 
 books, they used to do as you are doing. All the 
 children were taught to commit to memory the whole 
 of the Gospels. As they grew up they learned more 
 and more, till many grown men and women could 
 say the New Testament from beginning to end. 
 They had very few books ; and so the little children 
 used to walk miles upon miles to their schools, over 
 rocks and mountains, and ice and snow, through 
 places which it made me giddy to look at, in order 
 that they might learn the Bible." 
 
 "And are, they persecuted now?" asked Kit. 
 
 " No : they have their liberty, and can read the 
 gospel as much as they like. Now they are sending 
 out missionaries to teach other people to read and 
 love the Bible." 
 
 " That is nice," said Kit. " Miss Armstrong told 
 us about the missionaries. I thought then I should 
 like to be one ; but I shall never know enough to be 
 any thing if I can't go to school." 
 
 " Oh, you must not despair," said Ida. " I hope 
 things will take a turn for the better some time. See 
 here, I want you to look at this picture, and tell me 
 if you ever saw any one like it." 
 
 Kit took the photograph Ida offered her, and re- 
 garded it long and earnestly. 
 
 " It looks very much like aunt Martha, only it is 
 younger," said she. " I think she might have looked 
 like that when she was a girl." 
 
 The girls exchanged glances again. " I suppose 
 nobody sees your aunt," said Amity. 
 
 "Nobody ever comes to our house," replied Kit. 
 
246 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Uncle Phin doesn't like to have them, because aunt 
 Martha is afraid of strangers. At least, he says that 
 is the reason ; but I don't really think so," she added, 
 after a moment's reflection. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because she was not afraid on the cars, when we 
 came here," said Kit: "she liked it. She used to 
 look out of the window. And sometimes she would 
 say quite sensible things. She did not have a single 
 bad time all the way." 
 
 " How has she been since she lived here ? " asked 
 Amity. 
 
 " She has not been as well. She has grown thin, 
 and coughs at night. Symanlha thinks she has got 
 the consumption." 
 
 " And about her mind ? " 
 
 "Well, sometimes she is better, and then she is 
 worse ; but, on the whole, she is worse. She cries 
 a great deal, and some days she will not eat at all. 
 But I must be going," said Kit, looking at the sun. 
 
 " One thing more," said Amity. " Excuse me for 
 asking so many questions, Kit ; I have a reason for 
 them. Are your uncle and Symantha kind to her ? " 
 
 " I am afraid that is hardly a fair question, Amity," 
 said Ida. 
 
 " Oh, yes, they are very kind to her," replied Kit. 
 " Symantha is good to everybody, and uncle Phin 
 would do any thing in the world for aunt Martha. 
 I never heard him speak a hard word to her, even 
 when she was the most troublesome. And even 
 Melissa never dared to be cross to her when he was in 
 the house. I don't think uncle Phin would be cross 
 
KIT'S VICTORY. 247 
 
 to any one if he would let the beer alone. When we 
 first came here, before "he began to go to Oldbury, 
 he was just as good as he could be. But I must go. 
 It must be nearly five o'clock." 
 
 " Yes ; we won't keep you any longer," said Ida. 
 "That is an excellent idea of yours, about learning 
 the Gospels by heart. Good-night, little one." 
 
 " I believe that aunt of hers is really Kathleen 
 Joyce," said Amity as she and Ida turned homeward. 
 
 " So do I. And I believe, moreover, that she is 
 the child's mother. I do wish aunt Barbara could 
 see her; but I don't know what excuse she could 
 make for forcing herself in, especially as we have no 
 proof that the poor thing is ill-treated." 
 
 " Miss Celia says she screams dreadfully at times, 
 and that the neighbors have talked of interfering," 
 remarked Amity. " If they should, something might 
 be done. At any rate, it will be a comfort to aunt 
 Barbara to know that the poor thing is kindly 
 treated." 
 
 As Kit came down the hill behind her uncle's 
 house, she stopped and listened as the sound of wild 
 and piercing screams, poured forth in quick succes- 
 sion, fell on her ear. 
 
 "Aunt Martha is bad again," she thought; and, 
 quickening her steps, she reached the house, and 
 entered her aunt's bedroom. The poor woman was 
 sitting up in bed, uttering scream upon scream, and 
 making frantic efforts to escape from her husband's 
 arms, and throw herself on the floor; while he and 
 Symantha strove in vain to soothe her. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " said Phin, glancing at his 
 
248 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 daughter with a look almost of despair. " She will 
 hurt herself, and rouse the neighbors besides." 
 
 " Let me try," said Kit, unable to keep quiet any 
 longer. An idea had darted into her head which 
 she longed to put in practice. 
 
 "Well, do," said Symantha. "You can't do any 
 harm. She is as bad as she can be, now." 
 
 Kit seated herself on the side of the bed, and, 
 without a word of what she was about to do, she 
 began singing, 
 
 " Jesus, lover of my soul," 
 
 to the tender, pleading music of the Spanish Hymn. 
 
 The poor woman's screams and struggles ceased 
 at once. She leaned back on her husband's breast, 
 and listened li'ke one entranced till Kit sang the 
 hymn all through. 
 
 " I used to sing that," said she when Kit was silent. 
 " I used to sing a great many hymns before they took 
 away my Lord. But they have taken Him away, 
 they have taken Him away ; and I know not where 
 they have laid Him." 
 
 " Oh, no, aunt Martha ! " said Kit cheerfully. 
 "They haven't taken Him away: nobody could do 
 that. You know Mary thought they had, but she 
 was mistaken. He had risen from the dead, and was 
 close by her all the time, only it was so dark she 
 couldn't see to tell who it was. But when He spoke 
 to her, then she knew Him." 
 
 " But He won't speak to me," said the invalid. 
 " He never speaks to me now. Do you think He 
 ever will ? " 
 
KIT'S VICTORY. 249 
 
 " Yes, I know He will. I am going to read you 
 what He says." And forgetting every thing in her 
 desire to comfort the sufferer, forgetting even her 
 fears for her chiefest treasure, Kit took her precious 
 Testament from her pocket ; and, opening it at ran- 
 dom, she began to read from the third chapter of St. 
 John. Mrs. Mallory listened with evident pleasure. 
 Presently, however, her eyelids began to droop, her 
 fingers ceased to pick at the bed-clothes, her head 
 sank back. She had fallen into a quiet slumber. 
 Phin gently laid her head on the pillow, while Sy- 
 mantha darkened the window. Presently he went 
 to the door, and beckoned out Kit, who was still 
 reading in subdued tones. Kit obeyed, though she 
 was terribly frightened when she thought of what 
 she had done. 
 
 " But I don't care," she said " I know it was 
 right" 
 
 To her amazement, Phin lifted her in his arms, and 
 kissed her. 
 
 " You are a good girl, Kit. You shall do as you 
 like. You may go to school, and to meeting too, if 
 you want to." 
 
 " O uncle Phin ! do you mean it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I mean it. There, child, don't strangle 
 me," as Kit threw her arms round his neck in a 
 vehement hug. 
 
 " And may I really go to meeting and to Sunday 
 school ? " asked Kit. 
 
 " I didn't say any thing about Sunday school. 
 However, I don't care," said Phin. " Yes, you may 
 go, though I don't see what pleasure you find in it." 
 
250 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "Go yourself, and you will find out," said Kit. 
 
 " See here ! you are one of the folks, that, when 
 you give them an inch, they take an ell. Go to meet- 
 ing, if you like ; but don't take to preaching, yourself. 
 But see here, Kit ; how did you dare get out that 
 Testament ? Wasn't you afraid I would burn it up, 
 as I did the other one ? " 
 
 " I didn't think any thing about myself, anyway," 
 answered Kit : " I only thought of comforting aunt 
 Martha. And, you see, it did comfort her. You 
 won't burn it up, will you, uncle Phin ? " 
 
 " No, child. Don't be afraid, I won't hurt your 
 precious book. Where did you get it ?" 
 
 " Miss Van Zandt gave it to me. I found a book 
 she lost up on the hill, and took it to her ; and then 
 she gave me this one." 
 
 "All right," said Phin, apparently not caring to 
 pursue the subject. "There, run out to the barn, 
 and find my pipe ; I have left it out there some- 
 where." 
 
 "Just to think that I can go to meeting!" said Kit 
 to Symantha that night as she was helping her wash 
 up the dishes. " It seems too good to be true. 
 Ain't you glad, Symantha ? " 
 
 "Yes, child, I am glad to have you take all the 
 comfort you can," answered Symantha wearily. 
 "There is none too much going in the world, any- 
 way ; and you have had less than your share." 
 
 " I have had more than you have," said Kit. " I 
 wish- 1 could do something for you." 
 
 "You do a great deal for me. I don't know how 
 I should live without you ; and yet, if I could get you 
 
KIT'S VICTORY. 25 I 
 
 such a home as Selina Western has, I would let you 
 
 g." 
 
 "Selina is not contented, though," said Kit; "at 
 
 least, I think not. And only fancy, Symantha, she 
 does 'not like Miss Armstrong and Miss Van Zanclt. 
 She says they are patronizing, and feel above her." 
 
 " And you don't think they feel above you, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 " I never thought any thing about it," answered 
 Kit. " Of course they are above me. Just think 
 how many things they know, and I am only an igno- 
 rant little girl. But I don't think that is all the 
 trouble with Selina. She liked Miss Armstrong ever 
 so much at first. It seemed as if she did not want 
 to have her speak to any one else." 
 
 " Perhaps that is the trouble. If Selina has a jeal- 
 ous disposition, she will never be happy anywhere. 
 There, go to bed, child. You have had a hard day." 
 
 "It has turned out good, so I don't care," said 
 Kit. " I am so glad I thought of singing to aunt 
 Martha ! " 
 
 " Yes, it was a happy thought. What put it into 
 your head ? " 
 
 " I don't know, unless God did," answered Kit 
 with an odd kind of matter-of-fact reverence. " But 
 I am so glad I can go to school ! I shall feel like 
 dancing all the way." 
 
 But Kit did not go to school next morning, after 
 all. Mrs. Mallory slept late, and the moment she 
 waked she asked for the child. 
 
 "Was somebody singing to me? or did I dream 
 it?" she asked of Symantha. 
 
252 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "You did not dream it," answered Symantha 
 gently. "Kit was singing for you." 
 
 " And can she sing again ? " asked the invalid 
 imploringly. "Will she come and sing for me again? 
 Won't your father let her ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes! she shall sing for you again," said Phin, 
 answering for himself. " Try what you can do," he 
 said to Kit. "Perhaps you can coax her to eat some- 
 thing. She did not touch a bit yesterday." 
 
 Kit glanced at the clock in some dismay. It was 
 almost school-time. "He would want me to stay with 
 aunt Martha, I know," she thought, "and I believe 
 Miss Armstrong would too." Without a moment's 
 hesitation she sat down by her aunt, and began to 
 sing again. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Mallory; "you 
 have done me a great deal of good. But I feel very 
 weak and faint." 
 
 "That is because you haven't eaten any thing," 
 said Kit. " Let me give you your breakfast, and 
 then I will read to you as I did yesterday. I will 
 wash your face and hands, and then you will feel 
 more like eating." 
 
 Mrs. Mallory submitted to all Kit's toilet offices 
 without resistance, and even with some show of 
 pleasure. As Kit tied on her cap, she held her 
 hand for a moment. 
 
 "Who are you, little girl?" she said, gazing wist- 
 fully at her. "I seem to remember you." 
 
 " Why, yes, aunt Martha : I am Kit. Don't you 
 know Kit ? " 
 
 "I don't think that is what I used to call you," 
 
KIT'S VICTORY. 253 
 
 said the poor woman, " but my mind is a good deal 
 confused. I don't think I understand any thing very 
 well." 
 
 " That is because you are sick and weak," answered 
 Kit with ready tact. " When you are better you will 
 know all about it. See, here comes Symantha with 
 the nice breakfast." 
 
 Mrs. Mallory ate with some appearance of appe- 
 tite. "Now sing to me if you are not tired," said 
 she. 
 
 " Oh, I am not tired," answered Kit. " I love to 
 sing." She sang two or three hymns, and then read 
 till Mrs. Mallory fell asleep again. 
 
 " She is asleep," Kit reported, stealing out of the 
 room. "And, Symantha, you don't know how sensi- 
 bly she talked." 
 
 " What did she say ? " asked Symantha. 
 
 "Oh, not much; only she asked me if I thought 
 any one could be saved who had denied their Lord. 
 And I told her yes, and read her what it says about 
 Peter. Then she tried to remember a verse ; and I 
 found it, and read it to her. It was about the blood 
 of Christ cleansing us from all sin, you know." 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 "Then she asked if I knew a hymn about that; 
 and I told her I did, and sung it for her. Then she 
 whispered to herself a little while. I think she was 
 praying," said Kit with a look and tone of awe. 
 "And finally she went to sleep." 
 
 " That does seem as if she were getting better," 
 said Phin. " Kit, if she does, there is nothing I 
 won't do for you." 
 
254 OLD If AM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Symantha shook her head sadly. " Her mind may 
 get better, but her body won't," said she. " Can't 
 you see how it is, father?" 
 
 " You think it is the lighting-up for death ?" 
 
 " I think so," said Symantha ; " and I don't know 
 that we ought to wish it otherwise, if she dies 
 happy." 
 
 Phin sighed deeply. "Well, no, I suppose not; 
 but this world will be an empty place when she is 
 gone. Symantha, I haven't been a good father to 
 you, I haven't been good at any thing that I know 
 of ; but I do thank you for your kindness and pa- 
 tience with that poor thing." 
 
 " Then, if I have done any thing for her, do some- 
 thing for me," said Symantha: "stay away from 
 Oldbury, and let the drink alone." 
 
 Phin shook his head, but he said no more ; nor did 
 Symantha pursue the subject any further. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MISS VAN ZANDT. 
 
 GREAT was the amazement of all the school-girls 
 to see Kit, neatly dressed, and book in hand, walk 
 into the schoolhouse Friday evening, and seat herself 
 among the children. 
 
 "There is Kit," whispered Ruth to Selina. "1 
 wonder if she has run away." 
 
 " I dare say she has. I know she said her uncle 
 would not let her come." 
 
 " Well, for my part, I believe in children doing as 
 they are told, about going to meeting or any thing 
 else. I wonder why she has not been in school." 
 
 " Her aunt is worse," replied Selina. " Dr. Chase 
 went up to see her this morning. He told father 
 she was in the last stage of consumption." 
 
 Never had the Friday-evening services in the red- 
 schoolhouse district been so well attended as they 
 were this summer. Perhaps this increased attend- 
 ance might be partly owing to the fact that the red 
 schoolhouse had never before been so comfortable. 
 Certainly it was much more agreeable to spend an 
 hour in a clean, well-aired, cool room, fresh and 
 
 255 
 
256 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 fragrant with the smell of flowers and green leaves, 
 than to pass the same time in a hot, fusty apartment, 
 unventilated since the afternoon school session, with 
 air heavy enough to have put hundred-eyed Argus 
 asleep. Miss Van Zandt's singing might also be an 
 attraction. But I am inclined to think there was 
 more in the case than either, and that a gracious 
 influence was stirring the air, not only in the red- 
 schoolhouse district, but in the whole parish of Old- 
 ham. 
 
 Kit had counted on a word with Miss Armstrong 
 either before or after the meeting, but neither she nor 
 Mrs. Van Zandt was present. Mr. Bassett opened 
 the service, as usual, with a hymn : and some of the 
 elder people smiled at the earnestness with which 
 the children joined in the singing ; and more than 
 one turned to look at Kit, whose voice sounded out 
 beautifully clear and full of expression. 
 
 "Did you ever!" whispered Ruth. "Who ever 
 would have guessed that poor child had such a 
 voice ? " 
 
 Selina did not answer, but her face wore any thing 
 but a pleased expression. The service went on as 
 usual, except that more people spoke, and almost 
 every one of the children had a text, or a verse from 
 some favorite hymn. Miss Celia made a few re- 
 marks, m her silvery, tremulous voice. They were 
 very simple. She said she had been young, and now 
 was old ; she had passed through many severe trials, 
 some of which were well known to her friends, and 
 others only to her heavenly Father : but she wished 
 to say that in all of them she had been helped and 
 
M/SS VAN ZANDT. 
 
 comforted by Divine Love. It was a support which 
 had never failed her. She had enjoyed it all -her life, 
 and she hoped the dear children and young people 
 present might be as happy in this respect as she had 
 been. 
 
 That was all she said. It was commonplace 
 enough, if such a subject can ever be commonplace ; 
 but it was spoken with an expression of inward con- 
 viction which sent it home to almost every heart 
 present. 
 
 "Are there any more remarks ?" asked Mr. Bas- 
 sett. There was a short silence-; and then a clear 
 little voice sounded from the low bench in front, 
 where the little children sat : 
 
 " Please, Mr. Bassett, will you ask the people to 
 pray for aunt Martha, because she is very sick, and 
 the doctor says she won't live but a little while." 
 
 Everybody looked round in surprise. Kit had 
 risen to her feet in her earnestness, and stood with 
 her shining eyes fixed on the good miller's face, while 
 the carnation color mantled beautifully in her cheeks. 
 More than one mother felt the tears very near her 
 eyes as they rested on the poor little motherless 
 child, who stood so evidently thinking of nothing but 
 the request she had made ; and more than one prayer 
 went up then and there on her behalf and that of the 
 invalid. 
 
 There was the usual little pause for neighborly 
 chat when the service was over. 
 
 " Why, Kit ! how did you come here ? " asked 
 Sarah. 
 
 "Uncle Phin let me come," answered Kit. "And 
 
258 OLD II AM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 only think, Sarah, he says I may go to Sunday 
 school ! " 
 
 " How glad I am ! " said Sarah, bending to kiss 
 the face turned to her. " But where have you been 
 these two days ? " 
 
 " I could not leave aunt Martha. She is very sick, 
 and she likes to have me sing and read to her." 
 
 " Is she sensible ? " 
 
 " Yes, almost all the time now, though she isn't 
 quite right. She thinks I am her daughter, and she 
 can't bear to have me away from her when she is 
 awake ; but she isn't unhappy, as she used to be, and 
 she prays a great deal. But, Sarah, I wonder where 
 Miss Armstrong is. I thought I should see her 
 this evening." 
 
 " I don't know, 'I am sure. Let us ask Selina. 
 Selina, where is Miss Armstrong?" 
 
 " She has gone to New York with Mrs. Van 
 Zandt. They had a telegram that some friend of 
 theirs is very low, not expected to live. Miss 
 Armstrong thought she could not go at first ; but 
 Miss Van Zandt must needs off er to teach the school 
 while she was away, so she got ready, and started 
 off in Mrs. Van Zandt's carriage to catch the train 
 at Oldbury." 
 
 " I don't see why you should speak so scornfully, 
 Selina," said Faith. " For my part, I think it is 
 very kind of Miss Van Zandt." 
 
 " Well, I don't want to be going to school to a girl 
 only two or three years older than I am." 
 
 " What difference does her age make, so long as 
 she knows more than we do ? " asked Faith very 
 
M7SS VAN ZANDT. 259 
 
 sensibly. Selina made no reply. "I'll tell you what 
 it is, Selina, you will end by hating Miss Van Zandt, 
 if you don't mind," continued Faith earnestly. " I 
 don't see how you can feel so. What harm has she 
 ever done to you ? " 
 
 " I never said she had done me any harm," re- 
 turned Selina. " I think she puts herself forward, 
 and makes herself ridiculous by taking so much on 
 herself; but, as to hating, I never troubled myself 
 enough about her to do that." And yet Selina did 
 hate Ida, and she knew it. 
 
 "Where is Patience to-night, Faith?" asked Mrs. 
 Weston. 
 
 " She isn't very well, and she had so much to do 
 she thought she couldn't come. I wanted her to let 
 me do up the work, but she wouldn't." 
 
 "That is a pity," said Mrs. Weston. "It would 
 have done her good. Come, Selina; we must he 
 going." 
 
 The children were early at the schoalhwse next 
 morning, eager to see their new teacher* whom they 
 were all prepared to like. 
 
 " Who do you think came to Bible class with me 
 last night ? " said Agnes as she joined the group of 
 older girls. "No less a person than Milly Rich- 
 mond." 
 
 " Milly Richmond ! " exclaimed Selina. " I don't 
 believe it. She laughs at the very idea." 
 
 " She came, for all that. We sat close by the 
 door, and went away the very first minute we could." 
 
 " But how did it happen ? " 
 
 " Well, I asked her. You see, Milly and I have 
 
260 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 never been very good friends," said Agnes with some 
 embarrassment; "and I think perhaps I have been 
 hard upon her, so I have been trying to make up. 
 I did not believe she would come to the service : but 
 I remembered what Dr. Madison said about chanty 
 at home, and I thought there would be no harm in 
 trying ; so I asked her, as I said, and she asked me 
 if I really meant it. ' Of course,' I said ; and then 
 she said, well, she did not mind for once, only she 
 would like to sit by the door, because it was so 
 warm." 
 
 " How did she like it ? " asked Sarah. 
 
 " I asked her, and she said she didn't know, her- 
 self ; she should have to think about it. And after 
 that she never said another word all the way home." 
 
 " Is it true, Agnes, that you are going to be con- 
 firmed next time the Bishop comes ? " asked Faith. 
 
 " Quite true," answered Agnes. 
 
 " I should think you were pretty young to take 
 such a step," remarked Ruth. "Why don't you wait 
 till you are older ? " 
 
 "Why should I?" asked Agnes. "I am fifteen, 
 and I don't think I shall know my own mind any 
 better if I wait till I am twenty or forty." 
 
 " Perhaps you would not know it as well," observed 
 Sarah. 
 
 " If you think it so nice in Agnes, why don't you 
 come forward yourself ? " asked Selina with some- 
 thing of a sneer, an expression which was becom- 
 ing so habitual to her that it threatened to spoil her 
 pretty face. 
 
 "I mean to," said Sarah briefly. She paused a 
 
MISS VAN ZANDT. 26 1 
 
 moment, and then added with an evident effort, "And, 
 girls, I want to say something: I want to ask your 
 pardon, and especially yours, Selina, for all the sharp 
 and hateful things I have said. I know that is my 
 besetting sin, as Mr. Bassett said last night, and I 
 am going to try and do better ; so I hope you will all 
 forgive me." 
 
