J GLENWOOD; OR, THE PARISH FARM "0, but man, proud man I in a little brief authority, Most ignorant of what he's most assured, His glassy essence, like an angry ape, Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven As make the angels weep." BY WILLIAM G. CAMBRIDGE. BOSTON: HIQOINS & BRADL E Y , 20 WASHINGTON STREET. 1857. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by SHEPAKD, CLARK AND CO., In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. HOBART 4 BOBBINS, r HMUXD rm AXD mmwrm mnron, BOSTON. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Glenwood. The Gregga, 9 CHAPTER II. Joseph Gregg, Esq. Polly Haggett, 17 CHAPTER III. Jimmey Penly. The Unkind Father. Stolen Interviews. Fatal Disas- ter, .30 CHAPTER IV. Cautious Whisperings. Glonwood Charitable Society. The Sinning One driven from Home. The Storm, 40 CHAPTER V. Tho Fallen not to be Forgiven. How Secrets are kept. Ghosts and Gob- lins. The Haunted House. The Broken-hearted Outcast, 53 CHAPTER VI. Deacon Glubbings and Wife. Selling the Support of Paupers. Polly Hag- gett still seeking for the Prize, 65 2063520 IV CONTENTS. CHAPTER VII. The Wanderer. Lodging in a Barn. The Little Wymans. Delicious Re- past, 73 CHAPTER VIII. Lost in the Woods. Finds Shelter. Moll Hadley. Robbery. A Night of Horror. The Kind-hearted Children again. Their Home. The Outcast is welcomed, 82 CHAPTER IX. Mr. and Mrs. Wyman. Sickness. Darkest before the Day. New House- hold Treasure. Short-lived Joy. The Gathered Bud given to Stran- gers, 105 CHAPTER X. The Cunards move to the West. Ill-fortune. Return. Willie Cunard. Death. Willie a Pauper. Glenwood buys a Poor-Farm, 115 CHAPTER XI. Illusions of the Invalid. Morning has come. Pleasures and Duties of a good Home. Sickness and Death at the Cottage, 123 CHAPTER XII. The Bumpus Family. Complaints of the Paupers. Mr. Gregg visits the Alms-house. Mrs. Gunimede. Willie's Troubles, 136 CHAPTER XIII. Mr. Zebulon Bugbee makes his Maiden Speech in Glenwood. Betsey Slusher left a Widow. Loss of Property and Marriage of Mr. Gregg. Polly Hag- gett in Despair. Gets better, 1 50 CONTENTS. V CHAPTER XIV. Good-natured Conversation. A New Way of Smiling. Mr. Gregg apjointed Poor-master. Bugbee purchases Tea for Mrs. Gunimede. Censures the Town for Meanness, 159 CHAPTER XV. Sending to a Clergyman for Brandy. Hector's Appetite. Coat of many Col- ors. Speech on the Tariff. In Love with Arabella Mehitable. A New Kind of Check. Laughable Joke, 169 CHAPTER XVI. The Poor-house Boy. The New School-teacher. Her Experience with Willie. The Triumph of Goodness, 178 CHAPTER XVII. Poor-house Fare. Jeannie's Boarding-mistress puzzled. An Affecting Story. Its Results. Plan for Escape, 196 CHAPTER XVIII. Hidden Treasure Discovered. Punishment of the Suspected Culprit. Wil- lie's Escape. Wanderings. Is cared for by Strangers, 207 CHAPTER XIX. The Kindness of the Penlys. Willie in a New Suit. Goes to Yamford Hia Reception by the Wymans, 222 CHAPTER XX. The Surprise of Mr. Gregg. Mrs. Betsey in a Passion. Fruitless Search for the Culprit. Talk and Feelings of the People. A Steeple-chase not after the Usual Style. Hector runs away. Is brought back. Mr. Gregg not Happy. Remorse. Hector in Search of a Wife, 239 1* VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXI. Ill-fortune of the Pendwicks and Bumfords. A Farce, in which a Deacon plays the Principal Character, 252 CHAPTER XXII. Happier Days for Willie. A New Sorrow. Return of Mr. Volens. The Desired Information obtained, 271 CHAPTER XXIII. Willie is told who were his Parents. Visits his Mother's Grave. Beauty of True Piety. Death of the Good, 279 CHAPTER XXIV. Visit of the Lunds. Willie's Thoughts in Relation to Jeannie. Betrothal. Marriage. The Grief of Willie. Mysterious Disappearance. Jeannie's Wedding. New Sources of Happiness, 286 CHAPTER XXV. Why Willie left so Mysteriously. His Journey. Finds a Home with the Penlys, 294 CHAPTER XXVI. Reconciliation. Writes to the Wymans. Improvements on the Farm. New Business, 303 CHAPTER XXVII. Mrs. Luni in Affliction. Meeting of Old Friends. The Treatment due to All, 311 CHAPTER XXVIII. Waldo Lund. The Drooping Spirits of the Invalid revive, 324 CONTENTS. . VH CHAPTER XXIX. A Walk bj the Brook. A Child's Prayer. Happy Thoughts, 332 CHAPTER XXX. The Poor-house. Hector's Religion. Sickness and Rebellion among the Pau- pers. Polly Haggett in Luck. She starts on her Bridal Journey, . .337 CHAPTER XXXI. Putting Things to Rights. A Ride. Old Times. A Child's Thoughts, . 346 CHAPTER XXXII. At Church. The Young Critic. Among Old Friends. Supplies his Sub- scribers. With the Penlys again. Returns Home, 357 CHAPTER XXXIII. An Irish Cook. An Old Friend. A Child's Frankness. Waldo's Thoughts and Wishes, and his Mother's Fears, 370 CHAPTER XXXIV. A Visit from Mr. Penly. Marriage of Hattie. A Happy Home. A Splen- did Spectacle, 380 CHAPTER XXXV. Miss Whiting's Story. The Early Marriage of her Mother. Loss of her Husband. Marries again. Capt. Clinton Shipwrecked. Is made a Slave. After Eight Years' Captivity is Ransomed. Returns Home. A Thrilling Scene. Reunion, 388 / CHAPTER XXXVI. The Proposal. Reasons for Hope, 400 VHI . CONTENTS. CHAPTER XXXVII. Illness of Waldo. " We are but Two, Mamma ! " 406 CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Bereaved Mother. True hearted Devotion. The Reward of Faithful Lore, . 412 CHAPTER XXXIX. The Crowning Event. Sale of the Farm in Stetson. Purchase of the Gregg Farm. At their New Home. Mr. Bugbee in a Passion expresses his Opin- ion. Marriage of Miss Whiting. Mother and Child meet again. Capt. Clinton removes to Glenwood. Home and Happiness, . . . . . .417 CHAPTER I. ^^ GLENWOOD. THE GREGGS. THE vilfage of Glenwood (which we are about to describe, and in which were enacted many of the scenes the reader will find in this book) lies in a pleasant valley in one of the New England States, at the base of a high hill, dignified by the inhabitants with the name of mountain. Near by is a beautiful sheet of water, bordered with flowers and green and red shrubbery, giving it a unique and picturesque appear- ance, and making it, in all its aspects, one of the most charm- ing inland lakes that the eye ever beheld. Into this lake the high hill casts its shadow ; and bright-eyed children, when they behold it, clap their hands, and call it the looking glass of the mountain. The hill or mountain is covered with tall pines, which were green and large a long time ago. They are thrifty still, and at night, when the moon shines and the winds blow, they wave to and fro in the blast, and reflect a large and magical bridge into the shining lake. The green hill has ever been a famous resort for the people of Glenwood. Persons with lively imagination, and strong, bold heart, delighted to wander there by night; while the timid preferred to remain at home, for the moving shadows awoke their fears, aid filled their souls with gloom. To the former 10 GLEN WOOD. it was as gratifying as fairy books for children ; those dark forms towering far up into the heavens were the giants they had read of in their childhood ; and when the soft evening air gently moved the tree-tops, and caused a slight murmur or rustle as it played among the highest branches, they fan- cied the giants were bowing their heads and whispering great secrets, or that they were lovers saluting each other with warm kisses, or pouring honeyed words into greedy ears. Again, when the great winds swept through those mighty trees with continuous roar, alternating with shrieks and moans, the giants were angry, and they were uttering terri- ble threats to some neighboring giants, or they were waging v !i fierce quarrel among themselves. And children, when they passed near the mountain in the evening, would move with a light, quick step, for they fancied they "saw men as trees walking," and heard strange, mysterious whisperings come down from the dark, tall trees. But in the day-time such fears troubled them not ; for it was the delight of old and young, when the sun was sinking, to repair to the lovely green slope on the south side, and lie down in the cool shade, or sit and read or relate laughable stories, while lovers walked apart, uttering thoughts which were too sacred for any to listen to but themselves. Here were the children happy ; sheltered from the burning sun, they ran and gambolled, and boys and girls rolled down the hill-side, upon the earth's clean, green carpet, one after the other, in an ecstasy of fun and frolic, shouting in the fulness of their glee. In the clear silver lake the people caught fishes, the boys bathed, and gathered the milk-white lilies, whose long stems were as graceful as the flowers were beautiful. The hill and lake were the pride of the people of Glen- GLENWOOD. 11 wood, and it was an unwritten law among them that no more trees should be cut upon the mountain, the land should not be ploughed upon the south side, and the lake should be kept clean near its borders, and fishes should be caught only at stated periods. Glenwood has respectable pretensions in the way of import- ance, because of size. Its location is healthy and attractive, the streets are well laid out, the architecture of the buildings is unusually good, and the yards and gardens are arranged with commendable taste. Twenty-five years have wrought little change, although there have been some additions and improvements. A majority of the people were then wealthy farmers, and they are so to this day. There is, however, a commendable amount of mechanical business done here. There is a manufactory for sleighs, and another of oil-cloths, and another for various kinds of wooden-ware, nutmegs and cucumber-seeds not included, those articles of commerce and art belonging exclusively, we believe, to the land of " steady habits." There is also an organ manufactory. These dif- ferent kinds of mechanical business give employment to a large number of men and boys, and have brought into the village some original characters, which I may have occasion by and by to introduce to the reader. Many virtues had the people of Glenwood, though it must be confessed that in some respects they were sadly deficient. The majority labored diligently during the week, attended church on the Sabbath, were honest in their dealings as the world goes, but sharp at a bargain. Pecadilloes were winked at; arid, though the prodigal son was freely forgiven, espe- cially by the gentler sex, the young woman who had sacri- ficed her virgin purity, even though she had but once sinned, 12 GLENWOOD. was never forgiven ; men and women united to pour out their vials of contempt upon the poor offending one, forget- ting that not a stone would have been cast at the fallen child if they had remembered their own infirmities, and thereby learned that they too were sinners. Alas ! that the erring should ever be made to feel that there is no forgiveness and no restoration for them. When there is a frown on every face, to whom shall the fallen go for help ? To Jesus, say you ? It is well. All the sinful may look to heaven with hope. But we must remember that these bodies of ours re- quire shelter, clothes, and food; and, guilty as we may become, we do not relish the being closed from the circle of friendship and sympathy ; and the poor soul needs to be encouraged by loving hearts to rely on the Lord for pardon. The poor and unfortunate in Glenwood were not entirely overlooked. The pauper was provided with a home so the people generally supposed, and in a certain sense the sup- position was correct. But what right have people to be poor ? "If they will throw themselves upon the town, why, then," as Mr. Blossom, of Glenwood, said, "they must ex- pect to be taken care of as cheaply as common decency will allow." And certainly Mr. Blossom was a reasonable man, and a charitable man withal ; at least, he was so regarded by many of his townsmen. The people of Glenwood were a church-going people ; and, twenty-five years since, there were three meeting-houses, all well filled on fair Sundays, and now there are four. The minister's salary is promptly paid, and donation-parties are frequent and largely attended. At such times the clergyman's house is well stored with provisions, and various articles of clothing for the cold winter. QLENWOOD. 13 By this time I think the reader is pretty well acquainted with the people of Glenwood ; at least, as much so as he will care to be for the present. A more intimate acquaintance is only desirable as we progress with our story. In a large, elegant house on the east side of the village, a few rods from the lake, lived Joseph Gregg, a farmer, and a manufacturer of sleighs. At the time our story commences, he owned three hundred acres of good land, the most of it being under cultivation. In his factory he employed twenty men, and later a dozen more in making organs. Mr. Gregg prided himself on his business tact, and in fact there were not many things which, in his estimation, he could not do as well as anybody else. He was a self-conceited man, and took great pride in differing from other people, especially in religion ; and he often boasted that all three of the clergy- men in town had been " floored " by him in an argument on Scripture and reason. In his religious creed he was liberal in the extreme ; but his faith seemed only to play round hia head, without once touching his heart. The former was warm and benevolent in all its aspects ; the latter, cold and hard. Mr. Gregg's family consisted of himself, one son, two daughters, and a housekeeper. Thomas Gregg, the son, was the eldest child ; Fanny was the next eldest, being two years younger ; and Delia, the remaining sister, was four years younger than Fanny. The name of the housekeeper was Mary Haggett ; she was called Polly Haggett. She had been, so it was currently reported, quite a belle in her younger days, and refused, in not a very lady-like way, many advan- tageous offers, and one from an excellent young man, whom she felt she could love devotedly if he were only rich. But, 14 GLENWOOD. alas ! her beauty had now faded ; all her teeth were gone but two, so that her cheeks had met with a collapse ; and on her forehead time, or disappointment, or hopes long deferred, had ploughed many and deep furrows ; and under her eyes the crow-tracks were so intermingled and innumerable, that you felt she was now 'An antiquated maid." There was one feature upon which she still prided herself, and she had a right to do so. Though more than forty years had passed over her head, her hair was long, thick, wavy, and of a beautiful brown, soft and glossy as silk. Many a damsel of sweet sixteen envied the old maid her lovely looks. Mrs. Gregg died when Delia was two years old. Seldom is there seen a more interesting child than was this little dark-eyed one, left without a mother at that tender age. Mrs. Gregg was entirely unlike her husband, differing with him in his religious views, believing in a sterner creed. yet was she gentle, loving, and faithful, in all things. Mr. Gregg believed that woman was far inferior to man ; and he was continually prating about "silly women," how easily they were "gulled" by the clergy, and made to believe the most foolish and inconsistent things. When he married, he pro- fessed the same faith with his wife, and argued stoutly in its defence ; in fact, was a member of the church ; and when he changed, he fretted her continually because she did not change also. " Women's 'rights " were an abomination in his sight ; and he seemed to think that it was the duty of the wife to deliver up her conscience, her mind, her faith, and heart, into GLENWOOD. 16 the keeping of her husband. If the two were made one, it was by sinking her identity utterly. It may easily be surmised what would be the result of linking the earthly destiny of a pure-hearted, high-minded woman with such a man. Mrs. Gregg tried hard to please, but seldom succeeded. She was continually censured, charged with neglect of duty when rnqst faithful ; accused of nervousness and feigning sickness, when she should have met with sympathy. She wished that she might become so accustomed to this treatment, and hardened, that it would no longer cause her such cruel suffering. But it would not do ; her nature was too pure, her temperament too nervous and exquisite ; and so she lived only to be mortified, to suffer the keejiest disappointment and anguish, until her warm heart beat out its life. One bright autumn day, when the sun was low in the heavens, she gathered her young children around her, pressed them to her bosom, and then in strong faith entered the valley of shadows. Mr. Gregg was away when the weary one went home, and he wept much when he returned ; but he did not doubt that, in the main, he had been a most exemplary husband. Polly Haggett, who was now dependent upon her own labors for a livelihood, was immediately installed as house- keeper. Little Delia had the blackest eyes, the loveliest mouth, and the most winning expression. Her face was round and fair, and her elfin locks, and a wayward, nameless grace in all her movements, made her most bewitching. Her father loved her dearly ; at one time being over-indulgent, at another exacting and severe. His management of the other children was after the same model ; but he showed the most affection for Delia ; she was his pet ; and, though frequently 16 GLEN WOOD. harsh and unkind to her, yet in his eye she was the most perfect of children. He would often say, in an exultant man- ner, " Delia has my blood in her ! You may see it in the glance of her eye, in her proud step." He was right; the bright little thing had his blood, but then it did not make her more noble or pure. That it gave her some energy of character is possible.; but her beauty, virtues, and winning graces, she inherited from her sainted mother. CHAPTER II. JOSEPH GREGG, ESQ. POLLY HAGGETT. THE evening of the day that Polly Haggett was installed as housekeeper at Mr. Gregg's, these two respectable par- ties occupied the sitting-room alone. The latter had sat very stiffly for a half-hour, reading the weekly paper ; but he now laid it aside, and entered without delay upon the important matter uppermost in his thoughts. "Hem! I understand," said Mr. Gregg, "that there is nothing to prevent your being my housekeeper as long as is desirable, Miss Haggett." "Not anything that I know of for the present," she replied. " For the present ?" emphasizing the last word. "If there is anything in the future, anything not of the present, I should like to be informed in relation thereto." This stiff, dignified way of saying little things, which is so much in vogue with little great men, constituting, in fact, all the claim they have to greatness, somewhat disconcerted Miss Haggett, who was usually as affected as Mr. Gregg was dignified. She therefore sat in silence, trying to form an answer ; and it was just as well that she did not imme- diately speak, for Mr. Gregg was extremely fond of hearing himself talk, and he thought that others were even better 2* 18 GLBNWOOD. pleased, than he. In public meetings, if people became so weary of his long, drawn-out harangues, consisting of words divorced from ideas long before the flood, with no probability of a reunion this side of eternity, that one half left the house, he would think that, if he had not been speaking, they would have all gone, or a portion of the audience were so obtuse that they could not comprehend him. "You of course understand me?" he said. "I know nothing of your future prospects. It is possible that you are engaged to be married." " ! no," said Miss Haggett, in some alarm, wondering if Mr. Gregg was about to propose. " I assure you, sir, nothing of the kind. I have no such thoughts the day- dreams of youth are fleeting, you know." " Yes, they are so ; nothing is lasting in this changing world but mind, and that shall continue when the rock in in in the water shall have been moved from its strong foundations. I am extremely glad to hear that your future is like your present, Miss Haggett, not appropriated ; because I wish to have things in my house permanent." " Per permanent did you say, sir ? " " To a certain degree, Miss Haggett. I wish to be assured that the one who occupies the important and responsible mind, I say responsible position of having the charge of my house and children, shall continue in that important and re- sponsible position for many years. Are you willing, Miss Haggett, to occupy that position? " " Yes, sir, I will do the best I can to please you." " It is well, for no one can do better than his best. Posi- tive good, comparative better, superlative best the latter is all I require ; and the reasonableness of this requirement GLENWOOD. 19 should induce you to enter my service with hopes of suc- cess. In my note to you I mentioned the sum which I was willing to make over to you per week, for the responsibility which you now enter upon. Is that satisfactory?" " I think it will do ; but, should I require more " " Should you require more ! Why, you cannot require more. The stipulated sum will clothe you well, and find you in spending-money. However, I do not wish to be parsimo- nious ; and, if I am pleased with you, I will give you even more than I had intended." " Thank you, sir." " Your name is Polly, I understand? " " Mary is my name, sir, but I am sometimes called Polly, though in my brighter days I was always called Miss Haggett." " Never mind if you were ; I like the name Polly best. It is the right sort of a name for a domestic ; and hereafter I shall call you Polly, and the children will call you nothing else but Polly." After a pause, " My children, Polly, are in a measure committed to your care ; and I want you to be decided with them, but not severe, and don't spoil them with kisses and caresses. Mrs. Gregg was in some respects a woman of sense ; but she lacked my judgment, and then she was always hugging and kiss- ing her offspring when she should have been teaching them dignity by example, and womanly hem womanly bear- ing. This you will remember, and govern yourself in accord- ance thereto. Other things, in relation to the general and particular management of household affairs, will be con- sidered hereafter; and until then let the theme remain as though it had not been. Good-night, Polly." 20 GLENWOOD. "Good-night, sir," she replied, and retired to think about her responsible position, and whether she should ever succeed in entrapping the dignified Mr. Gregg, so that she could be the mistress of the house in reality. After she had laid her head upon the pillow, she turned the subject over and over in her mind, and queried how the thing could be done. Mr. Gregg was all she could desire ; wealthy, and more than a common person, or he could not talk as she supposed all the great men did, with so much dignity, and conscious, lofty bearing. And was not Polly (for, in deference to the superior wisdom of Mr. Gregg, you and I, reader, will call her Polly too) and was not Polly right in supposing that Mr. Gregg was something more than ordimry ? Don't mothers and daughters everywhere think very highly of a man, if his bearing be lofty, and if he seems very intellectual, and says trite things as though every word weighed a pound, as has been said of the stout Saxon words of Daniel Webster ? And don't men sometimes sit with open mouths if a public speaker shall only appear to be uttering great thoughts ? Do not, I beg of you, be too prodigal in your compassion for the weakness and want of discernment in Polly Haggett ; for the sound is not unfrequently taken for the substance, and many men do an extensive business on an amazingly small capital. And, then, if a man be wealthy, or a young woman have wealthy parents, why, they are sensible people they are genteel people they belong to the ton; and the pompous speeches of the former, and witless sayings and exceedingly small talk of the latter, are swallowed with keen relish, and digested, too, as though dyspepsia had never been heard of. It is very possible that the same things from some people might produce nausea ; but they must not GLEN WOOD. 21 be fashionable people, for that would be decidedly out of character. Polly Haggett resolved, that night, that she would not always be Polly Haggett. To be Mrs. Mary Gregg was now the height of her ambition. There was one great de- fect, which must be remedied as soon as possible she must have a new set of teeth. As soon as she could save a suffi- cient sum, she would go to Boston, and be no longer " sans teeth." But it would require quite a large amount; and, as she received. only one dollar and fifty cents a week for her services, she must be very economical, or it would never be obtained. With these thoughts in her mind, Polly fell asleep, and dreamed all night of Mr. Gregg, his offer, and her acceptance, the renewing of her youth, the honors which she now received, and the blessedness of married life. When she awoke the next morning, it was hard to per- suade herself that it was all a dream. But, then, Polly believed in dreams ; and, as she discarded the common saying, that dreams always go by contraries, she arose in a cheer- ful, hopeful mood, with a lighter heart than for many years before. Little Delia, as young as she was, seemed to comprehend, in a measure, the loss she had met Avith : for it was long before she could be made, by the most tender treatment, to be the glad-hearted, laughing child she had been before. So often was she found weeping, that her dignified father did not interpose his opinion and authority when Polly pressed her lovingly to her bosom, and kissed away her tears. But childhood griefs are not usually of long dura- tion, and Delia's sorrows were in due time forgotten. Then 22 QLENWOOD. it was that Polly became more stern in her bearing ; for, although she had a warm heart, and loved to fondle little children, yet, as she had a great object in view, she wished to please Mr. Gregg, and conduct herself as nearly in ac- cordance with his views as possible. Being so submissive, always yielding to his superior wisdom, she succeeded in pleasing him well, and he declared that she was the pattern of a housekeeper. The children grew up under her charge and their father's, not truly loving either, for the latter was often harsh and unjust, and was never willing that they should act like children ; he wanted them little men and women ; and Polly dared not manifest that love which chil- dren require from those who stand in the place of parents ; and then they were always taught by their father to regard her as an inferior being, one whom they must obey, to be sure, because it was for their welfare that they should. When two years had passed, Polly, having saved the sum desired, made a journey to Boston, and procured the long-cov- eted teeth. It really did make a wonderful .difference in her manner of speaking. Her cheeks were no longer so awfully sunken, and, as soon as she became accustomed to the new additions to her mouth, she ceased talking like an old woman of seventy, and the full tones, long lost, seemed to come back aa by magic. After she returned from the metropolis, she spent the evening with Mr. Gregg, who did not notice the difference ; but the next morning, at breakfast, Delia espied the new teeth, when she suddenly screamed out, clapping her hands, "Just see Polly's mouth! It is chock full of white teeth." Mr. Gregg looked with surprise, and Polly blushed, and GLENWOOD. 28 was extremely confused. The former frowned reprovingly upon Delia, and she did not venture to say more. In the evening, when the children had retired, Mr. Gregg thought it his duty, as the responsible head of the family, to inquire into the matter. He expressed his surprise that she should have taken such a step without consulting him, when he had so much wisdom and experience ; doubted the propriety of expending so large a sum for false teeth, when she would so much need it in her old age ; thought that so many teeth a whole mouthful were entirely superfluous. Polly justified herself on the ground that she could not masticate the hearty food which her system required without teeth ; that the children would hear her talk every day, and it was requisite for their good that she should be able to pronounce her words well ; and it must be more agreeable to himself to have her converse with round, full tones, rather than like a very old lady. Mr. Gregg could not gainsay Polly's reasons, and so ac- knowledged that the step which she had seen fit to take without consulting him "in relation thereto," was, upon the whole, a wise step. The latter consideration, however, was more weighty in his mind than the former. He told her that she could have done very well so far as her food was con- cerned, for she had for many years ; but it was requisite that she should pronounce her words correctly, for the children, especially the youngest, would listen to her conversation more than thut of any other person, and he wanted them all to speak worthy of their origin. He believed that, if they could learn to converse from him alone, they never would need to study grammar at all, for they would speak all their words with the most perfect propriety. Mr.*Grogg would 24 GLENWOOD. not censure Polly for the " very responsible and important step " she had taken without asking his advice, but hoped that hereafter she would consult him in matters of serious import, for he wished to be of service to the " humblest and most insignificant." Polly replied by saying that she did not doubt it at all, for his " kind heart " would not allow him to do otherwise, wondering all the while what he really meant by ' ' humblest and most insignificant." "If I thought he had reference to me," she said to herself, " I would not stay here another day ; no not another day ! " Under the guidance of these two wise beings, the three children grew up. Thomas, at twenty-one, was nearly as con- ceited and dignified as his father ; Fanny, as superficial and affected as the old maid who had the care of her ; while Delia remained as artless and wayward as when a little child. At sixteen she was a very beautiful girl, of medium height, erect and well-formed, with a handsome face, hair as black as the raven's wings, and dark, brilliant eyes, shaded by long, silken lashes. Her father had sought earnestly to make her dignified and womanly, as he called it ; and Polly endeavored to teach her the required "female accomplishments," which consisted in part, at least, of affectation, and talking wisely about nothing; but all would not do she was the same un- sophisticated child, full of vivacity, fun, and frolic, and in her bosom was a world of warm-hearted love. All this time had Polly waited, hoping to be made a happy wife, but waited in vain She was now quite old, but what with her false teeth, and the new hope which had sprung up within her heart, she looked younger and fairer than she did when she first entered the home of the Greggs. GLENWOOD. 25 She had taken every precaution to make herself necessary to the comfort of Mr. Gregg. She consulted his wishes in all things ; prepared the kinds of food which he preferred, took the nicest care of his wardrobe, and kept the house scrupulously neat. At night, when he returned home, his arm-chair was always drawn up by the fire, and his slippers ready to put on. Sometimes Mr. Gregg would say to himself, " She would make a good wife ; but, pooh ! shall a Gregg marry a mere servant ? As soon as I have time, I shall look me up such a wife as I require." Polly, though beginning to despair, occasionally intimated her wishes by guarded hints ; but all would not do, and so she resolved to try the effect of stratagem. She knew that whenever she left home for a visit of a day or two, Mr. Gregg was very impatient for her return. She was aware that he meant to seek a wife before he was much oldef. She did not intend to remain one moment after a new mistress should enter the house ; and she felt that, if she must de- part, it would be as well to take time by the forelock. Hav- ing so determined, she informed Mr. Gregg that he must procure another housekeeper, for she should remain but one month longer. Remonstrances were all in vain, and Mr. Gregg was obliged to secure the services of some one in Polly's place. The latter returned to her old home, where lived a widowed sister, hoping that she might not be allowed to remain long. The new housekeeper was duly installed at Mr. Gregg's ; but trouble and conflict soon followed. She was an old servant, and had a way of her own, being very sure that it was the rujht way; and aa for Mr. Gregg, what did 3 26 GLENWOOD. he know about housekeeping ? She would not be dictated to, especially by a man, who was meddling with what he knew nothing about; and so they soon came to an open rupture, and she left. A second and third were procured with similar results, and Mr. Gregg learned that his peace- ful home, where he had always had his own way in all things had sadly changed. In this extremity his thoughts turned to Polly, the faithful and obedient Polly, and he re solved to try the magic effect of larger pay. Polly was not much surprised when she saw him coming, for she had expected him before now, though, when two months had passed away, she began to doubt, and to wish that she had remained, for she knew that she must soon seek an- other place ; and, then, would she not be more sure of winning the prize to be on the ground, rather than many miles dis- tant ? She concluded that she had acted very foolishly, and that s&e had better return, should the opportunity occur. The greeting which Mr. Gregg now gave her was much warmer than it ever had been before ; and this nattered the simple Polly not a little, and wonderfully brightened her hopes. She was not sorry to see that he looked more care- worn and irritable than usual, for she desired him to feel how essential she was to his happiness. " I am glad to see you," he said, " very glad to see you. The fact is, Polly, you have been an inmate of my house so long, that it seems odd not to see you there. I have missed you every day; yes, I can say, with truth, every day." " You are very complimentary, Mr. Gregg." "It is the simple truth, Polly, I honestly assure you. I '11 tell you how it is. Since you left us, things don't go right at all; no, not at all, Polly." GLENWOOD. 27 " What is the trouble, Mr. Gregg? " " 0, a great many things. I don't know how it is, but the domestics, nowadays, yourself excepted, Polly, are just good for nothing. The saucy, impudent things ! they don't know their place, not one of them no, not one of them ! Why, they an't willing a man should be master in his own house they must have their say, the husseys ! I have had three eince you left us, and they were all of the same cloth ; and I. have been kept in a flurry all the time no peace in the house. Ten thousand furies ! If my temper was not angelic, I don't know what I might have been left to do, the saucy things actually withstood me to my face ! ' ' " Is it possible? I never ! Who would have thought it, Mr. Gregg ? Did they dare to oppose your wishes to disobey your instructions ? " " They did, indeed ! I, Joseph Gregg, Esq., was told by them that I had no business to interfere with the work in the house that my place was in the shop or on the farm." " I am astonished more and more. And you have such a perfect idea of how the work should be done, and you give your directions so calmly and pleasantly, that it makes it all the easier ; and then one learns a good deal from such wise heads." " Very true. That is what I always told Mrs. Gregg. You are a sensible person, Polly." " Do you think so truly, Mr. Gregg? I am afraid you are only flattering a simple girl." " I speak the truth, on the honor of a Gregg, Polly ; and I'll prove it to you." " You are kind, indeed you are ; and I am very grateful, for I think your opinion worth a good deal." 28 QLENWOOD. " I flatter myself that it is. You lived with me some years, Polly, and we never had the least trouble." " To be sure not ; how could we, when both wanted to do right?" " That proves that you are sensible, Polly. If you had been as senseless as your successors, we should have quar- relled hem shortly." " I don't think that we should quarrel, if we shouW live together all our days ; do you, Mr. Gregg ? " " By no means. I wish that it might be so." " You do," Mr. Gregg ? You are very kind you wish " Yes, Polly, contingencies excepted." " If I could be have a home with you as long as I live, and and you would like me always very much, I wouldn't mind if I went back with you." " We know not what the future has in store for us ; we know little in relation thereto; and therefore I cannot promise. But I want you to return to your old place, and I will give you two dollars a week." "I do not care so much about the money ; but it is so hard always to be a mere servant ; one wishes to be some- thing better, some time." " And I am sure that a woman of your sense need not despair of being something better, in due season, Polly ; at least, I hope so. But, then, it isn't a small thing to be the domestic of a Gregg ; it is an honor, Polly." " Well, I should not like to keep house for everybody, I am sure ; but, then, I should like to keep house for myself a good deal better than for the best man that ever was." " You are not to be blamed for that, Polly ; but we can- GLBNWOOD. 29 not always do as we would, and so we must do the best that we can." " That's very true, I am sure," said Polly, her bright hopes growing a little dim. "Well, Polly, will you go with me? Thomas, Fanny, and Delia, are expecting you, and I hope you will not dis- appoint them." " The dear children ! Well, then, I will go, for I feel it a duty ; and, Mr. Gregg," and she gave him, as she thought, one of her most killing glances, " I do so like to live where you are, for for I learn so much by hearing you talk and explain a good many mysterious things ; ' ' and she immedi- ately packed up her clothing, and went home with Mr. Gregg. Though hoping that she should go as a wife, she was obliged to resume the position of a domestic ; but, then, Mr. Gregg had expressed a wish that they might live together all their days, and that meant much ; and so she resolved to wait patiently until he should offer his heart and hand, which she so much coveted. She would be more faithful than ever, and he should more distinctly feel than ever how essential she was to his happiness. 3* CHAPTER III. JIlOfEY PENLY. THE UNKIND FATHER. STOtEN INTERVIEWS. TATA* DISASTER. IN a cottage on the opposite side of the village from the house of Mr. Gregg lived the Widow Penly, whose only companion was a little boy, her son, James Penly, famil- iarly known as Jimmey. Mrs. Penly had been left a widow when thirty years of age, without property, and with a child but a few weeks old. She was naturally of feeble health, and difficult was the struggle to keep hunger and cold from her door. She took in sewing, went out to wash for the neighbors, and in various ways respectably maintained her- self and child. The clothing of both was composed of cheap materials, but it was cut and made with taste, and kept so clean that their garments never looked mean ; and so Jimmey stood as high among his playmates as other chil- dren. The cottage was poorly furnished, and the food very simple; but everything was so neatly arranged that each . room had a comfortable and home-like aspect, and the scan- tily-furnished table was not without its attractions. Jimmey Penly was two years older than Delia Gregg, and when the latter was four and the former six they met for the first time on the green slope of the mountain. There was a gathering of children on the occasion, and they had a right QLENWOOD. 81 merry time of it. Some of the old fathers of the town, fresh and vigorous, sitting quietly in the shade, smoking their pipes, beheld the happy children, and heartily entered into their sports, thus living over again, in imagination, their own boyhood days. As is not unfrequently the case with little children, Jim- mey and Delia seemed to form an instinctive attachment. As this beautiful pair, the one with blue eyes and the other with black eyes, stood, that afternoon, in the shadow of the tall trees, hand in hand, who would have prophesied that the sunlight of the one should suddenly be extinguished, casting a dark shadow upon the other ? Our little friends were as playful and wild as the wildest of the troop ; but now and then they would stop and look into each other's faces, as though a magic spell drew them together. After this, they met frequently, sometimes on the green slope, or at the homes of the other children. Their attach- ment grew, and strengthened with their growth. At twelve and fourteen they attended the same singing-school, and Jimmey always waited upon Delia home ; so that the young boys and girls were all convinced that they were thus early engaged, and would, in due time, be married. Strange aa it may appear, their first meeting was the dawn of love, and they ever seemed to feel that they belonged to each other. Frequent were the times that Jimmey went to the lake, and, taking a pole, reached out among the lilies, and wound round it the long, graceful stems, drawing in many a prize of the white, sweet flowers to present to his lovely little Delia. In early spring he would carry to her the gay lilac, and in June the roses. All these delicate gifts wero welcomed ; and whole weeks would she preserve them in 32 GLENWOOD. her room, and, while she would gaze in delight upon them, she would think of the giver ; and then her little heart beat wildly with joy, and she would pray that Jimmey's love and her own might be as pure and sweet as the flowers, but not so frail. When Jimmey was fourteen, he would take a light skiff and row out on the lake, and search after the largest and whitest flowers that reposed so lovingly upon the swelling bosom of the waters; for, to his mind, Delia was worthy of the most beautiful. When Jimmey was old enough, as the school was in session only six months of the year, he was employed the remainder of the time by the neighboring farmers to aid in planting, haying, and gathering in the harvest. In this way he procured potatoes and corn, butter and cheese, and other home necessaries, and sometimes a few dollars to purchase clothing. But he always returned at night ; for he was the joy of his poor mother, and the light of her home. With the great love of a mother, in all its purity and intensity, did she regard her Jimmey ; and dearly he loved her in return, and prayed to heaven that he might be always faithful to his most devoted parent. When he was sixteen, Mr. Gregg employed him in his sleigh factory, promising to teach him to manufacture or- gans, in due time, if he manifested a mechanical genius. Some of the workmen now remarked that Delia came into the shop more frequently than she had previously done. But she was so fresh and artless, they did not, in the least, regret it. Mr. Gregg was so engrossed in farming, and other business, that he did not notice it; neither had he ever been aware of the attachment which had sprung up between his daughter and the poor widow's son. In fact QLENWOOD. 33 he was too dignified and egotistical to have his attention called to such trifling things. It, however, reached him at last; and then, to use hia own words, he was " indignantly angry at the bare idea." He went home and privately charged Delia with what in his eyes was a grievous sin. She could not deny it. Ter- rible, to a young, sensitive girl, was the torrent of wrath which he poured out upon her. "A mere beggar," he said; "and you, silly, foolish girl, think yourself in love ! And you would marry ? Do you think he can support you ? Can he furnish you silks and satins, and clothe you like a lady, as I do ? Can he pro- vide a house for you to live in such as a gentleman's daugh- ter requires, or would you go and live in the miserable hovel with his mother ? Let him take care of her, and keep her from the town, and he will find his hands full. As for love, it is the pastime of fools and silly women. Promise me, this moment, Delia, that you will never see the pauper again ! " In the early part of this interview she stood trembling with fear ; but the offensive epithets of the harangue aroused her indignation, and she answered, boldly, "He is not a pauper, sir, and never will be. I love him the more because of your contempt, and I will not promise." Mr. Gregg now stamped his foot in a rage, and lifted his hand to strike her ; but, restraining his passion, he turned and left her alone, locking the door behind him. At this period Delia had reached her sixteenth year. Mr. Gregg sent immediately for Mrs. Penly, and, after pouring upon her, all defenceless as she was, the bitterness of his heart, he closed his ungentlemanly tirade by telling her to take her ungrateful son home with her, and never let him see his GLENWOOD. face again. He paid Jimmey his wages and dismissed him, calling him a beggar and pauper, and commanded him never to speak to his daughter again. Jimmey, in a passion, asked him if he had not better marry the old maid who kept his house for him, for then he might save her wages. This was a sad blow for Mrs. Penly, for Jimmey was con- sidered a fine mechanic, and had been at work upon organs for nearly a year with unusual success. In their own little cottage he gave full vent to his feelings ; but the loving voice of his mother soothed the deep wound in his heart, and exorcised the demon of anger from his breast. She bade him hold up his head proudly, for honest poverty was noth- ing to be ashamed of, and hope for more propitious days. Delia remained in her room, under lock and key, for three weeks, when her father, feeling that she had too much of the Gregg element in her to be subdued by such means, thought it advisable to open her prison-door. No longer would he keep her locked in her chamber, but under strict surveillance ; and so Polly Haggett, Thomas, and Fanny, were commanded to act as her body-guard, that she might not be exposed to the danger of meeting Jimmey Penly alone. If it is true that love laughs at bolts and bars, we might expect the merry rogue to crack his sides with merriment at such a guard as that, composed of an affected old maid, a conceited young man, and a foolish girl. They fancied that they adopted the wisest precautions ; but were easily out- witted, for Jimmey and Delia met frequently, or sent letters, and the spies were none the wiser. For a variety of reasons, Jimmey did not wish to leave Glenwood to seek employment elsewhere ; and so lie was QLENWOOD. 35 under the necessity of engaging in the coarse mechanical business of manufacturing wooden ware. Mr. Gregg had abused Jimmey Penly, whom Delia loved with her whole heart ; he had locked her in her chamber for three weeks, and had then set a guard over her ; spies con- tinually dogged her steps, while his bearing towards her was cold, haughty, and repelling. Such treatment was not fit- ted to conciliate or subdue a nature like hers, but it filled her with bitterness. People like Mr. Gregg win but little love and respect, even from their own children ; and the course which he now pursued with Delia was fast eradicating what little there was in her heart. He bade her, on the pain of his everlasting displeasure, not to speak to her lover ; and yet she met him whenever she could elude the spies. And she resolved that she would marry him, as penniless as he was, whenever he should desire it. Their favorite place of resort was in the woods upon the hill-side ; and there they wandered many an evening by moonlight, or sat lovingly whispering heart-secrets beneath the tall pines, while Delia's guard supposed her spending the evening with the daughter of a near neighbor. She had made this young woman her confidant; and to her house she always went when she wished for an interview with Jimmey, or desired to send him a note. Her watch saw her go into this neighbor's house, and always come from it ; and the poor simple souls thought, of course, that she went nowhere else. They forgot that there was a back door which led into a garden, with a high fence ; and that another door, locked on the inside, opened into a small grove. In this grove Jimmey frequently received Delia; and here their interviews were usually brief, but when they thought it 86 GLENWOOD. would answer to have a longer conference, she passed through the grove alone, and they met on the mountain. This state of things continued until she was nearly eight- een and he twenty, the guard more and more relaxing their vigilance. At first their meetings were exceedingly brief, but by and by whole evenings were spent in a bewitching spot, with the white moonlight shimmering down through the tall pines. The lovers sat and watched the various figures which were thrown upon the earth, and, like little children, they called it their carpet which the angels had made for them. Here the long hours stole quickly away, and the minutes flew with the swiftness of light. Here were they happy, for every moment was brimming with love and tenderness. Alas ! this was not well, and woe the day which turned their thoughts thitherward ! Alas ! that man should attempt to break asunder what God has joined ! The circumstances by which they were surrounded were not propitious, and better would it .have been if the aspect of the present had " been brighter, and the future more hopeful. It was not well that despair should thrust in his forbidding face. They were too young, loving so ardently, too impetuous, too much intoxicated with the rapture of their stolen moments ! A few weeks after Jimmey's birth-day, he took his light skiff and rowed out upon the lake, with his angling appa- ratus. He engaged in the sport for an hour or more, with unusual success, when he started on his return. A little out of his most direct way, he espied an unusually large lily floating upon the surface of the water as gracefully as a beautiful swan, and he determined to pluck the treasure for Delia, for they had agreed to meet that evening. He rowed GLENWOOD. 87 to the spot, and, while he was drawing in one of his oars, the boat floated a short distance from the coveted prize, which caused him to grasp for it so suddenly that he overturned the boat. The accident was seen from the shore by some men who had been watching the angler ; they knew him to be a good swimmer, and they did not doubt that he would speedily right the boat, or swim to the shore ; but when the boat tipped, he sprang to save himself, and plunged head- long into the water, and sunk. When he arose he seemed bewildered, grasping at the frail lily-pads, a few of which grew near him ; at last he went down, and rose no more until the breath had gone, and the blood was cold at the heart. A boat was immediately procured, and three stout men despatched in search of the lost one, hoping that he might be found before life was extinct. A bold swimmer went down to the bottom of the lake, and found him clinging to the roots of the lilies. He was quickly brought on shore, but all efforts to resuscitate him were in vain. A few mo- ments before so full of vigorous, warm, young life; now stiff, cold, dead. Alas for his poor widowed mother ! Alas for his more than widowed Delia ! A terrible shriek was heard when the lifeless body was carried to the cottage. The stricken mother fell fainting upon the inanimate form of her son. When she revived, reason was so terribly shaken that it never again fully re- sumed its throne. And, when the news reached Delia, she did not speak, no sound escaped her lips ; her face was of a deathly pallor, and she stood as frigid as marble. Even the affected Fanny was startled when she beheld that icy, palo face, and looked at those dark, horror-fixed eyes, which, like 4 38 OLENWOOD. Hamlet, when he saw his father's ghost, did seem to gaze " on vacancy, And with the incorporeal air to hold discourse." In a few moments she sunk almost lifeless into a chair. A draught of water, and bathing her head, in a measure restored her, and she went mechanically to her chamber, and there threw herself despairingly upon her couch, and buried her face in the pillows. ! how terrible was the agony of that poor soul, almost crushing out her life ! ' ' What shall I do what shall I do ? " she said. " ! . that I might die ! I cannot live ! My dear, lost one, I cannot have it so ! Merciful Father, restore him to me, or I shall go mad ! It is all dark dark ! He is dead ! and I so desolate no hope, no light ! ! for the sleep of death for the dark quiet of the grave ! Great God, save me, ! save me from myself! " Poor child ! she was almost suffocated with grief; but this was her first great sorrow, and by and by tears came to her relief, and the scalding drops coursed rapidly down her pale cheeks. That was a night of deepest bitterness, and at times self-destruction seemed her only refuge. How much she wished that her own mother was alive, that on repentant knees she might tell her all ! But now she had no one to whom she might pour out the burthen of her heart no one to whom she should dare whisper one word. Poor Delia ! Two days after the fatal accident, the funeral of James Penly was attended by a large concourse of deeply sympa- thizing friends. The widowed mother and the stricken Delia were the chief mourners. Many eyes were moistened with tears when they looked into the white faces of those desolate GLENWOOD. 39 ones. A brother-in-law of the widow, whose circumstances had, of late, greatly improved, took her to his home, and Delia returned weeping to her father's house. Widow Penly never recovered from the awful shock ; she lingered along for a few years, and then cheerfully closed her eyes in death. And Delia, she too would have died, but she resolved to suffer all that society, in its lack of charity and Christian love, could inflict upon her, rather than " break into the bloody house of life " with her own hand. God had given her an existence, and he alone had a right to bring it to an end, CHAPTER IV. OACTIOUS WHISPERINGS. GLENWOOD CHARITABLE SOCIETY. THE SIN NING ONE DRIYEN FROM HOME. THE STORM. MR. GREGG suffered some momentary qualms of conscience when he witnessed the heart-breaking of his child. He queried whether his course was justifiable. For a time this worldly-minded man thought there might be such a thing as love a true union of souls, a union in which selfishness has no part. But Delia was so young that she would soon outgrow this childish attachment ; for other and more noble admirers would flock around her, and the dead would be for- gotten. She should gratify his ambition by marrying a rich man, one that would bring honor upon his house. He was not glad no ! that Jimmey Penly was dead ; his tender conscience would never allow him to harbor such a thought as that ; he was too manly, too kind-hearted, to rejoice that a poor widow had lost her only son ; but somehow he congratu- lated himself, whenever he thought of Delia's future, that the young man who had caused him so much anxiety was now where he could not possibly interfere with his wise plans. Poor, foolish man ! the castles of grandeur, which you have built up with so much care, shall be destroyed in a moment, and the hour shall come when remorse shall wring your soul. GLENWOOD. 41 s Delia now seldom left the house ; in fact, she remained the most of the time in her own chamber, weeping in the bitterness of her desolation, and trying to shut out from her terrified heart the dark future. By and by, cautious whis- perings began to be heard, and there were shrewd looks and wise shakings of the head. These careful and mysterious proceedings gradually assumed a bolder and more definite aspect. Everybody had something to say, and nearly all were loud in their censure and condemnation of poor Delia. The whole matter was amply discussed, and on the part of many with infinite gusto, at an afternoon session of the " Glen wood Ladies' Eleemosynary Society." " Have you heard ? " inquired Matilda Blossom, in a mys- terious whisper, of the person who sat next to her Mrs. Betsy Slusher, a woman with a thin face, dark, snaky eyes, and a long, picked nose, whose tongue ran so glibly that some had " slanderously reported " that it was hung in the middle, so that she talked with both ends. She had the rep- utation of being a great scold; and, in vulgar parlance, she made husband, children, and servants, "stand round." "It is no news to me," she replied, with a knowing sneer. " I knew it long ago. Did n't I say to Mr. Slusher that the girl was not taking on so for nothing ? I could have told you all about it long since, but I don't tell all I know ! " (?) "That 's just what I said to mother," chimed in Arabella Mehitable Bumpus, referring, not to the last remark of Mrs. Slusher, but to the one made to her husband. Arabella Mehitable was a little, pert old maid, with a long face, large mouth, crooked nose, red hair, low forehead, much wrinkled, and eyes of a leaden color and brightness. " I am inclined to think that we are all liable to fancy 4* 42 OLENWOOD. ourselves as having been very knowing, and great prophets, after a thing has transpired," said Mrs. Goose, in a half- jesting, sarcastic tone. She was a plain-looking woman, with a sensible, benevolent cast of countenance, who loved a good joke and a bit of fun, but detested, from her heart, slanderers and gossippers, and in that heart were Christian charity and love for the erring, even of her own sex. "lam thinking it will bring down her pride a little," said the envious but handsome Miranda Penelope. "We should not be too severe in our judgment," re- marked Mrs. Glubbings ; " for, in the sight of Heaven, we all may be more guilty than she." The last speaker was the wife of Deacon Glubbings, and she and her husband were two of the most pious and benevolent people in town. " Some folks are wonderfully virtuous, seemingly, if their neighbors happen to make a misstep ! I agree with you, Mrs. Glubbings, that, in the sight of God, poor Delia may be as good as the best of us, which may not be saying a great deal." These remarks were made by Hester Walden, a spinster of thirty, who had remained unmarried because the right one had not offered himself, and she had not felt that it would be advisable to offer herself to the right one. "I pronounce such remarks slanderous!" said Mrs. Slusher. " You and Mrs. Glubbings may put yourselves on a level or beneath such vile creatures, but I shall not." " I sant neither," lisped Nannie Pottle. "I dithpithe 'em, and all who th'tand up for 'em, I do." "I like your spirit," said Arabella Mehitable Bumpus, "and it is the only way to keep society virtuous. La ! I wonder what the world would come to, if such ideas should ULENWOOD. 43 prevail !" Referring to the sentiments of Mrs. Glubbings and Miss Walden. " I hope you will not be too much alarmed," replied Mrs. Goose; " for I am sure one so virtuous as you are could not be in danger in any society." This quiet but cutting satire made Arabella's face as red as her hair. I presume that there was unity of thought, just at that moment, in this not over-harmonious assembly, and this was the form of it : " That one of their number had never been tempted, and never would be;" and some were so un- charitable as to think that the highly-favored one really wished she might be. But such thoughts are scandalous. Why, have we not all seen ladies, in our Charitable and Benevolent Sewing Circles, who are paragons of virtue ? and are not such always watching, with cat-like eyes, any little deviations or pecadilloes of their neighbors, that they may expose them, and so nip the evil in the bud ? Some things are so self-evident, that to summon an array of witnesses is superfluous. " Mother thaid that Delia wath alwaith a th'tuck-up thing, and she would have to come down thome time, as ' pride mutht have its fall,' as the poet thaith," said Nannie Pottle. " It is against the rules to talk about our neighbors," said Mrs. Glubbings. " I don't need any instructions about the rules of our society, for I happen to understand them !" said Mrs. Slusher. "Nor I either," observed Matilda Blossom, "and I think it impertinent to allude to them in that way ! " " I geth we understand our own ruleth," said Nannie Pottle ; " and I think I obtherve 'em as much as thome other folkth do ! " 44 GLENWOOD. " There is a rule, I believe, in relation to that subject," said Hester Walden. " No one disputes it," said Arabella Mehitable; " but the question is, who are our neighbors ? " "A very important question," remarked Mrs. Goose. " Which you may find answered in the New Testament, by Christ himself," said Mrs. Glubbings. " I remember," said Hester Walden, " what the Saviour said to the sinning woman ; and a great sinner she was, and the penalty was stoning to death. No one dare insinuate that Delia Gregg has been guilty as she. Her sin is a mere peccadillo, in comparison ; and yet the Saviour said to the one so guilty/ ' Daughter, neither do I condemn you ; go and sin no more.' " / "I commend his example in this case to the consideration of this Charitable Society," said Mrs. Goose. "How beautifully he spoke to her how careful not to wound un- necessarily ! He did not call her wanton, as many would have done. He did not say, Vile adulteress, you are worthy of death, being so vile that you are unfit to live ; but he called her by the endearing name of daughter, and told her to go and sin no more." " I know of nothing in the life of Christ that more clearly proves the divine nature of his mission," remarked Mrs. Glubbings. " And yet, how small a number of those who profess to follow him," said Hester Walden, " ever think that charity for the erring is one of the Christian virtues ! " " I thould think that you three had better go to preach- ing," said Nannie Pottle, " for you have given us thome pretty thmart lectures ! " GLEN WOOD. 45 " Such lectures as I don't care about hearing verj often ! " observed Mrs. Slusher. "And such as I won't hear very often! " said Miranda Penelope. " Thuch thentiments are very deliteriouth to good morals," said Nannie Pottle. " Mother thayth that the prevalenth of thuch is the reathon why thith deplorable cathe hath occurred." " I don't doubt it in the least," said Matilda Blossom. " Nor I either," remarked Mrs. Slusher. " If everybody treated them as they deserve, they would be careful how they conducted themselves ; but they know well enough that there are plenty, called respectable, who will uphold them in their deviltry." "That is rather rough talk, Mrs. Slusher," said Mrs. Goose. " No more so than the subject demands," said Arabella Mehitable. " La ! should n't we have a nice time, if every- body thought as some folks do ? Christ forgave the woman because she had fully repented, and he knew that she would never sin again. That is a different case entirely. There are always exceptions to a general rule, and that was one of the exceptions. Mr. Shackles made the matter perfectly plain, last winter, in one of his evening lectures." "A very curious way of explaining Scripture!" said Hester Walden. " If we should adopt your rule, Arabella Mehitable," said Mrs. Glubbings, "we could prove or disprove almost any- thing." " Father thayth," returned Nannie, " that the Bible is jutht like a fiddle, for you can play any tune on it you like ; 46 -GLENWOOD. and that's the reathon there are tho many thects; and mother alwaith explained that texth jutht as you have, Mith Bumputh." "If we should give such latitude as Mr. Shackles and Miss Bumpus have taken, we could play almost any tune, without doubt," said Mrs. Goose. " What we want," observed Mrs. Glubbingg, " is a true interpretation of the Scriptures, and then we have harmony." This discussion continued until some of the members were very angry, when a motion was put and carried to adjourn, nearly all returning home in an unenviable humor. A few days after this, there was a scene at Mr. Gregg's which was heart-rending. In the presence of the family, from her own father's lips, came the words to Delia which she had long, long expected, and dreaded more than death. She knew her doom, and yet those dark words fell upon her ears like the crushing thunder-bolt, freezing her blood, con- fusing her senses, and almost stopping the beating of her heart. She fell to the floor at the proud man's feet ; she embraced his knees, she implored his pardon and protection ; but he spurned her from him, and said : "Go, wanton, I disown you ! Leave my house, and never let me see your face again ! " With these words, he pushed her from him, and walked hastily away. Delia arose, gave one wild shriek, and fainted. Restoratives soon brought her to, when she went mechanically, and took such garments as she thought she could carry, and tied them up in a bun- dle ; then she kissed Polly Haggett, who did not repel her, and would have clung, weeping, to the neck of brother and sister, but their aspect forbade it ; and so, with only a look a look so heart-breaking that it might have melted a stone she left her father's house forever ! With a hurried QLBNWOOD. 47 step, and taking a circuitous route, she succeeded in reaching the woods on the mountain without being seen. She im- mediately repaired to the spot where Jimmey Penly and she had spent so many happy hours, and there she lay down, and gave vent to the agony which crushed her heart ; and there the poor child, in the hopelessness of her despair, prayed that she might die ! It was now the month of June, and the scenery in Glen- wood was radiant with beauty. Green and humid was the landscape, dotted with flowers, like stars. The white daisy and yellow buttercup waved in the wanton wind, and the clover bent its head while the bee extracted the honey. On the road-sides was the sweet-brier ia full bloom, and near the buildings, red, white, and blush roses, pinks, sweet-wil- liams, pansies, and syringa. Delia wiped her eyes, and from her elevated position looked down through the trees upon the inviting scene below ; and then she turned and gazed upon the beautiful lake, now partly in shadow and partly in sun- light. She looked at the reflection of the tall trees in the water, and thought how often she had watched them when a child. As she changed her position slightly, her Byes fell upon some gracefully-floating lilies, and she turned them away with a shudder. In this place she remained until the crescent moon was slowly sinking in the west, thinking of the past, its joys, hopes, and sorrows, and that last most terrible blow of all. She strained her eyes until she could see the spot where the lifeless body was brought to the shore ; and while she sat shivering, for she was cold, although the evening was warm, she thought that she must die ; for she had no home, and no one to befriend her, and it would be so blessed to end her crushing sorrows where he had given 48 GLENWOOD. up his buoyant, dear life, and make the bottom of the lake her silent bed, and there rest in peace ! " ! " thought she, " that his cold body was there ; for it would be so sweet to clasp it to my heart, and make that beautiful lake, and the white lilies, where he was cruelly taken from me, our happy nuptial couch ! " It was now past nine o'clock, the village lights were ex- tinguished, and the moon had hid her beaming face in a dark cloud which lay heavily in the west. Delia turned her eyes to search for the lost luminary, which she had so often gazed upon from that spot when her now cold hands were lovingly clasped in his ; and that slumbering cloud appeared, to her bewildered imagination, like a vast ocean into which the moon had sunk, and she fancied that she saw the waves mov- ing, and there were ships with their sails all spread bound- ing over the swelling billows ; and she wished that some friendly vessel would bear her away to a happier land. The sighing breeze, that hitherto seemed gently to sympathize in her sorrow, now began playing wildly among the tree-tops, calling her to herself ; and she saw that the fancied ocean was but a cloud, and the waves only the movement of that huge, black mass into the heavens. And as the clouds mounted up faster and still higher, the wind blew with greater power, bending those tallest and stoutest trees ; and, by and by, it burst out into a prolonged wail ; and when there was a calm,* it seemed to utter low moans, and hushed sobs of bitter agony. Delia's imagination was now wrought up to the highest pitch of excitement, and, in a tremor, she arose from the earth ; but, whithersoever she turned, there were dark, fear- ful objects, holding out their threatening hands. "I will go to him !" she shrieked ; "you shall not keep GLENWOOD. 49 me ! " and she ran swiftly down through the woods, in the wildest affright, bruising her limbs, tearing her face and hands, till the blood trickled down her cheeks, and dripped from her fingers. On the spot where they laid the cold body of her lover she fell exhausted, and lay for a time like one dead. Recovering, she said, " I must end this agony and horror ! Father, be merciful ; for I cannot, must not live ! " She arose, and, throwing off her shawl and bonnet, walked to the edge of the lake, and was about to take the fatal leap, when the wind swept fiercely down from the mountain, whistling round her head, dishevelling her dew- wet locks, and she thought she heard a voice in the blast, whispering "Away ! away !" She paused, and gazed upon the spot where she supposed her lover had died, and once more she thought, " I, too, will die;" and then she seemed to see her- self far down at the bottom of the lake, pale, stiff, and dead. The .sight caused her to shrink back, while a cold tremor shook her whole frame. And now a lighter breeze played with her locks ; and that, too, had a voice which whispered "Live, live." " Live, live ! Yes, I will live," she thought; " I will not be a suicide. Perchance death will soon come unbidden to my relief!" She now regained her customary garments, and, wrapping her shawl closely around her shivering body, she walked hurriedly away. By this time the wind had increased to a fierce gale, and the clouds cov- ered more than half of the heavens, and lay black and threatening above the mountain. As she walked along, not knowing whither to turn her steps, a red flash leaped from 5 50 GLENWOOD. the clouds, followed by a long, heavy peal of thunder. She felt sure that the rain would soon come pouring down, and where should she find shelter ? Should she seek her father's roof, when he had told her never to let him see her face again ? Would he not repel her with curses ? And then she said : "No; come what will, I will not go. He spurned me, he he called me wanton; but no I I am not that. If if I have done wrong, I have suffered for it a thousand-fold. I would have humbled myself into the dust of the earth, and asked forgiveness for the shame I have brought upon him ; but he would not hear me. And he is not guiltless ; he regarded not our love, and would have torn us asunder O * forever. And we were made for each other ; would God that I, too, had died ! " And, some of her old pride rising up in her heart, she said again : " No ! I will not go there ; rather let me die ! And then my sister ; she looked so coldly, and brother too. ! could they not speak a kind word to the crushed one could they not even say farewell ? But no word, no kind look, no tears, for me ! " Again the lightning flashed from the cloud, leaping through the gathering dark- ness, and making the whole heavens wildly bright, followed by a crash which almost struck Delia to the earth, for a tall pine was shivered and broken, and fell headlong to the ground, making it tremble beneath her feet. And now the wind blew a mightier blast, and swept out a hundred shriek- ing voices from the mountain, as though a troop of demons were about to rush down upon her ; and she fancied that she saw the same objects from which she had fled in terror a little while before. In spite of the howling wind, she pressed on, and, passing through the. village, took the road GLENWOOD. 51 that led to the widow's cottage, which she knew stood empty. It was so intensely dark that she could not have kept the road, had it not been for the red sheets of flame, flashing continuously from the clouds, which covered the whole sky. And these repeated flashes were followed by the most terrible and crashing thunders, rolling and breaking through the heavens, as if the fierce embattled hosts, as of old, were engaged in a mighty conflict. A few moments now passed, and there was no flash of lightning, no sound of thunder, and the wind was still; and the poor wanderei walked slowly and hesitatingly, for the darkness seemed so thick as to be almost sensible to the touch. A terrible, blinding flash, and crashing of thunders, followed the calm, as though the artillery of the skies had been concentrated and prepared for one last, mighty, overwhelming assault. Delia was well-nigh paralyzed with horror; but the rain poured down in torrents, and she hastened on her way. When she reached the cottage, her garments were thor- oughly drenched. She tried the door, and, to her dismay, found that it was fastened. She then felt her way to a win- dow ; that was also fastened, and she went to another, which Beemed to yield a little. In her desperation, she summoned to her aid more than her usual strength ; and the window yielded to it, and she threw in her bundle, and by great ex- ertions succeeded in climbing in herself, when she shut down the window to keep out the wind and rain. " How dark and dreary it is here! " she thought. " If I only had a light, I would be so thankful !" She remembered the dark cup- board, in which Jirnmey kept matches for his own use ; she succeeded in finding the matches, and, to her great relief, a 52 GLENWOOD. small lamp, which had been overlooked in moving the fur- niture. She was so wet and cold that the next thought was to build a fire, and she commenced a search for the requisite fuel. She found a few bits of wood and broken pieces of furniture, and with these a fire was soon kindled, that dried her wet garments and warmed her shivering limbs. She was now conscious of being very faint, for the want of food ; and, having taken the precaution to put a few crack- ers in her bundle, she ate a part of them with a keen relish. When her garments were sufficiently dry, she spread them upon the floor, and laid down to rest. It was nearly morn- ing ; she was weary with watching, and, though alone and forsaken, the fast-falling rain lulled her to sleep. Poor, wronged child! the angels should guard you now, and give you refreshing slumber and pleasant dreams. CHAPTER V. THE FALLEN NOT TO BE FORGIVEN. HOW SECRETS ARE KEPT. GHOSTS AND GOBLINS. THE HAUNTED HOUSE. THE BROKEN-HBARTED OUT- CAST. MR. GREGG returned to his home, on the evening after Delia left it, feeling very sad ; for he thought of her as the one who had been loved so dearly in her wayward, beauti- ful childhood the handsome, attractive woman, who was to bring him so much honor, by a wealthy marriage. But she had brought disgrace upon himself and family, and he would forget her ; she had disobeyed him, and he would not forgive ; she should no longer hold a daughter's place in his heart ; he would nevor receive her again. After tea, as the family were sitting gloomily in the room where they usually spent their evenings, which Delia's presence had often made attractive, Mr. Gregg, in a solemn tone, said, "Has she gone?" " She has, the poor thing," replied Polly. " I do not approve of such speeches," said Mr. Gregg, " for by the words, and the manner in which you have uttered them, there is an implied censure upon me, for the part I have acted in this most deplorable case. That she is a poor thing, I well know, as all wantons are; but I have done only what 5* 64 GLEN W OD was just and honorable in relation thereto. She has gone, you say, and I am glad of it, for my house shall never shelter creatures like her. If she returns I will drive her forth again, and let her seek for her companions those who are as vile as she. This is all I have to to communi- cate upon the repulsive subject." "But is she so very guilty?" remonstrated Polly. ' ' May we not consider it rather as a youthful indiscretion faan a desire to be vicious? " " Polly Haggett, I am surprised to hear you ; I had sup- posed you had more common sense." " I shan't own her as a sister, I know ! " said Fanny, with an affected toss of her head; and, in fact, her head was always on the move, for she seemed not to have sufficient weight of brain to keep it long in one position, and so it was everlast- ingly on the toss, like a cork on a fisherman's line when the water is stirred by the wind. " I am sure I shall not," said the conceited Thomas, "for she is unworthy to be the sister of a gentleman. Father nas done just right to disown her, and pack her off. Would n't it be great to have such a baggage in the house! " " I would n't stay here a single day, if she did. A pretty sister. I should think the dirty creature!" Fanny re- marked, with an extra wriggle of her cranium. "You talk, children," said Mr. Gregg, "as though the pure blood of the Greggs was warm in your your veins. It is well, for for notwithstanding this vile business, this shameful disappointment, I still have you to comfort me." " I will never do aught that shall cause you to blush for me," said Thomas. He was sorry for his sister's shame, but his little, niggard soul found some consolation in the thought GLENWOOD. 56 that when his father's property should be divided among his children, he would be a gainer thereby. " We will both seek to make you happy, and so you will soon forget the vicious creature," said Fanny, with another toss of the upper story. " I disapprove of such conduct as much as any one can," said Polly ; " but would it not have been more humane and Christian to have forgiven Delia, instead of turning her into the street? What will the poor child do? " " You do not look at the case in all its bearings," said Mr. Gregg. "I hope you will not forget, in this time of trial, Polly, that you are a domestic here. You need not frown or get angry, for I was about to say, a favorite domestic, and solemn duties devolve upon you, which should be faithfully performed. We are in trouble, and you must not a augment it, by any whimsical notions of your own." "I hope that my remarks," said Polly, "have given no offence. I know that you are wiser than I am ;. but, as I could not help pitying the poor thing, I thought I would speak out what was on my mind." ' ' Very well, you have my pardon. And I will have no more words in relation thereto. She has obeyed me for once, and left the house she has so deeply disgraced ; and, hence- forth, let not her name be mentioned beneath the pa paternal roof." During the fearful storm, that night, thoughts of the wanderer would creep into the mind of Mr. Gregg, and he was benevolent enough to hope that she had found a shelter from the wind and rain ; and he almost wished that he had given her a few dollars, to keep her from want until she could 56 GLENWOOD. more. But how could she earn more ? He did not know, but thought that where there was a will there was a way ; and so he closed his heart to the claims of his child, and slept, while she was exposed to the pitiless elements. The fact that Mr. Gregg had expelled Delia from hia home was well known in Glenwood, the day after it oc- curred. All the particulars were in everybody's mouth. It was a marvel to him how the matter came to be known so soon, for he cautioned his family not to say anything about it. In his very impressive manner, he said to them, ' ' Hold no communication with any one in relation thereto." He told Thomas that he thought it might be Polly, for she had shown, he was sorry to say, for the first time, a little insub- ordination ; and when the subject was most momentous, she had questioned his wisdom and justice. Under such circum stances, it would not be strange if she had disobeyed his strict commands. Polly most positively denied the charge; Thomas de- clared that he would not so pollute his lips as to speak of the subject at all ; and Fanny said, of course she would not ; therefore the wise Mr. Gregg could come to no other conclusion than that the people had surmised it, as Delia had gone. He should have known that the wriggle-headed Fanny was incapable of keeping a secret twenty-four hours. especially if she was commanded not to divulge it. Under such circumstances, it had become altogether too important for her weak head to contain alone, and so she must have aid ; and, reader, whether you doubt it or not, such aid can be found in every village and neighborhood, persons who will listen to the secret, and promise solemnly never to re- veal it, and then they will relate it to everybody they see GLENWOOD. 