 The girls looked at each other in amazement. 
 Sarah was a very proud girl, and such an acknowl- 
 edgment had a double force coming from her. 
 
 " I am sure I do, if there is any thing to forgive, 
 though I never laid up any thing against you," said 
 Faith. " You are so nice in other ways, that I never 
 minded your sharp speeches." 
 
 "And you, Selina?" 
 
 " Oh, I forgive you, of course, since you ask me, 
 though I do think you have treated me shamefully," 
 said Selina coldly. " I only hope your goodness will 
 last, that's all." And Selina turned and went into 
 the schoolhouse. 
 
 " That's a queer kind of forgiveness," said Faith. 
 "I think Selina is queer, anyhow." 
 
 " Oh, well, never mind," said Sarah. " I have 
 been aggravating to her, I know. Here comes Miss 
 Van Zandt. Doesn't she look pretty in her brown- 
 linen dress and blue ribbons ? We must do all we 
 can to help her, girls. I don't suppose she has ever 
 taught before." 
 
 But those of the school they were very few 
 who were inclined to take liberties with their young 
 teacher soon found that they had reckoned without 
 their host. Miss Van Zandt had a ready wit and 
 
262 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 a quick eye, besides a fund of imperturbable good- 
 nature. In the geography class she delighted the 
 girls by her descriptions of places she had seen in 
 England, and promised next day to bring some photo- 
 graphs of cathedrals and of natural scenery. 
 
 "Of what place were we just speaking?" asked 
 Ida, turning to Selina, who was making an elaborate 
 display of taking no interest in the lesson. 
 
 " I don't know," replied Selina : " I was not listen- 
 ing." 
 
 " Next," said Miss Van Zandt. 
 
 " York," was the instant answer ; and to Selina's 
 infinite disgust, and the amusement of the other 
 girls, Ruth Jewsbury went above her. 
 
 " I don't think that is fair, Miss Van Zandt," said 
 Selina. " I knew the answer." 
 
 " I dare say you did ; but you said, yourself, you 
 were not paying attention. Next : For what is New- 
 castle noted?" And that was all Selina gained by 
 her manoeuvre. When noon-time came, Ida re- 
 quested the elder girls to remain for a few minutes. 
 
 " I have a few words to say to you, young ladies," 
 said she. " As you know, I have taken the place of 
 my friend Miss Armstrong for a little time, in order 
 that the school may not be closed while she is away. 
 I have not much experience, at least in a day-school ; 
 and it is very likely that I may make some mistakes. 
 What I have to ask is, that you older girls, who are 
 the leaders in the school, will help me by throwing 
 your influence upon the side of law and order. Lit- 
 tle girls are apt to follow the lead of large girls ; and, 
 if the children see you desirous to maintain the char- 
 
MISS VAN ZANDT. 263 
 
 acter of the school during your teacher's absence, 
 they will do the same. Not that I have any thing 
 to complain of," she hastened to add : "on the con- 
 trary, you have all been very kind to me." 
 
 " I don't see how we could be any thing else," 
 said Sarah. " I don't think you will have any trouble 
 with the children, Miss Van Zandt : they are good 
 little things." 
 
 " I don't believe I shall have any trouble with any- 
 body," said Miss Van Zandt. " Does any one know 
 where Kitty is ? " 
 
 " I suppose she is at home," . answered Sarah. 
 " Her aunt is very sick. Dr. Chase says she can 
 only live a few days. And she has taken such a 
 fancy to Kit, she cannot bear her out of sight. She 
 thinks Kit is her daughter." 
 
 "Poor woman!" said Miss Van Zandt. "Well, 
 girls, I don't know that I have any more to say, and 
 I am keeping you from your dinners. I hope and 
 believe that we shall have a very pleasant report to 
 make to Miss Armstrong when she comes home." 
 
 " How long will she be gone ? " asked Faith. 
 
 " The time is uncertain, because it depends upon 
 her friend's health, probably not more than ten 
 days, possibly two weeks." 
 
 "And are you going to teach the school all that 
 time?" asked Selina with an emphasis on the "you." 
 
 "I fully intend to do so at present," answered 
 Miss Van Zandt, not in the least ruffled. " Why do 
 you ask ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing ; only, if <Miss Armstrong is going to 
 be away scflong, I should suppose the trustees would 
 
264 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 engage some grown-up person to take charge of the 
 school." 
 
 The girls looked at each other in indignant amaze- 
 ment as Selina gave vent to this piece of imperti- 
 nence, but Miss Van Zandt only smiled. 
 
 " How much taller would you like me to be ? " she 
 asked, erecting her beautiful figure to its full height. 
 " If the trustees get any one much more grown up, 
 they will have to raise the roof or lower the floor. 
 Pray, how old are you, Selina ? " 
 
 " She is fifteen," said Agnes, as Selina did not 
 answer. 
 
 " Exactly, and I am nineteen. You seem to feel 
 tolerably grown up, yourself, I think ; and so you see 
 I have a right to feel four years more grown up than 
 you are." 
 
 "Please, Mith Dan Want, ma says will 'oo tome to 
 dinner, because ith's all weady," said a small child, 
 inserting a curly black head into a crack in the door. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear ; but who is ma ? " asked 
 Ida. 
 
 "It is Emma Bassett," said Faith. "What a shame 
 of me ! Mrs. Bassett called me this morning, and 
 told me to be sure to tell Miss Van Zandt to come 
 to dinner; and I forgot it." 
 
 " Well, ith's all weady," said the curly head ; " and 
 there's chewy-pie." 
 
 " Indeed ! Then I must certainly come, and some 
 of you must eat the lunch Aggy put up for me. 
 There are some nice bananas in the basket, girls, 
 if you like them." 
 
 "Well, Selina, I do hope you feel better," said 
 
MISS VAN ZANDT. 26$ 
 
 Ruth Jewsbury. "You have made a nice figure of 
 yourself, I must say. I should think you would be 
 ashamed." 
 
 Selina was surprised and vexed ; for Ruth had 
 hitherto been somewhat rebellious to Miss Arm- 
 strong, and she had looked to her for support in her 
 attempt to put down Miss Van Zandt. 
 
 " She didn't make much by it, anyway," said Faith, 
 "only to turn the laugh on herself." 
 
 " Selina, what does make you act so ? " asked 
 Agnes seriously. " I should think you might be 
 pleased at having such a pleasant young lady for a 
 teacher, instead of some one like Miss Priscilla 
 Davis, for instance." 
 
 "Dear me! what did I do?" asked Selina. "One 
 would think I had murdered some one, at the very 
 least." 
 
 " You tried to insult Miss Van Zandt, and only 
 succeeded in making yourself ridiculous, that's 
 what you did. Didn't she, girls?" 
 
 "That was what it came to," answered Agnes, 
 " but I don't think she will make much by it. Come, 
 Selina ; do think better of it. I don't see why we 
 should not have a very good time with Miss Van 
 Zandt, if we all turn to and support her. I am sure 
 nothing could be nicer than her ways this morning. 
 And how interesting she made the geography class!" 
 
 "Oh, yes, of course. It is all Miss Van Zandt 
 now, and dear Miss Armstrong is nobody and no- 
 where," said Selina. " Last week you thought there 
 was nobody like Miss Armstrong." 
 
 " And I think so now," returned Agnes. " I have 
 
266 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 a right to, for she is the best friend I ever had, ex- 
 cept my mother. I never could pay her for what she 
 has done for me, if I were to live a hundred years. 
 But I think the best way I can show my love for her 
 in her absence is to respect and help her friend who 
 has taken her place." 
 
 " Agnes talks like a book, and she is right," said 
 Ruth. " I never was so wonderfully fond of Miss 
 Armstrong as some of you, as Selina was when 
 she first came, for instance, but I think she is an 
 excellent teacher ; and, as for Miss Van Zandt, I 
 think she is lovely." 
 
 " Yes, because she let you go up in the geography 
 class, a thing you never did before," retorted Selina. 
 "Oh, well, I don't propose to have any words about 
 it," she added loftily. " You can all flatter and bow 
 down to Miss Van Zandt as much as you please, for 
 all me. I shall not, that's all." 
 
 And certainly Selina kept her word by doing all 
 in her power to make Ida's work as disagreeable as 
 possible. Ida tried the effect of a gentle remon- 
 strance, but it did no good. Selina denied having 
 done any thing wrong; and, when one instance after 
 another of disrespect and disobedience was brought 
 home to her, she burst into tears, declared that every 
 one was against her because she was an orphan, and 
 because she would not pretend to be religious. She 
 was in every one's way, nobody loved her, and she 
 wished she was dead. 
 
 Much perplexed, Ida sought a private interview 
 with Mrs. Weston, and laid the case before her. 
 
 "I don't think I have been unjust to Selina," said 
 
MISS VAN ZANDT. 267 
 
 she. " She is the only one I have any trouble with ; 
 but, really, she is so disrespectful that I do not know 
 what to do with her." 
 
 " I can understand it," said Mrs. Weston, sighing. 
 " Selina is very trying when she takes one of her 
 perverse fits, and I hardly know how to manage her 
 myself. It is not fair, however, that you should be 
 troubled with her ; and I think I will keep her at 
 home for the present." 
 
 " That seems a pity," remarked Ida. " Perhaps if 
 you were to talk to her " 
 
 " I fear that would do no good ; she seems only 
 to resent it. But I will consult her father, and see 
 what he thinks it best to do." 
 
 The result of the consultation was, that Selina 
 found herself taken out of school, and set to work 
 about the house and dairy. The change was not at 
 all to her taste ; but she was too proud to complain, 
 and took great pains to show that she did not care. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MORE CHANGES. 
 
 KIT had not been able to attend the school regu- 
 larly since it had been 'under Ida's administration, 
 though she had managed to slip away two or three 
 times for an afternoon. Mrs. Mallory was failing 
 rapidly. Dr. Chase came to see her, and told her 
 friends there was nothing to be done. 
 
 " She may last six weeks, or she may drop away 
 at any moment," said he, in answer to a question 
 from Phin. " Get her to take nourishing food and 
 the tonic I have left her, and keep her as quiet as 
 possible. I should not be surprised if her mind 
 should clear at the last. I am glad to see her so 
 well taken care of." 
 
 " She has had all I could give her," said Phin. 
 "I don't amount to much, but I have tried to be 
 good to her." 
 
 "It is easy to see that, by the way she confides 
 in you," replied the doctor kindly. " But I don't see, 
 Mr. Mallory, why you should not amount to as much 
 as any one in the county. Why not ?" 
 
 "Too late," said Phin. "When a man has sold 
 himself to the devil, he can't break the bargain." 
 268 
 
MORE CHANGES. 269 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but there is One who can, and who 
 will if you turn to Him." 
 
 Phin shook his head. " I don't know," said he ; 
 "sometimes I think so, but Well, there! we 
 won't talk about it. It is too late for me, anyhow ; 
 but I'd like to think there was a good time ahead for 
 that poor thing in there." 
 
 " I believe there is, as surely as I believe in my 
 own existence," said the doctor. 
 
 " Well, I hope so. You will call again, doctor ? " 
 
 "I will if you wish it ; but I tell you frankly, I can 
 do nothing for her." 
 
 It was a solemn, but, on the whole, not an unhappy 
 time for Kit. Phin staid at home, not drinking at all, 
 but attending to his farm-work, and taking care of 
 his wife. As Kit said, he was always good-natured 
 when he did not drink. Kit helped Symantha with 
 the work, waited on Mrs. Mallory, and, when she had 
 a little time, studied her school-lessons, and read in 
 her Testament, which she now produced without fear 
 in her uncle's presence. Phin did not even laugh at 
 her ; and when Melissa, who came home for a Sunday, 
 began her old fashion of teasing, she was promptly 
 silenced by her father. 
 
 " Let the child alone. She is doing the work you 
 ought to be about, by rights ; and she shall read what 
 she pleases. Perhaps it would be all the better for 
 you if you read something of the same kind, instead 
 of the stuff you do." 
 
 " Dear me, how good we are, all at once ! " said 
 Melissa, with a toss of her head ; but she did not ven- 
 ture any further, knowing, that, if she came to an out- 
 
2/0 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 and-out contest with her father, she was sure to get 
 the worst of it. She took her departure on Monday, 
 unregretted by any one. Mrs. Mallory was afraid of 
 her, and she and Symantha were never comfortable 
 together. The next week a letter was received from 
 her, saying that she was going to a place in New 
 York ; and that was the last that was heard of her 
 for many a long day. 
 
 Mrs. Mallory failed every day ; and, as so often 
 happens in such cases, as her body decayed, her 
 mind grew clear and calm. The old despairing wail 
 was never heard now. Kit had learned to watch and 
 anticipate her moods, and, as soon as she saw the 
 cloud coming, she would begin to sing, or read in the 
 Testament ; and the remedy was always successful. 
 After a while Kit ventured to ask the meaning of 
 things which she did not understand, and was sur- 
 prised at the clearness of the explanations she received. 
 
 " I do think aunt Martha is as sensible as any- 
 body now," Kit said one day to Symantha. " You 
 don't know how nicely she explained my Sunday- 
 school lesson to me. But, Symantha, she seems to 
 think I am her little girl ; and she wants me to call 
 her ' mother.' Isn't it funny ? Did she ever have a 
 little girl ? " 
 
 " Yes, she had a child who would have been about 
 your age," answered Symantha, bending over her 
 work. "Call her ' mother' if it pleases her. It won't 
 do any hurt." 
 
 " I do," said Kit. " But isn't it queer that she 
 should be crazy about that, when she seems all right 
 about every thing else ?" 
 
MORE CHANGES. 2? I 
 
 " Not at all," replied Symantha : "people often are 
 that way. I read of a man who thought he was a 
 glass bottle, though he was straight enough about 
 every other subject. He was always afraid people 
 were going to break him. Isn't this the day for your 
 singing-class ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but I didn't know whether you could spare 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I will manage. I will tell ma you have 
 gone to learn some new hymns for her. Put on your 
 other frock, and run along while she is asleep ; and 
 you will have a little time in school." 
 
 Kit had carried her point about going to Sunday 
 school, and a very happy though very shy little girl it 
 was who presented herself at the church door the first 
 Sunday morning in August. For the church repairs 
 were quite finished now. The painting was done, the 
 belfry made secure, the aisles carpeted, and the weedy, 
 brambly graveyard reduced to such order and neatness, 
 that, as Edward Kettle said, it wouldn't know itself. 
 The ladies regarded the result of their work with great 
 satisfaction, and Mr. Blandy remarked with great com- 
 placency that we had made a good piece of work of it. 
 
 " Whose class would you like to be in, Kitty ? " 
 asked Mr. Bassett, the superintendent. 
 
 " I don't care," answered Kit ; " only I think I had 
 better go with the little ones, because I don't know 
 any thing hardly." 
 
 " I think I shall put you in my wife's class," said 
 the superintendent ; and Kit was quite content, for, 
 like every child that came near her, she dearly loved 
 " Ma Bassett." 
 
2/2 OLDHAM ; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Well, how did Kit get on ? " asked Mr. Bassett 
 of his wife after school. 
 
 " Nicely," answered Mrs. Bassett ; " no child could 
 behave better. And as to her not knowing any thing, 
 she has more Scripture in her head, and her heart 
 too, than half the grown people in town. It is won- 
 derful to see such a growth of grace in a child who 
 has had so little teaching." 
 
 " Grace is not dependent on human means, hap- 
 pily," remarked her husband. " Did she say any 
 thing about her aunt ? " 
 
 " Only that she is failing. Dr. Chase says she can- 
 not live many days. He says, too, what I was glad 
 to hear, that they are very kind to the poor thing, 
 and that it is easy to see, by the way she depends 
 upon her husband, that he is habitually good to her." 
 
 u Well, I am sorry for Phin Mallory," observed Mr. 
 Bassett. " I don't think we have treated him quite 
 right, either. After all, nobody really knows any 
 harm of him, so far as his conduct goes, except that 
 he drinks now and then. Can't you make an errand 
 up there, ma ? Perhaps you might get a chance to 
 talk to him." 
 
 " I can try, at any rate. If he is so fond of his 
 wife, he won't be likely to insult any one who comes 
 to do her a kindness." 
 
 Accordingly, next day Mrs. Bassett presented her- 
 self at Phin Mallory's door with a little basket of 
 ripe apricots, the first of the season, and some other 
 dainties, for the invalid. But she could not flatter 
 herself that her visit had any very particular result. 
 She did not see Symantha, who was lying down 
 
MORE CHANGES. 2?$ 
 
 with a headache. Phin took her into his wife's room, 
 and she exchanged a few words with the invalid, who 
 was much pleased with the prettily decorated basket 
 of fruit, and made her acknowledgments in a way 
 which showed her to be a cultivated, well-bred 
 woman. Mrs. Bassett's womanly eye remarked with 
 pleasure the delicate neatness of every thing about 
 the sick woman, and the gentleness of her husband's 
 manner toward her ; but Mrs. Mallory was so weak 
 that she did not venture to prolong her visit. 
 
 "Good-by, Mrs. Mallory. I hope you will let us 
 know if we can do any thing for .you." 
 
 "Thank you," answered Mrs. Mallory, "but I have 
 the best of care ; and it is an unspeakable comfort 
 to have my little girl with me again." 
 
 "Whom does she mean by her little girl?" asked 
 Mrs. Bassett when they had left the room. 
 
 "She means Kit," answered Phin. "She thinks 
 Kit is her daughter; and we let her think so, since 
 she takes comfort in it. There isn't much use in 
 arguing with crazy people." 
 
 " Not a bit of use," agreed Mrs. Bassett. " Kit is a 
 dear child. I am so glad you let her come to Sunday 
 school ! Miss Celia Claxton was saying Sunday, she 
 remembered your sister Chloe coming to church and 
 Sunday school when she was just about Kit's age." 
 
 " Yes, Chloe was a good girl : she took after my 
 mother. But she died young." 
 
 " So Celia was saying. She was telling me how 
 happy she was in her last sickness and death. It is 
 a blessed thing, Mr. Mallory, to have one's dying 
 pillow smoothed by such a hope." 
 
2/4 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "Well, perhaps it is," replied Phin, with some 
 thing of a sigh. "But what if it turns out all a delu- 
 sion, and there should be no such thing as heaven 
 and the rest of it, after all ? " 
 
 " Well, what if it does ? " answered Mrs. Bassett 
 with spirit. "Then I shall be just as well off as you 
 are, and there won't be much danger of your laugh- 
 ing at me, as somebody says. But if I am right, and 
 you are wrong, you will be making rather an awful 
 mistake, Mr. Mallory." 
 
 "There is something in that," admitted Phin. 
 "Anyhow, I am willing folks should take all the com- 
 fort they can." 
 
 " But won't you think about it yourself, Mr. Mal- 
 lory ? Won't you come to our Friday-evening meet- 
 
 ing? 
 
 " Well, no, I guess not. Folks wouldn't want me 
 there." 
 
 " You are very much mistaken," answered Mrs. 
 Bassett eagerly. " We should all be very glad to 
 see you. Only come, and see if you don't have a 
 welcome." 
 
 "I will see about it. Well, Mrs. Bassett, I am 
 very much obliged to you for coming to see my wife, 
 and for your kindness to Kit. You and your hus- 
 band live .up to what you profess, anyhow ; and that 
 is more than most folks do, even according to their 
 own showing. I heard two church-members talking 
 in Oldbury the last time I was there, and it was all 
 about the worldliness of the churches, and how little 
 they were doing." 
 
 " They might have been better employed." 
 
MORE CHANGES. 2/5 
 
 " I thought so myself. It was a little too much 
 like the ill bird that spoils its own nest. I'd stick 
 up for my own side, anyhow." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Mallory, if you need help any time, I 
 hope you won't hesitate to ask for it. Celia and 
 Delia Claxton told me to say that they would come 
 and sit up any night." 
 
 "Much obliged, but I take care of my wife myself 
 nights. Old cats! they just want to satisfy their 
 curiosity, and find something-to talk about," muttered 
 Phin to himself as he returned to his wife's room. 
 "And yet I won't say that, either. It was kind of 
 them to offer, anyhow." 
 
 But Mrs. Mallory was soon to be beyond the need 
 of earthly aid. That night she seemed better and 
 brighter than usual. She talked to Kit about her 
 Sunday-school lesson, and heard her read and sing, 
 as usual. After Kit had gone to bed, Mrs. Mallory 
 called her husband, and had a long private conver- 
 sation with him, so long that Symantha became 
 uneasy, and went to the door. 
 
 " I am afraid ma is talking too much," said she. 
 
 "I have done now," said the invalid, smiling 
 sweetly as Symantha kissed her. " I shall not talk 
 much more. Good-by, Symantha. You have been 
 a kind friend to me ; and I have tried you sadly, I 
 know. Be kind to my child, as you have been to 
 me. Will you promise me that?" she asked, holding 
 Symantha's hand, and looking wistfully at her. 
 
 " Yes, ma, I promise you I will always be kind to 
 Kit as long as it is in my power. Now lie down 
 and go to sleep." 
 
276 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Phin remained with his wife, as usual, through the 
 night. The sky was just growing bright with the 
 approaching sunrise when he opened Symantha's 
 door. 
 
 " Come quick ! " said he. 
 
 Symantha lost not a moment. She called Kit, 
 and hastened to the bedside. Mrs. Mallory seemed 
 to be still sleeping, but her face showed the approach 
 of the shadow that never falls but once. Kit saw 
 the change, and was awe-struck. 
 
 " Is she worse ? " she whispered, taking hold of 
 Symantha's hand. 
 
 " Speak to her, Kit. Call her mother," said Phin 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " Don't you feel so well, mother ? Shall I get ymi 
 something? Dear mother, speak to your own Kitty." 
 
 The blue eyes were opened, and lighted up for a 
 moment with unearthly brilliancy. " Dear child, 
 hold fast to your Father in heaven. Never let go 
 never " Her voice faltered. 
 
 " Don't you know me, Matey ? " asked Phin, bend- 
 ing over her. The eyes rested on him with a look 
 of unutterable tenderness, but the power of speech 
 was gone. There was a sweet smile, a long, soft 
 sigh, and all was over. The tired and troubled spirit 
 had found rest. 
 