57 and caution them not to say anything about it, for the. "world ! When Mr. Gregg enjoined secrecy upon his family in relation to Delia, Fanny resolved that no one should be the wiser because of her. But it could not do any injury, if she did inform her dear friend, Miranda Penelope, if she made her solemnly promise not to inform anybody else. Now, Miranda was a paragon, in Fanny's eyes. She was the handsomest and the most interesting lady in Glenwood. She knew that Miranda had never used Delia well, but she did not care for that. The reason why the former slighted the latter was no secret, envy alone being the cause. She had no esteem or friendship for Fanny, but she patronized her to gratify her selfishness. By nine o'clock, the morning after ^Delia's departure, notwithstanding the rain was pouring in torrents, Fanny Gregg, breathing hard, for she had run the whole distance, and in a state of excitement because of the momentous im- port of what she had to relate, knocked at the front door of Mr. Penelope's. She was welcomed by Miranda, for she was one of those persons who want to be posted up in all things which concern their neighbors. She very willingly promised that she would keep the secret, and then Fanny informed her that what had been long surmised by one of the family, at least, had at last been found out for a certainty ; how her father had said the most severe and grandest things to the offender ; how she had begged him to forgive her ; how he had solemnly said that he never, never would ; how she embraced his knees, how he spurned her ; how she fainted, how she was restored ; how she packed up her things ; how she kissed Polly, and 58 GLENWOOD. wanted to kiss her and brother Thomas; how they did not bid her good-by, but " stabbed her with their looks; " how she had gone, never to darken the doors again ; how she, Fanny, had cast her off as a sister ; how they were all so terribly mortified ! This precious stuff, and much more, did Fanny pour into the greedy ears of Miranda Penelope, all the time pretend- ing to be very much grieved, and frequently wiping her eyes, as though she fancied there were tears in them ; or, if there were not, there ought to be. When Fanny had taken her departure, Miranda called, without loss of time, on Mrs. Betsy Slusher, and intimated to the latter worthy that she had a secret of momentous conse- quence. Mrs. Betsy Slusher begged that she would inform her what it was ; and Miranda finally told her, on condition of the strictest secrecy. Mrs. Slusher, on the same condi- tions, informed Matilda Blossom, who happened in just after Miranda happened out ; and she went immediately and told Arabella Mehitable Bumpus ; and the latter told the lisp- ing Nannie Pottle ; and so the story went the rounds, and everybody wondered how people could learn all the facts so soon. As for Miranda, she said she did not care for secrets which everybody else knew. The subject served as a nine days' wonder in Glenwood. Some were so hard-hearted as to approve of Mr. Gregg's course, of which number Mrs. Betsy Slusher was the most conspicuous ; while others, more humane, strongly condemned it. Deacon Glubbings and wife wished they could have knovrn what sort of a man Mr. Gregg was ; in which case, they would have invited Delia to their home until one more suitable could be provided : and Mrs. Goose said she would GLENWOOD. 59 certainly have taken her in, even at the risk of displeasing her husband, which she was not aware of ever having done as yet. There were many others who would have willingly aided the poor, forsaken creature ; but, alas ! there were too many ready to condemn, and say that her fate was just what she deserved. Poor Delia ! The next Sunday evening, the Rev. Wellington Shackles preached a sermon to the young. A crowded auditory was in attendance. Arabella Mehitable Bumpus remarked to Mrs. Glubbings, on their way home, that she thought the discourse was beautiful, and just then would do much good. The latter said, in reply, that if he had read the chap- ters concerning the Prodigal Son, and Christ's treatment of the sinning woman, it would have done more good. To this the latter said that she sometimes doubted whether Mrs. Glubbings or her husband were Christians, they were so lenient to the guilty. There was another subject which caused much talk in Glenwood at this time. A young man declared that, pass- ing near the mountain, about ten o'clock, on the night of the great storm, he heard the most terrible and piercing shrieks ; and that, soon after, a figure in white, ten feet high, with a spot on its breast which looked like blood, came down from the mountain, and walked a short distance near the lake, and suddenly vanished. Jim Blossom, who had been to pay his addresses to Nannie Pottle, said that when he was going home, at eleven o'clock, he saw the same figure come out of the lake, first seeing only the top of the head, and afterwards the whole body. There were others who saw the light in Widow Penly's cottage, and forthwith there were some superstitious enough to believe that it was haunted by 60 GLENWOOD. Jimmey Penly's ghost, and it soon became known by the name of the haunted house ; and, as no one had the courage to occupy it afterwards, the report being kept up that lights were frequently seen there, and dismal noises heard at night, it stood empty for five years, when its owner had it taken down. It was nearly ten o'clock in the forenoon when Delia awoke, and for some moments she could not comprehend her situation ; but she soon collected her scattered senses, and then she remembered all ; the terrible scene of yester- day, the horrors of last night, the dreadful realities of the present. She attempted to rise, but she found that her limbs were stiff and sore, and she felt cold and weak ; and so she lay down her head, and wept bitterly. At length, with much exertion, she regained her feet, and kindled up the fire ; and, after becoming warm, the rain still pouring down, and no one in sight, she went to the well and drank a refreshing draught from the " old oaken bucket." Return- ing to the cottage, she made a frugal meal on the crackers that remained. In the afternoon, she began to query what she should do for food. Many kinds of vegetables were growing in the garden, but none of them had come to sufficient maturity to be of any service to her. Searching in the attic, she espied a bunch of pop-corn, hanging on a nail. With a thankful heart, she quickly took it down, and, knowing that it had been raised by Jimmey, and gathered and placed there by him, she kissed it again and again, while the tears fell fast from her eyes. The remainder of the afternoon and evening she employed in popping the corn, which was now her only food. GLEN WOOD. 61 It continued to rain until nearly night the next day. When the sun was about an hour high, the wind suddenly veered round to the north, quickly sweeping the clouds from the blue heavens, and leaving the sun, in all its matchless glory, slowly sinking in the west. The cottage stood upon an elevated spot, and from the west window, on such an evening as this, a grand and beauti- ful panorama was spread out before the eye. On one side could be seen a portion of the pretty lake, with the long bhadows of the trees thrown into it from the mountain, form- ing, as the children said, a bridge, which the fairies walked over by moonlight, not a shadow bending beneath their feet. The mountain was plainly in view ; and the rays, striking the branches of the pines, made them look bright as bur- nished gold, so that one might think that the king of the giants was reviewing his troops, and they were decorated with their tallest and costliest plumes, that they might do honor to the occasion. On beyond these, as far as the eye could reach, the undulating surface was interspersed with green fields, strips of waving corn, rye, and wheat, flourish- ing orchards of peaches and apples, gardens filled with a variety of beautiful roses and pinks, hill-sides of clover, now in full bloom, constituting one vast bed of flowers, and, far, far aAvay where the sun was setting, a high mountain look- ing very blue in spite of the golden rays of the departing day. Delia sat by this window, and gazed with a sad heart upon this grand picture painted by the hand of nature. Often had she sat there before, when one whom she dearly loved had been near her, ever ready to point out new varieties of scenery for her to admire. As she strained her eyea to 6 62 GLENWOOD. catch all the beauties of the scene, her thoughts wandered back painfully, and she remembered how happy she was with him how full of hope was her heart how impossible it would have seemed then that such should ever be her lot. And, as her mind thus went back into the shadowy past and came down to the dark present, she fancied it must be all a dream, and that she should wake soon and throw off this night-mare of horror. But this illusion was only momentary, for she knew that it was all too terribly real that it was no dream. She cast her tearful eyes around the naked room, and she remembered how often she had thought, since her father had forbidden her ever to see Jimmey more, that ghe was willing to live in that little cottage, with the humblest fare, and the rooms plainly furnished, if she could only be with him. " 0, darling ! " she said, " I did so love you ! ! cruel death, to snatch him away so soon, and and leave his Delia a poor cast-away driven with scorn from her home a mock, a by-word, and the jeer of the heartless ! I cannot have it so I cannot bear all this ! Moneyless and friend- less ! where, where shall I go ? ! ye envious lilies, that lured him to your embrace ! Was he so beautiful, so sweet / ye must take him from me ? I did love him, and he was my own ; and ye, cruel flowers, tempted him, and gave him the embrace of death. How can I stay in this dreary place another night, where the ghosts of old scenes, sorrows, and joys, come back to make me wretched ? How can I remain alone, when the gloom and the silence so fill my soul with dread ! O my God ! grant thy sinful child thy aid, and comfort her in this her hour of sorrow ! " ! my father, have you never sinned, that you should GLENW'OOD. 6S thus cast off your child ? And I have no mother no no sister nor brother to help me to speak a kind word, no friend to aid me ! " While the poor child was giving utterance to these words of woe, she had fallen upon her knees, and, bending her head to the floor, rested her face upon her hands, and through her fingers poured the hot tears. When she had uttered the last of the above words, she lifted up her head and said, " These foolish tears, they avail not they cannot help me ! Back, back ! I will dry these eyes, which have become like rain-clouds ; and then I will think, not of the past, for that will not return, but of the future the future so dark ! But I will nerve myself to meet it all as woman should, God helping me." The sun was now receding from view, and part of the scene, which had been all sunshine, was now in shadow. The rain-drops, " Sweet tears the clouds lean down and give," were shining on all the trees, and glittered, pearl-like, on every shrub and bush. Delia, as sorrowful as she was, could not shut out the enchantment of the scene and the hour ; and some of her old feelings came back to her heart, to kin- dle up its enthusiasm, and let in a ray of light. She arose from her knees and stepped to the door, and, scanning the roads and fields in every direction, went to the well and bathed her head and face, and then returned to the cottage, to try and form some plan for the future. After the town clock had struck nine, having no incli- nation to sleep, and feeling so utterly lonely in the dark, she wandered back to her old home, and stood and looked 64 GLENWOOD. sorrowfully at that part of the house which contained he* own chamber. She then went into the garden, and sat by the little bed of flowers she had cultivated so many years. She visited, in succession, each spot she had loved; and, in spite of all she could do, the tears would come when she thought this was her last farewell. She now turned her steps to the lake, and rested a while upon its banks, bathing her aching head in its waters. She looked up to the mountain, and wished to go there to take a last farewell ; but she thought of the objects of dread which she fancied she saw on the night of the storm, and she could not summon sufficient courage to venture there again. She went to other places in the village which were dear to her, and visited even the grave of her mother, where she knelt and prayed ; and then, as the moon was fast sinking, she walked back to the cottage Being hungry now, she ate of the corn, and lay down to rest. Early the ensuing morning, long before the sun was up, she commenced her journey. CHAPTER VI. DEACON CLUBBINGS AND WIFE. SELLING THE SUPPORT OF PAUPERS.* POLLY HAGGETT STILL SEEKING FOR THE PRIZE. A FEW days after these events had transpired, Deacon Glubbings went to his home with a countenance less serene and hopeful than it was wont to be. His faithful wife soon no- ticed the unhappy expression, and, from sympathy more than curiosity, she wished to know the cause. " I have been thinking," he said, "that many professed Christians, in good standing, have but little humanity. There is Delia Gregg we ought to have searched for her until found, and taken the poor child home ; for she is not half so much to blame as her father he was the cause of all the difficulty. No matter if Jimmey Penly was poor ; he was a good boy, and ever faithful to his mother. It was but a youthful indiscretion of which they were guilty ; but, like many indiscretions, it has brought a long train of evils. I hope it will serve as a warning to others ; but it is too bad that the least guilty should suffer so much. I can't bear to speak to Mr. Gregg now he is unworthy to bear the name of father." " You speak warmly," replied his wife, " but I do not blame you. I, too, wish that Delia was here." 6* 66 GLENWOOD. " I have heard another thing to-day, which has tried my patience almost as much as that." "What is it, pray?" " Mr. Bumford, whom we all thought one of the bright and shining lights in the world, has refused any longer to maintain his half-witted sister, and the town has taken charge of her." " Is it possible ?" "I wish it was not; for such things try my faith, and my patience, too." " You should not lose your faith in humanity, or Chris- tianity, because Mr. Bumford has done wrong ; for you know of many who would work the flesh off of their bones, rather than be guilty of an act so execrable." " That is all true enough ; but just think how pious Mr. Bumford is. I have sometimes thought that he was over- devotional. Not a meal does he eat without saying grace before and after ; and he reads a chapter in the Bible twice every day, and on his bended knees addresses the throne of grace. He is never absent at the conference and church meetings ; and he has more to say, and offers more prayers, than anybody else." " But you don't think him a hypocrite, do you ? " "No; but he has not the truest idea of religion; he evidently lives in the present only to make sure of the future." " That is too often the case ; but Jesus has taught us, by his example, that we should deal justly with all not only love God, but our neighbor also." "Very true. Now, Mr. Bumford has many good quali- ties : he is very accommodating, and careful not to offend GLENWOOD. 67 his neighbors. But, in allowing his sister to be maintained by the town, her support sold to the lowest bidder, he has placed himself on a level with the swearing, atheistical Mr Pendwick, who kept his brother as long as he was able to work, and then sent to the selectmen to ' come and take the pauper,' for he could not support him any longer." " And they were able to take care of them ? " "Able! yes; as much so as almost anybody in town. Pendwick is wealthy, and Mr. Bumford has the best farm in the county, and money at interest." " I have heard that this sister, Margaret Bumford, was a great trial to his wife." "It might have been so, but that is no excuse; for he could have paid her board, or given up one room to her use in his large house, or built her a little cottage, where sho could have lived by herself, providing such work for her as she is fitted for. The girl is not averse to labor, if praised and treated kindly ; many things she does as well as any body, and she is by no means a fool." " What have the selectmen done with her ? " " They have engaged Mr. Slusher to keep her till next town-meeting, for fifty cents a week; and then, in the presence of her Christian brother, her support will be sold ; and he who offers to take her for the smallest sum per week will be her lord and master for one year. As a general thing, the meanest men in town take charge of the paupers, for they underbid others, because they can afford it." " It seems to me that there is very little Christianity or humanity in thus disposing of the poor." " Seems ! I know there is not. At the South, the slave is put up at auction, and sold to the highest bidder. In our 68 QLENWOOD. town, we put up the pauper, and he who names the smallest sum no matter what his reputation may be is the successful bidder ; and the pauper must accept the home which he provides, or none." " I hope we shall have a poor-house, some time ; for such things are scandalous." " I hope so, too ; but the latter is often bad enough ; pre- ferable, however, to our present system." When the day came for the transaction of the town busi- ness, there was a scene which we hope, for the sake of humanity, may never be witnessed in New England again.* After the selectmen had been chosen, and other affairs arranged, notice was given that the paupers would now be disposed of for the ensuing year. Mr. Blossom, who was a sheriff, and also an auctioneer, mounted upon one of the pew-seats, the meeting being held in the old church. " Gentlemen, give me your attention, and let there be perfect order. The support of the town's poor will now be sold, which will close up the business of the day ; and then all who have not eaten up their gingerbread can carry it home to wife and children." (A laugh.) ' ' I shall put up Peggy Lawson first. Gentlemen, you all know who she is, for she is not a new comer. Peggy is a clever crittur, gentlemen, and very good for work, al- though getting somewhat old ; can be fed and clothed with little cost. She ' wants but little here below, nor wants * Since the above was written, the author has learned, with regret, that there is a TOWN in MASSACHUSETTS which has sold its poor-house, and re- turned to the barbarous practice of selling the support of the paupers to the lowest bidder. GLENWOOD. 69 that little long,' as the poet says. Now, what is the bid? what is the sum you require, per week, for supporting her one year ? " " Seventy-five cents." " Seventy-five, seventy-five, who says less?" " Seventy." " Sixty-five." " Sixty- five is the bid, gentlemen ; it is too much al- together too much ! Who says sixty ? Fifty-five, now ! Well done ! Will any one take her for a less sum ? Fifty, fifty, did I hear it ? Going at fifty, fifty ; gone to Mr. Bumpus, a good bargain." Johnny Pendwick was next knocked off, at one dollai a week ; a number of others followed, and then it was Mar- garet Bumford's turn. " We have one more," said Mr. Blossom ; " sorry to say it. She is a new comer, and the most valuable article in the lot, Margaret Bumford, a strong, hearty young woman, of good disposition, in perfect health, and willing to work. am told that she will eat very hearty ; but she will work enough to make it all right ; dig as many potatoes, and pitch on a load of hay as quick, as any man in town. To a large farmer she is invaluable ; for she will milk all your cows, churn all your butter, and do the washing for twenty, and not sweat a drop. And" (winking to Mr. Gregg) "she comes from one of the most respectable and pious families in town. Now, what is the bid? " "Fifty cents,'" said Mr. Slusher. " That 's the price the selectmen have paid you, you old rat ! But you will never get it again ; too much, altogether too much, who says less ? Forty-five is the bid ; forty, going at forty; thirty-five, thirty-five, are you all done? 70 GLENWOOD. Thirty, thirty, thirty, who says less than thirty ? I can't dwell, gentlemen ; shall I hear a smaller sum named ? Gone, at thirty cents a week, to Mr. Slusher, the best bargain yet ; " and so closed the town-meeting. One or two of the paupers fell into decently good hands, this year ; but the majority, as usual, were doomed to live and labor for the most mean and niggardly. Margaret was excessively angry when she learned that she was bid off by Slusher ; and, as she was saucy the next day, the medicinal qualities of an outward application of birch were tried, Mrs. Slusher acting as physician, and her husband holding the patient during the painful operation. A report of the same was soon noised abroad, causing much talk and genuine indignation. Deacon Glubbings went to the selectmen, and demanded that Margaret should be taken from Slusher's immediately ; but they said, in reply, that he held her by contract with the town for one year. Mr. Blossom was heard to say that it was good enough for the wench, and Mr. Gregg said that it was the only way to deal with a certain class of paupers. Margaret was ugly, or she never would have been on the town at all ; and now she must take the consequences of her own folly. That Margaret was unjustly dealt with, was but too evi- dent. She was kept constantly at work, fed with the mean- est food, and clothed with the coarsest fabrics. - She some- times thought seriously of seeking deliverance from her oppressors by flight ; but the poor creature was so ignorant that she knew not where to go. She once made the attempt to escape, and followed the road two miles, when she turned into another, and, to her surprise, came out near her broth- er's house, who took her back to Mr. S 1 usher 'a, turning a GLENWOOD. 71 deaf ear to her grievous complaints. For this act of in- subordination, she was sent supperless to bed, and allowed only a crust for her breakfast the next morning. During the forenoon, she went on an errand to one of the neighbors, and on her way called upon Mrs. Glubbings. She complained bitterly to the latter of the usage she received, declaring that she was starving. The "gude woman" placed before her the most substantial food, and she did it ample justice. She asked her to call, on her return ; and she then gave her a loaf of wheat bread, a lot of dough-nuts, and a large piece of cheese, advising her to put them in some safe place for a time of need, and when suffering for food be sure and come to her. Polly Haggett, not disheartened by the slight progress she had made, still continued to play, from Cupid's battery, upon the flinty heart of Mr. Gregg. She sought diligently to please him in all things, thinking no thoughts and cher- ishing no opinions which did not coincide with his. She kept the house in good order, for Mr. Gregg liked to see taste and neatness. She had always been particular as to her wardrobe, and now she was as prim as one could desiie. When Thomas and Fanny were absent, as was frequently the case, Mr. Gregg and Polly spent their evenings together ; and then all of her former blandishments, that would come, were summoned to her aid, that she might bring him to her feet in spite of himself. It was all in vain, however. He was pleased with her as a housekeeper, and there his admi- ration stopped short, without the least probability of its ever making another step in advance. If she had been rich, or of family, he would have married her, for he had come to re- gard her as a little more than ordinary ; she knew a woman's 72 QLENWOOD. place very few women did she appreciated him re- garding him with a feeling almost amounting to adoration. He had impressed her with the depth of his wisdom, and made her feel that his assumed dignity was awfully real. She did just what a woman should consulted his ease and comfort in all things, regardless of her own, and was willing to spend and be spent for him. It was true that he had sometimes thought her a little silly and vain ; but, then, in his eyes, all women were Mrs. Gregg was, and Polly was no worse than others. Polly, however, was by no means hopeless, for Mr. Gregg would yet see what was for his best good. He was too wise to always stand in his own light. His deportment in her presence showed more consideration now than formerly ; and sometimes, though but seldom, he called her Miss Haggett, and that signified much. CHAPTER VII. THE WANDERKR. LODGING IN A BARN. THE LITTLE WTMANS. DELICIOUS REPAST. THE light was just glimmering in the east when Delia commenced her journey. She started thus early that she might not be seen by the people of the village ; for she seemed instinctively to shrink from all who knew her. The daily stage had gone, on the afternoon she left her home ; and, if it had not, it would have made no difference, for she lacked the courage to go to the hotel, and, in the presence of many of her acquaintances, take her departure from there. She preferred that none should know whither she went, or in what manner she left Glenwood. At first she walked slowly, for her limbs ached from the effect of sleeping upon the bare floor ; accustomed from childhood to a downy bed, and so suddenly changed to a hard board, it made them stiff and painful. But she was young, and still strong and healthy, in spite of her troubles ; and the air was so fresh and invigo- rating that the stiffness and pain soon departed, and she quickened her steps, walking so briskly that, when the sun rose, she was nearly four miles from Glenwood, more than a mile from any family with whom she was acquainted, and just on the borders of a neighboring town. She now felt so fatigued, that, seeing a flat stone, under a maple-tree, 7 74 GLENWOOD. in a field not far from the road, she went to it and sat down to rest. It was a delightful morning, and, after the copious rain, all nature seemed refreshed, and supremely happy in its re- newed and more beautiful life. The birds were on the wing, or singing merrily in the trees ; and the soft hum of the bee was heard as he gathered honey from the heart of the dewy flowers, while armies of butterflies fluttered through the bland summer air, in seeming ecstasies of delight. The sun came up grandly, kindling a million bright eyes upon the dewy earth ; but they were soon put out by the heat and brightness of his own effulgent rays. Delia remembered how dearly she had loved such a morning as this, and she vainly wished that the present with its bitter reality could pass away, that she might return to more blessed days, and so, on this God-given morn- ing, enter into the fulness of its joy. But she well knew that this could not be ; and so she nerved her aching heart to meet bravely whatever the present or the future might have in store for her. She now reflected upon the course she had better pursue. She well knew that the farmers and travellers would soon be passing along the highway, and perhaps some of her own townsmen; and then the hills, valleys, and woods, looked so inviting, in their fresh, young beauty, and the grass felt so soft to her aching feet, she concluded to avoid the road, and continue her unknown journey over the fields and through the groves, as she might think best. After resting for half an hour, and feeling much refreshed, she arose and bathed her head in some water which lay among the roots of the tree under which she sat, and then went on, WDt knowing where her wandering steps would lead her GLENWOOD. 76 When another hour had passed, she sat down, and, being very faint, ate the remainder of the corn. She thought, poor child ! how sweet and refreshing it was more delicious to her taste than the most dainty morsel she had ever taken within her lips. And when it was all gone, she wondered where she should obtain food. She had a little money, but she did not like to part with that ; and yet she felt that she must. She now continued on her lonely way, avoiding every house, and shrinking from every eye. Late in the afternoon she was so faint that she felt she could go no further, and with streaming eyes she sank down to the ground in despair. But this would not do, and she raised her weary head and gazed around her. A short distance away, she saw upon the south side of a hill what appeared to be wild strawberry- vines ; and so, summoning all her remaining strength, she slowly dragged her weary- limbs to the spot, where she found the whole hill-side covered with the delicious fruit. She sat down and ate at her leisure, frequently allowing her- self for a time to forget her sorrows, and, with the strange delight of her early childhood, entering into and receiving the sweet influences which nature, bounteous mother, had so lavishly scattered around. The stern reality soon returned, and then she noticed that the sun was fast receding from view. She made haste to reach the top of the hill, and anxiously looked to see if there were any farm-houses in sight ; but not one could she discern. This was truly disheartening, for she was too weary to go much further. About one fourth of a mile from where she stood, she beheld a small barn, which seemed to have strayed away from home into the fields, like herself. 76 ULENWOOD. " How lonely it looks ! " she thought. " I will be its com- panion to-night, for it will not shut its doors against me." When she reached the building, she found that one of the scaffolds was nearly full of hay; and she climbed to the top of it, and there made herself a bed, feeling grateful for so luxurious a couch. While she was lying there, wishing that sleep might come and bring the rest she so much re- quired, reflections like these passed through her mind : "When will my wanderings end? which way shall I direct my steps to-morrow ? what shall I do for food ? who will give me a home? will it not all end in death?" She thought of the latter for some time, and it seemed to be dis- armed of its terrors ; and she felt that she could resignedly give up her life, under some sheltering tree in the green fields, and go to him. The soft grass should be her couch ; the summer winds cool her hot brow ; the bees soothe her to sleep, even that which should have no waking ; and the birds chant her funeral hymn. These thoughts soothed her aching heart, and she soon fell into delicious repose. Long, very long, did she sleep ; and, while her senses were closed to the outward world, she went back to the days of her early childhood, and she was rest- ing upon the soft bosom of her mother, happy as a blessed angel. As she lay looking up to her sad, quiet face, she wondered why she had never seen that dear one before, when her heart had so yearned for such beautiful love. Then, again, she was walking with him who was dearer than all, walking on the mountain side, the full moon looking down through the trees smilingly upon them. joy ! his arni was around her, his lips were pressed to hers ! The scene was now changed, fearfully changed. A terrible GLENWOOD. 77 night, a night of darkness and despair, had settled down upon her ; the heavens were so black, the moon looked like * blood, and all the eyes of the stars were put out. And he was lost lost ! Bitterly did she moan in her sleep, while the shadows grew more intense in their gloom. But a gleam of hope cheered her heart, for she thought " it is the dark- est just before the day." And now the shadows were pass- ing away, the light was dawning in the east, and soon all the clouds were dispersed, the sun came up in new glory, and a heavenly morning was ushered in, and a being so beautiful was coming from afar ; she strained her eyes that she might satisfy her bounding heart. Swiftly he came nearer and yet nearer it is he ! He is not lost, not dead ! and she was clasped wildly in the arms of her lover, his heart beating against her own. In this ecstasy of love and bliss, she awoke. When she had succeeded in disentangling her mind from the silken threads of her dream, so that she realized that she was no longer in dream-land, with its light and dark- ness, she exclaimed, " cruel, cruel dream, to so deceive me ! Why did I wake so soon ? ' ' And then, as though a happier thought had struck her, she said, " My bright young hopes have all ended in darkness and despair. The present, the future, is all dark, but the morning will come ! " As the rays of the sun were pouring in through the chinks of the barn, she thought how long she had slept, and that it was time she had resumed her pilgrim- age. Down the ladder she went with trembling steps, and, looking a kind adieu to the place which had sheltered her so well, she continued on her way with a comparatively 7* 78 GLKNWOOD. light heart. She found now and then a strawberry, and she quenched her thirst from the clear streams. which she passed, and found rest when weary under some friendly tree ; and thus she went on for many hours. About noon, she came in sight of a pretty village, com- posed mainly of one beautiful street, with large elm and maple trees on both sides of the way. A little distance from it, she sat down, and thought whether she should go there and seek for food, or take a circuitous route in the fields, and pass by it. She chose the former, resolving to call at a store and purchase a few crackers, she was so hun- gry. But, when fairly in the village, people looked at her so strangely that her heart failed her, and so she passed on through it without stopping at all. Not far from the vil- lage was a schoolhouse, and bright-eyed children were play- ing around it. When she went by them, some were fright- ened, and others disposed to mock. " And can I so have changed," she said to herself, " that children are afraid of me, or think me an object for ridicule?" She slowly dragged her weary limbs along, until she came to three beautiful little children, two sisters and a brother, who had spread a clean napkin upon the grass, and were covering it with apple-pie, doughnuts, sandwiches, cheese, and the whit- est wheaten bread, well spread with the yellowest, sweetest butter. Never did food look so inviting, so delicious, before. How she wished that it was all her own, or that she had enough to satisfy her craving hunger ! She sat down a little way off, and looked on, while the tidy, bright little things tastefully arranged their tempting meal. A whisper from the smallest one of the trio a blue- eyed, red-lipped, dimpled-cheeked child caused them all to GLENWOOD. 79 glance at the stranger. They did not seem frightened, they did not laugh ; but they soon turned their eyes away, and gazed meaningly into each other's faces. The smallest one now approached her, and, looking up, with a sweet, dimpled, smile, said, "Igeth you are hundry, an't you ? " 11 Yes, dear." " Well, I thought you was ; so you must turn and tate dinner with us." "Bless you, bless you, dear child !" said Delia, bursting into tears; " I will not rob you of your dinner ; but I will buy some of you, if you will sell it to me." " no ! no ! no ! " they all exclaimed at once, " papa and mamma would be very much grieved if we should do so. We '11 give it all to you, for you look so very faint. ' ; And seeing that she was weeping, the oldest one, a pleas- ant girl of nine years, said, " Don't weep, please; for we are very glad to have you for our guest to-day. We have got plenty, and it is so good ! " " Mamma allus mates dood thinds," said the little one. Delia went and sat down with those sweet little creatures, and, telling them that they must eat, too, partook of one of the most delicious meals that had ever fallen to her lot. " I have a nice, bright dipper here," said the boy, a little hazel-eyed Cupid, "and I will go to the spring, and get you such sweet, cold water ! " "So do, Franky," said the oldest ; "and, Jeannie, you stay here, while I run and fetch that basket of nice straw- berries which we gathered this morning and hid under the bushes." 80 GLENWOOD. " Yeth, Flora ; and I '11 be her little tumpany, as mamma thonietimes tells me when she has nobody in the house but just I." "What is your other name, besides Jeannie ?" asked Delia. " My name an't Jeannie at all, only they call me so. Flora says it 's my pet name. My own name is Maria Jean- nette." " Well, your other name, I mean." " T' other name is Wyman." " Thank you, you dear little angel ! I shall never forget it. Will you come and kiss me, Jeannie ? " and she opened her arms, and the latter sprang into them, and clung lovingly to her neck, covering her face with kisses. ! how much of peace this brought to the aching heart of the wanderer ! " All do not turn away," she thought; " these beautiful children speak kindly to me, give me food, and this little angel-one loves me." Jeannie put one arm around Delia's neck, and laid her head upon her bosom, and looked pityingly, but with the sweetest confidence, into the face which was bending affec- tionately over her. Closely the wanderer pressed that little one to her heart ; fondly she imprinted kisses upon her cherry-red lips. A strange feeling of tender maternal love and joy stole over her, and for a time all was peace. Ah ! could she have looked into the unknown future, closer would she have pressed that little one, dearer that loving em- brace ! But Franky returned with the water ; and, soon after, Flora with the delicious strawberries, which were quickly devoured. A portion of the dinner was left, and they begged Delia to accept it. She could not refuse, and, GLENWOOD. 81 kissing them all, and bidding them good-by, she continued her journey, her heart filled with gratitude to those kind little ones. Looking back and beholding them walking tow- ards the schoolhouse, hand in hand, in all their innocence, purity, and youthful beauty, she involuntarily dropped upon her knees, and breathed a prayer for their protection, bless edness, and peace. CHAPTER VIII. THE WOODS. FINDS SHELTER. MOLL HADLET. ROBBERY. A NIGHT OF HORROR. THE KIND-HEARTED CHILDREN AGAIN. THEIR HOME. THE OUTCAST IS WELCOMED. UP to this time, Delia had walked nearly all the way in the fields, but she now concluded to keep the road. She was tired and foot-aore, and yet on she went, with no hope that her weary journey would end, except with the grave. At sunset she found that the road she had followed ex- tended no further, and so she took to the fields again. She soon came to a piece of woodland, but, attempting to pass through it, lost her way, and became so bewildered that she went repeatedly over the same ground. When it was quite dark, she sat down and cried, as though all hope had departed. But, after the moon had risen, she collected her scattered senses, and then decided which course would lead out of the woods She was not mistaken, for she soon came to a pas- ture, which, by moonlight, seemed to have no bounds, except the woods at her back. She had not gone far before she saw a light, and ere long she came to a little hut or cottage, standing in the centre of the pasture. She knocked at the door, and to the question "who was there," replied that she was a poor woman, who had lost her way. The door was cautiously opened, and Delia thankfully accepted the invi- GLENWOOD. 83 tation to enter, and spend the night. She found herself in a little, dirty room, scant of furniture, whose sole occupant, except a cat, was an old woman, very wrinkled and gray, with a sinister and repulsive look. " S'pose ye took the wrong road, an' 'tempted to come 'cross through the woods," she said, in a dry, cracked voice. "Folks is done it many a time, an' got lost in them, when they 'd come here for me to p'int out the way. It 's too late for ye to find it, to-night ; but ye can stay here, if you '11 sleep on the floor, for I 've got no bed for ye; and I can't gin ye nothin' to eat, for I han't 'nough for myself." " I have some food which I brought with me, and that will be all that I shall require to-night," said Delia. " It 's well ye bringed it," replied the old woman, " for I 'spect you '11 give me some of it, for lettin' ye stay here." " 0, yes," she replied, looking at her hostess with much terror. "Don't ye be afeared on me, for I never hurts nobody. I live here all alone, and sometimes I 'm half famished. I '11 only eat half, an' ye '11 get more when ye get home to- morrow." " How far is it to the highway ? " "A good half-mile. Did ye get lost in them ere woods?" "Yes, ma'am." "Awful place for gettin' lost, them woods is. A gal like you got lost there once, an' when they found her there was nothin' but her skileton left." Delia shuddered. " I were lost there once myself, a good many years ago a good many years ago. I went wanderin' about for a whole day an' night, e'en-a-most scart to death. Did n't know as much as 84 GLENWOOD. I do now, though ! " and the old crone chuckled at the thought, while the expression of her face was so hideous that Delia instinctively drew away from her. " I tell ye not to be afeared. I used to be jest so skittish once," -chuckling again. "I 've got bravely over it bravely over it; an' so will you, when you've had my 'speri- ence. I was n't allus what you see me. Once I was young an' fair, like ye, with jest sich raven locks, and sad, dark eyes. Do I look like it now? Tell me the truth, gal! " with another chuckle. " No, ma'am." " I know I don't, so 't 's well ye telled the truth. Ye can scarcely think that this hideous, old, wrinkled face was ever so fair as yourn; but it was it was. An' once, gal, it was as pale, as pale, for many a day. These old eyes have begun to grow dim a little, but they are purty good yet ; but the time was when they was as bright and black as yours. I 'm old I 'm old ! " chuckling. "How old are you?" inquired Delia, who thought she must say something. " Seventy-five. I 've lived a good many years years of woe ! an' I hate my fellur-critturs for 't I do I do ! " "I pity you," said Delia, weeping. 4 ' Who wants your pity ? " she said, very fiercely. < ' Look to yourself, wench ; you need it more 'n I do. Pity ! pity ! I were told that long ago; but they lied, curse them ! I know them well ; I know what it 's worth ! " and she chuckled again, most hideously. Delia tried to speak, but she was so terrified that she could not. " Look to yourself,jwench ! " the old crone continued, for GLENWOOD. 85 you need the pity, not I. Don't I know ? Have n't I been through it all? But I swore revenge revenge, an' I 've had it ! You pity me, white-face! Well, well ! " chuckling again, " I should have done just so, when I were like you. I will not hurt you, gal, but I tate ye all ! I tell ye I was once as beautiful as you, with jest sich raven locks, an' purty eyes an' lips ; but a villin won my love, an' betrayed me. Then I found what pity was. My family cast me off, disowned me. They told me curse them ! that they pit- ied, while they drove me away. Wench ! " (and she took hold of Delia's shoulder, with her bony hand, with a grip that caused her great pain) " if ye say that word pity to me agin, I '11 have your heart's blood ! I '11 have none of it none of it ! Pity> do you? look to yourself ! I was treated by the world as I was by my own family," loosening her grip and chuckling, " an' they pitied, too, I s'pose ; but I 've had my revenge my revenge ! I ' ve preyed upon my feller-critturs this many a year ; an' noj you know why. When they made me a cast-away, my young heart was full of love an' tenderness, as the spring flowers of beauty. I had broken over the rules of society, I know, but I was a thousand times purer then than many of those who scorned me ; yes, yes, for I had n't an evil thought in my heart. 0, horror ! how I have changed ! But they are to blame they are to blame ! "In my terrible desolation, when driven from my home, I went to an old friend, one whom I loved so well that I would have died to save her from a fate like mine. I fell on my knees before her ; I confessed that I had fallen ; I told her that my parents had cast me off. What did she say, think you, wench? Look to yourself look to yourself! She sail she pitied me. Fool ! fool ! I thought she meant 8 86 GJ,ENWOOD. it, an' I begged her, in my extremity, to aid me. What did that dear friend do ? She told me, to my face, that I was too vile to associate with respectable people that I must not expect help from her; an' so I went broken-hearted away. She pitied me, an' she was too pure to aid her fallen friend ! An' yet, ! I choke to think on 't, she married him, the villin, the wretch, the monster, the devil, who won my love, an' betrayed me ' There was her purity, an' that was her pity! But I have had my revenge my revenge ! " and the old hag arose and walked the floor, swaying to and fro, in a fearful paroxysm of rage and passion, muttering and chuckling, "A darkened household a daughter's shame son's villiny revenge revenge ! " Delia had long since covered up her face to shut out the awful sight ; and, if she had not been paralyzed with fear, and could have opened the door, she would have arisen and fled, it was so fearful to be shut up there with such a terrible being. When the old woman ^iad become more calm, she saw the state her guest was in, and sought to revive her courage. " Shaking, are ye ? I '11 not hurt ye, gal. I 've made 'em shake 'fore now ! But you are a poor thing, so don't fear. Don't pity me, that 's all, an' I '11 not hurt a hair on your head. I have power yet power yet!" chuckling. " This talk has made me hungry. Put your vittals on my table, an' we '11 eat." Delia obeyed, and her hostess made a strong cup of tea, and they sat down to supper. The food was quickly des- patched, though Delia ate but little. After supper, the wanderer lay down upon the floor, taking her bundle for a pillow. She did not sleep for somo CLENWOOD. 87 hours, for three times the old woman came close to her, and once she put out her hand, as though about to search her pockets. Delia knew, by the sinister expression of her skinny face, that her intentions were evil, and so the sleepy god was frightened away. If she had been alone, she would have quickly fallen asleep, though the hard floor was her couch. She felt that she would not say pity again to this poor old creature, for the world ; but in her heart she felt it deeply. " Could it be," she thought, " that she was ever as pure and beautiful as she had said ? Once a lovely girl, but now a wretched, wicked old hag, body and soul repel- lent to everything innocent, lovely, and good? What a mighty, lamentable change ! And my condition is so similar to what hers was once, that I shudder to think that I may become what she is now." She felt that she would rather end her life by her own hand, than live to sink so low in vice and crime. "0, heavenly Father," she prayed, " save me from a fate so deplorable ! May my heart be kept free from all bitterness, and be pure, and warm, and forgiving! Thy erring, suffering child would look to thee for aid, for deliverance. 0, forsake me not ! Send the spirits of the good to guide and teach me the way of holiness! " It was past midnight when the old creature went to bed, and soon after her breathing indicated that she was in a deep slumber ; and then Delia also slept. The occupant of this cottage was known by the name of Moll Hadley. She obtained the means of subsistence by cultivating a small patch of ground near her home, fortune- telling, begging, and stealing. The day had dawned when Delia awoke, and, as Moll was still asleep, she deemed it best to takejher departure without 88 GLENWOOD awaking her. She had not inquired what course she should pursue, and it took her a long time to reach the highway; but it was gained at last, and now her courage revived, for it must lead to some house, where she hoped that she might be suffered to remain until able to continue her journey. Her journey ! Poor thing ! why should she continue it, when only death could bring it to an end ? As the grass was no longer wet with the dew of last night, and the sun was very warm, she turned back a few steps, and, seeking the shade of a large apple-tree, lay down and fell into a deep slumber. Soon after, the old hag, Moll Hadley, came along, and, seeing the stranger asleep, who had left her cottage so unceremoniously, stole noiselessly to her, and took from her pocket what money it contained, and, carefully removing her bundle from under her head, ran swiftly away, and was soon out of sight. Great was the consternation of Delia, who soon awoke, when she found that the bundle which contained her rai- ment was gone. She wondered if she left it at Moll Had- ley' s cottage. But that could not be, for she knew that her head had rested upon it when she fell asleep. Instinctively she felt in her pocket, and then she knew that she had been robbed. " ! this is too much," she exclaimed, " to take all I had ! What shall I do now ? There is one thing that I can do, thank heaven ! die ! " More dark than ever now seemed her way, but still she felt impelled to go on. Unembarrassed by her bundle, yet was her heart too heavy for her to make rapid progress. Her fate now seemed fearful, indeed, and hope died within her bosom. She was sometimes tempted to go into the GLENWOOD. 89 fields, far from the highway, and there lie down and wait for death to come and end her woes. Ah ! when would it come ? How long delay ? To lie there days and nights, waiting, longing for death, would be too horrible ! Would it be right to cease all efforts ? Could she feel justified in yielding up her life, unless she had made the most strenu- ous efforts to save it ? No, no ; she would still struggle on, and, though the pres- ent was so hopeless, and the future held out no other re- lief than death, yet would she do all in her power to pre- serve the life that God had given. At length she came to a house, and galled, wishing that she might rest a while ; but the woman, being alone, was so frightened, and seemed so anxious to be rid of her, that she did not remain long. Just as the sun was setting, she stopped at another dwelling, and, to her request that she might be permitted to pass the night there, was told that they had no accommodations for such as she stragglers must look out for themselves. Faint and sick, she left the inhospitable roof, and slowly went onward. It soon became quite dark, and, as she could see no light ahead, the poor creature relinquished all hope of finding a place of refuge until another day. She left the road and went into the fields ; and, seeing a miniature grove, in her wretchedness and desolation, she there resolved to spend the night. It was very warm, and ere long the mosquitoes began to sting her ; so she drew her veil over her face, and there the outcast, with hunger gnawing at her vitals, her limbs ach- ing, her head painful, her bosom hopeless, waited for the morning, often falling asleep, but waking in terror to find the reality more awful than the dream. Never was the 8* 90 ftLENWOOD. day-dawn more welcome, for night's shadowy horrors fled before the light. She sought to rise and go onward, but she was so weak that she laid down her head in despair. Sleep again stole upon her, a sleep sweet and refreshing, which lasted until ten o'clock. She was much astonished when she opened her eyes and saw how high the sun was. She lay and reflected a while as to what she should do. Food she must have. But where could she obtain it ? She felt that she could not beg from those who might treat her rudely ; but how else could she obtain those things which were now indispensable to her existence ? It was some moments before she could gain an erect posi- tion, and then she moved with difficulty. Continued exer- tion relaxed the stiffened cords, and renewed her strength ; but, knowing that it would hold out but a brief period, she resolved to improve it to the best advantage. She passed two dwellings, wanting courage to call at either ; at a third she was about to seek admittance, but, catching a glimpse of the mistress' face, which at that moment appeared at the window with an unpitying, repelling expression, she turned quickly and walked away. The road now seemed familiar, and ere long she came in sight of the school-house, and the village on beyond. " All this for nothing ! " she said, despairingly ; " these days of weariness, hunger, and pain, and nights of woe ! Alas ! what will become of me ? Will no one pity me ? I am a poor, lost child I know not what to do ! Can I lie out in the fields another night, to be haunted by such ghostly horrors ? I have no father now, no brother, no sister, and and he is dead ! Does he pity his Delia his lost, broken-hearted Delia ? All my friends are lost, and GLENWOOD. 91 I I am in despair. Will death come soon and relieve me of my woes ? ! then I shall go to him, and my wander- ings will be ended. But it is so terrible to die fainting for food sick houseless alone ! " At this moment, a gleam of hope shot into her aching heart, and caused a smile to light up her face. She thought of the three little friends who shared their dinner with her two days before, and deliverance might come through them. "I will wait," she said, "and those dear angels may come again. ! I shall be so glad to see the sweet creat- ures to see kind looks once more, and hear their artless, loving words, the darlings ! I hope they will come, for their smiles would warm this icy heart." On the Tery spot where she took that delicious repast she sat down, and eagerly waited their coming. In a brief time, the noisy children came pouring out, happy as birds to regain their freedom once more. The little Wymans soon espied their friend, and hastened to her, manifesting much joy that she had come back again. She had not wept for many hours, but now the fount was unsealed, and the tears fell like rain. Those dear children expressed the greatest anxiety and sympathy for her, because she looked so ill. "You look sick enough to be abed," said Flora. "I thought you were all beat out, day before yesterday ; but you look as though you could scarcely hold up your head now. I know where there is a pretty tree, beautiful and shady, and under it the grass is so thick and soft, thatjt 's just as good as a couch ; and you must go there and lie down and rest until after school is done, and then go home 92 GLENWOOD. with us, and we '11 give you such a nice bed in a cosey room, and take such good care of you, that you will soon be all well and strong. I am sure you need to be taken care of, and have some herb-tea and gruel. Mother makes the nicest gruel you ever did eat." " Pa and ma were very sorry that we did not invite you home with us, when we saw you before," said Franky. " And they were so dlad that we dave you some dinner ! and ma said that if we had invited you home, she would have diven you thome dood, warm supper," said Jeannie. " Heaven bless her ! " exclaimed Delia. " And father said that he wished you had come," returned Flora; " for he said you must be a poor, forsaken one, and he was fearful that you had no home to go to. You will go home with us, won't you ? " " Your home must be very happy," replied Delia, weep- ing, ' ' and I should like to go there, if I could stay to-night, and rest me, I am so very weary, but " " Please, don't cry," said Flora, the tears moistening her own eyes, " for you make me feel real bad. You must go with us ; and you shall stay more than one night a whole week, and let mother make you all well again." " I have no money now, and I could not make the small- est recompense," said Delia; "and I have no wardrobe, ex- cepting what I have on. ! I I am so destitute, so for- saken!" " What have you done with the tlothes you had day be- fore yesterday?" inquired Jeannie. "-I was so weary," she replied, " that I lay down in a field, and I soon went to sleep ; and some one came and took my bundle, and all my money, leaving me in despair. You GLENWOOD. 93 say that I look ill. I fear that I shall be sick for many days or weeks, causing much trouble and expense, and I have nothing. I am not well, I know my head feels strangely to-day ! ! I would so so like to go home with you ; but your parents do not know what a poor, wretched creature I I am. ! it would be so so blessed to lay this aching head upon a soft pillow once more, and rest ! Then I could die ; but they would not receive the lost one into such a home as theirs." "You must not think so," said Flora. " They are bet- ter than you suppose them to be ; and they would take the best care of you, and never want you to pay them. We shall make you go with us, and you shall stay a good many nights ; and then your head will get well, and we will chase your tears all away, and make you very happy." " You are a dear, good girl, and this poor heart thanks you for such kind words ; but, alas ! you know not what I am, and your parents do not know, or they would not have wished that I had come home with you. If they did know, and would let me come and stay a little while a few days I would be so glad ! " replied Delia. " If you are poor and forsakfen, father said," remarked Flora, "why, then it would be his duty to welcome you, and, if possible, find you a home.'' " Your father must be a good man," said Delia, :< and I will hope that he will not spurn me from his door ; but, alas! " " There, don't say any more about it, if you please," said Flora, "for I know you will be very welcome ; and oow we want you to eat some of our nice things." While the conversation was going on, the children had 94 GLENWOOD. spread out their little cloth, and covered it with an abun- dance of tempting food ; but Delia, who had eaten so heart- ily two days before, could eat but little now. "I geth you must be real sick," said little Jeannie, "for you don't eat not half so much as I, and you are ever so much bigger." " Yes, dear, I am not well to-day, or I should eat a great deal of such good victuals." " I will go and get you some of that cold water," said Franky, " and then you will be ever so much better." "Thank you," she replied, "I should like a drink of that water, it was so refreshing, and my mouth is so hot and dry ! " The boy soon returned, and the cool beverage in a meas- ure revived the wanderer. The kind Flora told her that if she was willing she would do to her head as her mother did to hers when it ached ; and so she bathed it with the water, and pressed it hard with her hands. If this treatment did not remove the pain, it soothed the weary one, and made her so grateful that the tears renewedly rolled down her cheeks. Flora now took Delia by the hand, and led her to the place she had before spoken of; and, taking her own shawl, she made a pillow with it for her head, and, while giving utterance to comforting and soothing words, laid her soft hands upon Delia's fair, white brow, until unconscious- ness gradually stole over her, and she fell into a quiet sleep. She now stole noiselessly from the sleeping stranger, and returned with her brother and sister to school. As will have been noticed, Flora was a very thoughtful child, and she was apprehensive that Delia was too sick tc sleep so long in the open air, she might take more cold. GLENWOOD. 96 And so, when it was time for recess, she asked to be dis- missed; which request was kindly granted, coupled with the permission for her little brother and sister to go with her. Delia was awoke from her peaceful sleep by the kind- hearted children ; and, taking a proffered hand in each of hers, she started for their home. But her steps were now unsteady and slow, and the mile which they had to go seemed to her like a long journey. Her little companions noticed how feeble she was, and they encouraged her with the oft- repeated assurance that it was but a little further, and they should soon be there. After passing over a number of hills, and through a small wood-lot, the children exclaimed : " There is our home ! " and Delia saw, a short distance from where they then were, on a pleasant eminence, a large and lovely cottage, with a most inviting home-like look the location admirably chosen, and the architecture very beautiful. It had an extensive garden in front, in the form of a half-circle ; and there were beds of flowers and vege- tables, with grassy banks, the whole length of the garden, and continued in regular gradations to the bottom of the hill. In the rear of the house was a graceful and inviting arbor, covered with luxuriant grape-vines, making a pleasant retreat. In this beautiful place were a number of seats made of the small and curiously-formed trees which grew in a swamp not far off; and they were so ingeniously put together in the shape of large easy-chairs and sofas, and seemed so well adapted to the place, that every one was perfectly de- lighted with them. The newest and most elegant furniture would have seemed tame there, iu comparison. In the gar- 96 GILENWOOD. den were many flourishing fruit-trees ; and a splendid orchard, containing four acres of young,' vigorous apple-trees, grafted \vith all the best fruit in New England, lay just back of the beautiful arbor. A little distance from the cottage were fields of corn, rye and oats, potatoes, etc. The out-build- ings were all in excellent repair, and everything in the most complete order; so that this home had a quiet, happy, and comfortable aspect. To Delia, whose exhausted frame and anxious spirit would have rendered her grateful for almost any place of refuge, this retreat seemed like a paradise. She knew, at a glance, that Mr. Wyman was a farmer, and a very in- telligent and worthy one; but when she thought what she was, and that the owners of that delightful cottage were entirely unacquainted with her, with the circum- stances which had so strangely conspired to bring about her ruin, she hesitated to enter that abode, the home of innocence and peace. With this feeling, she sat down and began to weep ; and, when urged to go forward by the chil- dren, she told them that she could not that they must go without her, and she would return to the woods and lie down and die. She almost thought that it was her duty to hasten away as fast as her feet could carry her. "Do come," said Flora, "and you shall lie down in such a pretty room, and rest yourself so nice ! " " No, no, I cannot ! " Delia replied. " They would not want me in that happy place. ! that I might die ! " " Well, if you will not go in with me, I will run and tell mother, and she will come out after you ! " aud away she went, with all haste, leaving the other children with Delia. OLENWOOD. 97 They did not wait long, for Flora soon returned with her mother. Delia saw Mrs. Wyman approaching, and tried in vain to hold up her head. But the latter went to her, and gently raised her up, saying that her little girls had spoken of her two days before, and she was very glad she had come ; and now she must go into her cottage, where she should be most welcome. Delia mechanically obeyed, leaning on the arm of her motherly companion. When once in the house, she suffered her bonnet and shawl to be removed ; and, being led to a comfortable seat, she gladly sat down, thankful that she might do so, even while her heart beat with the most painful forebodings. And when she saw a most pitying ex- pression steal over the face of her hostess, she instinctively tried to shrink away from the gaze of those clear, beautiful eyes. Not that she expected to see them flash with indig- nation, or that she would utter words of crushing reproof; but she feared lest she should be too great an offence to so much goodness. "You are shivering," said Mrs. Wyman, "and I fear that you have taken a severe cold. Flora, go and bring in some dry wood and kindle a fire here, and then make one in the kitchen." There was a bright-looking fire-frame in this sitting-room, o o o * and in it a brisk fire was soon burning, how pleasant to the chilled and exhausted stranger ! She queried whether it could be as warm out-doors as she had thought it was a few days before. And then she wondered what Mr. Wyman would say when he came in from his work. Should she moot with the same compassion and kindness in him she had already observed in his wife ? Would they allow her to remain over night ? 9 98 GLENWOOD. While these reflections were passing through her mind, Mrs. Wyman was preparing herb-tea, which she soon brought to her ; and, after that, a bowl of tepid water, in which she bathed her face and hands ; and then she combed and arranged her beautiful hair : and when she had done all this, she looked into her face, and exclaimed, ' ' How beauti- ful you are ! " bending over and kissing her forehead. This was so unexpected to Delia, that she looked up with a smile of surprise ; and, meeting the glance of those clear, beautiful eyes, she leaned her head confidingly upon her bosom. "Poor child," said Mrs. Wyman; "there is a terrible wrong somewhere, or this could not have been. Your coun- tenance has no look of hardened guilt, or a love of sin. If I should hear your own lips declare it, I could not believe it." What blessed words were those to Delia, and how glad she was that they should be spoken, even though coming from the lips of a stranger ! She wished to thank her for them, but so great was her emotion that she could not speak, and so she wept aiiJl sobbed like a little child. " It was not my intention to make you weep," Mrs. Wy- man remarked ; " but the omen is a happy one, confirming my previous impressions, that your heart is tender and good. Dry your tears, dear, and when you are strong enough you shall tell me all yes, everything, keeping nothing back ; and I shall believe every word ; and in me shall you find the friend you so much need in this hour of bitter trial." " ! how good you are ! " said Delia, looking up into her face through her tears. " "Not very good, I fear," was the reply; "but I know GLENWOOD. 99 that you are a poor, forsaken one, in distress, and it is my duty to help you." ".I am so glad that those dear children brought me here ! but but what will your husband say? " " Don't be afraid of him, for he is not unworthy of trust; and I can promise you that you will find him both ready and willing to assist you." " I have not doubted that he was good, but I thought he could not be willing to let me remain in his sweet home. Man's heart is not so tender as woman's." " I don't know how that may be, but Mr. Wyman's is as tender as one could Avish. I must go now and prepare the tea, and you will remain here. I would send in one of the children, only it is rather too warm for them. I would like, however, before I go, to know your name, as I shall want to introduce you to Mr. Wyman." " Delia Gregg." "Is that a name you have assumed for a time, or is it your real name ? " " It is my own name, and I have never once thought of taking any other." " I see that you are as artless as a child ; and I am glad that you are. for I shall feel it so much the more my duty to befriend you." It was not long before Delia heard the voice of Mr. Wy- man ; and, notwithstanding what his wife had said, she was fearful of the result. She fancied that, if he was so very good, he would bid her leave his house, and never enter it again, for she must be so offensive to him. Some minutes elapsed before she heard him approaching, the door having been closed, and during this time her heart beat violently, 100 GLENWOOD. and now she trembled in every limb, and her face became of an ashy paleness. " Miss Gregg," said the musical voice of Mrs. Wyman, " this is my husband, who is very glad that you are here." Mr. Wyman took Delia's trembling hand and shook it cordially, and sa ; d, "My wife has told the truth, and you are most welcome to my house and home ; doubt not that you are with those who are able and willing to befriend you." "Just see how very pale she is, through apprehension of your dreaded presence ! I fancy that she is the first woman who was ever afraid of you," said Mrs. Wyman. " I am not so sure of that," Mr. Wyman replied. " If my memory is not decidedly treacherous, a certain lady was once a little too timid in my presence for my comfort. But she learned better in due season ; and so will you, Miss Gregg." Delia was now told that supper was ready, and, leaning on the arm of Mrs. Wyman, she walked out and sat down to a well-spread board. As sick as she was, she noticed that everything was in the most perfect order, and the bread and pastry reminded her of the delicious repast she had taken with the children by the roadside. The table- cloth was clean and white, the knives and forks shone, and the plates, cups and saucers, were so bright and glistening, that they reflected faces like a mirror. After supper, when she had returned to the sitting-room, little Jeannie went and sat by her side, and entertained her with her childish prattle, frequently beseeching her not to go away in the morning. By and by the other children came in, kissed her, bade her good-night, and went to be . GLENWOOD. 101 Mr. Wyman harnessed his horse and rode to the village to do some shopping, and so Delia was left alone with Mrs. Wyman. "You look sick," said the latter, "and, if it will tax your strength too much, you need not relate your history to-night." But Delia felt a great deal better, and she fancied that now she was quite well, and so she said : " I don't feel much sick, and I should rather tell you now, or I shall think of it all night, and I wish to rest. But you will let me remain till morning?" ' Let you remain! I will not let you go. You must not doubt me any more, Delia, for I am not deceiving you. It is no idle curiosity which prompts me, as you might sup- pose, to make the request which I have. Rest assured that my motives are pure, and I trust that my request will be met in the spirit in which it is made. You will tell me all, I am sure, and not try to deceive or mislead me in the least, will you not, dear ? " " ! yes, yes, I will ! I could not deceive one so good to the poor outcast. 0! I should have died if you had not taken pity upon me ! How kind in your husband to give me such friendly greeting! I could fall down at your feet, and kiss them, and bathe them with tears of gratitude." "You warm-hearted child ! but do not weep any more. There may be rich blessings in store for you yet." ' ' I have no hope of that ; no hope of happiness in this world, and I look for rest only in the grave." "In the grave?" " Or beyond it. I hope that one who is dearer to me 9* 102 GLENWOOD. than all this world contains is in heaven, and that I may, ere long, meet him there." "Your thoughts are sad, child, and I hope your earth- future may not be so dark and drear as you now imagine it must be. The blackest clouds are chased away by the sun, and then how clear and beautiful is the sky ! It is the darkest, you know, just before the day." "Yes, yes; so I dreamed three nights ago, and I have believed ever since that the day would come, and so I will patiently wait for it." Mrs. Wyman now found that her eyes were filling with tears, and she arose and clasped Delia to her heart, saying, " You dear, dear child ! you have no mother, I am sure, or one like you could not be here. I know that you have sinned, Delia ; but who is entirely guiltless ? And the world would shut out such as you from all its sympathies and loves ; and yet how many self-righteous ones, honored by man, shining lights in the church, would knock in vain at heaven's gate, if merit opened the door, while you would be welcomed by the dearest angels ! " "Do you think so? Then I will believe it, for one so good as you must know. I have no mother on earth, but she is in heaven. I don't remember 'her, but I have Seen her in a dream, and she was so very beautiful that I wished to go to her, and have her teach me to be pure and happy ; and I shall go to her, and to him ! If the departed can come and minister to and bless the living, I know my moth- er will come to you ! " " I hope so, dear ! But now put your feet on this stool, and rest your head upon this pillow, and, before you are too weary, relate to me the history of your life." QLENWOOD. 103 Delia, with many tears, briefly told her all, commencing with early childhood, and following her life down to the present. She did as requested, relating faithfully everything of the least importance. "And now," said she, when she had finished, " can you let me stop with you a few days, till I am well and strong again, or must I go to-morrow? " "Don't talk so, Delia; for I feel now that I can love you , and never mind what I say, and you must obey me shall you leave this house, without you have a good home hi view. I regret your imprudence, but I have no word of censure ; for you have suffered too much already. Here you are safe, and while you remain you shall be most welcome ; and so you must try to be happy." " ! bless you ! " said Delia, falling on her knees at the good woman's fe9t ; "and I shall not have to go away all alone again, with no hope of finding shelter or rest? " " No - ! no ! you grateful darling ; I am to act the part of mother, now that yours is in heaven. If she had lived, I never should have had the opportunity. I am astonished at the course of your father, brother, and sister. They have not only forgotten the claims of blood, but of the simplest humanity. You are not like them, but a thousand times better. The world pities or despises you, and perhaps envies them'; but I should much rather be like you to-night, than to be cursed with such hard, unfeeling hearts. Take cour- age, poor wronged one, and no longer despair! " and, kissing her, she raised her up, and replaced her, as a mother would a sick child, in the rocking-chair. Delia had no inclination now to resist anything she might do for her ; for she felt that she had fallen into the hands of one of earth's angels, and she would do only what was for the best.' She had not 104 GLENWO D. known before that the world contained such beautiful beings ; and now how glad she was, and how willing to forget her sorrows, and let quiet thoughts nestle down into her heart ! When she was more calm, Mrs. Wyman led Delia to her couch, which was in a pleasant little room, arranged like everything else in the cottage, with the same neatness and taste. She found the bed so much like her own at home, that she wanted to clasp it in her arms for very joy. And, after sleeping upon the hard floor, and in the barn, and out in the field, upon the damp earth, to have such a bed, it was too much happiness, more than she could have hoped for. When Mrs. Wyman brought her a cup of herb-tea, which, she remarked, would throw her into a perspiration, she asked no questions, but took it like a little child. A kiss, and a sweet good-night, and Delia was left alone. She hardly dared to think now, for it seemed impossible that such good fortune should be hers. She felt happier than she had since Jimmey Penly's death, and, breathing her thanks to Heav- en, she fell into a deep slumbec CHAPTER IX. MR. AND MRS. WTMAN. SICKNESS. DARKEST BEFORB THE DAT. NEW HOUSEHOLD TREASURE. SHORT-LIVED JOY. THE GATHERED BUD GIVEN TO STRANGERS. MR. WYMAN returned home a little before ten o'clock. His wife related to him the history of Delia, and expressed her own wishes in relation to her, in which he fully con- curred. He was blessed with an abundance, and he would rather the needy should have the benefit of the worldly goods which had graciously fallen to his lot, than to have them used only to entertain and feast those who were well able to provide for themselves. "But, John," she said, "we shall be severely censured, and our motives belied ; and we may lose the good name which has been ours so long." " We cannot suffer in a better cause," he replied ; " and, if you can bear it, dear, I am sure that I can. We have nothing to fear, however, for which we need give ourselves the least alarm. This house is our own ; this farm is our own, and it yields an abundance ; and while I raise our own corn, wheat, rye, and potatoes, you make our own butter and cheese, and we are independent; so let the world wag, who cares? " "I like your spirit, John; but, supposing we were not independent? " 106 GLENWOOD. " Hardly a supposable case, I take it; for we are. But suppose that we were not, what then ? Why, we would do right, and let the consequences take care of themselves ; the poor girl should still have a home with us." " So she should, dear ! and I am glad that you think just as I do about it ; for it is right, and the right is always the best, if we could only believe it." "On such subjects, Carra, we seldom, if ever, differ in thought. I am more and more grateful, every day I live, that I was so fortunate as to win you for my helpmeet and life-companion." "That could not have been otherwise, love; for we were made for each other." " And yet it might have been our doom never to have met on earth, or to have met only to realize that there were obstacles which could not be overleaped ; and the mutual bliss, such as we now enjoy, would have been impossible. I have heard of such cases, and they made my heart sad : and I could not help wishing that, by some honorable means, the obstacles might be removed which separated the two which should be one, and so they be permitted to enter into that state of happiness which they were so well fitted for." " Such cases are lamentable, but I suppose they will sometimes occur ; though I fancy they would not if people had more faith, for then the good angels would bring the wandering ones together. They are too often untrue to their own natures ; and so they marry for family or property, or because they are not pleasantly situated at home, and thus shut themselves, with their own hand, out of the king- dom of heaven." "When do you expect mother will return? " QLENWOOD. 107 " Next week. I forgot to tell you that the children brought home a letter from her to-night. She is in good health, and her spirits as buoyant as ever." " What will she say to our new friend, think you? " " I don't know ; but I fancy she will be very kind to her, not only out of regard to us, but from pure benevolence to her." " I don't doubt it ; for I always thought that mother and daughter were wonderfully alike." " That is a compliment to me, certainly ; and, I trust, no disparagement to her. I scarcely hope that I have the faculty of making myself agreeable to both old and young which she has, without the least effort to do so." "I suppose the secret lies in the fact that her heart is warm and good, and, having a desire to make all happy, it comes as natural as it does to breathe." " She is a dear, good mother, and the children are just as anxious for her return as I am." Delia slept until towards morning, and when she awoke she was conscious of being very ill ; the pain in her head had increased, and she was shivering with cold, while her mouth and throat were burning and husky. Still being very sleepy, however, after changing her position her eyes closed again ; but she moaned so loud in her slumbers, that she was heard by Mrs. Wyman, who quickly arose and went to her. She gave her such remedies as she thought requisite, but they did not avail ; and in Jhe morning a physician was sent for, who administered medicines which quickly relieved her distress. The next morning he came again, and then he declared that her symptoms all indicated fever. It was 108 GLENWOOD. not long before her mind was wandering the most of the time ; and then she would frequently exclaim : " How dark ! dark fearfully dark it is ! But I see the light, don't you? away, away off there!" pointing towards the east. " And he is coming ! ! so beautiful ! He is an angel now ; yes ! yes ! he is coming ! " and then, clapping her hands, " joy ! joy ! it is the darkest just be- fore the day ; but the morning will come." During these paroxysms of gloom and ecstatic joy, her dark eyes looked wildly bright, and her handsome face, flushed with disease, was lit up with beauty more than earthly. And through it all, whethei clothed in her right mind or wandering, she was the same patient, child-like being, instinctively trusting in the kind one who was ever hovering near her, anticipating all her wants. As Mrs. Wyman's mother resided with her, they usually kept no servants in the house ; but now one was immediately procured. The next week, Mrs. -Motley returned; and then, as she had greater experience, and was as devoted and kind to the sick as the daughter, and her touch as soothing, the latter felt that she could take more rest than she had done since Delia's sickness, which the state of her health so much required. At first, Delia seemed to shrink from Mrs. Motley, and was uneasy when Mrs. Wyman was absent from her side. She soon learned, however, that she was very much like the latter, in gentle, motherly care ; and when Mrs. Wyman could not be with her, Mrs. Motley was preferred to any one else. After the lapse of two weeks, every day having been very dangerous to the patient, the doctor declared that the fever had "turned," and that there were hopes of a speedy recovery. GLENWOOD. 