 Mrs. Bassett and the two Claxton sisters came 
 with offers of neighborly assistance, which were ac- 
 cepted by Symantha ; and the last offices were kindly 
 and tenderly performed by their friendly hands, as is 
 the beautiful custom of the country. Long may it 
 continue ! 
 
MORE CHANGES. 2JJ 
 
 When the old ladies returned to their home, they 
 found Aunt Betsy sitting on the front steps. 
 
 " So you have come at last," said she. "Here I've 
 been a-waiting and a-vvaiting as much as half an 
 hour. Seems to me it is pretty early for folks to be 
 going a-visiting." 
 
 "I think as much, Aunt Betsy. What brought 
 you here before eight o'clock in the morning ? " re- 
 turned Miss Delia. 
 
 " I came to borrow some ginger and some molas- 
 ses," snapped Aunt Betsy. " And I expect I've got 
 my death of cold waiting for you. . Where have you 
 been?" 
 
 "Oh, we have been out on business," answered 
 Miss Delia, calmly proceeding to kindle her fire. 
 " Now we are going to have some breakfast if we can 
 get a chance. Celia, will you have tea, or coffee ? " 
 
 " Just as you like," said Miss Celia, who never had 
 any choice in household matters. Delia used to say 
 it would never do for her to go away for a whole 
 week, since Celia would starve because she could not 
 make up her mind what to cook. 
 
 " Where have you been, anyway ?" demanded Aunt 
 Betsy in a tone of exasperation. 
 
 "We have been up to Phin Mallory's, helping to 
 lay out his wife," answered Miss Celia. "The poor 
 thing died at sunrise, and Symantha sent Kitty down 
 for us." 
 
 " Do tell ! Was she alone ? " 
 
 " No : her father was there." 
 
 "Do tell! Well, and how did you find things? 
 Folks say they kept the poor thing tied down to her 
 
2/8 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 bedstead and half starved, and beat her to make her 
 quiet." 
 
 " Folks say more than there is any call for," an- 
 swered Miss Delia. " It is easy to see that poor 
 Mrs. Mallory has been well done for. Her bed, and 
 every thing about her, was as neat as wax. Besides, 
 Dr. Chase has been to see her several times, and he 
 told me himself that it was plain she was well 
 treated." 
 
 "Well, I don't know. Folks are very deceitful," 
 said Aunt Betsy, evidently disappointed. " I don't 
 believe she would have screamed so if she hadn't 
 been abused. And when is the funeral to be ? " 
 
 " On Friday, I believe." 
 
 " That's awful quick, seems to me." 
 
 " Two days, and you know it is very hot weather." 
 
 " And where will she be buried ? " 
 
 " Here, I presume." 
 
 "Are any of her own folks coming to the funeral ?" 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know. It is no business of 
 mine," answered Miss Delia, whose patience, never her 
 strongest point, began to grow threadbare. " Celia, 
 do come and get your breakfast. You will be fainting 
 away. There is your ginger, Aunt Betsy; but we 
 haven't any molasses, and sha'n't have till I get a 
 chance to send down to the store. I suppose you 
 have had your breakfast, of course, long before this 
 time. Good-morning." 
 
 " Mean, stingy old maid ! " said Aunt Betsy as she 
 went away with her ginger. 
 
 " You might have asked her to breakfast," said Miss 
 Celia, coming from the pantry. " Why didn't you ? " 
 
MOKE CHANGES. 2/9 
 
 "Because I wanted you to have your breakfast in 
 peace. You are like a cat without claws, Celia. It 
 is well you have me to do a little scratching for you 
 now and then." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE TEA-PARTY. 
 
 Two days after her death Mrs. Mallory's body was 
 laid in the old churchyard beside the grave of her 
 husband's young sister. Mr. Brace, the new minis- 
 ter, officiated ; and a great many people came to the 
 funeral. Phin was deeply affected, and broke down 
 entirely at the grave. 
 
 " Won't you come into my house, and rest a little 
 before you go home, Mr. Mallory ? " said kind Mrs. 
 Andrews, who lived close by the church. 
 
 ''Yes, do ; you and the girls," added Mr. Andrews. 
 
 " You are very kind, but I think pa will be best at 
 home," said Symantha. "He is quite worn out with 
 watching." 
 
 " Well, if we can do any thing for you, you must 
 let us know," said Mr. Andrews as he shook hands 
 with Phin. 
 
 "And just let me say one word to you, Phineas," 
 said old Mrs. Bassett. " I knew your mother and 
 your grandmother, so you will excuse an old woman's 
 freedom. Don't go to seeking comfort in drink. 
 There may be forgetfulness in it, but there is no 
 280 
 
THE TEA-PARTY. 28 1 
 
 peace ; and it will only leave you worse than you 
 were before. Don't go looking for comfort in the 
 world, my son ; but turn to your wife's God and your 
 mother's God. He has stricken, and He can bind 
 up. Don't touch the drink, whatever you do." 
 
 " I won't," said Phin, pressing her hand ; and at 
 the time he meant what he said. For at least a 
 month he staid quietly at home, working diligently 
 on his farm, mending the fences, and repairing the 
 house and barns. He even went twice to the Friday- 
 evening service, at Kit's entreaty, and joined his 
 splendid bass voice to the singing. Symantha's face 
 began once more to lose its expression of care and 
 apprehension ; and, as to Kit, she was never so happy 
 in her life. She went to school every day, and to 
 church and Sunday school on Sunday. Melissa, 
 hitherto the greatest disturber of her peace, was out 
 of the way ; and uncle Phin was always kind nowa- 
 days, and let her read her Bible and sing her hymns 
 as much as she liked. Her mind expanded every 
 day, and she was one of those happy people to whom 
 the acquisition of knowledge is a keen delight for its 
 own sake. All the girls liked her ; and even Aunt 
 Betsy allowed that "that Mallory young one" be- 
 haved very well when she was in sight, but made 
 herself amends by adding, " But she'll show out 
 what is in her yet, you may depend upon it. What's 
 bred in the bone stays long in the flesh." 
 
 " Very true," said Miss Delia, to whom the remark 
 was addressed. " We've all got total depravity bred 
 in our bones, Aunt Betsy ; and I, for one, haven't got 
 rid of it yet, altogether." 
 
282 OLDIIAM ; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "And there's Phin Mallory coming to the meet- 
 ings," pursued Aunt Betsy. "We shall have all the 
 riffraff in town coming in next." 
 
 "I am sure I wish we could," remarked Mr. Brace, 
 the new minister. " I, for one, should enjoy the sight, 
 as our Lord did when the publicans and sinners 
 came together to hear Him. What is the Church 
 for, Mrs. Burr, if not to gather in just such people as 
 those you call riffraff ? " 
 
 " I think, sometimes, the Church doesn't do as 
 much of that sort of work as it might," said Miss 
 Delia. 
 
 " Of course not. The Church does not do as much 
 work of any sort as it might. Nevertheless it does 
 most of the work that is done in that line. Who 
 sustains all the city missions and charities, all the 
 mission Sunday schools in low city districts and far- 
 away Western towns, all the frontier missionaries and 
 those in foreign parts, if not the Church ? You talk 
 about riffraff, Mrs. Burr : I should like to take you to 
 New York, and show you the lady visitors going fear- 
 lessly into neighborhoods where even the policeman 
 looks carefully to his revolver before he ventures. 
 I should like to take you into one tenement-house I 
 know of, where I found a district nurse, a well-edu- 
 cated lady, making a fire in a cracked stove, and 
 cleaning flour and windows with her own hands, be- 
 dause no ordinary charwoman would venture into 
 the place. Who does all these things but the Church 
 in some of its branches, that Church which is the 
 blessed company of all faithful people ? The Church 
 does not accomplish half, no, not a tenth, of what it 
 
THE TEA-PARTY. 283 
 
 might if every member thereof were faithful in his 
 and her vocation and ministry ; but the world would 
 be badly off without it." 
 
 Mr. Brace spoke with a good deal of earnestness, 
 possibly with some little heat, as people are apt to do 
 when they feel warmly ; and Aunt Betsy was con- 
 firmed in her opinion that he had no proper ministe- 
 rial dignity, and would never fill Dr. Munson's pulpit. 
 
 Phin staid at home, as I have said, for nearly a 
 month. Then he felt himself obliged to go to Old- 
 bury with a load of hay. 
 
 " Why don't you sell your hay in Oldfield ? " asked 
 Symantha. 
 
 " Because I promised it to Stannard at the tavern, 
 and I don't want to break my word. Don't you be 
 scared, my girl : I'm not going to make a fool of 
 myself any more. I've turned over a new leaf about 
 that. Keep up a good heart, and I'll bring you and 
 Kitty each a new frock if I have good luck with my 
 hay." 
 
 " I want a piece of cotton sheeting, more than a 
 new frock. Kit needs a dress or two, but I thought I 
 should get them just as well at Mr. Andrews's : he 
 has some nice black-and-white checks. Anyhow, 
 father, do keep away from Stillwell's." 
 
 " I'm not going near Stillwell's," said Phin rather 
 angrily. " I believe you think your father is a fool." 
 Then, softening as he saw his daughter's evident dis- 
 tress, "Don't you borrow trouble. I don't much 
 wonder at your doing it, all things considered ; but 
 you'll see I'll come home all right. I'm no such tow- 
 string of a man as you think me." 
 
284 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS 
 
 But alas ! what man is not a tow-string when as- 
 sailed by old appetites and old temptations, and old 
 companions ready to do the Devil's work, and take 
 the Devil's wages ? Phin came home silent and mo- 
 rose. He brought no new frocks for anybody ; and 
 when Symantha asked him, next day, for money to 
 make some needful purchases at the Corners, he re- 
 plied shortly that he had none. 
 
 " I thought you sold your hay," said Symantha. 
 "Didn't Stannard pay you ?" 
 
 " No yes, partly ; but I had to use the money 
 another way. Take some of the butter-money, or get 
 Andrews to trust you : I'll make it all right with him." 
 
 " I thought we agreed to save the butter-money 
 for ma's grave-stone," said Symantha. 
 
 " I can't help it," answered Phin, turning suddenly 
 away. " I'd give you the money if I had it ; but I 
 haven't, and there's no use talking." 
 
 Symantha sighed, but said no more. In a few 
 days Phin went to Olclbury again, and came home 
 so drunk that Symantha and Kit had to take care 
 of the team. His visits became more and more fre- 
 quent, often lasting two or three days at a time. He 
 brought home another keg of beer, and from that 
 time was hardly ever sober. He began to talk of 
 selling the farm and going West again, and Syman- 
 tha was in despair. 
 
 " I did think we were settled at last," said she. 
 " I thought I was to have a home." 
 
 " Well, have a home. Who hinders you ? " said 
 her father roughly. " You and Kit can hire a room 
 somewhere, and take care of yourselves." 
 
THE TEA-PARTY.. 285 
 
 " You know I won't do that, father. I shall never 
 leave you." 
 
 "Maybe I shall leave you," said Phin. "It don't 
 follow, because I am going to destruction, that I need 
 drag you after me. Well, there, you needn't cry, 
 Kit : I haven't gone yet." 
 
 " I can't help crying when you talk so," sobbed Kit. 
 " O uncle Phin ! do be good. You have been so 
 nice lately, and gone to church, and all. I did think 
 you were going to turn out a Christian." 
 
 " I almost thought so, myself, Kitty ; but it's no 
 go," said Phin, with a hard laugh. " You see, I'm 
 one of those stony-ground hearers that you read 
 about the other day, and nothing good will grow in 
 me. But you and your friends believe in prayer : 
 why don't you pray for me ! " 
 
 " I do," replied Kit with emphasis, "every day and 
 every night ; and I am going to keep on. You don't 
 believe in God, uncle Phin ; but you can't get away 
 from Him, not in Oldbury nor anywhere else." 
 
 Kit kept her word ; and her prayers were heard, 
 but not in the way she expected or would have 
 chosen. 
 
 Meantime the school was prospering in Ida's hands ; 
 and every one was satisfied, except Aunt Betsy, who 
 never was satisfied with any thing. Ida and Amity, 
 partly from real compassion, and partly, I fear, for 
 the joke's sake, had set themselves to work to con- 
 ciliate the old woman. Ida, who had a genius for 
 millinery, made her a pretty cap, and Amity carried 
 her a pound of very fine green tea, such as she liked ; 
 but all to no purpose. Aunt Betsy admitted that 
 
286 OLD II AM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 the cap looked tolerably well, considering : she sup- 
 posed it was fudged up out of some of Mrs. Van 
 Zandt's old ones. As to the tea, she thought it was 
 a queer color. 
 
 "That is because it is not colored at all," explained 
 Amity, always sweet and unruffled. " Most green 
 teas are dyed, you know ; but my aunt had this tea 
 in a present from a Chinese gentleman who was a 
 correspondent of my uncle's for many years, and 
 who understands about such matters. He sends my 
 aunt a chest of this tea every year. It cannot be 
 bought in this country. " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I dare say he makes her think so," was 
 Aunt Betsy's reply. " I always heard them Chinese 
 were up to all kinds of tricks. They thought they 
 were going to coax me round," she said to Miss 
 Jewsbury afterward, in relating the interview ; " but 
 I let them know that I wasn't going to be patron- 
 ized." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure I wish she would patronize me 
 that way," said Miss Jewsbury, who loved green tea, 
 and did not often get it. " Do give me a drawing of 
 it, Aunt Betsy. You might let me have it all if you 
 don't want it. My girls don't like green tea, and I 
 hardly ever have any." 
 
 " I never said I didn't like it, and you are as well 
 able to buy tea as I am," was the reply. However, 
 I suppose I can let you have a cupful. You can 
 pay me in cheese." 
 
 But, though Aunt Betsy was not to be won over, 
 Ida had plenty of friends. Even the Jewsbury girls 
 liked her, and behaved better in school than they 
 
THE TEA-PARTY. 28? 
 
 had ever done before. The truth was, that Ruth had 
 grown secretly tired of her rebellion against Miss 
 Armstrong, and was glad of a pretext for giving it up ; 
 and her younger sister followed her lead, as -a matter 
 of course. Ida had the teaching gift. She loved the 
 children and the work for their own sake. She 
 enjoyed success and popularity, as who does not? and 
 it was a source of exquisite pleasure to her to see the 
 eyes brighten and the cheeks flush as she told them 
 some story of heroism or self-sacrifice, growing out 
 of and illustrating the history or geography lesson. 
 The children began to repeat these stones at home. 
 Miss Priscilla Davis, who had wanted the school for 
 herself, pronounced it queer kind of teaching, 
 making a geography lesson like a novel. But Mr. 
 Bassett declared he meant to put on a roundabout and 
 pinafore, and come to school himself. 
 
 " I have a very interesting letter to read to you, 
 girls, if you like to stay a few minutes after school," 
 said Ida one day. "You can do just as you please 
 about it." 
 
 All chose to stay ; and Miss Van Zandt produced 
 her letter, which was from a friend engaged in the 
 flower mission in New York. 
 
 "What is a flower mission ? " asked Ednah Fletcher. 
 
 Ida explained the matter as well as it could be ex- 
 plained to children who had never seen a tenement- 
 house or a city court, and whose notions of the state 
 of poor people were taken from Aunt Betsy and 
 others like her. 
 
 " How dreadful !" said Faith. "But, Miss Van 
 Zandt, what makes people stay in such places?" 
 
288 OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Many are obliged to do so. They must live 
 near their work, and rents are fearfully high in New 
 York. Others know no better, and, if they did, have 
 no means to get away. But, suppose you lived in 
 such a place as my friend describes, would not you be 
 glad to see some one who came to you with a bunch 
 of flowers or a nice little plant ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " answered several voices ; and 
 Ednah added regretfully, " I do like to go to Ma 
 Bassett's in winter, and see her plants. They look 
 so nice when there is nothing but ice and snow out- 
 side ! " 
 
 "Then you can think how nice such plants would 
 be if there were nothing but dirty streets and courts 
 to be seen outside," said Ida. " But, Ednah, does not 
 your sister keep plants ? " 
 
 " No, ma'am. She says they make so much dirt 
 in the house." 
 
 " Miss Van Zandt, why couldn't we send a box of 
 flowers to your friend ? " said Ruth Jewsbury. " The 
 golden-rods are beautiful now, and they last a long 
 
 time." 
 
 " I declare ! that is an excellent idea," said Agnes. 
 "If we sent buds, they would bloom out in water." 
 
 "Golden-rod is so common, I should not think that 
 they would care for that," said one of the children. 
 
 " Not very common in New York, my dear." 
 
 " Don't it grow by the side of the road in New 
 York?" asked Eben Fletcher innocently. 
 
 The older children laughed, and Miss Van Zandt 
 explained the matter. 
 
 "Well, I wouldn't live in such a place, not if you 
 
THE TEA-PARTY. 289 
 
 was to give me fifty dollars," said the little boy 
 positively. 
 
 " Nor I, not long at a time," replied Miss Van 
 Zanclt ; "but you must remember, Eben, that there 
 are advantages and disadvantages everywhere. I 
 will talk this matter of sending flowers over with my 
 aunt, girls, and we will see what can be done." 
 
 The next day Ida again asked the girls to stay 
 after school. 
 
 " My aunt is much pleased with your idea of send- 
 ing a box of flowers, girls," said she. " Now, how 
 many of you are willing to take your holiday to-mor- 
 row afternoon instead of Saturday, and give the time 
 to gathering flowers and ferns ?" 
 
 All the children were more than willing, only Faith 
 Fletcher demurred. 
 
 " I should like it very much," said she, " but I was 
 counting on Saturday afternoon to help sister. She 
 isn't well at all, and I thought I could take some of 
 the work off her hands on Saturday." 
 
 " What ails your sister ? " asked Ida. 
 
 " She won't allow that any thing ails her," replied 
 Faith, " and she will keep at work all the time ; but 
 she grows thin and pale, and I know she has a pain 
 in her side. Father wants to have a girl, but she 
 won't hear of it." 
 
 " She will find that very poor economy in the end," 
 remarked Ida. " Well, I will tell you what we can do. 
 You can come to school at half-past eight, instead of 
 nine, and we will have only half an hour's intermis- 
 sion at noon, and no recess. Then I can let you go 
 at three o'clock, which will give plenty of time for the 
 
OLDIIAM ; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 flower-gathering. And I must not forget to say that 
 aunt Barbara hopes you will all come to her house 
 to tea at six o'clock, and bring your flowers." 
 
 " Sha'n't we go home and get dressed ? " asked 
 Jenny Hurd. " We sha'n't look very nice." 
 
 " By no means," answered Ida. " Come straight 
 from your flower-gathering. Soap and water are 
 plenty, and that is all you will need." 
 
 " What kind of flowers shall we bring ? any thing 
 but golden-rod ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! all the flowers you can lay hands on, 
 yarrow and daisies and cockle, and, above all, plenty 
 of green." 
 
 "I think a parcel of ferns would be nice," observed 
 Kit. "I know where there are lovely ones, ever 
 so many kinds." 
 
 " They will be just the thing." 
 
 It was a very pretty sight that greeted the eyes of 
 Mrs. Van Zandt and her nieces as the children pre- 
 sented themselves the next evening at six o'clock, 
 laden with flowers of all sorts, wild and tame. Mrs. 
 Bassett had not dared to let little Emma, who was a 
 delicate child, go out with the others ; but, to make 
 amends, she had cut almost every flower in her gar- 
 den, dahlias, foxgloves, great spears of hollyhocks, 
 and a huge bunch of lemon-thyme and sweet basil. 
 Others brought sheaves of golden-rod as big as them- 
 selves. There were not many flowers in Oldfield 
 County that were not represented in the collection. 
 Kit brought a basket of ferns of all sorts, and a 
 bunch of lady's-slippers, which she had found in a 
 shady hollow, and another of the branching "bear's- 
 
THE TEA-PARTY. 2gi 
 
 grass," or lycopodium. Finally, to crown the whole, 
 appeared Edward Kettle with half a wagon-load of 
 laurel. He had heard what the young ladies were 
 about, he said, and he and his wife took the liberty 
 to help them. 
 
 " What lovely laurel ! " said Amity. " I thought it 
 was all gone long ago." 
 
 Edward explained that he had found it, by his 
 grandfather's direction, in a shady hollow far up on 
 Indian Hill. " You see, the old gentleman has always 
 lived right there ; and there ain't many plants nor 
 animals round these parts that be don't know." 
 
 " I should like to make his acquaintance," said 
 Amity. "I have often seen him in church. Do you 
 think he would be pleased to have us come and see 
 him ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, miss. He's like other old folks, the old 
 gentleman is," said Edward: "he loves to tell over 
 his old stories. Some folks thinks it tiresome, but I 
 don't, I think it is real interesting ; and anyhow, it 
 pleases him." 
 
 " Well, you will see us up on Indian Hill some 
 day soon," said Amity. " Meantime I should like 
 to send him some tobacco-money, if he won't be af- 
 fronted. I know he smokes sometimes." 
 
 " Oh, yes, miss. I don't think it's a very good 
 habit, myself, but grandfather has done it all his life ; 
 and I says to Maria, says I, *W 7 hen an old man, and 
 especially an old Indian, gets to be a hundred years 
 old, it ain't much worth while to try to teach him 
 new tricks,' says I. Not that Maria would want to 
 interfere either, 'tain't her way ; but Mrs. Hills had 
 
292 OLD II A AT; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 been talking to her about it, and saying she wouldn't 
 have it if it was her. I can stay and wait on the 
 table, miss, if it would be any accommodation." 
 
 " I dare say Aggy will be glad of your help," said 
 Mrs. Van Zandt, to whom Amity referred the matter. 
 And, having thus carried the point he had in mind 
 when he started from home, Edward proceeded to 
 display his gifts in that line, which were not small. 
 Never was a more successful tea-party, after the first 
 shyness of the children wore off. Old Alice had 
 made a bountiful provision of sweets and substan- 
 tiate. Mrs. Van Zandt had sent to Oldbury for a 
 supply of candy, which was put up in pretty boxes, 
 and given to the children to carry home, with the 
 addition of some nice little present to each. 
 
 " I wonder if Aunt Betsy would be offended if I 
 were to send her some cake," said Ida to Myra 
 Bassett, who had been specially invited, as she was 
 putting up a parcel of good things for old Abner. 
 
 " Oh, yes, she'll be offended ; but she will eat 
 the cake, all the same," answered Myra, laughing. 
 " That's her way. I'll take it to her if you like : 
 I'm used to her." 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 MRS. ORME. 
 