109 Delia was in a very weak state when the fever left her, but her wandering senses were restored, and she felt per- fectly resigned to lie in her nice bed, the best care being taken of her, and all her wants anticipated, or quickly gratified when made known. Her friends were so careful, so affec- tionate, and spoke so kindly to her, that she gave herself no anxiety in relation to all the trouble and expense she had caused; but, like a child at home, she reposed quietly on her soft couch, and felt that it was all right that things should be as they were. As she gradually gained strength, she frequently amused herself by tracing the resemblance between mother and daughter. She saw it to be very striking, age alone making the difference. The former had the same clear gray eyes, with the expression of warm-hearted love ; the complexion was similar : the form of the face, except it was more full and broad, and not so fair. She was a little taller, but, being more fleshy, she seemed of the same height. Both had soft brown hair, the mother's slightly sprinkled with gray. The recovery of Delia was not so rapid as the doctor had anticipated, but from day to day the change, though slow, was for the better. By and by she could sit up two or three hours at a time, and walk without help about the room ; but she was very pale, and the contrast made her dark eyes won- derfully bright. Mrs. Motley was uniformly kind, and ever sought to cheer her heart with hopes of a brighter future. Mrs. Wyman could not have been more faithful to a sister ; and the three children frequently came in to see her, bring- ing a variety of beautiful flowers, and cheering her with the warm sunshine of their smiles. The deep gratitude which Delia felt could not be uttered in words, but her looks, 10 110 GLENWOOD. the eloquent brightness of her eyes, revealed it all a thou- sand times better than the most beautiful sentences could have done. But, notwithstanding all this, we must not suppose that Delia was free from sorrow. True, she had been received into the bosom of one of the best of families, experiencing from its members the kindest treatment and the warmest affection ; but this could not banish from her mind the painful consciousness of her wretched condition. It was a relief to her to be well enough to go out again, and ramble in the fields, and sit under the trees, and hear the birds sing. Health, in a measure, again returned ; but departed joys came not nature was glad and wondrously beautiful, clothed in all the matchless glory of summer ; but, alas ! there was a heavy cloud in her sky, and her childhood stars had faded forever from her sight. Early one morning in August, Jeannie came into her room, and, climbing on to the bed, awoke the sleeper with kisses. As soon as Delia opened her eyes, she saw that her little friend looked unusually joyous. "What is it, dear?" she inquired. " ! I have dut another little brother." " I am very happy to hear it, Jeannie is he pretty?" " I don't know hardly yet, 't is so little ; but he will drow bigger, dand-mamma says. ! I am so dlad ! You have n't any baby-boy, have you ? " " No, dear ! " and she turned away her face, restraining herself with difficulty from bursting into tears. This intelligence aroused in Delia's mind new feelings of anxiety. " I ought not to remain here any longer," she thought. " It cannot be right, when they have so many GLENWOOD. Ill children of their own to care for, and I can make them no remuneration at all. I must away, and seek a home else- where ; but where can I go ? " Such reflections made her very unhappy ; but she arose, and hastened to the couch of her friend, whom she was glad to find in a delicious sleep. She kissed her when she awoke, and from day to day sought, by every means in her power, to return the kindness and care which had been so faithfully bestowed upon her ; so that Mrs. Wyman often declared that never woman had a better nurse than she. " I am thankful," said Delia, "that you are pleased with what I have done, for I am so indebted to you. I often feel that it is wrong for me to be a burthen to you, and that I should seek a home elsewhere." " You know that I don't allow such talk," Mrs. Wyman replied ; " and, if you do not discontinue it, I will stop your mouth with kisses." " You are so kind," she said, " that I cannot do otherwise than submit to your wishes. It is true I frequently think that I should not remain longer ; but, if I should leave you, where could I go ? I should again be homeless and forsaken, and I should die ! " " You shall not leave us never without you have a sure place of refuge," said Mr. Wyman. " Here you will remain until it is best for you to go elsewhere." The summer months had now passed away, and autumn, with its brown eyes, had come. In the spring the maple- trees made the woods look cheerful and gay, with their red buds and flowers ; and now their green leaves were changed, taking the most brilliant hue, red and bright like fire, illum- inating the groves with their strange beauty. These were GLENWO OD. but forerunners ; and ere long light frost appeared, sending its little spirits up on to the hills and down into the valleys, painting the delicate foliage, and changing the whole aspect of the woods. By and by every tree had its variety of coloring, and in the distance the groves looked like vast and mighty gardens of flowers. These gorgeous scenes of beauty were doomed soon to pass away ; for the cold winds and the sharper frosts came, and then they were rudely torn from the shaking limbs they had clothed in loveliness so long, and hurled fainting to the earth. Delia noticed these changes as she had never done before ; and the gorgeous resplendence of the dying year caused her to wish that there might be something lovely and attractive in her, even when the win- ter of death was drawing nigh. It was the latter part of October, when nearly all the flowers had been swept away by the cold winds and frosts, that a beautiful bud, more beautiful than the richest flower she had ever seen, was laid in her bosom, and pressed closely to her heart, which wildly throbbed with ecstatic joy and love. All too true it was, mournfully true, that the summer had departed when it came ; that the green leaves of spring had faded and fallen ; that the heavy, blighting winds were madly revelling amid the ruined splendor of golden days ; and yet she was glad, though she knew not why, that such a tender, beautiful thing was her own ; and the more closely did she enfold it in a warm embrace, shielding it from the bitter cold without, giving it sustenance from her own body, that it might grow and flourish still, expanding in loveliness to the full, beautiful flower. This joy in her new-found treasure was soon brought to an end : for sorrow had been at work too long, slowly but OLENWOOD. 118 surely making weaker her frame, and less able to endure the trial through which she had passed. A fearful sickness followed, and for many weary days and nights there was no hope of life ; and so the beautiful bud, which was so dear to her, was taken away, that it might not die. Very painful was it to be near the sufferer now ; for her senses were always wandering ; ecstatic blisses arid fearful sorrows alter- nately held their sway. She often journeyed, in imagina- tion, away into the past ; and the overwhelming grief at her lover's death, and her agony when driven from her father's house, made all weep who saw her. Every step which she took at that fearful time of trial she now went over again. Objects of dread caused her to flee from the mountain-side, trembling at the lightning's flash and the crash of thunders, seeking for shelter and safety from the pelting storm. Hungry, faint, and sick, she pursued her lonely journey, sleeping at night upon the cold earth, with naught but the "sweet heavens" above her, radiant with the eyes of the pitying stars. Those who had most bitterly censured were silent now, and were not ashamed though tears were seen coursing down their cheeks. Reason at length returned, and then she inquired for her delicate treasure (ten-fold more dear because of suffering) ; and when it was brought to her, some hours after, she looked mournfully yet lovingly upon it, while her lips moved in prayer. It was soon taken again to its temporary home. A few days after, a very* kind-hearted, benevolent man called, who said that a family of his acquaintance, in a neighboring town, whom he knew to bo worthy people, had just lost their only child, and they would adopt this little one, if they could be allowed to remain unknown. The 10* 114 GLENWOOD. mother, poor, sick, and helpless, expecting soon to die, con sented to this arrangement ; and then her beautiful bud was brought to her, that she might fold it to her bosom once more, press upon it one more kiss, and bid it farewell. As weak and sickly as she was, she took it in her arms and held it to her heart, and gazed long and lovingly upon it, covering it with kisses ; and then, as her newly-summoned strength was leaving her as rapidly as it came, she yielded up the precious thing, turning away her eyes, too sad to weep, and parted with it on earth forever ! CHAPTER X. THE CUNARDS MOVE TO THE WEST. ILL-FORTUNE. - RETURN. - WIL- LIE CUNARD. - DEATH. WILLIE A PAUPER. - GLENWOOD BUYS A POOR-FARM. Wymans lived in the town of Yainford ; and some ten miles from there, in Monson, there resided a couple by the 'name of Cunard. Ten years after their wedding-day, their first and only child was born. The little stranger was welcomed most joyously by his parents, and in him were the hopes of their hearts centred ; but, alas ! those hopes were born, like the being who called them into existence, only to be blasted. When their child was three months old, the death-angel came and removed it from their sight. Mr. Cunard was a farmer ; but his farm was under a heavy mortgage, and, as his health was delicate, both he and his wife thought it best to sell their place, and move to the "West, where they could purchase land and build them a cottage, and still have a few hundred dollars which would bring them twelve per cent, interest. Under such circum- stances, they believed that a better livelihood could be gained than they could hope for in New England. Their babe, they thought, would compensate in a measure for the loss of old friends, and be the mother's companion and solace when the husband and father was absent. This day-dream of 116 GLENWOOD. happiness, with the cherished one, was dissipated by its un- timely death ; and then Mrs. Cunard felt how lonely she should be in her far-off home. It was at this juncture that they heard of the circumstances in relation to Delia ; and they resolved to adopt the child, if the mother would give it to them unreservedly, and never know into whose hands she had consigned it. When the proposition was first made to Delia, she felt that she could not yield her assent ; but, being assured by those who had been more than brother and sister to her that Mr. Volens, the gentleman who was employed as the agent in the business, would never be a party to such a trans- action, unless he knew that the babe would be regarded, by those who adopted it, as a dear son, unless he knew that they were people worthy of such a trust, she reluctantly yielded. Poor, destitute mother ! how could she say no, be- ing so completely helpless? and those to whom she looked for every good which she now received advised her, if not for her own welfare, for the sake of the child, who would find affectionate and faithful parents. They told her that the longer she delayed, the older the child became, the dearer would it be to her, and the more difficult the separa- tion ; and it was requisite that those who had offered to adopt it should have it now. The thought of never seeing it again, of being kept in ignorance of its welfare, caused Delia to shrink away from the proposition with pain. Mrs. Wyman saw the struggle, and told her that, if she could not give it up without too much suffering, it should remain with them, and, whether she lived or died, it should have a home and a mother's care. Delia felt that it would not be right to impose an additional GLENWOOD. 117 burthen upon these excellent people, who had four little ones of their own ; and so, with much sorrow at her heart, she yielded to circumstances beyond her control. The babe was gladly received by its new parents, and they both declared that it looked just like their own, and they felt that it was to hold in their affections the place of their lost one. Mrs. Cunard nourished it from her own breast, and ere long the little stranger was as dear as the child which now lay cold and silent in its grave. In due time all things were arranged, and they started for their new home in the West. They purchased land in the State of Illinois ; but their anticipation of more pros- perous days was not realized, for fortune was as chary of its favors as ever. . Mr. Cunard had hoped that a change of climate would restore him to healthy but, instead thereof, the fever and ague soon ruined what he had. At their new home they remained three years, gradually but surely dissipating their little fortune. When their ready money was all gone, they sold their land for much less than its actual worth, and re- turned to New England. Not long after, Mr. Cunard heard of a small farm in Glenwood, which could be purchased for three hundred dollars. It contained thirty acres of land, much of it very poor, and a decent house and barn. He immediately purchased the farm, and removed to Glenwood. He cultivated the land as well as his shattered constitution would allow ; but he received only poor returns for his labor, and, as Mrs. Cunard's health was also broken, they obtained but a meagre support. As soon as Delia had relinquished her child to them, they named it for the one they had lost, Willie Cunard. For a 118 GLENWOOD. year and a half he was quite unhealthy, and exceedingly nervous ; but the climate and the best of care restored him, so that when they returned to New England he was a rosy- cheeked, blue-eyed child, a dimpled, lovely cherub, as one would care to see. Mrs. Cunard had much tact in using a little so that it answered the purpose of an abundance ; and she always kept Willie tidy and neat, all his garments made in the best of taste. Thus cared for, and so dearly loved, a winning smile played upon his countenance, revealing the deep dimples in his cheeks, causing everybody who loved children to notice him, and speak a kind word, or give him a caress. The little girls, some years older, all thought him a perfect love of a child. These things made Willie very happy, and he did not seem to think that his home was poor, or that his parents found it a severe task to obtain the neces- saries of life. He knew that his ne^ds were well supplied, and he was not old enough to fear the insidious destroyer, which would ere long fill his cup with bitterness. He could not realize that his happy days were to end so soon. Mr. and Mrs. Cunard continued to struggle on ; but the health of both was every day growing more precarious, demonstrating that they would speedily know the horror of biting poverty. All too soon it came, and now Willie often went tearful to bed, because there was no food to satisfy his hunger. His clothes gradually became soiled and ragged, for his mother was too sick to keep them clean and in good repair. Is it any marvel that, in a brief period, people ceased to regard him as beautiful? The roses left his cheeks, the smile fled from his eyes, and that winning, joy- ous expression was superseded by one of painful sadness. f it was cruel to his young heart to exchange those fond QLENWOOD. 119 caresses, those kind words and glances of love, for bitter taunts, averted looks, derisive smiles, and insults, because of his poverty. A little while before, and the children would gladly leave their play and their friends, if they might have the privilege of walking with him, and leading him by the hand. Now they called him the beggar-boy, the rag-man's son, and turned back the current of his warm aifections upon his heart, cold as ice. When Willie was six years old, Mr. Cunard died ; and in less than one year after, Mrs. Cunard was also laid in the silent grave, leaving poor Willie alone. He wept much when his father died, but now as though his heart would break. The last year had been one of cruel suffering ; but the little boy felt, when he heard the cold sods falling upon his mother's coffin, that he would willingly live on and suffer as he had done, if she could be restored to him. Mrs. Cunard, in her last days, had thought much of Wil- lie, and she queried whether she should tell him that he was not her child. And then she felt that it would do no good, and only add to his sorrows ; and so she died, commend- ing the orphan to the care of the great Father of us all. The farm on which the Cunards lived was mortgaged for its full value, and Willie was provided with a home by the selectmen of the town. Mr. Bumford took him for the re- mainder of the year, for fifty cents a week, the town to furnish him ;i new suit of clothes. During this time the support of the paupers had been regularly sold ; they finding such homes as might be expected under such a system. The Slushers had secured the services of Margaret Bum- ford, everv season since she became a. pauper, until the last ; 120 GLENWOOD. aad then, much to her satisfaction, she was taken by Deacon Glubbings for a very small compensation, he being influ- enced by a desire for her welfare' alone. The Slushers had abused her, year after year ; and Mrs. Glubbings had been her true friend, feeding her when hungry, and speaking words of comfort when her trials seemed too heavy to be borne. She had pleaded with the latter to urge her husband to bid her off, and if he received small remuneration from the town, she would work the more diligently. They pitied her, but they would rather not have her in the family ; for they had young children, and she might make trouble with them, and in many respects be a sore annoyance. But the Slush- ers were so outrageously inhuman that they resolved that Margaret should not remain there any longer ; and on the next town-meeting day she was knocked off to the deacon at twenty-one cents a week. Johnny Pendwick was now dead. Anger, mortification, and grief, had killed him. He felt that his brother had not only forgotten the claims of blood, but most wickedly robbed him of the home which was rightly his. He could not tamely endure the usage he received as a pauper the indignity of being vendued, sold, and treated like a slave. Fearful was the hatred he felt for the one who was the cause of his misfortunes, and he cursed him with his last breath. This was a happy year for Margaret Bumford the hap- piest she had known since her mother's death; and she tried to faithfully serve those who had taken her to their home solely for her good. Now and then she was disobedient and extremely saucy ; but kindness invariably softened and sub- dued her, and she would beg their forgiveness, declaring that she was sorry she had been so wicked, and promise never tt GLEN WO OD. disobey again, beseeching them to let her live with them always. Mr. and Mrs. Glubbings treated her with humanity and Christian kindness ; and the children were taught to show her proper respect, and never by word or action to wound her feelings. She was not ungrateful, and ever after said that they were the best people in the world. Willie Cunard found but an indifferent home at Mr. Bum- ford's. He had plenty to eat, and there was a sufficiency of piety, such as it was, praying and exhorting, but a lack of true humanity and Christian kindness. Mr. and Mrs. Bum- ford had nothing genial about them ; their home seemed cold, for they both carried long, cadaverous faces, and fancied that laughter came from the evil one himself. Willie was well clothed now ; but he felt every day that he would will- ingly take his rags and scanty food, if he could have his mother restored to him. The winter, this year, set in very early, and ere long four persons were added to the town's poor. Mr. and Mrs. Clasker, an aged couple, nearly seventy ; Widow Gunimede, seventy-three, somewhat broken; and Hector Stifels, a young man half idiotic, whose mother had just died she had never been a wife. It was now determined to have a poor-house ; and a meet- ing was called for that purpose, at which it was voted to purchase a farm, which was done forthwith. The wise com- mittee chosen to perform the business, of whom Mr. Blossom was chairman, manifested their superior wisdom by pur- chasing a farm in a neighboring town, because it was cheap. It was in justification of this act of the committee that Mr. Blossom made the remark, u If people will throw them- selves upon the town, why, then they must expect to be taker 11 122 GLENWOOD care of as cheaply as common decency will allow ; " and in Glenwood this had always been the policy of the people, though I am happy to say that in later years a better spirit than this has been manifested by very many. May others copy their example ! When the town-meeting was held, all the paupers in Glen- wood were transported ; not one was left behind. Margaret, with many tears, left Deacon Glubbings ; and poor Willie was hustled off, with the rest, to the poor-farm, in Sklintonbog. This was. an era to the {own of Glenwood. No paupers were vendued the support of men, women, and children, sold to the lowest bidder. Was not that something to be proud of? Certainly, for had not the people purchased a farm in Sklintonbog with no other object in view except- ing the maintenance of the poor ? What more would you have a Christian community do ? At this meeting a number of important things were dis- cussed, and one was whether a pauper did actually require tea and coffee. Mr. Gregg made one of his famous prosy speeches, in which he nsserted that tea and coffee were lux- uries, and the town could not afford to furnish luxuries for the paupers ; and it was voted that no tea and coffee should be provided for the alms-house, except for the use of the master and his family. Mr. Bumpus was appointed poor- master, and, to the great regret of his gossiping daughter, removed from town, to take care of the town's poor. Ara- bella Mehitable said that she was very glad the paupers had left town, but she thought it hard that the best people should go witn them. CHAPTER XI. ILLUSIONS OF THE INVALID. MORNING HAS COME. PLEASURES AND DUTIES OF A GOOD HOME. SICKNESS AND DEATH AT THE COTTAGE. THE night after Delia had consented to give away her child, her symptoms were more unfavorable than they had been for some days previous, and her mind was again wan- dering. She seemed to fancy herself on a journey, and the thick darkness had come, so that she knew not which way to go, and yet she must continue on. Now she was care- fully groping for the way ; and then, with a wild shriek, she thought she had fallen from a precipice, and lay wounded and bleeding among the rocks, trying to regain her feet, but in vain ; and she would moan and weep, as if all hope had departed ; but suddenly her eyes would brighten, and she would wildly clap her hands, exclaiming, "It is the dark- est just before the day ! The light ! the light ! " These paroxysms of terror, followed with gleams of hope, continued all that night, and the next day, and until nearly morning the succeeding night. She was often searching for a lost treasure, a treasure so precious that her heart was wrung with agony at its loss. Earnestly did she seek for it, but seek in vain. Now she was exceedingly troubled to under- stand what the treasure was ; but by and by she would cry out, in piercing tones, " My child ! my child ! " 124 GLEN WOOD. Just before the morning had dawned of the second night, it seemed, to her bewildered senses, darker than it had ever been before. " 0, how dark ! " she said ; " no light can pierce such terrible shadows ! The sun in the heavens is buried in them forever lost ! lost ! ! it is so dark that it stands up around me, like a wall, and I cannot push it away I I can cannot cannot breathe here I I am suffocating ! ! for light for air ! I shall die ! " And then, with a wild laugh, she exclaimed : "It is the darkest just before the day! but the morning will come ! Light there ! Light in the rosy east ! 0, jy ' jJ The shadows are moving away like mountains. Coming ! Coming ! It is he ! Not far away ! Welcome ! Welcome, dearest ! I knew you would come ! This faithful heart all mine will I go? Yes ! yes ! Thine thine, forever ! " And, with a most heavenly expression, the weary one exclaimed slowly, but full of hope, ' ' It was the darkest before the day, but the morning has come ! " And those sweet black eyes closed, the crazed senses wandered no more in the valley of shadows ; for the suffering one was at rest, the night had passed away, and the morning had come. Not the brief, beautiful mornings of earth, but the light of eternity had dawned ; and there was no more darkness for her, for there is "no night there." Tears of genuine sorrow were shed around that silent bed. Manly tears mingled with woman's, and little chil- dren wept, that the beautiful stranger, who came to them hungry and faint, who so thankfully partook of their child- ish hospitality, was so soon lost to them forever ; and the young women of the neighborhood, who had uttered bitter GLENWOOD. 125 words of censure in relation to Delia, and those who had befriended her, came in and looked upon the beautiful pale one, and they also wept. On the day when the last offices of love and humanity were performed, the aged and the young gazed on that fair, marble face, which had been so often washed with tears, with wonder, so very beautiful, so angelic, was the smile which rested there, as though unwilling to leave a counte- nance so lovely the smile which she caught from heaven, when its gates opened to send forth her own dear one to welcome the sufferer home. It was a time when her sin was forgotten, and her wrongs remembered, and the true Christian kindness of those who had received her, and were so faithful when all the world was so ready to censure their motives. Delia was buried in the little cemetery of Yamford, and the spot was marked by a small white stone, with the sim- ple inscription, "Delia." It was erected by the Wymans, and for all their good deeds, so pure and ennobling, these excellent people found the reward in the consciousness of having done to the stranger as they, in like circumstances, would have had done unto them. Trouble and expense she brought them ; but the joy that stirred their hearts, whenever they thought of her, recompensed them an hundred-fold. If there was anything which caused regret, it was the advice they gave her in relation to her child. She loved it so dearly, that now it seemed cruel to have urged her to give it up. They some- times wished they had adopted it as their own. They felt that for her to part with it then was too much for her weak frame to bear, and perchance hastened the hour of disso- 11* 126 GLENWOOD. lution. But they knew that they had done what they thought best at the time, and conscience reproved them not. Could they have known what the future of that orphan one should be, their sorrow would have been bitter indeed. Delia's grave was a spot which the Wymans loved to visit ; and those beautiful children planted there the choicest flowers, and they were kept fresh and blooming through all the summer months. Other graves have since borne the lone stranger company, for dear ones slept with her, side by side ; and there were more flowers flowers which were watered with tears ! ! how true it is, " There is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there ; There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! " ? And such is life! the old must die, and the young may. It seems meet that the aged should be gathered in, like a ripe sheaf of corn, for their work on earth is done. But it is sad to see the rosy-cheeked child cut down, the promising young girl, just bursting into womanhood, or man or wom- an in the very strength and pride of life. There is mys- tery here ; but let us wait ! Two years have flown since Delia Gregg went joyously to the spirit-land, the light of eternity's morning breaking in upon her soul. Twice has the summer, with its golden splendors, come and gone, bringing its blessings, and teach- ing its lessons ; twice has young spring smiled, and autumn glories crowned the dying year ; twice has winter reigned over the earth, and now for the third time has he subdued it, with his army of frost-spirits, to his iron rule. Reader, GLENWOOD. 127 go irith me to Yamford. It is a cold evening, clear and frosty, the snow lies deep upon the ground, and the crescent moon sweeps proudly through the heavens, filling the world with its pale, cold light, while the stars twinkle and glitter, as though coquetting with the snowy crystals that glisten like gems upon the earth. You are near the cottage of the Wy- mans, and its red eyes are looking out warmly, and inviting you to enter. The temptation cannot be resisted, and you soon find yourself in the pleasant sitting-room, where a bright fire is burning, and the good happy family forming a circle around it. The father sits by the table reading the late paper ; the mother holds in her arms a little child, but a few weeks old. The tiny, helpless thing is asleep, and she is watching her new treasure, her face brightening, and those clear gray eyes looking sweetly beautiful, as she sees a little smile pass over the sleeping infant's face. She is happy, all are happy, that they have another son and brother. The good grandmother is holding little Arthur, her pet, as she calls him, now two years old ; and the other children, all but the eldest, who is reading her Sunday- school book, are sitting close to her, and she is telling them of the rat that lost his long tail, "Little Red Riding Hood," and other stories, which they think wonderfully strange and interesting. When they have heard stories enough, Jeannie, who can talk plainer now, says : " I wish we could have some pop-corn ! " And Franky said, " So do I; and some apples, too !" " And you shall be gratified, darlings," said the grand- mother. " Flora, will you lay down your book, and go and bring a few ears of the pop-corn, and then get the popper ? " 128 GLENWOOD. "Yes, grandma," was the reply; and they were soon on hand. " Now, Franky, you take the light, and go down cellar and bring up some of those nice Baldwin apples, and your father will pop the corn." The apples were soon brought, and Mr. Wyman laid down the paper, and in a short time there was a" large dish of corn, white and nice, waiting to be eaten ; and now all but Mrs. Wyman join in the feast, happy as an abun- dance of earthly things, and good, thankful hearts, can make them. Mrs. Wyman sat looking, now at her sleeping babe, and then gazing fondly upon the rest of her loved ones, so well and happy, breathing thanks to Heaven for so many cherished blessings. A few moments after, and Mr. Wyman noticed that her face wore the expression of deep, and somewhat painful thought. When he caught her eye, he said : "What is it, Carra?" " I have been thinking," she replied (and now all eyes and ears were turned to her, for she had been sitting a long time in silence), " that we have greater reason, every day, to be thankful to kind Heaven for so much good." "So we have," replied her mother. "I have lived a great while, seen many troubles, buried children and a dear husband ; and yet I have renewed reasons to be thankful, and my heart is as fresh and full of gratitude to-night as it ever was. Here are my loved ones, and here my heart is at rest." "It is cheering," said Mr. Wyman, "to see people happy, but especially in old age. How wondrously beau- tiful is a sunset sky, kindling the soul with transport GLENWOOD. 129 and praise ! The sun sinks wrapt in its own glory, paint- ing the horizon with gold, which the dusky fingers of evening slowly change to blue. Now, all this varying splendor prepares the mind for the shadows of night, so that the evening is welcomed with joy." "And I trust," said Mrs. Motley, "to be prepared to greet the shadows of death with a calm smile of hope, catching glimpses of a brighter sky and a more glorious sun beyond." " That you will, I doubt not," said Mr. Wyman ; "for it must be so with all the faithful. Like poor Delia, you will exclaim, ' The morning has come ! ' " I had been thinking of Delia," said Mrs. Wyman, " and the little one which she so reluctantly confided to the care of strangers." "And what were your thoughts, dear ?" inquired Mr. Wyman. "I was thinking, while I gazed upon my own happy ones, that it might have been better if we had kept the babe, and adopted it as our own. It would have added only one more to the group. And while such were my thoughts, I seemed to see him here, with blue eyes and brown hair, with the clear complexion of his handsome mother, and those very deep and exquisitely lovely dimples in his cheeks and chin. He was not a stranger, here, but one of the family; and he appeared so lovely and happy, that I was aboulrto call him tome, that I might press him to my heart, as I had often done his mother. But the scene suddenly changed, and he had grown larger ; but he was no longer beautiful, for he looked as though but half fed, his clothes were ragged and filthy, and it seemed to me that 130 GLENWOOD. other children slighted him. Those who had loved him most now treated him with scorn. At this moment some- thing arrested my attention, and when I lifted my eyes I observed your inquiring gaze, and the vision all passed away." "That is just like you," said her mother; "you had been asleep. When you was a child you used to fall asleep just in that way ; and then you would dream, and as soon as you awoke insist that you had seen a marvelous vision ; and you would go on and tell all about it, and relate some very strange and beautiful things." " I remember it, mother ; but, as I always told you, I was not asleep, and I have not slept to-night I am sure of that. And, mother " (and Mrs. Wy man's face seemed to glow with beauty almost angelic), "do you recollect the evening when I described such a scene as this, and when I told you that I plainly saw you, but could not see father? " ' ' Yes, yes, child ; but it might have been a dream, for all that, and a mere coincidence." "So it might, mother," said Mr. Wyman ; "but you seem to doubt it somewhat, and so do I. I hope, however, that what she fancied she saw to-night may prove, in the end, no more than a dream." "I hope so too, John," said Mrs. Wyman, "but I have my doubts. The people who adopted Delia's child cannot have any reasonable objection to our knowing what his fate is." "Why should they have objected to his mother's know- ing?" inquired Mrs. Motley. " Because," replied Mrs. Wyman, " they had known of a family, so Mr. Volens said, who had adopted a little girl, GLENWOOD. 131 whom they loved dearly, and treated like a darling child ; and yet the mother, when the child was older, gave them a great deal of trouble." " I have heard of such cases," said Mr. Wyman. " They cannot be afraid," Mrs. Wyman continued, "that we shall ever trouble them, if they deal justly with the boy ; and therefore it is our duty to learn who they are, and if they are faithful to their promise." "Your remarks, Carra, are perfectly just," said Mr. Wyman; "and I will take my horse, to-morrow morning, and go and call upon Mr. Volens, and see what I can learn." "I remember that pretty little baby," said Jeannie; " and I thought it would be so nice to keep it, and have it grow up with Arthur, and be just as big ! " "And I do, too, don't I, drand-marm?" said little Arthur. A hearty laugh was the little boy's answer, which so mortified him that he had a great mind to cry. A few consoling words healed the slight wound. "I hope you will find him," said Franky ; "and, if he has not a good home, you will bring him here, won't you, father?" " Yes, Franky, I certainly will, if the thing is possible. But, if I do, I shall not buy any more sweetmeats than I do now, and you would have to give him half of yours." "0 ! no, you wouldn't, neither, Franky," said Jeannie, " for I would let him have some of mine." "And mine, too," said little Arthur. Flora now looked up from her book, and said: "And 1 should rather give up all my share, a thousand times, than to have him abused." 132 GLENWOOD. "And so should I," said the other three. " Precious, precious ones ! " said Mrs. Wyman; " selfish- ness is no part of your nature, and so you will always do good, and be happy ! " It was now time that the children should retire ; and so, with a mutual kiss all round, they said good-night, and the careful grandmother, who loved and was as proud of these as she ever was of her own, went with them, and covered them up warm, carefully tucking in the clothes at their backs ; after which she took the light, and returned to the sitting- room. In the morning, Mr. Wyman harnessed his horse, and rode to the other part of the town, for the purpose of mak- ing the requisite inquiries ; when, to his surprise, he learned that Mr. Volens had left town, some months previous, with the intention of settling somewhere in the far West ; but his neighbors did not know where, and that was all he could learn of the matter. This was a sad disappointment to Mrs. Wyman and the children ; for the latter had great hopes that the little boy would come and live with them ; and the former was anxious to know whether he had a good home, and, if he had not, was as willing to give him one as she had been to receive his poor, wronged mother. But Mrs. Wyman had too much good sense, and understood too well the true philosophy of life, to allow such things to continually make her unhappy ; and so, with faith that it would all come out right at last, she was content to let the mystery remain until time should solve it. Not that she would forget or be false to the calls of duty, but be recon- ciled to what she could not help. In this her husband and QLENWOOD. 133 mother were agreed, and so they went on the even tenor of their way. During the winter, Mr. Wyman, as was his custom, and as good farmers always do, with the help of hia hired man cut and brought up to his door a large pile of the best of wood ; and then it was all- cut the right length, neatly piled up, and the chips raked together; and so nothing was lost, and everything was in ex- cellent order. In the spring, the ploughing and planting were done, and Franky dropped corn and potatoes for the first time, aided by Flora, who thought it pleasant now and then to be out in the fields, engaged in some light employ- ment. Summer followed with the haying, and autumn with the golden harvests, when the children had parties in the grape-vine arbor, as the little Wymans called it, and the large clusters of luscious grapes were plucked and eaten with the keen relish and enjoyment of childhood. Ere long old winter came again, and the pleasures of home had now a greater zest than in the summer time. It was seldom that an unkind word was spoken by any member of this excellent family, and the children had never known what it was personally to fear the rod. They loved their parents and each other ; and such had been their edu- cation, by precept and example, that mean selfishness had not taken root in their hearts. Such scenes as these were not unfrequent : "Flora," said her mother, "will you go and get me a basket of chips?" "Yes, mother," she replied. " Let me go," said Franky, " for Flora has been at work ironing, these two hours." 12 184 GLENWOOD. " I am not very tired," she said, " and I can do it as well as not." "So can I," said Franky, "and a great deal better than that." " I have not done any work to-day," said Jeannie, "but Flora has been at work nearly all the time ; so I will go with Franky, and help him bring in the basket." Such strife as this warmed and enlarged their hearts, and made them love each other the more dearly. So anxious were they to do right, that they had no disposition to shirk, but each one strove to perform his or her part. If the op- posite had been practised, how it would have marred the beauty of their home ! The happiness of the family circle is too often destroyed by a desire on the part of the younger members to avoid, if possible, their share of the daily duties of life. The great fear, so often manifested, of doing one thing more than the brother or sister, causes contention every day, and ultimately fills the heart with envy, hatred, and bitterness. How very different would have been the home of the Wymans, if those children had been as selfish as many are ! Flora would have said, " Let Franky do it ; I am so tired ! " and Franky, " I can't, but Jeannie will ! " and so on to the end of the chapter. The following spring, there were sickness and death at the cottage, taking away loved ones, filling that sweet home with tears, anguish, and gloom. The epidemic known by the name of measles broke out among the children of the school, and the five little Wymans were all sick at the same time. It was a terrible season of trial, such as this family had never known before. On the second week of Flora's sickness her symptoms became suddenly alarming, her GLENWOOD. 135 senses were wandering, and ere long her journey on earth was ended. " I want to go home," she said, and, silently, her life-bark floated away to the haven of rest ; and the loving, the faithful, warm-hearted Flora, went home ! Two days after, the little babe, the youngest of the flock, passed away, he too went home, and both were laid by the side of Delia. There was mourning in the cottage now, but not without hope ; great grief, but not despair ; tears would flow, but there was reconciliation. Those parents felt, and so did the grandparent, that there were three dear little ones on earth, and two in heaven. It was not long after this afflicting dispensation, before the other children were well again, and quiet happiness returned to the hearts and home of this bereaved family. They bore with patience what they could not help, and were resigned to the will of Heaven. All seemed to under- stand it but Arthur. He would occasionally ask what they dad done with baby, and wish every day that Flora would come home. He thought her cruel to stay from him so long. But, as time passed away, he gradually forgot his loss, and ceased to inquire for the absent ones. Mrs. Wyman was the greatest sufferer, for her affections were so deep and she had such bright hopes for Flora. Her husband, mother, and children, knew well that her anguish was most intense ; and they sought the more earnestly to manifest their love, and give her consolation. And now she felt that they never were so dear to her before ; that she had not known their true worth ; and so peace came to that deeply- afflicted heart. CHAPTER XII. THE BtJMPUS FAMILY. COMPLAINTS OF THE PAUPERS. MR. GREGG VIS- ITS THE ALMS-HOUSE. MRS. GUNIMEDE. WILLIE'S TROUBLES. THE farm in Sklintonbog which was purchased for the poor of Glenwood did not prove a profitable speculation for the town. The land was not only covered with rocks and bushes, but it was worn out ; and, though the paupers were compelled to labor diligently, the crops did not half sup- port them. There was much trouble between the poor-master, his wife and daughter, and the paupers. Mr. Bumpus had been seeking for an office all his life, and he fancied that he had reached the goal at last. He was now the master of the poor ; and he felt his consequence not a little ; and Mrs. Bumpus was the master's wife. She evidently took as much pride in her position as did the woman whose husband was chosen corporal. As to Arabella Mehitable, their prom- ising daughter, and only child and heir, who had been twen- ty-five years old for the last ten or twelve years, she but acted out her natural disposition when she was domineering over those who were entirely defenceless. Mrs. Bumpus thought that such a young woman as Ara- bella Mehitable was seldom met with ; and she had learned to agree with every opinion she advanced ; and, no matter what the subject might be, it was all law and Gospel to her. GLENWOOD. Arabella Mehitable had not obtained this great influence in a moment, for there was more or less sparring between mother and daughter, for a number of years ; but she was the victor at last, and completely so. On the part of the parent there was the most perfect self-abnegation. Mrs. Bumpus was always sure that Arabella Mehitable was right , in fact, she usually repeated what she said, using very much the same language ; and this was not only so in relation to things of importance, but to those which were the most common and trite. To live with town paupers was not exactly in accordance with Arabella Mehitable's taste, for she wanted to be con- sidered one of the ton, and make a noise in the world ; but, as she was very plain, and her father by no means wealthy, and having tried all her lifetime to produce a sen- sation by her aristocratic, lady-like accomplishments, and most signally failed, she was not sorry that she now occu- pied a position where she could make her influence felt. Three of the paupers were so unfortunate as to secure her ill-will from the first, Widow Gunimede, Margaret Bum ford, and Willk Cunard. In relation to Margaret Bumford, she was, she said, well " posted up ; " for Mrs. Slusher had informed her of Margaret's ugly temper, lazi- ness, and monstrous appetite three unpardonable sins in her eyes, especially the last. The Widow Gunimede excited her contempt by asking, the first night they reached Sklin- tonbog, for a cup of tea ; and when told that the town would not furnish tea for paupers, she immediately commenced crying. And no matter what was said in explanation, or in rebuke for her presumption, every day it was the same. " Do give me just one cup of tea ! " was the first thing in 12* 138 GLENWOOD. the morning, and the last at night ; she even moaned about it in her sleep. Poor Mrs. Gunimede ! all her pleadings were in vain, for there was no tea for her. " I declare," said Arabella Mehitable, after one week had passed away, " she is enough to wear out the patience of Job ! I never saw such an inconsistent, inconsiderate woman, in all my life ! " Reader, do you wonder at this burst of virtuous indigna- tion, on the part of Arabella Mehitable ? It is hoped that you will be sensible enough to see its force. I am sure that I do. Perhaps you will say that to deprive old people of a beverage so harmless as tea, in order to save the town a few dollars a year, and the tax-payers a few mills or a cent apiece, is not only mean, but cruel. " They have been ac- customed to drinking tea all their lifetime," you say; " and now, in their old age, when they have become feeble, they require this stimulant, and it is niggardly and wicked to refuse it to them." I am aware that some narrow-minded people talk in that way ; but I shall speak in defence of the town of Glenwood, and say, in the borrowed language of Mr. Gregg, "Let jus- tice be done, though the heavens fall ! " It is a well-known fact that physicians have given it as their opinion, after the most mature deliberation, that the human system does not require tea and coffee ; the latter is often injurious, and sometimes the former, neither having nutritious qualities. therefore merely luxuries. But there is other proof. All the water-cure doctors in the world have decided that tea and coffee are absolutely injurious in every case, and under all circumstances. Now, it is not to be supposed that a town can do everything; and consequently GLENWOOD. 139 * Js under no obligations to furnish luxuries for the poor. Christianity or humanity does not demand it. How strange it is that an old woman, one who would otherwise have to die in the street of cold -and starvation, after she has been provided with a home and enough to eat, should complain because her appetite cannot be pampered any longer with tea ! Why, it is beyond endurance ! There was difficulty very soon between Arabella Mehita- ble and Margaret Bumford. The latter felt that the former was not the mistress, and had no business to tyrannize over her ; while Arabella Mehitable was overbearing in the ex- treme. One day, when Mr. and Mrs. Bumpus were absent, she told Margaret that she was a lazy, disagreeable, greedy glutton ; and that she did not earn her salt, and never had. The latter retorted by calling her a red-haired, cross, ill- looking old maid. This put her in a passion, and she made a spring at Margaret, and caught hold of her coarse, black hair, and pulled it with all her strength. "You saucy, impudent thing!" she said; " I '11 teach you ! Margaret was not daunted by this furious assault in the least, and she quickly removed her antagonist's hands from her hair, and then shook her as though she had been a child. She then took her by the ear, led her to a closet, and shut her in, where she remained a prisoner until her parents returned, some three hours after. Margaret was the victor, but she paid the penalty of her rashness by being sent to bed three nights in succession without her supper. She was let off very easily, one might think ; but to Margaret it was a severe punishment. As soon as the poor-master's promising daughter saw 140 GLENWOOD. Willie Cunard, she said that she knew he must be a sulky, bad boy, for he looked so discontented, and was so lazy withal, moving about as though it was disagreeable for him to stir. Mrs. Bumpus, having no opinion of her own, agreed with Arabella Mehitable; and Mr. Bumpus soon coincided with them. It was not long before Willie knew that all three regarded him with aversion. For the smallest omissions of duty he was severely punished, and no pleasant words were spoken to him. Willie had been wretched enough when with Mr. Bumford ; but now his cup was full, and he often stole away by himself and cried in all the bit- terness of woe. Arabella Mehitable once found him weep- ing, and she gave him what she called a good switching, telling him that, as he was so fond of crying, it was best that he should have something to cry for. In a few months there were rumors in Glenwood that the paupers were not used well; and, the attention of the selectmen having been called to the subject, Mr. Gregg, being the chairman of that honorable body, was sent to the alms-house to investigate the" matter ; where he went, im- pressed with the full sense of the dignity of his mission. The poor-master was absent; but, as the more important personages of the family were at home, mother and daughter, he concluded to proceed with the investigation. " I have come," said Mr. Gregg, "on a mission of import- ance." "I regret that pa is away," said Arabella Mehitable. " So do I," said Mr. Gregg; " but perhaps the matter can be satisfactorily adjusted, in relation thereto } even without his presence." GLENWOOD. 141 " I don't doubt it," she replied. " What is the nature of your business, Mr. Gregg?" "Hem! We have been informed hem! that the pau- pers are not treated as they should be," he answered. "I am astonished ! " said Arabella Mehitable. " I am surprised ! " said her mother. "I would like to know, in the first place, what sort of a boy is the pauper called Willie Cunard." " ! he is one of the worst boys I ever saw, lazy, sulky, disobedient ; and those are not his worst failings, for he will both lie and steal ! " said Arabella Mehitable. "I never seed sich a boy," said Mrs. Bumpus. "Why, he never pertends to mind anything that is said to him ; he has stolen pie, and cheese, and cake, a great many times ; and when it was laid to him, he denied it right up and down ! Yes, Mr. Gregg, only think of it, right up and down ! " " Evidently a very hardened boy, Mrs. Bumpus, and should be corrected, until there is a reformation," said Mr. Gregg. " How is his temper? " "It is the worst I ever saw," said Arabella Mehitable. " I never seed anything like it, in all my born days," said Mrs. Bumpus. " We have had to punish him some, in order to get along at all," said Arabella Mehitable. " Yes, we have been 'bliged to lick him, once in a while; for we could not control him without," said Mrs. Bumpus. " You have done perfectly right," said Mr. Gregg, " ' for he who spsireth the rod spoileth the child.' I should like to see the boy." Arabella Mehitable went and called him; and, having 142 GLENWOOD. washed some of the dirt from his face, brought him to Mr Gregg. Willie looked very fearful, and hung down hig head, as though he was as guilty as his accusers had mad? him. "He has every appearance of guilt," said Mr. Gregg " Come to me, sir." Willie reluctantly obeyed, and so moved but slowly When within reach, Mr. Gregg caught hold of his shoulder, and almost jerked him from off his feet, saying, "I will show you, my fine fellow, how to move with a little life ! If you had me to deal with, you would not mope in that way. Hold up your head," taking hold of it roughly, and turning his face upwards. " I hear bad stories of you, sir ; and I see your guilt in your face ; and I make no doubt that you will come to the gallows, some day. What have you to say for yourself, sir?" Willie was too much frightened to speak, and so he stood wriggling and twisting, trying hard to break away from the strong grip of his captor. " None of that ! " said Mr. Gregg. " I know you, sir ! You will go when I am ready to have you, and not a mo- ment before." " I thought you would find him out," said Arabella Mehitable. "0, I was sartin you 'd know what he was," said Mrs. Bumpus. " Trust me for that, madam. I flatter myself that I can read character without much effort. I have never yet failed," said Mr. Gregg. "You may go now," addressing himself to Willie. "But, sir, be careful how you conduct GLENWOOD. 143 yourself, or you will get into such trouble as you won't like. A bad boy, Mrs. Bumpus." "He is very bad," said Arabella Mehitable. "If I should tell you all his capers, you would not believe me." "No, you would never believe it, in the world, Mr. Gregg," said Mrs. Bumpus. "He is all the time at his capers." " I make no doubt of it. I wish to inquire now in rela- tion to the Widow Gunimede, for we have heard that she is abused." " Did you ever ! " said Arabella Mehitable. "Is it possible ! " said Mrs. Bumpus. " What an ungrateful people," said Arabella Mehitable, " after all we have borne from that woman ! " "After all we have borne from her," said Mrs. Bumpus, " how ungrateful they are ! " "I would like to be informed in relation thereto," said Mr. Gregg. "Why, she wanted tea the first night we arrived here; and she has asked for it fifty times a day ever since," said Arabella Mehitable. " he keeps asking every day, as much as fifty times, and she wanted a cup the first night we got here ! " said Mrs. Bumpus. "And so the fault was all hers," said Mr. Gregg, "and not yours. Just as I had supposed. What presumption in an old woman like her ! Why, Mrs. Bumpus, she had not where to lay her head when the honorable board of select- men took pity upon her, and gave her this good home. And she must have her tea, as though she earned the money, and not somebody else ! What does shfr need of tea, as old as she 144 GLENWOOD. ill c.t'7 >. ;". .'''' is, I would like to know ? Does she still continue to ask for it?" "She does." replied Arabella Mehitable, "fifty times a day ! " "As many as fifty times a day," said Mrs. Bumpus. "I should like to have her called in," said Mr. Gregg. The old lady was sent for, and came in, looking pale, and very sorrowful. She was introduced by Arabella Mehitable. "And so," said Mr. Gregg, "you are not satisfied with your treatment here, Mrs. Gunimede? " "I wish you would let me have a very little tea," she replied. " I am not well, and a little black tea would make me feel so much better ! " " That 's the way she always runs on," said Arabella Mehitable. ' ' What good do you suppose tea would do, you silly woman? " said Mr. Gregg. " It used to do me a great deal of good. Pray, good man, do let me have a little ! " she said. " Do you know that you are maintained by the town? " asked Mr. Gregg. "I suppose I am. 0, that I should ever come to this ! It is too much too much ! You will let me have a little tea, won't you, Mr. Grogg? " "My name is Gregg, if you please, ma'am ! The town cannot afford tea for the paupers, Mrs. Gunimede. Tea never does the least good in the world, not the least, and you must hold your tongue about it." ' ' ! I cannot ! I must have some tea I shall die if you do not give me some ! I wonder that I have lived so long ! Will they let me die for the want of it ? I know GLENWOOD. 145 that I shall die ! 0, that I ever should have come to this ! Mrs. Bumper wont give me any ! You will, won't you, Mr. Grugg?" " Not Grugg, but Gregg. I have told you that the town cannot afford it, and I mean what I say, and so you must keep still about it." " But I must have some, Mr. Grogg; I cannot live with- out it, and Mrs. Bumper will not listen ! 0, that I should ever come to this ! What shall I do ? What shall I do ? " " Hold your tongue, that 's what you shall do, or there will be trouble here yes, trouble ! Do you hear what I say?" "I am not deaf, Mr. Grogg, but I want a cup of tea! I must have a cup of tea. 0, that I should ever have come to this!" " That is just the way she always runs on," said Arabella Mehitable. "Yes, that 's the way she always runs on," said Mrs. Bumpus. " I wish you 'd tell Mrs. Bumper to give me a cup of tea, Mr. Grogg." "Mrs. Bumpus," said Mr. Gregg, "I think you have a great trial, in particular with this woman, and your patience, I may say, is is admirable. I will report you to the honorable board. Mrs. Gunimede, I am astonished that you should take such an unjustifiable, unheard-of course. I wish to inform you, madam, that, unless you change your conduct, it will be the duty of the honorable board, of which I am the chairman, to turn you out of doors ! " "Mind what he says," remarked Arabella Mehitable ; "he is one of the selectmen ! " 13 146 GLENWOOD. "Yes, the chairman," said Mr. Gregg. " Yes, Mrs. Gunimede, mind what he says, for he '& one of the slackmen," said Mrs. Bumpus. "Are you one of the selectmen of Glenwood? " inquired Mrs. Gunimede. " I am, madam," said Mr. Gregg; "and I hope you will give due heed to what I say, for it is very important to you very important." " I know it is it must be, Mr. Grogg ; but you will let Mrs. Bumper give me a little tea? I can't live, if you don't ! It will not cost much, I am sure, Mr. Grogg ! Pray, good sir, do let me have a little ! " " This is past all endurance, after what I have already told you ! " said Mr. Gregg. " Mrs. Gunimede, you shan't have one drop of tea, so there ! And I want you to under- stand that my name is Gregg, Joseph Gregg, and not Grugg nor Grogg ! Why, I should think the woman was half crazy ! " " 0, she knows enough !" said Arabella Mehitable. "You are crazy, Miss Bumper, or a fool ; so you keep still, and go and get me a cup of tea ; for I have asked for it enough, and I can't wait any longer," said Mrs Guni- mede. '' Send the woman away," said Mr. Gregg ; and when she had gone, he observed, " Well, you do have a trial with this woman, and I may say that you have been slanderously reported in relation thereto. Complaint has been made in reference to the treat- ment of Margaret Bumford ; but I will not so insult you as to investigate the subject, for that excellent Mrs. Slusher has informed me what a a trial she is. Commend me tc GLENWOOD. 147 your husband, Mrs. Bumpus, and inform him that I shall make a favorable report to the honorable board of select- men of Glen wood." So saying, he took his departure, leaving Mrs. Bumpus and daughter highly elated at the result of his visit. Mr. Gregg made his report at the next meeting of the selectmen, and it was deemed highly satisfactory, and a vote of thanks was passed to the " honorable gentleman " for the efficient manner in 'which he had performed the business intrusted to his hands. Mr. Bumpus and family were ac- quitted of all blame. Mrs. Gunimede was severely cen- sured, and a letter was written by the Rev. Wellington Shackles, signed by him, and endorsed by the selectmen, and sent to the offending woman, in which the great sin of ingratitude was dwelt upon at length, and she was exhorted to repent of past transgressions, ask pardon of the kind friends who took such good care of her, and henceforth be mindful of her conduct, and not put the town to further trouble and expense ! After Arabella Mehitable had read it to her with due solemnity, she said : " ! how I' wish they had sent me a little tea ! ! that I should ever have come to this ! I shall die if I cannot have some tea ! Miss Bumper, do just give me one cup of tea ! " Poor Mrs. Gunimede ! her mind was weakened by misfor- tune and trouble when she first became an inmate of the alms-house, but now she was a complete monomaniac on the subject of tea, body and mind growing weaker every day. But, dear, compassionate reader, don't say she should have had tea ; for how could the town afford it? In the winter Willie Cunard was sent to school. His 148 GLE^WOOD. clothes, however, were unclean and in tatters, and the chil- dren used him ill, calling him the little pauper ; which made him shun the presence of his school-mates as much as pos- sible. The master seemed to hate the sight of him, and punished him often and severely ; and so the boys felt, as he had no protector, that they could do with him as they pleased. Many were the indignities they heaped upon him, and their abuse was often outrageous. It was of no use for him to complain, for no one pitied him, excepting Margaret Bumford, Mrs. Gunimede, and Hector Stifels. The latter was exceedingly indignant, and gave vent to his wrath after this style : " If them are boys tech ye agin, you jist let know 't, and I '11 thresh 'em I will ! I allus user lick 'em when I went to schule, I did. I guv a big boy some onc't ! I tell ye jist how I does um ! I pitches right into 'em ker-smash, I does ! " Willie thought he had a champion now, sure enough; and the next day, when a boy twelve years old struck him and made his nose bleed, he ran, all bloody, to Hector, and the latter watched for the offender, who passed by the alms- house returning from school. As soon as Hector saw him, he started for the purpose, he said, " of guving him jist what he would n't like." The boy saw him coming, and picked up a stone to use in self-defence ; which so frightened Hec- tor, that he fled in great terror until beyond the reach of it. He excused himself to Willie, by saying, " That are boy could kill me with sich a big rock." The next morn- ing, Margaret hid behind the wall, and lay in wa*t for the culprit. He attempted to frighten her with the same weap- on which did such good service the evening previous, but GLENWOOD. 149 in vain. Instead of terrifying, as designed, it excited her anger, and she sprang at him in a fury. He threw the stone and hit her; but in a moment after his body was making the most comical movements imaginable, legs and arms flying up and down, and his head bobbing about, as though he had the Shaker-jerks, or was awfully afflicted with the St. Vitus dance. Margaret was very strong, and, when angry, woe to the victim of her wrath ! She almost shook his life out of him. It was her favorite mode of administering chastisement, and one application was entirely satisfactory. Willie's risi- ble faculties were excited, by this comical exhibition, as they had not been for a long time before ; and he told her that he thought she must be the walking fever and ague. 13* CHAPTER XIII. IfR. 7EBULON BUGBEE MAKES HIS MAIDEN SPEECH IN GLENWOOD. BETSEY SLPSHER LEFT A WIDOW. LOSS OF PROPERTY, AND MARRIAGE OF MR. GREGG. POLLY HAGGETT IN DESPAIR. GETS BETTER. AT the expiration of the first year of the poor-farm exper- iment, it was found that, instead of diminishing the taxes of the people of Glenwood, it had largely increased them ; and the committee who bought the farm were severely censured, while some thought Mr. Bumpus unfit for the station he occupied, and that he would run the town in debt as long as he retained it. There were others who said they did not care for the increase of taxes, if the poor were actually benefited thereby ; they would not grumble because money was expended, drawn from their pockets, if the paupers were the gainers. In their estimation, it was bad policy on the part of the town, purchasing a farm in a neighboring town. As the people could not exercise that scrutiny which they might under other circumstances, the poor were more liable to abuse. The one-sided report of Mr. Gregg they believed utterly worthless. At this meeting, Mr. Zebulon Bugbee. not long a resi- dent, having become a citizen of the town for the purpose of manufacturing wooden ware, exercised his oratorical GLENWOOD. 151 powers in making his maiden speech in Glenwood, and he brought down the house. "Mr. Modrator," said Mr. Bugbee, "Mr. Joseph Gregg, Esq., the honorable chairman of the honorable board of slackmen, seems to think that it makes no pacific odds whether we have a poor-farm in Glenwood or over in Sklin- tonbog. Now, it is a maxim of the Holy Scripturs that the poor we have always with us ; and I should like to have that very honorable gentleman inform me, and this respectable ordnance, how we are to have the poor always with us, when we 've packed 'em all over to Sklintonbog ! (A laugh and cheers.) Now, Mr. Modrator, it may be all ironical synony- mous (a laugh), to you, sir, and me, and many others, whether we have a farm here or a farm there ; but, sir, in the name of all the gods at once, I would ask what business have we to send our paupers over to Sklintonbog ? I reck- on, sir, that it makes a decided odds to the people there ; for they have all they desire of that indigenous class of fellow- citizens. (Laughter.) Han't we got gumption enough to perceive all this is ambiguous to our honor, yes, our honor, gentlemen ! I was n't raised in Glemvood, Mr. Modrator, but it makes no pacific odds to me, for I have lately adopted the town as my futur place of localization. (Laughter.) I have moved my wife and family here ; and that is ironically synonymous with being raised here, as you will all admit. (Cries of " Yes, yes," laughter, and cheers.) Now, sir, I in- tend to look to things, and see that they perceed according to Gunter. In the first place, I shall manufacture the best wooden ware in the county ; and, secondly, I shall look out for the honor of the town I have adopted. Well, sir, look at our paupers attending school in Sklintonbog. Who 152 GLENWOOD. settles the bill ? Yes, sir, who settles the bill ? I wish to be informed (bowing to Mr. Gregg) in relation thereto. (Laughter.) Why, sir, the people all about us are stretch- ing their jaws with laughter ; and they call us a set of green- horns, who don't know once, and I take it they are about half right. (Laughter.) An't we able have n't we the ability to pay our own school-bills ? I reckon we are we have. If we are so poverty-stricken as all that ere conies to, we had better pack up our duds, and take a bee-line for Sklintonbog, and get them to take care on us. Mr. Mod- rator, the eyes of the world is upon us, and we must account at their tribunal for this day's business ; and you or I, or our children, may rue it. You may think, sir, that it makes no pacific odds in the end ; but it does. And, sir, having the honor of the town and the welfare of posterity in view, I motion that the present board of slackmen be permitted to remain pretty still and quiet during the coming year ensuing; for they have shown themselves uncompetent for the honor- able position they have attempted to fill. (Laughter.) 2d. I move you, sir, that a new and more proficient board be chosen in their place ; and that they be empowered to sell, dispose of, make over, or get rid of, the farm out of town, and buy one in town. We are in the midst of a tremendjous (laughter) crisis, sir ; and, if we do not wake up and cast off our letherjay, we shall soon see our honor, now wounded, lay bleeding at our feet ! The cries of the poor are ringing in our ears to-day, calling upon every man to do his duty. Ironically synonymous, I take it, of our fate, if we neg- lect so great a salvation." Mr. Bugbee resumed his seat amid laughter and cheers. In accordance with the suggestions of the speaker, a new GLENWOOD. 153 board of selectmen was chosen, coupled with instructions to sell the farm in Sklintonbog, and purchase one in Glenwood. The business was transacted in the midst of much fun and frolic. As there was an uncertainty in relation to the effi- ciency of Mr. Bumpus, many believing that he had done aa well as any one could under the circumstances, it was voted that he be retained as master of the alms-house for one year longer. The day after the town-meeting, Mr. Slusher was thrown from his horse, and so badly injured that he died in a few hours, leaving a widow and seven children. Betsey Ann Slusher was the eldest, being fourteen years old when her father died ; and between her and the next on the docket, Jabez, there were two years, and so on to the last, namely, Jerusha, Obadiah, Sally Ann, Peter, and Titus. Mr. Gregg was chosen guardian for these interesting chil- dren ; and when the estate was settled it was found, to the astonishment of the citizens, that the property amounted to ten thousand dollars. Polly Haggett was still housekeeper at Mr. Gregg's, but not the mistress. At times her prospects looked bright and hopeful to her, and again the thermometer went down below zero. Thomas Gregg was now paying his addresses to Miranda Penelope, much to the gratification of the wriggle- headed Fanny. The latter often boasted that her brother, who was " every inch a Gregg," was " engaged to the beau- tifulest and most accomplished lady in Glenwood." Jim Blossom, after being very attentive to the lisping Nannie Pottle for two years, left her for another, and she was given over to hopeless old-maidism. The neighboring families of Mr. Goose and Deacon Glubbings were prosperous and happy, 154 GLENWOOD. pursuing the even tenor of their way, ruffled only, now and then, by the wrongs and injustice of man. Mr. Gregg was a great deal mortified that he should have been turned out of office so summarily, but the thought that his genius was unappreciated in Glenwood was balm to his wounded feelings, and he became more dignified and stiff than ever. But this proved an unlucky year for him. At its close he had lost two thirds of his property. He manufactured a large number of organs, which were unfit for the parlor, and weie not considered good enough for churches ; and, as there was a great scarcity of money, he was unable to mcc<. his bills, and so was obliged to sell at an immense loss. The result was that he sold out all his mechanical business, and had to borrow a thousand dollars on a mortgage of his farm. Polly Haggett now redoubled her efforts to make an im- pression. She manifested the warmest sympathy for Mr. Gregg's misfortune, and hinted that some one should share his troubles, for they were too heavy to be borne alone. For his gratification, she had practised the most strict economy, and so had saved five hundred dollars. This little fortune she loaned to him, remarking, in a guarded manner, that if it was united with his it would make quite a difference ; but he was too obtuse to take the hint. After Mr. Gregg gave up his mechanical business, he turned his attention to farming ; but, as he had never been ac- customed to hard labor, the best that he could do, at the end of the year, was to pay the interest on the debt. He felt that he must curtail his expenses, and queripd if he should not dismiss Polly ; and so he asked Fanny if she .could do the work. With a toss of the head, and a wriggle all over, she GLENWOOD. 156 declared she never heard of such a ridiculous idea, for a child could perform it as well as she. In this estimate of her abilities she did herself no injus- tice, and it was about the only sensible thing she was evei known to say. Her brother Thomas had always felt himself too much of a gentleman to till the soil ; and when his father spoke of the essential aid he might give him, he said that he was too weakly for such heavy work it would ruin his precious health. Mr. Gregg, failing in obtaining assistance from these sources, began to look elsewhere. Mrs. Betsey Slusher was now some months a widow, and, being such a delicate creature, and withal so lonely, having only seven children to keep her company, began to think of matrimony. Not that she had forgotten the submissive Slush- er, 0, no! but she wanted to taste the sweets of mar- ried life again. They had lived so happily, and been so highly blessed, witness the seven abridged editions and ten thousand dollars, that she knew not how she could show her respect for her husband's memory, and her regard for the marriage institution, so plainly as by marrying again, if she had a good opportunity. That she was lonely only went to show how highly appreciated was the companionship of her departed husband. We will not stop to quarrel with Betsey for hav- ing such thoughts, nor question the soundness of her conclu- sions ; but say, in the language of Deacon Ramsdill, " It 's natur," and certainly Betsey is not to be blamed for that. The reader is aware that Mr. Gregg was many years a widower ; and Mrs. Betsey was not the only one who thought it high time that he should marry again. As he was the guardian of Mrs. Betsey's children, why should he not hold a nearer relation ? Could anything be more natural ? 156 Q-LENWOOD. She thought it would be very agreeable to change the homely name of Slusher for the better name of Gregg. Under the circumstances, he being the guardian of the little Slushers, they met frequently ; and, as she had resolved to successfully besiege this seeming impregnable fortress, she went to work very adroitly to accomplish her object. She manifested her preference in a very delicate manner, putting on all her youthful blandishments, and they were by no means niggardly, and concentrating the whole battery of charms upon his just now susceptible heart. Mr. Gregg was well pleased with her at the first onset, and day by day her power increased ; for, seeing that she had made an im- pression, she resolved to deepen it, and she did it. Mr. Slusher had left Mrs. Betsey one half of his property by will, which caused Mr. Gregg to have some very serious thoughts in relation to the widow, soon after her husband died. But he was somewhat fearful of that long, sharp nose, and those snaky black eyes. He had been accustomed to a quiet home, having great aversion to a noisy one ; and he was apprehensive that the seven smaller editions might sadly interfere. Were there not other widows and marriageable ladies in town? Certainly, who ever knew of a scarcity? They lacked, however, in one thing, money ; and Mr. Gregg wanted that more than a wife. On account of his pecuniary embarrassments, and as the black-eyed Mrs. Slusher had manifested a decided preference for him, he resolved to offer himself to her in marriage. She was a little coy, at first, as in duty to the sex, especially widows, she was bound to be ; but she was speedily won, which is not an uncommon thing with widows who would like to change their lonely condition. QLENWOOD. 157 And when the parties, as in this case, have learned wisdom by experience, the matter is readily adjusted ; and they as- tonished the people of Glenwood by being married in a fortnight after the courtship commenced. They went to Sklintonbog, where the services were performed by the Rev. Mr. Lovelace, a clergyman of liberal sentiments, who Mr. Gregg said was the most powerful preacher in the county. So short had been the courtship that Polly had never heard of it, and did not suspect it ; although Mr. Gregg had returned home at a much later hour than was his custom, for a number of nights in succession. She thought, poor thing ! that his business troubles detained him ; and they did. After his marriage, he repaired immediately to his home, and introduced Mrs. Gregg to Fanny and Polly. At first, the latter could not comprehend it ; but when she realized the truth, she gave a loud shriek, and fell on the sofa. She was carried to her bed, where she had hysteric fits for the next twenty-four hours. " He has deceived me," she said, " terribly deceived me! I shall die now, I know I shall ! To think that I should spend the flower of my youth in vain for him ! I went away, and he assured me that his happiness depended on my return ! Why should he so deceive a poor, lone woman ? What could I expect, when he declared that his happiness depended on my presence ? And I have waited so long, when I might have married ! waited for him ! and now to see him in the arms of another ! 0, man ! man ! You are a base deceiver ! You win hearts, and then cast them from you. To go and marry that artful hussy, and leave me in my lonely desolation ! He will suffer for it he will not prosper ! 0, what a terrible world this is ! I can give it 14 158 GLENWOOD. up now without a sigh or a tear, for my hopes are all blasted. But I will leave this place, where I have been so basely de- ceived, and return to my home, and put my trust no longer in man." As soon as she had sufficiently recovered from the effects of the violent shock she had received, Thomas took the horse, and carried her to her sister's. She said that she should certainly die ; but, as she did not, it is reasonable to suppose that she changed her mind. In a brief time she was as bright as ever, and setting her cap for another wid- ower ; but, like all her marriage speculations, she utterly failed in her object. That she merited better success is certain, for persever- ance under great discouragements is a virtue. Polly still felt young, and that was one half of the battle ; for, feeling young, she acted young, and her faith did not waver at all that she should marry as soon as she had the good fortune to meet the one designed for her. We will not question the soundness of her faith, but leave her in the anticipation of a brighter future, hoping, for her sake, that she may not be disappointed. CHAPTER XIV. GOOD-NATURED CONVERSATION. A NEW WAY OF SMILING. MR. GREGG APPOINTED POOR-MASTER. BUGBEE PURCHASES TEA FOR MRS. GUNI- MEDE. CENSURES THE TOWN FOR MEANNESS. THE seven younger Slushers were duly installed at Mr. Gregg's. They were an ungovernable set, and their new parent thought, for a time, that their clamor would drive him mad. In some respects they were remarkable-look- ing children, for they all had black eyes and turn-up noses, inheriting one feature from the father, and the other from the mother. Their noses were so similar that they occasioned frequent witty comments, and no one relished a joke of the kind more keenly than Zebulon Bugbee. The day after the wedding, Nehemiah Goose, Deacon Glubbings, and Mr. Bugbee, happened to meet on the high- way, when the following conversation passed between them : " I have a compliment for you, Mr. Bugbee," said Dea- con Glubbings. " For me ? " he replied. "It is from a lady, of course. My wife says that I am tremenjous sweet on the ladies." "I don't doubt it," returned the deacon; "but it is somewhat doubtful whether they are as sweet on you." " Envy, deacon ! " said Mr. Bugbee ; " sheer envy ! Lord ! I always knew that I had a handsome face, and I take with 160 GLENWOOD. the wimmin to a T. But none of your dallering ! so out with it." "You shall be gratified," said the deacon; "only be careful and spare your blushes. A lady of my acquaint- ance said that you were the meanest man in town." " All ironical synonymous, by Jupiter ! " exclaimed Mr. Bugbee. " I should think it was,." said Mr. Goose, laughing. " You evidently take with the ladies ! " " There are always deceptions to a general rule," said Mr. Bugbee; " so it makes no pacific odds. But I '11 bet my hat that that are woman is a widder ! " "Done!" said Mr. Goose. "Now, deacon, give us your author ! " ' Mrs. Betsey Gregg, formerly Slush er," said the deacon. " She is not a widow now, but she was when she said it." " Did n't I tell ye 'twas a widder? I knew it ! " said Mr. Bugbee. "Now, I know what made her say it 'cause I got Mr. Gregg out of office." "That's it," remarked Mr. Goose. "Mr. Gregg has an office, now," said the deacon. "-Lord ! I should think he had ! " returned Mr. Bugbee j " he 's got an addition to his family." "A very large addition," Mr. Goose said. "I presume," said Mr. Bugbee, "that it makes no pacific odds to you, but you don't like Gregg more 'n I do, neither on ye. Howsomever, I reckon we couldn't wish him anything more prognoxious to happiness than he 's got in that are fiery widder and seven children. Only think on 't, them snaky eyes of her'n, and that long row of flour- ishing turn-ups." GLEN WOOD. 161 This sally caused a hearty laugh from Mr. Goose and Deacon Glubbings, in which Mr. Bugbee joined, fairly shak- ing with a sort of inward chuckle, as he always did when he imagined he had said anything particularly funny, de- claring, all the time, that he couldn't help smiling. " They are not to blame for their features," said Deacon Glubbings. "0, Lord, no!" said Mr. Bugbee, "for they did n't make 'em! wonder who did? I could have turned out better ones in my mop-handle machine ! " laughing and shaking his sides again. "After all," said Mr. Goose, " they are promising chil- dren ; but what in the world can he do with so many ? " "So many what?" asked Mr. Bugbee, "turn-ups? Boil and plant 'em ! of course he likes 'em. 0, Lord ! I can't help smiling," chuckling and shaking with laughter ; "I '11 die if lean!" ' ' He will never domineer over the present Mrs. Gregg, as he did over the first," said Mr. Goose. "I should hope not," said Deacon Glubbings; "for although his first wife .was one of the best of women, yet she never took the least comfort while she lived with him. And there was poor Delia, the most beautiful-looking girl in Glenwood, with a heart as tender and full of love as that of her mother, turned into the street, without money or friends, and God only knows what has become of her ! I don't wish him evil, but I have long believed that he would see trouble before he died." " Don't give yourself any solicitousness on that are score," said Mr. Bugbee, " for he has got a whole house- full of judgments come all to once, like a tribe of savage 14* 162 GLENWOOD. injuns. It is all ironically synonymous of the futur. Lord, won't there be a flashing of eyes and twitching of hair, one of these days ? I '11 die if I can help smiling to think on 't ! " and again he chuckled inwardly, and shook himself all over. ;< There will be trouble enough, I '11 warrant," said Mr. Goose. " That lazy Thomas will have to budge, and Fan- ny will not be allowed to play the lady any longer. Betsey is a great worker, and an inveterate scold she has not a lazy bone in her whole body." " And her tongue is n't lazy either, ha? " said Mr. Bug- bee. ' ' It never gets tired, but everlastingly on the wag. What a waggish thing a reglar perpetual ! Mr. Gregg oughter make his for tin on the disci very. It 's all synony- mous of what is to come. Poor Gregg is taken in and done for ! " Another inward chuckle and shake followed this speech, accompanied with the oft-repeated declaration that he could n't help smiling. " I am not sure that it is right for us to indulge in such kind of remarks about our neighbors," said Deacon Glub- bings; "so, gentlemen, we had better drop the subject." The three now separated, Mr. Bugbee talking to himself as he wended his way towards his shop, saying, as he sup- posed, very witty things about Mr. Gregg and the Slushers, to imaginary listeners, and smiling as hard as ever. As Mr. Goose predicted, Thomas Gregg soon found that home was a most undesirable place. The noise of the chil- dren was intolerable ; and the evident dislike of his mother- in-law, which she took special pains to manifest, was more than he could submit to ; and so he engaged himself as a clerk in a dry-goods store, in Boston, and, the next year, GLENW001J. 163 married, not Miranda Penelope, however, for she dismissed him when his father lost his property. Fanny remained at home two years after Mrs. Slusher became her mother-in- law, and the most of the time she was very unhappy ; but she ended her present sorrows by marrying a man old enough to be her grandfather, for the sake of his money and a home. Up to this time, Mr. Gregg was uncertain whether he had taken a wise step in marrying Mrs. Slusher, or not. He was sometimes glad, and sometimes sorry. Not many unkind words had passed between them, for she well knew that, though she could talk the fastest, he could hold out the longest ; and so she determined to manage him, and she played her part well. He more than half believed that he fuled now, as formerly, and yet everything was done in accordance with the views of his wife. Her first husband knew well what a venom there was to her tongue, while Mr. Gregg was spared ; but she was as great a scold as ever, for the children now received an extra allowance, which they took, however, with no bad grace, for they were accustomed to it ; in fact, they had become so hardened, that the severest censure did not disturb their equanimity. In accordance with the instructions given by the town to the new board of selectmen, the poor-farm in Sklintonbog was sold, and a farm purchased in Glenwood, about half a mile from the village. At the close of the year, the paupera returned to Glenwood ; and very thankful they were, for they had felt severely the loss of their accustomed places of wor- ship, old acquaintance, and scenes which they had loved from early childhood. Mr. Burnpus had never given satisfaction as poor-master ; and the paupers complained so bitterly of Arabella Mehitable, 164 GLENWOOD. that it was thought best to remove him, and appoint a new master. Mrs. Gregg, having an eye to the profits, per- suaded her husband to apply for the situation ; and, as his was the only application, with the exception of Mr. Bumpus' (who petitioned that he might be allowed to make a third year's trial, as the circumstances were more favorable), he obtained the appointment. Mr. Gregg and wife, in taking this step, had but one ob- ject in view, and that was to enrich themselves by the opera- tion as much as possible ; and the poor soon learned that the change was far from being beneficial to them. Margaret Bumford had a severer mistress than Arabella Mehitable ; and Willie Cunard was not only ill-used by Mr. and Mrs. Gregg, but by all the junior Slushers, from the oldest to the youngest. Exquisitely sensitive, he keenly felt it all, and it would be difficult to conceive of a more pitiful face than his was now. The idea of kindness in the hearts of his fel- low-creatures seemed to completely die out, and he looked upon all as his enemies. Mrs. Gunimede was too demented to notice him at all ; while Margaret Bumford, usually kind, in some of her moods was as unfeeling as those who tyran- nized over her. Hector Stifels was set against him through the influence of Arabella Mehitable Bumpus, he having con- ceived for her the tender passion. Willie required the care of a kind, motherly woman, as every boy does ; but, as he did not have it, his garments were exceedingly mean, and gave the best of evidence that they were entirely unacquainted with water and soap. The coarse food allowed him was not sufficient in quantity to satisfy his wants ; and so his eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow, and his expression wretched in the extreme. The boys, as in OLENWOOD. 165 Sklintonbog, used him ill ; the girls thought it beneath their dignity to speak to him, and some men were so unfeeling as to make him a butt for ridicule. ^Vlr. Gregg, when the young Slushers complained of him, would tie him up by his thumbs and chastise him. When he attended school, his dinner was a piece of coarse bread, without butter or cheese, and, being often very hungry, -he pilferexi from other boys. If detected, the teachers punished him ; and Mr. Gregg made it a rule as some parents do, shame on them ! of whipping him whenever he received correction at school. Soon after Mr. Gregg was appointed poor-master, another aged couple were taken to the alms-house, and the woman united with Mrs. Gunimede in begging for tea. As all her prayers were in vain, she became very indignant and saucy, frequently telling the master and mistress that they and the whole town were mean enough to steal the coppers from a dead man's eyes. She went about among the neighbors begging for a cup of tea, and talking continually of the con- temptible littleness of the people of Glenwood, in refusing to provide tea for the aged. " It is cruel," she would say, " the basest, meanest cru- elty, when they require it so much." One very pleasant day, Mrs. Gunimede ventured to take a walk, and on her way she encountered Mr. Bugbee. As soon as he had approached within speaking distance, she said, " My dear, good man, I wish you would give me just a little tea ! I shall die if I can't have some tea ! " " A little tea ! " said Mr. Bugbee ; " what do you want of a little tea? Where do you put up ? " ' ' Put up ! I don't put up I want some tea. ! that I should ever come to this ! You will give me one cup of tea ? ' x 166 GLENWOOD. " Yes, I will give you twenty cups of tea, if you want 'em, and twenty more on top of 'em. It makes no pacific odds to me. But where do you live, old lady ? " "Me? I don't live anywhere I stay with old Greggor. But will you give me twenty cups of tea ? " "Yes, and twice twenty." "Twice twenty! How many will that make? Twice twenty is is twice twenty is " " Forty, my good old lady." " Forty ! 0, how much I shall have ! forty cups of tea ! I shan't die if I can have forty cups of tea. 0, the Lord will bless you if you give me forty cups of tea ! " " Well, then, I shall expect a regular shower of blessings ; for have the tea you shall. But who is old Greggor ? " ' " He keeps the poor-house, over there." " You mean Mr. Gregg ? " " Yes, Mr. Grigg." " And don't he let you have any tea ? " " No, he don't let me have one drop." " What a mean old fellow ! Don't none of the old people have tea?" " Nobody at the poor-house has any but him and her, and those little Slutgers." " Well, if that is the way the town takes care of the poor, it is mean enough ! Here, let me help you to set right down on this hillock, and I '11 get ye some tea in about a jiffin or less. There, now, old lady, keep still, and I'll bring you some ! " And away he went on a fast run, for a man of his bulk and age. But he suddenly stopped and turned round, and said, " What kind of tea will you have, marin ? " GLENWOOD. 167 " Black tea nice, black tea ; and forty cupa ! " " And a hundred and forty," he replied, starting again for the store. He soon returned, bringing with him a pound of Souchong tea. " There," he said, throwing it into her lap. " Now you may go home, and make some tea, and drink as much as you like." "0, bless you ! " she said, " everybody bless you ! Such a nice, good man ! But I don't know as they will let me draw it." . "I didn't think of that. Well, well it's all ironical synonymous, so I '11 go home with ye ; " and he helped the old woman to arise, and, taking the tea, walked with her to the poor-house. When there, he went in, and told Mrs. Gregg that he had bought some tea for an old lady there ; and if it did not make any pacific odds, he should like to have a good cup made for her, three times a day ; which Mrs. Gregg promised should be done, as she did not care how much tea the paupers used, if people were foolish enough to buy it for them. She thought Mr. Bugbee must lack common sense, or he would not throw away his money in purchasing tea for half-crazy old women. Mr. Bugbee went immediately to the selectmen, and in- quired why coffee and tea were not furnished for the paupers, and was told that the town could not afford it. "Can't afford it?" he said ; "what is the reason the town can't afford it ? An't there folks enough in Glen wood to buy tea for a few old people, who have been in the con- stant practice of having it, all their lifetime ? What great odds will it make, I should jest like to know? " " Tea is considered a luxury," it was said iu reply, u and -(,- e,4M 168 GLENWOOD. the town voted not to furnish luxuries for the poor. Tea is not nutritious ; and Glenwood, in refusing it to the paupers, is but following a wise precedent set by other towns, a long time before Glenwood had a poor-farm." " Don't other towns let the aged have tea to drink ? " asked Mr. Bugbee. " They do not," was the reply. " Then they are almighty mean, and Glenwood is meaner than dirt for following in their precedents, and that 's all I 've got to say about it ! " said Mr. Bugbee. CHAPTER XV. SENDING TO A CLERGYMAN FOR BRANDY. HECTOR'S APPETITE. COAT OF MANY COLORS. SPEECH ON THE TARIFF. IN LOVE WITH ARA BELLA MEHITABLE. A NEW KIND OF CHECK. LAUGHABLE JOKE. No one was better pleased with the change in the loca- tion of the poor-farm than Hector Stifles. While his mother lived, he -resided with her in a little hut in the north-west part of the town, four miles from the village, and so he but seldom visited the latter place. While in Sklintonbog, he did not go there at all ; but now he was only half a mile away, and he could go every evening, and quite often in the daytime. The boys, and many of the young men, soon be- came aware that he was a rare specimen of humanity, with whom they could have as much fun as they chose, as he seemed to think that he must do whatever was required of him by man, woman, or child, and all they told him was true to the letter. About this time, the temperance reformation was making gome stir in Glenwood, and the Rev. Mr. Reek, in opposition to the views of Rev. Wellington Shackles, \vho thought a clergyman should be judicious, preached very plainly against the use of distilled liquors as a beverage. Some of his parishioners were much excited, and severely censured his course. Mr. Bumpus had recently opened a small shop, 15 170 GLENWOOD. and was expecting to derive a large part of his profits from the sale of intoxicating drinks, having fitted up a room in the back part of the building for that jurpose. He was a member of Mr. Reek's parish ; and, as he thought that his minister was unjustly interfering with his business, he re- solved to be revenged; and so he sent Hector to him for a gallon of brandy. The latter had frequently been sent to the shops for liquor, and rewarded for his trouble with a taste of the crittur, and so he was glad enough to do the errand for Mr. Bumpus. He thumped loudly on the front door, as he was told to do, and Mr. Reek soon made his appearance. "Ah ! " he said, " was that you, Hector? You have a tough fist, to pound in that way ; what do you wish for ? " " I wants to git a gallon o' brandy," said Hector. " A gallon of brandy," he said, thoughtfully; "walk in, Hector, and we will see about it." The family had just dined on roast turkey and plum-pudding, the former sent in by a devoted lover of the temperance cause. " Will you sit up and take sonvj dinner, Hector? " Like poor Joe, in Bleak House, Hector thought he was in luck to-day, and he thankfully accepted the invitation. The larger part of the turkey and plum-pudding were left, but Hector devoured the whole, washing it down with fif- teen cups of best Mocha. " And" so, Hector, you came after a gallon of brandy ? " "Yeth, Misser Rick;" his mouth stuffed with turkey; "an' I bringed the money, I did." "How do you enjoy your dinner, Hector ? '' " 0, fus' rate, Misser. Rick; it's good, monstrous good, 't is ! I never seen sich a fus' rate dinner, afore." GLBNWOOD. 171 "You seem to have a v,erj good appetite, Hector." " Yether ; but I dunno what an appetite be, I don't." " I mean that you can eat heartily a whole turkey ot so at a time, and a plum-pudding." " yeth, Misser Rick, I jist does that," thrusting into his capacious mouth, a large junk of turkey and as much pud ling to keep it company ; "I likes turkey, and puden, and razens I does." " You must come to see me again. Hector." This invitation from a clergjwnan, whom he looked upon with so much awe, wonderfully astonished Hector ; and, with a piece of turkey on his fork, and as much pudding as he could conveniently get on to his knife, both held between his plate and mouth, he gazed wonderingly at Mr. Reek, his great, staring eyes being the only part of him which was not perfectly still for some moments, and they rolled as only Hector's could. When he was satisfied that the man was not insane, he replied, "Yeth, Misser Rick, I geth I will. I likes to come agin I does. ' ' " What do you want of so much brandy, Hector? " l - lor ! Misser Rick. I don't want it at all I don't." " Who sent you for it, then?" Hector's eyes rolled and stared again, as though he won- dered if it was all right ; and just then it seemed to strike him as rather strange that a minister should keep brandy to sell and he remembered that he had heard Mr. Gregg de- nounce Mr. Reek for preaching against drinking, when he should be preaching the Gospel. " You must toll me who sent you here after brandy." " Yeth, Misser Rick , I '11 tell ye, I will." 172 GLENWOOD. "Well; who was it?" " Misser Bumping telled me to come here and git it." "Mr. Bumpus?" "Yether." " You go and tell Mr. Bumpus that he should be in bet- ter business." " Yeth, Misser Rick ; I'll tell him jist that, I will." Mr. Bumpus was much mortified when he found that Hector had informed Mr. Reek who sent him after the bran- dy, and he felt that it would not do to send a fool on a fool's errand. This foolish joke affected Mr. Bumpus' pocket more seriously than he had supposed it possible. Every- body was disposed to laugh at him, and he could only quiet the parties who gathered in his store by a treat all round ; and this was repeated so many times that he lost hours of sleep in thinking of it. After a while, however, the joke became stale, and Mr. Bumpus was left in peace. Mr. Reek continued to bear faithful testimony against the use of intoxicating liquors, until his church was burned. the work of an incendiary, and he was obliged to leave town. But the seed sown was not thrown away, for in due time it sprang up and bore an abundant harvest. It seemed wicked, however, that Mr. Reek should have been obliged to seek a location elsewhere, when he had but done his duty, while Wellington Shackles remained in the full tide of his popularity. But here was the difference : Mr. Reek uttered his thoughts boldly, in the fear of God, with true love for man ; while Wellington Shackles was eminently judicious, for it was good Lord or good devil, just as suited best. But, then, the exemplary man was so fond of peace, and wanted his people to dwell together in unity ! He was certain that GLENWOOD. 173 he was in favor of all the reforms, as much so as anybody , but they should be treated judiciously, and so he would preach about them in such a way that his hearers could not tell whether he was for or against ; and, in fact, he scarcely knew himself. Arabella Mehitable Bumpus once remarked, in the sewing-circle, that she did not exactly understand him when he preached on such subjects ; but, without doubt, the peace-making Mr. Shackles knew just where he stood ; and so she was satisfied with his preaching, and thought it well calculated to promote harmony and good-will among the people. Mrs. Goose said, in reply, that she would not give a fig for such preaching. She wanted the plain, naked truth, and not such "diluted, namby-pamby, dilettante stuff" " I declare," she continued, " that persecuted man, Mr. Reek, would preach more truth in one sermon than Welling- ton Shackles in a whole year ! " " I call that slander ! " said Arabella Mehitable. " That 's what father thayth ! " said Nannie Pottle. "And I know it is the truth," said Mrs. Glubbings. At this, Arabella Mehitable held up both hands in aston- ishment, and Mrs. Betsey Gregg, formerly Slusher, looked daggers ; and there, for a marvel, the discussion ended. Soon after this, the young men had a coat made for Hec- tor, of many colors, with which he was mightily pleased. And it was of many colors literally, and of many kinds of goods, calico and silk, plaid and red flannel, broadcloth and striped cassimere, etc. etc. It was a pleasant afternoon the first time he appeared in his new garment, and there was a large gathenrg on the 15* 174 GLENWOOD. green hill-side, for it had been whispered around that Hector was to come out to make his maiden speech. When he had been sufficiently admired, he mounted a chair, with a false leg for the occasion, and commenced" a speech in imitation of Mr. Gregg ; pulling up the right leg of his trousers, as that distinguished individual was in the habit of doing, previous to commencing one of his elo- quent harangues. "Mr. Moditor," said Hector; " I ax your subdivided contention, for I 's going to speak on the tariff Why, the tariff, gintlemen, is the only constitution in this 'varsal Yan- kee nation which saves our towns an' cities from going to in- complete dissolution. If it wan't for the tariff, sir, the green grass would grow in our streets, an' our wars (wharves) would come to be as they was in the days of the gem-bargo. Where is the danger, thin, gintlemen ? In the construction of the tariff. If that goes, we are all gone, past condemption. Sir, I call upon you to hold on to the tariff, for " Here his speech was suddenly cut short by some one kicking out the false leg, and down he fell ; when three rousing cheers were given for his unanswerable argument in favor of the tariff. A wag told him that the tariff had caused the fall of greater men than he. After this, Hector was frequently called upon for a speech on the tariff, and he was always ready. He was not permitted to wear his coat of many colors long, for such a crowd of boys followed him wherever he went, that there was a continual uproar in the streets, As he had confessed that he was in love with Arabella Mehitable Bumpus, he was assured that she was equally smitten with him ; and so he hung round the house, as other dLENWOOD. 175 lovers sometimes do, not having sufficient courage to enter and declare his passion ; and then a song was composed for him, which he sung under her window, to the tune of "Hi Betty Martin." His serenade met with such a reception as to entirely dispel the illusion ; for the lashing which she gave him from her chamber window so terrified him that he shunned the premises ever after. A day or two after the downfall of Hector's hopes, Mr. Bugbee met him with a sheet of pasteboard attached to his neck by a small cord, on which was pasted a large handbill. " What in the nation, Hector," said Mr. Bugbee, "have you got there? " " Got a check ! " said Hector. " Got a check ! What kind of a check ? " " Got a check on the bank ; going up to draw it, I am." " That 's a joke ; au, au, au, au ! I can't help smiling, I '11 die if I can ! How much shall you draw, Hector? " " Twenty thousand dollars is what this ere check says, an' 1 's gonto draw um." "0, my gracious ! what a lot ! What will you do with it all?" " "I'll git married, I will ; an' I won't have Arabella, nuther, I won't. I'll 'corn her as she 'corned me, I will. I 's gonto bought Mr. Gregg's big house, and perside in great rupture and insignificance." " Then Arabella will feel bad." " I geth she will ; but I won't have her now. I '11 'corn her all the time ! " Here Mr. Bugbee left him to go and get his check cashed, while he walked towards home, smiling with all his might. There was no person in Glenwood who liked a good joke 176 GLENWO'OD. better than Mrs. Goose, especially when she was at the bot- tom of it. She had noticed that old Mr. Clasker, one of the paupers, was very arbitrary with Hector, frequently striking him when angry, and making him do whatever he pleased. In the spring Mr. Gregg often sent the two into the fields with potatoes to plant, or with ashes for the corn, and in the autumn after the potatoes which had been dug ; when Mr. Clasker made Hector draw the whole load, while he pretended to push behind. As soon as Mrs. Goose had a good opportunity, she told Hector that he ought not to allow Mr. Clasker to tyrannize over him so, and make liim bear all the burden. " I's afraid, I am," said Hector; " for he strikes me so hard, he does." " What do you let him for ? " " Cos I can't help it, he's so strong. Why, he telled me that he 's jist as strong as a mad bull." "He's only fooling you, Hector. You are as strong as a dozen of him. He is tall, but his limbs are like a pipe- stem ; while you are short and thick, and your arms are enormously large, and when you walk you move one side at a time, and such folks are as strong as giants. Now, the next time you have a load to draw, you make him get into the thills, and you push behind. And, if he blusters, don't be afraid, but double up your fist and shake it at him, and make him do as you say. But don't you strike him, Hector, or hurt him in the least ; if you do, you had better never see me again, or Mr. Goose." Hector promised that he would follow Mrs. Goose's direc- tions; and, soon after, being sent into the field about half a mile from the house, for potatoes, he carried his instruc- GLEN WOOD. 177 tion into effect. When they were loaded, Mr. Clasker said, authoritatively : " Get into those thills, Hector." The latter did not stir, but stood eying his companion somewhat doubtfully, when the former spoke again : " Why don't you mind, sir ? " Still he did not move. " What do you mean? " said Mr. Clasker, in a passion. " Get into those thills in a moment, and take those potatoes home, or I'll punish you, rascal ! " " I shan't do no sich a thing ! " said Hector. "Dare you disobey me? In there, quick, or I'll give it to you! " " You git in thar, yourself, in them are fills, or I '11 guv it to yer, I will ! " " I get in there ! I'll not do it, sir. Take your place this minute, or you '11 be sorry, villain ! " "Don't yer telled me to git in thar, for I won't do 't! Git in yoursel, in with ye, or I '11 put my fist right inter yer face, I will ! " and Hector walked up to him reso- lutely, shaking his fist in the frightened old man's face, and he dared not disobey ; and so he placed himself according to directions, for the first time drawing home the load, while Hector walked behind, following the example of Mr. Clasker, and saving some of his strength for another day. The old man was so frightened that he could not be coaxed or driven anywhere with Hector again, unless some one else Was with them. Mr. Bugbee never laughed more heartily than when he was told of this joke. He chuckled and shook till he was unable to stand, declaring, over and over again, that he could n't help smiling. CHAPTER XVI. THE POOR-HOUSE BOY. THE NEW SCHOOL-TEACHER. HER EXPERI- ENCE WITH WILLIE. THE TRIUMPH OF GOODNESS. WILLIE CUNARD was still the same sad, neglected boy, the sport of the unfeeling, and the pity of the wise and good. And there were none to love him, and this made him feel that he was an outcast from human sympathy. He did not so much wonder, however, that there were no love and re- spect for him, when he thought how ragged and uncleanly he was. Now and then he caught a glimpse of his face in the glass, and he saw that it had nothing attractive ; that its expression was wretched, while his long, bushy, uncombed hair added to the repulsiveness of his face. It was impos- sible, he was sure that it was, for any one to love such an unnatural, unwholesome-looking object as he. But, never- theless, he felt that it was not right ; that he ought to be clothed, fed, and respected, like other boys, and kept clean, and not be misused made a butt for the witty and heart- less. At times he would steal away to some beautiful, shady spot, and dream over the past ; and then he would remember when he did not have to go hungry when he had good clothes, and his hands were white and clean, and everybody loved him. GLENWOOD. 179 Sometimes, in his reveiy, he would forget the sorrowful present, and live only in that delightful time when he had a kind father, and a dear mother, always so faithful, press- ing him so fondly to her large, warm heart. And now the scene would change, and the present, with all its horrors, came back to fill his soul with unutterable woe ; and he would turn his face to the ground, and lean it upon his hands, and the great tears of agony would trickle through his fingers. He would wonder why it was that so many were enemies to him ; that he should be starved, whipped, ridiculed, and treated as an outcast; and there were times when he almost wished that he had been born a fool, like Hector, so that he might not suffer when imposed upon, as he did now, so that his heart might not bleed, as his flesh did, now and then, when whipped ; and that he might forget as quickly the many indignities which were heaped upon him. Again, he would wander into the future, and he was no longer a poor-house boy, but a man respected and beloved, and basking in the smiles of true friends ; and he had won the affections of the black-eyed girl, who once seemed to look at him with pity, through the rounds of the large, square pews at church. Now they were married, and had a delightful cottage of their own, and around it were the beau- tiful flowers which her fair hands had planted. They were all the world to each other, and past sorrows and indignities disturbed him no more. But, alas ! this waking dream could not continue long, and the reality again, with all its horrors, soon looked him sternly in the face ! And then he thought of running away ; but he knew not where to go, and by what means he could obtain subsistence. As he had 180 GLENWOOD. no friends where he was known, what must be his fate among strangers ? He wondered if people were everywhere so unfeeling and hard-hearted as they were in Glenwood. He thought that there was a strong probability that they were, for in Sklintonbog he had met with the same persecu- tions as here, and so everybody was cruel, and none cared for the friendless and unprotected. The world was his enemy, and he would be the enemy of the world. He heard the minister say, on the Sabbath, that he must be good, and love his enemies, and be reconciled to all the allotments of Providence ; never complain, but cherish a mind of con- tentment and cheerfulness. He thought the minister a hypocrite, or he had never been a poor-house boy, and had no one to care for him he had never been jeered and mocked until there were but few faces he cared to look at. He had never known what it was to go hungry and ragged, and dread to meet a fellow-creature, for fear of abuse and insult. If he had, he would know that love and reconciliation were impossible. It was an easy matter to say such things in his pulpit, having plenty to eat every day, and being finely clothed, while his people hung with admiration, and almost worship, upon his lips. But let him change places, and such preaching would be but a mock- ery. There was one man whom Willie dreaded to meet most of all, for his persecution was incessant. Elam Sacket moved into Glenwood for the purpose of pedling wooden ware ; but, becoming tired of that, he turned his attention to Connecti- cut clocks, and travelled over the country, selling enough to give him a decent livelihood, without occupying more than half of his time. He was a man who did not like to work. GLBNWOOD. and cared but little for reading ; a very lazy fellow, content to loiter around the stores, taverns, and workshops, and spend his time in telling frivolous stories, uttering stale jokes and witticisms, relieved now and then by cutting satire, which he delighted in, and the deeper the wound the better was he pleased. And his satire was the most severe and cutting upon those who were unable to return it. Let him come in contact with his equal, and his pointed arrows were dulled at once, and he would adroitly change the subject, that he might escape the shafts he was so fond of aiming at others. This was the man whom Willie both feared and hated. Wherever he met him, especially if there were others present, he was overwhelmed with ridicule. Not that these inces- sant attacks were always brilliant or witty, for they were often pointless as they were cruel. But they served their purpose just as well, and Willie was made as wretched as it is possible for a child. He would sometimes try to avoid Sacket, and, if he went into a store while he was there, immediately resolve to leave it; but his persecutor would usually manage to detain him as long as he wished. There seemed to be a charm to his evil eye, which, snake-like, often held Willie, in spite of the strong desire to break away from it. The serpent knew his power over the de- fenceless well, and he used it whenever he chose ; and the more his victim suffered, the better was he pleased. The mischief did not stop here, for Sacket's course gave the boys a license to treat Willie with still greater indig- nity. There were those in Glenwood who never abused him or ridiculed him ; and they felt, as very many do under similar 16 182 GLENWOOD. circumstances, sorry for him, and they would not for the world have spoken an unkind word, or added one drop to his bitter cup. Such were Deacon Glubbings and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Goose, and many others. But here their sympa- thy stopped, for they did nothing to better his condition. And was this all that was required of them ? Should they have been satisfied with merely wishing ? To have stepped between him and his persecutors, would have done some good. To have taken him away from that miserable poor- house, and given him a home, would have made the wretched child happy, and the very angels of God to rejoice. But, as benevolent as they were, they did nothing, for they had children of their own to care for; and so Sacket still persecuted Willie, often aided by others, and those who were present joined in the laugh ; and even Mr. Bugbee, who was very kind-hearted, and furnished tea for Mrs. Gun- imede as long as she lived, would frequently laugh heartily at Willie's expense, protesting that he could n't help smil- ing, but it was too bad. Poor Willie ! For a number of winters, the money expended for teach- ing, at the principal school in the village, might as well have been thrown away, for there was a continual conflict between the master and pupils. It commenced one New Year's day, when the scholars, for the sake of a joke at the teach- er's expense, fastened him out, during the noon intermission. Two held the nail over the door, and it was struck with a stone by each member of the school, Willie included. The teacher was so angry, that he procured an axe to cut the door down ; and, to prevent this, one of the older girls broke off the nail, and let him in. His first words were, when he entered, "I will find out who did this !" He questioned GLENWOOD. 183 every pupil, and they all denied it ; and, with a look in which he gave them to understand that, though baffled then, he should not always be, he went on with the exercises of school. In the evening he made a visit to the alms-house, and, as Willie still said that he knew nothing about it, as agreed upon by the scholars, Mr. Gregg and the master tied him up by his thumbs and whipped him until he re- vealed the whole. The result was that some were punished, some subjected to humiliating confessions, and others ex- pelled from school. The master won the victory, so he thought ; but it was dearly bought, for there was no more peace, and the school closed before the money was expended. The next two winters witnessed no improvement, but the evil had in- creased. When Willie was twelve years old, Deacon Glubbings was chairman of the school committee ; and he was in favor of employing a young woman to teach the school, if the right one could be found. The other members had no faith in the scheme, but they were willing that he should take the re- sponsibility. Hearing of a young lady in Yamford, who had had a few months' experience in teaching, he went to see her. He found her all that he desired, well accomplished, beautiful, and with the most winning manners ; and so he engaged her to teach the winter school for the larger scholars at Glenwood. At first she instinctively shrank from the responsibility, for the deacon gave her a faithful history of former troubles. But he urged her so much x and as her parents encouraged her to make the trial, she at last yielded her reluctant consent. And who does the reader think this beautiful young lady 184 GLENWOOD. was? He has surmised, no doubt, that it was Jeannie Wyman ! Deacon Glubbings found the Wymans the same united and happy family as of old, and more cheerful than when the reader made his last visit, for they felt less keenly now the loss of the dear departed. Those loved ones were not forgotten, 0, no ! but the old wounds were healed, and there was reconciliation in all their hearts. The good grandmother was still living, having become more corpulent, but she was as well and kind as ever. Mr. Wyman was in excellent health and spirits ; but his wife was afflicted with a cough, which caused the family some anxiety, and we observe that her face has less color and fulness. Jeannie was now in her sixteenth year, and the people of Glen wood believed it a great piece of folly to employ a girl like her to teach and govern such an unruly set. The scholars thought the idea decidedly novel; and each one queried how she looked, and what she would do with young men and women older than herself. The morning that school began, the pupils were early in their seats, and Jeannie entered the school-room with some trepidation, knowing that all those bright eyes were blazing upon her. She deliberately "took off her things," and hung them up, and then gave one glance at the scholars ; and there were so many such large boys and girls, some men and women grown that her heart sunk Afithin her; and she sat down and leaned her head upon her hand, when, in spite of all that she could do to control her feelings, she wept. During this time all the members of the school maintained the most perfect silence, so that if a pin had GLEN WOOD. dropped, it could have been heard distinctly. They ali seemed struck with amazement at her youth, her beauty, her nameless grace, and the gentleness and suavity of her whole aspect. It was not to be wondered at that they were surprised ; for they knew of no reason why such a young, lovely damsel, but little more than a child, should be chosen to teach such a school. She soon gained the mastery over her emotions, and arose and commenced the exercises. From the first, the vic- tory over those ungovernable natures was complete. She brought no ferules, or, more properly, clubs, to make the children fear and obey her ; but it was simply herself, with her own magic beauty and goodness, the sweetness of her temper, the warm, trusting love of her heart, that won the battle, and never, for a moment, lost any of the vantage- ground. And yet there was perfect order no whipping or scolding. It would have made her heart ache for days if she had struck a blow ; and sometimes, when she had chidden severely, she would go home and weep, fearing that she had been unjust, or had said more than the nature of the offence demanded. No one had been so indifferent, in regard to the new in- structor, as Willie. He had heard that a woman was to teach the school, but he cared not. The teachers had never taken any notice of him, except to correct him, which they had done often ; they had never seemed to care whether ho improved or not, and he expected nothing better from a female teacher than from a male. If she was beautiful and much beloved, she would only dislike him so much the more. But the first glance of her awoke him from his indifference, and he seemed, for a time, like one entranced ; for he almost 16* 186 GLENWOOD. thought himself in the presence of a being more than mor- tal. He had never dreamed that a creature of earth could look so beautiful and good. As she heard the different classes read, and gave out the various lessons, she noticed that the pale, dirty, ragged boy, Willie, was watching her closely. She looked at him ear- nestly, and he turned away his gaze. Her heart ached as she saw how sadly he was neglected, and he seemed instinct- ively to feel that she pitied him. She went to him, and spoke to him with more of pathos and kindness than she could have done to any other child in school ; for she felt it all in her heart she perceived that here was a naturally fine boy uncared for and abused. Willie listened to her words in wonder ; and when she asked him a question about his studies, he tried to answer, and leaned his head against her and wept. The tears sprang to her own eyes ; but, as many of the scholars were gazing upon the strange scene, she quickly wiped them away, and whispered to Willie not to cry, and, as if nothing unusual had happened, turned away, and directed her attention to other duties. A chord had been touched in Willie's heart, and it vibrated sweetly, as it never had done since his mother's death. Heretofore his time had been wasted, and he could scarcely read at all ; but he wished that he could now, and he felt ashamed to have the teacher know what a miserable scholar he was. His determination was at once fixed, that he would study all the more diligently, and she should know that he was not so dull and stupid as he seemed to be, and could learn as well as others. He took hold with resolution, and Jeannie aided and encouraged ; and his success was all that she could have desired during the first week of the term. GLENWOOD. 187 Mr. Gregg was away when the school commenced, and did not return until the latter part of the week. On Monday he visited the school, and told the teacher, before all the pupils, that Willie was a bad fellow, and she must be very strict with him. " I do not find him so very bad," she said. "You are deceived," replied Mr. Gregg. "The Bible says, ' Trust not to appearances, but judge righteous judg- ment.' That boy, Miss Wyman, is a pauper, and a very vile one. Mrs. Gregg and myself have had a trial with him yes, a trial. We have managed to get along with him somehow, but it has been a terrible trial. Correction, severe and and prompt, has been the only alternative. You cannot trust him at all no, not at all. He is cun- ning to deceive, stealthy in theft, and ingenious in in falsehood. He is so idle and lazy that he will not learn. For the proof of what I have said, I refer you to those present, who know him well to those from whom he has stolen their dinners, and then denied it. Only chastise- ment, such as he richly deserves, will keep him within bounds. It is expected, Miss Wyman, by Mrs. Gregg and myself, that you will do your whole duty in relation thereto." When Mr. Gregg had thus delivered himself, he bowed stiffly and walked out of the house, thinking what a fool Deacon Glubbings was to employ a little, silly girl to teach such a school. Poor Willie ! his heart almost died within him, as he listened to Mr. Gregg's harangue. Jeannie looked at him inquiringly, hoping that she might detect the evidence in his countenance of the falsity of these charges ; but he could 188 GLENWOOD. not lift his head. When a number of the children whispered to her that he had stolen from them, and then lied about it, confirming the words of his accuser, she felt very sorrowful, and knew not what course to take. He was unable to look her in the face : was that proof of guilt, of repentance, or was it merely shame at the exposure ? Poor Willie ! He had resolved to do so well ; to learn so much ; to suffer for food, rather than steal it ; to be so faith- ful, that he might win his teacher's love, and have the privi- lege of listening to those sweet words which so thrilled his whole being ! But now all was lost. She thought him as vile as did others ; she despised him too, and he should never win one friend. He did not care now to learn ; and he had little fear of chastisement, he was used to that ; and yet he felt, though he knew not why, that he would rather anybody else in the world should correct him than she. Jeannie soon noticed the difference in his lessons, and she was at a loss whether to attribute it to what Mr. Gregg had said, or to his natural inclination to shirk and neglect his studies, as was evident he always had done. Another week passed away, and he had become utterly indifferent ; and, though Jeannie told him sternly that she should have to correct him, if he did not leave play, and attend to his studies, it did no good. At length he was detected in the act of stealing one of the scholars' dinners. That night, Jeannie went home with a heavy heart, and be- fore she closed her eyes in sleep she prayed earnestly, while the tears trickled down her face, that she might be guided aright in the management of that poor child. She knew that Mr. Gregg was making bitter complaints for her neglect of duty ; and yet she resolved to only do what she thought GLENWOOD. 189 was for the best. She believed that correction was some- times necessary, though she had no faith in corporal punish- ment. She felt that the child, as well as the man, instinct- ively rebels against the indignity of a blow ; and, though usage may deaden this instinct, yet nothing is gamed, but the loss is great. She did not believe that the will of the child should be broken, but rather brought into subjection to reason. It should be preserved in all its original strength, and directed aright ; for then it would serve as a propelling power for good. A boy with his will broken by severe casti- gations and continued censures can never be the man that he otherwise would have been. She was aware that men and women had become so accustomed to the whip that a blow disturbed them very little; and, though they might obey their masters in all things, and receive the greatest indigni- ties without the red blood for once mantling the cheek, yet it did not prove that they were the more exalted because of these things, because of ready submission to insult, but the reverse. Their wills had been broken; true, and they were left poor, spiritless things, abject, degraded slaves. Jeannie knew that in her home the children were never whipped, and, if her parents resorted to punishment at all, they were careful not to wound unnecessarily. And they never passed sentence when angry ; their rebukes were all given in a low tone, and yet in a manner not to be mistaken. No loud, harsh words had been heard there ; and when the parent censured, the child knew that it was from a strong sense of duty, and the offender wept because of the offence, and because of the sorrow to the good parent's heart. Jean- nie resolved that this example should not be lost upon her, GLENWOOD. and that she would govern her pupils as her parents gov- erned at home. The next day, when the school was dismissed, Jeannie told Willie that she wished to see him after the other chil- dren were gone. He had been expecting correction ever since he attempted to steal, and now he thought that he should receive it ; and, feeling that it was no use to run away, for he should have to meet her on the morrow, he sat down, apparently with a dogged indifference. Some of the other boys, seeing that Willie was detained, lingered around the house, and gave each other knowing winks and nods, which finally found utterance in such school-boy phrases as these : " Well, he '11 have to take it now ! " " Cunard J s in for it ! " " I knew he 'd catch it ! " etc. etc. Jeannie sat for some minutes with her face leaning upon her hand ; and when she lifted her head, and was about to speak to Willie, she unconsciously glanced at one of the windows, and she encountered three pairs of eyes. She , now looked at the others, and found that there were boys at every window ; but they all suddenly disappeared the moment they met her glance. She went out and chid them for this breach of etiquette, and requested them to go home at once, and they immediately obeyed. She then returned, and resumed her seat, and said : "Willie Cunard, come here." He slowly obeyed the command, querying in what manner she would punish him, for he saw no stick or ferule. " Willie," said she, " I have been disappointed in you, sadly disappointed. At the commencement of the school, you were one of the best boys I had, and no one made more progress in his studies than you. But you have become I GLENWOOD. 191 am sorry to say it, Willie ! very idle, and almost wholly neglect your lessons, spending your time in play ; and yet you can scarcely read at all. I had expected better things of you. And yesterday, Willie, only think of it ! you were caught in the mean act of stealing ! " She now took hold of his right hand, and Willie instinct- ively tried to draw it away, for, though he saw no ferule, yet he fancied she had one concealed ; for very many times had his faults been arrayed before him, and the teacher had ended his charges by taking his right hand, and feruling him severely. Jeannie held it firmly, and, after the first impulse, he did not wish its release. There was an exquisite thrill to her touch, like that he experienced when he first caught the glance of her eye, only it was much more intense. Its effect upon him was magical indeed ; and how bitterly he repented his idleness, his lack of obedience, and, most of all, the taking of that which was not his own ! He now hoped that she would not strike him, for he felt that he could not endure it. Others might punish, and he could receive it, as he had done ; but a blow from her would be too much. He was willing to fall down and kiss the dust at her feet, beseeching her pardon ; but he could not be whipped. Jeannie gazed anxiously into his face, but she saw no evi- dence of hardened guilt. The more she studied his counte- nance, the stronger was the conviction that the whole diffi- culty was to be charged to the usage he had received. Those who neglected and abused him were to blame, and not he. As these thoughts were passing through her mind, large tears stole down her cheeks. When Willie saw them, he 192 GLENWOOD. also wept, and, falling upon his knees, he buried his face in her dress, and said : " 0, don't ferule me ! I can't bear it ! I will never steal again ! I wil study and obey you, but do not strike me ! " " And do you fear punishment so much as this? ' " Yes, yes ! from you I fear it ! " " From me ! And why from me, Willie ? " "You are so good, so beautiful, that I cannot have you strike me ! " ' ' You are stronger tnan I, and I have no weapon, no ferule, except that little thing for the books. We are alone, Willie, and, if I should strike you. you could return the blow " " No ! no ! I could not ! I would would not strike you for all the world ! " " And I shall never strike you ; and we shall always be friends always, Willie." At these words, Willie cried in good earnest. But Jeannie said to him : " Don't cry any more, but arise and take a seat. Now, I want you to tell me why you attempted to steal the din- ner of Henry Davis, yesterday ? " " I was hungry ; but I will never, never do it again! " " Do you not have enough to eat? " " I do not." " What do you bring for your dinner ?" " Some bread." " What kind of bread ? rye and Indian ? " " Yes, ma'am." " Is it buttered?" " No, ma'am." GLENWOOD. 198 "You have cheese with it, I suppose ?" " No, ma'am." " Do you never have anything but coarse bread ? " " That is what I always bring to school for my dinner." " Don't you have pie, or apples, or cake ? " " Never anything but bread." " This is all very wrong, Willie ; and I do not blame you so much for stealing, the dinners of your schoolmates ; but I would not do it, for it would be better for you to go hungry." " I know it would ; and I will never take any again." " I believe you ; I know you never will. I shall trust you, Willie, and not doubt you at all. But I want you to tell me why it was that you learned so well when the school first commenced, and now neglect your studies, scarcely learning at all ? " "Because because I thought you so very good, and because you you spoke spoke so kindly to me. I was ashamed that I I could not read and spell, and I wanted to become a good scholar." " You learned very fast for a few days ; why did you change your mind ? " "Mr. Gregg came in and told you how how wicked I was ; and then I could not look you in in the face any more, for I I thought you you believed him ; and some way I did n't care any any more about learning, or trying to be good, for for nobody would care for me." " Poor child ! I was fearful, all the time, that such were your thoughts. But I shall care for you, Willie, and love you very much, I know, for you have such a good heart ; and you will study and learn, for my sake and your own. 17 194 G LENWOOD. and no boy in school will make greater improvement than you." " Yes, I will study, and I will learn. ! you are so very kind ! I thought everybody were bad, but I know they are not now. "You have seen the dark side of life, poor boy! but better days will come, and so you must study that you may be a man, worthy and intelligent. Thoughtless people have made you doubt the goodness of the human heart ; but you are deceived, for there are more good people than bad ones ; so you must cheer up, and, I d< ubt not, you will soon be surrounded with friends." " Shall I? I wish that I could be. I remember when I was loved ; but that was a long time ago, before father or mother died. I wasn't a poor-house boy then, and I was not so dirty and ragged, and I could read a great deal better when mother died than I can now." " I should presume so. Do your schoolmates treat you ill? " "Yes, ma'am." " I am very sorry. But you have one friend; " and she gave him a look with those sweet blue eyes, which went to his heart; "and I hope that you will soon have more. I shall change my boarding-place to-night, and board down beyond the poor-house, at Mrs. Jones' ; and, as I shall not go home at noon, I shall bring a luncheon, and I will give you all you want, for I never eat but little at noon. To- morrow I wish you to let me see what you bring for your dinner, will you ?" <.,^ "Yes, ma'am." GLENWOOD. 195 "And now there is one more thing which I will say to you , and I do it for your good, so you must not be offended." " no ! I cannot be ; I can weep, but but I cannot be offended with you." "Your hands are very black and dirty, and your face is not so clean as it should be ; and here is a nice little hand- kerchief which I bought on purpose for you. Now, be care- ful and wash you a number of times every day ; and to- morrow you will commence with your lessons, and I doubt not you will outstrip all the rest." Willie gave Jeannie an earnest look of gratitude, and started for home ; but his heart was so light that his feet hardly seemed to touch the ground ; and he felt that now he could endure all things and suffer all things. She had opened a new world to him, and revived his dead faith in human goodness. That night he dreamed of Jeannie that she held him by the hand, and he felt such an exquisite thrill of pleasure that he thought he could willingly let her hold it forever. And then a beautiful angel came, whom he conceived to be hia mother, yet she looked not like her at all, and she smiled upon them both. CHAPTER XVII. POOR-HOUSE PARE. JEANNIE's BOARDING-MISTRESS PUZZLED. AN AFFECTING STORY. ITS RESULTS. PLAN FOR ESCAPE. DURING the intermission, the next day, when the other members of the school had gone to their homes or were en- gaged in play, Willie carried his "dinner" to the teacher. She looked at it with astonishment, for it consisted entirely of crusts of mouldy bread, and there was not half enough in quantity for a well and hearty boy. She took the crusts and went to the door, and, with more anger than she ever remem- bered of feeling before, threw them as far as she could ; and then came back and gave him nearly all she had brought for herself, and the amount was by no means niggardly. After this, Willie had one good meal every day ; for Mrs. Jones, noticing that Jeannie ate sparingly at breakfast and supper, provided liberally for her dinner such hearty food as boiled tongue, doughnuts, sandwiches, mince-pie, and the like. As there was seldom anything in the basket when Jeannie returned at night, the good woman felt almost as much as- tonished as the landlady in David Copperfield, at the time the large waiter ate the custard-pudding and drank the beer. " Take care of that boy," she said, referring to David, who she supposed had ate and drank all that was set before him, GLENWOOD. 197 " or he '11 bust." Mrs. Jones might not have had the same fears ; but it was a mystery to her how any one could eat so much and remain so small. And sometimes, when Jeannie was afflicted with headache, and could eat scarcely any sup- per at all, her landlady did not attribute it so much to a close room, bad air, and the thousand perplexities of a large school, as she did to the quantity she consumed at dinner-time. She did not care for the food in the least ; but she felt it her duty to speak a word of caution, now and then, in a kind, motherly way, that Jeannie might be induced to use more care when very hungry, and not overload her stomach, for it was very sure to cause lassitude and headache. " However," she would say, " I know what it is to be hungry at school, especially if I did not have much appetite for breakfast. I used to eat so much, quite frequently, that I went home with a sick-headache. I presume that keeping school gives one a keener appetite than merely studying and reciting. How did you like your dinner to-day ? " "Very much," was Jeannie's usual answer to this oft- repeated question. "Well, I am glad of it. I do like to see people who board with me eat as though they enjoyed my cooking ; and, though I don't pride myself, yet the children do say that no food tastes quite so good as mother's. But, then, I don't think much of that ; for I thought just so, when I was a girl. I dare say you think the same of your mother's cooking. Well, if I can only get something that you can eat, I shall be satisfied." To such and similar remarks, which were made frequently, Jeannie answered with a quiet smile, or with an assurance that her victuals were always very good. 17* 198 GLENWOOD. Willie's progress was now so rapid that Jeannie was highly gratified, and the children all wondered what had wrought such a marvellous change, making the idle, vicious one the best-behaved and the most studious boj in school. That Jeannie was well pleased Willie did not doubt, for her glances of approval made his heart to burn within him. Aa she passed by the alms-house to and from school, he fre- quently had the benefit of her company ; and much did he prize these interviews, for she spoke to him words of encour- agement, and explained his grammar lessons, or his sums in arithmetic. The poor fellow was now terribly mortified with his tattered garments much more so than when he was idle and vicious. There was, however, a marked improve- ment in his appearance. His face and hands were no longer begrimed with dirt ; his hair was neatly combed, and teeth white. He almost worshipped his teacher, and thought that an angel could not be purer or more beautiful than she. Every word she spoke to him was treasured in his heart, and he sought to gratify her every wish. By making inquiries, Jeannie learnecl Willie's early his- tory, and she resolved to use it for his benefit. When she had fully matured her plan, she told the scholars, one day, that, if they would remain after school was dismissed, she would relate to them a story, which she believed would in- terest them, and do them good. When the different classes were through with, she remarked that it might be desirable that some should return home immediately, and if so she would riot detain them. The ses- sion had closed for the day, and any one was at liberty to go, though she wished them all to remain. The pupils re- spected and loved her, and not one left the room. She sat GLENWOOD. 19ft down a moment and leaned her head upon her hand, and then arose, and ; with her clear, musical voice, 8poke as follows : " I have promised you a story ; and, if you will give me your undivided attention, you shall now have it ; and every word shall be true, and that will make it so much the more interesting. " Not many years since, a family lived at the West, con- sisting of three persons, the husband and wife, and one son, a bright, beautiful little boy, whom everybody loved. For various reasons, it was thought best for them to leave the West, and remove to New England. They came ; but for- tune favored them no more here than there, and the father of this beautiful little boy, who had been sickly for some years, daily grew more feeble, and the mother's health also failed. But the boy was still beautiful, dressed with care, and kept clean ; and people said how handsome and bright he is, and young girls were very proud to lead him by the hand. Our little friend was then quite happy, notwithstanding that his parents were very poor, for he had so many to love him. It may be that you do not realize how much love and sym- pathy can do ; they can cheer the saddest lot in life. " The father died, and the mother was unable to provide for her child. Often did he lay his little head upon his pillow at night and weep himself to sleep, he was so hungry. His face soon became pale and disconsolate, his clothes ragged and uncleanly, and the children slighted him when he most needed their sympathy. The beautiful little girls, who had been so proud to take his hands, and walk with him in company, now treated him with contempt. This was a sad change for the poor boy, and he would have had 200 GLENWOOD. no solace at all, if it had not been for his mother. Her love was unchangeable, and it was the only green spot in his life all else was barren desert. ' ' You love your kind, good mothers, and you would feel very sad to lose them. Our little friend loved his mother, more dearly perhaps than you, for he had no one else to love. But, alas ! ere long she too died, and the poor boy was left alone ; for, as incredible as it may appear to you, he was not aware that he had a single relative or friend in the world. Who now would pity who love him, or give him a home ? Poor and friendless, the alms-house was his only refuge, and thither he was sent. " If his lot was deplorable when his mother was living, it was ten-fold more so now. She loved him ; and, as I have told you, love can do much. At the alms-house he received but little care ; he was clothed meanly, and his food was coarse, and dealt out with a niggardly hand. For trifling oflences he was severely punished, and so he became a piti- ful object indeed. As he had no one to defend him, the thoughtless imposed upon him, and ricRuled him ; the chil- dren sneered at and abused him. It was no marvel that, by and by, he came to believe that all hearts were hard that none would ever love him. ! what a miserable life he led, and how guilty were those who so cruelly wronged him ! You have such good friends, that you can scarcely realize his hopeless condition. At school he fared no better, from teacher or pupils ; and he often went away by himself, and wept in the bitterness of his soul. How strange it seemed to him that the lot of others should be so happy, and his so wretched !" Jeannie now stopped and looked round upon her audience, QLENWOOD. 201 and there were tears trickling down many faces. The silence which prevailed showed that she had created a deep interest in every mind; and she was about to resume her story, when they were all startled by a wild cry of grief. Every eye was directed to the spot from whence it came, and they saw Willie Cunard lying at full length upon the floor, his face buried in his hands, sobbing loud and bitterly. The effect was electrical, for all the members of that school knew, in a moment, that he was the hero of the tale, and they were self- condemned. No kindness or respect had they ever felt for him ; they had stung him with ridicule, and abused him from day to day. Jeannie immediately went to Willie, and raised him up with great tenderness, whispering words to comfort and cheer him. And now there was a scene which can be more easily imagined than described. The children gathered around him and expressed their sympathy, promising to be his faith- ful friends in every emergency. The more noble confessed how little and mean^id been their conduct towards him, and hoped he would pardon them. To Willie this sudden revolution was astounding, and he could hardly believe his own eyes and ears. A few days after this interesting scene had transpired, his playmates manifested their good will by furnishing him better clothes. One boy brought him a jacket, another a vest, another a pair of pants, and another stockings, boots, a cap. &c. These garments were all second-handed, but in good condition, and they much improved Willie's appearance. He now felt like a new being, and quite happy, in spite of the indignities he so often received at the alms-house. He 202 GLENWOOD. came to love his books and school-mates dearly, and to look forward with hope for brighter days. So great was the prog- ress he made in his studies, that at the close of the term no scholar in that school of his age was his superior. But ere long he began to grow gloomy and despairing again ; for his teacher must take her departure soon, and then he felt that he should lose his only faithful friend. The more he learned, and the more respect was shown him by Jeannie and his playmates, the more did the insults which he daily received from the hands of those who tyran- nized over him eat into his soul. But, as he could see his friend every day, and read her approving looks, and walk home with her occasionally from school, and have many things explained to him on the way, the instruction coming from her sweet lips, the wrong could be borne for a season. But when she shall have gone, he thought, his patience would be too sorely tried, and he must sink into his former indifference, or flee from the hand of the oppressor. Poor fellow ! He was unacquainted with the world, and he knew not where to go, or by what means to obtain a subsistence. He had read but little, either of books or papers, and who would impart to him the information he required? Inex- perienced as he was, the obstacles in the way of success seemed insurmountable ; and yet he resolved to make his escape, and seek somewhere in the wide world a better home than the alms-house. He felt degraded now, and there were too many who still imposed upon him. His schoolmates had learned to respect him, but he feared their feelings would change when the mistress had gone. The day before the school closed, Jeannie and Willie GLENWOOD. 203 walked home together, when the following conversation passed between them : "Well, Willie, the school closes to-morrow. Are you glad or sorry?" " I am very sorry, Miss Wyman ! " " I am rejoiced that you are ; but you have studied very hard, and it will be a respite to you." " I am not tired of study I like it very much ! " " It gives me pleasure to hear you say so; and you may well feel proud of the progress you have made, fairly out- stripping all your competitors." " I have no reason to be proud ; for to you I owe it all ! " " But I did not study or learn for you ! " "I know you did not, but you were always ready to assist, and never impatient. I feel as though I had been in a new world, since you detained me, that night, as I supposed for the purpose of correction. I knew you would be pleased if I got my lessons well, and at first my greatest desire was to gratify you ; but by and by I became fond of my studies, and while at school I have forgotten that I was a poor-house boy I have forgotten the unkindness and ridicule which made me so unhappy I thought of nothing but the books I studied, and the pleasure which my success seemed to give you. I have been very much happier than I was, and many of the boys and girls are very good to me." "You have done nobly, Willie, and, now that you are in the right path, you must follow it. Don't let anything tempt you to turn aside ; for by and by you will be a man, and then what you have learned will be invaluable to you. You have gained the respect of those who thought that you were a very vile boy. Do they all use you well now? " 204 GLENWOOD. "With very few exceptions. There are some who seem envious ; but, if they wrong me, I shall not wrong them. They would like me better if I was more ignorant. If it had not been for you, I should have always remained ignorant." "Do you think so?" "Yes, ma'am, I do; for this winter would have gone like the rest You have been very kind to me, and I know riot what I shall do when you are gone ! " " Shall you miss me, Willie? " "Yes, ma'am, everyday; and I shall have no no one to to encourage me. I shall have to bear my sorrows alone ! " "Have you made up your mind to remain at the poor- house?" " No. ma'am, and I cannot. I don't feel as though I could stay another day after you are gone ! " " What would you do, run away ? " " I have thought of running away, a great many times, but I have neither clothes nor money : and yet I must go, for I cannot live in a poor-house, to be looked down upon by everybody, and treated as I am by Mr. and Mrs. Gregg, and the children ! " "My father says that it is a hard world for a friendless child ; but, if I were you, I should rather trust it than stay where you are." " So I have often felt, and go I shall. If I should re- main and not have you here to encourage me, I fear that I should forget my books and studies forget to keep myself clean; and so I should lose all that I have won GLENWOOD. 205 through you, and become what I was when you first saw me." "That would be lamentable, and you must, therefore, leave the alms-house. But you are too young and inexperi- enced to go out into the wide world alone. You might not readily find employment. When you escape from here, you must go directly to my home, and there you shall be wel- comed. I can't promise, but I think that father will em- ploy you ; and then my home, Willie, will be yours also. However, you must remain where you are until I return home, and then I will write to you and give the necessary directions. You may require money on the way, and so you take this three-dollar bill and put it in some safe place, until you are ready to start. Let me think. If I should direct my letter to you, Mr. Gregg, or somebody else, might take it out of the office. I will put my oldest brother's name upon it, Frank Wyman, and you be sure and inquire for it." "I thank you very much indeed. How long will your visit be?" "A few short weeks." " I fear they will be very long ones ! " " To yourself, you mean ? Well, I hope not. But do not be too impatient." " I will try not to be ; but how I long for the hour to come when I shall leave that terrible place forever ! " The next day the committee visited the school, and were highly gratified, praising both teacher and pupils. Deacon Glubbings, in his speech, alluded particularly to Willie Cunard, and expressed surprise and admiration at the progress he had made. 18 206 GLENWOOD. There were not many dry eyes when Jeannie in a few appropriate remarks took her leave of the school ; and Willie leaned his head upon his desk, and buried his face in his hands, and sobbed so loud, that she was moved to go to Him and speak a few soothing words, before school was dis- missed. She could not say much to him afterwards, for the children gathered around her, and some went with her to her boarding-house. What she did say, however, was to the purpose ; for her words inspired Willie with the hope of happier days. CHAPTER XVIII. HIDDEN TREASURE DISCOVERED. PUNISHMENT OF THE SUSPECTED CULPRIT. WILLIE'S ESCAPE. WANDERINGS. is CARED FOR BY STRANGERS. LONG and dreary seemed the days to Willie, now that his beloved teacher had gone. He had no heart to work, and yet he must toil from morning till night, without a moment for reading or recreation. How anxiously he looked forward to the time of deliverance from this hated bondage ! Mr. and Mrs. Gregg were greatly incensed against Jeannie for the exposure she had made to the whole school of Willie's treatment at the alms-house. The latter did not fare any worse, however, but rather better ; for they feared her mild, reproving eyes, and the influence she had acquired with both parents and children. Arabella Mehitable Bumpus was very indignant, and said that Jeannie Wyman was a slanderer ; but few believed it. About four weeks after the school had closed, Margaret Bumford was stirring up the straw in Willie's bed, a thing which was only done semi-annually, when she found a three- dollar bill, wrapped up in quite a large piece of brown paper. Willie had placed it there, thinking that it would be per- fectly safe. As ill-luck or the fates would have it, Margaret took it into her head to stir up the straw some weeks before 208 GLENWOOD. the usual time ; and so she found the bill only a few days be- fore the owner would have drawn it from its hiding-place. She had very little acquisitiveness was proverbially hon- est and she immediately carried the bill to Mrs. Gregg, and told her where she found it. That night Willie was called to an account for having in his possession a three- dollar bill. Previous to his acquaintance with Jeannie Wyman, he would at once have denied any knowledge of the matter ; but now he could not tell a falsehood. She had talked to him of the meanness and sin of lying ; and, whatever the conse- quences might be, he must speak the truth, or refuse to speak at all. He was taken into one of the back rooms of the alms- house, and informed that Margaret Bumford had found a three-dollar bill in his bed, and no one else but he could have put it there, and so he must confess where he ob- tained it. This discovery was very unexpected to Willie, and he knew not what reply to make. " Where did you get this money?" said Mrs. Gregg. " What shall I say ? " thought Willie. " I must not tell : I must not expose my dearest friend ;" and he remained silent, with his eyes cast upon the floor. " This business must be cleared up," said Mr. Gregg. " It looks very suspicious, my young man. You could not have come by the money honestly ; and so you must confess tell us the whole truth in relation thereto." " Did you secrete the money? " inquired Mrs. Gregg. " I did," replied Willie. " I knew it ! " she said to Mr. Gregg. " He is always up to some devilish mischief. ! you villain ! " shaking her GLENWOOD. 209 fist in his face. " From whom did you steal it ? Tell me that ! " " I did not steal it," said Willie. "I never shall steal again." " Just hear that, Mr. Gregg ! He denies that he stole it, and, to deceive us and get clear of punishment, he says he never shall steal again ! " " He is a very hardened boy, Mrs. Gregg, very ! If you did not steal the money, where did you get it ? " "Yes," said Mrs. Gregg, "just tell us where you got it, if you don't want us to believe you stole it." " I can't tell you," said Willie, firmly. " Do you hear that, Mr. Gregg ? ! you rascal, you ! we'll see whether you will tell us ! " And those snaky eyes flashed, and her voice was raised to a key which indicated furious passion. ' ' We are firmly persuaded that you stole this money, and it is our duty to chastise you for the great offence," said Mr. Gregg. " Punishment you must have, or you will be a thief all your life, unless you are put where you can't steal. If you own from whom you stole the money, it will make the correction less severe ; but, if you do not confess, we shall whip you till you do. The al alternatives are before you, young man; and all you have to do now is to take your choice between them." "I did not steal it," said Willie. "How came you by it, then?" inquired Mr. Gregg. " Answer me that ! " " I did not steal it. I never stole money in all my life. I never wished to steal money. I have only stolen victuals when I was hungry." 18* ' 210 GLENWOOD. " Dare you insinuate," said Mrs. Gregg, " that you don't have enough to eat? " springing at him, and boxing his ears and pulling his hair. " I will teach you better than that ! Just observe him, Mr. Gregg, and see how guilty he looks ! Did you ever see a culprit with the guilt any more plainly stamped upon his features?" " Never, Mrs. Gregg. You say that you did not steal it. We do not believe you ; but, if you speak the truth, your innocence can be easily shown by your confessing how and where the money was obtained. Come, sir, where did you get the money ? " " I cannot tell you." " ! I knew you could not," said Mrs. Gregg, " unless you had something to quicken that slow tongue of yours ; and that you shall have, and very shortly, too ! " He was now stripped naked to his waist and beaten with a strap, and then plunged into icy-cold water, his head held under until he could scarcely catch his breath. It was all in vain, however ; for they failed to extort a confession from him. It was a chilly night in April, and, wet and bruised as he was, they left him without fire or a bed, to spend the hours of darkness alone. This, they informed him, was a continua- tion of his punishment ; and still greater sufferings awaited him in the morning, if he did not confess his crime. The poor boy sat down upon the cold floor, for the room was destitute of furniture, and thought what a fearful thing it was to fall into the hands of such people, whose tender mercies were cruelties. He felt sure that it was right for him to escape from those who so wronged him. He was certain that he ought not to expose the kind friend who had GLEN WOOD. 211 so generously given him the money to help him on his way, He had shed no tears while receiving his punishment, nor resisted in the least ; but when he thought of the many cruel blows upon his naked body, and of his almost strangling in the cold water, he wished that he had turned upon his per- secutors, and he resolved to be amply revenged. As he had had no supper, he was very hungry, and became so chilled that his teeth chattered, and his whole frame shook. And then he thought of the morrow, when he must be sub- jected to renewed outrage, feel again the horrid strap upon his naked, bruised flesh, and be held under water until almost suffocated. If confession was not obtained by these means, other punishments, more cruel still, had been threat- ened, and would be resorted to, until he should make a clean breast of it ; and that he had resolved he would never do. He felt that he could die ; and he would, rather than expose the faithful friend who had done so much for him. " ! how cold I am ! " he said. " How dark and gloomy it is here ! They may find me stiff and dead in the morning, and then their work will be done. 0, mother ! mother ! mother ! why did you leave your poor Willie ? ! come to me dear, dear mother ! I I am freezing here. I am lonely and heart-broken. You are in heaven, I know ; but are your joys so great that you cannot know how your child is wronged ? ! come to me, mother, and comfort me, or I shall die ! " His garments were now partially frozen, and his wet feet ached with the cold. ." This is too much ! " he said. " I would call for help, but it would do no good. They would not come, should I bawl myself hoarse. h ! how cold, how terribly cold I am ! It is like winter to-night like the night in December, when 212 GLENWOOD. I was obliged to lie to get out of this cold room. But but I cannot, will not now." Just at this moment he seemed to be strongly impressed that he must escape then, or he should die ; or, if he did not perish that night, further cruelties would be continued until he had not strength to go. He arose and tried the door and the windows , but they were fastened, and in despair he sank down upon the floor again. His thoughts were now busy with the past, the injustice he had received from his fellow- creatures, until his loving teacher came, so good, so beautiful. How very kind of her to take so much notice of the des- pised, neglected boy, manifesting so much patience, and such a spirit of self-sacrifice for his welfare ! Their last walk from school came up vividly before his mind the advice she gave him, and the money to supply his wants while on his way to Yamford, where he had hoped to find a home such as he had not known since the death of his parents. What would she do if she could realize his condition now his sufferings, which ho must endure through the long night, with the terrible dread of greater horrors on the morrow ? ! she would weep in bitter agony, did she know all this. And then tears filled his eyes, and he lay down upon the floor with his face in his hands, and sobbed and cried for a long time. When he arose, the thought was again im- pressed upon his mind that he must escape from his prison. But how ? The door and windows are fastened, and he has not power to open them. What can he do there in the dark and cold ? He has no implements to work with, and yet he must escape. He will break through one of the windows. Would this be right ? Why not, when it is his only hope ? Determined to be free, he again arose, and, going to on* GLENWOOD. 