 Miss ARMSTRONG had not returned with Mrs. Van 
 Zandt, finding business to keep .her in New York, 
 and hearing that the school was not suffering from 
 her absence. When she did come back, she was 
 able to tell the children of the safe arrival of their 
 box of flowers ; and she brought an urgent request 
 from the lady to whom they had been consigned, for 
 another box of leaves when the foliage should begin 
 to turn. She also brought a quantity of missionary 
 documents, which the children carried home to their 
 parents, and talked over among themselves. 
 
 " Ma,*' said Myra Bassett as she finished reading 
 one of these same papers, " why can't we have a 
 mission band in our Sunday school ? Just think ! 
 here is an Indian church in Minnesota, as poor as 
 poverty, giving eighteen dollars in money and bead- 
 work for the cause of missions ; ' and our school don't 
 give a cent." 
 
 " We take up a collection every Sunday," said Mrs. 
 Bassett ; "to be sure, it goes to keep up the library." 
 
 1 The White Earth church, which is a pattern in more ways than one. 
 See Bishop Whipple's reports. 
 
 293 
 
2Q4 OLD/JAM; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Exactly ; and I don't call that giving, at all. It is 
 just like taking money out of one pocket and putting 
 it into another. In Oldfield the Sunday school sup- 
 ports a Bible-woman in China." 
 
 " It wouldn't do to undertake quite as much as that 
 at first, but we might do something," said Mrs. Bas- 
 sett. " I expect we should have opposition from 
 some quarters." 
 
 " So we did about cleaning the church, and yet we 
 did it," said Myra. 
 
 "Very true. Well, I'll talk to your father; and, 
 if he don't see any objection, I'll ask him to speak to 
 Mr. Brace." 
 
 "I wish Mr. Brace had a wife," said Myra, who 
 had "a true lover and a sweetheart of her own " sail- 
 ing on the seas, and was therefore not afraid to 
 speak. " It would seem so much more natural and 
 easy to go to him." 
 
 " It is just possible your wish may come to pass," 
 said Mrs. Bassett. " But, as to this notion of the 
 mission band, I must say I like it for the children's 
 sake. How much they were interested in the flowers 
 they sent to New York ! " 
 
 " Yes, and their interest did them good too." 
 
 Ma Bassett talked to her husband, and he in turn 
 to Mr. Brace. The subject was then brought up 
 in teachers' meeting. Miss Armstrong was present, 
 and, being called upon, said what she thought, that 
 such efforts were as beneficial to those who made 
 them as to those for whom they were made. Mr. 
 Brace seconded her warmly, and gave anecdotes from 
 his experience in other places. There was some 
 
MKS. ORME. 295 
 
 opposition, of course ; but most of the teachers took 
 up the idea with enthusiasm, and in the course of a 
 few weeks the Oldham mission band was a fixed and 
 prosperous fact. 
 
 But we must now follow the fortunes of another 
 of our Oldham acquaintances. Selina was down at 
 Oldbury staying with her sister, and taking singing- 
 lessons of Mr. Schultz, the professor in the famous 
 Oldbury schools. Lizzy was fond of Selina, and had 
 begun by being much pleased with the arrangement ; 
 but she was growing uneasy, and wishing her sister 
 at home again. Selina had made- the acquaintance 
 of a certain Mrs. Orme, who had come up from New 
 York, and taken a house for the summer. Mrs. Orme 
 was apparently rich, at least, she spent her money 
 freely, she was handsome, and had a frank, not to 
 say free, manner, which took Selina's fancy greatly. 
 There was nothing to be said against the woman, but 
 Oldbury did not take to her. Mrs. Orme's garden 
 joined Mr. Woodbury's, and at her first coming Lizzy 
 had shown her some neighborly civilities, though she 
 had never responded to her attempts at intimacy. 
 Nevertheless, the two families spoke together, and 
 Mrs. Orme introduced herself to Selina over the gar- 
 den hedge. She had heard her singing, and been 
 struck with her fine voice. Mrs. Orme had a piano, 
 and was no mean performer herself. She asked Se- 
 lina to sing with her, and lent her the latest music. 
 Mrs. Orme was in ecstasies over Selina's voice, and 
 threw out broad hints of having her young friend 
 to spend the winter with her, that she might have 
 proper instruction. 
 
2^6 OLDHAM ; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " With that voice, and a few lessons in elocution, 
 you might do any thing," said Mrs. Orrne. "You 
 might make your fortune." 
 
 " Singing at concerts, do you mean ? " asked Selina. 
 
 " Yes, of course, or on the stage. You needn't 
 look so shocked, child. A great many society ladies 
 go on the stage now, just for fun. And, if you don't 
 care to do that, there are always church choirs in 
 New York where they will pay almost any price for 
 a good soprano voice. You must practise diligently, 
 and especially singing at sight, for that is all-impor- 
 tant." 
 
 " Mr. Schultz says I improve in that, but he was 
 very severe on me at the last lesson," observed 
 Selina. He said, ' Miss Weston, you do not improve 
 in style. You are imitating your friend Mrs. Orme, 
 or whatever you call her, who sings in the manner of 
 the beer-garden.' " 
 
 " Spiteful old hunchback ! " said Mrs. Orme, color- 
 ing. " His mind is as crooked as his body, and his 
 own style is that of a broken-down church-organ. 
 But never mind. Wait till I get you to New York, 
 my dear." 
 
 " I don't believe my father and mother will ever 
 let me go," said Selina regretfully. 
 
 " They are not your own father and mother, and I 
 don't see that you are bound to obey them," returned 
 Mrs. Orme. "According to your own account, you 
 have done work enough to pay for all they ever gave 
 you. I don't doubt that they are very nice people," 
 she hastened to add, seeing that Selina looked rather 
 shocked : " I am sure Mrs. Woodbury is charming, 
 
MRS. ORME. 297 
 
 if she would condescend to be friendly ; but she 
 seems to have taken a dislike to me, for some reason. 
 Ah, well, my dear, take pains with your music, and 
 improve as fast as possible ; and we shall see what 
 can be done." 
 
 Mrs. Orme was right. Lizzy did not like her, and 
 she was annoyed at the intimacy that Selina had 
 struck up with her. 
 
 " I do wish you would not go to Mrs. Orme's so 
 often," she said to Selina one day. "I am sure 
 mother would not approve of it." 
 
 " What have you against Mrs. Orme, I should 
 like to know ? " asked Selina in a tone which said, 
 "What business is it of yours?" 
 
 " I have nothing against her personally ; that is, 
 she has done nothing to me," answered Lizzy gently. 
 " But I do not like her manners, and I don't like 
 such intimacy with a stranger. We know nothing 
 at all about Mrs. Orme." 
 
 "There spoke all Oldham," said Selina. "We 
 don't know her, therefore she must be bad." 
 
 " I did not say she was bad," returned Lizzy. 
 " But I do say that it is better to know something 
 of a person's antecedents and present standing, be- 
 fore rushing into a violent friendship with them." 
 
 " Don't you see what an advantage it is to me to 
 sing with her ? " 
 
 " I am not so sure of that. Mrs. Orme has a fine 
 voice, and plays well ; but I don't think she has im- 
 proved your style at all. Jusjt compare her singing 
 with Miss Van Zandt's." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Van Zandt ! I hate the very name of 
 
298 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Miss Van Zandt ; and I wish she and her model, 
 Miss Armstrong, had never come near Oldham. 
 They have set father and mother against me, and 
 got me into disgrace; and all for what? Because I 
 would not play the hypocrite, and pretend to be reli- 
 gious. I believe Miss Armstrong is a humbug, if 
 ever there was one ; but then, she can talk pious, and 
 whoever can do that goes down with mother." 
 
 " I have no more to say, Selina," returned Lizzy. 
 " Only I hope the time will never come when you 
 will need the love and kindness you despise. But 
 one thing I must add : I will not have my mother 
 treated disrespectfully under my roof by any one. 
 Remember that." 
 
 " Who treats her disrespectfully ? " said Selina. 
 " I guess I love mother as well as you do, any day, 
 and would do as much for her, if I don't flatter her, 
 and swear that every thing is right because she does 
 it. But everybody is against me," she added, burst- 
 ing into tears. " I have always been alone in the 
 world ; and, when I make a friend, I can't be allowed 
 to enjoy her, because you are jealous of her. I 
 should think you would be ashamed to show such 
 a spirit." 
 
 " Heyday ! what is that ?" asked Mr. Woodbury from 
 the other room, where he was taking off his boots 
 preparatory to reading the evening paper in comfort. 
 " I don't allow any one to scold my wife but myself, 
 Selina. What is that Lizzy is to be ashamed of?" 
 
 Selina deigned no answer, but retreated to her own 
 room to have her cry out. Having accomplished this 
 act to her satisfaction ; having told herself what a 
 
MRS. ORME. 299 
 
 sad thing it was to be an orphan ; having said to her- 
 self that every joy had its sting, and every rose its 
 thorn, and that, while she must expect an ordinary 
 person like Lizzy to be jealous of her musical talents, 
 it was very hard that she should be placed in her 
 power, having said all this to herself, and a great 
 deal more, she began to think, which is quite a dif- 
 ferent thing from talking to one's self. She reflected 
 that she would be very foolish to quarrel with Lizzy 
 and her husband. Suppose Mr. Woodbury should 
 say that he would not keep her any longer ; suppose 
 he should complain to her father: 'there would be 
 an end of the singing-lessons, for which she had 
 longed, and on which she built so many hopes. She 
 had already thrown away one chance of improve- 
 ment, that of singing with Ida Van Zandt. Would 
 it not be the greatest folly to lose another ? Then 
 another voice began to make itself heard, that of 
 conscience ; a voice which Selina had not succeeded 
 in silencing, and had not yet learned wholly to dis- 
 regard. She was an orphan, with no claim of rela- 
 tionship to any human being that she knew of. She 
 had never known of any home but the asylum in 
 Oldbury; till Mr. and Mrs. Weston came and took 
 her home to the ease and plenty of the Oldham 
 farmhouse. But for them she might still be living 
 in the red-brick house on Elm Street, dressing on 
 week-days in pink or lilac calico, and walking to 
 church on Sunday with the other children, if, indeed, 
 she had not been bound out as a servant somewhere. 
 She could not deny, even to herself, that Mr. and 
 Mrs. Weston had always treated her like a daughter, 
 
300 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 that there was not a girl in Oldham who had more 
 pretty things or more chances for education. Mr. 
 Weston had bought the piano expressly for her, for 
 Lizzy was not musical, and he had given her every 
 advantage that the place afforded ; while Mrs. Weston 
 and Lizzy had done more than their share of the 
 work, that she might have time to practise. Pursu- 
 ing the subject with the obstinacy which belongs to 
 that inconvenient counsellor, conscience further in- 
 formed her that she had heretofore made a very inad- 
 equate return for all that had been done for her, that 
 she had been often ill-natured and disrespectful, often 
 careless, and always jealous lest perhaps Lizzy might 
 have something which she had not. She knew that 
 
 O 
 
 Mrs. Weston had made a great sacrifice in letting her 
 come to Oidbury in the very busiest time of the year, 
 that she might have the benefit of Professor Schultz's 
 instructions before he went to New York. Mrs. 
 Weston, like many notable housewives, disliked hav- 
 ing hired help ; yet she had taken in Mariette Jews- 
 bury to assist through harvest-time, in order that 
 she, Selina, might have a nice time in Oidbury ; only 
 making the condition that she should be guided by 
 Lizzy in all things. What sort of a return was she 
 making ? 
 
 But Selina did not care to listen to the voice of 
 conscience. She said to herself that she would be 
 more cautious ; that she would not quarrel with Lizzy, 
 or come across her prejudices. It was perhaps only 
 natural that Lizzy should be jealous of her friend- 
 ship with a superior person like Mrs, Orme, and 
 she must be careful not to annoy her. She would 
 
MRS. OK ME. 301 
 
 go to work that very evening, and knit a pair of 
 shoes for the baby, and that would make every thing 
 right. She had just arrived at this conclusion when 
 Lizzy called her to tea. She bathed her face and 
 eyes, smoothed her hair, and went down prepared to 
 be amiable. 
 
 " Horace and myself are going up to see mother 
 Woodbury a little while," said Lizzy, after tea. 
 " Will you go with us ? Mother sent word this 
 afternoon that she would like to have us come over." 
 
 " I don't think I will," answered Selina. " But I 
 will go as far as Smith's : I want to buy a little yarn. 
 But what about baby ? " 
 
 "Oh, Jane will look after him. She likes noth- 
 ing better, you know." Jane was the girl whom 
 Mr. Woodbury, asserting his authority, had insisted 
 on his wife's keeping, a proceeding severely com- 
 mented upon by Aunt Betsy and old Miss Jewsbury 
 as an extravagant and "up-setting" proceeding. 
 
 " You know mother will be very glad to see you, 
 Selina," remarked Mr. Woodbury. "You are a favo- 
 rite with her, and she loves to hear you sing." 
 
 " She is very kind, I am sure," said Selina. " I will 
 go some other time, but to-night I have something I 
 want to do." 
 
 " I hope she won't go into Mrs. Orme's," said 
 Lizzy as they walked away. 
 
 " And so do I. The fact is, Lizzy, that intimacy 
 must be broken up, if Selina goes home to do it. I 
 don't like the woman ; and I like still less the style 
 of visitors she has, the men especially." 
 
 " Some of them are not nice-looking, certainly. 
 
3O2 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 However, I don't think Selina has ever been there 
 when Mrs. Orme has had company. Well, we will 
 think about it, and try to see our way. I rather wish 
 we had not left her at home alone. However, I don't 
 believe she will go there to-night." 
 
 Nevertheless Selina did go to Mrs. Orme's. She 
 persuaded herself that there was something she did 
 not understand in the pattern for a baby's shoe that 
 Mrs. Orme had lent her, and that it was necessary 
 for her to seek information. It could do no harm to 
 run in just for a minute. 
 
 Mrs. Orme received her with open arms, and intro- 
 duced her to a friend of her own from Boston, Mr. 
 Pyncheon, a member of one of the oldest Beacon- 
 street families. No, she said playfully, they would 
 not waste time over the stupid knitting ; Mr. Pynch- 
 eon was an excellent judge of music, and he must 
 hear her sing. Mr. Pyncheon seconded his hostess. 
 He was a comparatively young-looking man, with 
 very white hair and whiskers. He delighte.d Selina 
 by his praise of her music. " I have not heard such 
 a voice since I lost my own daughter," said he. 
 " Miss Weston reminds me of her." 
 
 " She is like poor Angelina," said Mrs. Orme. " I 
 noticed it myself. Isn't it a shame, Mr. Pyncheon, 
 that such a voice should be buried in the wilds of 
 Oldfield, and never heard except in the village choir ?" 
 
 " It is indeed. Miss Weston ought to go to some 
 of the great German schools. Even now her voice 
 would be noticed in New York." 
 
 It is useless to repeat any more of the compliments 
 by which Selina was fooled to the top of her bent. 
 
JlfRS. ORME. 303 
 
 She sang song after song, alone and with Mrs. Orme, 
 till, warned by the striking of the clock, she returned 
 just in time to meet Mr. and Mrs. Woodbury as they 
 returned from their evening visit. Lizzy was greatly 
 annoyed, and spoke more sharply than was at all 
 common with her. 
 
 " I only went in to get a pattern Mrs. Orme prom- 
 ised me," said Selina, restraining herself by a great 
 effort. " Mrs. Orme had some new music, and kept 
 me to try it. I am sorry you are vexed, Lizzy; but 
 you know I can't break off with her all at once, when 
 she has been so kind to me in lending me music, and 
 so on. I won't go there if you don't want me to, 
 though I must say I can't see any harm in her." 
 
 Already sorry for her severity, Lizzy said no more ; 
 and Selina, warned by what had happened, actually 
 staid away from Mrs. Orme's for three whole days. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 TROUBLE AT HOME. 
 
 "WHERE have you been all this time?" said Mrs. 
 Orme to Selina, waylaying her as she came from her 
 music-lesson. " I have not had even a glimpse of 
 you." 
 
 " It hasn't been my fault, Mrs. Orme," answered 
 Selina. 
 
 " Call me Eva," interrupted her friend : " * Mrs. 
 Orme' sounds so cold and formal. Why haven't you 
 been in ? Mr. Pyncheon was so anxious to hear you 
 sing again. I wanted you to be friends with him, 
 Selina : he has neither chick nor child, and he has no 
 end of money. He said, after you went out, ' How I 
 wish that child belonged to me ! I should be so glad 
 to give her a first-rate musical education.' " 
 
 " Did he ? " asked Selina. " I know he said my voice 
 was like his daughter's." 
 
 " Yes. Poor thing, she went to the bad, made 
 a runaway match, and he never saw her afterward ; 
 though he heard that she died somewhere in this 
 neighborhood, and left a child. It was that brought 
 him to Oldbury, to see if he could find any trace 
 of her. Just think, Selina, if you should turn out to 
 34 
 
TROUBLE AT HOME. 305 
 
 be Mr. Pyncheon's grand-daughter, what a grand 
 thing for you ! " 
 
 " I don't believe there is any chance of that," said 
 Selina. "I never asked any questions ; but I always 
 supposed my parents lived here, and were very poor 
 people." 
 
 "They would naturally want you to think so," 
 said Mrs. Orme reflectively, more as if she were 
 addressing herself than speaking to Selina. Then, 
 catching herself up, "But that might be true too. 
 Poor Matilda married beneath her ; as I said, a very 
 common sort of man, her father's coachman, in 
 fact, and I dare say she might have died very poor. 
 It was a terrible blow to her parents, and fairly killed 
 her mother. After the first natural heat of his anger 
 was over, Mr. Pyncheon made every effort to find his 
 daughter, but without success. Then he went abroad, 
 and has just come home. He has gone back to Boston 
 now, but when he returns we will talk to him. Come 
 in and spend the evening with me! I have a lot of 
 new songs for you to try." 
 
 " Mr. Schultz does not want me to sing any more 
 songs just now," replied Selina. " He has given me 
 a parcel of scales and exercises to practise." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Mrs. Orme. " However, singing 
 scales is very good practice. But you can come over 
 and see me, all the same." 
 
 " I don't believe I can, but I will see. I must go 
 now, at any rate, Mrs. Orme, Eva, I mean : it is 
 dinner-time." 
 
 " Barbarous hours ! " said Mrs. Orme. " Well, good- 
 by, dear. I will contrive to meet you somehow." 
 
306 OLD HAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS, 
 
 Selina went home as if she were treading on air, her 
 imagination all on fire with the news she had heard, 
 and the brilliant prospect which seemed opening 
 before her. As she said, she had never asked about 
 her own parents ; being restrained by a vague feeling 
 that she might hear something she would not like. 
 It was pleasanter to dream of wealthy and distin- 
 guished relatives coming to claim her, than to know 
 for certain that her mother was a poor laundress or 
 something of that sort. And now it really seemed as 
 if her day-dreams were coming true. Mr. Pyncheon's 
 grand-daughter ! Pyncheon was such an aristocratic 
 name, that of one of the oldest New-England fami- 
 lies. It was worth while to have such an ancestry as 
 that, Selina said to herself. She did not reflect that 
 this grand ancestry had not kept her mother from 
 running away with the coachman, who certainly could 
 not be considered a very aristocratic connection ; still 
 less did it occur to her to suspect, what was the fact, 
 that Mrs. Orme had invented the whole story to serve 
 her own purposes. Mrs. Orme had a plan with 
 regard to Selina, and she was not likely to spare any 
 amount of lying needful to carry it out. Selina saw 
 a great deal of her for the next week. Old Mrs. 
 Woodbury was ailing ; and, as she had no own 
 daughter, Lizzy naturally devoted as much time as 
 possible to waiting upon and comforting her mother- 
 in-law. Whenever she went out, Mrs. Orme popped 
 in, or called Selina into her own house. As the two 
 grew more intimate, Mrs. Orme was more off her 
 guard ; and she did and said some things which 
 certainly struck Selina as peculiar. For example, she 
 
TROUBLE AT HOME. 307 
 
 drank wine and beer very freely, and on several occa- 
 sions there was an odor of tobacco-smoke about the 
 house which Selina could not account for. Selina, 
 who had been brought up on strict total-abstinence 
 principles, ventured to remonstrate ; but she was met 
 with a torrent of ridicule, which speedily silenced 
 her. 
 
 " You poor little chicken, brought up in a coop 
 among the daisies ! It is really refreshing to meet 
 with such innocence. But you must put these strait- 
 laced Puritanical notions out of your head before you 
 come to New York, or we shall have you making a 
 laughing-stock of yourself. Fancy any one talking 
 like that to my friend Mrs. Robert Livingstone on 
 Fifth Avenue ! Why, the wine alone at Mrs. Living- 
 stone's last lunch-party cost three hundred dollars." 
 
 The idea of making herself a laughing-stock to 
 an unknown Mrs. Livingstone on Fifth Avenue was 
 enough to silence Selina ; but, happily for her, even 
 the name of that great lady could not make her 
 break her Sunday-school pledge by taking the glass 
 of champagne Mrs. Orme urged upon her. 
 
 " I can't, Eva ; I have promised not to touch it, and 
 I can't break my word.". 
 
 " Oh, well, if you have promised, of course that 
 is all about it," said Mrs. Orme ; adding to herself, 
 " I will drive all that nonsense out of you, my lady, 
 before I have had you long." 
 
 But Selina was not destined to enjoy any longer 
 the dangerous delights of Mrs. Orme's society. The 
 very day after the temperance lecture, Mr. Bassett 
 came for her. Mr. Weston had fallen from the barn- 
 
308 OLD II AM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 loft, and broken his leg. It was a bad fracture ; he 
 was perfectly helpless, and Selina must come home 
 and help wait upon him. There was nothing for it but 
 to go ; and, to do Selina justice, she never thought of 
 any thing else till she ran in to bid Mrs. Orme good- 
 by. 
 
 "What a shame," said that lady,, "to take you 
 away from your music and all, just to wait on that 
 old farmer, who is not related to you ! " 
 
 " I should not have had many mtfsic-lessons only 
 for that old farmer, as you call him," said Selina in- 
 dignantly, her better nature roused for the moment. 
 