218 of the windows, in his desperation he pushed out a pane of glass with his hand, cutting his fingers badly. His wounds gave him but little anxiety ; but he had really committed an offence now, and it would not do to stop there, but without delay make good his escape. He listened a while ; but, hear- ing nothing, with more care and less noise, broke another pane of glaSs, then a third, and thus he continued until none were left in the lower frame. To remove that was an easy matter, for the house was old, and the sash much decayed. The required exertion in removing the window gave warmth to his shivering limbs, and he sprang through the opening, and ran from the house with great speed. The noise which he made when he struck the ground, and the clatter of his feet as he fled, awoke the dog, and he gave chase for the supposed intruder. Willie was fearful that his loud barking would awaken Mr. Gregg, and lead to his recapture; so he stopped, and the faithful sentinel recog- nized him, and rubbed against him caressingly, and lapped the blood from his hand. Willie put his arms around his neck, and, patting him on the head, hastened away. His fears gave him strength, and he ran with remarkable rapidity. Sometimes he fancied that he heard footsteps behind him ; and, stopping to listen, to learn if he was pursued, his heart beat so loudly that the sound made him tremble. At such times he would lie flat upon his face, close to the wall. Re- maining in that position a few minutes, and finding that his fears were baseless, he would start on his way again. And thus he went on, until the day began to dawn. When the sun rose he had gone twenty miles, and he was BO exhausted that he lay down to rest. And now he realized how desolate was his condition, far from home, weary, faint, OLEN WO OD. and hungry ; his head bare and his clothes in tatters ; for those the boys had given him had been put by for Sunday wear. He wondered what he should do now ; whether Mr. Gregg would pursue him what people would think when they saw such a looking object as he. It was unsafe, he felt, to remain in the highway, now that it was day ; and sc he wandered into the fields. In the course of The forenoon he came to a corn-field, in which was an image, placed there the year before, to frighten the crows. It had upon its head an old-fashioned bell-topped hat, very much battered, large enough for a man. Willie gladly availed himself of the prize, thinking it, poor as it was, better than no hat. He found it much too large ; for it came down over his eyes, and every few minutes he was obliged to push it up in order toxsee at all. By this time he was almost famished, and so he went into the woods, and, as he had often done before, when suffering for food, broke off some black-birch twigs, and ate the tender bark ; still further on. he found checkerberry and box-plums, and so in a measure satisfied his desire for food. By and by he came to another road, which he thought best not to fol- low, but crossed it, and still continued in the fields. Early in the morning it was very cold ; but now the air was bland, and the sun poured down its hot beams, making a beautiful spring day. The little wanderer became so tired that he lay down in a sunny spot, and soon fell asleep. When he awoke he heard the horns calling the farmers to dinner. At first it was difficult for him to realize his condition ; but he soon regained his truant senses, and then he felt that, although he was faint and weary, he must proceed on his way. Ere long he came to another road, and, following it, he soon met GLENWOOD. 216 a man with a horse and carriage, of whom he inquired the distance to Yamford, and was told that it was forty miles. This answer was astounding, for Jeannie had assured him that it was only twenty-five from Glenwood. It made him feel almost discouraged to know that he had gone fifteen miles out of his way. The man informed him the best route to take. No marvel that the poor boy now sank down upon the ground and wept ; for it seemed impossible, in his weary and famishing condition, ever to reach the desired haven. But weeping would do no good, he well knew ; so he sum- moned his strength anew, and slowly went on. About the middle of the afternoon, the little wanderer was overtaken by an unpolished, kind-looking man, who seemed to watch him very closely. When first in sight, Willie thought he would ask him for a ride ; but, as he came nearer, he lacked the courage to make his request, and he now trem- bled lest it was some one in pursuit of him. The man con- tinued to observe the ragged, comically-dressed boy, until he was satisfied that he was very weary, when he stopped his horse and said, " Wai, my boy, won't you have a lift? I can carry you in my wagon jest as well as not." Willie required no urging to accept the invitation. " Where are ye joggin' ? " said the man. "To Yamford," replied Willie. " That 's a plaguy long ways for you to go a foot, any how, thirty-six miles, every inch of it, if 's a rod ! However, I can carry you sixteen of it ; an' I will, if yer mind to ride ; " and, putting his hand into his pocket, he took out a large russet apple, and asked Willie if he would n't like it. The 216 GLENWOOD. hungry boy almost snatched it from his hand, and ate it with great voracity. " I declare," said the man, " you are awful hungry, or you like apples some. I 've got two more in my pocket, an' both on 'em is bigger than that are one you've jest swal- lered, an' you shall have 'em ; for they are wholesome for those who take to 'em in that are way." These were devoured so quickly, that the giver said that it did him " a plaguy sight " more good than though he had eaten them himself. " Do you live in Yamford ? " he inquired. " No, sir, but I expect to." " Goin' there to hire out, I s'pose? Wai, I hope they will pay ye, so ye .can 'ford to wear better clothes than them are things ye 've got on." "I hope so, too." " How much do you 'spect to get a month ? " " I don't know, sir, but I suppose all I am worth." "Jest so, 'xactly. Wai, don't you let 'em cheat you. Folks will take the 'vantage of boys when they can. Now, I gin a boy no bigger than you five dollars a month, last year, and I 'm to give six this year ; so don' t you take a cent less than five." " I shall try and get all I am worth, sir." " So do ; but, mind you, not a cent less than five a month. Wages are high now, and the Avork must be done. It 's e'enamost sundown ; so you can't get to Yamford to-night you '11 jest have to turn in and stop with me, I guess. Come, my lad, what say ? " "I should like to, but but " " But what out with it ! " QLENWOOD. 217 " I have no money to pay you, sir." " Whew ! who supposed you had ? Think I 'd take money from you ? catch me at it ! If you had any, I would n't take a cent. My old woman will be glad to see you, an' BO will the gals, too." "You are very kind, sir ;" and Willie's eyes filled with tears. " Sakes alive ! if the boy an't cryin' at that are ! Wai, you an't the kind of boy that one might take you for at fust sight, with them are plaguy ragged things on your heart is jest as tender as boiled lamb. But don't simper any more about it; 't an't called for. Would n't you take me in without money, if I was tired and hungry as you are, and you had a good home, as I have ? " " Yes, sir, I should be very glad to." " 'Xactly ! I knew you would ; and so I shall do by you jest as you would do by me, don't you see, ha? " " Yes, sir, I understand it." " Of course you do. Now, that 's my 'ligion ; I han't never 'sperienced, as 'tis called, but I try to do 'bout right. It's the best way in this world ; help a feller-crittur when you can, and the bread cast upon the waters shall come back when the tide is right. Now, as it is understood that you stop with me over night, I jest want to know your name." Willie reflected a few moments, querying whether he had better give an assumed name or his own ; but, feeling instinctively that he could safely trust his illiterate friend, he answered : " Willie Cunard." " Willie Cunard ! Why, I saw a man from Glen wood, to- day, who was inquirin' for a boy of that name ; and he said 19 218 GLENWOOD. that he had stolen money, an' broken winders out of the poor-house, in order to get away ! I snum ! if he didn't describe you out 'xactly ; and you are the very boy, an't you?" " I am, sir ; but I did not steal the money. It was given me by a friend, who advised me to run away, because I waa so ill-used." " But how came you to break out the winder? " " They beat me so badly with a strap, and then they held me in the cold water until I was almost suffocated, because I would not tell them where I got the money which I had hid in my bed. And they left me wet and cold in one of the back rooms, and I had no supper ; and they said I should stay there all night, and be treated worse in the morning, if I did not confess. I was so cold that I should have perished in that room before morning." " So you would. An' they held your head under water, did they?" " Yes ; and they beat me upon my naked body, and I am very sore now." " Why, they are worse than savage Injuns, a good deal worse ! An' so you didn't have any supper? " " Not a mouthful." "I don't blame you for kickin' out the blasted old win- der ! You got some breakfast, I s'pose ? " " No, sir." " Not any breakfast ! sakes alive ! Wai, you must have lined your hide at dinner-time? " "I haven't had any dinner, either." "Haven't had any dinner ! I don't wonder you liked apples! Get along there, Kate, or I'll put the string GLENWOOD. 219 on ! Faster than that ! Here 's a feller-crittur starvin' ! There, that 's it, you beauty ! See how she goes ! she knowed what I telled her. You jest keep a good heart, if you can, an' we '11 soon be there. I 'd been there afore, if you 'd jest told me how 'twas. Come, come, no snifflin' ! I can't bear that ; you would do jest the same by me, I know you would. I can tell, by the looks on ye, that ye wouldn't let a crittur starve, when ye had a plenty of yer own. "An' so you've lived in Glenwood? I used to have a brother there once. He was a monstrous clever feller, but he took to books an' larnin' . Now, I never had any taste that are way. I never read any books in my life but the Bible, Pilgrim's Progress, and my school-books, 'cept Rob- ert B. Thomas's Almanic. I read that clean through every year. But I have lots o' readin', though, for I take the Farmer's Cabinet, an' that comes every week, you know. I have been an abscriber for that are paper these twenty years, an' I've got every one of 'em presarved to this day. Go ahead there, Kate ! that's it, you beauty ! See how she puts it ! Now, I '11 tell you how I does when we have a long storm, an' I have read the paper clean through : I jest goes an' gets some o' the old ones, and they are about as good . as new. My old woman never knows whether I am readin' the last paper, or one twenty years old ; it 's all the same to her. I have read one of 'em to her as much as six times, an' she never knowed the difference. Now, that brother of mine. Jim Penly, he had as much as a t hundred books ; an' when he died they was sold at auction, but they didn't' fetch nothin', scarcely. He hadn't much gumption, an' the mortgage on his farm was so much, that it took 'bout all 220 QLENWOOD. it fetched to pay it. He left a widder, and one son, poor enough. D' ye ever hear anything about 'em ? " "No, sir." "I don't wonder that ye never did; for 'the boy was drownded afore you was born, an' it e'enamost killed his mother ; and she went to live with one of her 'lations ; but the poor, heart-broken woman soon followed Jimmey. I have hearn tell there was a gal mixed up with the business somehow ; but, as my old woman says, I can't make neither head nor tail to it. Get along there, Kate ! I declare, how pale you do look ! Cold, are you ? I don't wonder at it. But keep up your sperits, for we are e'enamost there. Jest see Kate, now! she's off like a broom-handle. She's a knowin' crittur. There, my boy, there 's the house behind that monstrous elm-tree, biggest tree in the county. My old woman 's standin' in the door, 'spectin' me. Steady, Kate ! how she goes it ! An' here we are, safe an' sound." " Sakes alive ! husband, who have you got there ? " in- quired Mrs. Penly. "A starvin' feller-crittur, old woman." And as Willie was about to step from the wagon, Mr. Penly took him in his arms and carried him into the house, setting him down near the blazing fire. "A starving, is he?" said Mrs. Penly. "He looks as though he was, poor boy ! What shall I give him to eat ? I '11 make him some porridge, with a cracker in it, and that will warm him; for he is terrible cold." Mrs. Penly was a large, fat woman, but she stepped round very quickly, as she always did when a little excited ; and, as she had hot water, the porridge was soon ready. "There, my poor boy," said she; "eat that are, and G L B N W D. 221 you '11 feel a good deal better ; and when I get supper ready t you shall have a cup of tea ; but I shan't let you eat too much to-night, for you are too sick." Willie took the bowl with a grateful heart, and, notwith- standing it was hot, he was so hungry that he could not stop to eat slowly. " Sakes alive ! " said Mr. Penly, " how hungry you bo ! But don't burn you to death, for you will find 'nough to eat here. Take time, if you be hungry. A little slower, my boy ; there, that will do. Now I'll go straight and put up old Kate, for she 's hungry, too." 19* CHAPTER XIX. THE KINDNESS OP THE PENLYS. WILLIE IN A NEW SUIT. GOES TO YAMFORD. HIS RECEPTION BY THE WYMANS. As the reader has probably surmised, Mr. Penly was a farmer, and, though ignorant and unpolished, his heart was in the right place. He had the reputation with many people of being wealthy ; and when they hinted as much, he re- plied that he was not rich, but well to do in the world. He lived in a large, old-fashioned house, two stories and a half high, with rooms in it sufficient for a country tavern. Mr. and Mrs. Penly were, at this time, about fifty years old, she being six months the eldest. They had known and loved each other from childhood, and were married at nineteen. Seven children were born to them, but only four wrere now living, all girls, the two eldest married. The most severe affliction they had ever experienced was the loss of their only son, at the age of ten years. Sarah and Hattie, the unmarried daughters, had called upon one of the neighbors, the afternoon their father came home, bring- ing with him Willie Cunard. They returned in season for tea, and Willie was introduced to them. Very pretty blue- eyed girls they were. ' The youngest, Hattie, who had a roguish twinkle to her eyes, was strongly inclined to laugh at such a ragged boy, at the same time feeling very sorry QLENWOOD. 223 for him. Mrs. Penly was a kind, motherly woman, sympa- thetic and good-natured, and, like her husband, lacking refinement. He usually addressed her as his old woman, and she called him daddy. When supper was ready, Willie sat down with the family ; but he had no longer a desire for food. He was very thirsty, however, and he occupied the time in drinking tea. "Wai, old woman," said Mr. Penly, "you gin him that are porridge jest in the right time to spile his supper. I 'spected he would eat us e'enamost out of house and home, to begin with." "It isn't best he should eat much to-night, for he's got cold and feverish like," said Mrs. Penly. " Won't you have a piece of this ere nice custard-pie ? it won't hurt you, for I shortened the crust with cream." " No, I thank you," said Willie. "You had better take a cracker, then, and soak it in your tea; that'll be better than nothin', won't it, daddy? " "Jest about, I should think. Somehow, crackers don't fill up. I can eat a dozen, and then be hungry. Brown bread is the stuff, an't it, Hattie ? " " You know I don't like it, father! " said Hattie. " You 've been kept too well, you young witch ! that 's the reason. Jest live as I did when I was young, an' you would like it well enough. Now, this boy has lived in the poor-house, an' I '11 warrant you that he likes it." " I don't believe he does ! " said Hattie. " You don't believe it? What '11 you bet on 't ? " " My pullet against the old black hen." " 'S done ! Now, you ax him, Hattie." 224 tiLENWOOD. " Do you like rye and Indian bread ? " inquired Hattie of Willie. "Not very well," said Willie. " There ! there ! " said Hattie ; " the black hen is mine ! " "So tis, you jade-hopper !" said Mr. Penly. "But who 'da thought that I'd lost it? Wai, Willie, what is the reason you don't like brown bread? " " Because I have_had to eat it three times a day." " Sakes alive ! " said Mrs. Penly. * ^ "I might have known how 'twas, if I'd only thought, when you 've lived at the poor-house ! That 's the way we Christian people take care of the poor ! treat 'em e'ena- most as well as they do at the states-prison. But, then, they have to be pretty careful, or too many might like to board there, 'specially through the cold weather," said Mr. Penly. "He don't talk just as he means," said Mrs. Penly to Willie; " so don't you mind him. He thinks that the poor are not used as they ought to be, and so do I." When supper was through with, Willie was placed in the large rocking-chair near the fire ; but he was so cold that Mrs. Penly made him a bowl of composition tea, and put him to bed, with a hot stone at his feet. In the morning he was still feverish, and so Mrs. Penly gave him a sweat. The next day she administered an emetic of lobelia, and now he began to amend. In the mean time Jeannie had returned home, and, having her parents' permission, wrote to Willie, the letter arriving at Glen wood the morning that Willie left. When a week had passed, and he did not come, she knew not what to think, and was fearful that Mr. Gregg by some means had GLBNWOOD. 225 obtained possession of the letter. She thought so much about it, that it made her very unhappy. . She concluded that it was best to wait another week, and, if he did not come, send her brother Frank to learn the reason. When Willie was nearly well again, he told his kind friends that he must go ; but Mrs. Penly said that he had better stay a few days longer, until he was entirely re- covered. " Your clothes," she remarked, " are awful ragged, just like poor-house clothes. Any one might know where them are come from. Now, my Benny was smaller than you when he died; but, if you can wear his clothes, you shall be welcome to them, for they will do you some good, and you are such a clever boy that I can't bear to see you look so like a fright." Mrs. Penly went to a trunk, and took out two suits, and gave the best one to Willie, the tears falling fast while she did it. " He was a good boy," she said, " a very good boy, and we all worshipped him. God saw fit to take him, and I have tried to be reconciled; but it was very hard. I've been afeard that we idolized him too much ; but we could n't help it. He was our only son !" " When did he die ? " asked Willie, feeling sad for her. "Ten years ago this spring; though it don't seem so long. I always weep when I see his clothes, they look so much like him ; but you see if you can get them on." Willie appeared very comical when rigged out in his new suit, for Benny Penly was small of his age, and two years younger when he died than Willie was now. The pants fitted close to his skin, and were eight or ten inches 226 G L E N W D . too short ; the jacket and vest were as much too short as the pants, and the sleeves of the jacket came just below his elbows. As the hat which Willie found in the corn-field was so large, and so badly battered, it was thought best that he should throw it aside, and take the one that Benny used to wear to meeting, a little, round, wool hat, with a narrow rim, which he could just squeeze on to the top of his head. How Hattie did laugh when she saw Willie in this suit ! She made her father quite merry by telling him that hia legs looked just like a pair of candle-moulds. When Willie was ready for his journey, Mrs. Penly filled his pockets with doughnuts and cheese, and Mr. Penly har- nessed his horse and carried him ten miles. "There," said Mr. Penly, "you are now just half way. Mind an' not go wrong! An' I tell ye what 'tis, Willie, I want ye to come to see us one of these days. What say, my lad ? We '11 all be glad to see you, the old woman, gals, an' all." "I shall be very glad to come, sir, for you have been very kind to me ; I am thankful, indeed I am ! " " Wai, you needn't go for to feel bad about it. But you are a good boy. Nancy says that she never saw a better boy, an' she understands human natur as well as any one I ever seed. I 'spect you 've 'bout fallen in love with that are school-marm, 'cordin' to what my old woman telled me ye said of her." " 0, no, sir ! I " "You needn't deny it, for that's jest the way I did when I was in love with Nancy. You see I 've been through GLEN n D . 227 the mill. Wai, wal, don't forget us, my lad, an' come an' see us whenever ye can." Willie now pursued his journey with good courage, hop- ing to reach Yamford before night ; but he missed his way, and travelled some miles before he learned his mistake, so that it was quite dark when he arrived there. Mr. Wyman lived a mile beyond the village, and it was a little after eight o'clock when he came to the house. But now he thought, for the first time, that he had re- ceived no letter from Jeannie ; and he was fearful that, if she had not returned, her parents would not receive him, for he was a stranger to them. He had not the courage to knock at the door, and he sat down querying what he had better do. After sitting some time, he arose and went to the window, and tried to look in. He thought that it might be wrong to do thus, but he felt conscious that he had no bad intentions, for he only wished to learn if Jeannie was there. When close to the house, he stumbled and fell against it with such force as to startle the inmates. But Willie was more frightened than they, and he ran as fast as his feet could carry him, so that Mr. Wyman only caught a glimpse of him as he opened the door. After Willie had gone some twenty rods, he looked back, and, not seeing any one in pur- suit, he stopped. This was a poor beginning, and he had less courage now than ever; but he slowly retraced his steps. "What was it? " asked Mrs. Wyman, when Mr. Wyman returned. "I presume that it was a boy, for I saw one running from the house very fast," said Mr. Wyman. "What do you suppose he was doing?" 228 GLENWOOD. "Nothing serious, I think. Most likely he thought ho would frighten us a little." "How large a boy was it, father?" asked Jeannie, who sat by the table, reading. "I should think he might be twelve or fourteen years old," said Mr. Wyman. "I shouldn't be surprised if it was Willie Cunard," said Jeannie. "It might have been," said Mrs. Wyman; " and he tfas most likely trying to look into the window, to see if you were here." " That must be it, mother ; so I will go out and see if I can find him," said Jeannie. She now went to the door, and, not seeing any one, walked a few rods from it, when she saw a boy at a little distance from her, who appeared to be looking towards the cottage. "Willie Cunard," she said, "is that you?" "Yes, ma'am," he replied. " ! how glad I am to see you ! We were expecting you before this; " running to him, and taking his hand and shaking it very warmly. " Come, Willie, the folks are anxious to see you ;" and she led him into the cottage, and presented him to her parents and grandmother. "I am very happy to see you," said Mr. Wyman. ' Jeannie has informed me that you have lived at the poor- house, and that you have had a very hard time. I have concluded to offer you a home with us. My youngest son, Arthur, is going away, this summer, to attend school ; and, if you and I can make a bargain, you shall stay and work for me." GLENWOOD. 229 " I shall be very glad to," said Willie. " Jeannie," said Mrs. Wyman, "you go and make him a nice cup of tea, and get him some supper, for he looks tired and hungry." " Make him a good cup of black tea," said Mrs. Motley, - and then he will feel a great deal better." " That 's your specific, mother," said Mr. Wyman, "and you know I always told you that mother and daughter were very much alike." "And if that specific was not provided for you, when you came home weary and faint," said Mrs. Motley, "a certain face would be too long to be agreeable." "That 's the truth, John, every word of it," said Mrs. Wyman. "I never saw anybody, not even an old lady, enjoy a good cup of tea better than you." "I plead guilty to the charge, but I sometimes think that cold water is the best drink, after all," said Mr. Wyman. " I presume you read that article in the paper, last week," said Mrs. Wyman, "advocating the drinking of water alone." "I did, and I thought it ve,ry reasonable," returned Mr. Wyman. "I have always had my cup of tea," remarked Mrs. Motley, " and I believe I always shall. I am very sure that it does me good." " And I shall not give up mine," said Mrs. Wyman. " Nor I mine, as long as I have such good company to drink it with," said Mr. Wyman. "Then I hope you will continue to drink it for many, 20 230 GLENWOOD. many years," said Jeannie, who came in just in time to hear the last remark. "I hope so, too, dear," Mr. Wyman said, giving Mrs. Wyman an anxious glance, which was unperceived by her. At this moment her cough, which had continued ever since we last saw her, was heard ; and, though but slight, it caused Mr. Wyman to cover up his face with his hands, and draw a half-suppressed sigh. " How far have you come to-day? " said Mrs. Wyman to Willie. " Twenty miles," he replied. "Did you come that distance on foot?" inquired Mrs. Motley. " No, ma'am," said Willie. " I rode ten miles with Mr. Penly ; but I missed my way, and so I have walked nearly that distance." " I am glad that Mr. Penly was so kind and thoughtful," said Jeannie, " but sorry that you went out of your way so much. When did you receive my letter, and who is Mr. Penly?" " Your letter! I did not get any," said Willie. " You did not ? How long since you left Grlenwood? " " Ten days ago this evening." " You did ? I thought you were to wait until you heard from me." "I could not," said Willie, his eyes filling with tears. "I see how it was," said Mr. Wyman. "They abused you so badly that you could not remain any longer." "Yes, sir," said Willie, " Poor boy ! " said Mrs. Motley ; " I am glad you did not wait." GLENWOOD. 231 " So am I," said Jeannie, " very glad ; but where have you been all this time, we were very anxious about you?" "I have been sick," he said, speaking very indistinctly; for the manifestation of so much kindness filled his eyes with tears, and choked his utterance. " Can it be," he thought, "that there are such good people in the world? A little while since, and they were all cruel, but now I am over- whelmed with kindness ! " "And so you have been ill, poor child!" said Mrs. Wyman ; " and where were you then ? " " At a Mr. Penly's. He overtook me on the road, and carried me to his house," said Willie. " And they were good to you, were they not? " inquired Mrs. Motley. "Yes, ma'am, very good," said Willie. "Mrs. Penly took the best of care of me, and would not let me start to come here, until I was quite well and strong. And Mr. Penly took his horse and wagon and brought me ten miles." " Heaven bless them ! " said Mrs. Wyman. "Amen ! " responded Mr. Wyman, Mrs. Motley, and Jeannie ; and Willie responded amen with his heart, which was brimming with gratitude. " Penly Penly ! It seems to me that I have heard that name before," said Mr. Wyman. " It strikes me that I have," said Mrs. Wyman ; " but I cannot remember when nor where." "I presume that you have quite ah interesting story to tell," said Mrs. Motley; " and, after you have taken your tea, we should all like to hear it." Supper now being ready, Willie gat down to a well-spread 232 GLENWOOD. table, with a most inviting aspect. At the alms-house the dishes that the paupers used were so unclean that you could have written your name upon them with your finger, and the knives and forks were black as the ace of spades. Those before him now were so clean and polished that they shone like silver, and the same care had been bestowed upon all the other eating utensils. He was fearful lest he should 6oil them too much in using them. He had been accustomed to make a supper on coarse bread and cold water, but now he might partake of a variety of the most tempting viands. The change seemed marvellous to him, and too much like a dream to be real. " Is it possible," he thought, " that such food is prepared for me? " Jeannie took her seat at the head of the table, poured the tea, and helped him to the different kinds of food. This was so different from what he had been accustomed to, that he felt extremely bashful and awkward, and he made some ludicrous blunders, causing him to blush scarlet. His friend saw, at a glance, what the difficulty was ; and she pretended not to notice his mistakes, talking to him in a manner well designed to make him forget them. A delicate, sensitive child herself, desiring to do as she would be done by, it was an easy matter to conduct herself in a way that should relieve him from his excessive modesty and sheepishness, and give him some self-respect. And this, reader, is always com- mendable in man or woman. The bashful girl, in the midst of a gay throng of young men and maidens, is so confused that she cannot hold up her head ; and so she seeks the most obscure corner, and there sits alone. Others are happy, but she is wretched. She wishes that she could walk about the rooms, and join in the GLENWOOD. 233 conversation, and appear like other misses. Her wishes are vain, however, for she has not the confidence to arise from her seat. The cords that bind her she cannot break, nor throw off the incubus which is crushing her soul. She can appear like other people at home, and converse without em- barrassment, but not here ; it is a marvel to her that she cannot. Now she fancies that some of the company are casting furtive glances at her she is the subject of their merriment. To be made a butt for ridicule is too much, and she wishes that she had not come. Among the visitors is a gentleman with a heart so kind that he desires to see everybody happy. He has been watching the bashful one, though she is not aware of it. He knows that it is diffidence alone which causes her to appear so foolish and awkward. The spell that lies so heavily upon her, which makes her so miserable when she should be happy, she has not the power to break. Without a formal introduction, he sits down by her side, and very delicately draws her into conversation, leading her thoughts along so ingenuously that her timidity and bashfulness are forgotten ; the chain that held her so fast has been melted, but she knows not how ; the nightmare has departed, leaving her free and happy. Now she mingles with the company, is cheerful, lively, and interesting, for the remain- der of the evening, and she will never be so bashful again. The effect of this kind act will not be momentary, but lasting as life, conferring strength in the hour of weakness. 0, blessed, thrice blessed, are they who thus skilfully and lovingly chase away the shadows which have gathm-d around the young soul, letting in the sunlight warm and golden ! 20* 234 GLENWOOD. Soon after Willie had finished his supper, Frank and Arthur returned, and, in accordance with a suggestion of Mrs. Motley, seconded by the rest of the family, he told them his affecting story, with which the reader is sufficiently acquainted. When he had finished, Jeannie said, ' ' I little thought that my three-dollar bill would cause you so much suffering." " You were very unlucky in choosing your place of con- cealment," said Mr. Wyman; "but, as the straw had never been meddled with before, except at two particular periods in the year, I am not so much surprised that you should have placed the bill where you did." " I am sorry that it made you suffer so, but it was all for the best," said Mrs. Wyman. " Under other circumstances you might not have escaped so easily, and you would not have fallen in with the Penlys, who were so very kind to you. You will be better and happier, all through your life, because you have experienced such disinterested friendship. Now that you are here, I hope that we shall be mutually pleased, and that you will remain with us many years. If you do, we will endeavor to make you forget your past trials." " That we will," said Mrs. Motley. " Mr. Wyman has a nice farm, and, if you are faithful, and I am sure you will be, we shall make you very happy, for we never have any unhappy ones under this roof." " I remember one," said Mrs. Wyman. " True," replied Mrs. Motley; "but she was a stranger and with us but a brief period, and the circumstances were peculiar. I never pitied any poor child as I did her she was really heart-broken ! " GLENWOOD. 235 "Alas, yes!" said Mrs. Wyman. "I was fearful how it might be, from the first. I tried to heal the wound, but in vain ! But, notwithstanding her unfortunate mistake, she was a beautiful creature, and I loved her as though she" had been my own." " She was worthy of it," said Mr. Wyman. " Well, she is in heaven, and our dear Flora, who loved her so well, bears her company." " Mr. Gregg would not let you wear the clothes the boys gave you?" said Jeannie, interrogatively. " Only Sundays," replied Willie. " He said my others ,were good enough to wear every day." " Good enough such dirty rags ! " said Jeannie ; " they were not good for anything. I sometimes think that people suppose that poor-house children are of a different order of being ; and that rags are all the clothes they deserve ; the meanest and coarsest food, what their natures require." " Most likely Mr. and Mrs. Gregg think so," said Frank; " but they are not everybody." "Very true," said Mrs. Motley. "I have lived a great many years, and seen many people ; and some whom I have known have been very unfeeling and hard-hearted, while others were truly good. I am happy to say that I have found more of the latter than of the former, and I believe that every year their number increases." " That 's good doctrine," said Mr. Wyman. " It is true that the world is growing better, and not degenerating, as the croakers would have us believe." "Everybody has faults," said Mrs. Wyman; "but the number in the world is by no means small who desire to do as near right as it is possible under the circumstances." 236 GLENWOOD. After the young people had retired, Mr. Wyman remarked that the name of Gregg sounded more familiar than Penly ; and it had just come into his mind that Delia's surname was Gregg. "I thought of it," said Mrs. Wyman, "when Jeannie first spoke of Willie ; and, though it had passed out of my mind, it was so many years ago, yet I soon recollected that she told me she was from Glenwood ; and I doubt not this Mr. Gregg was her father." "I presume so," said Mr. Wyman; "for a man who would cast off his own child in that way would be very likely to abuse others. But I can't make it out about the name Penly." " I can," replied his wife. " Was it not Jimmey Penly, Delia's lover, who was drowned, and the father of her child?" "0,1 remember now ! Well, wife, who does this boy look like?" " I don't know that I can tell who he looks like, for his eyes are blue, and hers were very black ; and his hair is different; but I can tell you who he reminds me of." "Who? Delia Gregg?" "Yes." " So he does me ; and I think he looks like her." " What if it should turn out that he is her son ? " " Pooh ! nonsense ; that is not at all probable." "I don't know about that." ' ' You are always sure to imagine something strange and unnatural, where there is the least mystery," said Mrs Motley. GLENWOOD. 287 t "You say so, mother; but, then, you know that I am usually correct." "Well, perhaps you are," said Mrs. Motley, thought- fully. " You mean that she is pretty good for guessing," said Mr. Wyman. " We will inquire about his early history in the morn- ing," said Mrs. Wyman, "and perhaps that will settle the question. It would be strange, indeed, if he should prove to be Delia's child." "In that case," said Mr. Wyman, "his own grand- father has been his worst enemy." "As he was to his own child," said Mrs.- Wyman. Willie slept that night in the same bed which was pressed by his mother the first night she came to the cottage, and where she breathed out her troubled life. He was very grateful for such a luxurious couch on which to repose his tired limbs ; his sleep was sweet, and his dreams consoling. He awoke in the morning refreshed and happy. Willie's garments were so small, and he looked so queer in them, that Mrs. Wyman gave him a suit of Arthur's ; and, though the clothes were not in so good a condition as those the Penlys gave him, he was well pleased with the change, for they fitted him. In relation to his early child- hood, he only remembered of living in Glenwood, where both father and mother died. He had been told by them that they came there from the West ; and that much of his history Jeannie was already acquainted with. After Willie had been at Mr. Wyman's a few days, he engaged to remain until he was fifteen, for his board, clothes, and four months' schooling each year. And now he was 238 GLENWOOD. happy. Cheerfully he labored through the day, and in the evening joined in some pleasant recreation, or in reading an interesting book. Mr. Wyman allowed him as many houra for play as was desirable. Willie thought that he had the best home in the world ; and he strove to be faithful, and all the family loved him. CHAPTER XX. THE SURPRISE OF MR. GREGG. MRS. BETSEY IN A PASSION. FRUIT- LESS SEARCH FOR THE CULPRIT. TALK AND FEELINGS OF THE PEO- PLE. A STEEPLE-CHASE NOT AFTER THE USUAL STYLE. HECTOR RUNS AWAY. IS BROUGHT BACK. MR. GREGG NOT HAPPY. REMORSE. HECTOR IN SEARCH OF A WIFE. THERE was great commotion and excitement at the poor- house when it was known that Willie had broken out a win- dow and made his escape. Mr. Gregg expressed the utmost astonishment that a boy of his age should have the audacity to do such a thing. He was so angry for a time, and so horror-struck, that he forgot his usual dignity ; and as for Mrs. Gregg, she was furious. " h ! " she exclaimed, " I wish I had him here now ! Let me but get hold of him once more ! To think that he should dare to break out a window of this house, and run away ! the thief the vagrant scoundrel ! How I would shake him, if I could only lay my hand upon him ! Mr. Gregg, not a moment is to be lost ! Harness your horse and pursue him! He cannot have gone far we '11 have him back here, and settle with the house-breaker ! Get Mr. Blossom, and send him after the states-prison bird ! Offer a reward do anything, rather than he should es- cape ! " 240 GLENWOOD. Mr. Gregg procured the services of Mr. Blossom, and sent him in one direction, with a fast horse, and he went in another ; but with what success we have already learned. They did not find any one who had even seen him ; and for several days after they watched the movements of Deacon Glubbings, Mr. Goose, and Mr. Bugbee, and some others whom they suspected of sufficient humanity to aid a poor fugitive. But, as they thought they had stronger reasons for distrusting Deacon Glubbings and Mr. Goose, they se- creted themselves near their dwellings for a number of nights. The report that Willie Cunard had stolen a three-dollar bill, and made his escape from the alms-house by breaking a window, was the cause of various remarks and specula- tions by the people of Glenwood. There were some who doubted if Willie had actually stolen money ; and they re- joiced that he had broken out of his prison. Others were ready enough to believe him guilty ; in fact, they expected nothing else from a ragged, dirty, poor-house boy; and they had no doubt that, in a brief time, he would find a prison which he could not break out of so easily; at least, they were charitable enough to hope that he would meet with his just deserts, for society must be protected. Among this latter class were persons who were members of the different churches, and those who did not belong to any church ; people who professed much, and others who were unbelievers and nothing-arians. That they supposed Willie might reach a prison or the gallows, is not strange ; for the people of Glenwood had taught him to distrust and hate his fellow-creatures to believe them his enemies ; and, as they made war upon him, he should, for his own preser- GLEN WOOD. vation, nerve himself for the contest, and bravely fight it out. They regarded not his welfare, and he should not re- gard theirs ; they had made him suffer, Wnd he should seek revenge. Supposing this had been the result of Willie's poor- house experience, would those who predicted a home for him in the states-prison have been entirely guiltless? But Willie was saved, thanks to the loving one who taught him that humanity was not all evil ; that down deep in the hu- man heart there is much of goodness, and, though many were ever ready to oppress the unprotected, there were others always willing to make some sacrifice to save and bless the wronged and defenceless. From whom did Willie steal the money ? That was the interrogatory frequently put, which no one could satisfac- torily answer. There were, however, several persons who were sure they had lost money ; . and Mr. Bumpus was certain that at the close of one week there was just three dollars missing. He could not swear to the identity of the bill which he had lost ; but Willie was often in his store, and, as ho was known to be light-fingered, it was very probable that he obtained it from his drawer. But none of the claimants gained the prize ; for Mr. Gregg thought, and Mrs. Gregg entirely coincided, that as there were a number who felt quite certain they had been robbed, he was not justified in giving the bill to either, but should keep it himself. On the day that Willie escaped, and for some days after, the paupers had a very unpleasant time, and Margaret Bumford felt the weight of a certain feminine fist, with which she was not entirely unacquainted ; while Hector 21 242 GLENWOOD. Stifles performed a " steeple-chase " with the same fair one for an antagonist who owned the fist ; and this was the way it was brought about : Mr. Gregg was absent in search of Willie Cunard, and Mr. Zebulon Bugbee took the occasion to give Hector certain instructions, which, he supposed, if carried out, would furnish him food for smiling for some time. He told him to tell Mrs. Gregg that he didn't be- lieve that Willie stole the money ; that they ought to be ashamed of themselves for shutting him into a room, with- out bed or fire, when he was wet and cold ; that he was glad that he kicked out the window ; and much more of the same sort. Knowing tha^Iector stood in great fear of Mrs. Gregg, he promised hinji'a meat-pie every day for a week, if he would follow^hJSF^wltructions to the letter. When Hector j-e^fc&i the alms-house, Mrs. Betsey S Gregg was stajg^fng^befoii^.the glass in the large kitchen, combing her lon^hjsrk hait> s As soon as she saw Hector, she said: ,*'p jr -A.. " Has that'thi^S aud vagrant been heard from yet, Hec- tor?" v * : ^ ; ~ 11 Dunnq,^ ""slud Hector, rolling his eyes at her rathei strangely, 'av^;.foE. him. "Why did'n't you ask, you fool? If you knew any- thing at all, "I would send you ^in search of him : for you can travel as fast as a horse." " I 's glad he 's gone, I is." " You are glad he is gone ? " her snaky black eyes flash- ing furiously upon him. " What are you glad of that for ? " " Cos you 'bused him, yer did ; and put him in the water, and shet him up to freeze, yer did." "If you wasn't a fool," said she, "I would give you GLENWOOD. 243 what you deserve ; but some meddler has been filling your head. But don't use any more of your insulting language to me, or you '11 wish you had not ! " " I don't b'lieve that he stole the money ; and I 's glad that he smashed out the old winder, I is." This was too much for Mrs. Betsey Gregg, and she caught hold of a stout beech stick, kept for the benefit of the seven smaller editions, and aimed a blow at Hector's head, which he dodged and then ran, and Mrs. Betsey after him. Out into the back room they went, through the back yard, round the house, into the front door, up stairs and down, so swiftly that Mrs. Gregg's hair stuck out behind like a coat-tail going against a heavy wind. Hector's eyes were rolling in the greatest frenzy of alarm ; and the long strides which he took through the rooms, and yards, and up the stairs and down, were laughable in the extreme. Mrs. Betsey's voice was raised to the highest pitch, and her tongue was giving utterance to terrible threats, and various naughty phrases, which our readers will not care to see. At last, the young Slashers gathered in such numbers as to block up the outer doors, and then Hector bolted for the barn, followed in full chase by his adversary. She now thought she had him, sure, for the back door of the barn was fastened. Hector perceived his mistake when he had reached the middle of the floor, and then, as he had seen the boys do, he suddenly threw himself upon his hands and knees before the snake-eyed virago, and she pitched head foremost over him, bumping her nose upon the floor, so that the claret flowed very copiously; while Hector as suddenly picked himself up, and ran for dear life. When some twenty rods away, finding that Mrs. Betsey did not follow him, he 244 GLENWOOD. mounted the fence, and, looking back exultingly, clapped bis hands upon his sides in imitation of a cock, and crowed most lustily, and then went to report progress to Mr . Zebu- Ion Bugbee. How the latter individual did smile when Hector described the ridiculous scene ! He shook himself and chuckled all over, from the top of his head to the ends of his great toes ; and when he could not stand any longer, he lay down and rolled upon the floor. " I shall never leave off smiling ! " he said. "I'll die if I can ! " Soon after the melee commenced between Mrs. Gregg and Hector, the paupers all assembled to witness it, stretching their mouths with laughter ; and when they saw the result, Hector on the fence, crowing, and Mrs. Betsey holding on to her streaming nose, which had so swollen that it resem- bled that remarkable feature of the seven smaller editions, they clapped their hands and hurraed at the top of their voices old men and women, little children and all. Mrs. Gregg felt rather crest-fallen ; but she went in the first place to the sink, that she might stop the generous flow of claret, and wash the undue proportion of red from her f ice, and prevent the unlucky feature from further enlarg- ing its dimensions. Her next step was to set the offending paupers at work ; and she made them march at double quick time, tipping over very unceremoniously the smaller ones that came in her way. When night came, Hector had not sufficient courage to return to the alms-house, and so he concluded to follow Willie's example, and run away. Having no particular place in view, he travelled till morning, without stopping at all. For a fortnight he roamed about the country, beg- ging his food, and sleeping in barns. At last, he was arrested QLENWOOD. 245 as a vagrant; and, as he informed those who took him in cus- tody that he came from the alms-house in Glenwood, they sent to the selectmen, and they went after him. Hector was not sorry to return, for he had had a hard time, often suffer- ing for food. The selectmen told Mr. Gregg that he must not be punished, and so he fared better than he expected. But Mrs. Gregg renumbered the affray, and her bumped nose, and took frequent occasions to annoy the poor idiot. When there was no longer hope of finding Willie Cunard, things settled down again at the alms-house into their usual routine. Mr. Gregg was again stiff and dignified, and Mrs. Gregg content with her ordinary scolding, fretting, and fault- finding. And was Mr. Gregg happy with such a wife, and a house- full of noisy children, the reader is disposed to ask. By no means. There were times when he was very wretched ; when he longed for his quiet home of old, with Polly Haggett to consult his wishes in all things, growing more and more faithful day after day. He was now well aware that Mrs. Gregg, in spite of his remonstrances, was evidently becoming less careful of his feelings and comforts. If the children annoyed him with their incessant turmoil, she did not seem to care, for she was sure that his nerves were as strong as hers. Mr. Gregg once said, and he thought it a great many times, that he lived a widower for many years, and he wished he had continued to live so to the end of his life. There were seasons when he thought of his first wife, how gentle and submissive she was ; and he wondered if he made her as happy as he should, if he did not require too much, if he had not wounded when he should have healed. 21* 246 QLENWOOD. He thought how careful she was with her speech, in compari- son to the present Mrs. Gregg. And then he would think of Delia, the beautiful little child, the handsome young woman, so much superior to his other children, his hopes of her, and his bitter disappointment. He was fearful that he had not done quite right in compelling her to leave his home, friendless, dependent upon the cold charities of the world. What could have become of her and her child ? It was very strange that none of her acquaintance had ever heard from her. She was dead, perhaps ; the night after she left home, she might have committed suicide by drown- ing. So much did this idea haunt him. that he frequently saw her, in his dreams, lying at the bottom of the lake, among the roots of the lilies, pale, cold, and dead ; and her spirit would rise up before him, and point to the lifeless body, and say, " This is thy work." From such dreams he would awake with a shudder of horror, and the cold sweat would stand upon his forehead. These troubles seemed to grow upon him, and he thought that he would go many miles if he could see Delia once more alive ; he would even ask her forgiveness, if he could only drive off these harrow- ing thoughts, and end his fearful dreams. When his agony was so great that he moaned in his sleep, Mrs. Gregg would awake him, and tell him his food must distress him, or he would not have the nigh'tmai'e so often. In the management of the poor, Mr. Gregg often queried whether things were just as they should be ; and after Willie had gone he began to be troubled about him. Had he been clothed and fed as is requisite for a human being ? Did he require the severe treatment he had received ? Was it judicious or beneficial ? If he should fall into crime, would OLBNWOOD. 247 not himself and wife be in a measure guilty ? If the paupers are not justly dealt with, why is it ? Am I not master here ? Should not woman be subordinate to man ? Certainly, I, Joseph Gregg, Esq., am master in my own family; and why, then, are not all things as I choose to have them ? He could scarcely^ tell ; for, though nearly everything displeased him, yet they had his sanction ; for Mrs. Gregg worked her card sg ingeniously, that he finally agreed to all that she pro- posed, half believing that he originated the plans, when they were in reality all her own. But when he came to reflect upon them more seriously, he disliked them very much. It was useless to remonstrate, however ; for she quietly told him that he had given them his sanction, and that he could not deny. As often as Mrs. Gunimede was out of tea, she sent to Mr. Bugbee, and he immediately purchased more ; and so the poor old creature felt quite content. On her dying bed, she fancied herself in her former happy home, and many times did she express her thanks that God had given such a blessing as tea for the aged and weak. The last thing which she did was to call for a cup of black tea, which she drank in an ecstasy of delight. Poor old lady ! how grateful she had been to the unpolished, smiling Bugbee, for the harmless beverage which was such a solace to her ! Of all the men in the world he was the best, for she said that he furnished her the elixir of life when there was none to pity. The real comfort which she took in drinking her tea was a source of happiness to him, and he called frequently to see her. He furnished her a block-tin pot, that she might make tea aa often as she chose ; and sometimes he took a cup with her. When she died he was her most sincere mourner. 248 GLENWOOD. The young men and boys still continued to play off theVi jokes upon Hector Stifles ; but, as he had not sense enough to know when he was imposed upon, he enjoyed the sport aa well as they. Take him all in all, he was a very strange being, and he seemed to have a stomach as capacious as an ox. His greatest enjoyment in life was in eating ; and he con- sumed enormous quantities of food, and drank accordingly. If I should state the number of quarts of water which ke frequently drank at a time, to please the boys, and others who doubted the possibility of the thing, only those who have witnessed his feats in that line would give me the credit of telling the simple truth. He had great strength, and Mr. Bugbee procured his services of the town to turn a wheel which carried a labor-saving machine. The boys so often detained him on his way to the shop, that his employer laughingly told him that he would give him a loaf of baker's bread every day that he came tp his work at half-past eight in the forenoon. This made him punctual, and in the even- ing Hector strode through the village with the loaf of bread under his arm, now and then dropping into a singing-school, or other public meeting, on his way home. His gait was peculiar ; for, although he was short and thick, his steps were twice as long as men usually take, and he went with a sort of a swing, seeming to move one half of his entire body every step he took. He had a great desire to marry ; was quickly interested in any woman, old or young, if he was told that she was in love with him ; and he would hang round the house where she lived, dog her steps, but always keep at a respectful distance. At one time he was made to believe that there was a rich GLEN WOOD.. 249 young lady in Sklintonbog, by the name of Arden, who was dying of love for him ; that she saw him frequently while he was at the poor-house there, and since the first time her eyes fell upon him she had not known a moment's peace. The story was told to Hector in a strain so pathetic that he shed tears that she should have suffered so much for him so long have felt the pangs of unrequited love ; and he resolved, as soon as Mr. Bugbee could spare him, to go in search of the love-stricken maiden, and offer her his hand in mar- riage. This, he was assured, was a solemn duty, for the enamored one might die of a broken heart. The village of Sklintonbog is six miles from Glenwood, and the authors of the tale were not aware of the fact that a family lived there by the name of Arden. Hector walked the whole distance in one hour. The village was quite large, and, as he was unacquainted with the lady's residence, he commenced on the outskirts, and inquired at every house he came to. When he had called at three quarters of all the dwellings, asking, at each, " Does Misser Arden live here ? " (for he was informed that she resided with her father, and that her mother was dead) at length he knocked at the door of a large, elegant house, the finest establishment in the village. His summons was answered by one of the domes- tics. For the first time Hector varied his question a little, and said, " Is this Misser Arden's house ? " "It is," replied the domestic. " Would you like to see him?" " Yeth, mum, I would." " Well, sir, walk in. He is in his study, and I will show you up." 250 GLENWOOD. Hector followed his conductor up a flight of stairs covered with splendid tapestry, and was ushered into an elegant study, where sat a fine-looking, middle-aged gentleman, writing. "Be seated, if you please," said Mr. Arden. "Yeth, sir, I will;" and he awkwardly dropped into an elegant damask-bottomed chair, which was so elastic that he imagined he was going to the floor, and he sprang up about two feet, looking very much frightened, rolling his eyes in the most strange and comical manner. Having examineM the chair with his hands, until he was satisfied that it was sufficient to hold him, he sat down. Mr. Arden was greatly amused ; and. as Hector did nothing but stare at him, he asked him the nature of his business. " Is your name Misser Arden?" inquired Hector. "My name is Arden," he replied. " Is you got a darter ? " -"I have ; and what of her?" " They telled me ye had ; are she married ? " " She is not married ; anything more ? " " Wai, the fellers over in Glen wood said I could come in here, that she was e'enamost dyin' for me,- -an' so I come over to marry her." Mr. Arden arose from his seat, very much excited, for he was naturally passionate. " Do you see the door, sir ? " he said. " Leave this house quickly, too and don't you ever come within gun-shot of it again. If you do, I will give you a flogging you will never forget! " Hector fled as though frightened out of what sense he had, and he ran more than half of the way home. You GLENWOOD. 251 should have seen Mr. Bugbee smile when told of the result of Hector's visit ! "And so the old fellow was mad, was he?" said Mr. Bugbee. " Too bad decidedly too bad ! " and he chuckled and shook himself, as was his usual custom. Those who sent Hector in search of his lady-love consoled him for his disappointment by assuring him that it was all the fault of her father ; that such things were not uncom- mon; that cruel parents were continually breaking their daughters' hearts, and they doubted not Miss Arden would die for him. In a few days after, they pretended to have heard from her, and she was sinking fast ; by and by they informed him that she was dead, and they put a weed upon his hat, which he wore for a number of weeks. When his mourning days were ended, and they did not last as long as he wore the weed, which is not unfrequently the case with wiser persons than Hector, there was another selected, and for whom, he said, his love was stronger than it had ever been before ; but his experiments in the matrimonial line were as fruitless as those of very many other people, who seem to be seeking a helpmate all their days ; but, alas! they never find. CHAPTER XXI. ILL-FORTUNE OF THE PEJfDWICKS AND BUMFORDS. A FARCE, IN WHICH A DEACON PLAYS THE PRINCIPAL CHARACTER. SOON after the death of Johnny Pendwick, his brother began to be very unfortunate. His cattle died, and his children, one after another, were laid in the grave. The love of money influenced him more than anything else to take such a heartless course in relation to Johnny; yet he lived to see his wife and all his children dead ; and then, old and hopeless, he felt that he had nothing to live for. But he lingered on for many years ; and when he died his property was inherited by his grandchildren. The fate of the Bumford family was equally calamitous. The parents died in the prime of life, and the children spent the property. I am not so superstitious as to believe that these misfor- tunes were judgments sent upon the Pendwicks and Bum- fords because of their sins and selfishness, because they refused to support their poor relatives ; but I have mentioned them for the purpose of showing how culpable and foolish they were, when they had an abundance of worldly goods, and could have saved them the mortification of being main- tained by the town. And, as is always the case, the Con- sciousness of having performed their duty would have GLENWOOD. 253 brought them peace, while the terrible neglect of it caused them, and justly too, much unhappiness. Mr. Bumford in his last moments felt the pangs of remorse, but too late to accomplish any good ; and Margaret remained a pauper, and will to her dying day. There was an understanding between Mr. Pendwick and his parents, when the homestead was made over to him, that Johnny was to be respectably maintained as long as he lived, unless he chose to seek a home elsewhere. Mr. Pend- wick could not keep this out of his mind in his last sorrow- ful, lonely years ; and, unbeliever as he was, he sometimes fancied that his great misfortunes had been sent upon him for the fearful wrong he committed when he forced his brother from his rightful home. There were not many happier families than those of Dea- con Glubbings and Mr. Goose. They were farmers, and lived a mile from the village, their houses but a few rods apart. Deacon Glubbings and wife were now some more than fifty years old ; and Mr. Goose a few years younger, while his good-hearted, fun-loving helpmeet was five years younger than he. Deacon Glubbings' hair had been white ever since he was a young man of twenty ; and, as his wife was a little vain, to please her he wore a wig, which fact Mr. Goose and wife were unaware of, as they had formerly lived. in a different neighborhood. One very warm evening in June, just as the sun was setting, the deacon was reclining in his large arm-chair, holding his wig in his hand, when Mrs. Goose came in un- expectedly, for it was so warm the doors were open. Sarah Glubbings. the deacon's eldest daughter, immediately intro- duced her father by the name of Thompson. He arose, and. 22 254 GLENWOOD. dropping his wig behind his chair, inquired for her health, shook her by the hand, and then resumed his former position, querying in his mind whether Mrs. Goose knew him. She appeared as though in the presence of a stranger. For the purpose of bringing her to a test, after they had conversed a while, he took a seat by her side, remarking that he be- lieved they were formerly acquainted. She answered that it must have been a long time ago. " Not very long," said he. " Well, I declare ! " she returned; "I can't recall your looks nor your name. I think you must be mistaken." " No, I am not mistaken ; I am very sure of that." " Then you must have changed very much ! " " I doubt not that I have changed some, but not much; and you have changed very little." " It is strange, very strange ! " "Mrs. Goose, don't you know Brother Glubbings?" " I declare ! if it isn't you, deacon ! What in the world makes you look so different ? ! I know now ; you have n't got your spectacles on." " Was you not aware that I wore a wig ? " "Why, no, deacon ! What a white head! How queer you do look ! Who would have thought it ? You bear but little resemblance to Deacon Glubbings, but you look just like Doctor Frances, who went to Illinois about ten years since ; and he said he should return in ten or twelve years, and he would be sure to come and make us a visit. Now, you shall go over and be introduced to Mr. Goose as the doctor ; for he won't know the counterfeit from the genu- ine, and we'll have some fun at husband's expense." They sat and chatted until it was quite dark, when the GLENWOOD. 255 deacon walked home with Mrs. Goose, and she informed him how the doctor usually appeared, and imitated, as nearly as she could, the sound of his voice. "We hadn't any children, then," she said; "and the doctor remarked that he had no doubt he should find some little goslings running about by the time he should return ; and now, you know, we have four." "I don't think it best to go in to-night," said the dea- con; "but I will come over to-morrow night." "Very well," said Mrs. Goose; "I will be ready for you." The deacon had worn for his Sunday castor one of the old-fashioned bell- tops ; but he had just purchased a hat of the more modern style. And he had also replenished his wardrobe by a new suit, which Mr. Goose was not aware of. The next evening, having donned his new garments, that he might look as well as a doctor need to, he proceeded to make the promised call. Crossing the fields, he continued on some distance beyond the house, and then took the road and came back, and went into the front yard (which people seldom did, unless they were strangers), and rapped at the door. Mrs. Goose was waiting for him, and answered the sum- mons. " Why, Doctor Frances ! " she exclaimed, " how do you do ? " shaking his hand with great vehemence. As soon as Mr. Goose heard the name Dr. Frances, he came, in great haste, and caught the deacon by the hand, and said : " Doctor Frances ! can it be possible that this is you? Well, what a stranger you are ! and how glad I am to see you ! " GLEN WO OD. " And I am equally happy to see you both, after being absent so long," said the deacon. " Walk in, doctor; walk in," said Mr. Goose. "I will take your hat, if you please. Sit in the rocking-chair, doctor. You are the greatest stranger I have seen this many a day. How is your health, now? " "Very good, I thank you; how is yours?" said the deacon. "Pretty much after the old sort," said Mr. Goose. " There is no business so healthy as farming, I think. I work hard, rather too hard for comfort; but I scarcely know by experience what sickness is." "Farming is healthy work," said the deacon; "and, though a man don't get rich fast, he obtains a good living, and he is as independent as a king. Is your health good, Mrs. Goose?" " Y-e-s," she said, restraining herself from laughing with much difficulty. " When did you leave Illinois ? " inquired Mr. Goose. " Well, really, I cannot tell," said the deacon; "but I have not been there of late." " You have been roaming all over the country, I don't doubt; it is just like you," said Mr. Goose. " I was always fond of travelling, as you are aware," replied the deacon. "Yes, yes !" returned Mr. Goose; "never satisfied to remain in one place long at a time, since I have known you. How was you pleased with Illinois?" With what I saw of it, I was well pleased. It is a very fine country." " I have always thought so ; and I have told Mrs. Goose, QLBNWOOD. 257 time and again, that, if ever we go West, Illinois is the place, right on the prairie, haven't I, Hannah? " " Y-e-s," she replied. "People who settle there from New England," said the deacon, " will have to do without many of the conveniences and luxuries which they have been accustomed to, at least for a time ; but, by prudence and industry, all the obstacles are soon overcome, and wealth flows in as rapidly as one could wish." " What is your opinion of the quality of the soil? Will it produce large crops with little labor?" " The soil is excellent, especially that of the rolling prairie. No dressing is required, and but little labor, com- paratively speaking. The crops that are obtained are actu- ally astonishing." "Is it a healthy country? " " As much so as New England, after they become accli- mated. When people first settle there, they are pretty sure to have the fever and ague, and then they shake a great deal more than they care about; but, by pursuing the right course, they soon get well." "I presume they are tuking up the land quite fast?" " Yes, they are flocking in from all parts of the country ; from the south, New England, and the Middle States." " Grain grows much more rank there, I suppose, than here? " ' ' Bless you, yes. The corn would astonish you. . And such immense fields of it ! Ten or fifteen acres in one lot are not uncommon. When you pass through them, flocks of large birds fly up, darkening the heavens like a cloud." "You surprise me doctor. I wish I could visit Illinois 22* 258 GLENWOOD. such fields of corn must be worth seeing, and such immense flocks of birds. Are those birds good for food ? " '.' Some of them are excellent." "Just the place for rare sport in the way of shooting I should like that. Have any foreigners settled in Illi- nois?" "Yes, quite a number." " Some Irishmen, I presume." " A small proportion of the inhabitants is Irish." "I don't like the Irish at all. I believe the Catholics mean to flock over here, from Ireland and other countries, and destroy our religion, and undermine our liberties." " That may be the intention of some, but not of them all, by any means." " I wish they would stay in their own country." " We must not be too selfish. The Irish are so oppressed, in their own well-loved land, that their only hope is emigra- tion ; and it seems to me inhuman and unchristian, when we have so much land lying waste, that we should be unwilling for them to occupy it." " That 's my opinion, doctor," said Mrs. Goose. "But they are so filthy," said Mr. Goose, "that one cannot bear to have them round." "Their habits are very uncleanly, no doubt," said the deacon; "but they improve them very much after they come to this country. The fact is, Mr. Goose, they are here, and there is no getting rid of them ; and the better we treat them, the better citizens will they become." "I presume you are correct, doctor, for you have seen more of them than I have. How are the morals of the people in Illinois ? " GLENWOOD. 259 " About the same as they are here ; not quite so good, perhaps ; they seldom are in a new country." At this juncture Mrs. Glubbings and Sarah came in, for they wished to see the sport. Mr. Goose arose and said, "Mrs. Glubbings, this is Dr. Frances; Dr. Frances, Mrs. Glubbings, Sarah Glubbings." The deacon, Mrs. Glubbings, and Sarab, shook hands, and inquired for each other's health. When they were seated, Mr. Goose said : ' ' Dr. Frances is an old friend of ours ; and we have not seen him before for some ten years. He has been off to Illi- nois, and all over the country, the Lord knows where. He has a genius for roaming. Where is your husband this evening? Mrs. Glubbings, doctor, is the wife of a near neighbor of ours, Deacon Glubbings ; and Sarah is the eldest daughter. I should like to introduce you to him, for he is, begging your pardon, Mrs. Glubbings, very intel- ligent and interesting, and as good a neighbor as ever a man need have." " I doubt not that I should be pleased with him," said the deacon. "I think you would," said Mrs. Goose, in a half- smothered voice, for she had her handkerchief crammed into her mouth, to keep her from breaking out into a laugh. Mrs. Glubbings and Sarah were as well pleased, but they had a better command over their risible faculties. "He may drop in before nine o'clock, as Mrs. Glubbings and Sarah are here. We are such good friends that we go back and forwards, just as it happens," said Mr. Goose. "That makes it very pleasant," said the deacon. "I like to live in that way very much. But, Mr. Goose," and 260 GLENWOOD. the deacon looked around the room, with a half-comical ex- pression, " where are those little goslings ? " " 0, doctor ! " said- Mr. Goose, slapping him on the knee, and laughing heartily, f: you have n't forgot the gos- lings, have you ? Well, me and my old Goose, there, have got quite a brood ; but you can't see them to-night very well, for they are all in their nest asleep." " How many have you? " inquired the deacon. " Four ; and they are as pretty, little, green fellows as you ever saw, doctor," said Mr. Goose. " I don't doubt it, and I am happy to learn that you are so fortunate," said the deacon. The conversation now took a more general character, which all united in, though it was exceedingly difficult for Mrs. Goose to keep from laughing ; she sat all the time with her handkerchief to her mouth. When the clock struck nine, the deacon arose, and said that he must be going. "Going!" said Mr. Goose; "I guess you will go to- night ! " "It is very essential that I should," said the deacon. "Come, come, now, sit down, and don't say another word about it ! Only think, we have not seen each other for ten years, and now you can't stop over night ! " ' ' I can remain some other time, but I cannot to-night, possibly." "I am very sorry; but, if you must go, why, then, we must submit to it. You will come again to-morrow? " " 0, certainly. I intend to have my visit out, I assure you." GLENWOOD. 261 " That 's right. Well, come to-morrow and take dinner, doctor." " I shall be very happy to. But don't make yourselves any extra trouble on my account." He then bade them all good-evening, an/1 went out the way he came in. As soon as the door was shut, he ran home as fast as he could, and put on his wig, exchanged his 3oat and hat, and in five minutes was back at Mr. Goose's house, rapping at the other door. Mr. Goose opened it, and eaid : " Good-evening, Deacon Glubbings; what did you stop to knock for ? I never do when I come to your house. Walk in, deacon ; your wife and daughter are here, and have been for some -time. I wish you had come before, for Doctor Frances, an old friend of ours, whom we have not seen for ten years, has just left. He is a very interesting man, and you would be delighted with him ; he has been living in Illinois, and told us all about that country and the people. He says the land is excellent ; the people moral ; that it is healthy after you get acclimated ; and a man who is willing to work can become rich in a few years. I have a great mind to sell my farm, and pack up my duds and start." "That would be bad policy," said the deacon. "You have a good farm, and money at interest; and, besides, you are getting along in years. u "I know it, but I have to work too hard. The doctor is coming again to-morrow, and I '11 take him over and introduce him ; I know you will be pleased with him. By the way, you remind me of him, though I never thought of it before. Did it ever strike you, Mrs. Gooae, that the doctor and the deacon were something alike?" 262 GLENWOOD. "Y-e-s," said Mrs. Goose, crowding more of the hand- kerchief into her mouth. ' ' I should say that the resemblance was remarkably strik- ing," observed Sarah Glubbings. " They look enough alike to be twins," said Mrs. Glubbings. " Not so close a resemblance as that," Mr. Goose said. " Well, wife, what made you so much disposed to laugh, this evening." " You know that I was glad to see him." " Yes, but I would n't act like a fool." At this they all laughed heartily, which was a great relief to Mrs. Goose. After a few minutes spent in general con- versation, Deacon Glubbings, wife, and daughter, went home. Early in the forenoon, the deacon was ready to visit Mr. Goose again, in the character of Doctor Frances. He thought he would call before nine o'clock, or Mr. Goose would be off to the village in search of something for dinner. He took a more circuitous route than the night before, and when he reached the road, he walked leisurely back, gazing around upon the fields and woods, as though he was an admirer of the beautiful, or was interested in the nature of the soil and the manner of its cultivation. When he arrived at the house, he rapped again at the front door. Mr. Goose obeyed the summons. " Good-morning, doctor." he said ; " I -am glad you have come. I did not expect you quite so early, however, and I have not taken off my beard or changed my clothes yet ; but no matter for that, so walk in and make yourself com- fortable." ' No necessity for any apologies at all ; old friends must GLENWOOD. * 263 | not be too ceremonious," said the deacon. " The early part of the day is the best time for a ramble, I think. That you did not expect me before nine o'clock, is by no means sur- prising." " There is the last paper, doctor ; I suppose you will ex- cuse me for a few moments? " " 0, certainly. You must by no means neglect your busi- ness on my account." Mr. Goose was absent from the room about twenty minutes, and then he came back with his four children, three girls and a boy, the latter rigged up with his Sunday clothes, and the girls all dressed in white. "Here are the goslings, doctor, and I am not one bit ashamed of them." "There is no reason why you should be;" and the deacon took them up, one after the other, and kissed them ; said they were the whitest, prettiest, sweetest goslings he had ever seen. " Now, doctor," said Mr. Goose. " I want you to entertain yourself until I shave and change my clothes, promising, however, to be very expeditious." "0, certainly," said the deacon, "and don't hurry too much, for there is plenty of time."' After he had left the room, the deacon put on his wig, and carefully opened the front door, went round to the other, and rapped. (It was customary, when either family went or sent to the village, to let the other know, so that errands might be done for both at the same time.) Mr. Goose opened the door, and said, "Good-morning, Deacon Glubbings." " Good-morning, Mr. Goose," said the deacon. "I think 264 GLENWOOD. of going to the village this forenoon, and I thought you might like to send." " Very glad you called, for I should like to have you do an errand for us very much. By the way, Doctor Frances is in the front room ; and, if it is not too much trouble for you, I should like to send and get something for dinner. I was not expecting him quite so early, and so lie found me unshaved and in my every-day clothes. But here I am keeping you at the door ; walk in and take a seat ; as soon as I can shave and fix up a little, I will introduce you to the doctor." When Mr. Goose was ready, he said, " Come, deacon, I will now make you acquainted with my old friend." As he pushed open the door, he remarked, supposing the doctor was sitting just back of it, " Doctor Frances, shall I have the pleasure of " Here he stopped short, for he saw that there was no doc- tor in the room. He seemed a little puzzled, but remarked, " The doctor has stepped out a minute; we will wait until he comes in." Mrs. Goose now joined her husband and the deacon. "Have you seen the doctor anywhere about the prem- ises?" inquired Mr. Goose. " N-o," she replied. " I left him here, a few minutes since ; but I presume he thought that, as I was busy, he would step out and take a glance at the farm. He is one of the queerest geniuses you ever saw ; nothing escapes his notice, and he seems to take great delight in rambling all about the country, examining the different soils, making geological collections, and bring- ing together various important facts. I should n't wonder GLENWOOD. 265 if he was preparing a work for the press, which will be of immense value." " I hope he will publish it, then," said the deacon, " for, if what you say is true, it must be a work of merit ; and the more good books there are the better, for they do good of themselves, and counteract the bad ones." " If the doctor publishes a book, it will be worth having; don't you think so, Hannah ? " " Y-e-s," she replied. "I will go out, deacon, and see if I can find him; for it is not likely that he has gone far." In a few minutes he returned and asked if they had not seen him, and expressed great surprise that he should absent himself so long. At length he began to grow impatient, and went first to one window and then to another, his tongue, all the while, running very fast; for, as the reader has learned, Mr. Goose was a great talker, never at a loss for words ; but, as is the case with all of his class, his sayings branched off in so many directions, that it was necessary to lop off som, or there was danger of your believing more than the truth. " I don't see where the doctor can have gone," he con- tinued. " It is strange ! very strange ! Certainly he will not stay away much longer. I should n't be surprised if he had gone into the woods in search of plants ; he is a botanist, as well as geologist. It would be just like him if he came liack with his hands full of plants." He now went to the front door, and then to the back door, scanning the country in every direction. " Well, this beats me ! " he said. " I should think the doctor was out of his senses, to take himself off in this way. I will walk towards the woods, and see if I can find him." 23 266 GLENWOOD. As soon as he was out of sight, the deacon removed his wig ; and, though taking a circuitous route, he ran so fast that he reached the woods before him. He had barely time to sit down and rest a minute, when he was found by Mi- Goose. "Why, doctor," said the latter, " where in the world have you been ? I am thankful that I have found you, at last. Deacon Glubbings is at the house, and he has been waiting half an hour or more to be introduced to you." " Sorry you detained him on my account. I have been taking a survey of the land. You know I told you not to hurry ; and, not finding anything very interesting in the paper, I thought I would look about the farm a little." " Well, well, no matter ; but let us go back immediately, for I fear the deacon will become impatient, if we keep him waiting much longer." They returned to the house, and entered the front room ; but, finding no one there, Mr. Goose called to his wife to know where the deacon was. . " So I should think," said Mrs. Goose, who now began to fear the consequences if the joke was continued longer. "I don't believe there has been any Doctor Frances here," said the deacon. " Why, Deacon Glubbings ! Do you suppose that I would impose upon you in this way ? Mrs. Glubbings saw him last night, and Hannah has seen him in this room two or three different times to-day," said Mr. Goose. The deacon now arose, and, taking off his wig, said, "Shall I introduce you to Doctor Frances ! " At this, Mr. Goose became very pale, and he asked, " What does this mean ? " "Didn't you know that I wore a wig?" inquired the deacon. " Then Doctor Frances has not been here at all ! I knew nothing about your wig, I am sure ! And you were in the plot, Hannah?" " Yes, Nehemiah ; but we only wanted to have a little fun with you." ' " I am astonished at you both ! A deacon and my own wife playing off such an imposition, and carrying it so far ! " "Now, don't be angry, husband, for we did not mean any harm." "I shall be very sorry," said the deacon, " if I have offended you, very. We designed it merely as an innocent joke, and it may be, as you say, that we have gone too far with it." " I should call it a practical joke in all its phases ; but I shan't be so foolish as to be angry about it. I must say that I was decidedly verdant, or you played your parts admirably. I think you would both do well on the Btage, 23* 270 GLEN WOOD. and you had better apply for an engagement the next theatrical season, and this will do for the opening comedy." "It's your turn now," said the deacon, " and we must submit with a good grace to all you say. I don't blame you for being somewhat vexed ; but, as you are willing to overlook this little piece of fun, which may seem rather un- dignified for a deacon, no harm will come of it." "I think a deacon should have some sport as well as other people ; and so should clergymen. In this affair, I have been the victim ; but the thing was so capitally done, I have not one word to say. And, as to being angry for a joke, it would be most unwise ; for I presume that I should readily have joined in with your wife to play off one upon you. Some people are always willing to give a joke, but never willing to take one. I don't like such folks. You said that you intended to go to the village this forenoon, and, as a deacon Avould not tell a falsehood, of course you will go ; and I want you to get me the best roasting-piece of beef you can find in the market, and you*and Mrs. Glub- bings shall take dinner with us. While you are about it, you may as well get me half a dozen pounds of box-raisins. for wife knows how to make a capital plum-pudding. I ex- pected to have had the real Doctor Frances to dine with me ; but, as I cannot have him, I am determined to have the counterfeit." The deacon procured the beef and raisins, and he and Mrs. Glubbings, with their children, spent the remainder of the day at Mr. Goose's ; and when they separated at night the parties were as good friends as ever. CHAPTEK XXII HAPPIER DAYS FOR WILLIE. A NEW SORROW. RETURN OF MR. YOLENa THE DESIRED INFORMATION OBTAINED. MR. and Mrs. Wyman were anxious to do as well by Willie as by an own child. They realized that he had no father or mother to care for him ; no brother to encourage, or sister's love to cheer and bless. They were aware that his experience at the poor-house was ill calculated to give him confidence in his fellow-beings or in himself; and that the insults and the wrongs which had been heaped upon him by those who ought to have been in better business would have a lasting influence for evil, unless they were counteracted by love and kindness. With an earnest desire to do right, there was no difficulty; and Willie soon learned to confide in these kind friends, and to love them as though they were his own parents. For a time he was very distrustful of himself, but, as he was taught self-respect by precept and example, his distrust soon wore away, and all things began to assume a new aspect. Frank, Jeannie, and Arthur, made him a companion and equal, and others followed their example. He was no longer an object for ridicule, but a being to be loved and respected. The world had seemed dark to him, but now light and beau- tiful ; there was a new glory in the sun, a clearer loveliness 272 GLENWOOD. in the stars, a softer beauty in the bending sky, a more wondrous majesty in the dusky clouds. The earth was clothed in a fresher green ; the flowers were decked in more brilliant hues; while the birds warbled songs of sweeter melody, and all nature seemed to have been brought into more perfect harmony. And so the chains Avhich had bound him so fast, galling his very soul, were broken one by one, until his spirit was free, free as the lark that sings in mid- heaven, free as the wind that bloweth where it listeth, free as the young soul can be when it trusts in God and loves its fellow-souls. Willie was not slow in perceiving that the Wymans were anxious to do all in their power to make him a good and happy boy ; and he was equally anxious to serve them faith- fully, and conduct himself so well as never to cause them one moment's unhappiness. or one regret because they had so kindly interested themselves in his welfare. He labored diligently and cheerfully, and Mr. Wyman was always willing to give him ample time for amusement and re- creation. Willie's happiest moments were spent in the company of Jeannie. In the evening, when other boys chose to assemble for play, he preferred to remain in the house, dividing his time between the study of his book and the bright eyes of his teacher. The former was pleasant enough; but the latter The first of May, Jeannie went to a neighboring town to teach, the term lasting four months ; and now Willie was less studious, for the evenings were short, the weather warm, and the days very long. When night came, he was ao weary that he cared not for books, though I should scarcely dare GLEN WOOD. 273 say that he would not, if his well-loved instructor had been present. Jeannie had partly agreed to teach the school in Glen- wood the coming winter which she had taught the winter previous ; but her mother's health was so delicate that she wrote to Deacon Glubbings that home duties would oblige her to give up the idea of teaching for the present. Mrs. Wynian had seemed much better in the summer, and her family fondly hoped that when autumn came she would be quite well. Her cough, which had troubled her at intervals for two years, seemed to have left her entirely. But, as soon as the cold winds of October began to blow, her cough commenced again, more distressing than ever, so that by the time winter set in all her friends were greatly alarmed ; but her mind was still peaceful and serene. True she was fearful that consumption was eating away her life, but she felt willing to die if her time had come. God was good, he was her Father, and she would put her trust in him. Very dearly she loved all the members of her family, and when she thought of leaving them the pearly tears would trickle down her pale cheeks. To be unreconciled would be wrong, and avail nothing ; therefore she would patiently submit to the will of Heaven. Mrs. Wyman gradually failed during the winter; and there was so much anxiety on her account, that the inmates of the cottage were less joyous than they would otherwise have been. But it was a beautiful home still, and they all flattered themselves that when the cold winter had gone, and the spring should come with its warm south winds, its showers, birds, and blossoms, the distressing cough would leave her, and she would be as well as the summer before. 274 GLEN WOOD. Very faithful were they to the invalid, but none more so than Willie. Mrs. Wyman, he felt, had been to him all that a mother could be, caring for him in health, and watch- ing over him in sickness. He could not have her die, she was too good, too beautiful, and too much needed at her home, and by the world, the suffering world, to be cut down in the prime of life. Many hours did he sit by her side, anticipating her every wish, and with his looks arid words of gratitude seek to make her happy. When she had a very distressing coughing spell, he would go to his room, kneel down by his bed, bury his face in his hands, and weep, and pour out his soul in prayer that she might not die. Jeannie knew well how Willie suffered in anticipation of the dread event; and she tried to comfort him with the hope that her dear mother would yet regain her health. But, while she thus encouraged others, her own heart was nearly hopeless. The words of Jeannie had a more soothing effect upon Willie than those of any one else ; for she had been the first to befriend him. Through her he had gained all. But there was one thing that troubled him now. In the autumn, after Jeannie came home, having finished the term for which she was engaged, the teacher whom she visited at the close of her school in Glenwood came to visit her, in company with an older brother. Emma Lund was a pretty, interesting girl, of Jeannie's age, and her brother, Waldo, was four years her senior. The latter was a tall, handsome young man, well educated, and more than ordinarily intelligent. Jeannie had previously met him at his home, and they were mutually pleased, and there was evidently a growing attachment between them QLENWOOD. 275 During this visit he was very attentive, and, previous to his leaving, a friendly correspondence was agreed upon. Willie was pained to see them so much together to witness the pleasure with which Jeannie received his undisguised prefer- ence and ardent devotion. And then he would think of his poverty, that he had been a poor-house boy, that he was wholly dependent upon Jeannie's father, that she was three yeai*s older than he. that it was preposterous for him to think of gaining her love. The more he thought, the more wretched he became, and the more foolish did it seem that Jeannie Wyman, such a dear, beautiful girl, worthy of the best man in the world, should ever think of him as a husband. He wondered not that she was pleased with Mr. Lund. He was older than she, fine looking, with quite wealthy and honorable friends. He felt sure that he would win her heart, and leave him wretched. The letters that came every few weeks served to keep the wound open, and caused poor Willie foolish Willie, if. you choose many sad hours. Jeannie saw that he was not so happy as he was during the first months of his home with them, and she in- genuously sought to learn the cause ; but Willie kept it close in his heart. It might have been better for him had he told her all; but he could not do that no, he would rather suffer more intensely still than she should know it. One evening, Willie being absent at the time, Mr. Wy- man remarked to his wife that he had heard some news, that day, in which he thought she would be interested. " What is it ? " she inquired. " Mr. Volens is in town." "Mr. Volens? I am very glad to hear it! Have you seen him? " 276 GLENWOOD. "No; but I have seen some one who has." "When did he arrive?" "Last night." " Now we shall learn about Delia's child." "And then," said Mrs. Motley, "I doubt not you will be satisfied that Willie Cunard is not the one." " And I may be satisfied that he is the one," replied Mrs. Wyman. ' ' He reminds me more and more of Delia, every day. His expression is like hers, and he has just such dimples ; and he manifests equal attachment and gratitude. Of late he seems to have his moments of sadness, which remind me of her bitter sorrows." " You feel very certain about it, Carra," said Mr. Wy- man, " and I have a presentiment that you are right." " Do you know how long he remains in town ? " inquired Mrs. Wyman. " No," he replied ; " but probably a number of weeks." ' ' I am very anxious about this matter, John ; and, as Mr. Volens may leave soon, I want you to go and see him early to-morrow." " Yes, dear, I will. I should have gone in search of him to-night; but it was too late when I heard of it." At this juncture, there was a rap at the door ; and when Mr. Wyman opened it, the one who knocked said, "Good-evening, Mr. Wyman." "Why, good-evening, Mr. Volens!" said Mr. Wyman. "I am very glad you have come ! We were just talking about you. Walk in." "Will you have your horse put up? " asked Mr. Wyman, after there had been a shaking of hands all round and the usual inquiries about each other's health. GLENWOOD. 277 "I guess not," he replied. " I had made up my mind to stop at the village to-night." " If you will tarry with us, you shall be very welcome," said Mr. Wyman. "I don't doubt that, at all," said Mr. Volens ; "but it would interfere with arrangements previously made." " Positive arrangements ? " inquired Mrs. Wyman. " Why, no," he replied, " not exactly that ; for I did not promise for a certainty." " Then you shall stop where you are," said Mr. Wyman ; " for it is so late they will not expect you now; and we want to have a long conversation with you. So I will put your horse in the stable, and you just make yourself contented." While Mr. Wyman was taking care of the horse, Mrs. Motley, who was very thoughtful about such things, in- quired of Mr. Volens if he had taken tea. He said that he had not, but he disliked to trouble them. " It will be but very little trouble," said Jeannie ; and by the time her father came in the supper was on the table. When Mr. Volens had done eating, Mr. Wyman said : " I told you that we wanted to have a long conversation with you ; and I presume that you thought we wished to ask about your travels during your absence, and how you have enjoyed yourself, and what success you have met with. Now, all those things would be interesting, unless you have already answered such or similar questions until you are tired of them, for that is usually the way with travellers. There is another subject, which interests us more than those I have enumerated ; and, after we have settled that, we shall be happy to learn of your travels the haps and mishaps, 24 278 GLENWOOD. and everything of interest which you may care to commu- nicate for our especial benefit." " Possibly I may surmise the nature of the subject which interests you so much," said Mr. Volens. " However, I will not anticipate, but allow you to introduce it." They now inquired the name of the people who adopted Delia's child, where they lived, &c. &c. His answers to these questions contained the information which the reader has already received, except that Mr. Volens visited the town in Illinois where Mr.. Cunard had lived, and learned that he had returned to New England. Mr. Wyman now remarked that a boy by the name of Willie Cunard lived with him, and gave Mr. Volens his history so far as he was acquainted with it. The latter thought it very probable that he was Delia Gregg's child, for Mr. Cunard' s name was William, and the name of the little child that died Willie. The next day, Mr. Wyman and Mr. Volens rode to Monson to pursue their inquiries further ; the result was, confirmation of previous impressions, strong as Holy Writ. CHAPTER XXIII WILLIE IS TOLD WHO WERE HIS PARENTS. VISITS HIS MOTHER'S ORATE. BEAUTY OF TRUE PIETY. DEATH OP THE GOOD. IT was a subject of doubt in the Wyman family whether it was their duty to inform Willie of his true parentage. Mr. Wyman said that, if it was his case, he should want to know the truth ; and therefore he should do as he would be done by. Willie was a sensible boy, and, though it might cause him pain, yet he would be thankful for the informa- tion. In due time he was made acquainted with his real history. He was astounded, and could scarcely believe it, and, at first, was greatly mortified; but, as the Wymans showed him as much respect as they ever had done, he came to re- gard the subject in a different light. So beautifully did Mrs. Wyman speak of his mother, that he was not sorry he was her child, and there was a deeper gratitude in h:s heart towards those who had been such faithful friends to her, and equally faithful to him. It was his delight to sit near Mrs. Wyman, and drink in with the greatest inter- est the many things she had to tell him of his mother. He was glad to learn that she was young and fair, that she had dark hair and eyes, that her dimples were like his own, ihat her form was handsome, her face beautiful, her expres- 280 GLBNWOOD. sion all soul, and her manners winning. It made him happy to know that her heart was so good, that she cherished the deepest gratitude and love for her benefactors, that her soul was full of poetry, that she was a worshipper at the shrine of the beautiful. He wept when told how terribly she suffered, how sensitive she was, and how anxious to die and go to the dear one who had gone before her. He wanted to return to Glenwood, and look at the lake and the white lilies he had so often admired ; to have the spot pointed out where his father lost his priceless life his grave, where there was silence and dust. The cottage where he and his mother resided had been torn down and removed ; but he would go and gaze upon the dear spot where it stood. And his mother's home he would visit that the garden she loved so well ; and her old friends should tell him of her younger days, when she was a beautiful little child. In company with Frank and Jeannie, the two surviving ones who first fed the famished stranger, and who invited her to their home, he went to his mother's grave ; and he bowed himself upon it, with his face in his hands, and wept. They spoke to him words of comfort, and directed his atten- tion to their sister's and brother's graves, who were sleeping by her side ; and then they told him how dearly Flora loved her, and how much his mother loved her in return; how Flora wept when Delia died, so it was meet that their bodies should lie there quietly in company, for, no doubt, their spirits roamed the fields of heaven hand-in-hand, as beautiful as the pure and lovely can be, in the presence of the living God. And now Willie planted more flowers on the grave of his mother, and came often and sat down by it, and thought of her, with the deepest love in his heart, GLENWOOD. 281 There was no mortification and regret now, as when first told of his parents. It opened to him a new world for thought, and suggested new incentives to ambition. He wished that they might have been spared that he might have looked in love upon his handsome mother ; but such wishes he knew were vain. He was sorry that Mr. Gregg was his grandfather.; and when Mrs. Wyman informed him that he compelled his daughter, his dearest child, to leave his house forever, those dark-blue eyes flashed like fire, and his face became deathly pale. He thought of terrible revenge, not only for his mother's injuries, but also for his own. Mrs. Wyman read his thoughts at a glance, and she told him that he must try to forgive the wrongs ; that the noblest men and women do not wish to be revenged upon those who injure them, but are content to leave them in the hands of the great God. In her own beautiful way she calmed his troubled spirit, and bade him seek for higher, more ennobling things, which should bring peace to his soul, and communicate joy to others. She asked him to study the character of the man of Nazareth, and try to follow the holy principles which he inculcated with heavenly eloquence and God-given power. Quickly did her words reach his heart, and he knelt at her feet, kissed her hands, and said that he would be guided by her, for she had the power to charm away the fell spirit of evil. He would learn to forgive his bitterest enemy, repent of his unholy thoughts, and strive earnestly to become a good and noble man. In these resolutions Jeannie encouraged him ; so did they all ; and the germ which was planted in love and faith sprang up and grew rapidly in the sunshine of human 24* 282 QLENWOOD. kindness, bringing forth much fruit, while the angels of heaven looked on and rejoiced. When the warm spring days came, Mr. Wyman was accus- tomed to take his wife out on short rides, hoping that the exercise, combined with the bland, fresh air, and the sweet beauty of the season, might restore her failing health. She was now very pale and thin, and those beautiful hands of hers, so soothing to the weary and sick, were as white as the driven snow. But the clear gray eyes never looked so beau- tiful. Their expression had changed, it was true, but only to make them the more lovely, the more like heaven. On one of these excursions the following conversation passed between them : " 0, what a beautiful spring day ! " she exclaimed ; " and, dearest, how much I enjoy these rides ! " "I hope they will make you better," he said, anxiously, "for sometimes I feel almost discouraged." "You must not allow such feelings, whether I live or die. Let us both believe" my dear one, that it is all for the best." "But, Carra, love, how can I give you up? Think how long we have been all in all to each other how happy we have been how light and beautiful you have made our home. 0, it seems not right that you should die and leave me and the children ! " " Don't be so sad, dearest, for we know that earth's joys are transitory. Great has been my happiness with you, and it seems to me that I shall be happier in heaven because of the blessed days I have passed in your society on earth. I would gladly continue with you, my faithful hilsband, until old age should teach us that it was time our earthly bless- ings should end, while we looked with strong faith for the ' ULENWOOD. 288 golden hills of eternity. But I bow to the will of Heaven. If we must part now, in the glorious summer of our joys, I am reconciled." " And I will try to be, Carra, though it is hard, very hard. You will be well again, I am sure you will. I fear you think that your time has come. But don't cherish such thoughts, my dear one. I know that you would be happy in heaven ; but you are happy here. It would give you much joy to clasp to your heart our lost ones, who will be glad to see their dear mother again. But they need you not, as your earthly children do. You must not give up all hope of regaining your health. I shall be so lonely when you are gone ! " ' ' Your words, my dear, make me happy, and they make me sad. I have earnestly prayed that health might be restored to me, for your sake, and for the sake of my chil- dren ; but I have tried to feel that, if the cup may not pass from me, I would drink it without a murmur ; and you must feel the same. If I may not remain with you, it will not be long before you will come to me. Then be reconciled, my own, and we will both pray that I may live for many years." " And may our prayers be answered ! But do not give yourself pain in relation to me, dearest ; for I will bear up bravely, however great my trials." " I am thankful to hear you say so ; for God is ever good, and we should not murmur, though his providence may seem strange and mysterious to us. 0, this is a beautiful day ! When in the best of health, I never tasted of purer joy. Look at yonder waves of hills how green they are, how clear and bright ! How gracefully those tall trees bend their stately heads, moved by the light fingers of the breeze ! I 284 GLENWOOD. do love such a season as this ; I love those pretty flowers, the blue-eyed violets, the lovely anemone, and all the beau- tiful in nature." " You are quite cheerful to-day, my love, and I am glad that you are. You seem as you did when in health, and you still retain your enthusiastic admiration of the beautiful." " And that admiration will continue unto the end. I loved the flowers when a little child, and I have not let the weeds of care and trouble spring up to choke that love until it died. And how much we gain in this ! At night the heavens are glorious with celestial light, crowded are the angelic arches with stars ; and, all day long, the floors of earth are brilliant with the bright mosaics, the lovely, heaven- gazing flowers. 0, we will never doubt but that God is good ; and in life or in death we will trust in him." They continued their ride, thus happily conversing, until Mrs. Wyman was weary, when they returned home. Although everything was done for the invalid that kind- ness and true-hearted devotion could devise, she continually grew weaker, and her cough more distressing. And now they knew that she must die that they might not longer hope. But among all those afflicted ones Willie was the saddest. To be deprived so soon of this new-found mother, how could he be reconciled ? Mrs. Motley, who was now quite aged, was very sorrowful at the thought of losing this dear child; she had fondly hoped that she would live to close her own eyes, and follow her to her last resting-place on earth. But Mrs. Motley was a Christian, and a long experience had taught her that all our hope should not be placed here, for our friends remain GLENWOOD. 286 with us only a brief season, and we should he ready at all times to resign them to heaven. The faithful Jeannie now scarcely left her mother's side ; and Mrs. Wyman said that as she had done to others was now done to her. All her family were alike devoted. She almost thought it a luxury to be sick, to have so many lov- ing ones hovering around her. It was the last morning of spring. The sun rose clear, and flooded the world with light. The lark welcomed his rising with a song, and all the feathered choir broke forth in sweet gushes of melody. Gentle was the breeze, balmy and warm, for it came from the south, kissing on its way a thousand beds of flowers. It was on this delightful morning that the family at the cottage were summoned to the bed of the dying one. Briefly, but lovingly, she bade them all farewell, and then she said : " Lift me up, dears, that I may see the sun once more. It is so glorious, so beautiful, in its divine effulgence. Do not weep, my own dear ones ; for I will not forget you, and I will be with you in the hour of danger and sorrow. I am faint now ; lay me gently down, for I would rest." They laid the loved one down, and smoothed the pillow where reposed that pale, angelic face ; and when they thought that darkness had gathered around her, even then her star was rising rising above the clouds, higher and more glo- rious than the sun, until it rested in heaven, crowned with a newer and more celestial beauty, which shall brighten for ever and ever. CHAPTER XXIV. TISIT OF THE LUNDS. WILLIE'S THOUGHTS IN RELATION TO JBANNIE. - BETROTHAL. MARRIAGE. THE GRIEF OF WILLIE. MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE. JEANNIE's WEDDING. NEW SOURCES OF HAP- PINESS. IT was a sad household now, that at the cottage ; for the loving wife, the devoted mother, was dead. Her presence had made that home beautiful, and her absence caused those who remained the deepest sorrow. They all mourned their great loss ; but they did not despair, for they believed that she was with the angels. She was not dead 0, no ! but, having cast off the incumbrance of the flesh, her immortal spirit, free from all sorrow, now trod the green valleys of heaven. The duties of life were not neglected because of their severe affliction ; but each one sought to do his or her part cheerfully, seeking for the comfort and blessedness of all. And so the sunlight of love continued to cheer their home. In two months after the death of Mrs. Wyman, Waldo Lund and sister came again to visit Jeannie. They were welcomed by her, but Willie was very unhappy. He had come to regard the letters which were received from Mr. Lund, as often as once a month, as friendly epistles merely, being aware that Jeannie corresponded with a number of frienda GLENWOOD. 287 of both sexes. But, seeing them together every day, the pleasure they took in each other's society served to dispel the illusion. That they were mutually in love, and would socn be engaged, he did not doubt. He felt that it was the height of absurdity to expect her to wait for him till he was old enough to marry wait for a poor, dependent boy until he should obtain the requisite means to furnish her a good home. She regarded him in the light of a brother alone ; and she would never dream that he would for a moment cherish the wish that she should hold any other relation to him than that of a sister. It might be very presumptive, very foolish, he thought ; but, for all that, he loved her, and he wanted her to be his wife ; he had loved her since his eyes first fell upon her loved her when his garments were rags, and he was the slighted, unhappy, poor-house boy. Since then his love had continually increased in strength and intensity. But he s could not tell her of it, and she must never know it. If he were of her age, or a few years her senior, then he might tell her all. But she was a beautiful young lady, attracting all eyes and hearts, while he was but a mere boy. How very presumptive in him ! Such were the thoughts that were continually passing through his mind ; and, though he sought to expel them, they lingered still. He might not win her love then, he well knew ; but to see her the wife of another was what he could not patiently submit to. If she would only remain unmar- ried for a few years, why, he would be a man,, no longer dependent on others, but bravely hewing out for himself a fortune and a name ; and then he should have the courage to offer her a heart which had long cherished the most devoted love. Why should she not remain unmarried ? Her mother ,88 GLENWOOD. flras in the grave, her grandmother was old, and her services were required bj her father. Certainly it was her duty to relinquish the idea of marriage for the present. After the visitors returned home, letters came more fre- quently than before ; not only from Waldo, but from Emma, too. The latter, however, were not all directed to Jeannie, but the most of them to Frank. In the autumn Waldo came again, and this time alone. Willie no longer doubted that Mr. Lund and Jeannie were affianced. He had won her love, and all his own hopes were forever blasted. Though very sad at heart, yet he continued to labor on as diligently as ever, resolving to be always faithful to those who had been so faithful to him. Employed every day, engaged in the healthy and varied labor of cul- tivating the land, with a strong desire to perform every duty that was required of him, he kept his mind more cheerful than it would otherwise have been. He tried to drive away the thought that Jeannie belonged to him alone that it was not right she should marry. He would re- gard her as a sister, and pray for her happiness, even though forever lost to him. The reader will ask if Mr. Lund and Jeannie were really affianced. They were, but the latter had given her lover to understand that he must not expect her to marry then, for she could not think of leaving her father in his loneli- ness and sorrow. He had been to her a faithful parent, and she Would not be so ungrateful as to forsake him when she was so requisite to his comfort. Waldo was not pleased with the idea of postponing their marriage to an indefinite period ; he wanted her to be his now ; but he loved the brave girl none the less because of her noble devotion to her father. GLENWOOD. 289 The spring that Willie's engagement expired, Frank Wy- man was married to Emma Lund ; and, as he did not like to till the soil, he engaged in the mercantile business in the town of Moulton, about forty miles from Yamford. Willie made another engagement with Mr. Wyman, agreeing to remain with him until he was eighteen, for one hundred dol- lars, and three months schooling every year. The next winter Mr. Wyman was married to a woman fifteen years younger than himself; and Mrs. Motley went to reside with her only daughter, where she remained until she closed her earthly pilgrimage. Mr. Wyman was well pleased with his new wife, but, as is not unfrequently the case, the children could not feel as much affection for her as they wished ; and, as Jeannie was not truly happy at home, she was willing to name the day when she would crown the wishes of her lover. Early in the coming September she would be his wife, and in that most beautiful month they would make their bridal tour. It was some time after this arrangement had been made before it was communicated to Willie ; and then, although he had long expected such a result, he was overwhelmed with grief. He tried to labor as he had done before ; but he could not, for there was no courage nor ambition in his heart. Mr. Wyman thought that his health was failing, and he favored him all that he desired. Frequently, while his companions . were making hay. he would lie upon the ground under a shady tree, his face in his hands, thinking alone of Jeannie : of what she had been to him how she had been instrumental in rescuing him from a bondage of cruelty and suffering inviting him to her home, teaching 25 290 GLENWOOD. him self-respect and how to command esteem from others how she had taught him to love books, kindly imparting instruction, until he had become a good English scholar. And he felt that, if it had not been for her, he should still be ignorant and despised, and perhaps a thief, a vile cast- away. He remembered the burning touch of her hand how it thrilled to his soul when he stood a poor culprit before her, waiting for the punishment which he felt was justly his due. All these things, and many more, passed through his mind over and over again ; and the tears would gush from his eyes, burning like his heart. The nearer the dreaded day approached, the more intense were his sufferings ; and Mr. and Mrs. Wyman were alarmed for his health, for he became so poor and pale, rejecting his food, and always so melancholy. Jeannie sometimes wondered what could ail him ; but preparing for her bridal BO much occupied her mind, she had few thoughts for any- thing else. The day chosen for Jeannie's wedding was one of the most beautiful of tli.-.t month of clear skies and warm sun- shine. Willie was an early riser, but on that morning breakfast was waiting, and he had not made his appearance. Arthur was requested to call him, but when he went to his room he was not there ; and, as the things in the chamber wore an unusual aspect, he opened the closet door, and found that nearly all his clothes were gone. When it was announced to the family that Willie had so mysteriously left his home, they were much surprised, and they feared that his continued illness had rendered him partially insane, and so they hoped that he would soon re- turn. They sought for him with care, but in vain. GLENWOOD. 291 Jeannie had always felt the greatest interest in Willie since she first saw him, and she loved him dearly. She regretted that he should leave his friends so strangely that this should happen upon her wedding-day. The thought of him caused her to be very sad, and she wept. She queried what it was that had made him so unhappy, and as she thought of all the past, she was fearful that it might be love for herself. But the hour was rapidly approaching when she would promise to love and be faithful to her chosen husband until death should part them, and so she dismissed the thought. In the afternoon a large company assembled to witness the marriage, and congratulate the happy pair. It was an occasion of joy and pleasure. A splendid entertainment had been prepared ; and after the guests had partaken of the feast they rambled through the gardens and fields, or sat in the grape-vine arbor, making the place merry with laughter, and musical with song. It was an occasion that one never for- gets ; and all the guests enjoyed it richly. Jeannie looked very beautiful in her bridal attire, but her face wore a half- sad expression. Perhaps of all that brilliant company she was the most unhappy ; she felt condemned that it was so, but she could not help it. Her thoughts were with Willie, they followed him in his wanderings and griefs, and she felt that she would give half the world, if she had it, if he were only there as joyous as the rest. She had been told how great was the love between his mother and herself, and she fancied that she could remember the time when she clung to her neck, and laid her head upon her bosom, and looked so confidingly into her beautiful face. And had she caused the child of that sorrowing mother to leave his only home, and go 292 GLENWOOD. wandering as friendless and unhappy as the one who bore him ? She wished that he was there to give her the assur- ance that it was not on her account that he was so wretched. If she could have that assurance a burthen would be lifted from her heart. Does the reader query if this could be upon her wedding- day ? He need not, for it is often so. Frequently are the guests joyous, while the bride or bridegroom is wretched indeed. Jeannie vainly sought to dispel these thoughts. And might there not have been a spiritual affinity between these two souls, and thus suffering was necessarily the result of their separation ? But, alas ! the blow was given, sever- ing the nerves of affection, which recoiled all bleeding, causing pain at the heart. The next day Mr. Lund and his bride started on their wedding tour, journeying for many weeks. When they returned they settled down in Stetson, living with his aged parents. Mr. Lund was educated a farmer, and, as he liked the business of agriculture, he resolved to follow it through life. His parents lived but a few years longer ; but, before they died, they gave the homestead to him, dividing the other property, which was considerable, equally between him and Emma. Mrs. Lund was unhappy upon her bridal-day. Was she happy now ? Her journey with her husband was a most delightful one, and she richly enjoyed it. He had proved to be as worthy as she had believed him ; always gentle and kind. Yet there was something lacking, and it grieved her that there was. She felt that she alone was at fault. In many things their tastes were the opposites, and her feelings GLENWOOD. 293 were more ardent, her affections more intense, her nature required more love, than his ; she did not know it before marriage, and she was sorry to know it now. It was true that she was not quite happy, but she concealed the truth in her own heart. When a little daughter was laid upon her bosom, the shadows which had marred her joys all fled. She named the little one Carra, after her sainted mother ; and thankful were they for the child, for it brought only happiness. Before Carra had seen her second birth-day a son was born, and to him was given his father's name, Waldo. 25* CHAPTER XXV. WHY WILLIE LEFT SO MYSTERIOUSLY. HIS JOURNEY. FINDS A HOMB WITH THE PENLY8. THE night before Jeannie's wedding, "Willie felt so weary and oppressed that he retired early, and tried to solace his aching heart with sleep ; but no sleep came. He sought to fix his mind upon subjects which should bring oblivion to his senses, and draw his thoughts away from her who was so dear, but forever lost to him. His efforts were all in vain, for he could think of nothing but Jeannie. It did not seem right that she should marry ; and he would give the world, were it all his own, if she might be his. If she would only have waited until he was a man, she would then have known that he alone had a right to her heart and hand. He believed this ; he had thought of it for hours together, and he could not banish the thought from his mind. He queried whether she would be quite happy ; he hoped she would, for he loved her too dearly to wish, for a moment, to see her wretched. And her husband he desired nothing but blessings for him, but he should have sought elsewhere for a bride. No, sleep would not come while such harrowing thoughts were passing through the mind, and Willie tossed and tumbled through the dreary hours. There was one thing GLENWOOD. 295 which he dreaded to think of, and yet he must look it steadily in the face. To see her married ! How could he witness a consummation which should forever blight all his dearest hopes ? He would feign sickness, and so have an excuse for absence. But that seemed not right ; and then he must lie there, not only through this endless night of unrest, but through all the dreary hours of the coming day, and realize that the moment was approaching when she would be a wedded wife. And it would mar the pleasures of the com- pany if there was a sick one in the house; they would have to be careful lest in their mirth and rejoicing they should disturb him. He could suffer, but he must not do anything which would interfere with the happiness of others. He now thought of the future, how desolate would that once delightful home be to him when she was gone ! Could he be happy then ? Would he feel contented when the one that made that home so beautiful was away ? He could not live there, he was sure that he could not. He had agreed to stay until he was eighteen ; but it would be useless to remain, for he would be only a burthen. He would go away that night, forsake this home so dear, and among strangers bury his sorrows in his own heart. But to take his de- parture and not let them know of it ! Would it be using such kind friends aright? He was fearful that it was all wrong, but go he must. At twelve o'clock he arose, and, taking such articles of clothing as he could conveniently carry, he stole noiselessly down stairs, opened the front door, and went out. When he had gone a few rods from the house, he turned, retraced hia steps, and leaned his head against the door and wept. And now the floods of memory came rushing through his mind. 296 GLENWOOD. x How dear had been the home he was forsaking, and all its in- mates ! and yet he must give it up. How much had Jeannie done for him ! but so he breathed a hasty prayer for those he was leaving so strangely, and went on his way. It was a pleasant time to walk ; for the heavens were clear, the stars bright, and the air was neither too cold nor too warm. But Willie was not strong, and so he made only slow progress. His thoughts were still busy with the past ; the story of his mother's wanderings, how vividly it came back to his mind ! How much mo re. deplorable had been her condition at that dark period than was his own ! And then the thought came, and he shuddered for harboring it, that he should be more reconciled if Jeannie were in heaven. If she were dead he could bear to think of her ; but now he wished that oblivion might shut her out of his soul forever. By the time the sun rose he was twelve miles from Yamford, and within eight miles of Mr. Penly's, where he resolved to seek a home for the present Mr. Penly was his relative ; and, if he were not, he knew that he would re- ceive him kindly. The motherly Mrs. Penly, and the girls, they would be glad to see him ; and very happj should he be to see them, and especially the roguish, bright-eyed Hattie. He was now so weary that he was obliged to stop fre- quently to rest. He had hoped that some one would over- take him with a carriage, and help him on a few miles ; but, as August had been very rainy, the farmers were busy finishing haying, and no carriage passed him on the way. In hi anxiety and wretchedness, he had not thought of food before starting on his journey. This neglect he now sorely regretted. When within two miles of Mi PepJy's. GLEN WOOD 297 he was so faint and weary that he could proceed no further without a longer rest than he had before allowed himself to take. He sought for a pleasant shade, where he could be concealed if people passed along the highway, and lay down upon the soft grass, and soon fell asleep. On awaking, he was surprised to see how low the sun was. As he was thinking about continuing his journey, the town-clock of Felt-on, where lived Mr. Penly, struck the hour of five ; and then a pang shot through his heart as bitter as death, for he knew that that was the appointed time for Jeannie's wedding. Burying his face in his hands, he gave way for a few min- utes to the agony that wrung his soul, but, realizing that it was all in vain, he arose and went on. When he arrived at Mr. Penly's, it was six o'clock, and the family were at tea. Hattie answered his summons to the door, but did not recognize him. " How do you do? " said Willie, offering his hand, which she took somewhat reluctantly. " Do you not know me, Hattie?" " No, sir ; will you walk in? " she said. Mr. Penly immediately arose from the table. " How do you do, Mr. Penly? " he said, shaking hands with him. " How d' do; but, sakes alive ! I don't know you ! Why, who can you be? " said Mr. Penly. "You recognize me, do you not, Mrs. Penly? "said Willie. " Well, really, now, I don't ! Can't you think who 'tis, daddy?" " I can't make him out; though, somehow, he seems sort of nat'ral," said Mr. Penly. 298 'GLEN WOOD. " I know," said Sarah ; " it is Willie Cunard ! " " Sakes alive ! " said Mr. Penly, " so 'tis. Well, now who 'd a thought it ? I shouldn't, should you, old woman ? " " Why, no ; he'd passed clean out of my mind," she re- plied. And now there was a renewal of shaking hands, and the grasp and shake were as hearty as Willie could de- sire, if not, indeed, a little too much so, as weak and weary as he then was. " Set right down to the table with us," said Mr. Penly, "for we'd jest begun to wait for you as fast as we could. How kind of pindlin' you look ! You have grown tall enormously, but you an't fat a bit ; an' you are too pale by half; I 'spect you must be one of Phar'o's lean kind. You jest stay with me a few months, an' I'd put the flesh on to your bones for ye ! " " Don't you mind what daddy says, for he 's always run- ning on in just that are way," said Mrs. Penly. " Now, Nancy," said Mr. Penly, " that an't fair, for you to put in your say-so, to spile my say-so ; but no matter. Where on arth have you been all this time, Willie ? I 'd 'bout made up my mind that you never was comin' to see us agin." "I have been living with Mr. Wyman," said Willie. " Been there all the while? " said Mr. Penly. " Yes, sir," he replied. "Staid a long time, anyway; 'spect you liked pooty well. How much did he give you a month? " inquired Mr. Penly. " I did not work by the month," said Willie ; " but staid until I was fifteen, for board and clothes and schooling." "How much schooling? " said Mrs. Penly. GLENWOOD. 299 " Four months in a year," Willie replied. " That 's doin' pooty well," said Mr. Penly, " if you take to books an' larnin' ; and them are things I never cared much about. But wages are monstrous high now. I gin a feller of your age nine dollars a month, an' he wilted clean down in hayin'-time ; gin up, an' went home. But where have you been all the rest of the time ? ' ' " When I was fifteen, I made another arrangement with Mr. Wyman," said Willie. " Have you done there ? " inquired Hattie. "I have," said Willie. " It strikes me," said Mr. Penly, " that you are con- siderable out of health, an' so I s'pose you can't arnmuch; but like as not you an' I can make a bargain." After Willie had retired that night, he thought again of the clandestine manner in which he left Mr. Wyman's, and he doubted if hiA course could be justified. But he felt sure that he could not have remained there and live. It was two o'clock before he fell asleep, and when he awoke the gplden sunlight was streaming into his window. On going below, he found the breakfast waiting for him. Mrs. Penly said she should have called him, but she thought she 'd let him sleep as long as he would, as he required rest more than anything else. After breakfast, Mr. and Mrs. Penly told ^Villie that he was welcome to remain with them as long as he was con- tented. Their kind hospitality was gratefully accepted, and each member of the family showed him so much considera- tion, so earnestly striving to make him comfortable and to feel at home, that he was more happy than a few days be- fore he had ever hoped to be again. The company of the 300 GLEN WOOD. bright-eyed Hattie was particularly pleasing to him. She was so much more refined than her parents, so witty and intelligent, that her presence and lively sallies charmed away his sorrows, and lifted the heavy burthen from his heart. He was some time in doubt whether it was best to inform the Penlys of the relationship existing between them. At length he determined to do so. One evening, after Mrs. Penly had remarked to Willie that he did not seem like a stranger, but like one of her own family, he said : " I am very glad that I seem so, for I claim some relation- ship." " You do ! " said Mr. Penly ; "I thought we should have to own ye, yet." 9 11 We might do worse than that, I am sure," said Hattie. " No doubt you think so," returned Mr. Penly. " Wai, Willie, on what score do you set up your claim to 'lation- ship?" " On the old score," he replied, " of course." " An' that old score," said Mr. Penly, " begins 'bout the time I overtook a ragged boy, one day, an' jest gin him a small lift." "Before that," said Willie. "You don't say so ! " said Mr. Penly. "How do you go for to make it out? " " I can make it out without the least difficulty ; but, if you should refuse to acknowledge me, after all, it would not be so pleasant." " So 'twould n't," said Mrs. Penly. "Lor, if I don't begin to think the boy is half in arnest." " He does squint a leetle that are way," said Mr. Penly. " Wai, wal, boy, le's have it, whether in joke or arnest." GLENWOOD. 301 Willie now gave them the desired information. - The story caused Mr. and Mrs. Penly to say " sakes alive ! " a num- ber of times. When he had finished, Mr. Penly said : "Wai, that beats all! An' so you are a 'lation, sure 'nough ! " " 0, I am so glad ! " said Hattie. (< So am I ! " returned Willie. "It is queer," said Mr. Penly v "that it should turn out that you are one of the breed. Now, when I axed ye to ride, that are day I overtook ye, I had n't the least idee you was any nearer 'lationship than that of old Adam. What a lookin' object of compassion you was ! I would n't have owned ye then ; but I will now, an' be proud on ye. Why, them are rags that you had on looked as though they was tired a-holdin' together, an' wanted somebody to help 'em. An' that are big hat, which come clean down over your eyes, e'enamost, made you the funniest-looking critturout of jail. But you was so pale an' pindlin', an' walked so tired like, that I had n't the heart to pass right by you, when I had a good horse, an' nothin' in my wagon ; so I axed you to git in, an' took you home, an' now it all turns out that you are the son of my brother's boy that was drownded. Now, in takin' you in, you see, I was jest castin' my bread upon the waters, an' at last it comes back in the shape of a 'lation. I allus thought that little favors like them are, which cost nobody nothin', was sure to pay well. An' so that old poor- house keeper was your grandfather? " "Yes, sir," said Willie. " I shouldn't like to be in his shoes, 'busin' a grand-child in that are way. I've got four grand-children, an' the little toddlin' fellers come here an' stay a week or two to a 26 302 GLENWOOD, time ; an' I don't see much difference 'tween them an' my own children. You see, I take them right to my heart, an' Nancy does too ; an' they are 'bout as fond of us as of their parents." " He did not know that I was his grandchild," said Wil- lie. " I s'pose not, hut that are is not the right ground to go upon. He ought to treat* everybody well, an' then he'd be sure not to 'buse his own. Now, if I hadn't had any feel- ings, I shouldn't have let you rode, an' my old woman would n't a took care of you while you was sick ; an' then, if we 'd found out some time that you was 'lated to us, we should have felt mighty mean. Mr. Gregg has got to know about it; for, if nobody else won't tell him, I will go there a purpose." Willie now worked a little every day, gradually gaining in strength ; and after two weeks he made an engagement to remain with Mr. Penly until the next spring. In labor- ing during the autumn, and attending school in winter in company with the girls, time did not hang so heavily upon his hands as he once feared that it might. During the long winter evenings, the hours were passed in studying, playing fox and geese and checkers with Hattie, and sometimes he read a pleasant romance aloud, for Willie was an excellent reader ; and, by the request of Mr. Penly, the weekly paper ; for the latter said that his eyes were failing him, and then Willie read so correctly that he could understand it a great deal better than when he read it himself. CHAPTER XXVI. RECONCILIATION. WRITES TO THE WYMANS. IMPROVEMENTS ON TH1 FARM. NEW BUSINESS. As Mr. Penly became greatly attached to Willie Cunard during the winter, he offered him two hundred dollars to re- main with him until he was twenty-one, which Willie gladly accepted. He was a sad-hearted boy, but he labored hard, and earnestly sought to perform every duty most religiously ; and so he became more cheerful and reconciled than he would otherwise have been. His life seemed strange and mysterious to him ; but he Came to feel, deep down in his soul, that, in the hands of a wise Providence, all things were ordered for the best ; and, therefore, he would not repine, but still look upward with trust, still keep his heart strong and pure. He had never felt justified in leaving the Wymans as he did ; and, after long deliberation, he wrote, asking forgive- ness, declaring that he had been treated while under their roof like an own child, and it was no fault of theirs that he left them in a manner which seemed so unaccounta- ble. He intended no wrong, but he could not do otherwise ; and he hoped they would never ask him the reason for his strange conduct. Mr. Wyman wrote, in reply, a kind, fatherly letter, in 304 GLENWOOD. which he assured Willie of his full pardon, and closed by inviting him to his house whenever he should feel inclined to visit those who esteemed and loved him. He did not urge him to come immediately ; for, understanding Willie so well, he had but little doubt that it was love for Jeannie which caused his otherwise inexplicable conduct. This letter was very gratifying to Willie, causing him to realize that he had faithful friends still ; that they would overlook his faults, and freely pardon when ignorance or sorrow made him to swerve from the straight path of right. His course had occasioned them the most intense anxiety ; and yet they loved him, and wished him only prosperity and happiness. When spring work commenced, Willie resolved to effect a revolution in the implements of agriculture. Mr. Penly was one of the old-fashioned farmers, who did everything by the hardest and most unscientific way. All his implements of husbandry were of the old, antiquated sort, and in real- ity utterly valueless, excepting what they might bring for old metal, or be worth for firewood. Willie had served an apprenticeship with a man who had adopted all the modern improvements for rendering labor upon a farm less burden- some, and the land more productive. Nothing pleased Wil- lie better than to till the soil, and do it in such a manner as to derive from it the most bounteous crops, well repaying the laborer for his toil. It was exceedingly irksome to use Mr. Penly's heavy, awkward tools. His ploughs looked as if they might have been invented before the flood, or soon after, they were such comical, bungling things ; and they did not go deep enough to stir those portions of the soil which were required to aid the plants, or allow the roots to strike GLENWOOD. 305 down to a sufficient depth. Willie proposed that two new ploughs should be purchased. Mr. Penly demurred ; he did not believe in the new-fangled notions about farming ; the good old way was the best ; but he finally yielded, for Willie agreed to deduct their cost from the sum he was to receive when his time had expired, if Mr. Penly was not perfectly satisfied ; and in this way nearly all the old tools were given up, and new ones purchased. Mr. Penly was astonished when he saw how easily the cattle drew the new ploughs, when they cut down so deep, and he felt exceedingly doubtful whether he should raise anything with so much of the yellow earth mixed in with the dark soil ; the latter, he thought, alone containing the substances required for vegetation. They did not differ much in planting, but when they came to " hoe " there was conflict again. Mr. Penly had always made very I >rge, high hills, with both corn and potatoes, the second time hoeing ; while Willie contended that only a little uarth thrown over the roots was necessary. This innovation Mr. Penly stoutly opposed. However, being assured, over and Dver again, that Mr. Wyman raised the best of crops, he re- luctantly consented that half of each corn-field should be hoed aa Willie thought was right, and the other half Mr. Penly's old way. The latter declared that he could not hoe corn by tearing the hills down, instead of building them up. En the fall he was candid enough to confess that the modern way was the best. He came to regard Willie as one of the wisest and most promising young men he had ever kno*m j and so new improvements were continually made, old wc/rn- out lands renovated, the marshes drained, and at last tfoa iuildings were thoroughly repaired. 26* 306 GLENWOOD. Hattie had never had such a flower-garden as she wanted, but Willie was very glad to prepare one for her, and many happy hours did they spend there together, making it indeed beautiful ; and Mr. Penly called it the " Garden of Eden," which only stimulated them to render it still more attractive. Willie set out grape-vines, for the purpose of having an ar- bor like Mr. Wyman's ; and with much interest did he and Hattie watch their growth from year to year, longing for the time to come when they would completely cover the frame prepared for them, making a cool and inviting retreat. They did not wait in vain, for in due time the arbor became as beautiful as one could wish. '* > When they first talked of having an arbor in their garden, Mr. Penly called it nonsense, and said that he never knew a grape-vine to grow on his farm the soil was not adapted to grapes. He was very obstinate about some things, and so he pretended not to notice the vines which were growing^ so luxuriantly near his own door. The fourth autumn after Willie's engagement, on a pleas- ant evening, just after tea, Willie took hold of one arm and Hattie the other, and led him out to see the arbor in the " Garden of Eden." "This is pooty wal," he said, "forcing a feller agin his will. It 's no use to persist ; for I 'm in the hands of two .Algeranes, an' go I s'pose I must." Under the pleasant shade of the vines they seated Mr. Penly, in a large arm-chair, made after the style of Mr. Wyman's, while they took a seat on the sofa. "I declare," said Mr. Penly, " this beats all natur. I 'gin to think that ye are a couple of wizards to make sich a pooty place as this. This ere chair is nice, an' terrible easy GLENWOOD. 307 to set in. Who 'd a thought it ? Wai, Willie Cunard, you 're a genus ; and I expect that Hattie ah ! those wicked eyes, jest as sharp as needles ! is a genus too. Now, this is the pootiest place I ever seed, in all my born days." " You like it, don't you, father ? " said Hattie. " I don't see as I can very well help it. It 's no use to stand out agin the truth ; so I '11 give right in, an' own up. I do like it. I was opposed to the whole projec' at fust, but I see your two young heads are wiser than this old cralium of mine." "Willie's time is almost out," said Hattie, "and I have just been thinking that you will not owe him much." " An' who telled you to think 'bout that are? I 'spect you 'd think it was considerable if you had it to pay," said Mr. Penly. " But there is so much to take out ! " said Hattie. "So much to take out?" said Mr. Penly. "I don't know of any thing to take out. What shall I take it out for ? " "I will tell you," said Hattie. "Two ploughs, three hoes, two pitchforks, two barnyard shovels and fork, and three rakes." "You imperdent jade!" said Mr. Penly; "but you , han't got 'em all yet." " 0, yes, I have, father," said Hattie. " You shan't cheat Willie, for he has been faithful. I heard you say so myself," pointing her finger at him. " But I tell ye there is more to come yet," said Mr. Penly. " What is it ? " said Hattie. "A harrer," he replied. "Why, father," said Hattie, "that is downright cheat- ing!" GLEN WO OD. " No 't an't, neither ! " said Mr. Penly. " I will leave it to Willie, if 't an't jest 'twas agreed." "Your father is correct," said Willie to Hattie. " The harrow was one of the implements whose cost was to be de- ducted from my two hundred dollars." " Now who 's right, miss, me or you? " said Mr. Penly. " I didn't want a harrer, for I thought the old one good 'nough, an' so of all the rest ; but I have had to give in, an' I 'm pleased with all you 've done, Willie, an', 'stead of takin' out anything, I shall make you a handsome present. I reckoned there could n't be anything equal to them old tools of mine ; but the new ones are so light and pooty, that you can work with 'em as easy agin. You are the best farmer, Willie, that I ever seed." "I thank you for the compliment," said Willie. "If I have been the means of improving your land and the manner of cultivating it, causing it to produce larger crops with less labor, I am very thankful. I love to work on the land, and I have no greater ambition than to be a good practical farmer." " Well said, my boy ! " remarked Mr. Penly; " I hope you '11 allus be a tiller of the soil, for you can make yerself happy and inderpendent." "I do not doubt it," said Willie ; " but when my time ex- pires with you, I mean to try a different business for a sea- son, for I have a strong desire to see more of the world." " I '11 warrant ye ! " said Mr. Penly. " I presume you '11 never be satisfied unless you know ''bout all there is to larn. Now, I don't care nothin' 't all 'bout knowin' any more of the country and cities. I 've never been to Bostin but once, an' I never want to go agin. How folks can live there, GLENWOOD. 309 in all that are confusion and noise, I can't make out ; an' what they all find to live on is a puzzle to me. I staid there two nights, and scarcely slept a wink, there was sich a con- founded noise and clatter ; an' they were hollerin' fire 'bout half the night. I 'd just as leave live in Bedlam ! " " I should like to go there," said Hattie. " I don't doubt it," said Mr. Penly, " for you allus want to be goin' somewhere. But I tell ye what 't is, the city is nothin' to the country. What is great brick buildin's, and streets stuck full of cobble-stones, to nice, clean, green fields, the grass an' flowers all a glis'nin' an' sparklin' in the beams of the god of day ? What is all them are shops, a flauntin' with silks an' finery, in comparison to the trees with the pooty leaves all cut out an' shaped so handsome by the Lord, an' hangin' so elegant from all them are little twigs and boughs, an' coverin' 'em all over, an' lookin' so nice all summer long ? There they stand, shoulder to shoul- der, a good deal handsomer an' more majesty than a army of sogers. I allus did like to look at the noddin' groves, and compose myself under the green branches. The city what is it? Nothin' 'tall to be compared with 'em. It is all brick houses, rattle-te-bang, dirt, and confusion ! " "You formed a very unfavorable opinion of the city," said Willie ; ' ' but you did not stay long, and so I suppose you cannot judge so well or so correctly as you otherwise might." " I staid long ; nough, an' larnt all I wanted to. Such a stived-up place would never do for me, nohow. I want room to breathe and turn round in, an' you can't find it there." " I 've heard that they have a beautiful Common in Bos- ton," said Hattie. 310 GLENWOOD. " I presume they have," replied Mr. Penly ; " but it can't be much of a place, for they han't got no room for it, as I could see ; but, sakes alive ! what 's a few acres, sot out with trees, in comparison to the whole country ? Don't talk to me 'bout Bostin ! for I was n't taken with it at all, an' I never should be, if I lived there a thousand years." The next spring Willie's time expired, and then he en- gaged himself as a travelling book-agent. So great had been the improvements on Mr. Penly's farm, through his instru- mentality, that his employer added fifty dollars to the sum agreed upon ; and very sad were they all when Willie bade them good-by. " Don't forget us," said Mrs. Penly, " for we shall never forget you ; for you seem more like a son than anything else." " That you do," said Mr. Penly, "an' you 've acted more like one ; so God bless you ! " Willie shook their hands heartily, as the stage stopped be- fore the door, kissed Sarah and Hattie, and, taking a seat with the driver, was borne swiftly away. CHAPTER XXVII. MRS. LUND IN AFFLICTION MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS. THE TREAT- MENT DUE TO ALL. SOME five years have passed away since Jeannie Wy- man's marriage ; and twice has the hand of affliction been laid heavily upon her. Sickness came, and death soon followed ; and the father of her children was borne to the silent grave. A few months after the death of Mr. Lund, little Carra was laid by his side. She had never been a healthy child, and so deep and absorbing was her love for her father, that she seemed to waste away with grief at his loss. She was only four years old when he died, and her mother fondly hoped that she would forget her sorrow ; but her thoughts could not be won from him, and so the strong cords of love which were intertwined with his soul soon drew her up to heaven. This last bereavement laid Mrs. Lund upon a sick bed for many weeks ; and, after she began to amend, her physi- cian arid friends were doubtful of the result, she gained strength so slowly. She was too heart-weary to rapidly recover her health. Her spirit was bleeding for her lost ones. Hour after hour would she sit and weep ; an3 it was in vain she was told that she must restrain her tears, t>12 GLENWOOD. and be resigned to the allotments of Providence, or she too would die. Her kind father came often, and endeavored to revive her drooping spirits, and teach her reconciliation ; urging her, as soon as she was strong enough to ride, to go with him to the cottage, and henceforth make it her home. He bade her remember little Waldo, and for his sake try to be more cheerful, and seek to regain her lost health. Mrs Lund felt that, if her own mother were alive, she would quickly return home, nor wish to leave it again ; but things seemed so different there now, that she could not be happy ; and, then, her mother-in-law had two little children of her own, and to have another child under the same roof might cause trouble. She told her father that when she was sufficiently well she would make them a long visit, but she could not give up her home, or exchange it for another ; she should be happier to remain where she was. A very beautiful boy was Waldo. He was now nearly three years old, and large and forward of his age. His hair was light, forehead broad and high, his skin very white, and his face beautifully formed, dimpled, and full of expression, while his eyes were dark-gray, clear, and beaming. He was an interesting, winning child, and wherever he went he attracted much attention, and the ladies were not satisfied without a kiss. It was by no means surprising that Mrs. Lund's heart was all bound up in this boy. In the midst of her great afflictions, he seemed to her more than all the world besides. When she was convalescent, he would come and sit in her lap, and lay his head upon her bosom, and while she ca- ressed him and pressed him to her heart, she would say, " We are but two, Wallie! " QLENWOOD. 313 One pleasant afternoon, as she was lying upon the sofa, feeling unusually unhappy, her thoughts turned to Willie Cunard, and she earnestly wished to see him once more. She had loved him as dearly as she had ever loved a brother, and it seemed very strange that he should leave her on her marriage day, and never write to her or come to see her at all. She felt that she should be happier could she see him again. Her father had informed her that Willie had written to him every year, and that he was living with Mr. Penly in Felton; but he had never been to the cottage since he so mysteriously left it. She thought that she would write to him, and, for the sake of their old friendship, he would certainly reply. While these thoughts were pass- ing through her mind, there was a knock at the door, and when Lucy Packard, the domestic, opened it, a young man informed her that he was canvassing for an interesting book. " Is the gentleman of the house within ? " he inquired. " The gentleman is not living," said Lucy. "I should like to see the lady, then," he said. " She is very fond of books, and usually purchases when those of an interesting character are brought along ; but she is too unwell now, sir, to see you." " She is too sick, then, to see company ? " " She receives her friends, but not strangers, or people on business." "I regret it, for her sake and for my own. Excuse me for the trouble I have caused you. Good-afternoon." The door which led from the entry into Mrs. Lund'i room stood open at the time, and she heard the converts- tion. The tones of the stranger's voice struck a chord in her heart which had not been touched for a long time be- 27 814 GLENWOOD. fore. She arose and walked to the window, and gazed at him as he went up the road. Just then he turned his head and looked back, when she caught a glimpse of his face. "It must be he," she said to herself; "and yet I may be mistaken. The voice sounded like his, and the face had his expression. He is so much larger ! But, then, five years have passed away since I saw him, and he should be larger, and his personal appearance much changed. ! should it be he, and I not see him, when I so yearn for an old friend ! Lucy, run out and call the gentleman back, and tell him that I should like to look at his books." Lucy had to scream at the top of her voice before she could make the book-agent hear her. He gladly retraced his steps, for he was exceedingly weary, not having obtained one subscriber all that day ; and he felt disheartened, as he often did. Mrs. Lund sat down upon the sofa, her heart beating audibly. If it should be Willie, would he be glad to see her once more ? Would he seem as he did when they both lived under the same roof? But, if he should prove a stranger, the disappointment would be very bitter. Her crushed, bleeding heart, so lonely in its bereavement, felt that it must be Willie, and that he would bring her consolation. The domestic ushered in the stranger where sat Mrs. Lund, with her eyes bent upon the floor, not daring for the moment to lift them up. As soon as his eyes fell upon her, he gave a sudden start, and there was a strange emotion at his heart. But she had changed ; sickness and trouble had dimmed her eyes, paled her cheeks, and made them very sunken, and the joyous expression had departed ; and so he did not know her. But when she lifted those eyes, and re- GLENWOOD. 316 alized that she was not mistaken, the old light came hack, and the flush sprang to her cheeks ; and then he realized that he was in the presence of the one he had so dearly loved. He knew not what to do, and queried if she recognized him if she would be glad to renew their acquaintance, and receive him as her friend. Mrs. Lund arose from the sofa, and gazed earnestly into his face, while he looked as search- ingly into hers. She was much agitated, and she said, in a tone that spoke volumes, " Willie ! " The utterance of* that simple word thrilled his whole soul, and in unison he exclaimed, "Jeannie!" In another moment they were locked in each other's arms. The excitement of this meeting completely exhausted Mrs. Lund, and so Willie lifted her as though she had been a little child, and laid her gently down upon the sofa. In a few moments she recovered and sat up ; Willie sat by her side, with one of her poor, pale hands pressed closely in his. How glad he was to hold that dear hand again, to feel that burning touch thrill to his heart as of yore ! " You look very ill," said Willie, sorrowfully, " very, indeed. Are you better than you were ?" "Yes, Willie," she replied. "But I have been greatly afflicted. Mr. Lund died some months ago, and my eldest, my sweet little Carra, soon followed her father ; and then I was almost heart-broken. 0, Willie ! I am so glad you have come ! I was thinking of you when you rapped at the door, and that I would write to you at Felton, hoping that you had not quite forgotten me, and that you would come and see me, or answer by letter." " I am as rejoiced to see you, Mrs. Lund." " ! don't call me Mrs. Lund ! it seems so cold from 316 GLENWOOD. you ! I have called you Willie, as I used to. Must I say Mr. Cunard? "No, Jeannie, no. Call ine Willie always, and I will gladly call you Jeannie; for then it will seem as it did long, long ago ! Yes, I am as glad to see you again as you can be to see me. Did you know me when I came to the door?" " Most likely I should if I had seen your face ; but I only heard your voice, and, though it has changed somewhat, there was something in the tone which awoke old memories. I was lying here very sad indeed, and as you walked away I arose and went to the window. When you turned your head and looked this way, I thought it might be you, and I quickly told Lucy to call you back. I am so glad now that I did, for I am sure that you are glad to see me again ! " " Yes, Jeannie, I am very glad; but I am sorry to find you in such ill health. At first I was fearful that you were in a consumption, and would pass away as your mother did. What a blessed woman she was, making home like heaven ! and heaven has rightly claimed its own." " Yes, Willie, my mother was an excellent woman, though I do say it ; and she has only changed worlds, the dear one ! My husband and Carra are with her, and your mother, Wil- lie, and our other friends. 0, they are happy there ! You need not feel anxious about me, Willie, for I am much bet- ter than I was." " I am rejoiced to hear you say it. Have you a cough ? " " I only cough now and then ; but it is much better, and it will soon be entirely gone." " I hope so, for it would be bitter indeed to lose you, now that we have met again. I hope you will be more cheerful GLENWOOD. hereafter, and be reconciled to the wise allotments of Provi- dence." " I will try to be ; but I am still very weak. You came here, Willie, on business, and found me by accident I think, however, that I must persuade you to remain a while, and then I shall not be so lonely, nor feel so disheartened. It will not be necessary for you to leave immediately, will it?" " No, Jeannie, my business is by no means urgent. " Then I am sure you will be content to make me a long visit. Pardon me if I seem over-anxious to have you remain. I am a mere child, now, and I need a friend very much." " If I can add to your happiness in the least, Jeannie, my visit will give me much pleasure." " You need not doubt that at all. My relatives come to see me often ; but none of them can very well be spared from home, to remain with me as constantly as I desire. I have three in my family, besides myself and child, Lucy, my domestic, and a man and boy to carry on the farm. They are good people ; but their feelings and sympathies are not in harmony with my own. I should be lonely with a thou- sand such. Waldo is my greatest comfort ; but he reminds me of his father and dear little Cai-ra." " Then you have one child left you ? " " Yes, and such a precious child he is, too ! I know you will love him dearly, for he is so handsome and interesting." " Is Arthur at home yet ? " " No, he is married ; and father has bought him a farm a few miles from the cottage. He was young to marry, so we all thought, but older than I was when I married. You are not married, are you, Willie ? " 27* 318 GLENWOOD. " No, Jeannie, and I have not thought that I ever should be." " And so you are a book-agent ! How came you to choose that occupation ? I thought you were at work on a farm in Felton." " I was, until last spring ; but I wanted to see more of the world ; and so I chose this business, that I might travel over the country and become better acquainted with human nature." " Have you had good success ? " " Generally; but to-day I have done just nothing." "You have found an old friend, though, and I am sure that is something." " Yes, Jeannie, it is. I do not regard the day as lost now, for I am so happy to see you again." " It is pleasant to hear you say that, my friend, very pleas- ant. How do you like your present employment? " " Not very well. You have to deal with all sorts of peo- ple ; and some treat you with respect, while others are ex- ceedingly boorish. You are aware that I am sensitive. I have often had my feelings very much injured." " I don't doubt it, and, knowing you so well, I was some- what surprised that you should engage in such business. Doubtless it is a good school for any one, if sufficient com- mand is maintained over one's feelings. I am acquainted with a man who was an agent for a number of years, on ac- count of poor health, and it made him irritable. People were frequently unkind, and said very saucy things, when he, becoming excited, as invalids are very apt to do, was as saucy to them as they were to him. He finally gave up the business, lest it should entirely ruin his disposition." GLBNWOOD. 