 "Well, don't be angry. I did not mean any dis- 
 respect," said Mrs. Orme, perceiving she had overshot 
 her mark. " Of course it is very kind and self- 
 sacrificing in you to go. I suppose you will be back 
 before long." 
 
 " I can't tell. It will depend upon how father is. 
 Good-by, Eva; I must not keep Mr. Bassett waiting." 
 
 "Don't you want something to read ? " asked Mrs. 
 Orme, hastily gathering together and tying up a quan- 
 tity of paper books, with which her room was always 
 strewed. 
 
 " I don't believe I shall have much time to read, 
 but I will take them," replied Selina. " Good-by, Eva, 
 and thank you for all your kindness." 
 
 " Good-by, dear, till I see you again. I shall write 
 to you. And see here, Selina ; don't hamper yourself 
 by any more pledges and promises. And I wouldn't 
 say any thing about Mr. Pyncheon, if I were you. 
 Your friends would not like it, and might put obsta- 
 cles in your way. And you must see, that, if he 
 
TROUBLE AT HOME. 309 
 
 is really your grandfather, he has the best right to 
 you." 
 
 " Of course," said Selina. " I really must go, Eva. 
 Good-by." 
 
 Selina could not restrain her tears as she took her 
 seat in the miller's comfortable carriage ; and Mr. 
 Bassett, respecting her grief, was silent for the first 
 mile or two. By that time Selina had recovered her 
 self-control, and began to ask questions. 
 
 " Is Miss Armstrong at our house ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Ma wanted her to come to us, and Mrs. 
 Van Zandt sent for her up there; 'but she left it to 
 your ma, and she said Miss Armstrong made no 
 trouble in the house, and was such a comfort she 
 couldn't bear to part with her." 
 
 "Well, I wonder she should care to stay," said 
 Selina. " She and Mrs. Van Zandt are such great 
 friends, and she would be much more comfortable up 
 there." r- 
 
 "Miss Armstrong isn't the woman to be always 
 thinking first of her own comfort," replied Mr. Bas- 
 sett. " She and I together took care of your pa last 
 night, and persuaded your ma to go to bed ; and a 
 better nurse I never saw. She knows where to put 
 her hand every time. Symantha Mallory was down 
 in the afternoon to see if there was any thing she 
 could do." 
 
 " I should not think mother would care to have 
 her about," said Selina. 
 
 " Oh, well, I don't think there is any harm in 
 Symantha. Every one agrees that she took good 
 care of her stepmother; and she keeps Kit just as 
 
3IO OLDHAM; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 neat as a pin, though she hasn't much to do with, I 
 fancy, for Phin isn't going on very well. Kit comes 
 to church and Sunday school regularly now ; and ma 
 says she never had a better scholar, only she asks 
 such queer questions. We have another new scholar, 
 too, a great friend of yours." 
 
 "You don't mean Milly Richmond!" exclaimed 
 Selina. " What brings her to Sunday school, of all 
 people ?" 
 
 "I don't know, I'm sure, unless she wants to learn 
 something. I can't think how she has grown up to 
 know so little about the Bible. Poor Kit is a good 
 Bible scholar compared to her. But she behaves 
 very well, I must say that for her, and seems inter- 
 ested in her lessons." 
 
 " I should not think Mrs. Richmond would allow 
 it," said Selina, "she is so very liberal in her views." 
 
 " So liberal that she doesn't want her daughter to 
 have any opinion of her own, eh ? Isn't that a funny 
 kind of liberality ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so. But I have heard her say that she 
 did not wish to bring up her daughters to any reli- 
 gion ; when they were old enough, they could choose 
 for themselves." 
 
 "That might do, perhaps, if trouble and death 
 would only wait till people are grown up," remarked 
 Mr. Bassett. "But they don't, as Mrs. Richmond 
 ought to know by this time. Poor Cordelia is fail- 
 ing fast, as Mrs. Gleason thinks ; but her mother 
 won't allow it at all." 
 
 "I suppose Agnes was confirmed last Sunday." 
 
 " Yes ; and her mother too, and Sarah Leet, and 
 
TROUBLE A T HOME. 3 1 1 
 
 my Abner, and about ten more. It was a blessed 
 day, I can tell you. We all wished you were there, 
 Selina." 
 
 "What makes you turn up this way ?" asked Selina 
 as Mr. Bassett turned his horses into a cross-road. 
 
 " Well, it cuts off quite a piece of the distance, 
 and it is good enough this time of year. It is rather 
 lonesome, but we needn't mind that as long as we 
 take daylight with us." 
 
 "I don't mind it: I like it," said Selina, "the 
 woods are so pretty. Do you think father will be 
 laid up long ? " 
 
 "Well, yes, I'm afraid he'll have a tedious time. 
 You see, he is getting an elderly man ; and, beside 
 the broken bone, it was a pretty severe shake for 
 him. I hope he will get well, I'm sure ; for, beside 
 the blow to his own family, he would be a dreadful 
 loss to the neighborhood. But he is in the Lord's 
 hands, my girl, and there we must leave him." 
 
 " How is mother?" 
 
 "Just what she ought to be, neither more nor 
 less," said Mr. Bassett with emphasis : "never think- 
 ing about herself, always doing and saying the right 
 thing at the right time. I'll tell you what, Selina, if 
 you don't turn out a good girl, you'll have a great 
 deal to answer for. Never girl had a better father 
 and mother than you have, nor a pleasanter home." 
 
 "Well, I hope I shall turn out a good girl," said 
 Selina. "Why should you think I won't, Mr. Bas- 
 sett ? I don't think I have been a very bad girl so 
 far." 
 
 "I don't say you have, far from it," answered 
 
312 OLD HAM; OR, RESIDE ALL WATERS, 
 
 Mr. Bassett. " Only, if you'll excuse my plain speak- 
 ing, Selina, I don't think you have always appreciated 
 your advantages. But then, none of us do that ; and 
 perhaps it isn't to be expected of young folks. I 
 tell my boys, sometimes, I believe they think money 
 grows on bushes, like blueberries." 
 
 " How did Miss Van Zandt get on with the 
 school ? " asked Selina, willing to turn the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh, famously, as well as Miss Armstrong her- 
 self. That young lady has a genius for other things 
 beside music. She knows how to teach what she 
 has learned. The children think her perfection." 
 
 "Yes, she gets on nicely with little ones," said 
 Selina. " She knows how to amuse them, and she is 
 so childish herself she is like a companion to them." 
 
 "Childlike, if you choose, not childish," replied 
 the miller. "There is a difference." 
 
 "I don't see it." 
 
 " Well, it seems others do. St. Paul says, when he 
 became a man he put away childish things ; but our 
 Lord says we must become as little children, or we 
 cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. There is just 
 the same difference between 'childish' and 'child- 
 like' as between 'womanish' and 'womanly.' 'Wom- 
 anish ' implies all the weakness, and 'womanly 'all 
 the strength, of a woman. Miss Van Zandt has all 
 the simple, frank, unaffected ways of a nice child. 
 She never seems to think whether any one is looking 
 at her or not." 
 
 " There it goes ! " thought Selina. " I never was 
 so tired of any one's name in my life." 
 
TROUBLE AT HOME. 313 
 
 "Isn't there some one on the road there before 
 us, Selina?" said Mr. Bassett. "I am rather short- 
 sighted, and I have forgotten my glasses." 
 
 "Yes, two men ; one looks like Phin Mallory," said 
 Selina, bending forward to look. " Yes, it is Phin 
 Mallory. There, they have turned into the woods. 
 Why ! " exclaimed Selina in a tone of great surprise, 
 and then she checked herself. 
 
 "Why, what?" 
 
 " I thought the man with him looked like a gen- 
 tleman I saw in Oldbury ; but it couldn't be, of 
 course." 
 
 " Well, they won't interfere with us," said Mr. Bas- 
 sett, They had now come to the place where the 
 two men had disappeared, and discovered Phin in the 
 act of lighting a cigar ; but nothing was to be seen 
 of his companion. 
 
 " Halloo, Phin ! Have a ride ? " said the miller, 
 pulling up. 
 
 " No, thank'ee, Mr. Bassett ; I'm going up through 
 the woods to look for a stray critter of mine. You 
 didn't see him, did you, a red steer with a ball on 
 one horn ? " 
 
 " I saw him in your pasture-lot when I drove by, 
 this morning." 
 
 " All right, then : he has got home before me. No, 
 thank'ee, I won't ride. My cigar might annoy the 
 young lady. How's the squire ? " 
 
 " Much about the same, only his head is all right 
 to-day." 
 
 "Tell his folks I'll come and sit up any night. I 
 used to be reckoned a good hand in sickness." 
 
314 OL3HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 "I dare say. I'll tell Mrs. Weston. Well, good- 
 by, if you won't ride. Take care of that cigar of 
 yours in the woods, for every thing is as dry as tin- 
 der. By the way, who was that you were talking 
 with just before we came up?" 
 
 "Talking with? Nobody," replied Phin with a 
 curious tremor in his voice. " Oh, yes : a tramp 
 asked me the way to the village. You'll pass him 
 farther on, I dare say." 
 
 " Poor Phin ! he has good streaks in him, after all," 
 said Mr. Bassett as they drove on. " They say he 
 was kind to his wife. And it was neighborly in him 
 to offer to sit up with your pa. You might have 
 thanked him, Selina." 
 
 " I was thinking of something else," said Selina, 
 with perfect truth. It could not be possible, she 
 thought, and yet certainly the man she had seen 
 talking with Phin Mallory bore a very strong resem- 
 blance to Mrs. Orme's aristocratic Boston friend, 
 Mr. Pyncbeon. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 OLDHAM AFFAIRS. 
 
 WITH the atmosphere of home, Selina's better na- 
 ture revived for a time. The sight of her father's 
 resolutely endured suffering, and of her mother's 
 pale, cheerful, patient face, brought back the old re- 
 spect and affection. Then, she felt herself to be a 
 person of consequence ; and that was agreeable to 
 her, as it is to most people. She took the whole care 
 of the dairy, and most of the housekeeping, off her 
 mother's hands, and attended to it with an efficiency 
 and quietness which equally pleased and surprised 
 Mrs. Weston. She spoke of the matter to Miss 
 Armstrong. 
 
 " I always thought Selina had great capabilities," 
 said Miss Armstrong. " All she needs is, to forget 
 herself ; and you see she can do so when the motive 
 is strong enough. Certainly her style of doing things 
 is very unlike Mariette's. I shall never have any 
 opinion of that girl again." 
 
 For Mariette had taken herself home at the very 
 beginning of the trouble, alleging, as an excuse, that 
 she never could endure to be where there was sick- 
 ness, it made her feel so bad to see any one suffer. 
 
 3'5 
 
3l6 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " What can you expect ? " said Mrs. Weston. 
 "Those girls have been brought up to think of noth- 
 ing on earth but pleasing themselves, having a 
 good time, as they say ; and no better motive than 
 self-pleasing has ever been put before them. The 
 notion of duty has never entered their* heads. Their 
 aunt is just the same. When she was young, she 
 found pleasure in finery and such dissipation as 
 came within her reach. Now she finds it in the 
 laudanum-bottle. I do think that a passion for dress 
 and amusement is almost as ruinous to women as 
 drink is to men." 
 
 " You might say so if you had seen what I have," 
 replied Miss Armstrong. " More girls are utterly 
 destroyed by the passion for finery than from any 
 other one cause." 
 
 Selina had begun by heartily wishing Miss Arm- 
 strong away; and she had even ventured, in her 
 mother's absence, to give some broad hints that she 
 thought Miss Armstrong would be much more com- 
 fortable somewhere else, and, in fact, that her room 
 would be better than her company. But Miss Arm- 
 strong paid no attenton to these hints. She knew 
 that her presence in the house added nothing to the 
 work, and was a comfort to Mr. and Mrs. Weston, 
 for whom she had conceived a very earnest friend- 
 ship. She was very careful not to interfere with 
 Selina in any way, and to lighten her labors when- 
 ever it was possible ; and by degrees Selina became 
 reconciled to her presence, and even admitted to 
 herself that Miss Armstrong was a great help in the 
 sick-room. She had been at home more than a week, 
 
OLDHAM AFFAIRS. 317 
 
 and Mr. Weston had been pronounced out of danger, 
 when Mrs. Weston called Selina into the dairy, or 
 milk-room as they call it in those parts. 
 
 "Daughter, suppose you take a pitcher of this nice 
 buttermilk up to Cordelia Richmond," said she. 
 "Mrs. Gleason was telling me yesterday that it is 
 almost the only thing the poor child fancies. It will 
 be a nice walk for you, and you can stay and have a 
 visit with the girls." 
 
 "Well, I will," answered Selina. "I have not 
 seen Milly since I came home. And I will come 
 round by the post-office, and get the mail. What do 
 you think of my churning, mother?" 
 
 " It is beautiful," answered her mother. " I don't 
 see but I may give up the care of the milk to you 
 altogether, Selina : you manage every thing as well 
 as I could, myself. But you must let Jerry lift the 
 pails for you. God bless you, my child ! You are a 
 great comfort to us." 
 
 Selina took up her jug of buttermilk, and went on 
 her way, well satisfied with herself and with all the 
 world. She found Milly and Agnes sitting together 
 on the porch, their heads closely bent over a large 
 book which they held between them, and their atten- 
 tion so absorbed that they did not hear her till she 
 spoke to them. 
 
 " What in the world are you so busy with ? " asked 
 Selina. " You started, when I spoke, as if you had 
 been shot." 
 
 " Studying in my grandfather's old ' Matthew 
 Henry,' " answered Agnes, closing the volume, and 
 laying it aside. 
 
318 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " That is something new for you, Milly. You did 
 not use to care much about the Bible." 
 
 " No," answered Milly with none of the embar- 
 rassment which Selina had expected, and perhaps 
 had hoped to see. " One doesn't care for things thai 
 one knows nothing about ; but I am beginning to find 
 out that it is worth reading as a story-book, if for noth- 
 ing more. What have you in that pretty old blue- 
 and-white pitcher ? If mother sees it, you will hardly 
 get it back. She has a mania for blue-and-white." 
 
 " It is a very old pitcher, but I never supposed 
 there was any thing precious about it," replied Se- 
 lina. " It is only earthenware, not china." 
 
 " Only earthenware ! Just hear her ! Lovely old 
 Liverpool blue, and an American piece at that. Do 
 let me look at it. See, Agnes, here is the State-house 
 on one side, and let me see what actually Fan- 
 euil Hall on the other." 
 
 " Don't spill Cordelia's buttermilk in your admira- 
 tion of the pitcher. It is just churned, and mother 
 thought she might like it. How is she ? " 
 
 " I don't see that she is a bit better, though mother 
 thinks so," answered Milly sadly. "I think she fails 
 all the time. She likes the buttermilk, and it seems 
 to suit her. I am ever so much obliged, Selina." 
 
 " I am sure you are very welcome. I wish I could 
 do more than that for her, poor thing." 
 
 "There is one thing I wish you or some one would 
 do for her," said Milly as Agnes carried away the 
 blue jug to dispose of its contents, "and that is, to 
 persuade mother to let Cordelia see a minister. The 
 poor child wants it so much!" 
 
OLDHAM AFFAIRS. 319 
 
 " Why, won't your mother allow it ? " asked Selina. 
 
 "No, she won't hear of it. 1 She would not see 
 Mr. Brace herself when he called. I was in hopes 
 Dr. Madison would come, but he has gone back to 
 New York. I' think perhaps mother would have seen 
 him for the fashion of the thing." 
 
 " Miss Armstrong told me she called to see Cor- 
 delia, but your mother said she was not fit to receive 
 company." 
 
 " I believe it was for the same reason. She is so 
 afraid some one will say a word to Cordelia about dy- 
 ing. She won't let Agnes, or even Mrs. Gleason, stay 
 with her. I read the Bible to her, and she likes it ; 
 but of course there is a great deal I can't explain." 
 
 "Is she afraid of dying?" 
 
 " Not always. She said to-day, if she could know 
 her sins were forgiven, she should be happy; but she 
 does not see how she can be sure, so Agnes and I 
 were looking out the texts about it. I'm sure I 
 should like to comfort her if I could, poor thing. Do 
 sit down a little, Selina. I have hardly seen you 
 since you came home, and I want to hear what kind 
 of time you had in Oldbury." 
 
 " Here is your pitcher, Selina. But you will have 
 to excuse me," said Agnes, re-appearing : " my bread 
 has come up so suddenly that I must mould it up 
 directly, or it will be running over." 
 
 " Why, where is your mother ? " 
 
 " She has gone up to see Patience Fletcher, who is 
 sick in bed." 
 
 1 I wish this were an exaggeration ; but it is a literal fact, occurring within 
 my own knowledge. 
 
32O OLDHAM ; OA', BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " Is she ? What is the matter ? " 
 
 " Only overwork, the doctor says. You know she 
 always would do every thing herself, never would 
 let Faith or any one help her, for fear they would not 
 set all the teacups with the handles the same way ; 
 so now she can't set them up at all. Martha Jane 
 Kettle is staying there to help, and she told me she 
 wouldn't mind the work a bit if only Patience wouldn't 
 fret so." 
 
 " Does she surfer so much ? " 
 
 " Oh, it isn't that. She bears her pain like a mar- 
 tyr ; but she is so afraid Martha Jane won't do every 
 thing just in her way, though she is as neat as wax, 
 and a splendid cook. Martha Jane said to her one 
 day, ' See here, Miss Patience, if you was in heaven, 
 do you think you would be worrying about the work 
 all the time ? ' And Patience said, No, she supposed 
 not. 'Well, then,' says Martha Jane, 'try to think 
 you are in heaven, and leave me and Faith to man- 
 age the things on earth.' But there, I must go ; my 
 bread will be walking about the floor. Stay to tea, 
 Selina, and see what nice rolls I'll have for yon." 
 
 " So you are really going to Sunday school, Milly," 
 said Selina when they were left alone. 
 
 " I really am ; and, what is more, I like it." 
 
 "Whose class are you in ?" 
 
 " Miss Celia Claxton's, only old Mrs. Van Zandt 
 has it now." 
 
 "Oh," said Selina, as who should say, "Now I 
 understand." Milly colored. 
 
 " Yes, that was it exactly, to begin with," said she 
 frankly : " I did want to be acquainted with the Van 
 
OLD HAM AFFAIRS. 321 
 
 Zandts, and I thought it would be a good way to 
 bring it about. So, when I heard that Miss Celia 
 had gone to Elmfield for a month or so, and Mrs. 
 Van Zandt had taken the class, I told Agnes I would 
 go with her." 
 
 " A fine motive for going to Sunday school, I must 
 say," said Selina sarcastically. 
 
 "Wasn't it? Well, that was the beginning; but I 
 got interested in spite of myself. Madam Van Zandt 
 makes every thing so real ; and she was very kind to 
 me, and made me feel so mean that wasn't nice, a 
 bit, I can tell you. So, one day when she walked 
 home, I walked with her; and then I just told her all 
 about it." 
 
 "Amelia Richmond! you didn't." 
 
 "I did, then, just as I am telling you." 
 
 " What did she say ? " 
 
 " I can't tell you all, only she was just as good 
 as she could be, and didn't despise me as I was afraid 
 she would. She talked about the danger of loving 
 the world, and how little it was worth, after all." 
 
 " Yes, it is very well for her to say so, when she 
 has every thing that money can buy," interrupted 
 Selina. 
 
 " But think how many things money can't buy, 
 Selina. It can't give her back all the children she 
 has lost. Just think! nine children she has had, and 
 not one left. All the money in the world won't make 
 Cordelia well again. Well, I can't tell you all she 
 said, but she asked me to keep on coming ; and I 
 have, because I like it, as I said. And, after all, 
 Selina, if religion is any thing, as Agnes says, it must 
 be every thing." 
 
322 OLDIIAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 tl What does your mother say ? " 
 
 " I don't think she likes it very well ; but it is Mrs. 
 Van Zandt, so she won't say I shall not go." 
 
 " And do you really mean to be a Christian out and 
 out ? " 
 
 "That is just the point. You see, if I do, I am 
 afraid I shall have to give up a great many things 
 that I should like to keep. To be sure, I know a 
 great many church-members who are just as gay as 
 those who are not ; but I could not be like that. It 
 would be all or nothing, with me. But now tell me 
 about yourself. Did you have a nice time? Your 
 mother said you had made a great friend of some 
 New- York lady. Who was she ? " 
 
 Selina poured out the story of her intimacy with 
 Mrs. Orme. Milly listened seriously ; but, when Se- 
 lina came to the story of Mrs. Robert Livingstone's 
 lunch-party, she broke out, 
 
 " Nonsense, Selina ! The Robert Livingstones are 
 the most strait-laced temperance people in the world, 
 and never give wine at all. Mrs. Livingstone gives 
 beautiful lunch-parties, or so I have heard, for of 
 course I never went to one : she is a long way above 
 our mark, but every one knows how they feel about 
 wine." 
 
 " Perhaps it was some other Mrs. Robert Living- 
 stone," said Selina. "Mrs. Orme said they lived on 
 the corner of Fifth Avenue and Nth Street." 
 
 " It is the very same, but I don't believe she ever 
 visited them. She has been humbugging you," said 
 Milly with her usual bluntness. " Did she bring any 
 letters of introduction, or any such thing? " 
 
OLD II AM AFFAIRS. 323 
 
 " Not that I ever heard of. The ladies in Oldbury 
 don't like her, and don't visit her much ; but she has 
 a good deal of company, gentlemen friends from 
 New York." 
 
 " And she has asked you to spend the winter with 
 her ? " 
 
 "Yes ; and she says she will give me every advan- 
 tage of lessons from the best masters, and introduce 
 me to all her friends in society." 
 
 "Well, Selina," said Milly seriously, "if you will 
 take my advice, you will let this Mrs. Orme alone ; at 
 least, till you know something more about her. I 
 must say I don't think it very nice for her to try to 
 get you to leave Mr. and Mrs. Weston for her. And, 
 as to society, you had better know what kind of so- 
 ciety she keeps. She may be the mistress of. a beer- 
 garden, for aught you know." 
 