319 " That such should be the effect, when a person is out of health, is by no means surprising. I have found it a diffi- cult thing, at times, to control my feelings, and it may be that I have given utterance to words of severity, for I havfc learned that I am capable of it. There are many things to irritate one. People will sign for a book, and when you carry it to them they will often deny that they did sign. I have found very many such, and it has taught me wisdom. I used to write down the names myself, but now I make them do it, and in that way save much trouble. People are exceedingly forgetful ; they will agree to take a book and forget all about it in less than a month, but they have to give up when they see their own signature." "Do they ever refuse to take a book, after they have signed for it? " " Very often, and they have many excuses in extenuation of breaking their agreement. They have been sick, or some one has failed and they lost all he owed them, or the book is different from what they thought it was, or something which they did not expect has occurred, and they cannot possibly obtain the money. With some, you are a few days or weeks too late, and so they are under no obligations. They are ex- ceedingly positive, and mention others who have said the same, that you agreed to come on a certain day, or during a certain week, or month, although you told them that you could not set the time, for, if you did, circumstances beyond your control might prevent your coming. The most of these excuses are manufactured for the occasion." " But some are honest, and speak the truth, who wish to be excused?" " Certainly ; but even they do not pursue the right course 320 GLENWOOD. to procure a release. Instead of asking you to excuse them, or proposing to give you the profit on the book, they very coolly inform you that they have concluded not to take it, as though there was no sort of obligation on their part. If you remonstrate, why, they had no idea that they were bound to fulfil such an agreement ; they thought you wanted as many names as you could get, so that others might be influ- enced to subscribe." " Such things must be annoying; and, unless one is ex- ceedingly watchful, prove very injurious." "I don't doubt it, and I have resolved not to follow the business much longer. I had rather labor on a farm for wages, although it would be more agreeable to have a farm of my own." " I wish you had a farm of your own, Willie, and I doubt not you will have one in due time. I have a most excellent farm here, but I fear that some things are sadly neglected." "Most likely, for agricultural business is seldom done as it should be, unless the owner of the soil understands it, and gives it his personal attention from day to day. The Penlys give me the credit of being a superior agriculturist ; and, though I don't claim so much, yet I am conscious of being as good a farmer as they average. I am to make you a long visit, you say ? Now, labor on a farm is what I like, and you shall make me chief overseer while I remain." " I will do so very gladly, and resign all my cares and the whole management into your hands ; and then all I shall have to do will be to make myself cheerful, and in due time I may regain my health." "I shall not allow you to remain sick long, if I stay. I want to see you look as healthy and cheerful as you did GLEN WOOD. 321 when I first knew you. The roses have fled from your cheeks, but they must be summoned back again ; not tran- sient ones, like those of just now, but those of old, which bloomed perpetually ; and there must be a steadier light to your eyes." " Now that you are here to relieve me of care, I hope that health may return to me ; though I fear that the roses will never be very bright." "As bright as desirable, perhaps. You never had very red cheeks ; but they were as red as I like to see. My business is such that I cannot remain any great length of time with you now, even should you wish it. I have a few hundred subscribers whom I must supply, according to agreement ; but, when I have supplied them, I shall most likely close up my book-agency forever, for I am tired of it." " I see that you are. But you must not think too meanly of human nature because you have met with dishonesty and unkindness. Publishers and agents have quite too often imposed upon the public, giving promises which they never fulfilled, charging double what their works were worth, and by such means making people distrustful of all book-agents, good and bad ; and so the innocent suffer as well as the guilty." " All that is very true ; but the best way is to treat every- body well. It is some trouble to go to the door, but when there it is as easy to speak kindly to the caller as it is to insult him, and far more so in my estimation." "Your remarks are just, and I wish that all could see them in the same light that we do. Much is said about the government of the tongue, and appropriately said ; but, lt a 322 GLENWOOD. spirit of good will to all men be cultivated, and then the spoken words will be fragrant with love. Some who are engaged as agents and pedlers are so out of health that they are unfitted for hard labor. Such have spent the night with us, and there is one who is ever welcomed as a friend." " I have no doubt that you treat people well, Jeannie. I remember a certain poor-house boy 0! you have no idea how blessed was your usage and influence for his good ; how the clouds rolled away, letting down upon him the clear light )f heaven." "I understood you, Willie, as soon as I saw you; and I resolved to make you happier, and give you a larger faith. I succeeded, I doubt not, and it cost me but little effort. That you loved me for it I never doubted but once " " But once?" " Perhaps I should say that I never doubted until a certain day." " The day that you were married ? " "Yes, Willie." " And did you really doubt me then? " " I scarcely know; for I found it extremely difficult to analyze my feelings. Your absence seemed unaccountable, and made me very unhappy. A variety of thoughts passed through my mind, and many strange conjectures. I felt that, whatever might be the nature of the cause that led you to take the step, still you were not to be justified." " I have often thought so myself, Jeannie ; for, of all per- sons in the wide world, I should not have made you unhappy on your wedding day." "But you did, Willie." " I was but a foolish boy ; you have forgiven me ? " QLENWOOD. 328 "Most freely; although your continued absence, with never one letter to your friend Jeannie, has caused me many, very many, sad hours." "I do regret it; and I fear my course has been all wrong." " Your continued illness and low spirits gave me many anxious moments, before you left us; and, after that, my anxiety was at times painfully intense. But don't look so ead about it, for we have met again, as happy to see each other as ever ; and, if you did wrong, I very freely forgive. But, Willie, will you tell me why you left us in such a strange manner ? " " I cannot tell you that ; don't ask me again, will you?" "What, never?" " Do not urge me to tell you now ! " " Well, I will not; but, as it is a mystery to me, I hope you may feel to clear it up some day. You may rest assured that I am not governed by an idle curiosity." " I do not doubt you, Jeannie; and, if the time ever comes when I can enlighten you, I will." CHAPTER XXVIII. WALDO LUND. THE DROOPING SPIRITS OF THE INVALID REVIVE. " 0, MAMMA ! " said Waldo Lund, springing into the room, " see what a big dahlia I have got ! " "It is large and very beautiful," replied his mother; " where did you get it, dear ? ' "Lucy gave it to me. 0! isn't she good? Did you ever see such a great red dahlia before, mother? " "I never saw one more beautiful, Wallie. How very perfect it is ! It would be impossible to imagine anything more perfect ; and yet I love other flowers better." "I know which, mamma; the white roses you put into sister's hand, when she died, to carry to papa, away up in heaven." "Yes, dearest," wiping the tears from her eyes; "I do love the roses best ; for they are not only beautiful to look at, but their fragrance is beautiful." " And do the roses bloom in the green fields of heaven ? " climbing into his mother's lap, and looking earnestly into her eyes. "Yes, my love, all beautiful things bloom there; and they do not fade and die, as they do here." " 0, I should like to go there," clapping his hands, "for there would not be any cold days and snow, and the fields GLEN W OOP. 325 would be green all winter, and the flowers would look up so sweetly into my face with their little blue and pink eyes ; and I would walk out with papa and sister, and we would bring you a bunch -of flowers every day, when you were sick, would n't we, mamma? " " I should not be sick there, Wallie." "What! never sick at all? 0! I remember you told me so before. I do want to go there, mamma; may I not go?" Closely Mrs. Lund pressed her treasure to her heart, and imprinted kisses upon his lips. "I cannot spare you, dearest. We are but two, Wallie ! " At this moment Waldo turned his head, and for the first time saw Willie Cunard. He was so intent upon showing his mother his beautiful flower when he came in, that he did not notice that any one was present. Jeannie was aware of it, and was not sorry ; for she took pride in hearing him talk when he was unembarrassed by the presence of strangers, and she wanted Willie to know what an interesting ^hild he was. She now said, "This is Mr. Cunard, Waldo, an old friend of your mother's, and I hope you will love him very much." " Will you come and see me ? " said Willie. ' ' May I, mamma ? " he asked. "Why, certainly," she replied. "Well, then, I will ; but I haven't got akanted, yet." "But we shall get acquainted," said Willie; " and we shall love each other dearly." " Shall we? I hope we shall ! I love to be loved.- - don't I, mother?" " Yes, dearest ; and I love to love you." 28 826 GLENWOOD. " So papa did, and sis Carra; but they have gone up to God's house. Have you got any papa and sister up there ?" he said to Willie. " I have no sister," he replied ; "but I have a father and mother." " You have ? Then I should think you 'd want to go too. I want to go and see them very much. I should n't think they 'd have gone and left us here ; they ought to have stayed, and let us go with them." At this moment he caught a glance of his mother's eyes, and it was so sorrow- ful that he looked at her with an expression of beautiful love, and said, " We are but two, mamma ! " 11 Your name is Waldo Lund, is it ? " said Willie. " Yes, sir," he replied. " But I have got another name, and it goes right in between t'other two." " What is your other name ? " "Wyman. And that's my grandpa's name. Do you know my grandpa ? ! he 's ever so good ; and when he comes to see mamma, he brings me strawberries, cherries, plums, peaches, pears, apples, and sights of good things." " Does he bring all those fruits at once? " " no, I guess he don't. It would be funny to have them all at once, 'cause they don't grow all at the same time. He brought over a box of strawberries first, and the next was the cherries. The strawberries and cherries were red as my dahlia ; but the cherries were the brightest ; ! they were so good ! Do you love cherries? " " Yes, Wallie, very much." "And strawberries, too?" " Yes." " So I do ; and if you will stay here until next spring OLENWOOD. 327 vou shall have as many as you can eat. We have got a great bed of them in our garden, and they grow in the grass out there by the woods. I like to go into the woods, don't you?" "I do, Waldo, very much indeed." " Then you shall go with me, sometimes, and we will sit down and hear the trees talk to each other." " Did you ever hear the trees talk ? " "0, yes ! Papa, mamma, sis, and I, used to go into the woods last spring, that was before papa and Carra went up there," pointing to the sky, "and we sat down and listened, and all we could hear was just a whispering up in the tree-tops ; and I told papa that they would not talk out loud, 'cause we were listening." " Then you could not hear what they said? " " Not very well ; for the trees are so tall that their heads reach e'enamost up to the sky. Just see those out there ; they almost touch it. When they were talking, I saw them put out their arms towards each other, and I thought some of them spatted their hands. I guess they were playing bean-porridge-hot, as papa and I used to." " You have queer thoughts, Waldo, and very interesting ones ; and I think that you and I shall have many pleasant walks in the woods and fields." " Will you go with me? Mamma has been so sick that she could n't go, and so I have not been for a long time. "I shall be very glad to be your companion." " I do like you ! And we '11 go into the woods and hear the trees talk, and see them put their arms around each other, just as mamma and I do. I guess they love one another, don't you ? " 328 GLENWOor , "You seem to have a proof of it. I think I ought to have one kiss.'' " I will give you twenty, if you want, 'cause I like you real well ; " and he threw his arms around Willie's neck, while the latter pressed the dear boy to his bosom. During this conversation Mrs. Lund lay upon the sofa and listened, very happy to rest after the excitement of meeting Willie Cunard, and her long conversation with him. It pleased her well that Willie should take so much notice of her darling child, and that the latter should manifest so much love for and confidence in him. Their talk, as sim- ple and childish as it was, calmed and cheered her heart, even though there seemed to be a shadow mingling with the sunlight. " Have you any other name besides Mr. Cunard ? " in- / / quired Waldo. " My name is Willie Cunard," he replied. " Willie! 0, what a pretty name ! Why, it sounds some like my name. Willie Wallie. I am sure I don't know which is the prettiest, do you ? Well, I am glad that my name is Wallie, and yours is Willie. I don't want to say Mr. Cunard ; may I not call you Willie ? " " Yes, dear." " How good you are ! Everybody is good to me, and I love everybody ; only sometimes I don't like Lucy very well, 'cause she scolds at me." " I fear you don't always obey her," said his mother. " I should be glad to, if she did n't never get cross, and scold so. I always want to mind her ; but when she 's cross I can't, for I feel just as cross as she. Mamma never scolds at anybody, do you, mamma?" GLENWOOD. 829 " Not very often, dearest." "I did n't know as you ever did. I never heard you, I am sure." "And so you are named after your grandpa?" said Willie, who was so pleased with Waldo's remarks that he wished to hear him talk more. " One name is for grandpa, and for grandma, too. Did you ever see grandma, who lives at grandpa's house ? " " 0, yes; I lived there once." "You did? I didn't know it! I don't mean that grandma, but my own grandma, who went to God's house before 1 was born. I wish she had not gone so soon, for I wanted to see her very much ; and if she had only waited two or three years, I might. I wonder where I was then? I guess I must have hid where I could n'l find myself, away up among the stars. I don't see how I gof down here, though ! Perhaps I slid down on a rainbow, and my sled went right out of sight, and left me sitting on a snow-bank ! Did you ever see my grandma, who went to God's house? " " Yes, Waldo." " I wish I had seen her, 'cause she would have loved me so much. I mean to go and see her, some time. If she don't know me, we'll get akanted quick enough, I guess. Carra and papa want me to come up there and see grandma." "Why do you think so?" " I was playing by the brook, the other day, and I heard them say, ' Come, Wallie, up here ! Wallie ! Wallie ! ' Mamma don't want me to go; but I must." Willie now noticed that Mrs. Lund looked very sad, and BO he thought it best to change the conversation. 28* 380 GLENWOOD. " Why should your grandpa bring you strawberries, if you have a large bed in the garden ? " "0, 'cause his are better than ours. Ours are good enough, though ; but his are great big ones big as your thumb, and bigger, too ! We shall have some just like them ; for he brought over some of the vines and set them out in our garden, and he said they were mine." " Then you will have two kinds in the garden, and another kind out by the woods on the hill." "So we shall. Those in the garden are tame ones ; and those out there are wild, 'cause they live in the field by the woods, and don't see anybody very often. The wild ones are the littlest of all. I suppose they ran away from the garden, some night, 'cause they wanted more liberty ; and, as they don't h^ive nobody to take care of them, they can't grow much. I have seen the wild hens out in the woods, and they an't half so large as our tame ones." "I am afraid you will weary Mr. Cunard," said Mrs. Lund, "if you talk any longer now, Wallie; so you had better go and see Lucy, and talk with her a while." " And I shall weary you, too, 'cause you are sick. I forgot you was sick, and could n't bear much." Waldo now sprang out of Willie's lap, and went to his mother, and put his arms around her neck and kissed her, and then left the room. " You have an interesting child," said Willie. " I am glad you think so. He is a world of comfort to me. But he sometimes says things which startle me very much. His fancies and conceits are very odd indeed. At times his remarks are very beautiful, seeming to manifest thought which a man would not be ashamed of; and again GLENWOOD. 331 he says things which are very ludicrous, quite often in rela- tion to subjects the most sacred." "It is frequently so with children. Their remarks, which seem to indicate thought far beyond their years, pro- ceed, I fancy, from a sort of childish instinct." " I don't know about that ; but it may be that you are correct." "It is a mere matter of opinion, I suppose. But you look weary ; so, with your permission, I will go and get Waldo, and take a view of the farm." " I feel happier, Willie, than I have for a long time be- fore, and as though I could drop into a refreshing slumber. If I can sleep an hour or so, it will make me much better. It is half-past three, now, so I have but two hours before tea. Remember that we have supper at half-past five, arid I want you and Waldo to be here without fail." Willie arose to go, but he wished that he might remain near her until she fell asleep, being vain enough to fancy that his presence would bring soothing and quieting reflec- tions, and, as it were, win her to forgetfulness and repose. He looked inquiringly into her eyes. She read his thoughts ; her hand was extended, and he gladly took it again. It was not long before her eyes closed, and she was at rest, her slumber being as refreshing as that of a little child when folded to the bosom of its mother. Willie still held her hand, how could he relinquish it? An hour passed, and he went in search of Waldo. CHAPTER XXIX. A WALK BY THE BROOK. A CHILD'S PRAYER. HAPPY THOUGHTS. WALDO LUND was highly elated with the proposition to walk with Willie Cunard ; for he already began to regard him as a newly-found friend, who would be very dear to him. " Where shall we go?" inquired Willie. " I like to walk by the brook," said Waldo. "You never saw my brook ! It is very pretty. When I lie down close to it, I can hear it sing and laugh. Sometimes I think it wants to sing me to sleep." " You love the brook very much, don't you ? " " yes ! Do you know that it never gets dry, like other brooks ? " " No ; and does it keep running all the time ? " "Yes, sir ; it never stops at all, and it don't get tired, neither. Would you like to know why it never becomes dry ? I will tell you. It bubbles right up from the ground; and so it don't make any difference whether it rains or not." " The water conies from a spring, then ? " "Yes, sir. Would you like to see it? Mamma went there with me once. I would like to go and show it to you." GLENWOOD. 333 " I should be happy to be your companion, if it is not too far for my little friend to walk." " Do you mean me ? I can walk as far as that, and a great deal further, I guess. It 's but just a little ways." They had now arrived at the brook, and they kept near it until they came to a cold, clear spring, at the base of a hill, its source. Here they sat down to rest, Waldo's tongue running as glibly as ever. Returning, they visited, on their way, a large field of maize. When they reached the house supper was already on the table, and Mrs. Lund was waiting for them. " You are a few minutes too late," she said. " I was fearful that we might be," said Willie. " Was your sleep refreshing, Jeannie ? " " Exceedingly so ; I have only been awake a few minutes. Don't Hook better?" "Your countenance has a more cheerful expression. I think you have been very low-spirited, and that has hindered your recovery more than anything else." " My troubles made me ill; but I shall not give way to them hereafter, as I have done." " Not if I stay, for I shall not allow it." " I am so glad that you are here, Willie; for I shall be happier than I could have been with anybody else. I regard you both as brother and friend." Lucy now brought in the tea, and the trio sat down to supper. Willie thought how much the table resembled Mrs. Wyman's, the first night he went to the cottage ; everything distinguished by the same neatness and order. Very happy were these three friends, as they surrounded the frugal board. Mrs. Lund seemed more like herself than for many weeks 334 GLENWOOD. before, while "Willie felt a greater degree of satisfaction than he had since Waldo Lund first entered the cottage of the Wymans. Jeannie was his dear friend again, and, for the present, he asked no more. Little Waldo had seen so many lonesome hours since his father and Carra died, that he was glad to have a new acquaintance, one whom he could love so well. " Did you have a pleasant walk, Wallie? " asked Mrs. Lund. " 0, yes ; a very pleasant walk. Willie went to my pretty brook with me ; and then we followed it, just as you and I did, mamma, clear away to the cool spring, where the water bubbles up so funny ! We put our mouths down and drank. How cold and sweet it was ! We saw some little fishes in the brook, little shiny ones, with golden spots all over them. They were afraid of us ; but they no need to have been, for we would n't hurt them for a great deal ; and I told them so, but I suppose they did not believe me, for they hid away as fast as ever they could." " Waldo's brook rises in a beautiful spot," said Willie. "Very beautiful," Mrs. Lund replied. "I have been there often, and I always take a draught of the cold water. I never saw sweeter water than that. How did you like the looks of the farm? " " Very much. What a fine field of corn you have ! Your land has been well cultivated ; but I noticed that some things have been neglected the past season." " I presume so; but I fancy the proper remedies will be speedily applied ; for you remember that I have confided everything to your care." " And I shall endeavor to be faithful, Jeannie, though I QLENWOOD. 885 must claim the privilege of sometimes seeking your counsel and advice." "Which I will cheerfully give, only wait until I am stronger." In pleasant, familiar conversation, like the above, they spent an hour at the table. In the evening Willie read aloud from Willis' sacred poems; and so the hours, which had previously hung so heavily with Mrs. Lund, fled speed- ily and happily away. At half-past seven Waldo went tc bed ; but before doing so he kneeled down by his mother, and repeated the Lord's prayer, and closed by saying, " God bless mamma, God bless Willie, God bless grand- father, God bless grandma, papa, and Carra in heaven." So long had the evenings seemed since Mrs. Lund waa convalescent, that she could scarcely realize, when the clock struck nine, that it could be so late. When Willie had laid his head upon the pillow that night, he found it extremely difficult to analyze his feelings. He had found his dearest friend again, and she seemed nearer to him now than ever. She was very glad that he had come ; and she had expressed a wish that his visit might be a long one, for he could make her more cheerful than any one else. She was a widow ; would she marry again ? Very uncertain, he thought. She evidently regarded him as a brother ; he was thankful for that much. It was possi- ble that his presence might give her more pleasure than a brother's could. If not now, in the future. She might never love him well enough to be his wife, but he had no fears that she would ever become the wife of another. He fancied that he should be content, if she would only remain single. While these reflections were coursing through his 336 GLENWOOD. mind, sleep was stealing upon him, and, though his thoughts were but half formed, they were pleasant. Now he let go a thread, and then caught it again ; but by and by he re- linquished his hold entirely, and passed into dream-land. There was another pillow which Avas peaceful that night, one that had been very restless ; but the heart of the one who pressed it was soothed and comforted. Mrs. Lund's thoughts were wholly of Willie. What a 6ne man he had become, so intelligent and interesting ! He loved her boy, and the dear child had so instinctively taken to him. ' ' He is my brother," she said to herself, "and while he remains I shall be quite happy." CHAPTER XXX. THE POOR-HOUSE. HECTOR'S RELIGION. SICKNESS AND REBELLION AMONG THE PAUPERS. REMORSE AND DEATH. POLLY HAGGETT IN LUCK. SUE STARTS ON HER BRIDAL JOURNEY. THE paupers in Glenwood were continually complaining of the treatment they received from Mr. and Mrs. Gregg and Mrs. Betsey's children ; but the majority of the people did not heed them. They were old, or sick, or half-witted; and such persons were noted for being unreasonable, irritable, and fault-finding. They had bitterly censured the manage- ment of Mr. Bumpus ; and, whoever might be the master, they would still complain. These considerations satisfied very many, especially those who were blessed with easy consciences ; and far be it from me to say that they were wholly groundless. It is a diffi- cult thing to make this class of persons contented. But their lot is deplorable at best, and we should strive to make them as comfortable as may be. There were many in Glenwood who doubted not the poor had good reason for their complaints, and they were not backward in expressing their opinions and giving their rea- sons ; but they neglected to push the matter to an issue, and cause an investigation As we have seen, Mrs. Gregg managed to have every- 29 GLENWOOD. thing done very much in accordance with her own wishes ; and, while the paupers were meanly fed and worse clothed, her own table was furnished in the most substantial manner. She clothed and fed her children well, and kept the part of the house devoted to the use of her own family very clean, and all things in good order ; but that portion of the build- ing where the paupers lived was shamefully neglected, es- pecially the beds and bedding ; and this state of things was continually growing worse. Of all the paupers, Hector was the happiest ; and though the boys and young men made sport of him continually, he rather enjoyed it than otherwise. Mrs. Gregg would not always let him have as much to eat as he wanted, but he had a loaf of bread every night to fall back upon, and he received sheets of gingerbread, crackers, etc., in compen- sation for services which he was not always willing to perform. For a time he did everything with alacrity that was required of him, but by and by it was beat into his dull brain that some things were not exactly safe or pleas- ant, and so a stimulus was needed in the shape of food or strong drink. One morning Hector approached Mr. Bugbee's shop, walking very slowly. When asked the reason, he said that he was " gittin' old that he was 'bout six months older than Mr. Gregg." This some one had told him. The an- swer so pleased his employer, that he shook with a hearty smile, and said : "Well, you are old, sure enough! I have heard that you have changed your religion lately ; how 's that ? " "Yeth, Misser Bugbee," said Hector, "I has. I used to be a Baptis', for I 'sidered 'mersion in 'cordance with QLENWOOD. 839 Scriptur ; but I came to 'gard that are as a minority 'sider- ation, and of no sort of quinsequence ; so I shan't comport that are domination any more." " What are you now, Hector? " "I's got to be one of the 'spised sec' of Univarsal- lers." " How came that about, I should like to know? " " I was brought over by Misser Gregg ; and I never can be 'ficiently grateful to Misser Gregg for bringin' me to see the full rad'ance of gracious 'varsalism." " 0, Lord ! I can't help smiling. I understand that you have a new minister at your parish? " " Yeth, Misser Bugbee, and he's a smart one; the smart- est minster in the whole town, he is. The way be puts it down is a caution, yeth, a caution, Misser Bugbee." Here the conversation ended, Mr. Bugbee smiling the same as usual. A few weeks after, in the evening, the clergyman of the new parish was walking in company with a number of the younger portion of his flock, and on their way they met Hector, when one of the ladies, who was fond of a joke, asked him how he liked their new minister. "He is a pindlin'-lookin' man, an't he?" said Hector. "He is not very fleshy," she replied; "but don't you think he 's smart?" " Wai, I guess he won't set the world a fire. He can make a noise, and holler pretty loud, and that 's 'bout all it 'mounts to. If you is gon to build up yer 'ciety, ye must have somebody that 's got bottom to him, and not one like that are pindlin'-lookin' feller, all wind and gars." 340 GLEN WOOD. " Are you a Universalist now, Hector? " "No, marm. I 's gin that ere up it 'snot Scriptur, and there 's no 'ligion 'bout it ; it 's nothin' but 'fidelity out and out it is; it 's jist rank 'fidelity." " What are you now, then ? " " I 's got to be a Swiginborgier, and that's the Tightest of 'em all ; 't is, and if yer want to be the rightest, ye must gin up your 'varsalism, and become a Swiginborgier ! " They now left him, the company laughing quite heartily, the clergyman expressing his regret, with mock gravity, for the loss his parish had sustained. Mr. Gregg became daily more and more unhappy ; and so unattractive was his home, that he was seldom there, ex- cept at night. Mrs. Gregg was determined to be mistress in the house, whether Mr. Gregg was pleased or not. She had been very careful how she used her tongue in his pres- ence ; but familiai-ity breeds contempt, and she gradually loosened the rein that held it in check, until he came to dread it as did his predecessor. As he was so unhappy at home, and troubled somewhat by the stings of conscience, he naturally sought for busi- ness of an exciting character. He purchased two pieces of land, and sold them soon after, making a thousand dollars. This good fortune stimulated him to purchase more largely ; and, as he had the utmost confidence in his business tact, he journeyed to the West, making extensive purchases. For a time he was very successful, and this encouraged him to launch out still more boldly upon the perilous waters of speculation. Early the ensuing spring there was a pressure in the money market, and it continued to in- crease for a number of months ; and Mr. Gregg made great GLENWOOD. 341 efforts to meet his bills, but in vain, and by and by they were protested to a large amount. An officer was immedi- ately despatched to Glen wood, who attached all his property there, personal and real estate. During Mr. Gregg's absence the management at the alms-house had been more execrable than when he was at home. As soon as the warm weather came, many of the paupers were taken dangerously ill. Two of them died, and others barely escaped. The disease spread into other families in the neighborhood, some of whose members had watched with those unfortunate ones ; several died, and in one family two beautiful children all they had. And now Mr. Goose and Deacon Glubbings entered a complaint against Mr. and Mrs. Gregg for the manner in which the affairs of the alms-house were conducted. It was the third week in August when it was known in Glenwood that Mr. Gregg had failed, and that his liabilities were thousands of dollars greater than his property would bring in the then depressed state of business. The day before his goods were attached, the complaint for mismanagement was entered. The paupers became aware of both the same day. The news caused great excitement and rejoicing among them. Such had been their usage for the last six months, that they were all seeking for revenge. The num- ber of paupers was now large, for two families were added the fall before one Irish, consisting of six persons. They remained peaceable that day until their dinner was put on to the table, which consisted of a soup, made of the odds and ends of almost everything cooked under that roof, and especially those articles of food prepared for Mrs. 29* GLENWOOD. Gregg's own table. There were scraps of bacon, crusts of rye and Indian bread, pork-rinds, bits of sausages, junks of boiled salt beef, cold potatoes, baked and boiled, the skins of the former, old beef-bones, doing service for the fourth time ; turnips, cabbage, parsnips, onions, carrots, barley, etc. ; all put in together, and made into one hodge- podge mess, called a stew. It was a savory dish, for it was well seasoned with pepper and salt. This abominable stuff was the paupers' dinner three times a week, nothing else being furnished excepting water. It was very repugnant to the most of them, but they ate it, because it was the only food provided. Hector usually ate heartily, but there were others who could force down but little. When Mrs. Gregg told the paupers their dinner was ready, not one of -them moved towards the table. " Sit down to your dinners, this moment ! " she said, in a loud voice. And now there was a movement in good earnest, for three of them caught hold of her, and forced her towards the savory dish. She become furious, screaming at the top of her voice, clawing at their eyes and hair, and making des- perate efforts to break away. They held her fast, however, and in rushed the children, causing a general melee ; and during the squabble they all left Mrs. Gregg, but Marga- ret, who proved equal to the occasion, for she shook her until she was glad to yield. In a few minutes from the time the combat commenced, the mother and seven children were all seated around the table. And now what a blaze there was to all those black eyes : and how red were the ends of those turn-up noses ! Their plates were filled, but, dLENWOOD. as they would not eat, the paupers forced it into their mouths, and made them swallow it; spilling it on their faces and clothes, causing them to present a most ridicu- lous appearance. A much more inviting repast was waiting in Mrs. Gregg's apartment, to which the paupers proceeded to help themselves with great eagerness. A part remained on guard, while the others ate ; and in this way they all partook of the greatest feast they had ever enjoyed in the alms-house. They were hungry, and they devoured every- thing they could find that was cooked. It was their determination to keep Mrs. Gregg and the Slushers sitting at the table until night, and then stow them away in the filthiest beds the house contained ; but, as they did not keep an eye upon Hector, he went out and reported progress, when the people came and released the prisoners. They found the paupers so enraged that they advised Mrs. Gregg and the children to go to the hotel. The selectmen held a meeting immediately, and deposed Mr. Gregg ; and a successor was appointed, who made a complete renovation of the premises before he would allow his family to enter them. He and his wife proved faithful to their trust, and the condition of the poor was made comparatively comfort- able. They were now decently fed and clothed ; and yet it was found, at the end of the year, that the expenses had not increased. When all the facts were made known to the public, so in- dignant were the citizens, that Mrs. Betsey S. Gregg con- cluded it best to leave -town. Before doing so, she wrote a letter to her husband, that she had done with him forever. This did not cause her a single pang, for she had never had a particle of love for him. 344 GLENWOOD. Mr. Gregg returned to Glenwood a poor, broken-down man, his fortune a complete wreck. His son was not able to give him a home, and Fanny did not care to, whether her aged husband was willing or not. And now he thought of poor Delia, and he felt that if she were living she would forgive him, and willingly cast in her lot with his. How earnestly he wished he could learn her fate ! and for this he did not wait long. Mr. Wyman saw Deacon Glubbings, and gave him her history after she was driven from her father's house, coupled with that of her child ; the latter did not feel it his duty to keep the matter a secret, and so the story was soon known to everybody in town. When Mr. Gregg had received some hints, he went to Deacon Glubbings, who told him all. At this intelligence his agony was intense indeed, and he shrank with horror from the thought that Willie Cunard, the basely-treated boy, was his own grandchild. This, with his other troubles, soon brought him to a sick bed. As he seemed so friendless, the good Mrs. Jones, Jeannie Wyman's boarding-mistress, kindly consented to have him brought to her house. He was so troubled in relation to Willie Cunard, that the latter was sent for. . He came reluctantly, but cheerfully forgave the wrongs he had received. Polly Hag- gett, who was now over seventy years of age, but in vigorous health, was secured as Mr. Gregg's nurse. In gratitude for her faithfulness, he left her, by will, what property might remain after his aifairs should be settled. Shortly after his death business became better, and at the end of three years Polly received the snug little sum of twelve hundred dollars. She lived quite happily for some years after this good fortune ; and her final departure was GLEN WOOD. 345 cheered by a firm faith that there are marriages in heaven, and that her clear Joseph (as she had continually called Mr. Gregg since his death) was anxiously waiting for her. The great idea of her life was to be married, and early one morn- ing f,he went forth to meet the bridegroom ! CHAPTER XXXI. PUTTING THINGS TO RIGHTS. A RIDE. OLD TIMES. A CHILD'S THOUGHTS. THE morning after Willie arrived at Mrs. Lund's, he was up with the sun, and without delay began to examine the premises. He went to the barn first, where he found a scene of confusion and waste, baffling description. Unthreshed grain, hay, and straw, were strewn indiscriminately all over the floors, and trodden under foot by whoever entered the building. The stalls for the horses and cattle were in a most wretched plight, no care having been taken of them for months, although visitors' horses had frequently been stabled over night. Willie felt that such neglect and lack of neat- ness were inexcusable. As soon as the hired man and boy had finished milking, he informed them that he required their aid. The man de- murred, saying that he had his work planned for the day, and when his plans were interfered with everything went wrong. Willie told him that he had the superintendence of the business now, and would answer for all failures ; and as to plans, he did not think there had been any on that farm, of late, the breaking up of which would be a loss to any- body. With fork, rake, and shovel, the three went to work, and by seven o'clock, the breakfast hour, the barn was in good QLENWOOD. 347 order, the hay, grain, and straw, separated, each being put in its appropriate place, and the stable thoroughly cleansed. After breakfast, the man and boy went to the work which had been planned the day before, while Willie reconnoitred the fences, for he noticed, when he came by the field of maize, the day previous, that the cattle had been in, eaten of the grain, and broken it down, doing considerable damage. He found large gaps in the walls, and the wood fences in many places entirely inadequate for their purpose; and so the afternoon and the whole of the next day were devoted to lay- ing up the walls and repairing- the fences. The hired man grumbled somewhat, but Willie told him that it must be done then. The garden had been sadly neglected, and a day waa devoted to that ; the door-yard was untidy, but the rubbish which had been collecting for many months was removed, and its disorderly aspect was changed to one of scrupulous neatness. In making these changes and improvements, Willie waa puzzled to find the requisite tools to work with. Neither the hired man or boy could tell where they were. After hunting an hour or two, an axe, rusty and dull, -would be produced, or a hoe equally rusty. Willie soon learned that things were not kept in their plnces, but left where they were last used, and so he began to look them up in good earnest. In the corn-field he found a hoe, very rusty, and in the potato-field another, one standing up and the other lying in the dirt. In one field was a plough, in another a harrow; and in the field where the haying was finished, stood a rake with four teeth broken out. There were three axes lying about in different places, all rusty and dull, and everything just as it should not be. All the implements of husbandry 348 G L E N W D . were gathered together, cleaned, and repaired, and put in their places, and the order given that, when used, they must be faithfully returned. It required some weeks to bring matters into the condition that Willie desired ; for there was other work on the farm which could not be neglected. In the mean time, Mrs. Lund was rapidly recovering. The roses came back to her cheeks, and the light and gladness to her eyes. Waldo, the darling boy, was much of the time with Willie, and the attachment between them became very strong. As for the former, he scarcely knew which he loved best, his mother or Willie. It might be that she had the largest share of his love, but he felt that he could not spare either. Mrs. Lund was soon able to ramble over the farm, usually with Waldo for a companion ; and, seeing the improvements Willie had made, she gave him the warmest praise. She remarked that there was no need of the counsel from her which he had desired, for it was evident that he knew better than she what was required, and had the energy to see that it was done. Mrs. Lund felt that she could not well dispense with Willie's aid and companionship, and so she invited him to make her house his home. The invitation was thankfully accepted. On pleasant days Willie harnessed the horse into the chaise and carried Mrs. Lund to rides, which they both en- joyed very much. They conversed of the past, the present, and the future. The exercise and the fresh air did much to restore her to health. During one of these excursions, on a beautiful afternoon, Mrs. Lund said, " I have just received a letter from father, Willie." " Have you ? " he replied. " He is well, I trust ? " " Yes, and so are all the family. You did not know that GLENWOOD. 349 I wrote to him that you were here, but I did, some days ago. When he was here last, he said that things were sadly managed on the farm, and he should have to come and stay a week, and see to them, or send some one." " Why did he not do so ?" " Business prevented ; but I informed him that I had given up everything to your care, and that a change had been wrought which would surprise him when he came again. He wrote that he was very glad that you were here*; and he wants me to come, as soon as I am strong enough, and make a visit, adding that you must come with me, without fail. What say, Willie shall we go?" " Certainly, Jeannie ; I shall be very happy to visit the cottage once more. I have wanted to see your father for a long, long time, for he was ever kind and faithful to me. I pre- sume he thought me guilty of ingratitude, but I never was. When I left his friendly roof I never loved and reverenced him more." " It would not have been strange if he had doubted you, Willie ; but he has assured me, time and again, that he has always had the utmost faith in your integrity." " I am glad that he has such a good opinion of me ; and I hope that I shall be worthy of it in the future, if I have not been in the past." "When shall we go, Willie?" " As soon as it is convenient for you." " How long before your book-agency will demand your attention?" " By week after next." "So soon?" " Yes, and if it is not convenient for you to vfsit your 30 GLENWOOD. father's before, we will postpone it until after my return. Or, if you wish to make a longer visit, you can do so, for I can go from Yamford to Boston." " Next Monday will suit me as well as any other time ; and, as I wish to come home on Saturday, my visit need not be postponed. I shall be lonely during your absence." " Shall you, Jeannie ? " "Yes, my friend. You little know how much I am in- debted to you for my restored health. I began to grow bet- ter as soon as you came, and I have improved ever since." " Your words are very flattering, Jeannie, and from my heart I thank you ! " " I had become very gloomy, and, if it had not been for Waldo. I should have prayed that I might die. I had once enjoyed nature, but then all looked dark and forbidding. You came, Willie, and the burthen was at once lifted from my soul. You say my words are flattering. Could you have read my thoughts that afternoon and evening, the flattery would have been greater than can possibly be given by words." " Bless you, Jeannie ! bless you ! But I fear you give me more credit than I deserve. If I have added to your happiness, or aided in restoring you to health, I am thank- ful. It is a pleasure always to do good ; but if the good which we do requires no sacrifice from us, we merit but little praise." "Do you think so?" ' ' Certainly. If I pursue a course of conduct which gives me pleasure, and good is wrought thereby, why should I receive praise? Those alone deserve to be honored who follow the straight line of duty when moral courage is re- nuired or sacrifices involved. In so far as one suffers in a GLENWOOD. 351 good cause, he is a martyr, and to be commended, if he has been influenced by good motives. I have known people who prided themselves so much in differing from others, that they would join an unpopular movement for no other purpose only to be at variance with their neighbors. From a con- tentious spirit, they would become engaged in a good work, which came in conflict with the prejudices of the majority, and thereby caused them suffering. Now, if such were brought to the stake, and received the baptism of fire, we could only give them the praise which is due to fools. Act- ing in accordance with our highest ideas of right, whether it brings praise or censure, pain or pleasure, can alone mani- fest true nobleness of soul." " I agree with you, Willie ; but I fear that few, compara- tively, are guided by so high a standard of excellence." " Very true. But the world is steadily, though slowly, I grant, moving forward, not backward, as many would have us believe. The army of the truly brave is small, but their number is continually increasing; and, in due time, all shall stand upon the glorious mount of holiness." " I believe you ; but many centuries must pass away ere that happy time shall come. And so I must not praise you, although you have been instrumental in bringing great good to me." " I do not feel that I am worthy of praise ; for here have I passed some of the happiest hours of my life. I have witnessed your improvement in health from day to day, and much happiness have I derived thereby. But, Jeannie, when you so generously aided the hapless child, yon merited commendation, for you braved the prejudices of others, and wrought a truly good work." 352 GLBNWOOD. " I fear you give me more credit than is justly my due." " No Jeannie, no ! It was your hand that lifted me from the ' Slough of Despond,' and led me into pleasant places ; you quickened my dead faith in humanity into life. You knew me better than I knew myself, and through your instrumentality I became a very different being. I have never forgotten it, and I never can." " And have your feelings in relation to what I then did for you been as intense always as they now seem to be? " " Yes, Jeannie ; and they seem not more intense than they are. Your childhood life was so beautiful, that you can scarcely realise how wretched, how utterly hopeless was mine. You have assured me, and I believe you, that my presence here has helped you regain, in a measure, your health. You are not well yet, far from it, but much better. And I am thankful that I have been of some ser- vice to you, for there is no one in the wide world whose welfare interests me so much. The good which you wrought for me in my great hour of need is impressed upon my heart, and there is no power that can erase it. I have seemed forgetful, but I never have been." " I do not doubt you in the least, Willie. The darkest portions of our lives have their sunny places. It was wearisome business teaching that large school of great boys and girls, in Glenwood ; but how glad I am now that it fell to my lot to do so ! We had some happy hours, Willie, eat- ing dinner together in that old school-house, and walking home in company." " They were very happy hours to me. I have been puz- zled to account for the abundance of food that you brought. People do not usually put up such large dinners for a doli- cate school-ma'am, like you." GLENWOOD. 353 " I can solve the riddle for you. My landlady was very generous the first day, and gave me double the amount I actually required for myself. I carried nothing back ; and so she added to the quantity, and I obtained the credit of having an enormous appetite for dinner." " Did she hint as much? " said Willie, laughing heartily, in which he was joined by Jeannie. " 0, yes ; she used to speak about it quite often." "If I had known that, I think I should have ate more sparingly." " I am glad that you did not know it, then; for you was a poor, half-starved creature. You remember how well you learned that winter? Those dinners helped you. With the wretched fare that you had at the poor-house, your strength would scarcely have been sufficient for such hard study." " But did not Mrs. Jones' remarks in relation to your appetite mortify you?" "Not in the least. I rather enjoyed the joke. She seemed to think that I ought to grow very fat and plump and was much puzzled that I did not." "There are some ludicrous things in this world, and it is well that there are." V " So I think. But how long shall you be absent on your book business? " " About a month." " I fear the weeks will be all months." " I hope not. But, if you think you shall be too lonely, you had better remain at your father's, as you are still in feeble health." "No, I had rather return with you; for, now that the harvest is being gathered in, it is necessary that I should be 30* 354 GLENWOOD. at home. You know how things were neglected during my sickness ; and so I must not trust to those who have proved false, or have no faculty for good management. There is one favor, Willie, which I shall require during your ab- sence." "What is it, my friend?" " You must write to me." " I thank you for asking it ; and I will do so as often as you wish." "The more frequently the better; for while reading your letters I shall half fancy that you are present, and talking to me." " And will you write? " ' ' Yes, if I can send my letters where you can get them." " I can arrange that. Here comes Waldo. Our ride has been longer than usual, and he has most likely grown impatient." " Has it seemed longer to you ? " " No, Jeannie ; the moments have glided away very quickly." Some rods from the house Waldo met them, and he seemed quite unhappy because they had been gone so long. To please him, they took him in, and rode some distance the other way. " I thought," he said, " that you never would come back again ! " " Did the time seem very long ? " asked his mother. " 0, yes. I was so tired that I lay down and went to sleep : and when I awoke Lucy was so cross that I did n't GLENWOOD. 355 know what to do. I came out doors, and sat down all alone, waiting for you ; and I was so lonesome ! " "If you were lonely, why did you not go to your brook and talk with that? " said Willie. " I did not feel like it," he replied. " Sometimes I like to go very much. I went yesterday and sat down close to it; and then the brook went running and jumping along, and saying the queerest things ! The brook has a sweet voice, I think." " What did the brook say ? " asked Willie. " I don't know; it seemed to say, ' Wallie, Wallie, lie down, Wallie ! sing you to sleep, Wallie, Wallie ! ' I did lie down once, for I thought it told me to ; and mamma found me right close to the water, sound asleep, did n't you, mamma?" ' ' Yes, dearest ; and you recollect I told you that you must not lie down so near the brook again." " Well, I never have since ; but I go near enough to hear its silver voice. I wonder what it does say ! Mamma says that I should drown under the water; the fishes don't, though ! I should like to lie on my back right where 't is the deepest, and look up to the sky, and then perhaps I could see God; I want to see him. Is God up there?" he in- quired, pointing upwards. "Yes, dearest," replied his mother; "God is every- where." " I wish I could see him ; I know that I should love him. Why can't he stick his head out? " At this Willie burst into a loud laugh, in which he was joined by Mrs. Lund. " I guess you think that is funny, you laugh so," said 356 GLENWOOD. Waldo; "but I don't see -what there is to laugh at, I 'm sure. God is up there, for Lucy said he was, and so did you, mamma. Perhaps he is behind that white cloud ; that 's his curtain, I guess ; and if he would just take his hand and push it aside, I might see his face." " God is a spirit," said Mrs. Lund, "and he cannot be seen by mortal eye." "That is queer, if he is big enough to make everybody. But he can speak and make us hear him, can't he ? " "What makes you think so? " said Willie. " 'Cause I have heard him myself! " " You have heard him ? " "" Yes, and he told me to come up to heaven, for he wanted me." " You imagined that, I think." " 0, no, I did not ! I heard him away up in the blue sky ; but, then, it might have been an angel. I don't know but the angels will come after me when God can't do with- out me any longer." They had now arrived home, and so the conversation ended. In the evening Mrs. Lund requested Willie to give the necessary directions to the hired man in relation to the work during their absence, and lay out a general plan for him to pursue while he should be away on his book-agency. "I was overseer myself," she said, "until I was sick; and the business was done very well. I intend to resume the office, in a measure, while you are gone ; but I prefer that you should plan, and I will see to the execution." "I will do as you request," said Willie ; "for you are not sufficiently strong, as yet, to be burthened with much care." CHAPTER XXXIl. AT CHURCH. THE YOUNG CRITIC. AMONG OLD FRIENDS. SfPPMEt HIS SUBSCRIBERS. WITH THE PENLYS AGAIN. RETURNS BOMB. THE following Saturday was a busy day for Willie ; for it was requisite that he should be very particular in his di- rections, if he would have the harvesting done as he desired. On Sunday he carried Mrs. Lund and Waldo to church. She had not attended before since her illness. She was not, however, pleased with the services. A newly-fledged divine officiated both forenoon and afternoon, and his discourses were altogether too highly seasoned to suit her taste. When they had returned home, both Mrs. Lund and Willie ex- pressed their disapprobation of much that the minister had uttered. They thought that more of Calvary and less of Sinai would better accomplish the work desired. Waldo listened a while very attentively, and then said : * " I knew that minister swared, I did. I heard him keep saying those wicked words all the time he was preaching. Should n't you think he 'd be ashamed, mamma, to be swearing so, right in the meeting-house, on Sunday? " "He was not swearing, my dear. When he spoke so severely of the ungodly, he meant that they would be pun- ished for their wickedness." GLBNWOOD. "Well, I thought he swared, for he said a great many bad words ; but I suppose he did n't mean swearing." " No, Wallie." Monday morning, all hands were up with the sun, and, taking an early breakfast, Willie, Mrs. Lund, and Waldo, started for Yamford. By eleven o'clock she was so much exhausted that they stopped at a hotel, where they took dinner, remaining until three p. M. It was their intention to have arrived at Mr. Wyman's by one o'clock ; but, being detained so long, they reached there just in season for tea. Very warm was the reception which they received. A more heart-felt greeting they could not have desired. Willie was made to feel that he was welcomed for his own sake, as well as for those he brought with him. How glad he was to be at the cottage again ! After tea he went with Mrs. Lund and Waldo to the grape-vine arbor ; and then, as she was weary, he rambled about alone, visiting old familiar places. In the evening he held a long conversation with Mr. Wyman, giving the latter an account of his life on Mr. Penly's farm, and his experience in the book-trade. During the week Frank and Arthur came home with their wives and children, and all seemed to have a very happy time. Mr. Wyman declared that he was glad to see his three boys together once more. On Saturday the parties all returned to their several places of abode ; and the Monday following Willie went to Boston. He took the books which were subscribed for, and visited the various towns where his subscribers lived, hiring a horse where he could not con- veniently reach them on foot. Saturday evening of the second week, he arrived at Felton, where he had thirty names. Very hard had he worked that day, and he waa GLENWOOD. 859 glad when he reached the door of the house that had been his home for so many years. He rapped very gently, but Mr. Penly heard him, and answered the summons. " Sakes alive ! " he exclaimed, as he opened the door "if here an't Willie Cunard ! How are you, my boy, how are ye?" Before he had time to answer, Hattie, who was sitting in the adjoining room, reading, came running, as soon as she heard his name, and threw herself into his arms ; and, in the transport of seeing him again, burst into tears. "What are ye whimpering 'bout?" said Mr. Penly, wiping his own eyes with his large bandanna. " I don't see anything to cry for. Are ye pooty wal, Willie? " " Very well indeed, I thank you," he said; " but where are mother and Sarah ? " " They 're out milkin', but they '11 be in soon. The old woman will be monstrous glad to see you. You 've got slicked up since ye went away. I hope you 've made lots of money. It is terrible aggravatin' business, this goin' all 'round the country an' gettin' abscribers. That are day that I went round with ye was 'nough to sicken me on 't." " How glad I am that you have come again ! " said Hattie. "And I was glad to come, Hattie," said Willie. "1 labored hard to reach here to-day, so that I could stay over Sunday." " Over Sunday ! " said Mr. Penly. " I 'spect you will stop over a number of Sundays. You 've lived here a long time, you know; an', 'sides that, you are Nation to us. I want you to make us a visit that '11 'mount to soinethin'." " So do I," said Hattie. 360 GLENWOOD. "I should be very glad to stay," said Willie, "but I must supply my subscribers without delay, and after that I have other engagements." Mrs. Penly and Sarah now came in, and were both re- joiced to see Willie. The former wept very freely, and told hhn that he seemed like an own son. {l Sich a cryin' for no thin'," said Mr. Penly, bringing his bandanna into requisition again, "I never seed. I shouldn't wonder, now, if the boy has n't had a mite of supper." "Have you taken tea?" inquired Hattie. "I have not," said Willie. "I knew he hadn't," said Mr. Penly, "by his looks. Now, you 'd never thought on 't. It takes the old folks to 'tend to sich things, arter all." " La, daddy ! " said Mrs. Penly, " I suppose she was so glad to see him that she couldn't think of nothing else." Hattie immediately made up a fire and put on the tea- kettle ; and then she made biscuit, for she thought Willie ought to have some fresh and hot. In a brief period the supper was smoking on the table. "I declare!" said Mr. Penly, "how smart that are gal is!" "She does work quicker 'n ever 1 could," said Mrs. Penly. "Now, 'twould took me a full hour to have got that supper, and she han't been more 'n twenty min- utes. You see, she likes books about as well as you do, Willie, and I suspect she has learned to work quick so as to have the more time to read." "That is a good reason for learning to work quickly, isn't it, Willie?" said Hattie. . "] think it is," he replied, as he seated himself at the GLENWOOD. 861 table. " Nothing is better for the mind and heart than good books." " I 'spected you 'd preach that are doctrine," said Mr. Penly, " 'cause you are in the business, an' 't won't do for you to talk nothin' else." " I always did preach it," said Willie. " So you did," said Mrs. Penly. " La, don't mind what daddy says ! Somehow or other, Hattie was born spry. Now, there is our Sarah, she is just like dacldy and me, slow and sure. As for Hattie, she's a little flirt of a thing; all she thinks of is books and beaux." " Why, mother ! " said Hattie. " It would not surprise me," said Willie, " to learn that Cupid has you fairly entangled in his meshes, by this time, Hattie." " You must not believe any such thing, if you hear it," she replied. "Yes, he must, too," said Mr. Penly. "None of your white lies, Hattie ! they're jest as bad as any. I 'spect every day when that are feller will ax me for my youngest darter." Hattie blushed the deepest scarlet at this, and Mr. Penly and Willie laughed quite heartily. "I'm afeard the cakes an't very good," said Mrs. Penly. " They are," said Willie, " very nice indeed, and this tea reminds me of old times." "I am glad if you like the vittals. I used to do the cooking myself, once ; but Hattie docs it pooty much all now." " There, Nancy," said Mr. Penly, " how nat'ral it doeg seem to have Willie sittin' to that are table once more ! " 31 GLENWOOD. " So it does, daddy. I don't know how it is, Willie, but you seem about as near to me as my own children." "Thank you, mother," said Willie ; "I shall never for- get your kindness. The poor, sick, ragged boy found a home and a mother here." " 0, don't say anything about that, for that was nothing " said Mrs. Penly. "It was a great deal," said Willie. " You were all true Christians in your conduct towards me." " I never pertended to 'sperience no thin'," said Mr. Penly, ' ' but to help a feller-crittur in his need is my 'ligion, an' I think it 's 'bout the best there is. Sich little things don't cost nothin'. An't I jest as rich as though I hadn't gin you that are ride? Certainly I am. An't Nancy an' me jest as well off as though we 'd a sent you to the poor-house? I reckon we are, and a great deal better." "If your religion is less comprehensive than that of oth- ers, it is the right sort as far as it goes," said Willie. "I know 'tis," said Mr. Penly. "What is that are 'ligion good for whi<-h is nothin' but prayin' an' speech-a- fyin' ? Not much. I reckon ! Now, a good many folks don't have any other, an' they don't want any. They 'spect to go to heaven on that, which is all they are lookin' out arter. They don't think there's any 'ligion at all in help- in' a feller-crittur. 'Ligion to sich folks an't doin' good, but jest prayin' theirselves right up to heaven." " Don't go too far, husband," said Mrs. Penly ; "for you are apt to when you get in arnest. But I think pooty much as you do. However, you know, the Bible says, ' Ye must be born again.' ' : " I know it does, an' that 's what they call 'speriencin' OLENWOOD. 863 'ligion. Wai, arter all, I would n't give my 'ligion for that of some who 'sperienced forty years ago." After Willie had finished his supper, Mr. Penly began to inquire about his business. !; Have ye been gettin' abscribers all this time? " "No, sir," replied Willie; "for the last six weeks I have been at work on a farm." " Guess you have ! Who for ? " " For an old friend ; she that was Jeannie Wyman." "What! that are gal that got married, and e'enamost broke your heart?" " Why, daddy ! " said Mrs. Penly. " The very one," said Willie, smiling. 11 How are they gettin' along ? " " She has seen a great deal of trouble, buried her hus- band and oldest child." " Poor gal ! that 's trouble 'nough. Does she take their loss pooty hard? " " It brought her to a sick bed, and almost cost her her life. I found her by accident, and, though she was much better than she had been, yet she was very weak and low- spirited." " An' so you stayed to cheer her up? Done jest right, Willie." " She has a large farm, and those she employed were not faithful, and so the work was done in a slovenly man- ner. She immediately confided everything to my care." " Couldn't put 'em into better hands. I'll warrant ye there was a change 'bout short metre." " I tried to do my duty." 64 G L E N W I) . "Sartin, and you knowed how. I tell ye what 'tis, Willie, I 'spect you'll marry that are gal yet." " Why, father ! " said Hattie. " How queer you talk ! " " He always says just what he thinks," said Sarah. " Are you goin' back there? " inquired Mr. Penly. " I think of returning soon." "Goin' to stay long?" " Most likely the rest of the fall, and through the winter." " I see it 's all up with us. We can't have ye any longer, an' it 's no use to 'spect it now. Wai, wal, it 's all right, I s'pose." 11 The truth is, Mr. Penly, that she is in feeble health, and she needs some one to take the charge of the farm whom she can trust implicitly. Now, I am so vain that I flatter myself I am just the one." " That's true enough ; I did hope that I should get you back again. You see, I hired a man last spring, and he was the laziest feller I ever seed. He usually walked with his hands behind him, at the rate "of a mile an hour, jest about. I could n't get along with him nohow, an' I paid him up an' sent him adrift ; then I hired a boy, an' he did fust rate till he took to stealin' ; so I sent him adrift, too, an' have had to depend on the neighbors ever since." "You have not had very good luck," said Willie. "No; but I shall look out sharp in the futur," said Mr. Penly. "I've kept things along pretty well, some- how, and kept up the 'provements. Sakes alive ! I do my work jest 'bout as easy agin as I used to. Now, if I had n't gin you a ride that are day that I overtook you, I should n't had no new ploughs, no new harrer, no new hoes, an' no GLENWOOD. 365 new nothin' ; an' I should have had to delve along jest as 1 used to. I jest cast my bread 'pon the waters, that are time, an' it came back all made inter cream toast." " I am very glad that you like the changes I persuaded you to make." " Persuaded ! you fairly driv me to it. I did n't b'lieve in your new-fangled things, but I've had to give in at last. I 've allus been terrible sot 'agin new inventions, jest got up to get away folks' money. I liked the old tools best, 'cause I didn't know nothin' 'bout the new. But I've lamed bet- ter now, an' I mean to paternize all the 'provements here- arter." "There is no employment," said Willie, "more honora- ble than that of agriculture. To till the soil in such a manner as to raise large crops, is what a man may be justly proud of. I am resolved to have a farm of my own, some time or other ; and I mean to cultivate it in a scientific manner, that I may be well repaid for my labor. And I hope that I shall escape the mania for buying up, on credit or for cash, all the land adjacent to my own. Better do justice to a little, than half cultivate a number of acres. Look at poor Harding ! The neighbors say that he has double the land that he had ten years ago, while his crops have fallen off one third. No class need to learn wisdom more than farmers." " I motion," said Mr. Penly, "that you go and marry that are widder, if you can get her; an' then you '11 have a good wife, an' a good farm, too." " Perhaps she intends to remain a widow," said Hattie. "I don't care what she 'tends," said Mr. Penly; "but 31* GLENWOOD. she '11 never do it, if she has sich a good chance as that are to better herself." " I guess she'd have you, fast enough," said Sarah to Willie. "She'd be a, foolish girl if she didn't, if you wanted her," said Mrs. Penly. " 'T an't natur to live all alone; and I think a widder has jest as much right to marry as anybody else." "Them's my sentiments, Nancy," said Mr. Penly. "There's nothin' like a good husband an' wife in this world. We 've tried it, an' we know." " The conversation has taken a turn which I did not anticipate," said Willie; "and you are laying your plans quite freely for my friend and me. As to Mrs. Lund, I don't think she has thought of marriage since Mr. Lund died, although she has been very lonely. What the future may have in store for us, we know not ; but we all hope that our fondest wishes may be abundantly gratified." Willie remained a few days in Felton, devoting a part of the time to business, and the rest to pleasure. He and Hat- tie spent many pleasant hours during this visit in reading and conversation, in the arbor, under the vine which their own hands had planted. On the following Thursday morn- ing, he reluctantly took his leave of his faithful friends, and commenced again supplying his subscribers. It took a week longer to reach them all than he anticipated. When the work was done, and he had settled with his employer, he glad- ly hastened to the home of Jeannie Lund. The latter had become somewhat impatient ; for nearly six weeks, instead of four, had passed since he left her. His welcome, however, was none the less warm because he had been absent longer OLENWOOD. 867 than he expected ; for Mrs. Lund knew that circumstances beyond his control detained him. It was late in the evening when Willie arrived, and all the inmates were in a deep sleep but Mrs. Lund. She had not retired, for she felt sure that he would come that night. Why she felt so she did not know, for Willie had written to her that he could not set the time. After she began to feel assured that he was on his journey home, she thought the feeling might arise from her intense' desire to see him again. But, as the hours fled away, she knew that he was coming, that every moment shortened the distance between them; and when the bell rung at a quarter before eleven, she opened the door without hesitation, for she was very certain that Willie was there. She was not disappointed ; and the warm clasp of the hand, and the kiss, showed that the joy of the reunion was mutual. And it was ; for their emotions were such that neither spoke for several minutes. Willie now looked inquiringly into Mrs. Lund's face, and said : " Your health has improved, Jeannie, very much ; do you not think so ? " " Yes, Willie ; I begin to feel as I used to. For a num- ber of days I have grown stronger ; my wonted vigor has in a measure returned, and sometimes there seems to pour into my whole being a new energy. At such moments it does not ap- pear to be the old strength coming back, but something newer and fresher. I still have my sad moments very sad ; but there are also moments of blissful enjoyment. I often feel as though it were wrong to be happy so soon after I have lain my loved ones in the grave ; but that cannot be, for my peace is so serene." " You must never harbor the thought, Jeannie, that it 368 GLEN WOOD. can be wrong to be happy. Reconciliation to God's provi- dences always brings peace." " I do not doubt it. You look weary, Willie, but I trust that you are well." " I am very well indeed, and have been ever since I left you. Has the harvesting been done according to my orders?" " Very nearly so. On the whole, I am well satisfied. You have not been to supper. In the pleasure of seeing you, I had forgotten it. But I knew you would be here, and so I have it nearly ready." " Then you expected me ? " " 0, yes; I had a presentiment that you would come to- night. If you had not,* I should have been seriously dis- appointed." " Have you expected me before ? " " I have desired it, but have not truly thought you would come." "How is Waldo?" " He is well, and anxious to see you. He has spoken of you often. You must see him before you retire." " I should be happy to, the dear boy ! " "He is in a sweet sleep now, and I shall not care to awake him ; for the excitement of seeing you would make him restless the remainder of the night. I like to look at children when sleeping such sweet, beautiful children! do you not, Willie?" "I do, very much ; for the repose is so calm. Where ia Lucy?" he continued, taking his seat at the table. " She is married." " Married ! " QLENWOOD. 369 11 She has had alarming symptoms for some time ; but the disease took her off very suddenly at last." " You are not alone, Jeannie? " " Yes, I am, Willie." " This is not right. You are not strong enough to do the work and have so much care. I must look up a domestic for you to-morrow." " She has only been gone two days, and I have done very well, so far. However, I fear the work will be too much for me ; therefore I shall not object, if you can succeed in getting me a good girl." Mrs. Lund now sat opposite of Willie and poured the tea, as she did the first night he came to her father's. They both thought of it, and of the events that had transpired since then ; their long separation, and their coming together again to live under the same roof, happier in each other's society than they had ever been before. Mrs. Lund remem- bered that she had compassion for the poor boy ; but now such feelings were no longer called for, and they had been succeeded by those of respect and gratitude. As for Willie, he did not attempt to analyze his thoughts. He was aware that he had never conquered his early love for Jeannie ; but he had learned reconciliation. * CHAPTER XXXIII. AN IRISH COOK. AN OLD FRIEND. A CHILD'S FRANKNESS. WALDO'S THOUGHTS AND WISHES, AND HIS MOTHER'S FEARS. VERY glad was Waldo when his mother informed him, in the morning, that Willie had returned. So impatient was he to see him, that he went to his chamber, and, as Willie was not awake, he put his arms around his neck and kissed him, when the slumberer awoke from a confused yet blissful dream, in which things past and to come were strangely blended Jeannie Wyman, when he first knew her, chang- ing, somehow, to Hattie Penly ; and then to a sad-hearted widow of somebody, and as suddenly she was his own dear wife, reposing in his arms. " Breakfast is almost ready," said Waldo to Willie, after they had conversed some minutes, " and you must dresa you and go down and eat with mamma and me." It was Willie's intention during the day to go in search of a domestic ; but while they were at breakfast a rap was heard at the door, and when Mrs. Lund opened it there stood a young woman whose appearance indicated that she had lately come from the Emerald Isle. " Howd' ye do, mum? " she said. " May be ye 'd like to get one to do the work for ye ? " GLENWOOD. 371 " I want a girl very much," said Mrs. Lund. " Can you do house- work?" " Och ! to be sure I jist can. What '11 I want to do but that ? " " How long have you been in America? " "Is it that ye want to know now ? Och, sure that 's no matther at all ! Me mem'ry is not good for the telling of sich; but I've been here this two, three, thirteen year, mum." " Have you ever done house- work? " " Och ! to be sure I have, and here 's the paper that '11 tell ye. An' sure an' did n't my mistress give it to me when I left her?" " What is your name ? " " Me name? If ye had looked in the paper I gave ye, ye 'd a found it widout the throuble of axing me. Well, thin, me name is Bridget McLooney." "Walk in, Bridget, and after breakfast I will talk with you further." " Sure you will, an' won't I be glad to sit down afther walking this two, three hour?" " Have you taken breakfast?" said Mrs. Lund to Bridget, as she was about to clear off the table. " No mum," she replied, " for I started before the praties had been put on, or the tay-kettle ather. I 've been walking so long that I am very faint, mum." " Sit up to the table," said Mrs. Lund. " That 's what I will, an' the Lord bless ye for the re- memberence of it ! " Mrs. Lund now examined the certificate, which stated that Bridget McLooney had been employed as a cook in a 372 GLENWOOD. boarding-house for six months. After Bridget had devoured all there was upon the table, she moved to her former seat. " The certificate says that you have been employed as a cook," Mrs. Lund remarked to her. "Yis, mum, that's thrue." " How much do you ask a week ? " " How much do I ax a wake ? " with a somewhat dubious look. "Is it the pay ye were spaking of ? " " Certainly." " Well, thin, may be I'd ax ye two dollar." " I do not like to give so much as that ; however, I will take you on trial for a few days." Bridget now went to work under Mrs. Lund's directions ; but the latter had sufficient reason, before night, to doubt the truth of the statement in the certificate that she had had six months' experience as a cook. She washed and wiped the dishes very well ; but, in getting dinner, Mrs. Lund had to do it nearly all. When it was time for supper she prepared some buckwheat, and asked Bridget if she knew how to cook fritters. " An' certinly I do," she said. But when she placed upon the table the evidence of her skill, she was greeted with such a laugh from Willie and Mrs. Lund, that she was com- pletely astounded. As for the latter, she laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. Bridget had turned the whole batch into the fry-pan and cooked it all together, producing a loaf of soggy buckwheat bread. Mrs. Lund remarked that she was sorry to lose the fritters, but the laugh was worth more than all the buckwheats ever cooked. She was told to make coffee the next morning, and use fish-skin to settle it with. Instead of following her instruc- QLENWOOD. 873 tions, she put in the tail of a large codfish. The result was, the coffee was muddy, and so salt that it could not be drank ; and Mrs. Lund immediately made tea, which was substituted for the salted coffee. As Bridget had such poor success with the fish-skin, it was thought best to have her use eggs ; but every morning the coffee was just so muddy. It was a mys- tery to Mrs. Lund why it was so. Having occasion, one day, to go to the cupboard, she saw an egg, which looked so yel- low, dirty, and unwholesome, that she opened the window and threw it as far as she could. " Och ! mum," said Bridget, " ye 've thrown away the egg what I settled the coffee wid." " The egg you settled the coffee with ? " said Mrs. Lund, interrogatively. " Yis, mum," she replied. " Sure I put it into the coffee- pot, and stirred it up every morning with the big spoon." At this explanation Mrs. Lund laughed as heartily as she did when Bridget made the loaf of buckwheat bread ; in which she was joined by Willie, who sat reading in an adjoining room, and had listened to the conversation. Similar laughable blunders occurred every day, but they became so frequent as to be very annoying ; so, after a fort- night's trial, she was dismissed. As she had very few clothes, on the morning she left Mrs. Lund gave her two second- hand calico dresses. Bridget examined them carefully, and then said, " They are poor things, but the Lord bless yo accarding ! " A few days after this, an old acquaintance of Mrs. Lund, by the name of Sarah Whiting, came to make her a visit She was a maiden lady, thirty years old, and had formerly 32 374 GLENWOOD. been Mrs. Lund's teacher. She was a person of a large frame and rather coarse features, but there were times when the expression of her face was very beautiful. She had re- sided with her fathe** but he was now dead ; and so she was desirous of finding a home for the winter with one whose spirit was kindred with hei own. She could do house-work well, and liked it ; but her nature rebelled against holding the position of a domestic merely. She could work, but she must be one of the family, and receive equal attention and respect. She could not hold a position which would cause her to be regarded as an inferior. Very happy was Mrs. Lund to welcome her old acquaint- ance to her home. She wanted some one to aid her in her work, and she was glad to have that one a companion, an equal, and a friend. Miss Whiting was a great lover of children, and she took a strong liking to Waldo the moment her eyes fell upon him ; but, as she was somewhat coarse-looking, and her face plain, he did not, at first, seem pleased with her. As the afternoon wore away, however, he became less shy, and no longer refused her caresses. While Mrs. Lund was preparing supper, Miss Whiting took Waldo into her lap and talked with him on various subjects, being both surprised and delighted at the strange and curious thoughts which he gave utterance to. After conversing for some time, he laid his head upon her shoulder, and gazed into her face with a very curious expression. She wondered what were his thoughts, and wished that he might utter them. He did not keep her long in suspense, for he said, GLENWOOD. 875 " How homely you are ! I scarcely never saw any one so homely before." " Then you think me very homely, do you, dear ?" she said. " You are more homely than mamma, or Willie, or any- body that I ever saw, excepting Bridget." "I am sorry that my face does not please you better, Wallie, for I want you to love me very much." " Do you love me ? " " Yes, I love you dearly." "You do? Everybody loves me. Well, I guess I'll love you, if you are homely." " I hope so, for I am to remain here through the winter, and after you become more accustomed to my plain features I trust you will like them better." " 0, 1 shall, I know, 'cause they look so good ! They look a great deal better than they did when I first saw you." Mrs. Lund was in the adjoining room setting the table, and heard this conversation, and she felt much mortified. As soon as Waldo came out, she took him into the kitchen, and expressed so much disapprobation at what he had said to Miss Whiting, that he commenced crying bitterly. She told him not to cry, but to go and tell the lady he was sorry. Waldo now went reluctantly into the presence of Miss Whiting, for he supposed that he had been guilty of a great offence. " What is it, Wallie ? " she inquired. He looked up into her face with tears in his eyes, and said, " I 'm sorry you 're so homely ! " A hearty laugh from Miss Whiting was the response, which was answered by Mrs. Lund from the next room. 876 GLENWOOD. " You have mended the matter, now ! " said his mother. " The boy has told the truth," said Miss Whiting, " and that is a thousand times better than a falsehood, though the latter might have been a little more complimentary. He thinks that I have a remarkably plain face, and he is really sorry for it. But I should not have known of his sorrow, I presume, if it had not been for his mother. I like the boy's frankness, and I doubt not that in less than a week's time he will very materially change his opinion." " I know he will," said Mrs. Lund, " for your face doea not look plain to me. I care not so much about the regular- ity of the features as I do for the expression. A doll haa regular features the expression reveals the depth of the soul. A doll-like face will do to look at now and then, but its lackadaisical appearance soon palls upon the sight." " That will do, Jeannie. If you say any more, I shall believe you less sincere than Waldo." " I hope not, for I mean just what I say. There are other faces which are dazzling at the first glance, but when studied you learn that their owners have hollow hearts. The dahlia is splendid, but the fragrant rose is the better flower." " Mamma says there are flowers in God's gardens and fields," said Waldo. "There 's where my papa is. Don't you want to go there and see them ? " to Miss Whiting. " I believe there are flowers in heaven," she said, " and they are more beautiful than those of earth." " I do want to go there," returned Waldo ; " God has told me to come. I wish Carra would drop me down a bunch of flowers. If she would, I'd keep them in water a long while." GLENWOOD. 