 An uncomfortable remembrance of Mr. Schultz's 
 remarks upon Mrs. Orme's singing returned to Se- 
 lina's mind, and kept her silent. In truth, since she 
 had been away from Mrs. Orme's personal influence, 
 a good many things in that lady's conduct and con- 
 versation had come back to her in a new light, espe- 
 cially when she compared her with Miss Armstrong 
 and the Van Zandts. The dreams of life in New 
 York as Mrs. Orme's guest, or in Boston as Mr. 
 Pyncheon's grand-daughter, had been too agreeable 
 to be at once relinquished ; but they had been of late 
 gradually fading away in the clear, bright light of her 
 refined Christian home. 
 
 Certain misgivings had arisen in her mind as to 
 the gentlemen she had met at Mrs. Orme's, and the 
 
324 OLD HAM ; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 way in which Mrs. Orme treated them and was treat- 
 ed by them. Milly's plain-spoken remarks chimed in 
 with these same misgivings, and irritated her accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 " You have taken up the true Olclham cant, Milly," 
 said she: "'I don't know her, therefore she must be 
 bad/ " 
 
 " ' I doirt know her, therefore I won't be intimate 
 with her,' would be a better way of putting it," 
 answered Milly, not in the least ruffled. "But, 
 Selina, I don't think your father and mother would 
 let you go ; at least, till they know more about this 
 Mrs. Orme. Have you said any thing about it to 
 them?" 
 
 "No, of course not. It would be a nice time to 
 talk about it now, wouldn't it ? What do you take 
 me for ? " 
 
 " For a goose," was Milly's inward reply, but she 
 did not utter it. She was silent a moment, and then 
 turned the conversation into another channel by in- 
 quiring about Selina's musical studies. The seed 
 which Mrs. Van Zandt had sowed in Milly's heart had 
 already brought forth fruit in the shape of some 
 consideration for the feelings of other people. 
 
 " I must go, Milly," said Selina, starting as the 
 clock struck five. " I have to go to the village on 
 my way home." 
 
 " I wish you could stay to tea." 
 
 " I wish so too ; but, you see, I have the care of 
 the dairy now. Come and see me." 
 
 " I will. I would walk part of the way with you, 
 but Cordelia is sure to ask for me the minute she 
 
OLD II AM AFFAIRS. 325 
 
 wakes. She has taken a great liking to me, poor 
 thing ; I'm sure I don't know why, for I have never 
 been very kind to her." 
 
 Selina was not very sorry to be left to a solitary 
 walk. She had been vexed at Milly's remarks about 
 Mrs. Orme, and, as I have already said, all the more 
 because they chimed in with her own misgivings. 
 
 " But I don't care, I will believe in her anyhow," 
 she said to herself. " Milly says that the Living- 
 stones are above their mark, and I dare say Eva 
 knows more about them than she does. I do hope I 
 shall have a letter from her ! " 
 
 Selina's hope was destined to fulfilment. She 
 found a long letter from Mrs. Orme, written on the 
 most elegant perfumed paper, in the most fashion- 
 able of hands, so very scratchy and sharp-pointed, 
 indeed, as to be almost illegible. She took the short 
 way home, which led through a somewhat deep and 
 shady ravine by the side of the river. Once in the 
 shadow of the woods, she walked along reading her 
 letter. It was full of protestations of affection. Mrs. 
 Orme told how she missed her young friend, and 
 how she longed for the time when she should have 
 that same young friend all to herself. " Of course 
 you cannot leave Mr. and Mrs. Weston, as things are 
 at present," she wrote ; " but it is absurd to think of 
 your being bound to them forever. The idea of a 
 girl of your sort being bound an apprentice ! The 
 very idea is degrading ; and your own self-respect, 
 if nothing else, ought to make you throw off such a 
 yoke, laid upon you without your own consent. To 
 think of my noble, beautiful Selina apprenticed like 
 
326 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 a boy from the workhouse put out to learn a trade ! " 
 There was much more to the same effect in Mrs. 
 Orme's letter, which filled no less than three sheets 
 of paper. 
 
 Selina had always known that she had been legally 
 bound to Mr. Weston at the time of her adoption, 
 a precaution usually very advisable in such cases. 
 It had never occurred to her to think of this bind- 
 ing as any degradation, or as any thing more than a 
 legal form, always observed when a child was put out 
 from the Oldbury asylum. Now, as she read Mrs. 
 Orme's letter, her cheeks flamed ; and she clenched 
 her hands, and stamped her foot, in shame and anger. 
 
 " I am a slave, that is the truth. Mother scolds 
 me for calling myself a hired girl, but it seems I am 
 not even that. But I won't endure it : I will never 
 be a slave, never! I wonder why Eva does not say 
 a word about Mr. Pyncheon." 
 
 As she spoke, Selina came to where the path made 
 a sudden turn round a projecting angle of the rocky 
 bank. As she did so she started violently ; for she 
 stood face to face with a man, and that man was 
 Mr. Pyncheon himself. For a moment he seemed as 
 startled as herself; then he recovered his presence 
 of mind. 
 
 " My dear Miss I beg pardon, I have forgotten 
 the name ; but I am sure I met you in Oldbury." 
 
 " Miss Weston," said Selina ; feeling, as she spoke, 
 a pang of mortification that Mr. Pyncheon should 
 have forgotten her already. "Have you seen Mrs. 
 Orme lately? I have just received a letter from 
 her." 
 
OLD HAM AFFAIRS. 327 
 
 " Mrs. Orme ? Oh, yes, our friend in Oldbury," said 
 Mr. Pyncheon, recovering his usual ease, not to say 
 freedom, of manner. "That was where I met you. 
 No, I have not seen her in some time. Did you say 
 you had a letter from her? I hope she is well." 
 
 "She is very well," answered Selina. "I wonder 
 she did not tell me you had returned. Are you stay- 
 ing at Oldbury ? " 
 
 " No yes, for a day or two. I drove over with 
 a friend who will be waiting for me, so I must ask 
 you to excuse me. Perhaps we shall meet again at 
 Mrs. Orme's. Good-afternoon." 
 
 He held out his hand ; and Selina, though deeply 
 mortified, could not refuse it. At that moment Kit 
 Mallory came down the path singing as usual. The 
 moment she caught sight of Mr. Pyncheon and 
 Selina, she stopped short an instant, as if petrified ; 
 then, turning, she fled up the path, as if pursued by 
 a wolf. 
 
 "Who is that child?" asked Mr. Pyncheon, look- 
 ing after her with an expression which seemed to 
 Seiina equally compounded of fear and anger. 
 
 " Her name is Kit Mallory. She is a kind of 
 adopted child of a family who live up on the hill. 
 You can see the end of the house a l.ttle farther on. 
 Do you know them ? " she could not help asking, 
 remembering what she had seen or fancied on the 
 cross-road. 
 
 " Mallory ? no. In fact, I don't know anybody 
 about here. Good-evening, Miss Wilson." And, 
 turning round the rock, he was out of sight so quickly 
 that Selina could not help thinking he must have 
 
328 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 climbed the bank and hidden himself among the 
 bushes. Thoroughly confused by this strange inter- 
 view, she walked hastily homeward, till, just where 
 the path came out into the open field, she found Kit 
 evidently waiting for her. 
 
 " Selina," said Kit, speaking under her breath, 
 and looking around her, "you must not talk to that 
 man : he is a very wicked, bad man." 
 
 " Nonsense, you little goose ! He is a gentleman 
 from Boston whom I met in Oldbury. His name is 
 Pyncheon." 
 
 Kit shook her head. " He is no more Mr. Pyn- 
 cheon from Boston than you are. 7 know him, if he 
 changes his hair a dozen times a day. He is a bad, 
 wicked man ; and if you talk to him you will be 
 sorry." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Selina again. " You are a very 
 silly little girl, and very impertinent besides, to say 
 such things about a gentleman. Don't you think my 
 friend Mrs. Orme knows him ? " 
 
 Kit shook her head, but said no more. She had 
 apparently discharged her conscience ; and, bidding 
 Selina good-night, she turned again toward the vil- 
 lage, not by the ravine this time, but by the high 
 road, and Selina saw her look behind her more 
 than once, as if fearing pursuit. 
 
 Selina took her own way homeward, a good deal 
 mortified and still more puzzled by the conduct of 
 her late acquaintance. Certainly his recognition of 
 her, such as it was, had not been flattering. He had 
 seemed in a great hurry to get away ; and, if Kit had 
 been scared at the sight of Mr. Pyncheon, Selina 
 
OLDHAM AFFAIRS. 329 
 
 could not get rid of the idea that Mr. Pyncheon had 
 been equally scared at her. In short, she could not 
 tell what to make of it ; and, between the meeting 
 and Mrs. Orme's letter, she returned home in any 
 thing but a comfortable frame of mind. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WARNING. 
 
 KIT did her errands at the village store, gathered 
 her parcels together, and, not without fear and trem- 
 bling, prepared to set out on her homeward walk. 
 At the door she found Abner Bassett with his 
 father's team and wagon. 
 
 "Halloo, Kitty! Want a ride home?" was his 
 cheery greeting. The offer of a ride was an ordinary 
 civility; and Kit was a great favorite with the family 
 at the mill, from Ma Bassett down to the latest baby. 
 Kit gratefully accepted the offer, and climbed into 
 the rattling lumber-wagon with as much pleasure as 
 if it had been the finest coach in the land. 
 
 " I have to go round by Aunt Betsy's to take home 
 her molasses-jug, so I can set you down right at 
 your own gate," said Abner as he took his seat, and 
 started up his horses. "Well, and how are you get- 
 ting on at your house ? Your uncle doesn't come to 
 Bible class any more ? " 
 
 " No," said Kit sadly, " I can't coax him to come ; 
 but he lets me go, and he doesn't say a word against 
 my going to Sunday school. Last Sunday he took 
 33 
 
WARNING. 331 
 
 my library-book, and read it all through. That was 
 nice, wasn't it ? " 
 
 "Very," said Abner encouragingly. "I'll tell you 
 what, Kitty : next Sunday I'll pick out a real inter- 
 esting book, and you shall take it home to him." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! Perhaps he will come after a 
 while, if he likes the books." 
 
 " Perhaps so. You love your uncle, don't you, 
 Kitty ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Kit with emphasis. " Uncle Phin 
 is always good to me when he doesn't drink, and he 
 was always good to poor aunt Martha. It seems to 
 me sometimes as if he was two men ; and one man 
 wanted to be good, and the other wouldn't let him. 
 I don't know as you understand what I mean." 
 
 " Yes, I do : I've felt that way myself a good many 
 times." 
 
 " Well, I can't help hoping that the good man will 
 get the best of it some time," said Kit. 
 
 "We will all hope so," returned Abner. "Here 
 we are at Aunt Betsy's, and here she is looking out 
 for us. Now she will have something nice and pleas- 
 ant to say. Can you hold the lines while I get out 
 the parcels ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes : I am never afraid of horses," replied 
 Kit. " When we lived in the Indian country I used 
 to ride the ponies bare-backed." 
 
 " Good for you ! I'll give you a ride on my black 
 colt some day. Halloo, Aunt Betsy ! Here's your 
 shopping." 
 
 Aunt Betsy appeared at the door, candle in hand. 
 "Dear me, Abner! you needn't holler so. I never 
 
332 OLD/JAM, OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 did see such boys for yelling in all my born days. 
 Did you get the coffee ? Seems to me it feels dread- 
 ful light for half a pound. Where's the molasses ? 
 Now, you didn't go and forget that molasses-jug, 
 Abner Bassett ? There never was any thing like 
 boys." 
 
 "Hold on, Aunt Betsy. The jug is in the wagon 
 all safe. Here it is, you see ; and here is some ham, 
 or something, Mrs. Andrews sent you." 
 
 "Why couldn't you say so, then ?" snapped Aunt 
 Betsy " Ham, is it ? Just like Harriet Anne An- 
 drews. Why couldn't she send me some fresh 
 meat ? " 
 
 " On the whole, I believe it is beefsteak, and not 
 ham, Aunt Betsy." 
 
 " There is a slice of ham in with the beef," ob- 
 served Kit from her perch in the wagon. 
 
 " Yes, I dare say you looked at it. What business 
 had you a-peeping and a-swooping into my parcels, 
 Kit Mallory ? " 
 
 " I didn't look into it," answered Kit indignantly. 
 " I was in the kichen, and saw Mrs. Andrews do it 
 up. She told me last Sunday she would give me 
 some nice papers if I would come after them, so I 
 did ; and I had to wait a little, because she said she 
 was just doing up some things for Aunt Betsy Burr." 
 
 " Yes, that's a likely story ; not but that it would 
 be just like Harriet Anne Andrews to tell everybody 
 what she was doing. Well, there, I guess you've 
 got every thing, for once. You can tell your ma, if 
 she has got more plums than she wants, I should like 
 a few to make sauce of." 
 
WARNING. 333 
 
 "Aunt Betsy is rather worse than usual," said 
 Abner as he drove away. 
 
 " What does make her so cross ? " asked Kit. " Is 
 it because she has had so much trouble ? " 
 
 " She has never had any great trouble that I know 
 of," replied Abner, "Her husband, Uncle Jonathan, 
 was one of the best and kindest men that ever lived, 
 and always waited on her like a slave ; but he was 
 not one of the kind that make money, and that 
 vexed her. I do think she fairly worried the old man 
 into his grave. Since then all the neighbors have 
 looked after her and done for her; but she is never 
 satisfied, and never would be, whatever they did." 
 
 " I often think she must be lonesome living by 
 herself so." 
 
 " Well, that is her fault too. Lucinda Jane Pea- 
 body went to stay with her; but, after she had tried 
 it a month, she told ma she would rather go and 
 keep house for old Kettle on Indian Hill than stay 
 with Mrs. Burr. And I am sure I would," concluded 
 Abner. "The old Indian is good-natured, at any 
 rate. Well, here we are, Kitty. Have you got all 
 your papers ? Good-night, and thank you for your 
 company." 
 
 Kit had been in some measure diverted by Abner's 
 chat and Aunt Betsy's scolding ; but, as she climbed 
 the somewhat long and steep ascent from the bars 
 to the house, her fears returned upon her with double 
 force ; and it was with a very anxious and troubled 
 face that she sought out Symantha, whom she found 
 taking care of the milk. 
 
 " Well, Kit, did you have a nice walk, and get 
 
334 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 your papers ? Why, what ails you, child ? You 
 look as if you had seen a ghost." 
 
 " I have seen something worse," answered Kit in 
 a low tone. " Symantha, what do you think ! I have 
 seen Gale again, and he was talking to Selina 
 Weston." 
 
 "Are you sure?" asked Symantha. 
 
 "Just as sure as that I see you. I went down 
 the brook-path ; and, when I came round the corner, 
 there he stood talking with Selina. I saw him shake 
 hands with her." 
 
 "Impossible!" 
 
 " Yes, he was. He has got white hair and whisk- 
 ers ; but I should know him by his eyes and the 
 shape of his face if he were to paint his face black." 
 
 " What did you do ? " 
 
 " I turned and ran till I came to the road ; and 
 then I waited for Selina, and told her who he was." 
 
 " And what did she say ? " 
 
 " She called me silly and impertinent, and said he 
 was a gentleman from Boston that she had met in 
 Oldbury. But I knew him well enough ; and, what 
 is more, I believe he knew me." 
 
 " I hope not," said Symantha, evidently much 
 discomposed. " I do wish I knew what was going 
 on I believe that man is making a tool of father, 
 and drawing him into some scrape." 
 
 " Then you believe it was Gale ? " 
 
 " Yes, Kit, I do, because I think I saw him myself 
 down in our woods the day the steer was lost, the 
 day Selina Weston came home. He was dressed 
 very smart, and had white hair, as you say ; but I 
 
WARNING. 335 
 
 thought of Gale in a moment. More than that, 
 I believe some one has slept in the barn chamber 
 more than once, and that father has carried provis- 
 ions to him. What can he be about ? " 
 
 Kit thought a moment ; and then she drew Syman- 
 tha into a little room which opened from the pantry, 
 and shut the door. 
 
 " Symantha," she whispered, " I don't know what 
 you will say ; but do you suppose they can be plan- 
 'ning to rob Mrs. Van Zandt ? " 
 
 Symantha dropped on a seat, her face as white as 
 her apron. 
 
 " Kit, what do you mean ? What makes you think 
 so?" 
 
 " Well, a good many things. It is the only house 
 round here that would be worth the risk, for one 
 thing. And there is another reason. You know 
 uncle Phin would not let me go near Mrs. Van 
 Zandt's for ever so long. He did not like it because 
 I went to the flower party ; and he would not let me 
 go again, though Miss Van Zandt asked me, and 
 offered to teach me to make lace. Then all at once 
 he turned round, and wanted me to go." Kit sank 
 her voice still lower. " And ever since I began, he 
 has asked me such queer questions when I am alone 
 with him." 
 
 " What sort of questions ? " 
 
 " Well, about the silver, how much they used, 
 and where they kept it. And yesterday, when I was 
 helping him pick the harvest apples, he asked me if 
 I had ever been in the ladies' rooms, and where they 
 kept their jewels." 
 
336 OLD HAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " And what did you tell him ? " 
 
 "I told him I didn't know any thing about it, and 
 that I had never been in any of the up-stairs rooms 
 only Miss Bogardus's when she was teaching me the 
 lace stitches ; and I didn't believe they had any 
 jewels with them only the diamond ear-rings Madam 
 Van Zandt always wears. And then he muttered 
 that he knew better, and that folks ought to have 
 more sense than to bring such things to lonely coun- 
 try houses. And it is lonesome," added Kit. "The 
 house stands so far back from the road, with no other 
 anywhere nearer than this, except Miss Claxton's ; 
 and I don't know what good they could do. You 
 don't think uncle Phin would be led away to do such 
 a thing as that ? " 
 
 Symantha pressed her hands hard together. 
 
 " I don't know, Kit. If he were left to himself he 
 would cut his hand off before he would do any thing 
 to injure Mrs. Van Zandt. But he is in this man's 
 power, at least he thinks so, and there is no 
 telling Hush ! there he is." 
 
 And at that moment Phin's voice was heard, calling 
 harshly, " Here, Symantha, Kit, where are you all ? " 
 
 " Don't say a word, for your life," whispered Sy- 
 mantha ; then aloud, "Here I am, pa. What is it ?" 
 
 "Where's Kit? I want her. See here, Kit, what 
 do you mean by hanging round Andrews's store, and 
 being out after dark ? " 
 
 "I was not out after dark, uncle Phin," answered 
 Kit. " I have been home this half-hour. I went to 
 get some papers Mrs. Andrews promised me, and I 
 caught a ride with Abner Bassett." 
 
WARNING. 337 
 
 " Yes, I know you did ; and a nice figure you made, 
 perched up on his wagon-seat. I won't have you 
 riding round with young fellows in that way. Do 
 you hear me, or not ? " 
 
 Kit could not well help hearing, for Phin spoke very 
 loud ; and, hard as his language was, Kit could not 
 help thinking that his anger was assumed. She 
 answered quite meekly, 
 
 " I am sorry, uncle Phin. I didn't mean any thing 
 wrong," 
 
 " Oh, no, you never mean any thing wrong," 
 returned Phin in the same loud, harsh tone ; and, 
 glancing toward the window as he spoke, "you go 
 to bed, and stay there, that's what I want of you. 
 Go this minute," as Kit cast a glance toward her 
 papers. He paused a moment, and then added, with 
 a curious irresolution in his tone and manner, " There, 
 you can take your books and a light, if you like ; but 
 go up stairs, and stay there. Symantha, I want you 
 to take a light, and look up in the back chamber for 
 the bottle of horse-liniment. I know I put it yp 
 there somewhere, but I can't find it." 
 
 " Here's the bottle on the shelf by the clock, uncle 
 Phin," said Kit, taking it down as she spoke. Phin 
 snatched it from her, and set it back with such a 
 trembling hand that he dropped it, and it broke to 
 pieces on the hearth. 
 
 "There! see what you made me do. That is not 
 what I want. It is a large green bottle with a 
 wooden stopper. I know I put it up in the back 
 room. Kit, why don't you go to your room, as I told 
 you?" 
 
338 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " I am going, uncle Phin," said Kit, gathering her 
 papers together. "And I'll tell you what I am going 
 to do when I get there : I am going to kneel clown, 
 and ask God to keep you away from wicked men who 
 want you to do wicked things." Then, coming close 
 to her uncle, she threw her arms round his neck, and 
 whispered in his ear, 
 
 " Uncle Phin, don't ; please don't. Just think what 
 aunt Martha would say if she knew. And God loves 
 you more than she did, I know He does. O uncle 
 Phin, don't ! " 
 
 " Don't what? Don't be a fool," said Phin. 
 "There, I am not angry with you, child," he added 
 with the same curious irresolution in his tone, un- 
 clasping, but not ungently, the arms which clung 
 round his neck. "Go to bed, like a good girl, and 
 pray as much as you like. You sit up too late, and 
 that is what makes you so thin. Symantha, are you 
 going to find that bottle ? or do you want the colt to 
 die before I get it ? " 
 
 " I don't think I can, father," said Symantha, who 
 had dropped on the nearest chair. " I have had one 
 of my headaches all day, and I am so dizzy just now 
 I can hardly stand. I was going to ask you to help 
 me up stairs." 
 
 She tried to rise as she spoke, but nearly fell to 
 the floor. Phin caught her in his arms. " I'll carry 
 you up," said he. " Come, Kit : you hold the light, 
 and then go to bed yourself." 
 
 Phin laid his daughter on the bed, and kissed her 
 tenderly enough. 
 
 "There, Kit will help you to get settled," said 
 
WARNING. 339 
 
 he. " You will be better when you have had a good 
 rest." 
 
 As soon as Symantha had dismissed Kit, she rose, 
 and, though blind and giddy with pain, she crept to 
 the other side of the house, where a small window 
 looked toward the barn. She had waited only a few 
 minutes when she saw her father leave the house 
 with a basket ; and presently she saw, or thought she 
 saw, a gleam of light from the loft. Yes, there it 
 was again ; and then she saw it, but only for a mo- 
 ment, from the window of the little bedroom over the 
 stable, which Kit had used all summer for a play- 
 room. Phin had lately taken possession of this 
 room for a harness-room, as he said, and had fitted it 
 with a stout lock and key. Symantha sighed deeply, 
 and even groaned. She was like one who sees a friend 
 in horrible peril, and is unable to lift a finger to save 
 him. She knew there was no use in talking. Like 
 other weak people, Phin had an abundant fund of 
 obstinacy, and was excessively jealous of being gov- 
 erned. Such people are sometimes said to be easily 
 led ; and so they are in some directions, as a stone is 
 easily started down hill. But try to roll your stone 
 up hill, and you will find that a very different matter. 
 Symantha had wondered at her father for taking 
 Kit's remonstrance so quietly ; but then, he had been 
 exceedingly kind and indulgent to the child ever 
 since his wife died, even going so far as to attend the 
 schoolhouse meetings with her two or three times, 
 where he had been made very welcome. But all the 
 good in the universe is of no use to a man so long as 
 it is outside of him, as the wise old German has it. 
 