377 " How queerly you talk, Wallie ! " said his mother, sadly. " Children have strange thoughts," said Miss Whiting, " and frequently give utterance to words which surprise us." " Do I talk queerly ? " said Waldo. " I did n't know it. If Carra don't send me down the flowers, I shall go up there and get some. I should like to come back and see mamma and Willie, but I don't suppose I can. I guess Carra is lonesome, 'cause I am not there to play with her." "0, Waldo," said his mother, " you make me very sad ! " " Do I? " he said, climbing into her lap. and looking lov- ingly into her face. " I don't want to make you sad, mamma. Would you be sorry to have me go up to God's house, and see papa and Carra?" "I cannot spare you, my dear boy ! " And, while she folded him to her heart, and kissed him again and again, she said, " We are but two, Wallie ! " " Do you wish to die and go to heaven, and leave your dear mother alone?" asked Miss Whiting. " 0, I shouldn't leave her alone ; for dear Willie is going to stay with her. Willie likes mamma, and you like Willie, don't you, mamma ? " " We are friends," said his mother, blushing. "I knew you were; and he will stay here always. I don't want to leave mamma," he said, seriously; "but Carra wants me, and my papa, too." " You must not think about leaving me," said his mother, with tears in her eyes ; "for how could I live without you? I love you with all my soul, Wallie ; and I want you, drar- est, ever near me, to be my comfort and support in life, and to console in death." 32* 878 GLENWOOD. " Well, then," he said, "I'll stay with you, if God will let me ; but he tells me to come to him." "I have been so engaged in the conversation," said Mrs. Lund, " that I forgot all about my supper. I presume my biscuits are half spoiled. Waldo has one of his serious talking spells; so I will leave him to entertain you, Sarah." ' ' Did you know that your remarks made your mother very unhappy ? " said Miss Whiting. " I am sorry," said Waldo ; " I did not mean to make her cry. I do love my mamma. She is very good. Every- body loves her; don't you love her?" " Yes, my child, very much ; and she is worthy of love. I have known her ever since she was a little girl, and I have always loved her." " 'Cause she was always so good, I suppose. I mean to be good, and then you will love me. And so you will live with us all winter ! It will be cold in winter, and the flowers all dead. I should think we might have summer all the time, and we shall in heaven. I should like to live in such a world. Mother says that she can't let me go there, but I must go." " When you talk so, you make your mother very sad." " Do I ? I don't want to make her sad, I 'm sure. She is always good to me ; and when I go to God I want her to go with me, and lead me up the golden stairs." " She may go long before you do. You have but just begun life. I expect you will live a great many years after your mother has gone to heaven." " It would be queer if I should live to be an old man ' But I shall not; I shall go and see my papa and Carra." QLENWOOD. 379 " You can see them when you die, if you live to be a man." " I know it ; but I can't wait so long ! I can't stay here when the angels tell me to come ! I hear them every day ! They have golden harps up there, and they sing beautifully ! Don't you ever hear the angels sing? Hark ! I hear them now, and I see them ! How white their clothes are ; but grandma's are the whitest of them all ! " To this Miss Whiting made no reply, for Waldo was gaz- ing upward, and the expression of his face was most heavenly. It seemed as though a holy spell was upon him ; and she believed, for the time, that he did see the angels. At this moment his mother came in ; and when she saw the upturned gaze of her child, and the look of rapture which clothed his face, as though illuminated with a celestial radiance, she stopped and stood perfectly still, regarding him with wonder and fear. Miss Whiting was equally absorbed, and tears unconsciously rolled down the cheeks of both. The spell was broken by the entrance of Willie. Mrs. Lund now dropped into a chair and covered her face with her hands, when Waldo went to her and sprang into her lap. Con- vulsively did she press him to her heart, while he looked into her face with an expression of warmest love, and said, " We are but two, mamma! " As soon as Mrs. Lund could allay her emotions, she in- formed them that supper was ready ; when they gladly re- paired to the table, only too happy to have something tc change the current of their thoughts. CHAPTER XXXIV. A VISIT FROM MR. PENLY. MARRIAGE OF HATTIE. A HAPPY HOME. SPLENDID SPECTACLE. SOME two months after Miss Whiting came to live with Mrs. Lund, on a very cold day, Mr. Penly drove up to the door, when Willie Cunard went out quickly to welcome him. "How are ye, my boy?" said Mr. Penly, cordially grasping Willie's proffered hand, and shaking it heartily. " I am well," was the reply, " and I hope you are as well as you look." " Never better in all my life. I 'm old, Willie, but tough, tough 's a pine-knot." " It 's a very cold day to take such a long ride ; but walk in, and I will introduce you to the folks, and then I will put your horse in the barn." " Sakes alive ! boy, do you s'pose I can't stan' a leetle cold? I an't none of yer shiverin' kind. I shall help take out Dolly myself, an' see her well cared for, afore I go into the house one step." " I have taken care of her a great many times, Mr. Penly ; and you know that I can do it just as well as you.' ; " So you can ; but, somehow, when I 'm 'way from home, 3LENWOOD. 381 I don't feel easy an' comfortable like, 'less I see to her my- self." " Are Mrs. Penly and the girls well? " "Yes; though not 'zactly. The old woman is ailin' a leetle, but the gals is fust rate. I snum, this is a pooty barn ! How scrumptious 't is ! Looks jest like ye. I should know you had the care on 't." Mr. Penly now went into the house, and was made ac- quainted with its mistress and Miss Whiting. " I 'm glad to see you," said Mr. Penly to Mrs. Lund, " very glad. Now, I 've hearn this ere boy," referring to Willie Cunard, " tell on ye a great many times, 'an I allua thought I should like to see you with my own eyes." "I have heard him speak of you very often," said Mrs. Lund, "of your kindness, and that of your wife and daughters. You are very welcome here ; for I am happy to have Willie's faithful friend for a guest." "Much obleeged to ye, Mrs. Lund. I don't wonder the boy likes ye. An' so he telled ye all about the old feller? Wai, wal, he 's a good boy, though I do say it." "You praise me to my face," said Willie, "as though you thought there was no danger of my being spoiled." "I '11 risk you," said Mr. Penly, "for I have tried ye out an' out. My old woman thinks jest as much on ye as she ever did, an' so do the gals, 'ceptin' Hattie." " Excepting Hattie? Why except her, when we are such excellent friends?" " 'Cause she 's got somebody else to think on. I 've some news to tell ye, Willie ; Hattie is to be married next week, an' I came over to invite you and Mrs. Lund to the weddin' ; GLBNWOOD. an' I should like to have ye fetch Miss Whitin' 'long with ye." "And so the dear girl is to be married! It will seem lonesome at your house without Hattie. I have spent many happy hours with her ; and if she was my sister, I could not love her more." " I don't like to spare her, one bit ; but we can't 'spect to. allus keep our children under our noses, as I tell Nancy when she gets to snifflin' 'bout it. Wai, what say, will ye come?" They all expressed a desire to be present on the joyful occasion, when Mr. Penly said, "That 's the talk ! We '11 have a good time, an' no mistake. An' fetch this pooty boy 'long with ye," referring to Waldo. "What say, my boy, would you like to come to the weddin'?" ' ' I should like to come very much with mamma ; and I will, if she will let me," he replied. " She '11 be glad 'nough to fetch ye. Come an' see me. You are a fine boy, but rather pindlin'. I had a leetle boy once, jest like you ; but he was allus poorly, an' we could n't raise him. It was a terrible blow to our hopes, an' Nancy never 's got over it to this day." " Did your little boy die ? " " Yes, but he was bigger than you." " Han't you got no other boys? " " No, my son. I 've got darters, but no boys." " I suppose he has gone to live with God. in his beautiful home ; and you will go and see him some time. My papa is there and Carra, and they have white robes. Did you know* GLENWOOD. 882 it ? I have seen them, and they were more beautiful than the roses. I am going there." " There, there, child, don't talk in that are wa^ ! It was jest so with my boy, allus a talkin' of God an' the angels. His mother thinks he 'sperienced afore he was five years old ; " and Mr. Penly pulled out his large bandanna, and applied it to his eyes. It being the middle of the afternoon when Mr. Penly came, he was persuaded to remain until the next morning, when he returned home, well pleased with his visit. The next week, Mrs. Lund, Miss Whiting, Willie, and Waldo, went to the wedding of Hattie Penly. There was a large company present, and everybody was charmed with the loveliness of the bride, while they no less admired the fine, manly appearance of the groom. The happy pair were united by the village parson, who kissed the bride as soon as the nuptial knot was tied, and introduced her to the company as Mrs. Hattie Wattles. All the gentlemen fol- lowed the example of the clergyman ; and the ladies, not to be outdone by the other sex on such an occasion, kissed the bridegroom. Feasting and merry-making ensued, which was kept up until nearly morning. Mr. Penly brought out the large brass kettle, in which, to please him, Sarah danced ; and the old gentleman shook his sides with laughter, the guests uniting in the merriment. Mr. Charles Wattles was a farmer, and a citizen of Felton ; and so Hattie found a new home in her own town, but a few miles from her father's. The day after the wedding, our Stetson friends returned home. When the weather permitted, Willie was engaged with the hired man in cutting and drawing up wood. On 384 GLENWOOD. stormy days he read to Mrs. Lund and Miss Whiting, or played and chatted with Waldo. In the evening they con- versed upon interesting or amusing subjects, read aloud alternately, for they were all good readers, and now and then attended a party, concert, or lecture. Waldo was generally a source of happiness to them ; hut he sometimes made them sad, and especially his mother. He seemed never so happy as when conversing of the un- seen things of eternity, excepting when he saw that his words brought sorrow to his mother's heart. Towards the close of winter, he became paler, and there was a brighter, clearer look to his eyes. Their expression was very beau- tiful, partaking more of heaven than earth. In the month of March there came a warm rain-storm, which melted nearly all the snow. It was at night when the rain ceased falling and the clouds were dispersed. The next morning, when the sun rose, it lit up a scene which rivalled the splendors of the East. The frost-spirits had been at work covering all the trees and shrubs with icy crystals, and the spectacle was indeed wondrously beautiful and gor- geous. The rain had carried off the snow, but the ground was white with frost ; and the air, though sharp and chilly, yet had a touch like the breath of spring. The first feathered songsters of the season were heard in Stetson on this morning. " The robin, bard of birds, whose ardent hymn Swells out upon his radiant breast of flame," was singing as though he had caught inspiration from the strange beauty which filled the world. Mingling with his notes was the song of the blue-bird, each tone clear and GLENWOOD. 88i> sweet. The earth seemed as beautiful as paradise, and the woods were great crystal palaces, crowded with the brightest gems and a thousand forms of beauty. Willie Cunard arose early, and, catching from his win- dow a glimpse of the glorious scenery, he awoke Waldo, and invited him to a walk. " ! " exclaimed the latter, as soon as he had stepped from the door. " Is not this beautiful ? " said Willie. " I don't know as I am awake," said Waldo. " I never saw such a scene as this when I was awake. I guess I must be dreaming dreaming that I am in heaven, and Will' 3 is with me." " This is no dream, Wallie, but reality. You know the buildings, if other things look unnatural." " Yes, Willie ; that is our house, but I never saw trees look so before. I should think the fairies or Santa Glaus had come in the night and hung the boughs with all the prettiest things in the world. Hark ! the robin is singing. How came he here ? I have not heard any robins since last year." " He has come to tell us that spring is approaching. The rain has melted the snow, and this morning the sun is warm, and so the birds have come witli their songs." "How queer it is! I have dreamed of trees which were covered with jewels and crystals, where the birds sang in the laughing mornings; but it was not here, but far, far away. It was a beautiful land. I was so happy to be there, Willie ! and now, when I am so tired, I wish I could go there. But I suppose mamma can't spare me." " No, darling ; for you are dearer to her than her own 33 386 GLENWOOD. life. And so the beautiful scenes there were more lovely than this ? " u ! a great deal more. But this seems like them. Just look at the woods, Willie ; how they do glisten, they look just like the woods in heaven ! " " I fancy the trees there are green." "I dreamed they were, sometimes, and sometimes like these. I would like to go into the woods." " And so would I, Waldo ; but our walk must not be long, for breakfast will soon be ready ; and, besides, you soon be- come weary." " I know I do, dear Willie. I don't know what makes me get so tired : I did not use to, last summer. I am so glad that I have you to carry me sometimes, when my legs ache so ! Mamma likes to carry me, but she is not so strong as you are." " No, dear; but here we are in the woods. Are they not beautiful ? This must be the crystal palace of the giants. Just see how many kinds of gems there are, and how many strange forms of beauty ! " " All beautiful ; but how came the trees to be so, Willie ? They were not so last night." " It was quite warm yesterday. In the night the weath- er changed, and it became colder ; but the rain continued to fall some time after the wind had changed from the south to the west, and so the drops were frozen as they fell ; the re- sult is the glorious scene which we have all around us." " And so this is nothing but frozen rain, and the sun will soon melt it, and then the beauty will all be gone ! Hark ! the icicles are falling now. ! what a crash thai was! That one like to have struck you, and me, too." QLBNWOOD. 387 " The sun is so warm, that it will soon bring them all down, and it will be rather dangerous remaining here, so we will return home ; besides, it is breakfast-time, and we ought not to keep them waiting." "We'll have to run, I guess. That one hit me ! Do you know I think the fairies are up in the trees, throwing their diamonds at us, to drive us out of their castle ! " " You have strange fancies, Wallie ; but that is a pleasant one, if it don't get spoiled." " How can it get spoiled ? " "If we should stay here long enough, some of those large diamonds, which hang so high, might strike you hard enough to knock all the poetry out of your head, changing the pleasant fiction to unpleasant fact, and the roving fan- cies to sober realities. Our giant palaces arid fairy castles filled with gems, which were tossed down by beautiful invis- ible creatures, would suddenly become tall trees covered with icicles, which the warm sun loosened, so that they tumbled down upon us, almost breaking our pates." " I am glad we have got out of the castle, for that would spoil it all ; one piece did hurt my arm. Now they go crash, crash, all of the time. The birds won't dare go in there, now." At this moment they heard the ring of the breakfast-bell, which hastened their steps, Waldo's tongue moving all the while as nimbly as his feet. They soon reached the house. With cheerful hearts they sat down to a repast, which waa eaten with the greater relish because of their early morn- ing walk. CHAPTER XXXV. MISS WHITING'S STORY. THE EARLY MARRIAGE OF HER MOTHER. LOSS OF HER HUSBAND. MARRIES AGAIN. CAPT. CLINTON SHIP- WRECKED. IS MADE A SLAVE. AFTER EIGHT YEARS* CAPTIVITY, IS RANSOMED. RETURNS HOME. A THRILLING SCENE. RE-UNION. ONE rainy day, soon after this, Mrs. Lund expressed a wish that Miss Whiting would relate the history of her parents, for there had always been a mystery in relation to the matter, which she could not fathom. " I know not," said Miss Whiting, " as the tale will be at all interesting ; but, if you both wish me to tell it, I will do so, though many things in it are very painful to me. " My mother's maiden name was Mary Dana. She was married in early life to Capt. James Clinton, a seafaring man, whom she loved very dearly. A few months after their marriage he sailed on a foreign voyage, and during a violent storm his vessel was wrecked, and the account of the wreck stated that all on board perished. " Capt. Clinton was a noble-looking man, the very soul of honor, and as tenderly attached to my mother as she was to him. He was young, and he left her but little property. So prostrated was she by this terrible affliction, blighting, as she then supposed, all her youthful hopes forever, that she lost all ambition, and she was only aroused from her lethargy GLENWOOD. 389 by realizing that she had spent the last dollar she had in the world. She had no relatives to whom she was willing to apply for aid ; for, had they been able to help her, her pride would have rebelled at the thought of living upon their bounty. As she had good household furniture, she resolved to maintain herself by keeping a boarding-house. After she had matured her plan, she immediately carried it into execu- tion; and, being an excellent manager, a good cook, and scrupulously neat, she soon had as many boarders as she desired. " At this period, my father, who resided in the city, went into the country for his health. He was then quite wealthy. Being pleased with the neat little village where my mother resided, he decided to remain there through the summer, if he could obtain a suitable boarding-place. He found the desired accommodations at her house. He was a bachelor, and he soon became interested in the young widow, which finally resulted in an offer of marriage. In taking this step, he was actuated by the noblest motives. His interest was first awakened by learning of her deep grief, and how severely she was compelled to tax her energies to maintain herself respectably. " When he had sufficiently gained her confidence, he heard from her own lips the loss she had sustained, and how much she had suffered, and how intense were her heart-sorrows still. She received from him more sympathy than from any one else, and she was not ungrateful. They frequently walked and rode together, and in the company of my father she was in a measure restored to happiness. He did much to relieve her from care, perplexity, and trouble, and when she became more cheerful he felt that he loved her. 33* 390 GLENWOOD. " The offer of marriage was not altogether unexpected to my mother ; for his devoted attentions manifested a regard warmer than that of a brother ; but it nevertheless placed her in a painful position. She had received his first atten- tions when she could not have anticipated such a result. She had unreservedly unburthened her heart to him, and he knew how fondly attached she had been to her husband, and how heart-broken she was at his loss. Being so lonely, so wretched, why should she not receive the sympathy which was so kindly, so unselfishly, tendered to her? " "From my own experience," said Jeannie, glancing at Willie, " I can well conceive how much she needed a friend." " By and by," Miss Whiting continued, " his attentions were of a more marked character, and yet she knew not how to decline them. " As I have already informed you, the tender of his heart and hand did not at all surprise her, and yet she knew not what answer to give. He had been so very kind to her, that she shrank from the thought of causing him pain. But, should she marry him ? That was a question she knew not how to answer. She had a strong desire to do that which was perfectly right and just. She knew well enough that, if she gave her hand, her heart would not go with it. But she highly respected my father, and many said that was enough ; she admired his noble qualities, his clear, vigor- ous mind, and his whole-hearted goodness ; and yet, strange as it may seem, she could not love him." " As he possessed the very qualities which she so much admired," said Willie, " one would naturally suppose that in time she might have become very devotedly attached to Mm." &LENWOOD. 391 " Attached as a friend," said Miss Whiting, " but nothing more. I have always believed that true matches are made in heaven ; and, if so, the existence on earth of those who rightly belong to us is sufficient to prevent the forming of other ties which result in true marriage. We may be un- able to conceive of such an influence. The two may be separated by thousands of miles, and one may believe the other dead. With the majority, under such circumstances, it would be decided at once that one or both might love as freely as they ever had done. But I disagree with them. I believe that a subtile matter, or something, I know not how to express it, is continually e"manating from one to the other, producing an effect which they themselves are un- aware of." "I have long believed the same thing," said Jeannie ; " and I see no reason as yet for changing my faith." "My mother," Miss Whiting continued, "did not feel it so great a sin to give the hand without the heart went with it, as I do. She was not fully persuaded that such marriages were quite right, but she knew that Mr. Whiting would be very kind to her, and give her a good home ; and, after due deliberation, she gave him the answer that he desired. The following winter they were married, and my mother's hum- ble country home was exchanged for an elegant residence in the city. " I was born about a year after their marriage. My child- hood days were beautiful. I had an elegant home, the most doting parents, and everything that a child could reasonably desire. But there were times when I was not quite happy; for my mother was so often melancholy, and when she was sc it produced a depression upon the spirits of my father. 392 QLENWOOD. I often found her in tears ; and when I wished to know why she wept, she said she could not tell me, and I must not ask. Here was a mystery which I continually pondered in my mind. Why should both of my parents be so unhappy, and especially my dear mother? This made me a very thoughtful child. At school, I learned with little effort, invariably taking the head of my class. At the period when the great crisis came to my young life, I think that I may say, without incurring the charge of egotism, that, though but a child in years, I had, in many respects, the understanding of a young woman. " Capt. Clinton sailed from New York for Macao, in China, and his vessel was wrecked at the island of Pinang. He was the only survivor, having the good fortune to be thrown senseless upon the shore. In a brief time after he had been restored to consciousness, he was taken prisoner by the Malays, who made him a slave, heaping every indignity upon him which is incident to such a degraded, unnatural state. He was traded from one to another a number of times ; and, so barbarously was he treated by some of hia masters, that he was frequently tempted to bring his suffer- ings to an end by taking his own life. " In this condition he remained eight years. Midst all his trials he did not forget his young wife he had left at home. He hoped that he might have the good fortune to return to America, and press his bosom companion once more to his heart. But, as years passed away, he trembled lest in his long absence she should marry another. This thought troubled him continually, and he at last became firmly persuaded that she was again a wedded wife. GLENWOOD. 893 " After remaining in captivity eight years, he was sold to a man who lived in Malacca, where he was ransomed by one of his own countrymen, with whom he returned to America. As soon as he arrived, he set off, without delay, for the town where he had left my mother. He there learned that she had been married for many years, and resided in Boston He was so disguised by a heavy beard that no one recognized him, and so he kept his own counsel. To Boston he went, without delay, and, having obtained board at a hotel, he resolved to make himself known to his wife. He felt that she rightly belonged to him ; but still, if she chose to remain with the man to whom she had been united in good faith, he would wish her naught but happiness, bid her farewell, and leave his country forever. " Capt. Clinton had been so long a slave, and being now almost heart-broken by this new misfortune, a number of weeks passed away ere he could summon sufficient cour- age to visit my mother. I was seven years old on the day he came. I remember that my mother had been weeping more violently than I had ever witnessed in her before. " When the bell rang, I went to the door. A fine-look- ing man, with a sad cast of countenance, stood before me. He inquired if Mr. Whiting resided there. I answered that he did. " ' Is Mrs. Whiting within? ' he asked. " ' She is,' I replied. " ' I would like to see her,' ho said. " I invited him in. My mother was near enough to hear the sound of his voice, and she exclaimed, ' My God ! ' Springing up and running into the hall, she cried, ' James ! James ! ' and threw herself into his arms and fainted 394 GLEN WOOD. Capt. Clinton laid her down upon a sofa, and, calling for water, he sprinkled her face, and then chafed her forehead and her hands, frequently calling her by name. ' Mary, dear Mary ! ' he would say ; and when she was returning to consciousness, he kneeled by her side, and pressed his lips to hers. " I need not tell you that this conduct excited in my mind the greatest surprise and indignation, and I felt like springing upon him and dragging him from the presence of my mother, and throwing him headlong into the street. If I had possessed the requisite strength, I should have done it. " My surprise was still more heightened when I saw my mother return his caresses, wind her arms around his neck, and weep upon his bosom. What could it all mean ? What would my father say if he knew all this ? Who was this man ? I wanted this dark mystery solved. . I felt that 'a great calamity had befallen me. and I went away by my- Belf, and wept as bitterly as I had ever seen my mother. " My father soon returned, and the moment I heard his footsteps, I hastened to meet him. He saw that I had been weeping, and he said : " 'What! your eyes full of tears, Sarah? What great sorrow has come upon my little girl, that she should weep ? ' " I did not reply for I could not; but I took his hand, and almost dragged him into the presence of my mother and the stranger. She arose when he entered, trembling in every limb. " ' This is ' she said ; but she could go no further, and she sank weeping upon the sofa. " ' What does all this mean ?' said my father, much agi- tated. OLE N WOOD. " The stranger now arose and said, "'Is this Mr. Whiting?' " ' It is, sir,' replied my father. ' And by what name shall I call you ? ' after a painful pause. " ' I I am Capt. Clinton,' said the stranger. "'Good God!' exclaimed my father, sinking into a chair, his face as white as a sheet. " The suspense was now painful, indeed, for no one in the room felt like uttering a word. My father was the first to speak. " ' Capt. Clinton,' he said, painfully, ' I presume that I understand it all now ; you claim the lady who sits by your side as your wife.' " ' Mr. Whiting,' said Capt. Clinton, ' many years ago I sought and won her love. We were married, and a few months afterwards I sailed for China. I was shipwrecked, thrown upon an island, and made a slave. My wife thought me dead, and she married you. Alone, heart-broken, with- out property, I cannot find it in my heart to blame her, though God knows I would have found her as I left her. She tells me that you were very kind to her, and she thought it best to become your wife. I went away a strong man, full of bright hope for the future ; I have returned in weakness and poverty. Mary has an elegant home now, better, perhaps, than I could ever have given her. And there is a tie that binds you together that does not exist be- tween us. You have a child ; this girl, Mary has informed me, is your daughter.' Here Capt. Clinton ceased speak- ing, for strong emotions choked his utterance. " 'I surmise the nature of what you were about to say,' remarked my father. ' I know that there is a tie between GLENWOOD. us that does not exist between you ; a tie which would ren- der a separation painful ; but there may be a stronger tic between you. I have loved Mary dearly, but I doubt whether she has ever truly loved me ; her first love has continued with all its original strength, and so she has never been happy here. Capt. Clinton, she is rightly yours ; and if she feels that she can be happier with you, I will not place one obstacle in the way of her wishes.' " ' 0, thou good, good man ! ' said my mother, going to my father ; and, kneeling at his feet, she covered his hand with kisses. He gently raised her up, and seated her again upon the sofa. " < Mr. Whiting,' said Capt. Clinton, { it is true that I have a prior claim, but I will not urge that. I love Mary as I never can love another ; but, if she can be happier with you than to share my humble lot, no word of remonstrance or censure shall pass my lips. I can offer nothing but pov- erty now, and here she has a luxurious home. Moreover, if you are separated, your child must suffer, and one of you, perchance, never see her face again. If Mary chooses to remain, I will take my departure immediately, to return no more forever.' "'Which shall it be, Mary?' said my father, with a forced calmness of manner. ' Will you remain with me, or go with Capt. Clinton ? ' " 'I must not, cannot remain,' she replied; 'I must go with James, for I love him alone. He is more than all the world to me. And, then, how he has suffered since we were separated ! Think of those long years of cruel captivity ! But, Mr. Whiting, will you let me have our child ? ' " ' Mrs. Clinton,' said my father, ' is it not cruel in you OLENWOOD. 397 to ask me to give her up also ? You go with the husband of your love ; and if you should take Sarah, I should be left alone ! ' " ' I know it I know it ; but I do love her so ! ' " ' Not more dearly than her father. But, as it was left for you to choose, so shall it be left for her.' " ' Sarah,' said my mother, ' will you go with me ? ' " While this strange scene was passing, I had sat like one stupefied ; and yet I had not lost a single word, and I under- stood the import of them all. " ' Your mother is to leave me,' said my father, as I rose to my feet, ' and I cannot blame her. All my affections are now centred in you ; but, if you choose to go with her, your father will give you his blessing, and will love you still.' " My mother held out her hand, and I took it ; she stooped to kiss me, and I wound my arms around her neck in a lov- ing embrace. I then tore myself from her, and sprang into my father's arms, clinging convulsively to his bosom. He pressed me closely to his heart, and said, ' My own dear child, you are more to me than all the world beside. I shall not be utterly desolate, for you will cheer your father's aching breast.' " ' Mary,' he said, with much emotion, ' farewell, and may God's blessing go with you ! ' "'Farewell!' she said, wringing his hand; 'you have been very faithful to me, and I pray you think kindly of me when I am gone ! ' "My father now went to his chamber, and my mother soon left. Ere many weeks Captain Clinton sailed, taking my mother with him; and I have never seen her since." " Are they still living? " inquired Willie. 34 898 GLENWOOD. " I have no reason to doubt it. I have corresponded with my mother, but we have not written often. She has assured me that she is very happy, and that prosperity has attended the efforts of her husband. They have three children." " Where do they live now? " inquired Jeannie. " In Wisconsin. Captain Clinton became weary of a life on the ocean, so much of the time separated from his family, and so he purchased a farm in that vigorous young state." " Your father," said Jeannie, " must have been a great sufferer." " It was a cruel blow, and he never recovered from its effects. I suffered bitterly, for I loved my mother dearly, and I knew that she loved me ; but my father was completely broken down. At much sacrifice he settled up his affairs, and relinquished business entirely. For some years after, we travelled much of the time during the pleasant part of the season. I did all that I could to cheer him, and make him forget his great misfortune. I believe that I succeeded in a measure, but he never seemed as he did before. As his property was not large, we expended the interest and more or less of the principal every year, until we became so re- duced in circumstances that strict economy was requisite to keep the wolf from the door. My education had not been neglected ; and when I was seventeen, desiring to do some- thing to earn my own livelihood, I went to Yamford to teach, where I was so happy, Jeannie, as to have you for a pupil. When my father died, only a few hundred dollars of his once handsome property remained, and his child, whom he loved so well, was so very fortunate as to find a home with you " " And I am equally fortunate in having you in my family," said Mrs. Lund. GLENWOOD. 399 "Your story," said Willie, " is very affecting and inter- esting. I have heard of such things before, and one case where the wife chose to remain with the last husband." " Which proves," said Mrs. Lund, " that she never truly loved the first." " So I should say," said Miss Whiting. " Have you written to your mother of your father's death ? " inquired Jeannie. " Some time since, but have received no answer yet." " Would you not like to see your mother ? " said Willie. " I should very much, though I can scarcely expect to recognize her, or that she will recognize me. But I remem- ber how well I loved her, and how kind and indulgent she always was. Yes, I would see her again." " Captain Clinton, I think," said Willie, " acted very nobly." " He did, and I shall also be glad to see him, though he robbed me. by taking his own, of a mother's care, at a time of life when I very much needed it." "The child," said Mrs. Lund, "though long separated, still yearns for the mother who pillowed the infant head upon her own bosom. May you be so happy as to meet yours again ! " " Thank you, my friend, for such has long been my own prayer." " Did your mother go away from you when you was a little girl?" inquired Waldo. " Yes, dear." "Too bad! I should cry my eyes out, if mine should leave me." And then he looked fondly into his mother's face, and said, " We are but two, mamma ! " CHAPTER XXXVI. THE PROPOSAL. REASON FOR HOPE. WE have said that Willie was happy and contented ; but, as weeks and months fled away, he began to learn that this platonic love was insufficient for a nature like his. The question frequently presented itself to his mind, whether Mrs. Lund loved him, or regarded him only as a friend. He knew his affection for her was deep and lasting, having stood the test of years, years in which there was no hope. And now, living under the same roof, beholding the beauty of her daily life, his love increased in intensity, until he felt that he could not live thus she must be his, faithful devotion at last find its reward. But the avowal of his passion might be attended with re- sults by no means desirable. If she could not return his affection, he must leave her forever. Better hazard all, he thought, than remain always in painful suspense. He re- solved that henceforth he would not put a restraint upon the emotions of his heart, but let them be freely manifested ; so he became more attentive, and showed more palpably than ever before what his true feelings were. Mrs. Lund was not blind, and she soon perceived that his regard was more than that of a brother. To know this, gave her pleasure, and yet it gave her pain. The thought of QLENWOOD. 403 marrying again had scarcely ever entered her mind ; she wanted Willie for a friend, not a lover ; and yet, with admi- rable consistency, she could not have borne the thought that he should marry another. On a balmy moonlight evening in May, Willie expressed a wish for her company; for he had important things to say, which must not be heard by any ear but hers. She could not say nay to this request, and tremblingly seated herself by his side. They were in the drawing-room, which was lighted now by the lamps of heaven alone. He took her hand, that hand which sent a thrill to his heart the first time he ever felt its touch, and said : " Jeannie, I have serious words which I would say to you; and, though I would not, yet I may give offence." " No, Willie, you cannot give offence. I am not afraid of that, whatever you may utter. I can conceive of your giving me pain, but you never will offend me." " I hope not. And I would not cause you pain, and yet I may. Shall I speak freely, Jeannie?" " Yes, if you feel it for the best." "I do; and I have long felt it, or I would not utter a word. There are thoughts which may be kept for a season shut into the heart, as it were, but in time they become a source of pain, anxious and wakeful hours ; and then they had better be spoken, even though they cause for a season, a sharper grief." " I do not doubt it, and I would have you freely unburthen your mind, hoping that it may not be the cause of sorrow or disappointment to either of us." " I would fain hope so too, and yet I fear. My hope is not large, and never has been. I am so accustomed to dis- 34* 402 GLENWOOD. appointments, that I can bear them, even though they crush the heart." After a pause. " Jeannie, you remember well the first time you ever saw the poor-house boy ? " " I do, Willie ; and his sad, dejected look went to rny heart. I have never seen any other child who had such an expres- sion upon his countenance as you had then. Do you know that I sometimes fancy that I see something of that look in your face even now ? " ' ' If my face spoke plainly the feelings of my heart, its expression must have been woful indeed. I was not aware that any of those feelings or looks remained ; but it would not be strange, as I have never been very happy. I often think that my life has not been as joyful as it should have been ; and it is not now, there is something lacking. When you first knew me, I felt, even then, that I deserved a better fate. I doubt not your impressions in relation to me are all fresh in your memory, but I question if they are so indelibly fixed as mine are of you. Most fearfully had I lost faith in humanity. The first glance which I had of you, Jeannie, seemed to shiver to atoms the dark mass of hatred and bitterness which I had built up between myself and the ' sweet heavens.' I read in your face what I had never read in any other ; and how those words thrilled to my soul which you then spoke to me ! "You recollect the day you desired me to tarry after school ? You did not command, but, in a gentle manner, requested it. I was so accustomed to chastisement, that I expected it, Jeannie, even from you : and yet I could not bear the thought that you should strike me. " When you put out your hand to take mine, I instinct- QLENWOOD. 403 ively drew it back ; but the moment it was a prisoner, it was a willing one, there was no wish to escape. When I tell you what my feelings and thoughts were then, the one great passion which took possession of my soul, you will have a key which will unlock subsequent mysteries. I shall speak freely, for I trust you. I was then a mere boy, a poor, degraded, forsaken, wretched one ! You were some three years older, a young woman, and far, far above me ! ! how intensely I felt it, none but God and my own heart can ever know ! And yet, from that moment, I I have loved you ! " " Why, Willie ! " exclaimed Mrs. Lund, the tears stream- ing down her face. " I knew that you did not realize it; who could have realized what seemed so ridiculous? Yes, from that mo- ment I loved, and I have loved every moment since. When you were married, I tried to conquer my passion, but could not ; there it was in my heart, and nothing could tear it out. The night before your wedding-day I fled. I could not bear to see you given to another ; and, in what seemed a very un- grateful, unjustifiable manner, I left the dearest home I had ever known. I went forth alone, feeling perfectly desolate and heart-broken. I was welcomed at Mr. Penly's, where I became, in a measure, content. You remember how and when we met again. I still loved you, and living with you has only increased its power and intensity. You now know all. I am not happy, and never can be unless you give me your heart and hand." " Willie, my friend, your story has surprised me, and yet I had surmised it in part. Such long, such whole-souled affection is worthy of a return. And, ! let it not make 404 OLENWOOD. you sad, if I cannot give you the affection you desire. It was but a year ago that my husband died ; and my oldest child followed soon after, leaving me desolate indeed. When you came, my hope and strength revived ; but, though I so much wanted you near me, yet I thought not of marriage." " I feared as much, Jeannie, and it has made me very unhappy. However, I cannot blame you ; but I would it were otherwise." ' ' I doubt not, Willie, that you love me most dearly, and that you are worthy of the purest, most devoted affection, love purer and fresher than mine can ever be again. I know you would not accept my hand unless I first gave you my heart, my whole heart ! " " No, Jeannie ; but may I not hope to win your heart? " "What shall I say? I want you to be happy, very happy ; and yet I would not hold out false hopes. Can you not find some one in the world besides me whom you can love?" " No, Jeannie. I have tried that for years, years when I had no hope ; although this thought has ever been with me, and my faith does not waver, even now, that we were made for each other." " It may be so. I am never so happy as when I am with you ; and, though I do not give you the assurance which you require, yet I would not have you leave me. You may think it strange, but it is true, nevertheless, that I should be very miserable without you." "I am happy to hear you say that much." "I am not ashamed to confess it. But I have thought of you heretofore rather as a brother than a husband. I have been very selfish, I fear ; for I have wished, since the first L E N W D . 405 day you came here, that you might remain unmarried. My last year's experience was bitter, indeed, and my spirit is very sad now, for shadows come even while the sun shines, and they fill my soul with dread ; and, ! if they must gather around me in all their blackness and terror, I would have you here to strengthen me." " I will not fail you, my friend, for I too share in your fears." "I have have had so much anxiety of late, that my health is failing again. There are afflictions, Willie, which almost crush the life out of the heart ! " " I would willingly share your griefs, Jeannie ; and in your darkest hours come to me, and I will try to comfort you." " And will you never grow weary ? " "Never!" " I believe you ; and as long as you are near me, I will not be entirely desolate." " We should never wholly despair, for in all life's changes there is still hope for us. Our dear ones change worlds, but they are not lost they are ours still. The clouds gather above us, but the sun still shines ; night comes with darkness, but how beautiful are the golden stars! Even the sun has its dark spots, but they do not destroy its glory or power. Not wholly clear is our way, but we should never despair." CHAPTER XXXVII. ILLNESS OF WALDO. " WE ARE BUT TWO, MAMMA i " A FEW days after the conversation related in the last chapter, Waldo went to walk with Willie Cunard. He was very cheerful, and talked much of the beautiful things of earth, and of the more beautiful ones in heaven. But his strength was soon exhausted, and Willie took him in his arms and carried him home. Mrs. Lund met them at the door, and received the dear child to her bosom. Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw how weary and pale he was. She sat down and soothed him to sleep. Long did she gaze upon that pale face, and over and over again im- printed kisses upon his'lips and high white brow. Willie remained near, gazing upon mother and child with a world of love and sympathy in his heart. When Miss Whiting came in, she placed a pillow upon the sofa, and took Waldo and laid him upon it. "Is he more unwell than usual, to-day? " she inquired. "I fear that he is," said Mrs. Lund. "I would not be over- anxious, neither would I cherish false hopes. Waldo's head has always been too large for his body, his brain very active, and I fear prematurely developed. I know that mothers are partial, but I am very certain that I have never seen a child like him of his age. He began to talk before GLBNWOOD. 407 he was a year old ; and he spoke nearly every word cor- rectly. He early startled me with his remarks on various subjects, and his memory, until within a few weeks, has re- tained everything." "I thought him a very precocious child, the first time I ever saw him," said Miss Whiting. "Do you think hia symptoms are really alarming?" "I do. When he is in bed he almost invariably lies upon his back, and every few minutes he rubs the back part of his head upon the pillow. Look ! he has so worn off the hair that he is almost bald. The physician gave me very little encouragement, and I don't think he knows what ails him. The dear, dear one, how can I give him up ! He was less strong than usual to-day?" interrogatively to Willie. "I never saw him more pleased with the proposition to walk," said Willie ; " and he was full of life and animation when we started ; but he soon became weary. Ere long, I saw that he was too weak to walk further, and I took him into my arms and brought him home." " He is a dear child," said Miss Whiting, " and I hope that he will soon be well and strong again." " God grant that he may ! " replied Mrs. Lund, " for he is all the world to me." " And while we so earnestly desire his restoration to health," said Willie, "may we be blest with childlike trust and reconciliation." Miss Whiting and Willie Cunard now went out, and the mother was left alone with her child. She sat near him and watched him while he slept. He seemed very restless, and often moved his head from one side to the other, rubbing it hard, as though there were much pain and irritation. By 408 GLENWOOD. and by he awoke with a wild, bright look, his eyes gazing upward with an expression of rapture. " Waldo ! " said his mother. "Is it you, mamma? Why ! here I am on the sofa in our own room ' I thought I was in the green fields with papa and Carra. Not the green fields here, but the green fields there ! " pointing upwards. "You have been dreaming, dearest." " Have I ? It did not seem like a dream. Hand in hand I walked with those beautiful beings they were all beauti- ful. I did not see you nor dear Willie there ; but they said that you would come ! " " Do you feel any better, Waldo ? " " 0, I don't know ! I have grown weary here. It was so beautiful, and I was so well and happy, that I did not want to come back again. Why should I have come back, mother ? " "You are thinking of your dream." She now took him into her arms. "I am tired, mother," he said, as he nestled down upon her bosom, "very tired. I like to walk with dear Willie, and with you, mamma ; but I fear I never shall any more, here. I shall walk' in the fields of heaven with you both ; but never here again." " ! I hope you will, Waldo, many, many times. You are not very sick, and you may be better soon." "You don't want your little boy to die, do you, mamma?" " No, no, dear child ! " " Will you be lonesome when I am gone? " " I should be very lonely, very sad, if you should die ! " GLBNWOOD. 409 " I will come, if God will let me, and make you happy. Mamma, I shall die I shall never be well again ! Don't weep, dear mamma ! I can't help it ; God wants me in hia house, and I must go. I never shall be weary there ! " " Waldo, I must weep; but, dear one, I will try to be reconciled to the will of Heaven. I wish you would not think so much about dying ; you are so young, and 'so dear to this desolate heart ! We are but two, Wallie ! " " Where is my Willie ?" " He is at work in the field, hoeing corn." " How long is it since he went to a walk with me? " " Why, don't you remember? It was only this morning, some two hours since." "I thought it was longer. I must see him; won't you call him in ? " " Yes, dear. If you will lie upon the sofa again, I will send for him." When Willie came, he knelt by his side, and Waldo put his arms around his neck, and kissed him. "Dear Willie," he said, "did you know that I was going?" "Going! where?" "Up where papa and Carra live. I don't want to leave you, Willie, but mamma can't spare us both. I want to sit in your lap ; I am not strong enough to get into it now ; I never shall be again. You are crying. You will hold me, won't you, Willie?" " Yes, my darling ! There, does that suit you ? " "0, it is so nice ! and now I can lay and look right into your face. You are my own Willie; and you,' to his mother, "are my own mamma." 35 410 GLEN WOOD. " Yes, dear," she replied. " Come here, mamma," he said. She came and kne.lt down, leaning upon Willie for sup- port. He was glad to have her there ; and he prayed in hia heart that she might, in all her days of weakness, feel to lean upon him; for he would so rejoice to be her stay and comfort. "My own mamma," said Waldo; "my own Willie," and he placed her hand in his. " I am so happy, for Willie will always love you, mamma ! " Mrs. Lund was weeping now very bitterly, for her heart felt that it would break ; and the manly tears fell fast from Willie's eyes. His right arm stole lovingly around her, as though it -would say, " I will be your protector." , " How can I give you up? " she exclaimed, passionately. " You are my all ! 0, my Father ! let him yet be spared to me ! " " Do not feel so badly, mother ; Willie is here. I do love you both ; I don't know which I love best. You are so good that I want to stay with you always. But I must not. Willie will stay, mamma." He now seemed drowsy, and Mrs. Lund went away by herself, and prayed for faith and resignation. When she came back Waldo had fallen asleep in Willie's arms. When he awoke, he wished to be laid in his own bed. He was soon after delirious ; but there were frequent intervals when reason returned, and then he would talk as beautifully as ever. The physician came often, and left his prescriptions, but spoke no word of hope. Day after day, and night after night, did faithful, loving ones watch by the pillow of the sick child ; but love and care could not save him. It was on GLENWOOD. 411 the afternoon of the tenth day of his sickness, when a long delirium passed away, and, though he was very weak, his mind was clear. " How do you feel now? " asked his mother. " I am better, dear mamma ! I am glad that I see you once more. Dear, dear mother, I have been so sick, so weary ! but I shall not be sick there, nor tired any more, shall I?" "No, my dear." "Where is my Willie?" "Here he is, and he has scarcely left you since you were taken sick." "0, he is so good ! I love Willie, don't you ? Dear Willie, I must go ; but you will love mamma, 'cause she will be so lonely when I am gone." Miss Whiting now came in and spoke to him ; he kissed her, his mother, and Willie. After this he was so exhausted that he closed his eyes and slept. He soon awoke, exclaim- ing: "I see them! There! there! They are beautiful! I knew you would come ! dear papa! " His eyes closed again, but in a moment opened with a look of love upon his mother and Willie. They took his hands in theirs, when he said, " We are but two, mamma ! " and the sweet child was at rest. The waiting angels bore his spirit to the better land, where the dear lost ones of earth welcomed him with gladness and holy joy. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE BEREAVED MOTHER. TRUE-HEARTED DEVOTION. THE REWARD OI FAITHFUL LOVE. MRS. LUND held out bravely until her darling boy was dead ; but she could bear up no longer against this terrible flood of grief, and so the cold waves swept over her, and would have borne her far from the shore, and hid her for- ever in their dark bosom, if a loving hand had not held her back. She had never entirely recovered from the shock of her husband and Carra's death ; this last blow seemed heavier than the others, and she bent to the dust beneath it. The excitement kept her upon her feet until after the funeral ; but as soon as the house was quiet again, she laid her weary head upon her pillow, not to raise it again for many weeks. When the physician came, he said that medicine would do but little good; for, though nature was exhausted with watching, the disease was more of the mind than the body. Her case was somewhat doubtful, and only the greatest care could save her. A domestic was now procured, that Misa Whiting might devote herself to the sick one, and she proved very faithful to her stricken friend ; but Willie Cunard was, if possible, more faithful still. He scarcely left the bedside of the sufferer. Night and day found him near her pillow. OLENWOOD. 413 Miss Whiting became really alarmed, lest he, too, should be sick. He was deaf, however, to all remonstrances, and seemed to feel that the life of his friend was held by a single thread, and he alone could keep it from breaking. When her father and mother came, he still kept his place, leaving it only for refreshment and a few minutes' repose. He doubted not that Mrs. Lund wanted him ever near her ; for if she awoke and found him absent, she was extremely rest- less until he returned. Much of the time he held her hand, chafed her fair white brow, and soothed her to rest. What a burthen was removed when the crisis was past, and there was reason for hope ! In the silence of his own chamber he wept for very joy, and poured out his soul in thanks to God. He did not abate his vigilance in the least, now that she was considered out of immediate danger ; his was a work of love, and to give his whole soul to it would alone satisfy him. He knew how frail she was, and feared a relapse, in which case all hope would be gone. He felt that he could die for her, but, if she should die, life indeed were worthless. This continued watching, with but little rest, was not without its effect. Willie's appetite, not good since Mrs. Lund was token sick, now almost entirely left him. His cheeks became pale and sunken, and his eyes were either very heavy or unnaturally clear and bright. One day, when Mrs. Lund awoke from a refreshing sleep, the first glance that she met, as usual, was Willie Cunard'a. " You are always here, dear Willie ! " she said. " And I love to be here better than anywhere else," he replied. "My place is near you, as long as my presence can give you the least comfort." 35* 414 GLENWOOD. She smiled sweetly upon him, and said, " You are very faithful, Willie. What should I have done without you? But I fear you will forget yourself. I don't know how it is, but it seems to me that you have scarcely left me at all. Don't forget that your health is as precious as mine. I am much better now, and you must take more rest." " Yes, dear, since you wish it. I am so rejoiced to wit- / ess such a marked improvement ! You look more cheerful, more resigned, and now I shall feel to rest." " The dark sea of grief would have overwhelmed me, if your love had not come to the rescue ; and I shall never forget it." " Bless you, for such words give me life ! But you must not talk more now ; you are already exhausted by the effort you have made." "I will obey you, but the day will come, Willie ! " "Yes, dear heart ! " Some days after this, Mrs. Lund fell asleep while Willie held her hand, a pleasure which he never seemed to weary of. When she awoke, she saw that he was fast asleep in his chair. Miss Whiting came in, and, without disturbing him, placed an additional pillow under her head. She lay so that she could look directly into his face, and she noticed for the first time how pale and poor he was. Arid then she thought how great had been his devotion to her during her sickness, and how many years he had loved her with no return of affection nothing for hope to feed upon. She thought of his kindness to her dear, lost Waldo, and how ardently the child loved him ; and now the tears came welling up, and coursed rapidly down her cheeks. She was weak and child- ish, at least, the reader may think that the latter was no QLBNWOOD. 415 less true than the former, and so she could not control her emotions, and sobbed aloud. This awoke Willie from a pleasant dream, and very much surprised was he to find Mrs. Lund in tears. " What is the matter? " he said, quickly. " Pardon me," she said; "for, while you slept, my thoughts have been busy. Do you know that I think you ought not to have so neglected yourself? Here you have been sitting over me, day after day, and night after night, until you look, I fancy, as sick as I do. Dear Willie, I thank you, from my heart, for such disinterested devotion ; but I shall insist that, hereafter, you take the rest and recreation which you require. I love to have you near me ; but it pains me to see you looking so ill, and all for me." "I fear you give me more credit than I rightly deserve. But I am not strong or well now, and I am no longer afraid to trust you with others. I shall take more rest hereafter, and during the day ride and see to the business on the farm. I have sadly neglected things of late." " No matter if you have, for a holier work has been yours. You are my only stay and comfort now ; so get well and be happy." " I shall improve rapidly, I doubt not. It is worth trying for, since you wish it." " And it would be, Willie, if I did not. See, how pleasant it looks ! You must take a horseback ride, this afternoon, for it will do you a great deal of good." From this time Willie began to amend rapidly; ere many days he was well again. Mrs. Lund was soon able to walk across the floor, leaning upon Willie's arm ; then he carried her short distances in the chaise, increasing the length of the 416 GLENWOOD. rides as her strength would permit. In due time she walked with him in the fields, and finally they visited her father's the dear old cottage in Yarnford. Mrs. Lund unreservedly resigned herself to Willie's care and protection. A few months before she did not know that she loved him, but she knew it now. When Waldo died, she had nothing to live for, she thought ; now she would live for Willie alone. He was not slow to read her heart, and it brought the long-desired peace to his own. He waited until her health and strength were restored, and then again prof- fered his love. " I am yours," she said, " and I now freely give you my whole heart. Take it, dearest, and may God grant that its possession may bring you that happiness which you so richly deserve ! " " My own dear Jeannie," he replied, " long have I waited for this blissful moment ! It has come, at last, bringing with it a world of joy." " And I, too, notwithstanding my deep sorrow, am very happy ; for I shall find rest in your faithful love." " Yes, my dear, dear one ! " drawing her to his heart, and now the embrace the emotions which arise from mutual love. Reader, the scene was sacred to them ; so let the veil of silence, shut it from the gaze of profane eyes. CHAPTER XXXIX. THE CROWNING EVENT. SALE OF THE FARM IN STETSON. PVRCHA8I OF THE GREGG FARM. AT THEIR NEW HOME. MR. BUGBEK IN A PASSION EXPRESSES HIS OPINION. MARRIAGE OF MISS WHITING. MOTHER AND CHILD MEET AGAIN. CAPTAIN CLINTON REMOVES TO GLENWOOD. HOME AND HAPPINESS WILLIE CUNARD and Mrs. Lund were married on Thanks- giving day. A few friends were witnesses of the happy event. Under other circumstances, a greater number would have been invited ; but Jeannie, so recently bereaved, felt that in a large company there would be more levity than she would care to witness. Her parents, brothers, and sisters, the Penlys, Miss Whiting, and a few others, composed the company. Everything passed off as she desired. All looked interested and happy, and, though there was less merry- making than might otherwise have been, yet there was a subdued joy in every heart. Soon after this joyful day, Jeannie expressed a wish to Willie that their farm might be sold, and one purchased in another town. The reason she gave for this was, because she had seen so much sickness and trouble in Stetson, she felt that she could be happier elsewhere. " How should you like to live in Glenmood?" inquired Willie. " Very much," replied Mrs. Cunard. 418 GLENWOOD. " I saw a notice, a few days since, that the farm formerly owned by Mr. Gregg (my grandfather) was to be sold at auction, and I should like that. The location is very pleas- ant, the buildings are good, and the land, originally of the very best quality, has never been exhausted by the wretched course pursued by many farmers. Mr. Gregg, say what we will of him in other respects, understood the business of agriculture well; and, had he devoted his energies to that alone, he would not have died a poor man. He was am- bitious to do too much to be known as a business man of- rare tact and talent. Moreover, his unattractive home drove him, at last, into the wildest speculations ; the result was, the complete wreck of his fortune. How does the idea strike you, Jeannie?" " It is the place I should choose above all others in Glen- wood. The pretty lake and the high hill are in near prox- imity, which, with all the other attractions, will make it a most desirable residence. I used to enjoy a boat-ride on the lake, and I should enjoy it more than ever now. How delightful to have a beautiful boat of our own, and sail in the early morning, or at the close of day, just as the sun is setting ! I like the house, it is so large and convenient. Is the land easily cultivated? " " Very. There were but few rocks, originally ; and those have been almost entirely removed. The quality of the soil is not only good, but nearly the whole farm lies facing the south, and so the crops invariably escape an early frost. The fields are well fenced, and free from obnoxious shrubs and bushes." _ "If we can sell our farm, Willie, and our means are sufficient, we will Durchase the Gregg farm. I fancy that GLENWOOD. 419 we should both be better suited than we are now. I am proud to have a farmer for a husband, but I do not want him a slave, laboring twelve or fifteen hours every day for a decent livelihood." " The unscientific manner in which much of the agricul- tural business is done in New England makes the labor of very many farmers altogether too hard for the best good of the body and the mind. Those who till the soil should have time for recreation, and for the culture of the intellect and heart. Some think that continued labor is the surest way to keep men from evil. This is a mistake. We have a three-fold nature a trinity in unity makes up the man. The soul should not be sacrificed to the body, nor the body to the soul. Let justice be done to the whole man, and then there is continued growth and happiness." " So I think. If we are so fortunate as to secure the Gregg farm, I shall expect to live very happily there. Not that our happiness depends on that alone, for, wherever our lot may be cast, sweet peace shall be with us." u Yes, Jeannie. To be with you, knowing that you love me, is my greatest source of happiness." "Thank you, my dear one; and rest assured that your love is reciprocated to its fullest extent. Our joy will always be complete, perfectly harmonious, for our love is mutual." " And may it ever continue so, dearest ! " The farm in Stetson was soon disposed of; and when the Gregg farm was sold, to the great surprise of the people of Glenwood, the purchaser was Willie Canard. Another thing was equally surprising, that Jeannie Wyman, the sue 420 GLENWOOD. cessful and beloved school-teacher, was Willie Cunard'a wife. Early the ensuing spring, Mr. and Mrs. Cunard moved to their new home, which they found all they had anticipated. It was pleasant for Willie to live there, for that roof had once sheltered his beautiful mother, and all the interesting places in the vicinity had been pressed by her feet. In the garden was a\ large bed of flowers which her fair hands had planted. It had of late been much neglected ; but Willie and Jeannie, in honor of her memory, soon restored it to its former loveliness. Later, they enlarged it, and added all the beautiful spring, summer, and autumn flowers. It was a monument an angel might well be proud of. Deacon and Mrs. Glubbings, Mr. and Mrs. Goose, Zebulon Bugbee (the latter just recovering from a long illness), and other people in town, called to offer their congratulations, and welcome them to Glenwood. Soon after, Margaret Bumford heard of Willie's good fortune, and she came to see him, accompanied by Hec- tor Stifels. Margaret and Hector were feasted on wedding- cake to their entire satisfaction. The quantity which they con- sumed utterly surprised Mrs. Cunard. She was not aware before that human beings could eat so much. Those persons in Glenwood who had formerly abused Wil- lie now hung their heads when they met him, and none looked more sheepish than Elam Sacket. Mr. Cunard soon convinced him that he bore no malice towards him, and then he regained his wonted confidence. Willie did not neglect, however, the opportunity to impress upon the mind of Sacket the meanness of his conduct. He told him unreservedly how much suffering his thoughtless persecution had caused him, and advised him to be careful of the feelings of others, espe- GLENWOOD. 421 cially of the poor and defenceless. It was a lesson which Sacket needed, and he never forgot it. He did not, it is true, entirely reform his conduct in this respect, but the change was very desirable. Not unfrequently would he aim his arrows at the weak ; but, when he saw that only suffering was the result, he would think of Willie Cunard, and stop at once. And, if his thoughtless course encour- aged others to make the victim a butt for ridicule, he bravely took his part, and warded off the shafts which would not have been sent but for him. As Mrs. Cunard was now quite cheerful, reposing so con- fidingly in the affection of her husband, happiness came to her heart again, and with it health and her wonted vigor. She had always had a desire to be of some service to the suf- fering, and now she improved every opportunity, and many a heavy heart was made light thereby. To the poor of Glen- wood our hero and heroine were truly benefactors. They visited the alms-house frequently, and through their instru- mentality many additional comforts were provided. Since then the aged paupers have been furnished with coffee and tea, not by individuals of large hearts, like Zebulon Bugbee, but by the town. Mr. and Mrs. Cunard have succeeded in impressing upon the minds of the people that the poor are really human beings, and should be cared for with true Chris- tian kindness ; instead of being treated as outcasts, their wants should be abundantly supplied, looking more to comfort than to expense. As Mr. Zebulon Bugbee was slowly regaining his health, he often visited the " old new comers," as he facetiously called them. As he was so good at heart, so jovial and comi- cal, he was always welcomed. There were times when he 36 422 GLENWOOD. talked quite seriously ; but he made such ludicrous mistakes, that Jeannie would laugh until the tears stood in her eyes This did not disconcert him in the least ; for he said that her laugh had such a clear, musical ring to it, that he " could n't help smiling;" and smile he did, though not quite so hard as when in better health. " I declare," he remarked, on one occasion, " it is all iron- ical synonymous, but who 'd a thought this ere would ever have been ? Lord ! if anybody had told me that that are ragged poor-house boy would ever have owned Mr. Gregg's farm, I should e'enamost died a laughing ! Why, what an insignificant creetur you was ! You ha^ a little, dirty, picked face as ever I see. How you kept them rags a hanging on to ye I can't imagine. You was a comical figure, sure enough. Your toes peeped out of your old shoes, to see what was going on, I suppose. Your legs looked out of the knees of your troupers, and your arms at your elbows ; while your scraggly locks lifted up your hat-crown, and kept it on the flap. It makes no pacific odds, but I can't help smiling. Wai, wal, it's a strange world ! We are horned and marry, sicken and die. Whether our naturs are as bad as Mr. Shackles says, until we are born the second time, I can't tell ; but some things come out as rough as some of my mop-handles and wash-boards." " I am inclined to think," said Willie, "that you have drawn me in rather strong colors ; however, I will not quarrel with you, as you seem to enjoy it so well. When I call to remembrance what I was then, and realize what I am now, it seems almost like a dream. There are very few whose lot was more deplorable ; and yet here I am, in the same town, most richly blessed ! What more can I desire ':' OLENWOOD. 428 As to the nature that God has given us, it is well enough, if we act according to the light we have, and it is weli adapted to the circumstances with which we are surrounded." " And shows the benevolence of the Deity," said Jeannie. " But the thing on it is," said Mr. Bugbee, " we don't rightly govern our naturs, and so our wegetable appetites and passions get the better on us." Mr. and Mrs. Cunard and Miss Whiting happened just then to be in a laughing mood, and Mr. Bugbee's mistake furnished the requisite food for merriment. " What are ye all laughing at? " he inquired. " I had always supposed," said Miss Whiting, " that we had animal natures, but you have made us into a lot of ' wege tables.' ' " Like the noses of the seven abridged editions of Slusher," said Willie. " Lord ! " said Mr. Zebulon Bugbee, " it is all ironi- cal synonymous, but I can't help smiling." Soon after this, Willie went into one of the stores, on a very rainy day, and Mr. Bugbee was lying at full length upon an old settle, listening to a discussion on Mesmerism and Phrenology, carried on by a number of the young men of the village, who were at leisure because of the rain. Suddenly Zebulon popped up his head, seemingly very much excited. "Young men," he said, " where 'd you get your pho- nology ? When the immaculate Son of God was upon earth, he said these things was hid from the wise and prudent, and revulged unto babes ! " The laugh that followed this speech was sufficient to com- pletely break up the discussion. That season. Mr. Bugbee 424 GLENWOOD. purchased a piece of meadow-grass, in company with Mr, Blossom. He did not know what a tricky partner he had, and he gave him permission to mow over one half of the ground, which he requested he might be allowed to do, as ho had already harvested the hay that grew upon his own land. Mr. Blossom, as Mr. Bugbee was sick, instead of dividing the piece fairly, selected the part on which grew the best and heaviest grass. When the latter went to see to the harvest- ing of the remainder, he was surprised and indignant. " There ! " he said, in a passion, pointing significantly with his finger. " It is all ironical synonymous, but he has mown down all the glory, and left me nothing but the d d hemisphere ! " "It makes no pacific odds," said Willie Cunard, who was in company with Mr. Bugbee. The latter recognized the phrase Willie had used as his own, and he smiled so heartily that he shook the frown from his face which had gathered there when he first saw the rascality which Mr. Blossom had practised upon him. It did not return again. " Mr. Blossom has played you a very mean trick," said Willie; "but it is better to suffer wrong than to do wrong." ' ' Exactly ! Lord ! I shall have hay enough, never fear ! But I tell ye what 'tis, ye won't catch me to trust a Blos- som again, nohow ! " " Not unless it is a more generous one, I hope. By the .way, the Blossom has taken the flower of the field." A very powerful smile followed this last hit. Mr. and Mrs. Cunard visited quite often Jeannie's old boarding-mistress, and many a hearty laugh they had in re- lation to Mrs. Jones' former fears lest Jeannie should injure her health by eating so much at dinner-time. She returned GLENWOOD. 425 their visits, and was ever welcome. As Mrs. Jones was not in very good circumstances, being still obliged to keep boarders, Willie occasionally sent her a nice piece of veal or beef, a chicken or a turkey, and in this way amply repaid the debt which he had incurred without her knowledge. O During the first year of the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Cunard in Glenwood, a beautiful spot was chosen for a cem- etery, and the remains of Willie's father and mother, Mr. Lund and children, were removed there, and a chaste mon- ument erected to their memory. Miss Whiting came to Glenwood with Willie and Jeannie, and finally concluded to make it her home. She taught school one season, boarding with them ; but, becoming seriously entangled in the meshes of Cupid, from which thral- dom she could only look for complete enfranchisement by marriage, she accepted the alternative, and in due time re- moved to a happy home of her own. She wrote, soon after, to her mother that she was now blessed with a good husband and a pleasant home, urging her and Captain Clinton to journey to the east and make them a visit. The invitation was accepted, and in due time Mrs. Wason, formerly Sarah Whiting, greeted her mother at her own home. The meet- ing between mother and daughter can better be imagined than described. Captain Clinton and his wife were now quite aged, and they seemed to think that they could spend the remainder of their days more happily in New England than at the West. " We were born and educated here," they said, "and it seems more like home." Captain Clinton returned to Wisconsin ; and, having a favorable opportunity to dispose of his property, he improved 36* 426 GLENWOOD. it, and came back, bringing his children with him. After looking about for a time, he concluded to settle down in Glenwood. The lake near the mountain is as beautiful as of yore. Willie has procured a new and splendid boat, and in it he and his beloved companion take many a pleasant sail. Now and then they spend an hour or two in angling, or they gather the snow-white lilies. To the green slope where Willie's father and mother first met they frequently repair, and there, reposing in the shade of the mountain trees, the time passes happily away. To agriculture Mr. Cunard is warmly devoted ; and he has wisely summoned all the modern improvements in farming to his aid, and has thus made his farm a model. He has not stinted the soil, and it has given him a generous return, so wealth is fast flowing in upon those who know how to use it well. Reader, you will rejoice that such is his fortune after so many trials ; and you will not regret, as the hearts which were made for each other are now united, that Jeannie is also happy happier than she ever was before. Should you ever visit their home in Glenwood, you will find all that I have told you strictly true ; and more than that, for new emotions stir Willie's soul while he gazes upon a fond mother as she presses her cherub babe to her heart. SUPPLEMENTAL. IT is very possible, and by no means improbable, that many persons who read this book will be disposed to doubt whether a parish-boy, in New England, is ever wronged as the author has represented Willie Cunard. In order to silence such doubts, the liberty is here taken to quote from a letter received from an excellent young lady, a school- teacher, not a thousand miles from Boston. By perusing these extracts, it will be seen that her experience was almost identical with that of Jcannie Wyman with Willie Cunard. "The poor-master is one of the school committee, and, before I commenced with the school, told me that I should undoubtedly experience some difficulty in managing a cer- tain , an inmate of the poor-house, as it is here called. He said that no one had succeeded in keeping his rebellious spirit under proper subjection, though they had threatened, punished, and flattered him. ' ' His behavior, the first two weeks, was such as to dis- courage me, and send me home with a brain that fairly ached in trying to devise some means to gain his respect and love. I learned that he stole . every thing that he could lay his hands upon ; and, indeed, two or three instances of his thieving propensity came under my observation. He would steal the scholars' dinners ; but for that I could not blame him, his own consisting entirely of some pieces of brown bread. QLEN WOOD. " He was absent often, and I would learn that he was confined for some misdemeanor. " One morning, by questioning him, I learned that he had been beaten severely with a strap. The poor-master was accustomed to tie him up in a cold room, in the coldest weather, and keep him without food. One mode of punish- ment was to plunge and hold him in cold water. " I thought that I would try the power of moral suasion. I found that there was a decided improvement ; and that, if he did wrong, and I detained him after school, and talked kindly to him, instead of making him an example to all the scholars, he seemed a great deal more penitent. Every morning he would come in with a handful of flowers for the ' mistress.' After school, he would linger to ask me if he had been a good boy. I also noticed an improvement in his person. He seemed ashamed of his poor clothes. Oc- casionally there would come an outburst of passion, but it was easily quelled." The above extracts are sufficient to show where the trouble lay. The whole difficulty was to be charged to the abuse the child received. Not only was he most cruelly abused, but fed and clothed meanly. The teacher tried the effect of kindness, and he Was speedily subdued. As soon as he was treated like a human being, he had a desire to act like one. Let those who have the care of poor orphan children learn a lesson. But some are disposed to query thus : "Are there any towns in Massachusetts, or in New England, so mean as to refuse to furnish tea for aged paupers? " There are. It is true of one of the most respectable towns of the state named ; and, a few years since, a complaint was entered against the GLENWOOD. 429 poor-master and the overseers of the poor of that town, because of the filthy condition of the alms-house. It was said that the actual condition of things " was unfit for publi- cation." These facts are deemed sufficient to silence all cavillers. It is certain that the reputation of the innocent will not be jeopardized by anything which has fallen from the author's pen; while the guilty, instead of indulging in uncalled-for censure, should rather bring forth works meet for repent- ance. The author of Glenwood must here part with his readers. He would fain hope that they have been interested hi his book, and that the perusal has afforded them many mo- ments of wholesome excitement and pleasure. A 000 036 365 5