340 OLD HAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Phin's feelings had been touched, and his natural 
 musical taste pleased by the singing ; but his will 
 remained the same. He had made a solemn promise 
 to his dying wife, which at the time he fully meant 
 to perform ; but he was waiting from day to day, " till 
 things should be different," he said. Meantime Satan 
 was not idle, but was working by one of his most 
 active agents, now awaiting Phin in the barn cham- 
 ber. 
 
 " Well, here you are at last," was the salutation 
 Phin received as he entered the room. " I thought 
 you were never coming. What kept you ? " 
 
 " Well, I had to get the women-folks out of the 
 way." 
 
 " Bother the women ! Why don't you send them 
 adrift ? That young one will bring you into trouble 
 yet. I believe she knew me this afternoon." 
 
 "Nonsense! How could she know you? She has 
 not seen you since she was a baby. But say, Harry, 
 I wish you would give this thing up." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh, because. I have a feeling that harm will 
 come of it ; and, besides, the old lady was kind to my 
 poor wife." 
 
 Gale poured out a flood of abuse upon cowards and 
 sott-heads who did not know their own minds ; end- 
 ing with, " But I'll tell you what, Phin : if you play 
 me false, I'll have your life, just as sure as you live. 
 I have planned to do this thing, and I am going to 
 carry it through ; and you are going to help me, or 
 you are not going to see sunrise to-morrow." 
 
 " Who said any thing about playing false ? " asked 
 
WARNING. . 341 
 
 Phin sulkily. "You do well to bully me, don't you ? 
 Where would you be this minute but for me?" 
 
 " I know, and I don't forget it ; but I won't be 
 played fast and loose with." 
 
 " And, as to playing false, you had better look out 
 for somebody besides me," continued Phin. " Much 
 need to talk to me, when you put your head in that 
 woman's pocket." 
 
 " What, Sally ? She's as true as steel. You ought 
 to see her playing the fine lady there in Oldbury. 
 Well, there, go and get a nap, and I'll do the same ; 
 but keep one eye open, and call me at one : and re- 
 member, no fooling ! " 
 
 Phin crept back to the house ashamed, enraged, 
 wretched as a man could be ; feeling himself a slave, 
 and lacking courage to make a stroke for freedom. 
 A French writer has said, that, to reap any benefit 
 from sin, a man must be altogether wicked ; and Phin 
 was not that. His conscience, though blunted, was 
 not dead. Since he had lived in Oldham a good many 
 things had happened to bring to mind the teachings 
 of that Christian mother and sister whose memory 
 he still revered. He had more than half made up his 
 mind to give up all his old courses, and betake him- 
 self to a decent, sober life. But then the tempter 
 had come in his way, the man who, as he believed, 
 had him in his power, and the weak will had yielded 
 to the strong one. He had been led into more than 
 one piece of wickedness in his absences from home. 
 Now came the crowning atrocity, for so he felt it. 
 He was being made a tool of to rob, perhaps murder, 
 the woman who had been a mother to his wife. To 
 
342 OLD If AM; OR, RESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 be sure, Gale had promised that there should be no 
 violence ; but what was his word worth ? The fright 
 alone was enough to kill such an old lady. There 
 was not a man about the place, he knew, for the 
 coachman had gone to Oldtown to meet some friends 
 of Mrs. Van Zandt's who were coming by the early 
 morning train. Nobody was there but three or four 
 weak women. Phin flung himself down in the rock- 
 ing-chair, his wife's chair, and groaned almost 
 aloud. " Talk of going to sleep ! " he said to himself. 
 " You might as well tell a man to go to sleep when 
 the Indians were pouring hot coals on his head." 
 The clock struck nine ten eleven. How dread- 
 fully fast the hours were going on ! It would soon 
 be time to call Gale. 
 
 Suddenly a thought flashed across him. What 
 if he should send them warning ? If they were all 
 awake and up, and the house lighted, surely Gale 
 would never dare go near it. 
 
 Nothing is so dear to a weak mind as a compro- 
 mise. Phin rose to his feet in an instant, found his 
 way softly up the stairs in the dark, and opened Kit's 
 door. He dared not strike a light, lest a ray should 
 betray him ; but it was a starlight night, and the 
 large window was wholly uncovered, so that his eyes, 
 accustomed to the darkness, saw the bed and its oc- 
 cupant. As he bent over, and laid his hand on her 
 arm, Kit, who was always a light sleeper, started up 
 broad awake on the instant. 
 
 "Uncle Phin, what is it?" 
 
 " Hush ! " said Phin sharply. " Kit, listen. Are 
 you afraid to run up to Mrs. Van Zandt's ? You can 
 
WARNING. 343 
 
 go along by the trees, and nobody will see you. Are 
 you afraid to go to save Mrs. Van Zandt and the 
 young ladies ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid, but I'll go," was Kit's characteristic 
 answer. "But how shall I get out without any 
 one seeing me ? " 
 
 " Go down the front stairs, and out at the little 
 side door: that is out of sight from the barn. 
 Keep along the road in the shadow of the trees till 
 you come to the turn by Crossett's red barn, then 
 go across lots. Quick, now, if you are to do any 
 good." 
 
 Kit was up and dressed in an instant. "What 
 shall I say ? " she asked. 
 
 "Tell them to get up and have lights burning, and 
 to make as if they had company. Tell them Oh, 
 bother ! tell them what you like ; but be quick if you 
 are going to do any good." 
 
 "Wait one minute," said Kit. For a brief space, 
 which did not seem long even to Phin's impatience, 
 she knelt by her bedside. Then, taking her shoes in 
 hand, she crept down stairs, slipped out of the little 
 side door, leaving it ajar behind her, and glided like 
 a shadow out at the gate, and up the road shaded 
 with maple-trees of sixty years growth. Phin watched 
 the little figure as far as he could see it, and then 
 went to the other side of the house, and looked tow- 
 ard the barn. All was quiet there ; and he returned 
 to his chair, to be tormented by a hundred misgiv- 
 ings, and to wish he had let the child alone. He had 
 sent her into terrible danger, for he well knew that 
 Gale would never hesitate to murder Kit if he caught 
 
344 OLD HAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 her. The hour set, one o'clock, was drawing very 
 near. Why could he not have thought of it before ? 
 Kit would never have time to reach the stone house ; 
 and perhaps she could not succeed in waking the 
 ladies, even if she did. He wished he had gone 
 himself, or let the matter alone. Poor Phin ! a great 
 part of his life had been spent in doing things, and 
 then wishing he had not done them. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE NET CLOSED. 
 
 KIT sped swiftly and silently as a mousing-owl 
 under the shadow of the great maple-trees, where 
 the soft, short grass returned no sound to her tread. 
 It was not till she reached a spot out of sight of 
 house and barn that she stopped to put on her shoes, 
 without which she dared not try to ascend the stony 
 path. It was soon done ; and she took her way up 
 the hill, stopping more than once to look round, and 
 strain her eyes through the darkness. She could not 
 resist the conviction that some one or something was 
 following her, stopping when she stopped, and moving 
 when she moved. Her blood chilled at the thought. 
 Could it be Gale, who had seen her, after all ? Or 
 was it what ? 
 
 Kit had heard plenty of wild stories, and had 
 abundance of superstitious fears. She had heard 
 from her Indian friends, of creatures which roamed 
 at night to entrap unwary travellers ; first scaring 
 them out of their senses, and then tearing them to 
 pieces. She had heard, too, from the school-children, 
 about the great snake, which at least once in the 
 
 345 
 
346 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 year crossed the town of Oldham from Indian Hill 
 to the Big Swamp, and back again, who should say 
 on what errand ? She had heard, too, of panthers 
 (or "painters," as the children called them), wild 
 animals, but endued with more than animal cunning 
 and malice ; and, like every old New-England town, 
 Oldham had plenty of legends of goblin and ghost, 
 witch and what not. 
 
 "But they can't hurt me unless He lets them, and 
 I don't believe He will," said Kit sturdily to herself, 
 after a longer pause than usual, during which she 
 was sure she had heard the breaking of a dry twig 
 under some one's foot. " I don't believe Gale saw 
 me, and I'm sure nobody about here would hurt me." 
 
 So saying, she hastened on more rapidly, as if to 
 atone for her delay ; but it seemed an age to her 
 before she reached the turn by her favorite ledge, 
 and saw the stone house not far away, and a dim 
 light burning in Madam Van Zandt's window. The 
 next room was Amity's, she knew ; but how to rouse 
 them ? She stood a second to consider, and then 
 took up a handful of gravel, and threw it against the 
 window. 
 
 Waked by the noise, Amity started up ; but, before 
 she could strike a light, the sound came again, and a 
 soft voice called, " Miss Bogardus ! " She sprang to 
 the window, and, opening it, saw a little dark figure 
 below. 
 
 " O Miss Bogardus, hurry and let me in ! " said 
 Kit in a tone of entreaty, for her courage was fast 
 giving way. " Oh, do hurry ! I am sure I hear 
 them." 
 
THE NET CLOSED. 347 
 
 "What is it, Amity?" asked Ida sleepily from the 
 next room. 
 
 t: It is Kit, and she wants to come in," answered 
 Amity ; and again came the agonized entreaty, " O 
 Miss Bogardus, do hurry ! " 
 
 It seemed an age to Kit, though it was not more 
 than a few minutes, before she was admitted to the 
 side hall, where were assembled Mrs. Van Zandt, 
 Amity, and Ida, and another tall young lady whom 
 Kit did not know. 
 
 " Fasten the door, quick ! " were Kit's first words. 
 "Fasten all the doors and windows." 
 
 " Yes, yes, we will fasten them," said Amity sooth- 
 ingly. " My dear child, what is the matter ? " 
 
 " Fasten the doors ; never mind me. Oh, do be 
 quick ! they will be here." 
 
 " Who will be here ? " asked Ida. 
 
 "The robbers. Uncle Phin sent me to tell you. 
 They are coming to rob the house to-night. Don't 
 ask me any more questions, but hurry and fasten up 
 every thing. They will be here : I heard some one 
 coming up the hill. Oh, do hurry ! they will kill 
 you." 
 
 Ida, never very courageous, looked at Amity in 
 dismay. The tall young lady, whom Kit did not 
 know, stepped into her room, and brought out a neat 
 little case, which she began to unlock. 
 
 "There will be two words to that," said she coolly. 
 " How many are there ? " 
 
 " Only two that I know of, but there may be more. 
 Uncle Phin sent me to tell you. Oh, why dont 
 you hurry and fasten up every thing ? " said Kit, 
 
348 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 clasping her hands in an agony of impatience, as the 
 girls looked at each other. 
 
 " My dear child, I don't understand you," said Mrs. 
 Van Zandt soothingly. " I almost think you must 
 have been dreaming." 
 
 Kit stood up, and strove to speak calmly ; but, 
 before she could answer, Percy broke in, 
 
 " Excuse me, Mrs. Van Zandt, but I think we are 
 the dreamers. If the child's story is true, we have 
 not a moment to lose ; if it is false, we shall only 
 have lost our labor. Don't stand staring, girls, but 
 collect the valuables, and carry them to some safe 
 place. Aggy, get together Mrs. Van Zandt's jewels 
 and laces. Amity, you and Ida take the spoons and 
 silver. Is there any money in the house ? " 
 
 "Only a few dollars." 
 
 " So much the better. Come, girls, be quick." 
 
 "Wouldn't it be better to dress, and run down to 
 Miss Claxton's ? " suggested Amity. 
 
 "And so run right into the arms of these men, as 
 likely as not," said Ida. " Besides, aunt Barbara 
 could not do it. No, Amity : Percy is right. Don't 
 waste a moment. What are you going to do, 
 Percy ? " 
 
 " Stand here and keep guard for the present," 
 answered Percy, examining the charges of her re- 
 volver, and changing a doubtful-looking cartridge. 
 
 " But you won't shoot anybody ? " said Mrs. Van 
 Zandt. 
 
 " Not if I can help it. Dear Mrs. Van Zandt, do 
 let Aggy take you up stairs." 
 
 "How cool you are!" said Ida, pausing a moment, 
 
7Y7.fi 1 NET CLOSED. 349 
 
 with her lap full of spoons. " I wish I were like 
 you. I am horribly frightened." 
 
 " So am I," answered Percy ; " but, if you had 
 lived two years and a half in Arizona, you would 
 know that the more scared you are, the cooler you 
 need to be." 
 
 In a very few minutes every thing of value was 
 stored in a strong closet built for such purposes, and 
 not easy to find unless the searcher knew where to 
 look; and the ladies betook themselves to the front 
 bedroom over the door, and awaited their unwelcome 
 visitors. They had not long to wait. In less than 
 half an hour, stealthy steps were heard, and the han- 
 dle of the door was carefully tried. To Ida's terror, 
 Percy opened the window and called, " Who is 
 there ? 
 
 " Let us in," was the response. 
 
 " Not till I know who you are." 
 
 " Look here, young woman, just you let us in 
 peaceably, and we won't hurt you : if we have to let 
 ourselves in, perhaps we shall. We mean to have 
 what is worth having in this house, and you can't 
 help yourself." 
 
 "That's Gale," whispered Kit. "He'll kill you 
 all, as likely as not, if he gets in. He doesn't care 
 what he does." 
 
 " He won't get in," answered Percy ; then, speak- 
 ing to the men outside, "We have fire-arms, and 
 know how to use them. The first man who enters 
 this house is a dead man." 
 
 " Do come away, Percy : he will shoot you," 
 urged Ida. 
 
350 OLD HAM ' ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 " No, he won't ; but I have said my say, so I'll 
 shut the window." 
 
 " Hark ! What are they doing now ? " 
 
 " Sawing out the panel of the door," answered 
 Percy. "Don't you hear them ? I must unfasten this 
 door so as to meet them before they can get up the 
 stairs. Did you lock all the doors below, Amity ? " 
 
 Amity held up the keys. 
 
 " Good ! then they can't do any thing but come up 
 stairs. What are they stopping for, I wonder? Hark ! 
 What is that ? " 
 
 There was a little silence, then the sound of a 
 scuffle ; and a shot was heard, followed by a heavy 
 groan. Percy ventured to open the window and look 
 out. She saw two figures stretched on the ground, 
 surrounded by two or three more. 
 
 " What is it ? " she called. 
 
 "All right, ma'am," answered a cheery, manly 
 voice from below. " We got here just in the nick 
 of time. Please open the door : there's no danger 
 now." 
 
 " Who are you ? " persisted Percy. But, before she 
 could receive an answer, two more figures appeared 
 upon the scene, and a voice she well knew called 
 out, " Halloo ! what does this mean ? " 
 
 " What are you going to do, Perry ? " asked Mrs. 
 Van Zandt as Percy sprang to the door and unlocked 
 it. 
 
 "Don't be in a hurry, Percy," chimed in Ida: "it 
 may be all a plot to get in." 
 
 " A plot, you goose ! Do you think I don't know 
 Abram's voice ? " Percy ran down the stairs ; and 
 
THE NET CLOSED. 351 
 
 Amity advanced to the head of them in time to see 
 her unlock and unchain the front-door, and throw 
 herself upon a tall, stalwart figure, with a cry that 
 had something decidedly shaky in its sound. 
 
 " There, there, my girl, don't go into hysterics. 
 What's the matter ? " 
 
 " No wonder the lady is scared," said a voice from 
 behind, as a stout man in a blue uniform entered the 
 hall : " it was enough to scare any one. But the 
 danger is all over now, only we must get this 
 wounded man under cover. There is a heavy thun- 
 der-gust coming up. If the lady will tell me where 
 to find a small mattress, it will be easier for him." 
 
 " In the little blue room, Aggy," said Mrs. Van 
 Zandt. 
 
 "With your leave I'll help her, ma'am," said the 
 stout man, stepping up the staircase with two strides, 
 as it seemed. "Ah, yes, this is it. Careful now, men ; 
 mind the other fellow. Perhaps you and your friend 
 will bear a hand, sir." 
 
 In another minute or two a desperately wounded 
 man was laid on the wide sofa in the hall, and Kit 
 had thrown herself on her knees beside him with a 
 cry of anguish. 
 
 " Uncle Phin, O uncle Phin ! speak to Kitty." 
 
 " Kitty," said Phin, opening his eyes. " Is Kit safe ? 
 Then it's all right." He sank back with a sigh, and 
 closed his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, do some one go for the doctor ! " cried Kit, 
 wringing her hands. " Don't let him die. O uncle 
 Phin!" 
 
 " Hush, my child. I am a doctor, and I will see 
 
352 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 to him," said the second new-comer, advancing to the 
 sofa. " Ladies, please step out of the way. Police- 
 man, I shall need your help. Take the child away, 
 Ida. Yes, my dear, you shall see him again di- 
 rectly." 
 
 "And now what is all this about ? " asked Abram 
 van Alstyne, depositing his wife on the sofa. " Frank 
 and I walked over from the railroad, and the first we 
 knew found ourselves in the midst of a battle." 
 
 Ida told the story as far as she knew it. " As for 
 the rest, you must ask our champions themselves," 
 she concluded. " They may have come out of a 
 cloud, for aught I know. I am sorry poor Mallory 
 was the one to be shot, for it was he who sent us 
 warning." 
 
 " So much the better for him," remarked the tall 
 policeman. "But it was none of us who shot him : 
 it was that fellow Gale, or Burchard he has a dozen 
 names or more. We have been watching for him for 
 a week. His wife put us on his track at last. We 
 came up just as they started out, and followed them 
 every step of the way. But what brought you up 
 here, sis ? " 
 
 " Uncle Phin sent me," sobbed Kit. " He told me 
 to come up and tell the ladies. Oh, do you think he 
 will die ? " 
 
 " I don't know, child. He is badly hurt, I am 
 afraid ; but we shall hear what the doctor says. Here 
 he comes now. Well, doctor ? " 
 
 " It is a desperate case," said Dr. Van Alstyne. 
 " He may last till morning, or even a little longer if 
 kept perfectly quiet ; but it would be instant death 
 
THE NET CLOSED. 353 
 
 to move him. He knows his condition, and is very 
 anxious to see Mrs. Van Zandt and his daughter." 
 
 " Potter, you might go down for the woman," said 
 the tall policeman. " Get out the horse, and bring 
 her up." 
 
 "Well, my poor man, this is very sad," said Mrs. 
 Van Zandt, seating herself beside the wounded man. 
 "Dr. Van Alstyne says you wish to speak to me." 
 
 " You are Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt, who adopted 
 Martha Kathleen Joyce ? " said Phin. 
 
 " Yes, my friend." 
 
 "She was my wife," said Phin, speaking slowly 
 but quite clearly. " She was my cousin's widow, 
 David Selkirk's widow. He died, and left her and 
 her child to my care ; for I was pretty steady then, 
 and was helping him in his business. Afterward I 
 married her. There was quite a good deal of money 
 coming to her and the child, but I fooled it away 
 gambling and horse-trotting. Gale got most of it. 
 Then my wife went crazy ; and I was afraid a fuss 
 would be made about the money, so I passed off Kit 
 as an adopted child. Her mother never knew her 
 till just at last. Then she made me promise to put 
 the child into your hands ; and I meant to do it, but 
 I kept putting it off : I hated to part with her. And 
 there was the money." 
 
 " I should not have troubled you about that," said 
 Mrs. Van Zandt. " O my poor little Kathleen ! 
 To think of her dying so near me ! " 
 
 "There was more about it than that," said Phin. 
 He paused a little, and then added, " The farm is 
 Kit's by rights. Grandfather left it to David. I 
 
354 OLDHAM ; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 found the first will at Mr. Green's in Oldbury, and 
 proved it. Afterward I found the second in grand- 
 father's desk. It is there now. Symantha don't 
 know any thing about it. You'll be kind to Syman- 
 tha, won't you?" said Phin, turning his eyes wist- 
 fully on the old lady. " She is a good girl, and she 
 was good to Matey." 
 
 " Indeed I will ! " answered Mrs. Van Zandt, "as 
 kind as if she were my own daughter. Oh, if you 
 had only come to me at once ! " 
 
 " Well, I meant to," said Phin feebly ; " but, you 
 see, I kept putting it off. I felt so ashamed. David 
 left them ten thousand dollars, and I just fooled it 
 away. I've been a fool all my life ; but I was good 
 to my wife, wasn't I, Kit ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" sobbed Kit, "always." 
 
 " He must not say another word if he is to live 
 to see his daughter," said Dr. Van Alstyne in a low 
 tone. " He is sinking fast." 
 
 'Just one thing more," said Phin. "I want to 
 see Gale." 
 
 The prisoner was brought forward strongly guarded. 
 He gazed at the dying man without a sign of emo- 
 tion in his hard, cruel face. 
 
 " Gale, do you think I sold you ? " 
 
 " I know it," answered Gale. 
 
 "You are mistaken," said Phin eagerly. "I did 
 send Kit up to warn the ladies ; but I never betrayed 
 you, did I, Cap ? " 
 
 "No," answered the policeman, "you had nothing 
 to do with it. Some one else put us on the track at 
 last." 
 
THE NET CLOSED. 355 
 
 "Who?" asked Gale, changing color for the first 
 time. 
 
 " Never mind, my man : you'll hear all about it in 
 time." 
 
 "Not not Sally?" Then, as it seemed reading 
 an assent in the man's face, he set his teeth hard. 
 
 "Phin, I'm sorry," said he, suddenly turning to 
 the dying man. " You've saved my life, and I've 
 taken yours ; but I was mistaken. I'm sorry, that's 
 all I can say. There, take me out of this." 
 
 Phin was silent for a little, and seemed to fall into 
 a doze, from which he waked with a start. 
 
 " Where am I ? Oh, I know. It's most over, I 
 guess. Kit, can't you sing that hymn you sung for 
 aunt Martha? Seems to me I should like to hear 
 it." 
 
 Kit tried hard to sing, 
 
 "Jesus, lover of my soul," 
 
 but the effort was too great. Ida took it up ; the two 
 gentlemen joined her, and they sang it all through. 
 Phin listened quietly. 
 
 " My mother used to sing that," said he. " She 
 believed in Him. She taught me to say my prayers, 
 too ; but I can't remember them now, it is so long 
 ago. Kit, what was that verse you said at the Bible 
 class that night I went with you? Say it for me." 
 
 "'The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all 
 sin,' " repeated Kit. " O uncle Phin, do believe in 
 Him ! He will save you, I am sure He will. Won't 
 He ? " she asked, appealing to Mrs. Van Zandt. 
 
 " Yes, indeed He will, if you look to Him," an- 
 
356 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 swered the old lady. " It is never too late to turn to 
 Him in this world. O Frank! pray with him." 
 
 All knelt, while, in a few plain, earnest words, 
 Frank Van Alstyne commended the dying man to 
 the Fountain of all mercy. Phin evidently followed, 
 and understood the words. 
 
 " Thank you," said he faintly. '"I guess ma was 
 right, after all. I am a poor wretch, but He can save 
 me if He is what you say. There, don't cry, Kit. 
 Be a good girl, and mind Mrs. Van Zandt. Lord, 
 have mercy on me ! " 
 
 These were his last words. He lay in a sort of 
 slumber, starting now and then, till Symantha came 
 in. He evidently knew her; for he pressed her hand, 
 and tried to put it into Mrs. Van Zandt's. The old 
 lady understood the movement, and bent over him. 
 
 " Have no fear, Mr. Mallory : your daughter shall 
 have every care and help." 
 
 Phin smiled, sighed once, and all was over. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 OF course, by nine o'clock the whole town of Old- 
 ham was ringing with the news of the robbery and 
 the capture. Aunt Betsy burst in upon Mr. West- 
 on's family at the breakfast-table. But, before she 
 had time to tell her tale, Miss Delia Claxton popped 
 in at the other door. 
 
 "Oh, have you heard? Isn't it dreadful! And 
 that poor man to be taken so ! " 
 
 " It serves him right," said Aunt Betsy grimly. 
 " I only hope folks will have enough of those Mal- 
 lorys," with a fell glance at Miss Armstrong. " I 
 always said it was a shame to let that young one go 
 to school with decent folks' children." 
 
 "But what is the matter?" asked Mrs. Weston. 
 "What has happened?" 
 
 "Why, a gang of robbers, with Phin Mallory at 
 their head, have robbed Mrs. Van Zandt's house, and 
 would have murdered every one in it only the police 
 came and caught them," said Aunt Betsy. " And 
 that Kit showed them the way, and told them where 
 all the jewels were, and all. Only last night she was 
 
 357 
 
358 OLD If A AT; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 at my house riding on the wagon-box with Abner 
 Basset t, just as bold as brass. I hope he feels proud 
 of his company, that's all." 
 
 " You are very much mistaken, Aunt Betsy," said 
 Miss Delia: "it was Kit who gave them warning. 
 Phin sent her on purpose." 
 
 "Yes, that's likely. I should like to know how 
 you know so much better than any one," snapped 
 Aunt Betsy. 
 
 " Because I had the news from headquarters," 
 answered Miss Delia. " Mrs. Van Zandt sent Aggy 
 down for me by daylight this morning ; and, when I 
 was helping to lay poor Phin out, Aggy told me the 
 whole story ; " which story Miss Delia repeated with 
 great precision. 
 
 "So Phin is dead," said Mrs. Weston. " Poor fel- 
 low ! " 
 
 " Yes, he is dead ; but I can't help hoping he had 
 grace to repent at last, from what they told me. 
 The other robber was who do you think? Harry 
 Burchard. Yes, that very little curly-haired boy 
 that I dressed in the first trousers he ever had on. 
 It seems his wife has been living in Oldbury, pre- 
 tending to be a great lady from New York ; and 
 he has been visiting her off and on, calling himself 
 Pyncheon, and disguised like an old gentleman. She 
 took that Whitman cottage, and they say it was she 
 who betrayed him, to try to get off herself; but 
 she didn't, for the house was just full of stolen 
 goods." Miss Delia stopped for want of breath. 
 
 " Selina," said Miss Armstrong, " would you mind 
 going up to my room to shut my window ? I left it 
 
THE END. 
 
 359 
 
 open, and my papers will be blowing about the 
 carpet." 
 
 " Selina looks pale," observed Miss Delia as Selina 
 disappeared. 
 
 " She has not been well for a day or two," an- 
 swered Miss Armstrong. "I think she has worked 
 too hard for her strength. So it was Kitty who 
 carried the warning ?" 
 
 "Yes. It seems poor Phin's heart misgave him at 
 the last ; so he put Kit out at the front-door, and 
 the poor child ran all the way over the hill, and got 
 there just in time." 
 
 " There ! I knew she had a hand in it somehow," 
 said Aunt Betsy triumphantly. "Well, give me 
 folks that one knows something about. What could 
 you expect from a poorhouse young one like that ? " 
 
 "But that she should risk her life to save her 
 friends," said Miss Armstrong, finishing the sentence. 
 
 " And as to knowing about people, I am sure we 
 know all about Harry Burchard," said Miss Delia. 
 "His grandfather was minister of Rivermouth ; and 
 his father was old Mr. Burchard of Pentaquam, as 
 good a man as ever lived. Such sacrifices as they 
 made to send that boy to school -and college ! " 
 
 "They used to indulge him awfully, though," re- 
 turned Aunt Betsy. " His mother used to let him 
 put sugar in his bread and milk. I have seen him 
 do it." 
 
 "And as to Kit's family, it turns out to be as good 
 as anybody's," continued Miss Delia. " Her father 
 was Phin's own cousin, David Selkirk, you remem- 
 ber him, Abby, and her mother was a Miss Joyce, 
 
360 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 daughter of an excellent Irish minister who emigrated 
 to this country. His wife died of cholera on the 
 ship, and the poor man only lived a few months after 
 her. Mrs. Van Zandt adopted the little girl, and 
 brought her up. But when she was eighteen she 
 got acquainted with David : so marry him she would, 
 and did, and went out West with him ; and Mrs. Van 
 Zandt never saw her afterward." 
 
 " Yes, that's the way," said Aunt Betsy. "Adopt- 
 ing children is flying in the face of Providence, any- 
 way." 
 
 " Mrs. Van Zandt tokl me she was struck with 
 Kit's resemblance to this poor thing the first time 
 she saw her," continued Miss Delia. " She is going 
 to keep the child for her own, only Kit stays with 
 Symantha for the present." 
 
 " How did Symantha take it all ? " asked Mrs. 
 Weston. 
 
 " Very hard, poor thing. She closed her father's 
 eyes, and kissed him ; but she never shed a tear, and 
 her face was like ashes. Presently she says to Mrs. 
 Van Zandt, ' Did pa tell you about the child and the 
 money ? ' And Mrs. Van Zandt said yes, but not to 
 mind about the morusy : she had plenty. And then 
 Symantha said, ' I should like to keep Kit with me 
 for a few days.' And Mrs. Van Zandt said Kit should 
 stay as long as she liked ; and she kissed Symantha, 
 and thanked her for all that she had done. And they 
 got her to crying at last. Then she went home ; and 
 I went with her, and got her to lie down and take some 
 tea. Celia is up there now, helping Ma Bassett put 
 the house in order." 
 
THE END. 361 
 
 "I should think she'd be afraid," said Aunt 
 Betsy. 
 
 " Oh, there's nothing to be afraid of : an officer or 
 policeman is staying there. They searched the 
 house and barns, but they didn't find a thing but 
 what belonged there ; and nobody thinks Symantha 
 was any way mixed up in it. Of course she may 
 have had her suspicions ; but nobody could expect her 
 to betray her own father, even if she had known for 
 certain." 
 
 " Poor thing! and poor Phin ! " said Mrs. Weston. 
 " I hope he had grace to repent. 
 
 ' Between the saddle and the ground, 
 If mercy's sought, mercy's found.' " 
 
 " Maybe so, but I don't believe in death-bed re- 
 pentances," said Aunt Betsy. " I never knew one 
 to come to any thing." 
 
 " I never knew many people after their death-beds, 
 so I can't judge," said Mrs. Weston dryly. " I guess 
 I'll send Ezra up to Mallory's with a loaf of bread 
 and the chicken-pie I made yesterday. I can get 
 something else ready for Sunday, and it will save 
 them trouble in cooking." 
 
 Selina went up to Miss Armstrong's room, and 
 closed the window. Then she retreated to her own, 
 and sat down, not so much to think as to stare aghast 
 at the gulf which had opened at her feet, and into 
 which she had been so near falling. For she had 
 been very near it : only last night, sitting in that very 
 chair, she had made up her mind that she would write 
 to Mrs. Orme, and arrange to return to New York 
 
362 OLDHAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 with her. She would have done so then and there, 
 but that, on opening her desk, she found she had 
 used all her paper. Suppose she had done so. Sup- 
 pose the exposure had been delayed a few days, long 
 enough for her to leave her home, and meet Mrs. 
 Orme at Elmfield, as that person had proposed. The 
 thought turned her cold and sick. It never occurred 
 to her to doubt the truth of the story. On the con- 
 trary, a hundred things went to confirm it. She had 
 had more than one fit of cold misgiving as to the 
 character of her friend, since her return home ; and 
 her talk with Milly had shaken her more than she 
 had been willing to own to herself at the time. But 
 then, the net had been such a very tempting one, and 
 it had been so skilfully laid in the sight of the silly 
 little field-bird, discontented with its nest, and long- 
 ing for a wider flight. And now it would all come 
 out, and every one would know. Kit would tell how 
 she was talking with that murderer. What should 
 she do ? Where could she hide ? She rose to her 
 feet with some wild idea of running away, and hiding 
 from the disgrace ; but her limbs trembled so, she 
 could not stand, and she dropped down again. 
 
 She was sitting with her head hidden on her folded 
 arms, conscious of nothing but a crushing load of 
 shame and misery, and that vague, unreasoning wish 
 to die which so often seizes on young people in the 
 presence of their first overmastering trouble, when a 
 gentle hand was laid on her arm, and a gentle voice 
 said, 
 
 "My daughter." 
 
 " O mother, don't ! " moaned Selina. " Oh, send 
 
THE END. 363 
 
 me away somewhere, where I shall not be a disgrace 
 to you. Oh, I wish you had never seen me." 
 
 " Hush, my dear, hush. Don't say such things," 
 said Mrs. Weston gently. " Why should I send you 
 away ? Suppose you have been foolish, and made 
 a mistake : what better place than mother's house 
 could you find ? " 
 
 " I have been more than foolish," said Selina, rais- 
 ing her head. " You don't know half how wicked 
 and ungrateful I have been. Only last night 
 Oh ! I can't tell you. Oh, what shall I do ? " 
 
 " Don't try to say any thing," said Mrs. Weston. 
 " Drink this coffee, and lie down ; and by and by you 
 shall tell me the whole story. Don't be afraid, dear : 
 mother will always stand by her girl." 
 
 Selina was thankful for the permission to stay out 
 of the reach of prying eyes and questioning tongues. 
 Mrs. Weston undressed her, and bathed her hot 
 head. 
 
 " God help you, my child ! " said she, kissing her. 
 "Try to compose yourself, and to look to your 
 heavenly Father. Trust Him, my dear. Whatever 
 happens, your father and mother will not forsake you ; 
 and His love is stronger than theirs." 
 
 " How good, how lovely, she is ! " thought Selina, 
 with a feeling of absolute wonder. " She knows I 
 am mixed up in this horrible, disgraceful business, 
 and yet she never gives me a word of reproach or 
 unkindness. And I was ready to leave her for that 
 How could I be such a fool ? But I have always 
 been a fool. How shamefully I have treated Miss 
 Armstrong, and how kind she was this morning ! I 
 
364 OLD HAM; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 do believe I should have dropped in another min- 
 ute." 
 
 It was a very long day that Selina spent in her 
 room, but it was the most profitable of her whole life. 
 The flinty rock of her heart, which refused to be 
 softened by the rain, was crushed and powdered by 
 the hammer. The trodden path was hard ; but the 
 ploughshare could turn it, and make it fine for the 
 seed. Her eyes were opened to see herself, in some 
 degree, as she was. She could hardly have endured 
 the sight, but that the same One who showed her sin 
 showed also her Saviour. 
 
 That night Selina opened her heart to her mother 
 as she had never done before, and received her full 
 and free forgiveness. 
 
 " You have had a hard lesson, my child ; but we 
 will not grudge it," said Mrs. Western. " It will be 
 worth all it costs if it leads you home to your 
 Father's house." 
 
 "I hope it has," said Selina. "Do you think it is 
 wrong for me to hope that He has forgiven me ? " 
 
 "No, my dear. Why should it be wrong for you 
 to take Him at His word ? " 
 
 " Well, you know, Mr. Martin used to say he had 
 no faith in sudden conversions, and that the religious 
 life must be a gradual growth." 
 
 " How many conversions can Mr. Martin find re- 
 corded in the New Testament that were not sud- 
 den ? " asked Mrs. Weston. " If I am lost on the 
 mountain in a fog, and the sun comes out and shows 
 me that I am lost, it may take me a long time to get 
 home, but it will not take me a minute to turn round 
 
THE END. 365 
 
 and set off in the right direction. Thank Heaven, 
 you have turned round ! It makes me shudder to 
 think of the horrible danger you have escaped." 
 
 But Selina's trials were not all over, by any means. 
 It was known in Oldbury that she had been on very 
 intimate terms with Mrs. Orme, as she called herself ; 
 and, on examination, Kit was obliged to reveal the 
 fact that she had seen Selina talking with the pris- 
 oner. What was known in Oldbury was known in 
 Oldham, and Selina knew that the whole town was 
 talking about her. Moreover, she was called as a 
 witness on the trial ; and, though her testimony 
 amounted to nothing, except to show how she had 
 herself been victimized, it was a terrible ordeal, and 
 when at last she was dismissed, she felt as if she 
 could never hold up her head again. As she dropped 
 into a seat beside her mother, a little hand sought 
 hers, and a soft voice whispered, 
 
 " O Selina ! don't be angry with me. I didn't 
 mean to tell, but they would make me." 
 
 "You couldn't help it," returned Selina, pressing 
 Kit's hand. 
 
 " You see, I knew him the minute I saw him," 
 continued Kit. "You don't know how it made me 
 feel to see him talking to you, just as it did to see 
 the copperhead twisted round Eddy's ankle. I was 
 scared to death, for I thought he knew me ; but I was 
 determined to warn you." 
 
 " You were real good, and I have always treated 
 you so badly too," said Selina. 
 
 " Never mind," returned Kit. " It has all come 
 right at last, only for poor uncle Phin ; and I can't 
 
366 OLD I/AM; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 help hoping it is right for him too. Uncle Phin 
 wasn't naturally so bad, only he never had any mind 
 of his own. He was always so easy to lead away. 
 But somehow these people who are so easy to lead 
 wrong don't seem to be so easy to lead right." 
 
 " Are you really going to live with Mrs. Van 
 Zandt in New York ? " asked Selina as they walked 
 away from the court-room together. 
 
 " I am not going to live with her at first," an- 
 swered Kit. " She says her house is too dull for a 
 little girl : so I am to stay with Miss Ida's mother, 
 and take lessons of her this winter." 
 
 " You will like that," observed Selina, "you are so 
 fond of Miss Ida." 
 
 " Yes, it would be lovely only for leaving Syman- 
 tha. But she says aunt Martha mother, I mean: 
 it seems so queer that aunt Martha should be my 
 mother Symantha says mother made uncle Phin 
 promise to give me to Mrs. Van Zandt, before she 
 died, and that is just what she should have chosen 
 for me. 
 
 " And what is Symantha going to do . ? " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Armstrong has got her a place as nurse 
 in some institution in New York where they take 
 weak-minded people. It seems like a very hard place, 
 but Symantha likes the idea ; and she is just the one 
 for the work, she had so much experience taking care 
 of mother." 
 
 " And when are you going ? " 
 
 " As soon as school closes. Selina, do you re- 
 member that first day Miss Armstrong taught, when 
 I could not say the Lord's Prayer?" 
 
THE END. 367 
 
 "Yes, indeed ; and how I behaved ! " 
 
 " That was about the best day of my life," contin- 
 ued Kit thoughtfully. " I shall never forget how 
 different the world looked to me after Miss Arm- 
 strong told me I had a Father in heaven who loved 
 me." 
 
 " And you believed it the very minute you heard 
 it ? " said Selina, " and you loved Him ? " 
 
 "Why, yes, I couldn't help it," answered Kit 
 simply. 
 
 "And I had been taught about Him all my life ; 
 and yet, if any one had made me believe there was 
 no God, I should have been rather glad," said Se- 
 lina. " Your heart was the good ground, Kit ; but 
 mine was so hard, it is a wonder that any thing good 
 could ever grow in it." 
 
 There is little more to add to our story. When 
 the school closed, Miss Armstrong proposed that 
 Selina should accompany her on a visit to her sister 
 in Colorado. It was a long journey, she said ; she 
 should be glad of a companion, and her sister and 
 niece would make Selina more than welcome. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Weston gladly consented, willing to re- 
 move the girl for a time from the unavoidable an- 
 noyances which surrounded her in Oldham. But 
 we all know the dangers which beset young ladies 
 who go visiting in new States. Selina found employ- 
 ment as a teacher in one of the schools which Chris- 
 tian enterprise has set up. She returned home in 
 a year, but not to stay. A gentleman who owns a 
 great sheep-farm in those parts came on in the sum- 
 mer, and, overruling all objections on the score of 
 
368 OLDHAM '; OK, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 Selina's youth, carried her off in triumph. 
 Betsy was present at the wedding, of course, and 
 remarked that she had always known the Westerns 
 would never have any comfort out of that girl. Such 
 sights as they had spent on her ! and now, just as she 
 was old enough to be good for something, off she 
 went. Aunt Betsy hoped he was a respectable man ; 
 but there were queer folks out there, and she shouldn't 
 wonder a bit if something was to happen. It is not 
 supposed that Aunt Betsy will grow more amiable as 
 she grows older. 
 
 Patience Fletcher recovered after a long illness; 
 but she was never so well as before, and she was 
 obliged perforce to give up a great deal of the work 
 into Faith's hands. Under these circumstances Pa- 
 tience learned gradually to believe that the balance 
 of the universe was not much disturbed though the 
 teacup handles were turned east instead of west, and 
 even to be resigned when the cat put her kittens in 
 the second-best clothes-basket, and a fly got into the 
 front-room. In a word, the thorns which had so 
 long choked the good seed, being rooted up, she 
 found there was room not only for the wheat which 
 is the staff of life, but for the flowers which beautify 
 it. Faith grew up a capital housewife, and Patience 
 confessed that Faithie made the house pleasanter 
 than ever she had done. 
 
 Poor Cordelia Richmond had the comfort of open- 
 ing her heart before her death. Mr. Brace conveyed 
 an inkling of the case to Dr. Madison, who at once 
 called upon Mrs. Richmond with his sister, who 
 was a very great lady in that world which Mrs. 
 
THE END. 369 
 
 Richmond beheld from afar with envious eyes. She 
 could not for very shame refuse to let the Doctor see 
 Cordelia when Milly told her, before him, that Cor- 
 delia had asked for him. The Doctor was a man of 
 experience. He wasted no time in idle words, but 
 went at once to the root of the matter ; and before 
 he left he had the comfort of laying the poor trem- 
 bling child at her Lord's feet. Even Mrs. Richmond 
 could not be angry when she saw how peaceful and 
 happy Cordelia was after the interview. 
 
 Three days after, the poor child passed away in 
 great peace and happiness. The next winter Mrs. 
 Richmond married a very rich man with a great 
 house, for which he wanted a mistress, and forthwith 
 plunged into "society." Her new interest broke the 
 force of her disappointment in Milly, who has turned 
 out "very eccentric; just like her poor father, you 
 know," Mrs. Richmond says. "But she is a good 
 child, after all ; and I let her take her own way." 
 That way leads Milly to a great many strange places, 
 to an Italian mission school, and a sewing-school ; 
 and not seldom to Mrs. Van Zandt, whose almoner 
 she is among her poor pupils, a circumstance which 
 almost consoles her mother for her oddity. 
 
 Kit is staying with Ida Van Zandt at Rockdale, 
 studying, and working very hard at her music. She 
 spends most of her Sundays with Mrs. Van Zandt, 
 who finds great delight in her society, and promises 
 to take her to see Miss Armstrong next summer. 
 
 For Miss Armstrong is settled in Oldham for 
 good. She has actually married Mr. Brace, and set- 
 tled down in the Oldham parsonage, which has been 
 
37O OLDHAM '; OR, BESIDE ALL WATERS. 
 
 beautified to such an extent that it hardly knows 
 itself. More than that, the parish has built a fine, 
 convenient Sunday-school room, which it is Mr. Ket- 
 tle's pride and delight to keep in the best of order ; 
 remarking, as he does nearly every Sunday, that he 
 don't grudge the work so long as it keeps the wear 
 and tear of the school out of his church. For Mr. 
 Kettle looks upon the church and the minister, not 
 to mention the minister's wife, cow, horse, and pig, as 
 his own private property, and the best in their several 
 ways to be found in the United States, and pays no 
 heed to the remark of Aunt Betsy (also repeated 
 every Sunday), that Mr. Brace may be all very well, 
 but he will never fill Dr. Munson's pulpit. 
 
 We must now take our leave of Oldham and its 
 people. Perhaps some time or other we may visit 
 there again. I hope the moral of my story is clear 
 enough to tell itself. To all of us comes the sower 
 bearing precious seed. Shall we let it lie by the 
 wayside, the prey of every wandering bird ? shall we 
 let the thorns grow up, and choke it, so that no fruit 
 shall be brought to perfection ? or shall we receive 
 it into an honest and good heart, that it may bring 
 forth fruit unto everlasting life ? 
 
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CHILDREN'S STORIES. 
 
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 New York: THOMAS WHITTAKER, 2 and 3 Bible House. 
 
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 BY THE BEST WRITERS OF STORIES FOR CHILDREN. 
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 4